Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Harley returned from the barn a few minutes later with another man, this one blond and pudgy. Dennis Barrow, Flint decided. He looked younger than Harley but older than Chuck and Eddie. Harley was hurrying him along, clearly the man in charge in this family.

  "This here's all of us, Marshal," Harley said when he and Dennis had reached the water trough. "Now, I'm goin' to ask these boys a question, and I want you to listen right smart to their answer."

  "All right," Flint replied with a nod.

  "Fellers," Harley said, facing his brother and cousins, "have any of you put anythin' in that booze that'd hurt anybody?"

  The twins shook their heads, and Dennis Barrow said, "Lordy, Harley, you know we wouldn't do that. We drink it ourselves!"

  Harley turned to glare at Flint. "There's your answer, Marshal. Now, unless you want to call any of us liars, you'd best get on your hoss and ride out of here. We ain't particular who comes to see us, but I reckon we'll draw the line at you."

  Flint kept a tight rein on his temper and tried to ignore the man's goading. "You won't let me take a look at your still?"

  "You're on our property, Mister Lawman. You got no right to do anythin' we don't want you to." Harley gestured sharply with the rifle in his hands. "Now

  git!"

  Flint sighed and walked over to his horse, which was munching on the brush now that the shooting had stopped. As he caught the reins and swung into the saddle, he said, "You boys would be better off if you gave up moonshining and stuck to raising hogs. Buster's not going to be buying any more booze from you, and I figure word will get around pretty quickly about what's happened."

  "Told you, it ain't our fault those fellers died. We didn't have nothin' to do with it." Harley laughed harshly. "Don't reckon all of our customers will desert us."

  Flint had the sinking feeling that Harley was right. Most of the men who operated the area's roadhouses and dives wouldn’t care that they might be taking a chance with their customers' lives. As long as the Barrows sold their whiskey cheaper than anyone else, they would have buyers.

  "You'd better be real careful with that brew," Flint warned. "If anybody else dies, I'll come out here with a posse."

  Harley dropped the barrel of his rifle slightly and pressed the trigger. The weapon blasted, and the bullet slammed into the ground in front of Flint's horse, making the animal dance nervously backward. "Told you to git," Harley said with a gap-toothed grin.

  Flint stared at him for a moment longer, then wheeled his horse and urged it to a trot. The muscles in his back felt tight; he knew the Barrows were watching him ride away. But none of them tried to put a bullet in him, and he breathed a little easier when he topped the rise and rode out of sight of the farm.

  He was furious. The Barrows had taken several shots at him, and he could have arrested them for that. But they wouldn’t have gone peacefully, and Flint felt certain that someone would have died if he had pressed the issue. Three men had died already. He wanted to avoid any more deaths.

  But all the way back to Abilene, he felt, by turns, angry and puzzled.

  Harley Barrow had sounded sincere when he claimed that they hadn’t produced any bad whiskey, and so had the others. Of course, they might not know that something was wrong with their brew. They might have just been lucky that it hadn’t killed them, too.

  But if the whiskey hadn’t killed Pendleton, Stockton, and Downing, what had?

  Flint was still mulling that over as he rode back into Abilene later that afternoon. When he arrived at the marshal's office, he found no one there, so he strolled down Texas Street to Angus's, looking for Cully.

  "Aye, Lucas, the lad was here earlier," Angus told him as he drew a mug of cold beer for Flint. "He was still looking f’ his brother."

  Flint nodded, not surprised. He took a grateful sip of the beer and then said, "I've got something else on my mind right now, Angus. Do you know some people named Barrow?"

  The Scotsman's face reddened. "Aye, and a filthy lot they be!" he grumbled. "The scuts come in here a while back and tried t' sell me some o' their foul brew. I took one taste and told 'em t' peddle their poison elsewhere. I serve only the finest whiskey, as ye well know."

  "Poison, eh?" Flint said, his interest quickening.

  Angus waved a big hand. "Twas only a figure o' speech, Lucas. I dinna know wha' was in the stuff, but 'twould give even an Indian the blind staggers, I'm telling ye."

  "They manage to sell some of it, though."

  "Oh, aye," Angus grunted disgustedly. "Some saloonkeepers only care f’ the money they can make by stocking such cheap whiskey. But Angus MacQuarrie isn’t one o' tha' breed!"

