by Van Holt
With that Ringo reined the black around and galloped off across the desert where there wasn’t a sign of a trail—at least Curly didn’t think at first that there was a sign of a trail.
“Hey, where you going?” he called.
But Ringo kept going and didn’t answer or look back.
It was then that Curly glanced at the ground and saw the tracks of a half dozen horses that Ringo had been following all the time. While Curly was sitting so tall and proud in the saddle, with his head so high, that he hadn’t even noticed the tracks.
Curly turned the Appaloosa and rode back toward town, telling himself that it was the Lefferts gang that was short-handed, not Ringo.
Chapter 7
When Curly got back to town, the eastbound stage stood hitched and ready to go in front of the hotel. Sid Gilstrap, the driver, was in the dining room eating—and Uncle Willy, the only passenger, was just climbing into the coach. Seeing him, Curly reined in beside the stage and peered through the window at him. The old cowman looked a little sheepish, and more than a little scared.
“You pulling out already, Uncle Willy?” Curly asked in surprise. “Hell, I didn’t think you meant today.”
“Well, I never either, Curly,” Uncle Willy said. “But I decided I better git out while I can. I’m afraid if I go back to the ranch, them boys will kill me. They think I sent for that feller Ringo. Curly, why didn’t you tell me it was him?”
“I figgered you already knew,” Curly said.
Uncle Willy looked at him in alarm, then pulled out his dirty bandanna and mopped his long horse face. “Curly, I swear I didn’t even know he was still alive, although that story I heard about how he died always made me wonder. I was ready to git on my horse and head on back to the ranch when Pike and them rode up and commenced to threaten me. They said they knew Ringo was in town and they figgered I sent for him. They said they was gonna take care a me and then git him, wherever he was hidin’.
“Just then Ringo come outa the hotel and them boys looked like they’d seen a ghost. I never saw such wild fear on men’s faces in all my life. They was still in the saddle and all of a sudden they turned their horses and rode outa town like the devil hisself was right behind them. I never saw nothin’ like it, six grown men runnin’ from one that way.
“That tall feller never even looked at me. He just went down the street to the stable to git his horse and then follered them like he wasn’t in no hurry or didn’t want to attract attention. But when he rode back by I noticed his face was hard as a rock and his eyes were cold as ice.”
“You think Pike and them would bother you if you went back to the ranch?” Curly asked.
“Curly, I ain’t takin’ no chances,” the old rancher said. “I got some friends in Texas I can stay with till things quiet down around here. If things don’t quiet down, I may just decide not to come back. I’ve had a bad feelin’ ever since you boys started callin’ this place Boot Hill. It was like a bad sign. I figger if I don’t git out while I can, I’ll git buried here. I won’t breathe easy till I’m back in Texas. When I go by the ranch I aim to lay down so them boys won’t see me. But it’d be just my luck for them to pick this stage to hold up. I know they used to hold up stages over around Tombstone and Benson, ‘cause I’ve heard them braggin’ about it.”
“Me and the Hatcher boys have had our eyes on some horses below the border,” Curly said. “We were thinking about going after them in a few days.”
“Well, just keep track of how many head there is and I’ll settle up with you when I git back,” Uncle Willy said. “If I decide not to come back, Grady knows where to git in touch with me in Texas. Just give him the list. Even if I decide to sell out, I’ll make sure the next owner makes it right with you boys, or I will myself.”
Sid Gilstrap came out of the hotel cutting himself a chew of tobacco. “Howdy, Curly,” he said, his gray whiskers parting in a smile. “I see you still got your hair.”
“So far,” Curly said. “But not for long, if Big Nose has any say in the matter.”
Sid’s bleached eyes went to the Appaloosa. “You never should of told everybody you saw about stealing that horse from them, Curly. That was a mighty reckless thing to do. The stories got back to the Apaches and Big Nose made a vow to get his horse back, along with your scalp. Now they’re telling stories and singing songs about him, and he knows he’ll lose face if he don’t get the horse back.”
