by Ralph Cotton
“He might start shooting even if he knows it is,” said Tack Beechum, the fourth man, moving his horse back a step as if in wary anticipation. “He’s one bad Injun, as I recall.”
Morgan Aglo scoffed. “He ain’t that bad, and he ain’t all Injun. There’s a good deal of backwater Louisiana, bale-tottin’ Negro in him if you ask me.”
“He never looked like it to me,” said Beechum.
“How do you know who’s part Negro and who ain’t?” said Morgan Aglo. He grinned. “Someday we’ll shake the branches of your family tree, see what falls out scratching its belly.”
“That ain’t no way to talk to me,” said Beechum.
Morgan Aglo ignored him, jerked his horse forward, saying over his shoulder, “Come on, boys, if it’s Willie John and he gives us any sass, I’ll shake him by his neck like a little black rag doll.”
Tack Beechum looked dubious as Joe Shine led his horse past him and fell in behind Morgan Aglo. Shine snickered. “He ain’t kidding, either, he’ll do it. Injuns, Negroes, hell he don’t care. He never liked nothing but his own kind . . . and I’m just like him.”
“What do you think?” Tack asked Texas Bob.
Texas Bob stooped down and raised his horse’s left front hoof, as if to check it. He brushed snow from the hoof, saying to Tack Beechum, “Do what suits you . . . I’ll be along in a minute.”
Beechum looked all around in the moonlight then ventured forward, hiking his coat collar up against the chill of night. Texas Bob waited until the others were almost at the entrance of the mine before leading his horse along behind them, his hand resting on the pistol at his hip. From beneath the edge of the trail where Willie John lay listening in the snow, he raised himself up and watched until Texas Bob had covered half the distance to the mine entrance. By then, Morgan Aglo, Joe Shine and Beechum had already crept inside. Willie John could see their dark figures move back and forth in the firelight.
Inside the mine entrance, in the twelve by fifteen feet of dry warm space, the intruders looked around, seeing the horse, the scraps of meat, the tin cup on a stone beside the crackling fire. Against the back wall, the horse watched them nervously and scraped a hoof in the dirt. “By God!” said Morgan Aglo. “Looks like whoever lives here must’ve stepped out for the evening.” He stepped sideways around the small area, his pistol still in his hand. Shine and Beechum circled in the other direction. Morgan Aglo raised his voice as if speaking to the air around him, “Where oh where would you go on a cold night like this?” He laughed at the way Joe Shine and Tack Beechum looked at him.
“Don’t you see?” said Aglo, “Somebody heard us coming and slipped out of here. Left us all the comforts of home.”
“Without their horse?” Beechum cut in. “I doubt it.” He lifted his pistol and cocked it, taking on a wary expression, his face looking lined and frightened in the flickering firelight. “Let’s get back out of here, see what’s going on.
“Damn it, Beechum,” Morgan Aglo chuckled, “you’re getting as fretful as that ole Arkansan wife of mine. Whoever’s out there will either leave or make themselves known.” He continued by raising his voice and calling toward the outside of the mine entrance, “Ain’t that right, pilgrim?”
There was a moment of silence, then Willie John’s voice said from just beyond the front opening, “Aglo, you old snake.” Texas Bob came through the door without his pistol in his holster, Willie John shoving him from behind. “You were supposed to meet us on the way to Hubbler Wells over a week ago,” Willie John continued, stepping in behind Texas Bob. “What happened, did you get lost again?”
“I’ve never been lost,” said Aglo, looking embarrassed. “But I have been misdirected on occasion.” He shot Joe Shine a cold stare, then looked back at Willie John. “Where was you just now? Breathing right down our shirts?”
“Yep, just about,” said Willie, stepping in close to the fire, reaching down and picking up a piece of cooked mule meat.
“Then I reckon you heard some things said?” Aglo gave a sheepish expression.
“Nothing I hadn’t heard before,” said Willie John, holding no grudge over what he’d heard these men say outside while he lurked beneath the edge of the trail. He’d already decided he could use Morgan Aglo and these others for his trip back to Hubbler Wells. Uncocking the pistol in his hand, Willie pitched it to Texas Bob, saying, “This hammer feels a little stiff, mister. You might want to check it.”
