Ralph Compton Brimstone Trail (9781101612637)

by Compton, Ralph; Galloway, Marcus

  Sprole could see another horse tethered to those trees. The two shots he fired weren’t enough to knock the rider from his commandeered saddle. After that, he knew the other man was out of range. By the time Sheriff Noss had gotten his hands on his .45, he was too late to prevent his target from snapping his reins and riding away.

  Sprole ran to his horse, trying to calculate how far ahead the other man had gotten thanks to his head start. Fortunately, Sprole’s horse had already made its way to him so he could pull himself up and ride after the sharpshooter. Even so, the bounty hunter knew he wouldn’t be able to catch his prey without a prolonged chase.

  Then, like an answer to his unspoken prayers, two more horses rode in from the north to converge on the sharpshooter. One of them kept after the fleeing man, while the other broke away to approach the outcropping of rocks. “We heard shooting!” one of the deputies shouted. “Is the sheriff hurt?”

  “He’s fine,” Sprole replied. “That’s the man that fired at us! Don’t let him get away!”

  Once he saw an irritated wave from the sheriff, the deputy pointed his horse’s nose toward the sharpshooter and snapped his reins. Sprole was gaining speed as well, and even though the other men were still a ways ahead of them, he felt a pang of hope that the three of them could catch one outlaw who had to be low on ammunition by now.

  Beyond the trees near the slope, the terrain opened to a field of thick-bladed grass. The sharpshooter rode across the field, and the deputy who had kept after him was closing in fast. When the sharpshooter slowed after the younger lawman fired at him, Sprole wondered if the deputy had scored a lucky hit. Instead, the sharpshooter turned in his saddle and extended his arm to fire a pistol that had either been at his side the whole time or stashed somewhere in his saddlebags. Wherever the gun had been before, it spat a single round now, which knocked the deputy from atop his horse. The younger man fell backward amid flailing arms and legs. Sprole might not have been able to see the deputy’s landing, but he knew it couldn’t have been pretty.

  Sprole was getting close enough to see that the fallen deputy was still moving where he’d landed. “Check on him!” he shouted to the second deputy who rode alongside him.

  The young lawman didn’t need to be told twice, and he veered away to circle back around and tend to his wounded partner.

  Swearing under his breath, Sprole watched the outlaw pull ahead of him. No matter how many times he snapped his reins, Sprole was unable to coax more speed from his horse. When he considered tapping his heels against its sides, he felt a jab of pain from the scratch he’d been given by one of the sharpshooter’s bullets. Then he recalled the same bullet had grazed the horse as well, prompting Sprole to ease back on the reins and allow the animal to slow to a walk.

  Reaching down, Sprole didn’t have to search for long before his hand found a warm, slick patch on the horse’s coat. Sure enough, when he examined that hand he found it to be covered in blood. He reined the horse to a stop, rubbed its neck, and glared at the reward that had slipped through his fingers.

  Chapter 8

  Most nights at the Red Coyote Saloon were filled with bawdy laughter and music from the piano next to the small stage. Tonight, it was almost full but not quite so festive. Manny sat at the piano, letting his fingers tap out a slowly meandering tune as it came to him. The working girls who made their rounds to the gamblers seated at the card games being played were careful to steer clear of the table at the back of the room. Even Harrold the barkeep waited to be signaled before he went over to refill the glasses of the men sitting there. When he got the summons this time, he grabbed a pitcher of beer and plastered on a wide smile.

  “How’s Allen doing, Sheriff?” the bartender asked.

  Sheriff Noss sat at the table with Sprole and the other young man who’d ridden with them earlier that day. Upon hearing the name of the deputy who’d been knocked from his saddle, he nodded and replied, “Still haven’t heard much of anything.”

  “He’s a good boy. I bet he could even be sheriff someday.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Give him my best, Sheriff.” Looking at the other two men in turn, Harrold asked, “Can I get anything else for you men?”