Curly shrugged. “I figgered I’d lose face if I didn’t steal him, after they stole my pinto.”
“Well, it’s your hair, Curly,” Sid said, climbing to the high driver’s seat. “By the way, I ain’t carrying nothing of value this run, so don’t you boys bother holding me up.”
Curly laughed. “When did I ever hold you up, Sid?”
“Not lately,” Sid admitted with a grin, as he unwrapped the lines. “Except with that big mouth of yours. I think I liked it better when you used a gun. At least it was a lot more exciting.”
“Let me know when you’ve got something worth stealing,” Curly said. “I might even split it with you.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Sid said, reaching for his whip. “I guess I’ll see you in about a week, if you’re still alive.”
“Keep a eye peeled,” Curly said. “Pike said he saw Injun sign east of here. But it’s prob’ly just Big Nose and them young bucks he runs with.”
“You better be extra careful then,’’ Sid said. “It’s your hair they’re after, not mine.”
Curly nudged the Appaloosa closer to the stage and shook hands with Uncle Willy, who stuck his long arm out through the window. “Take care of yourself, Uncle Willy. I hope to see you back real soon.”
“Well, I hope so, Curly,” Uncle Willy said. He sounded a little hoarse and his eyes were damp. “Whatever happens, I wish you luck. I always thought a lot of you boys.” He meant Curly and the Hatcher boys.
Sid cracked his whip and the stage lurched away. Curly sat his horse in the dusty street looking after the stage until it was out of sight. Then he turned and rode slowly on down the street to the livery stable, his face somber. The Bishop kid came out to take his horse.
“Looks like you’re on your own now,” Curly said. “Uncle Willy has deserted us.”
The kid’s pale eyes looked east the way the stage had gone. “You think he’ll come back, Curly?”
“I sure hope so,” Curly said. “If he don’t, we’re all out of luck. With him gone, it’s just a matter of time before old Grady will stop our credit at the store.”
The kid looked worried. “You think so?”
Curly nodded. “You can count on it. He’s only been carrying us because Uncle Willy told him to.”
“I wonder if he knows Uncle Willy ain’t paid me in over three months,” the kid said. “I been getting what I need at the store, but if Grady puts a stop to that, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Curly thoughtfully rubbed his bristly dark jaw. “I imagine Uncle Willy’s just getting out of the way till it’s safe to come back, and I don’t think that will be long. Ringo will make short work of the Lefferts boys.”
“Is that really him, Curly?” the kid asked, his eyes brightening with interest.
“It’s him,” Curly said, smiling faintly. “I would of told you earlier, but he didn’t want me to. Now everyone knows anyway, so it don’t matter. I figger he only wanted to keep quiet about being here till he got a chance at Pike and them.”
The boy glanced off up the street, rubbing his weak downy chin. “It’s all over town how they rode in to get him and then cut and run the minute he stepped out of the hotel.”
“They never come in to get him,” Curly said. “They were just putting on a bluff. They didn’t think Ringo would come out to face them all at once like that.”
“How many of them you think he could o
f got before they got him, Curly?” the kid asked, with a strange gleam in his pale eyes.
Curly thought for a moment. “Five,” he said. “Hickok once killed four men in a fight and Ringo is better than Hickok ever was. So I figger he would of got about five of them.”
“Five!” the boy exclaimed.
Curly nodded. “Ringo only carries five bullets in his gun, like any sane man. He used to carry two guns, but I only saw one this morning.”
“You think he’s slowed down any yet, Curly? He must be thirty or more.”
Curly smiled. “Thirty may seem old to you now, but wait a few years. No, I don’t imagine Ringo’s slowed down much yet. And I’d sure hate to be the poor bastard who tries to find out.”