“Much obliged,” said Texas Bob humbly as he looked at his pistol, then put it in his holster.
Willie John seated himself near the fire and crossed his legs. Aglo and the others waited for an invitation, but when none came, they shrugged at one another and sat down anyway as Willie handed Morgan Aglo his knife, butt first. “What are we having here? Buffalo? Elk? New England pheasant?” Aglo asked as he carved a piece of meat, stabbed it and held it over the fire.
“Yep,” said Willie John, without sharing in Morgan Aglo’s humor, “nothing but the best for my amigos.”
“Sounds like you was expecting us,” said Aglo.
“I’m always expecting somebody,” Willie John replied.
The other three brought out knives of their own and went to work carving out portions of the red meat for themselves. Beechum held up his piece of meat and examined it. “This don’t look like elk or buff either one to me,” he murmured.
“Then look at it from a different direction,” Joe Shine snickered. “Use your imagination.”
“No offense, Willie John,” said Aglo, “but you sure enough look like hell.”
“I’ve had a rough week,” said Willie. Then he added as he passed a glance at the faces around the short licking flames, “But I’m feeling fine now.”
“Yeah, I heard how things went wrong at Hubbler Wells,” said Aglo. “I just wish I’d been there . . . maybe things would’ve gone different. I’ve always been a real red-balled wolf when it comes to a shooting scrape.”
“How’d you hear about it?” Willie asked.
Morgan Aglo pulled the knife blade back from the fire, blew on the sizzling meat, touched his tongue to it, then blew on it again. He jerked his head toward Texas Bob. “He was there.” Aglo grinned, tore off a bite of meat with his teeth and chewed as he watched Willie John look Texas Bob up and down. “This here’s Texas Bob Mackay,” said Aglo, getting a chuckle out of it for some reason. “He used to ride with us, then he dropped out of sight for a while.”
“I’ve heard his name,” said Willie. “What were you doing there, Texas Bob?”
“I was one of—”
“He was with that killing posse,” Aglo blurted out, laughing, chewing, shaking his head at the same time. “The ones shooting the hell out’n you and the gang!”
Willie John’s nostrils flared a bit, enough that Texas Bob raised a hand in a show of peace and said quickly, “But I never shot you Willie . . . I swear I never! I rode up with that posse because I needed a stake to get me here. I’ve been two years drunk and drying out—hell, my hands shook so bad I couldn’t piss without abusing myself. Fuller’s posse was my only chance at catching up to everybody, getting back to work. I never would have done it if I hadn’t needed money something awful, that’s the truth, so help me God. It broke my heart seeing ole Nian the Swede get shot to pieces, me not able to do a thing about it. I even said a little prayer that you made it out of there safe. And now seeing you did, it’s enough to make me want to praise the Lord.”
Willie looked him up and down again. “Two years, huh?”
“Yep, two years give or take. But I’m on the mend now,” said Texas Bob. “Hope there’s no hard feelings.”
Willie John shrugged stiffly, his shoulder wound still troubling him. “No, I reckon not. A man needs a stake, he has to get it where he can.”
Texas Bob relaxed and held his meat back into the fire. “The main thing is I’m back where I belong,” he said.
“Yeah,” Willie said in a wry tone, “that’s the main thing, Texas Bob.”
“If you don’t mind telling me,” said Bob, “how’d that whore’s boy get you out of town and do such a good job of hiding you?”
Willie offered a weak smile. “A stroke of luck. That boy saved my life. Talk about something strange, that’s the second time. The first time was when he and his pa found me shot all to pieces.”
“I always said, getting shot is the worst part of this robbing business,” Morgan Aglo said, smiling. “You sure have caught your share of bullets lately, Willie.”
“Yeah, I know.” Willie fell quiet for a moment, staring into the fire in contemplation. “I’m wondering if maybe it ain’t time I hang it up.”
“Hang it up?” Morgan Aglo looked astonished. “You can’t quit now, Willie. I was just getting ready to ask you if you wanted to hit that bank with us. I figure they won’t be expecting nothing right now.”
This was just what Willie had wanted to hear, but he wanted to sound hesitant. “I don’t believe so, Morgan. I’ve been doing some serious thinking. That kid helping me and all. I figure it might be a sign.”
