Ralph Compton Brother's Keeper

by Ralph Compton

  “For the hell of it,” Ned said. “I haven’t been pickled in a good many months. It would be fun to lie there and giggle at the stars.”

  “Men shouldn’t giggle,” Thal said. “That’s for females.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m a great giggler when I’m drunk. Everything strikes my funny bone.”

  Thal took a sip and agreed with their assessment. The whiskey was good. He took a second swallow, and warmth spread down his throat into his belly.

  Jesse Lee hadn’t touched his glass yet. “I don’t like it.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Crawford said. “You’re suspicious of everybody.”

  “In the hill country where I grew up, you have to be,” Jesse Lee said. “All the feuds and such.”

  “It can’t have been that bad,” Ned said.

  “I lost one brother and two cousins to our feud with the Mallorys,” Jesse Lee said. “Don’t tell me it couldn’t.”

  “Did you take potshots at each other?” Ned said. “Like people say that hillbillies do?”

  “We weren’t no hillbillies. We were backwoods folks. When people say hillbillies they mean dumb, and we weren’t dumb.”

  “Shootin’ at each other doesn’t sound smart,” Ned said.

  Thal was curious. “What started the feud, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

  “It was back in my grandpa’s day,” Jesse Lee said. “Him and Tom Mallory had both taken a shine to a girl who lived over to Possum Flats. She chose my grandpa. Tom Mallory didn’t like losin’ and took to speakin’ ill of my grandpa and her both, every chance he got. Word got back to my grandpa and he went up to Tom Mallory in a tavern and slapped him and called him a cur. Next thing my grandpa knew, someone shot him when he was out choppin’ wood. He was lucky and they only hit him in the shoulder. He didn’t see who did it, but he knew who it was. Everyone did. When grandpa got back on his feet, he took his rifle and paid Tom Mallory a visit and shot him dead. Mallory had a brother, and he shot my grandpa’s brother, thinkin’ it was Grandpa. The feud had commenced.”

  “There was no way to put a stop to it?” Crawford said.

  “Not short of wipin’ out the other side,” Jesse Lee said. “I had a Mallory take a shot at me once. I suspicioned which one it was, a boy my age I’d run into a few times. So I went to Possum Flats and when he showed up, I shot him dead, like my grandpa had done to Tom Mallory.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Crawford said.

  “Only in my case,” Jesse Lee continued, “the sheriff happened to be there. It was just my bad luck that he saw it and came marchin’ over to arrest me. I told him I wasn’t of a mind to be behind bars, and when he told me I didn’t have a choice, I showed him I did have one by clubbin’ him with my rifle.” Jesse Lee frowned. “My pa told me I’d better fan the breeze or I’d have the law after me from then until doomsday. So I did, and here I am.” He gazed about the soddy. “It’s strange how life works out sometimes.”

  “You’re from the hills,” Ned said. “How’d you end up so good with a six-shooter?”

  “Oh, that,” Jesse Lee said, as if it were of no consequence. “I’d drifted a spell, takin’ jobs here and there. Nothin’ appealed to me that much until I was hired on to do ranch work. I told the foreman I could ride, which was true, and could rope, which wasn’t. But I learn quick, and I found I liked cowboyin’ more than anything I’d done.”

  “That doesn’t explain your ivory Colt,” Ned said.

  Jesse Lee looked down at his, and smiled. “I’d boughten an ordinary Colt, like every cowhand does. Took to practicin’ with it every chance I could. There’s somethin’ about it. The feelin’ when you draw, and when you shoot.”

  “All I feel is a heavy revolver in my hand,” Ned said.

  Jesse Lee ignored him. “It got so I was right quick at it. Then one night in a saloon a tinhorn tried to fleece me at cards. I called him on it and he pulled a hideout, but before he could shoot, I shot him dead. The next thing I knew, people were treatin’ me like I was some kind of man-killer.”

  “You were,” Ned said.

  “They made more out of it than there was. I’d have been fine if everybody forgot about it, but folks love to gossip.”

  “You’ve shot others,” Ned said. “We heard it was four or five.”