  Sprole nodded his head and shifted in his seat. “I’ll take a whiskey.”

  “Glass or the whole bottle?”

  “What do you say, Sheriff?” Sprole asked. “Want to split a bottle with me?”

  The lawman’s face was colder and sharper than the point of an icicle as he replied, “Watch what you drink tonight. We’re not just going to let that man get away. Not after he shot my deputy. You’d best be ready to ride come sunup, because if you’re not, I’ll drag you along anyway.”

  “Just a glass, then,” Sprole said. “I need something to ease the pain in this leg.”

  “Coming right up,” the bartender said as he hurried away from the table.

  Once Harrold was out of earshot, Sprole winced and rubbed the portion of his leg that had been stitched together a mere few hours ago. “I think that doctor of yours has something against me. The way he sewed me up, you might have thought he was putting together a pair of britches.”

  “He had more important matters to tend to,” Noss said. “Like your horse, for one.”

  Sprole nodded at that and accepted the drink that was put in front of him by the returning barkeep. “I guess it’s a good bit of luck the town doctor don’t mind tending to man as well as beast. Here’s to Whitewater!” he said while lifting his glass high. Upon seeing the confused expressions on the lawmen’s faces, he added, “The horse, you ignorant wretches.”

  When the sheriff lifted his glass, the deputy did the same. All three men downed their drinks and shook the table when they set them down again.

  “We should be out there right now,” the deputy said. “That coward shot Allen and just ran away. We can’t let something like that pass.”

  “And we won’t,” Noss assured him. “Charging out in the middle of the night won’t do anyone any good. By the time first light comes along, Dave and I will be ready to go. That yellow back-shooter won’t have been able to get too far ahead. Now that we know where to start looking, a real tracker will be able to hunt him down. Ain’t that so?” the sheriff asked as he slapped Sprole on the back.

  “Sure,” the bounty hunter replied. “It might take a few days, but we’ll find him.”

  “A few days?” the deputy groaned. “What kind of tracker are you?”

  “One that knows it takes time to get the job done right. Unless you’re careful, you could just as easily wind up following tracks left by any other horse that passed along the spot where you’re looking while the man you’re after takes off in the opposite direction. If you thought you were gonna hunt down Terrigan and his gang quick enough to be home for supper, then you really don’t know much of anything, boy.”

  The deputy pushed away from the table and got to his feet. More than once, his unsteady movements almost ended with him hitting the floor. “Watch who you call boy!”

  “Sit down before you make an ass of yourself,” Noss snarled.

  After a short period of deliberation, the deputy decided to sit.

  Noss glared at the younger man until any semblance of a fight left the deputy’s eyes. After that, he clapped him on the back and said, “I need you to keep your head on straight, since you’ll be the one watching the store when I’m gone.”

  The deputy’s eyes widened. “You mean it?” he asked.

  Sprole took a drink. “You have a store?”

  “I mean the town,” Noss snapped. “He’ll be watching over it while I’m gone. While we’re gone, that is.”

  Although starry-eyed at first, the deputy quickly shook it off and asked, “I’m not going with you?”

  “I’ve got to go, and with Allen resting up, that do
esn’t leave me much choice.”

  “There’s Daniel.”

  “Like I said,” Noss sighed. “Not much choice. You’re the only one for the job, and I know you can do it. Dave here is right about this being more than a ride back out to that hill. Tracking a man ain’t no easy thing. It’ll take days and even after we catch up to Terrigan, it would be foolish of us to just charge in like we got an army behind us.”

  “You could round up some men in other towns. This territory is full of folks who got good reason to want to see Terrigan hang.”

  Noss gripped his glass as if he meant to shatter it in his hand. “Terrigan may come back for that fella we got locked up at Doc Chandler’s. Even after we move him to a jail cell, there could still be men looking to cut him loose. One of my deputies was already shot. I ain’t about to let that pass, and I sure ain’t about to let them animals ride into Pueblito Verde like they own it. No, sir,” he said while slamming his glass down. “I won’t let one more drop of blood get spilled on account of those mad dogs.”