“A sign? I never thought you was the kind of Injun to believe in signs,” said Aglo.
Willie nodded in consideration. “Well, even so, maybe it’s time I cash my chips and call it a game.”
“I need you awfully bad, Willie,” said Morgan. “Same deal as you got with Earl and Hopper—go in and scout things out. Of course you’d have to be careful now not to get recognized. What do you say?”
“I already told you, Morgan.” Willie John stared at him. “Count me out. I’m heading on down to Old Mex. If you run across Earl and Hopper, tell ’em I said adios.”
“Hell, you don’t mean it, Willie,” said Aglo. “I know you’re good at squirreling away money, but damn, you don’t have that much hidden away that you can afford to quit, do you?”
Willie knew better than to mention how much money he might have stashed to the likes of these so-called friends of his.
“Right now I don’t have any money at all,” Willie said, seeing a sharpness fade into disappointment in Morgan Aglo’s eyes. “But like they say, money ain’t everything.” He gestured a hand at his bandaged wounds and gave a weak smile. “I’ve got my health.”
Dark, low laughter drifted across the men as they ate the sizzling mule meat from their knife blades. After a moment Willie asked Texas Bob, “So, how’s the kid doing? Did they give him a hard time?”
Texas Bob Mackay had already left Fuller and his men before Billy Odle had returned to Hubbler Wells, but Willie John had no way of knowing that. Texas Bob considered his words before he answered, shooting a gaze at Morgan Aglo for some sort of direction. Then he lied, saying, “When I left it looked like they was getting ready to hang him. They will, too, if Fuller gets his way—and he most always does.” He watched Willie John’s expression turn grim as the Indian stared into the fire without facing him.
“That poor dumb kid,” Willie whispered to the licking flames.
Morgan Aglo leaned in grinning near Willie John. “Wanted to be an outlaw, did he? I’ve seen them kind. Best thing you can do is forget him. You got away, that’s all you needed him for. I always said, use people so long as it suits you, then drop them quicker than a hot pot handle.” He laughed and slapped his leg, the others joining him.
Willie John looked at each of their faces in turn, fingers of flame dancing in their eyes and across their faces, turning them into laughing demons. Men without souls or purpose, he thought, and his insides suddenly felt cold and ill knowing he was one of them.
“Maybe I will ride in with you after all, Morgan,” Willie John said.
“Wait a minute, Willie,” Morgan Aglo replied. “If you go along with us, I want you going for the right reasons . . . I want all your attention when we hit that bank. I don’t want you riding in there because you got some foolish notion about helping some knot-headed kid.”
“Never mind my reason, Aglo,” said Willie John. “I said I’d go. Let’s say I just remembered something I left there. I’m ready to go get it.”
“Yeah, and what was that?” Morgan Aglo asked, giving him a distrusting look.
“My horse,” Willie smiled thinly. “I always was partial to that dapple-gray.” Yes, he was going back to Hubbler Wells. But there was no question he needed the others’ help. He couldn’t risk it alone in his current condition. He thought about Billy Odle and shook his head, reminding himself once again that this had nothing to do with the kid . . . nothing at all.
Chapter 16
“Is that you, Billy?” Hattie Odle asked, rubbing her sleepy eyes as she raised up against the pillow behind her back. She looked at her son, then looked at the Ranger. Then she turned her head away in embarrassment as she said to Billy, “You had us all worried to death, Billy. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” There was a lack of conviction in her voice, as if she felt she had no right to ask anything from her son.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” Billy said. “The Ranger here has been helping me understand some things . . . told me how you using that black tar is like an illness that won’t heal. I know it ain’t made things any better, me running off. I’ll be around here now, though, to help you get well.”
“Good, Billy,” she whispered, her pale hand grasping his wrist and drawing his hand to her cheek.
“Try not to worry, ma’am,” said the Ranger. “I’m keeping him in custody for his own good until this weather breaks, and folks settle down a little.”
Beside Sam, Tinnie Malone stood supporting herself on a hickory cane. Her face was drawn and she stood stiffly in place, her wounded chest tender and mending slowly. “They found Old Man Renfro,” she said quietly and solemnly. “The blacksmith and his helper found him dead in the snow . . . his throat cut.”