  “Three,” Jesse Lee said. “The second was the tinhorn’s brother. He hunted me down and tried to back-shoot me. I thought it was the feud all over again, but he was the only one who came lookin’. The third was a loudmouth who got mad when I talked to a dove he was partial to. He was drunk. I tried to be reasonable, but he wouldn’t have it and went for his six-gun.”

  “The fancy Colt?” Ned wouldn’t let it drop.

  Jesse Lee shrugged. “I figured that if folks were goin’ to brand me as a shootist, I might as well look the part. And you know what? Ever since I put this on, whenever I go into a saloon, troublemakers fight shy of me.”

  “No wonder,” Ned said. “It’s like you’re wearin’ a sign that tells the world if they give you grief, you’ll give them lead.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Jesse Lee said.

  Thal had noticed that the woman was listening to every word. She’d frowned when Jesse Lee got to the part about the three men he’d shot, and now she was gnawing on her bottom lip as if she was working something out in her head.

  “A reputation can do wonders,” Crawford was saying. “Look at Wild Bill Hickok. A gent would have to be plumb loco to tangle with him.”

  “A reputation can be bad for you too,” Ned remarked. “Ever hear of Jack Slade? He got a reputation as a leather slapper, and it got him hanged.”

  “It’s not the reputation, it’s the man,” Crawford said. “Slade could be vicious. Wild Bill only kills when he has to.”

  “I suppose,” Ned conceded.

  “Finish up,” Thal said. He hankered to be on their way. It would take long enough as it was to reach the Black Hills. Too long, perhaps, to do his brother any good. He chided himself for thinking like that, raised his glass, and happened to look over at the counter.

  Harriet was striding toward them with a double-barreled shotgun at her waist. Both hammers were cocked, and she had a grim expression.

  “What are you doin’, lady?” Ned said.

  “Not one of you is to move,” Harriet declared, “or I’ll blow you to hell.”

  “You can’t be serious, ma’am,” Crawford said. He seemed to think it was some sort of joke.

  “Never more so.” Harriet planted herself. “Keep your hands on the table and make no sudden moves.” Tilting her head toward the door, she hollered, “Come on in, boys! I’ve got them covered!”

  “You shouldn’t ought to have done this,” Jesse Lee said coldly.

  Harriet wasn’t intimidated. “You see who I’m pointin’ this cannon at? That would be you, gunman. You so much as twitch and I’ll splatter you over the wall. Which I’d rather not do, since I’d have to clean up the mess.”

  The plank door creaked and in hurried Cleve with his Spencer and Vernon with his Henry.

  “What’s goin’ on, Ma?” Vernon said. “We were waitin’ for them to step out so we could pick them off.”

  “Why’d you rush things?” Cleve said.

  Harriet gestured with the shotgun at Jesse Lee. “This one’s a gun shark. I wasn’t takin’ the chance he’d get off a shot. You boys mean too much to me.”

  “We could have handled him, Ma,” Vernon said.

  “We was well hid,” Cleve said.

  “Be that as it may,” Harriet said, “I’ll cover them while you disarm them. Then we’ll take them out to the usual place and get it over with.”

  Crawford stirred in his chair. “You’re fixin’ to rob and kill us?”

  “You’re slow but you get there,” Harriet said. “Only it’s the other way around. We kill you a
nd then we rob you. It’s safer that way. A corpse can’t raise a fuss when you’re helpin’ yourself to its poke.”

  Cleve laughed. “That was a good one, Ma.”

  “You sure are a caution,” Vernon praised her.

  Thal was girding himself to do something. He must act before he and his friends were disarmed. Once that happened, they’d be helpless to keep from being murdered. To stall, he said, “How many have you done this to, lady? We’re not the first, I take it.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Harriet said, and laughed. “I’d say seventeen or eighteen, although I don’t bother to count no more.”

  “That many?” Crawford said.

  “Shucks. I wasn’t includin’ the kids we had to dispose of. Not that I’ve ever liked that part of it.”

  “Kids too?” Ned said, aghast.