The tracks Ringo was following had almost disappeared across hard rocky ground, for the Lefferts boys were doing their best to shake him off their trail. He had his head bent studying the dim tracks, and when he looked up the other man was there before him, sitting a horse as black as Ringo’s, and wearing clothes as dark. At a distance it would have been hard to tell them apart, and the stranger was sometimes mistaken for Ringo in the bloody days to come.
Even up close, they bore a noticeable resemblance, both being tall lean men with hard jaws and cold blue eyes. The stranger had a tawny mustache that curved around his mouth. In all the pictures that had been taken of him, the mustache as well as his hair looked dark and that led a lot of people to believe he had dark hair. But his hair was actually russet-blond, not so different from Ringo’s light reddish-brown hair which glinted here and there with gold. The stranger’s deeply tanned face was as smooth and expressionless as Ringo’s, but sometimes in unguarded moments there was an almost haunted look in his rather large blue eyes that gazed out over a bold aquiline nose very similar to Ringo’s.
For a time the two men sat their horses staring at each other in baffled surprise. Then Ringo said, “What the hell are you doing here, Wyatt? I thought you were in Colorado.”
“I am in Colorado,” Wyatt said. “And I’ve got witnesses to prove it, if need be.” Then his tawny mustache twisted in a cold smile. “I thought you were in hell.”
“I am in hell,” Ringo replied. “And I’ve got witnesses to prove that, if need be.”
“Yeah, I reckon you have,” Wyatt said. “But wherever you were, you should have stayed there. I was going to take care of the Lefferts boys myself. There’s already so much blood on my hands a little more won’t matter.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Ringo said. “You’ve still got a future if you don’t ruin it.”
“Not anymore,” Wyatt said. “I’m about washed up as a lawman, and that’s the only thing I was ever much good at. Too many people have got the idea I’m trigger-happy.”
“I wonder how they ever got an idea like that,” Ringo said, blank-faced.
“Beats me.” Wyatt was silent a moment, studying Ringo with his cold blue eyes. “I guess they heard I killed a few men. And there’s rumors going around that I may have killed a few others.”
“I heard some of those rumors myself,” Ringo said. “I even heard you killed me.”
“I reckon they were wrong about that one, at least,” Wyatt said. Then, “I understand an old friend of yours has been busy around here lately, stealing old Willy Gibson’s cows and calling himself Curly Bill Graham. He should have played dead a while longer. But I knew if he was still alive he couldn’t keep quiet about it for long.”
“Curly didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Morgan,” Ringo said.
The tall blond Wyatt thought that over in his slow deliberate way, keeping his face as blank as Ringo’s. “I wonder,” he said then. “I know you wouldn’t lie to protect yourself, since you’re not afraid of me anyway. But I think you’d lie to protect Curly. As for him, he’d lie just for the fun of it. What did you ever see in that man, Ringo?”
“What did you ever see in that wheezing corpse Doc Holliday? If it wasn’t for you, he’d be in hell where he belongs.”
“He’s always been there when I needed him, without waiting to be asked,” Wyatt said. “That’s what counts in my book. When I left Gunnison he was too sick to get out of bed and he still wanted to come with me, but I didn’t figure I’d need him for the Lefferts boys and that scum that rides with them.”
“How did you find out it was them?” Ringo asked.
“One night old Willy Gibson overheard them bragging about how they’d shot my brother and got clean away with it. He was tired of them stealing his cows, so he sent word to me. I reckon he knew I wasn’t interested in his cows, but he also knew I wouldn’t let anyone do that to one of my brothers and get away with it.”
“I’m not sure which one of your brothers you mean,” Ringo said. “As I recall, two or three of your brothers got shot up pretty bad while you were in Tombstone.”
“You know damn well which one I mean,” Wyatt said quietly. “I don’t know how Willy Gibson found out you were still alive, but I just figured he sent you a letter, too.”
Ringo shook his head. “I didn’t need him or anyone else to tell me who shot me. I saw them ride off after they thought I was finished. And it wasn’t hard to find out where they were when I got well enough to start looking.”