  Flint laughed. "And your customers appreciate that, Angus." He drained his beer mug and placed it on the bar. "I suppose I'd better go find Cully and make sure everything was quiet while I was gone." He dropped a coin on the hardwood next to the mug. "Is everything all right here?"

  Angus winked slowly and nodded. "Aye, 'tis coming along just fine, Lucas."

  With a wave, Flint left the tavern and strolled out into the late afternoon sunlight. He groaned inwardly when he noticed a figure striding jauntily up the boardwalk toward him. Phillip G. Walton of the Wagon Wheel Distillery cut quite a flashy figure.

  When Walton recognized Flint, he grinned broadly. "Good afternoon, Marshal," he called heartily. "You've been in Angus's, I see. That's just where I was headed. If you'd care to return, I'd be glad to buy you a drink."

  "No, thanks, Walton," Flint said shortly, struggling to keep his dislike for the drummer from surfacing. "I've got work to do."

  "As do I, Marshal, as do I." Walton's grin widened. "Lawmen and salesmen don't get the Sabbath off, do they?"

  "Lawbreaking goes on seven days a week."

  "And so does opportunity." Walton gave Flint a friendly nod and moved past him to the door of Angus's. Flint wondered if Angus would buy some whiskey from the persistent drummer just to get rid of him. The marshal shook his head and, smiling faintly,

  walked away to look for Cully.

  9

  The wagon bounced over the rutted trail, jarring the four men who rode in it. Harley Barrow and his brother Dennis were on the seat, Harley handling the reins, while their cousins Chuck and Eddie rode in the wagon bed. Lucas Flint had visited their farm the day before. Despite that, they were headed south, toward Abilene.

  "I still ain't sure about this, Harley," Dennis said worriedly to his older brother. "That marshal's liable to be mad at us. He might try to make trouble if'n he sees us in town."

  Harley snorted derisively. "I ain't a-scared of no marshal, and I sure as hell ain't goin' to let him buffalo us. We need some supplies, and we'll go into town and get 'em, by God!"

  Chuck leaned toward the wagon seat and yelled over the rattling of the wheels, "But what if he decides to put us in jail for shootin' at him?"

  "He was trespassin' on our property!" Harley growled. "We was just protectin' our place when we shot at him. We didn't know he was a marshal—"

  "But he sang out and told us who he was," Eddie cut in.

  "Will you shut up?" Harley said angrily. "I'm tellin' you the way it was, so just keep your yap shut and listen!"

  "Awright, awright," Eddie mumbled, glaring down at the wagon bed.

  "The marshal was trespassin'. That's our story if we need one. All of you understand?"

  "Sure, Harley," Dennis whined. "We ain't stupid, you know."

  Harley snorted disgustedly but didn’t reply.

  Maybe he was pushing things by going into Abilene so soon after the run-in with Flint. In the time they had lived on the farm, they had avoided dealing with the law, and that was the way Harley liked it. But he wasn’t going to let any man back him down, not even a star-packer like Lucas Flint.

  They reached Abilene about midmorning and pulled the wagon to a halt at Karatofsky's Great Western Store to stock up on supplies. Harley collected the flour, sugar, coffee, beans, and salt they needed, while Dennis, Chuck, and Eddie paid
more attention to the jars of candy sitting on top of the main counter. Harley had to smile a little as he listened to them arguing about which was better, licorice or peppermint. They're good fellows, he thought, not long on brains, but a man has to stand by his kin.

  It was nearly noon by the time the supplies had been bought and loaded onto the wagon. Harley had given in to the pleas for a treat, and each of the other three had a string of licorice to take home with him. As they stood on the boardwalk in front of the store, preparing to climb into the wagon, Dennis looked down the street and said, "Harley, you think we could get somethin' to eat? I'm powerful hungry."

  "You got licorice," Harley pointed out.

  "No, I'm talkin' about a real meal, somethin' at a café. We ain't et in a café in a long time."

  "I reckon that's true enough," Harley mused. So far, they hadn’t encountered the marshal during this trip to town, but if they stayed around longer, that would increase the odds of a meeting that might turn out to be troublesome. The smart thing would be to get into the wagon and head out of Abilene while they could.

