Ralph Compton Nowhere, TX

by Compton, Ralph

“Rights, hell!” another Bar J hand exclaimed. “We should round up the rest of the boys and march back in there!”

  “Let it go,” Marshal Lunsford said. “Two bodies are enough for one night.”

  “But Joe swore that son of a bitch with a scar was cheatin’,” the cowpoke said. “We let Craven get away with it once and he’ll think he can get away with it all the time.”

  “It’s not Craven you have to worry about. It’s the one with the Remingtons. There aren’t any five of you who could tangle with him and come out ahead. He’s more gun wise than your whole outfit combined.”

  “Hell, you make him sound like John Wesley Hardin.”

  “You don’t know how close you are,” Lunsford said, and left chins wagging in his wake.

  Cooley turned to Kip Langtree. “Find Randy and the others and have them meet me at the livery.” He quickly caught up with the lawman. “You know who he is, don’t you, Marshal?”

  Lunsford kept on walking. “I knew who most of them were the day they rode in. Longley. Ben Towers. Craven. They all have reputations. And last I’d heard, they were all riding for Black Jack.”

  Cooley broke stride. “The outlaw who’s been mur derin’ and robbin’ for ten years or better? The one who operates out of the mesa country?”

  “One and the same. Jack Shelton is Black Jack, or I’ll eat my hat. No one ever knew Black Jack’s last name, and I doubt Shelton is it. But he fits the description. All those gunnies clinch it.”

  “Then why haven’t you done something?”

  Lunsford had reached the jail. “Care for a drink? I talk better when my throat is lubricated.”

  “I’ll hear you out,” Lin said.

  The place was a sty. Empty whiskey bottles, newspapers and trash littered the floor. Blankets were heaped on a cot. Marshal Lunsford sat behind his desk, swept a pile of papers off it, and produced a half-full bottle. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t often have company these days.”

  Cooley accepted the whiskey but didn’t drink. “It’s your job to keep this town safe, isn’t it?”

  “The people of the town, yes,” Lunsford said. He polished off his glass in two gulps and immediately poured another. “But in case you haven’t been in town long enough to notice, the good people of Nowhere have taken a shine to Black Jack and his curs. They think Black Jack is the best thing since pickled eggs.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “It can when they’re making money hand over fist. You should hear them. The Palmers, the Wilsons, Svenson and Renfro, they all sing Shelton’s praises.”

  “Have you told them who he is?”

  “No. And I’m not about to.” Lunsford imbibed more rotgut. “The situation is complicated.”

  “What’s so hard about deputizin’ every man in town and every rider at the Bar J and the Circle C and roundin’ up these owlhoots?”

  “For one thing, I don’t have the legal authority to arrest them. Yes, Black Jack is wanted in Texas, and yes, he’s wanted in Kansas, but this is No Man’s Land, smack between the two. Federal and state laws don’t apply. So long as he doesn’t step out of line, my hands are tied.”

  “Why not contact the Texas Rangers?”

  “Because they’d have the same problem I do. No authority. Extradition papers don’t apply here.”

  “There must be something,” Lin insisted.

  “Sure. I could try to throw them out on general principle but is that worth all the lives it might cost?”

  “So they’re free to ride roughshod? To do as they please with no regard for who they trample?”

  “That’s just it.” Lunsford refilled his glass. “Black Jack is playing this smart. He’s being downright nice to everyone. Lining their pockets while lining his own. And keeping a tight leash on his curly wolves.”

  “Damn,” Cooley said.

  “Damn is right,” Lunsford echoed. “There’s nothing I want more than to bring Black Jack down.”

  “Maybe someone will do it for you,” Lin said. “Once Seth Jackson hears about tonight, he’s apt to ride in here with the Bar J hands and clean house.”

  “Maybe,” Marshal Lunsford said, but he didn’t sound confident. “The big question I need answered is where does the Circle C stand in all this?”

  “I can’t speak for Mr. Storm.”

  “I know. But you can pass on what I’ve told you. Tell him that if the Circle C will back me, I’ll run Black Jack out. Your outfit is twice the size of the Bar J.”