“You sure you’re well enough now?” Wyatt asked.
Ringo shrugged. “I’m as well as I’ll ever be.”
“Well, it looks like we’ll be on the same side of the law for a change, like it or not,” Wyatt said. “Though under the circumstances it might be debatable just which side that is.”
“I quit worrying about where the law stood a long time ago,” Ringo said. “And you shouldn’t let it bother you either, since it’s not your fight.”
“How can you say that?” Wyatt asked, nearly trembling with anger. “When somebody does what they did to a brother of mine, then it’s damn well my fight.”
“You’ve already killed two or three men that you thought did it,” Ringo said. “What if you’re wrong again this time? How many men are you willing to kill to make sure you’ve got the right ones?”
“As many as it takes,” Wyatt said. “Those boys I shot before needed killing for other things and I’m not going to lose any sleep over them.”
“You may lose plenty of sleep if you get caught killing the wrong men, or even the right ones,” Ringo said. “You’re not wearing a badge now. Your license to kill has been revoked.”
“You don’t have a license to kill either,” Wyatt said.
“I don’t need one,” Ringo said. “I’m way past all that. But we were talking about you.”
“I think I’m past it too,” Wyatt said. “When they killed Morgan, the law didn’t matter anymore.”
“All the same, you’re wanted for murder in Arizona. Some folks seemed to think you should have brought those boys in instead of executing them yourself. You even tried to kill old Curly, who didn’t have a thing to do with it. I doubt if anyone lost much sleep over that, unless it was Curly. But the point is, someone’s sure to recognize you if you keep coming back down here.”
“I’m hoping this will be my last trip,” Wyatt said. “I aim to stay out of sight and get the hell out of here before the county sheriff or anyone comes nosing around. My plan was to work alone, without anyone helping me who could later shoot off their mouths to the wrong people. I learned my lesson before when I had all those boys helping me hunt down Curly and them. They told everyone they saw that I killed Curly, and it turns out he ain’t even dead. How am I going to explain that?”
“I wouldn’t even try to explain it,” Ringo said. “Just let everyone go on thinking he’s dead.”
“What if Curly tells them different?”
“No one will believe him.”
Wyatt thoughtfully rubbed his prominent nose. “You’ve got a point there. It’
s so plain to everyone what a big liar he is, he’d have a hard time convincing his own mother that he’s really Curly Bill Brocius. But that’s all beside the point, since I know a better solution to the problem.”
“Leave Curly alone,” Ringo said. “I’ve already told you he didn’t have anything to do with Morgan’s death.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Wyatt said. “I’m not even sure he didn’t help the Lefferts boys fill you full of holes. I know he was riding with them not long after that. Maybe he was with them when they bushwhacked you. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“I would,” Ringo said. “But we’re wasting time. We never could agree about anything and it’s a little late to start trying to now. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me handle this my way—and alone. I don’t need any help.”
“I was hoping you’d let me handle it my own way—and alone,” Wyatt said. “I don’t need any help either. This is the sort of thing I’m good at.”
Ringo glanced at the Buntline Special buckled about Wyatt’s lean waist, at the walnut stock of the sawed-off shotgun in the saddle scabbard. “Afraid you’ll have to give that scattergun a rest, Wyatt. Those boys are wearing my brand.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I didn’t come all the way down here just for the ride, Ringo.” He thought for a moment. “Tell you what. If you’ll leave those boys alone, I’ll leave Curly alone.”
“No trade,” Ringo said. “Curly can take care of himself.”
“Curly doesn’t stand a chance against me and you know it.”
“He’s better than you think.”
“I found out how good Curly was at that waterhole,” Wyatt said.
Ringo thought for a time and then sighed. “You’ve got to give me more than Curly. I want Pike and Bear Lefferts. You can have the others.”
“No,” Wyatt grunted. “I want the Lefferts boys and Mad Dog Shorty.”