The Good, the Bad, and the Dead

by Bruce Campbell

  The bartender turned the rest of the way in their direction and came closer. He approached Budge and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  "Another round of drinks for me and my friends, if you please."

  The prompt service for the stranger made Zeke's blood boil. "Why the Hell did you oblige him?" he snarled at the bartender. "I've been wavin' my arm off for fifteen minutes."

  The bartender regarded Zeke mildly and then stated, "He's paid his tab. You haven't." He departed to fill Budge's order.

  Zeke bristled when he felt Budge's hand linger for a moment on his arm. He turned dark eyes towards the little man.

  "It's no problem," Budge consoled the cowboy "The barkeep is merely a man of business. I'm sure he would have responded to you eventually. He doesn't seem the sort to let a man go thirsty." Budge pulled back nonchalantly, not noticing Zeke's growing resentment. "Have I told you gents about the time I felled my first lion? He was the most glorious. None after even came close, big and tawny, the edges of his mane and coat tinged with black. He was standing on an ant hill as lions are wont to do in the early morning sun, his big face turned toward me almost as if he sensed me lying downwind in the tall grass. At first, I couldn't get a clean shot. But then he carelessly turned and I saw my golden opportunity. It was a hundred and seventy yard shot. I know for I measured it carefully afterward.

  "A deep grunting roar answered the report of my rifle and quickly he swung his whole body around toward where it had come. I couldn't tell if I had hit him or not. Then suddenly, with a bound, he disappeared into the grass around me. I can honestly admit to the fear that engulfed me then, for this beast was a man-eater. Reports of his grisly deeds had been numerous in the villages and among my porters. I had been commissioned to bring his rampage to an end, but now it seemed I was about to have the tables turned upon me."

  "So what happened next?" Lucas exclaimed.

  Zeke snorted. "Obviously he didn't get eaten."

  Budge smiled gently at Zeke, then returned his attention to Lucas and even Earl who had paused momentarily in his card manipulations. "I could hear the great beast breathing somewhere nearby, a deep rasping sound that made the small hairs on the nape of my neck stand upright. I knew that if I moved the lion would spring upon me, claws slashing, teeth ravishing my tender flesh that I knew it craved. I remained motionless hoping the terrible thing was still downwind and had no more idea I lay so close beside him than of a minute pebble resting near its paw."

  "Did he see you?" Lucas' eyes were as wide as saucers.

  "No. After several minutes of desperate waiting, I heard it stand and slink off. One of my askaris, several feet away, began calling out. He had seen a lion exit the grass. Knowing I was safe, I regained my feet. Thankfully I still clutched my .450 in a ready stance for, unbeknownst to me, my porter had spied a different lion, the mate, departing from the other side of the grass. My own lion was just twenty paces from me. He charged, growling angrily, rushing through the dry grass at a ferocious pace straight at me. I swung the weapon around and fired directly into his chest. He fell to the ground and moved no more."

  "How many people did he eat?" Earl scratched his chin with the edge of the ace of spades.

  "At least seven people that we knew of," Budge answered.

  "Did the mate get your-uh-scary?"

  "Askari," Budge corrected. "No, luckily there was a tree nearby and he escaped." Knowing he had the men's attention, Budge quickly related another expedition tale about an encounter with a Cape water buffalo.

  Zeke watched as the men around him slowly fell under the sway of the greenhorn's stories of adventure and daring exploits. With eyes that smoldered from under the brim of his hat, he set his elbows on the table and centered his weight over them. "You ever hunt snipe?"

  Budge paused in the midst of his dissertation and glanced at Zeke, curiosity obviously piqued. "Snipe, you say. I don't think I've even heard of that particular creature. What is it?"

  "Only the most fiercest thing to haunt these lands. I've seen it kill men with just a flick of its tail. It's 'bout as big as a buffalo and mean'r than my Aunt Sally."

  Lucas snorted into his beer, vainly trying to muffle his erupting laughter. Zeke kicked the half drunk cowboy under the table. The kid yelped and then sat up a little straighter as lucidity struck him with the point of Zeke's steel toe.