Hattie let out a faint gasp, and Sam put in quickly, “But nobody is accusing Billy, ma’am. Leastwise not to our faces. The way the blacksmith talks, it took a grown-up to commit this kind of an act.” He nodded toward Billy, adding, “Billy here has told me what happened. He’s got nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you, Ranger,” Hattie Odle whispered, her eyes shiny with tears.
“Tinnie and I will step outside,” Sam said quietly. “Give you two a couple of minutes alone.” He glanced at the second-floor window, where sunlight reached through and striped the floor. He thought about the deep snow engulfing the town as it had for the past three days. Then he said to Billy Odle, “I’ll be right outside the door, young man. Just make sure you leave the same way you got here.”
“I will, Ranger Burrack,” said Billy. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Tinnie stepped in and said to Hattie Odle, “Don’t take long Hattie. You still need your rest.”
“Look who’s talking.” Hattie offered a faint, tired smile.
The Ranger and Tinnie Malone left the room and stood outside the door in the narrow hallway. “He doesn’t mean a word of it, does he?” Tinnie whispered, nodding toward the door to Hattie’s room.
“Probably not,” said Sam, “but with a kid like Billy you have to give them the benefit of a doubt. All we can do is hope he’s got enough sense to see we’re all trying to help him.” Sam looked her up and down, seeing how hard she was trying to mask her pain, but all the same seeing it was obvious in her eyes. “You need to get off your feet, Tinnie; you look bad.”
“Thanks a lot,” Tinnie replied.
Sam smiled. “You know what I mean. You need to stay down and rest, let that wound heal up some.”
“Like you did?” she said in playful defiance.
“That’s different,” said Sam, “I have too much to do. Besides, I’ll rest when this town is back to normal . . . and when I finish with the Indian.”
“Don’t you figure he’s long gone by now, Sam?” said Tinnie, standing close to him. “Don’t you think he used this weather to his advantage and cut down to Mexico?”
“No, he’s still here,” said Sam. “I can feel it
. He’s got unfinished business here of some kind. He’ll be back.”
“Unfinished business? You mean with Billy? The bank?”
“I don’t know,” said Sam, “but he does. And wherever he’s at, he can feel me here waiting for him.”
Tinnie stood in silence for a moment, then said, “And that’s the real reason you haven’t rode out looking for him. It’s not the weather . . . it’s not because you’re worried about what the townsmen will do to Billy once you leave. It’s because you think he’ll be coming back here for some reason.”
Sam glanced at the door to Hattie’s room. Hearing a floorboard creak on the other side of the door, he said to Tinnie in a hushed tone, “Keep your voice down. It’s best that Billy not hear any of this.”
The door opened slowly and Billy Odle stepped into the hallway. “Thanks for bringing me here, Ranger Burrack,” he said. “How much longer are you going to have to be with me everywhere I go?”
Sam smiled. “Are you already tired of my company, young man?”
“No, Ranger Burrack, it’s not that,” said Billy.
Sam cut him off before he could say anything more. “Let’s go, Billy. Maybe Carl and Ronald have some hot grub from the restaurant.”
As the three descended the stairs to the hotel’s small lobby, one of Fuller’s men looked up from the counter where he stood, the neck of a whiskey bottle sticking up from his coat pocket. He looked at Billy with a cold, bloodshot leer and said, “Here comes that killing little devil right now.” He took a drunken step toward Billy Odle, a rifle clutched in his right hand.
“Back off, mister!” Sam Burrack warned, stepping around from behind Billy Odle and blocking the man from coming any closer.
The man took note of the Ranger’s hand resting on the butt of his big Colt. He relented and stepped to the side but couldn’t resist saying, “Yeah, that’s it, protect that little snake while you can, Ranger . . . it ain’t going to last much longer! This town will soon tire of being run by kids and whores! Then you’ll be answering to us!”
Sam kept his eyes on him until Tinnie and Billy Odle were out the door. Then Sam closed the door and stalked over to the man, taking his hand off his pistol butt just to prod the man into making a move. “Now why’d you say such a thing as that to my lady friend?” Sam asked, seeing the tip of the rifle come up toward him.