  “We’re all loyal to the brand,” Lin said. “But few of our boys have ever shot anything bigger than a rattlesnake.”

  “You have.”

  “I’m not in Longley’s class.”

  Lunsford wagged his glass, spilling some of the whiskey. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve seen you draw. You can hold your own with any pistolero born.”

  Cooley moved to the window and tried to open it but it was stuck. “Stuffy in here, don’t you reckon?”

  “I really need to know.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Storm. That’s the best I can do for now.”

  “Ah, well.” Marshal Lunsford dispensed with his glass and drank straight from the bottle. “I suppose I could always shed this tin star and head East, maybe land a job as a clerk.”

  “What’s keepin’ you here?”

  “Pride. I’m next to worthless but I’m not completely worthless and until I am, I’ll discharge my duties as best I can.” Lunsford grinned. “Which, for the past month or so, has meant pretending I’m a turtle.”

  “I never took you for one to booger easy.”

  “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for the compliment. Some in town think I’m down in my boots. I’m not. I just don’t want to get killed if I can help it until I’m ready. I’d like to pick the time and the place, and have it mean something.”

  Lin stepped to the door. “Keep your eyes skinned, hoss.”

  The night air was refreshingly cool after the stifling confines of the jail. Up the street a crowd milled in front of the saloon. Several Bar J hands were carrying a plank toward the blacksmith’s; on it lay Joe Elliot.

  Lin walked the other way. Old Man Taylor hadn’t left his rocking chair but had stopped whittling. Near the stable were his friends. Amos and Moses were holding on to Randy, for some reason. Kip was hanging back, unwilling to take part.

  “What’s this about?”

  “A sidewinder named Braden is courtin’ Sally!” Randy Quin raged. “I want to splatter his brains all over creation but they won’t let me.”

  “You can tell me all about it on the way back to the Circle C.”

  “We’re leavin’ already?” This from Kip Langtree. “I had my heart set on triflin’ with that skinny dove. I like gals with more bone than blubber.”

  “I’ve news for the big augur that won’t wait.” Lin placed a hand on Randy’s shoulder. “I need you to calm down, pard. We’ll get this girl business sorted out as soon as this other is tended to. My range word on that.”

  A growl escaped Randy, but gradually he deflated. “I reckon I could use some time to think.”

  It was a sober and solemn fivesome who rode out of Nowhere ten minutes later. Only once did Lin look back. The twinkling lights looked much the same as they had earlier but he wasn’t fooled; nothing would ever be the same again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chick Storm was troubled. His ramrod’s report weighed heavily on his shoulders. He mulled it over for several days, and that evening, at supper, he announced, “I’m thinking I should take our punchers and go run that gun crowd out of Nowhere. All I need is your blessing.”

  “Which you won’t get,” Dixie informed him, and speared a carrot.

  “Mind telling me why? We have a stake there, don’t we? We shop there. It’s where our boys indulge their vices.”

  “We do more shopping in Beaver City,” Dixie said. “And when it comes to vices, Beaver City has Nowhere beat all hollow.” She set down her fork. “It’s the principl
e of the thing. Our principle. Namely, we never meddle where it doesn’t directly concern us or the Circle C.”

  “And this doesn’t?”

  “Dub Wheeton owns the saloon. Not us. If he wants to hire floozies and allow gunplay, it’s his funeral.”

  “Seth Jackson is a friend and I know Joe Elliott well. I’ve met a lot of the Bar J hands, besides.”

  “Male logic,” Dixie said in reproach, and bestowed what Chick liked to refer to as her “wifely look.” “Men are living proof the Good Lord saved all the smarts for Eve.”

  “That’s a bit harsh.”

  “Is it? You’ve always been a better friend to Seth than he’s been to you. And all you ever did with Joe Elliot was share a few drinks. As for those others, if a body went around protecting everyone they met, they’d never have a life of their own.” Dixie resumed eating. Her attitude suggested the matter was closed.

  Chick poked at his steak. “I should go see Seth, at least.”

  “Is it Christmas and no one told me?”

