Ralph Compton Brimstone Trail (9781101612637)

by Compton, Ralph; Galloway, Marcus

  There wasn’t much to see where that distant rider was concerned. It had been tough enough to line up a shot, so Paul wasn’t about to risk losing his target by lowering his rifle to ride any closer. The most recent shot he’d fired hadn’t hit the outlaw, but must have gotten close enough to make the man think twice about putting Sheriff Noss out of his misery.

  Sprole was approaching Paul’s horse, but his insistence on dragging the wounded gunman along slowed him down considerably. “I think I see them,” the bounty hunter said.

  But Paul wasn’t listening. As he watched and waited, he could feel the gaze of the distant outlaw stabbing through him. When he saw Theo move, Paul levered another round into his rifle. He thought Theo began riding back down the slope toward Noss, so Paul sent another round through the air. Almost immediately, he regretted the shot. Because of the shadows and distance between the two men, it was impossible to tell which way the other rider was going until he disappeared from sight altogether. Since Paul could no longer see him, he knew Theo had crested the ridge and was now making his way down the other side to put the basin behind him.

  “Damn!” Sprole said. “He’s bolting! Keep an eye on this one here and I’ll see what I can find.”

  Before Paul could say anything for or against Sprole’s idea, the bounty hunter took the reins of one of the horses that had been brought down from the other side of the basin and climbed into the saddle. “He’s already about to fall over,” Sprole said. “Shouldn’t be any trouble. He gives you any lip, just crack him in the head.” With that, Sprole snapped his reins and rode into the shadows.

  Paul wanted to follow him. The only thing keeping him from doing so was the man who swayed on his feet like a bobber floating on top of a lake.

  “You . . . won’t hurt me,” Wes said.

  Paul climbed down from his saddle and worked the lever on his rifle. The empty bullet casing popped from the breech, leaving it empty. He wasn’t worried about the outlaw taking notice of such a thing since he barely seemed to know where he was.

  “Who was that with you?” Paul asked.

  Without hesitation, the outlaw replied, “Theo.”

  “Theo who?”

  Wes grinned and somehow managed to steady himself. “I don’t have to tell you a thing . . . and you ain’t about to shoot nobody.”

  “You sure about that?” Paul asked, wondering if the outlaw had noticed that the rifle was empty after all.

  “I know who you are. You’re a preacher. I don’t know why you’re out here, but I sure know you ain’t about to kill me.”

  “You should sit down before you fall over.”

  “I’ll do what I want!” Wes snarled.

  Paul’s rifle hit the ground with a loud clatter. When Wes turned around, he saw Paul come at him like something from a bad dream. The outlaw lifted his hands to protect himself, but that only gave Paul something to grab. Once he had a firm grip on one of the outlaw’s arms, Paul twisted his body around to take Wes down in a single motion.

  “What are you doing?” Wes moaned after his back hit the dirt. “I thought you—”

  “Who was that man with you?” Paul asked.

  “His name’s Theo Price. He’s been riding with Jack Terrigan longer than any of the others.”

  “How many more are there?”

  Wes’s face twisted to reflect every bit of desperation that had seeped all the way down to his core like cold rainwater. “Last I checked, there was six of us. We’re supposed to be meeting in East Raynor. I already told you all of that. What more do you want from me?”

  “I helped you once and I can help you again. You just need to do what you’re told and I can protect you.”

  “Then why do you keep knocking me around?” Wes moaned. “I been knocked around so much that I can barely see straight. Right when I think I’m better, I get dizzy spells. And when them spells pass, I get knocked around some more. I just wanna go home!”

  Paul looked down at the outlaw as if he were a wounded animal. All he’d done to the man was toss him to the dirt before he could get away. Even now, he knew that had been the proper thing to do. If either Sprole or Sheriff Noss saw the outlaw escaping from the camp, a much worse fate would surely befall him. Seeing the dirty bandages wrapped around Wes’s hand, Paul felt bad all over again. Even knowing that Wes had been prepared to shoot an innocent woman before killing him back at that hotel didn’t make him feel any better.