  Although the deputy was quick to agree with the sheriff, Sprole wasn’t so anxious to join in. He wore an unconvincing smile as he downed the last of his whiskey and set his glass on the table.

  “We ride out tomorrow, so you’d best get your sleep,” Noss said to his deputy. “I’ll look in on Allen before I go and will have a chat with my prisoner soon as I finish this drink.”

  Grudgingly, the deputy said, “I appreciate you leaving me in charge, Sheriff. I won’t disappoint you.”

  Noss nodded. “I know.” After the deputy was gone, he looked over to Sprole and asked, “What’s eating you now?”

  “I’ve been after Jack Terrigan for the better part of a year,” the bounty hunter said. “There were times when I thought for certain I’d gotten him, only to have him squirm away.”

  “You were alone when you came to town. I take it you usually work that way.”

  Sprole held on to the empty glass as if he was trying desperately to collect enough whiskey inside to compose at least part of another sip as he said, “Only after one of Terrigan’s men killed my old partner. They’ve been sloppy since they got into the Arizona Territory, but that won’t last long. When Terrigan or his men fire at someone, they usually draw blood.”

  “They have drawn blood,” Sheriff Noss said. “More than I’ve seen in a while.”

  “You don’t see many gunfights in this town, do you?” Sprole chuckled.

  “No, sir,” Noss replied in a sober tone that was colder than the rocks in a desert night. “Why do you think that skinny fella with the rifle got away from me today?” Although he forced a tired grin onto his face, it was obvious that he wasn’t in a joking mood. When he spoke again, it was in a rumble that was barely loud enough for Sprole to hear. “I’ve worked plenty of towns, make no mistake about it. I’ve handled my share of cowboys with loud mouths and quick trigger fingers, but—”

  “You don’t need to explain any more to me,” Sprole said. “I saw what I needed to see when we were out there. What happened wasn’t nothing to be ashamed of. That sharpshooter had higher ground and was waiting for trouble. He got the drop on us. It ain’t pleasant, but it happens.”

  “He got away. That don’t set well with me.”

  “It don’t set with me either,” Sprole told him. “But you’re right about a couple of things. That outlaw may have gotten a head start, but he ain’t going much farther tonight. Wherever he is, he’s holed up until morning. Also, we know where to pick up his tracks and I can find them once we get back to them rocks. That is, if you were serious about me coming along with you.”

  “I said you were coming, didn’t I?” Noss snapped.

  “Sure, you said it. It’s just that lawmen ain’t usually anxious to work with a bounty hunter.”

  “I never said I was anxious to do it. Let’s just say I had to make the best decision as quick as I could. That’s the one I made and I’ll abide by it.” The sheriff stood up and picked up his hat from where it had been resting beside his glass. “We’re heading out at first light. If you’re not saddled up and ready to go by then, I’ll drag you from your bed and toss you onto your horse myself. Speaking of which, will your horse be ready to go?”

  Sprole winced. “He would probably do fine if I didn’t push him too hard. . . .”

  “I’ll arrange for a horse for you to use. Just be at them stables closest to my office when I told you to be there.”

  “Here’s to first light,” Sprole said as he raised his glass and waved for Harrold to come fill it. Almost immediately, the barkeep averted his eyes and turned back around to place the whiskey bottle back on its shelf behind the bar. “What are you doin’?” Sprole grunted.

  “What I told him to do,” Sheriff Noss replied. His hand was still in the air after motioning for Harrold to put the liquor bottle back.

  “And why would you tell him something like that?”

  “Because you’ve had enough. In case you’re either deaf, stupid, or forgetful, we’re riding at first light.”

  “I recall that part, but first light ain’t happening for a while. In the meantime, I’ll do what I please.”