  “Dang it, woman. He’s not plumb worthless,” Chick said. “And in case you’ve conveniently forgotten, he and I were the first to bring cattle into this part of the country.”

  “So you’re twins and no one told me?” Dixie said facetiously. “Go see him if you want. But don’t pretend it’s anything more than your silly male dander.” And here she lowered her voice even though no one was around to hear. “He’s not the man you are. He doesn’t have your moral fiber.”

  “All this because he gambles?”

  “All this because you can’t wring gold out of coal. Don’t commit us to anything unless you talk to me first. Promise?”

  “I always do what you want, don’t I?” Never once, in all the years of their marriage, had Chick struck his own course.

  “That’s good enough for me,” Dixie said. “Be sure to take Lin with you.”

  “I’m not in diapers, thank you very much.”

  “You’re not a pistolero, either. You told me yourself that Longley is a tie-down man, and I doubt those others tote lead for bluff or ballast.” Dixie jabbed her fork in his direction. “Lin is a first-rate leather slapper, and the toughest hombre on the Circle C. He’s the only one I can depend on not to let you down. You’ll take him or I’ll bolt the bedroom door for six months.”

  Chick was appalled. “This is serious enough for that?”

  “Where your life is at stake, I can fight dirty as hell.” Dixie caught herself, and blushed demurely. “I meant, dirty as the dickens.”

  “Sure you did. And I saw a heifer fly yesterday.”

  That night she didn’t bolt the door, and next morning Chick was up before the sun, feeling frisky and young again. He told her to sleep in, to not bother getting up on his account, but she pooh-poohed the notion and insisted on making breakfast and a pot of fresh coffee.

  Chick had sent word to Lin the night before. There was a light knock on the door just as Dixie was setting out their plates. She admitted their foreman, and brought him back to the kitchen despite his protests that he was content to wait out front.

  “Nonsense,” Dixie said, pulling out a chair. “Plant yourself and prepare your stomach. It’s in for a treat.”

  “I don’t want to impose, ma’am.”

  “If you were, you’d have my boot up your backside.”

  Chick chuckled at Cooley’s perplexity. “There’s no modesty in her family. She grabbed it all. You might as well give in.”

  “I’ll take some coffee then, ma’am,” Lin said.

  “You’ll take eggs and bacon and toast and a sticky bun or three,” Dixie said. “No man leaves my table hungry.” She winked. “You forget, Lin Cooley. I’ve seen you eat. It’s like watching a starved wolf.”

  “My ma always said a man should never be ashamed of his appetite.”

  “And mothers always know best.” Dixie was bustling about the stove. “Why, if it weren’t for us, half the people in this world would turn out more worthless than they already are.”

  “You’ll have to forgive her,” Chick said. “She thinks I’m making a mistake so she’s taking it out on those around me.”

  “She could be right,” Lin said.

  Dixie stopped cracking eggs. “A rider stopped at the bunkhouse last night. I saw him from our window. Who was he?”

  “Toby Gill from the Bar J,” Lin confirmed. “He was askin’ whether we need a new hand.”

  “No one told me he was here.” Chick looked pointedly at his wife.

  “You had turned in early to rest up for your ride,” Dixie reminded him. “I wasn’t about to wake you.” She motioned at Cooley. “Go on, Lin. Why was he looking for work? He’s been with the Bar J a few years now, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He hasn’t quit yet but he’d like to. Things aren’t so good. A lot of their punchers are ready to cut tethers. It seems Mr. Jackson has lost their respect.”

  “What?” Chick forgot about his coffee. “That can be the death of a ranch, the first step from a top-notch outfit to a siwash outfit. Seth Jackson is too smart to let something like that happen.”

  “I’m only repeatin’ what Toby Gill told us,” Lin said. “There have been whispers of strange goings-on at the Bar J. And it hasn’t helped that Mr. Jackson won’t let his men pay those polecats in Nowhere a visit for what they did to Joe and the others.”

  “It’s good we’re going, then,” Chick said. “It sounds like Seth can use my help.”