  “Look,” Paul said. “I know you don’t want to be thrown into another jail, but that’s the best place for you.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you ever been to jail.”

  “I been to plenty of places worse than that, boy. Right now jail is the best place you can be. It’s the only place you can get to with what’s left of your hide intact.”

  “But . . . after what you done for me back in Pueblito Verde . . .”

  “That was the best thing at the time,” Paul quickly replied. “Right now I’m telling you the best thing would be to stop putting up such a fuss and go along to accept the consequences for your actions.”

  “Go along? Go along with who?” Wes sputtered as he struggled to sit up. Even after Paul shoved him back down again, he floundered like a windup toy that was still trying to march after being turned over. “Go along with that bounty hunter who wants me dead? Or that law dog who wants me to rot in a cage? Or with some crazy preacher who blows off my hand and then says he wants to help me and then knocks me down? I’d rather take my chances on my own, if it’s all the same to you!”

  “It’s not all the same to me,” Paul told him. After drawing a deep breath, he took hold of Wes’s arms and was careful not to aggravate his injury while helping the outlaw to his feet. He even dusted Wes off a bit once he was standing on his own. “A man’s always got choices,” Paul said. “Even when it seems like there ain’t nowhere else to go, he’s got choices.”

  Wes sneered. “You mean like thumping a Bible and falling to my knees for forgiveness?”

  “Well . . . that is an option,” Paul said. “Although I don’t see how that would do you much good in this particular instance.”

  Wes seemed flummoxed by that. Then again, after being knocked around so many times, he seemed flummoxed by pretty much everything.

  “Here and now,” Paul continued, “your choices are simple. You could run and take your chances in the desert without a horse, water, or supplies. You’d also be taking a mighty big gamble in trying to escape the two men out there intent on capturing you after storming this camp. I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t much care for that choice.”

  “No. I suppose I don’t.”

  “Smart man,” Paul said with a tired smile. “Another choice is to pretend to come along peacefully until you think you’ve found a moment when you can slip away. I can tell you right now, after spending time with these men, that any chance you think you have to escape will be short-lived. My partners are already fed up with Terrigan and anyone who ever rode with him, so they’ll be more apt to choose shooting you before wasting another moment in trying to bring you back alive.”

  “What else is there, then?”

  “You can go along with us like a man,” Paul said in a somber tone. “You can do what you’re told, keep your head down and your mouth shut. Behaving that way can only help you.”

  “Yeah,” Wes sighed. “Help me right into a cage.”

  “Better that than a grave.”

  Those words hung in the air like thick black smoke. As they settled in, the outlaw nodded and lowered himself to a seated position on the ground. His wounded arm curled inward to be clutched against his chest and he shrugged around it as though he’d lost every bit of the steam that had been in his strides not too long ago. “What brought all this on?” he asked.

  Paul bent at the knees and cla
sped his hands between them. Now that he was mostly at the other man’s level, he replied, “You’re no different than me, and we’re no different than any other man. Sometimes what happens to us is bad timing. Sometimes it’s the Lord’s plan. Most of the time, though, it’s just a simple matter of reaping what we sow.”

  “No, I get all that. You mentioned that sort of thing plenty of times when you were at my bedside back at that doctor’s office.”

  Paul chuckled. “I thought you were out of sorts for most of that.”

  “I was for some. I was ignoring you for the rest, but you just kept talking.”

  “That’s my job. Keep talking in the hopes that I get through to someone eventually.”

  “But that ain’t what I meant,” Wes said. “I meant . . . what brought all of this on after what you did back in town? Why—”

  Heavy steps announced the arrival of Sprole’s horse. When Paul looked in that direction, he found the bounty hunter already riding into the dwindling glow of the campfire. Sprole looked down at the other two with wary eyes as he asked, “Everything all right here?”