  Budge glanced at the kid but found himself too intrigued with Zeke's comment to linger for long. "Has it killed many men?" he asked Zeke, his tongue darting out to lick his lips anxiously.

  "Hundreds," Lucas joined in with a smirk. "A snipe's the meanest, deadliest, most cunning critter ever!"

  "It comes out of the night and stalks hapless passerbys," Zeke embellished. "One minute they're riding along pretty as you please and the next, their heads are rolling off in front of their horse's muzzle. No man has brought back the hide of a snipe."

  "Not to mention coming back alive at all," Earl mumbled.

  A warm rush of anticipation flooded Budge. Here finally was a beast that he could prove himself against, and in so doing, earn the respect of these cowboys. "Where can I find this creature...this snipe?

  "One of the foul things lives in a wadi not far from here. Why if you were to kill it, you'd be an honest-to-God hero around these parts. Wouldn't he boys?" Zeke asked. A general agreement was offered up by the others.

  The bartender returned and distributed drinks around the table. He had overheard Zeke's comments and it made him mad to think that they were going to hornswoggle his only paying customer. He walked around to where Budge was sitting.

  "I wouldn't believe everything these drifters say, Mr. Budge." He replaced the empty brandy glass with a full one. The amber liquid shimmered in the lamplight.

  Zeke half-stood and glared at the barkeep. "Maybe this don't concern you. Ever think of that?" His fingers brushed his sidearm, his menace clear.

  The bartender straightened, tucking his tray under his arm. Concerned, knowing eyes met steel, cold ones and for a moment the noise around the table quieted. With a sigh of resignation, the bartender broke off and moved toward another table on the far side of the saloon.

  The tension in the room dissipated and Budge, missing the point entirely due to his excitement over a possible hunt, quickly returned to the topic at hand. "Why I'd be happy to lend my services in eradicating this animal. I'm more than qualified."

  Zeke didn't bother to point out that up to now all they knew of Wallace Budge was the man's own claims concerning his prowess. Hell, Zeke could boast he survived a tummy twister. It didn't mean he had. And he wasn't fool enough to brag about it 'cause sooner or later someone was gonna call him on it and there'd be no scar.

  He scrutinized Budge up and down and silently snarled, Well, Mr. Wallace Budge, I call. A smile curved up the cowboy's face that was anything but amicable. "Looks like we're going snipin'." He turned to Earl who was engrossed again with the elusive success of his card trick. "Go saddle the horses."

  Zeke regarded Budge a moment. "I don't suppose you have a mount."

  Budge looked embarrassed. "No, I'm afraid not. I came on the stagecoach."

  Zeke rolled his eyes and muttered to Earl, "Give 'im Dusty's mare. It's quiet enough."

  Earl threw his cards on the table, grumbling, "A man can't even play a little card game..." The rest was lost as he walked out into the cool night to carry out Zeke's orders.

  Tingling with excitement, Budge stood. "I'll go retreive my gear. Excuse me, gentlemen." Retreating to his room, it didn't take long to remove the long, weathered case from beneath the bed. Its surface bore the marks of continuous abuse through miles of constant travel. Scratches and furrows crisscrossed in wild patterns, each one like a victory notch that would normally grace the pistol of a noted shootist.

  With a flick of his fingers on the latch, he flipped open the case. The glow of the lamp danced on the polished steel of Budge's prize possessions. His custom made .450 express, a .40 Winchester, and a Greener .12 bore
shotgun. Each one designed to strike with deadly force at a designated target. Budge caressed each one with paternal devotion, feeling the slickness of the gun oil on his fingertips.

  Weighing the terrain, the approximate size of the animal he was hunting, and taking into account the possibility of a thick hide, he lifted the .450 double. It would be the most effective. There was the shotgun which would most definitely bring the beast down, but then there would be too much damage and the possibility of a trophy would be lost. Besides, even discounting the fact that a snipe could "kill with its tail," Budge had no intention of getting that close to the snipe. Budge rolled his eyes at Zeke Craven's claims. The man did tell some outlandish stories.

  Picking up a heavy box of soft nose shells and a warm coat, he left the room, locking it securely behind him. The voice that came out of the shadows over his shoulder made him jump. He dropped the shells on the floor. Busting loose from their case, they rolled noisily around the wooden floor. Budge spun around.