  Dixie looked at Lin Cooley. “My husband comes home safe, you hear? He’s got more honor in his little finger than most have in their whole bodies, and he thinks his friends are the same even when they have more holes in their sombrero than a moth-eaten coat. You understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I wish I did,” Chick complained. “You make it sound like I go through life with blinders on. I ain’t no horse.”

  “Aren’t a horse,” Dixie corrected his grammar. Coming around the table, she tenderly took hold of his chin. “What you are, Chickory Isaiah Storm, is the most decent man alive. I thank God every day you were deluded enough to want to share breakfast with me the rest of your life.”

  Chick grinned. “I always take pity on loco fillies.”

  His volley brought a laugh from Lin, who quickly coughed and became intensely interested in the salt and pepper shakers.

  After breakfast Dixie walked with them onto the porch and hugged Chick, then kissed his cheek.

  “You’d think I was leaving for China.”

  Dixie snagged Lin’s wrist as he walked past. “Re member what I said. I’m counting on you. You’re the only other man in this world I trust besides him.”

  When the ranch was behind them, Chick let it be known, “Being married to her is never boring, I’ll say that, but she does ride a man powerful hard.”

  “Most punchers would give anything for a gal who would dote on them like Mrs. Storm dotes on you,” Lin said. “We’ve got one in the bunkhouse right this minute who can’t hardly eat or sleep.”

  “Randy is taking it hard?”

  “Any harder, and he’d be like that egg that fell off that wall. In more pieces than we could put back together with all the glue ever made.”

  “Young love is always a trial,” Chick remarked. “Then again, so is anything involving females.”

  Lin grunted. “Which is why I’ve sworn off.”

  “Is this a temporary insanity or do you plan to go to your grave without ever having been in harness?”

  “I won’t kid myself. I talk big, but the first pretty filly who shows interest, I’ll probably make a fool of myself.”

  “Got to admire an honest man.” Chick grinned.

  After that, conversation was sparse. They rode until sunset and made camp on the open prairie. Lin gathered brush and kindled a fire but it was Chick who made coffee and treated them to beans and biscuits Dixie had packed in his saddlebags.

  Stars bloomed like flowers in the spring, filling the fi
rmament with shimmering petals of light.

  Sitting back against his saddle, Chick commented, “Lord, I do so love this life.”

  “It has its attractions.”

  “The sun, the mesquite, the wind, the night sky,” Chick recited. “A good horse under you and a good woman waiting for you to come back. Life doesn’t get any sweeter than this.”

  “You’ve got it licked, big sugar,” Lin praised him.

  Chick grew thoughtful. “No one ever holds high trump on life. The best we can do is keep the varmints at bay until our string plays out.”

  “Why, boss. I had no notion Old Man Taylor and you are related. You’re as cynical as he is.”

  “I call it being realistic,” Chick said. “Life is hard. Anyone who thinks different can’t see the thorns for the roses.”

  Sleep came easily. Chick listened to the crackle of the fire as it died down and the distant wail of lonesome coyotes and eventually succumbed to slumber. By nature he was an early riser but Lin Cooley was up before him and already rekindling the fire. They drank coffee for breakfast and were in the saddle before a golden halo crowned the rim of the world.

  By the third morning Chick regretted being so impetuous. He disliked being away from Dixie. Her smile, her touch, the feel of her at night, so warm and so wonderfully soft, were the tonic that put zest in his step.

  The more Chick thought about it, the more he realized she had been right, as always. He was a better friend to Seth Jackson than Seth had ever been to him. Seth would never do what he was doing, were the situation reversed. But he was committed, and he would see it through to the end.

  Lin seldom spoke unless Chick brought something up. It wasn’t in the foreman’s nature. Except when joking with his pards, Lin was a man of few words, and Chick respected that. The best ones, in his estimation, were always on the silent side.

  Dixie would have talked Chick’s head off. She could gab the ears off a spinster, and the funny thing was, Chick never minded. Most talkative types had him hankering for earplugs, but not Dixie. He could listen to her chatter for hours and it would roll off him like drops of water off a duck. Why that should be had always been a mystery—especially since, in his younger days, Chick could never abide a person who ran off at the mouth. It was amazing what love could do.