  “Look at them,” Vernon said, and laughed.

  “Cowpokes ain’t much for brains, are they?” Cleve said.

  Harriet looked at them. “Why are you two still standin’ there? I told you to take their hardware.”

  Jesse Lee came out of his chair so fast he stood and drew before anyone could so much as blink. He fanned a shot into Harriet’s head, shifted, and fanned the hammer two more times, his hand a blur. The second shot smashed Cleve in the face. The third cored Vernon’s forehead. Vernon was dead on his feet, but Cleve jerked his rifle and tried to take aim and Jesse cored his brainpan. The slug burst out the back of Cleve’s head and showered gore everywhere. In a span of heartbeats it was over, and Jesse Lee stood staring down at the bodies. “They weren’t much,” he said.

  Thal couldn’t find his voice. He’d never seen anyone gunned down before. Let alone a woman.

  “Good God, pard,” Crawford blurted.

  “They were fixin’ to kill us,” Jesse Lee said.

  “Not that. You’re so quick.”

  “Why should it surprise you?” Jesse Lee said, and started to reload. “You’ve seen me practice enough.”

  “But still,” Crawford said.

  Ned was gaping in amazement. “I wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against you.”

  “I’d never shoot you,” Jesse Lee said. “We’re friends.”

  Thal stood and stepped to Harriet. Her eyes were wide in shock and her mouth was wide-open too. He could see her tongue, and that several of her teeth were rotted. Grimacing, he turned away. “We should report this to the law.”

  “What law?” Ned said.

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Crawford said.

  “A marshal or a sheriff,” Thal said.

  “A marshal only has jurisdiction as far as a town’s limits,” Crawford reminded him, “and there ain’t any towns hereabouts. No county either for a sheriff to get involved.”

  “A federal marshal, then,” Thal said.

  Crawford shook his head. “It’ll take a month of Sundays to find one.”

  “It just doesn’t feel right not reportin’ it,” Thal said. Three people were dead, after all.

  “Federal marshals move around a lot,” Crawford said. “They have what they call districts, and each marshal spends most of his time wanderin’ over his own, arrestin’ lawbreakers and whatnot.”

  “We might find one in Cheyenne,” Ned ventured.

  “And if we don’t?” Crawford replied. “Where do we go from there? Denver?”

  “Why are you makin’ a fuss over this?” Ned said.

  “If we have to go all the way to Denver, we won’t get to the Black Hills for months,” Crawford said. “And I thought that’s the important thing.”

  “It is,” Thal said.

  “Then what do we do?” Ned asked.

  Jesse Lee had finished reloading and twirled his ivory-handled Colt into his holster. “We bury them. We help ourselves to any valuables and let their horses loose. Then we burn the soddy to the ground.”

  Thal turned to him. “That’s harsh.”

  “Would you rather leave the bodies to rot? And their horses to starve?”

  “If we take their valuables, folks will reckon we’re robbers,” Thal said.

  “What folks?” Jesse Lee said, and gestured. “There’s only us.”

  “He’s right, pard,” Ned said. “Any money these three had, they likely stole. So it’s not as if we’re stealin’ it ourselves.”

  Thal reluctantly gave in. “All right. We’ll do all of it except the burnin’. We’ll leave the soddy as it is.”

  “What for?” Ned said. “You think someone else will want to move in?”

  “No, he’s right,” Crawford said. “There’d be a lot of smoke. Others might see. Injuns, maybe. We don’t want that.”

  “We surely do not,” Ned agreed. He stared at the sprawled figures, and frowned. “The last thing we need is more folks tryin’ to kill us.”

  Chapter 10

  The plains stretched forever, a rolling sea of grass and sagebrush. On windy days they’d see tumbleweeds tumbling along as if alive. Now and then an island of timber defied the spread of grassland. And along streams there would be cottonwoods and box elders.

  In his worry over his brother, Thal became increasingly impatient to reach Cheyenne. But short of riding their horses into the ground, there was nothing he could do except fidget in his saddle from time to time. On the latest occasion, Ned glanced over and chuckled.