  The bartender stood behind him, his face dour and pained.

  "You startled me!" Budge exclaimed, bending down to retreive the wayward ammunition. He chuckled nervously, hoping to ease the grim expression from the bartender. "Of course, my reflexes will be much sharper out in the bush. I'm just not used to..."

  "Those boys are just foolin' with you," the bartender interrupted gruffly. "They'll take you out into the deadlands and leave you."

  Awash with mortification, Budge stammered, "No they're not. They're my friends. We're going on a hunting expedition."

  The bartender winced. "Those men are no more your friends than mine. They're looking for some cheap entertainment and you're it."

  Budge froze for a moment, the ammunition biting into his hand as it unconsciously clenched around the loose shells. He rose slowly as the cold realization of his disaffection swept over him. Zeke and the others had been making fun of him. Not as friends would do, but as bullies.

  He should have known really. To them, his daring exploits must have seemed fanciful and preposterous. He had not been able to prove his claims and so their doubts and subsequent jabs had been sincere. He had just been too excited to see it.

  Perhaps they weren't to blame though. After all, they hardly knew him. Obviously he would still have to prove himself, only without the snipe which was just a fictional carrot to lure him out into the prairie. He saw that now. He would have to play the cowboys at their own game in order to win their respect and he knew just how to do it.

  Smiling suddenly, Budge clasped the bartender on the shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, my dear proprietor. I see now that I will have to prove myself in another fashion. I will turn the tables on them." He laughed loudly.

  The bartender remained stoic. "That's not such a good idea."

  "Nonsense! This is the only way to show that I am one of them. A man with a sense of humor. A man capable of playing a joke as well as taking one. Later, I will show them my prowess with a weapon."

  A voice from downstairs bellowed up. "Budge! Where in the Hell are you? You chicken out?"

  "I'll be down in a moment, Zeke," Budge responded. He turned back to the bartender, trying to ease the man's concern. "You shall have a round of drinks waiting on our return. We will all laugh about this come morning. You'll see." Budge traipsed down the stairs.

  Shaking his head ruefully, the bartender followed after. Zeke Craven's dark eyes narrowed at the sight of him and then they flicked to Budge.

  However, Budge approached Zeke grinning from ear to ear. "Let's away, my good friend. This snipe runs free and it is time to put a stop to its heinous rampage." He patted the cool steel of his rifle.

  Zeke relaxed. Budge was still oblivious. Plainly, Zeke had interrupted the bartender just in time. Searing the barkeep with a glare nonetheless, he put a protective arm around Budge's shoulders and led him out to the horses. Yes, this was going to be one amusing evening.

  ***

  The starlit prairie was cold as it was wont to be out in the deadlands. It wasn't just the fact that it was the desert; it heralded the awakening of things that were better left in the ground. When dead and evil things walked the good earth they left their mark in more ways than just physical tracks. Zeke could feel them stirring around him.

  Zeke looked behind him and Budge followed with a darting glance into the blue-tinged night. Sparse, spindly trees not much higher than a man cast dark, jagged shadows across the rolling ground like forsaken arms reaching for victims. Budge turned back to Zeke, shoving away morbid thoughts, and worked out a plan best suited for his revenge. He feigned interest in the matter at hand.

  "So tell me, Zeke, what else can I expect from this despicable creature? What are its habits?" He ignored the muffled guffaws from Zeke's compatriots.

  Zeke ignored all but Budge. He shifted his weight in the saddle so he was facing the Easterner, the creak of the leather sounding forlorn in the still night air. "Snipes like to lie in wait for their victims. They'll pick the best traveled trail and sit there for hours. Waiting. Sniffing. Drooling. Then SNAP!" Lucas and Earl jumped in their seats taken unawares by the outburst. "Your head's gone."

  Budge, placid and relaxed, merely smiled at them. "Is it nocturnal?"

  Zeke's brow wrinkled. "Is it what?"

  "I mean, does it move about in the day or in the night."

  "It moves around whenever the Hell it feels like moving around," Zeke snorted.