  “You want to ride on my posse? You’ll do what I say, just like any of my men. I’m off to get some sleep and suggest you do the same. There’ll be time for drinking later.”

  “There’s other saloons in this town, Sheriff. Just as I’m sure I can find a bottle of whiskey somewhere else.”

  Noss eased his hat back onto his head so the brim didn’t knock Sprole in the face when he leaned down and told him, “I so much as catch a whiff of liquor on your breath in the morning and I’ll lock you up.”

  “Lock me up for what?”

  “Killing two men in that hotel for a start. Defending yourself or not, I got every right to put you in a cell for a while after you send two men to their graves. And if you don’t like that reasoning, I’ll come up with something else. I’m the law in this town and nobody’s about to argue on your behalf.” Straightening up and easing his hat back into its normal spot, Noss added, “You’re a smart man, Dave. Riding on this posse will be good for you. Help me bring in Jack Terrigan and the reward on his head is yours . . . minus expenses while we’re on the trail, of course.”

  “Expenses? That’s—”

  “Only fair, since you’ll have a much easier time getting the job done with a duly appointed lawman at your side.”

  After taking a moment to consider it, Sprole asked, “Will there still be a posse fee coming?”

  Noss walked toward the door. “So long as you pull your weight, you’ll get your fee. It isn’t much for a big-time bounty hunter like yourself, but it’s an honest wage.”

  Still holding his empty glass, Sprole waited for the sheriff to walk away before grumbling, “A wage that should offset them expenses you’ll tack on.” He waited a few more seconds before trying one more time to signal for a drink. Harrold shook his head as if the Grim Reaper himself had cut the bounty hunter off for the night.

  Sprole repositioned his chair so he could get a better look at the stage. Every so often, one of the girls would stand up there to sing along with whatever Manny was playing on his piano. The girls had soothing voices, but not soothing enough to make up for the distinct lack of whiskey in his system. Sprole glanced at the banister along the upper portion of the saloon that ran alongside the second-floor rooms. One of the soiled doves picked him out and gave him a tired wave. Just then, Sprole didn’t have the steam to climb all those stairs to get to her.

  “Must be gettin’ old,” he grunted while pulling himself up from his chair. He walked over to the bar and knocked to get Harrold’s attention. When the barkeep didn’t look at him, he knocked harder.

  “Not supposed to serve you no more tonight,” Harrold said with the quickest of glances over his shoulder.
r />   “How much do I owe for what you did serve me?” Sprole asked.

  Still trying to look busy polishing the same beer mug he’d been working on for the last minute or two, he replied, “Nothing. Sheriff Noss settled the bill.”

  “Really? Well, at least he’s good for somethin’ other than giving me tired lectures. Guess I’ll be on my way.”

  Harrold spun around then, wearing an anxious expression on his face. “Be sure to come back to the Coyote after you bring in that killer! The girls love to show their appreciation to peacekeepers.”

  “I’ll just bet they do. Will I get a discounted rate?”

  “Not as such, but the first beer will be on the house!”

  “Sounds like a good enough reason to put my neck on the line.” Sprole tipped his hat and strode toward the door. “I’ll see you again when them prisoners are locked up. Keep those girls warm for me.”

  Outside, it was several degrees cooler than it had been when Sprole entered the Red Coyote. While the Arizona Territory could feel harsh and unforgiving during the daylight hours, they could be just as cold and desolate at night. When Sprole walked back to his hotel, he didn’t have much trouble imagining he was the only living soul in the territory.

  A crisp breeze rolled in, bringing with it scents of open, dusty spaces he inhaled gratefully. The touch of the wayward winds on his face was better than a splash of cold water to wash away the effects of the liquor he’d drunk. He wanted to close his eyes to savor a few steps of his walk, but the instincts he’d acquired throughout years of hunting wanted men wouldn’t grant him such a dangerous indulgence. As if to reinforce those barbed fences he put up between himself and the rest of the world, a figure separated itself from the darkness.