  “Got ants in your britches, pard?”

  “Ants on my brain,” Thal said. “It’s takin’ too long to get there.”

  “When folks say wide-open spaces,” Crawford said, “they mean wide-open spaces.”

  “I never saw so much grass in all my born days,” Jesse Lee said.

  “All seventeen years,” Ned said, grinning.

  “You’re just jealous I’m so young,” Jesse Lee replied. “It gives me an edge with Ursula.”

  “Says you,” Ned said. “She might like older gents, for all you know.”

  “In that case,” Jesse Lee said, “she’d be interested in Craw.”

  “I’m old enough to be her pa,” Crawford said.

  “Her grandpa, even,” Jesse Lee joked.

  “You’ll see,” Ned said. “When we get back, she’ll be so glad to see me she’ll throw her arms around me and give me a kiss.”

  “Dream a lot, do you?” Jesse Lee said.

  “Ladies are partial to mature fellas,” Ned said. “Ask anyone.”

  “If you’re mature, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “You’ll eat crow, at least, when she agrees to let me court her. But don’t worry. Once her and me are hitched, you can come visit and talk about the old days when I was a bachelor and lonely, like you.”

  “You sure are a dreamer,” Jesse Lee said. “Gals her age don’t want old. They want someone the same age as them so they have more in common.” He paused. “Isn’t that right, Thal? You know her better than we do. Will she pick someone as young as her or someone who is past his prime, like your pard?”

  “Why, you so-and-so,” Ned said.

  Thal drew rein and turned in his saddle. “I seem to recollect tellin’ you mush-heads that my sister wasn’t to be discussed. Not for any reason whatsoever.”

  “We haven’t talked about her in days,” Ned said.

  “This is why,” Thal said. “It always leads to squabblin’. And I, for one, can do without the nonsense.”

  Crawford raised a hand.

  “You can do without it too?” Thal said.

  “No,” the older puncher said, and pointed. “Get off your horses, quick.” And he swung down from his.

  Thal followed suit, then looked to see why.

  To the west figures moved. They were so far away they were as thin as sticks. He thought they might be antelope, but the longer he stared, the more obvious it became that they were men on horseback.

&
nbsp; “Injuns, by God,” Ned exclaimed.

  “Headin’ north, toward Sioux country,” Crawford said. “There must be ten or more. If they spot us, we’re in for it.”

  Clutching his reins, Thal held his breath until he realized he was doing it, and exhaled. He didn’t mind admitting that Indians spooked him. There was no one fiercer than a warrior on the warpath.

  “It could be Sioux comin’ back from a raid,” Crawford speculated. “Or some Cheyenne out after buffalo. Or Arapaho, even.”

  “Injuns don’t scare me any,” Jesse Lee said.

  “They should,” Crawford said. “They might have rifles. If not, their bows can shoot an arrow as far as your pistol can sling lead. Farther, even.”

  “Farther?” Jesse Lee said skeptically.

  “You’re more than a fair hand out to twenty-five feet,” Crawford said. “An Injun with a bow can hit us from a hundred feet or more.”

  “We have our rifles too,” Ned said.

  “Four rifles against twenty hostiles,” Crawford said. “None of us are marksmen, not countin’ Jesse with his six-gun. I wouldn’t rate our chances very high.”

  “Your pard is a wet blanket,” Ned said to Jesse Lee.

  “He likes to be practical about things.”

  “Hold on,” Thal broke in. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the distant riders. “They’ve stopped.”

  The warriors had been strung out in single file, but now they appeared to be congregating in a body.

  “Do you reckon they’ve seen us?” Ned whispered.

  “Why are you whisperin’?” Jesse Lee asked. “They can’t hear you, that far off.”

  “Don’t anyone move,” Crawford cautioned. “Don’t let your horses move either.”

  “This ain’t good,” Ned said. “This ain’t good at all.”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the Indians wheeled in a body and came in their direction.

  “We’re in for it now,” Ned said.

  “We don’t know that,” Thal said. But he yanked his Winchester from his saddle scabbard and jacked the lever to feed a round into the chamber.