  Wes was either too frightened or too tired to speak, so Paul said, “We’re fine. I don’t think you’ll get any more trouble from this one. Am I right?”

  “Yeah,” Wes said in a voice that seemed to sap every last bit of strength he had.

  Sprole eased down from his saddle. Sheriff Noss had been sitting behind him, and he bared his teeth grumpily while slapping away Sprole’s attempt to help him down. “Bad enough I had to ride back like a damn child,” the lawman said. “You ain’t about to help me down like a woman.”

  Sprole stepped back and allowed the lawman to climb down from the horse on his own. It wasn’t an easy task for Noss, and it was even tougher for Paul to watch once he saw the difficulty the lawman was having. Noss’s left arm hung from his shoulder like a thick mess of knotted rope. Every time it swung, Noss winced. Considering the red hue to his skin and the rivulets of sweat rolling down his face, he’d been wincing quite a bit. Finally Noss swung a leg over the horse’s back and slid from the saddle. He cussed loudly when his boots hit the dirt with a solid thump.

  “What happened, Sheriff?” Paul asked.

  Glaring at Wes as if to focus all of his pain and anger into a single fiery stare, Noss replied, “That one’s friend got away. No thanks to you, I might add.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Paul said.

  “You know what I mean! What in the hell were you thinking in shooting at me instead of that killer out there?”

  “I was providing cover fire, just like you asked. Once everyone got into the shadows, I couldn’t see much. When the shooting started and I couldn’t see who was who, I thought it best if I just try to create some confusion so you could get to cover.”

  “You were watching the whole time,” Noss snarled as he grabbed his shoulder and shuffled away from the horse. “You could’ve figured out who was who.”

  Not liking where the conversation was headed, Paul asked, “What’s wrong with your arm?”

  Noss was more content to snarl to himself, so Sprole walked over to him and said, “His shoulder was knocked out of joint when he fell from his horse.” To the lawman, he said, “Maybe now he knows why it ain’t wise to ride in the middle of the night when you can’t see where you’re going.”

  “Better that than let a killer get away,” the lawman said.

  “And where is that killer?”

  Though Noss’s glare was intense before, the one he pointed in Sprole’s direction had enough heat to melt iron.

  The bounty hunter shook his head and grabbed the sheriff’s left wrist in one hand before placing his other hand gingerly on Noss’s left shoulder. “We’re headed deeper into the desert from here,” he said. “It’ll be easier tracking him.”

  “You sure about that?” the lawman wheezed.

  “We know where he’s headed, right? Besides, all we’ll need is high ground every now and then and we’ll be able to spot dust being kicked up or any number of signs to let us know we’re on the right track. One thing I can tell you for certain is that we won’t be able to cover much ground at all with you coddling that arm like a baby bird with a broken wing.”

  Noss bared his teeth in an angry grimace. “What did you just call me?”

  Toward the end of that question, Sprole tightened his grip on the lawman’s wrist and clamped his hand down harder on his shoulder. With one powerful tug, he pulled the sheriff’s arm to form a straight line. The wet crunch that followed might have been muffled since it had come from within the lawman’s body, but it was loud enough to make every man in the vicinity cringe.

  Wheeling around to face the bounty hunter, Noss reached out for him with both hands. He grabbed the front of Sprole’s shirt with his right hand, but his left hand wasn’t quite up to the task.

  “Looks like your wing is back in place, little bird,” Sprole said through a snide grin. “You might want to go easy on it for a while, though.”

  Eventually the sheriff let go of Sprole and took a step back. “I suppose it does feel a little better now. Much obliged.”

  “I know that was a difficult thing to say to a filthy bounty hunter,” Sprole replied, “but you’re welcome.”

  When he turned back around to face Paul and Wes, he blinked as if he’d only just taken notice of them. “Tell me about that man you were riding with.”

  Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Wes said, “His name’s Theo Price. He’s a sharpshooter that’s been riding with Jack Terrigan’s bunch for a while now.” He went on to describe everything short of Price’s favorite dessert while Noss watched and listened.

  When the outlaw was finished, Noss asked, “You men are supposed to meet in Raynor?”

  Wes nodded. “Jack’s already there and waiting for us, so Price will want to get there as quick as he can.”

  While those two had been having their discussion, Paul had fashioned a crude sling from one of his old shirts. He approached the sheriff to tie the sling in place so the lawman’s left arm was held snugly against his chest instead of swinging painfully from its shoulder joint.

  “And I suppose you’ll just come along quietly with us from here in?” the sheriff asked.

  Once again, Wes nodded. “I’m through running.”

  “I bet that’s just what you told Father Lester here before you decided to climb out of Doc Chandler’s window.”

  Reluctantly, Wes admitted, “It is. This time I mean it, though.”

  “And I believe him,” Paul declared.

  “That’s all well and good,” Sprole said. “But I think we’ll tie you up better than a calf at a rodeo anyways.”

  “I understand,” Wes sighed.

  The bounty hunter almost seemed empathetic as he shackled the outlaw’s wrists and ankles before making good on his promise by wrapping several loops of rope around Wes’s arms and legs. When he was finished, the fugitive could barely take a breath without straining some sort of binding.

  “I’ll want to have some more words with you,” the sheriff said to his prisoner. “About Jack Terrigan and what you’ve seen or heard since you’ve been riding with him.”

  Wes kept nodding. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  Chapter 15

  For the next hour or two, Sheriff Noss asked his questions and Wes answered them. Paul stoked the struggling fire and brewed some coffee while Sprole kept watch for any hint of Price’s return. The lawman was still talking to his prisoner when Paul decided to step away from the camp and finish his cup of coffee in the darkness.

  “That man’s got a lot to say,” Sprole said as he approached Paul in steps that could barely be heard. “Were his lips so loose when he was confessing to you back in town?”

  Paul lifted his dented tin cup to his
mouth and sipped the bitter concoction that still tasted like the metallic innards of a canteen. “I already told you what was said back then. I probably shouldn’t have told you that much.”

  “Right. On account of them confessions you don’t normally take.”

  Meeting the bounty hunter’s watchful gaze, Paul said, “That’s right.”

  “And what about what was said a little earlier? Care to tell me a bit more about that or is that something else you’ll be keeping between yourself and a known killer?”

  “I doubt Wes has killed anyone.”

  “Did you look into his soul to figure out that much?” Sprole asked. “Is that some divine ability bestowed upon you when you decide to put on them preacher’s clothes and carry a Bible in your pocket?”

  “No,” Paul said sharply. “I looked into his eyes. He’s a thief, I know that much for certain. I don’t doubt he’s fired a gun at another person. He’s hurt folks, I’m sure. But a killer is something else entirely.”

  “And what if I knew you were wrong?”

  “Is that what this is about? You want to prove me wrong? I’m more than willing to admit I’ve been wrong about a few things.”

  Sprole stepped up closer so he could lower his voice to a rasping rumble and still be heard. “You sure know how to talk, preacher. But I ain’t forgotten about what I asked before you went off on that little sermon just now.”

  Since pretending he’d forgotten Sprole’s question would be an insult to the man’s intelligence, Paul said, “Of course I was going to talk to that man instead of knocking him unconscious. What else would you expect?”

  “What I would expect would be for a man of the cloth to help where he could but stay in town when the posse rode out to hunt some killers down. At the most, I’d expect you to talk us into forgiving Jack Terrigan or some such nonsense, but you’ve made a habit out of exceeding my expectations.” Cocking his head like a dog curiously watching a bird before pouncing on it, Sprole said, “But you’re here now and you’ve told us plenty of times why that is. Since you are, I’d expect you to hang back, but you surprised me again by bringing along that hunting rifle of yours and offering to be of some real use.”