  "There was this one ol' prospector who rode out one day on his mule," Lucas offered. "Three weeks later, we found his rotting skull sitting pretty as you please right next to the headless body of his mule. Never did find the mule's head nor the miner's body."

  Budge grimaced and forced his eyes to widen with what he hoped was a sincere look of horror.

  Off in the distance could be seen the deserted remains of a farmhouse. Zeke pointed to it. "See that homestead over there? Less then a year ago it belonged to a sodbuster and his family. A wife and two kids."

  Budge's attention tracked toward the abandoned abode, bracing himself for the horrible yarn that he knew went with it. "What happened?"

  "Rode out one day and saw all their heads sitting atop scarecrow poles."

  Budge's stomach dipped slightly at the grisly tale but then remembered it was just a fabrication. "So you are implying this thing's intelligent?"

  Earl turned to look at Budge with a bored, disinterested expression. "Didn't we mention that?"

  The Easterner tried to keep the smirk from his face. "No, you neglected to cite that rather critical factor." The boys had just gone too far with their little story.

  "Well Hell, it's just an animal with a sense of humor, is all." Zeke spurred his horse a little faster. "You don't mean to tell me that lions and tigers and bears don't think about their kills and then play with them for a bit."

  Budge cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose they do, but they're certainly not intelligent enough to..."

  Zeke reined in his horse abruptly, standing in his stirrups and then dropping down again. "We're here. Leave the horses. A snipe can hear them comin' a mile away." Dismounting and wrapping the rein of his steed over the nearest sage bush, Zeke brought a finger to his lips signaling for silence. He motioned with his hand and they crept forward.

  There was a slight rustle to Budge's immediate left and he flinched, his rifle snapping up quickly to cover the area.

  Zeke snorted. "It's just a damn jackrabbit is all. Too small to be a snipe. You need to calm down some." He pulled out a whiskey flask. "Here. Take a swig of this."

  Budge shook his head. He didn't want to be any more inebriated than he already was. He would need his wits about him in order to pull off this prank against these cowboys. He wiped down his sweating brow while Zeke and the others shared the flask.

  Budge's nerves were playing with him. All this talk of murders and heads was getting to him. The prairie seemed darker and more foreboding. Shadows took on new indiscernible forms. He angrily told
himself that the cowboys were only playing with his head. There was nothing out here but cactus and sand. He'd show them, show them that an Easterner could out-think any one of them with no effort at all.

  After fifteen minutes of working their way north into the scrub, Zeke lifted a hand and everyone dropped down beside him into the dust. Zeke sidled up to Budge and pointed to a distant wadi, whispering, "That's the snipe's lair. We'll wait for you over that last ridge in case you need us. Be careful."

  Budge twisted on his side to stare at Zeke. He placed a light hand on the cowboy's shoulder. "Thank you, Zeke. Thank you for this opportunity to show you all that I'm not just some inept fancy pants. You're a true friend."

  Zeke shifted uncomfortably at Budge's admission. "Yeah okay. Just-uh—watch yourself."

  Thin-boned fingers gripped the .450 express, attempting to use its steel construction as a means of transferring strength and resolve. With the barest of nods to the men, Budge slipped down the small slope before them. He started off towards the wadi until he heard the cowboys scuttling off.

  Budge stopped and smiled. It was time.

  He'd keep below the ridge and circle back the half mile where they had left their horses. He'd keep low and come around behind them. The night was bright enough. It wouldn't take long at all. He'd gather up all the ponies and head back to the Dead Eye Saloon. He'd be there waiting for Zeke and the others to trek back into town. Budge would buy them a round of drinks to ease their parched throats and they would all have a good laugh about how clever he had been. He had seen through their little prank and had played it in his favor.

  Zeke Craven would even be suitably impressed once he got over his annoyance at being showed up by a mousy greenhorn. But after a few drinks the blustering cowboy would forget and sing the praises of Budge's ingenuity.

  Budge allowed himself a small rush of satisfaction. He looked forward to the moment when Zeke would realize just how much Budge fit into this wild and wooly world. One didn't spend half his life out in the bush without becoming proficient in the art of the hunt and turning the tables on one's opponent.