  "Can't we do what Dennis says, Harley?" Chuck wailed plaintively. "We might even find us a place that's got a purty little servin' gal."

  Harley nodded abruptly. "All right. Let's go find us a place to eat." The others had obviously forgotten about Lucas Flint, and Harley was damned if he was going to worry about him.

  The Barrows strolled down Texas Street, looking for a café that struck their fancy. They passed the marshal's office on the other side of the street, and Harley found himself glancing nervously toward it.

  "How about here?" Dennis asked a moment later. He pointed to a tidy building with bright gingham curtains in its clean windows and gilt letters on the glass that read RED TOP CAFÉ.

  "Looks fine," Harley agreed. "Come on, boys."

  As he opened the door, a little bell above his head tinkled. Surprised, Harley glanced up, then stepped inside, the others following closely behind him. The café was doing a brisk business at this time of day, but Harley spotted a vacant table in the center of the room and led the Barrows toward it.

  He noticed the disapproving looks that some of the customers cast their way, and he glared right back at them. He knew very well that he and his relatives smelled of hogs and were not as clean as most folks, but that was their business. If somebody didn’t like it, they could just leave, as far as Harley was concerned.

  One man gave them a particularly hostile look. Harley returned the scowl and growled, "Somethin' botherin' you, mister?" As he spoke, he rested his hand on the hilt of the knife sheathed on his hip.

  The man hurriedly shook his head when he saw the look in Harley's eyes. "Nothing bothering me," he mumbled, then turned back to his food.

  "Didn't think so," Harley rasped. He led the way to the empty table and sat down.

  When all of them were seated, Harley looked toward the counter where some of the diners sat and noticed a pretty, redheaded young woman standing behind it and looking apprehensively at them. She was wearing an apron and had to be the serving girl. Putting a leering grin on his face, Harley raised a hand. "Oh, miss," he called in a deceptively mild voice.

  The redhead took a deep breath and came over to the table. "Hello," she said in a quavering voice. "What can I do for you?"

  "We want to eat!" replied Chuck excitedly.

  Eddie nodded. "Can you bring us some food?"

  "Well...I guess so. But I have to know what you want."

  Dennis, Chuck, and Eddie exchanged surprised glances. "You mean we get to pick what we want?" Dennis exclaimed.

  The young woman pointed to a menu board that was hanging on the wall behind the counter. "That's what we're serving today. You just look it over, tell me what you want, and I'll bring it to you." She blushed nervously and hesitated, then went on, "You...you do have some money, don't you?"

  "We can pay, gal," Harley said. "But we don't read so good. Reckon you've got steaks, don't you?"

  "Yes, sir, we surely do."

  "Bring us the biggest four you got with plenty of taters and beans and cornbread. That be all right?"

  "Yes, sir, that will be fine." The waitress started to turn away.

  "One more thing, gal," Harley called after her. "What's your name?"

  She hesitated, then finally said, "It's Alice, Alice Hammond."

  "Well, we're right pleased to meet you, Alice. I'm Harley Barrow, and these here are my brother, Denton, and my cousins, Chuck and Eddie. Say howdy to the lady, boys."

  The others jerked their hats off and nodded to Alice. Chuck started to say something, got his tongue tangled, and stopped in embarrassment. Alice said quickly, "Ah, I'll get your food," and hurried off.

  Eddie turned to his brother and swatted Chuck with his hat. "You scared her off, ya damned fool! What was you tryin' to do?"

  "Harley told us to say howdy," Chuck protested.

  "That's all I wanted to do. Lordy, did you ever see a gal quite so purty?"

  "I never did, not in all my born days," Eddie agreed. "Ain't nothin' purtier'n a redhaired gal."

  Harley sat back and listened to his cousins talk about Alice. Both of them were obviously quite taken with her. She was pretty enough, Harley supposed, but he had other things on his mind these days besides females. But getting all worked up over a gal was to be expected with young fellows like Chuck and Eddie.

  "I think I'm goin' to court her," Chuck said, leaning forward excitedly and casting glances toward the kitchen door where Alice had disappeared.

  "Hell, you can't court her!" Eddie exclaimed.

  Chuck frowned darkly. "Why not?" he asked.

  "Because I'm courtin' her, that's why!"

  "The hell you are!"

  "That's right, I am, and there ain't nothin' you can do about it, Chuck Barrow."

  Chuck scraped his chair back and started to stand up. "That's what you think, you polecat! Get up and we'll just see who's goin' to—"

  Harley reached out, grasped the sleeve of his cousin's coat, and yanked him back into his seat. "Both of you boys settle down," he snapped. "You go to fightin' in here, you'll just get all the other folks upset."

  "Yeah, and somebody's liable to call that marshal!" Dennis added.

  Chuck and Eddie quieted down, but they kept glaring at each other. They had always been friends, the way twin brothers should be, but Harley could tell that their mutual interest in Alice Hammond might drive a wedge between them.

  "Just take it easy," he advised them. "You boys got more important things to worry about than some gal, even a redhaired one." He lowered his voice so that he couldn’t be overheard as he went on, "We got that load to take over to Faulk's place this afternoon."

  The twins nodded grudgingly, remembering the barrels of whiskey that had to be picked up at the farm and then delivered to a roadhouse a few miles east. "All right," Chuck muttered. "But I'm goin' to tell that gal how purty she is."

  "Not if I tell her first!" Eddie shot back.

  Harley scowled at both of them to keep the argument from starting all over again, and the Barrows were fairly quiet then as they waited for their food. A few minutes later, Alice bustled through the kitchen doorway, carrying several huge platters. With practiced ease, she brought them to the table and placed a platter in front of each of the four men.

  "Now don't that look downright dee-licious," Harley said, sniffing the air and gazing down at the thick steak and the heaping mounds of vegetables on his dish. The others were equally impressed.

  Alice started to step away from the table, but Chuck stopped her by saying, "Miss Alice, there's somethin' I got to tell you—"

  "You're the purtiest gal we ever seen!" Eddie interrupted, grinning up at her.

  "Dammit, Eddie, I was goin' to tell her!" Chuck exploded. He snatched up a piece of cornbread and drew back his arm. "I oughtta chunk this at you!"

  "Chuck!" Harley said sharply. "We don't fight with food when we ain't at home, you know that. Now put that down."
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  Chuck sighed. "Awright." He looked up at Alice and went on, "But I'm tellin' you right now, Miss Alice, I intend to come courtin' you. Whereabouts do you live?"

  Before the astonished Alice could answer, Eddie said, "I'm courtin' you, too, ma'am. So you're goin' to have to make up your mind which one of us you want."

  "I...I..." Alice stammered. She glanced around wildly.

  Harley nodded solemnly and said, "I can see where it'd be a right hard choice, ma'am, seein' as how both of my cousins are such handsome, upstandin' fellers. You just take your time and think it over."

  "No," Eddie protested. "I want her to make her mind up right now."

  "So do I," Chuck insisted. "Choose me, Miss Alice. I'm a heap smarter than Eddie."

  "The devil you say! Come on! Come on, boy, let's have this out! Winner gets the gal."

  Chuck doubled his fists and started to stand up. "Fine by me!" he declared.

  A flustered Alice finally found her voice. "You...you're letting your food get cold. Don't you think you ought to sit down and eat and settle this later?"

  "Naw, it's too important," Chuck told her. "We got to decide right now. We sure as hell can't divvy you up."

  With the tinkling of the little bell, the café door opened, and Alice threw a frantic look over her shoulder. A huge sigh of relief escaped from her lips as Deputy Cully Markham strode into the room.

  "I'm sorry, boys," she said hurriedly. "But I don't think either of you can come to court me. You see, I've already got a steady beau." She turned around and practically ran to Cully, who had started to greet her but stood with a puzzled expression on his face as she clutched his arm. Alice tilted her head back, smiled dazzlingly up at him, and said in a loud voice, "Hello, darling!"

  Then she rose on her toes and planted a kiss on his lips.

  Harley thought the deputy looked a little surprised, but then Cully's arms slipped around Alice and tightened, pulling her into an embrace just the way a beau would. The kiss certainly looked genuine. "All right, boys," Harley said flatly. "You can see for yourself that the gal's got herself a man already, so I don't want no more arguin' about this."