By the Horns

by Ralph Compton

  Some were always kind to him and would buy a drink without much pleading on his part. Others could not be bothered. A few were outright mean, and if he dared ask, they would give him a severe tongue-lashing, or, worse, a poke in the ribs or maybe a cuff to the cheek. Only when his need was clawing at his insides like a grizzly gone amok did he ever approach the mean ones.

  This particular night had been better than most. Toothless had been treated to over ten drinks. He had that nice, warm, fuzzy feeling he enjoyed so much, and his mind drifted in liquid rapture. Only one other customer was still in the saloon, head slumped over a table, when Charley, the bartender, came down the bar.

  “Two minutes, Toothless.”

  Toothless had been nursing his last drink for ten times that long. He was a master at nursing them. He would take the tiniest of sips, then savor the warmth as the whiskey burned a path to his stomach. “Can’t you make it five? Have a drink with me and we’ll jaw a spell.”

  “Two minutes,” Charley repeated, and began wiping the counter. “It’s been a long night and I’m bone tired. You wouldn’t think serving drinks can do that, but it sure as hell can.”

  “You are a fine bartender, Charley. Why not treat yourself before you turn in? You deserve it.”

  “I thank you for the compliment but you can save your praise, you old goat.” Charley grinned as he said it. “I’m wise to your wiles. They don’t work on me anymore.”

  “Such a shame,” Toothless said sadly. “There was a time when you were much more generous.”

  “So much for false praise.” Charley stared at the figure slumped over the lone occupied table. “Who’s that with his head in his arms yonder?”

  Toothless did not have to look. He had gone over earlier to ask for a drink and been rebuffed. “Harold, the bank clerk. He drank himself into a stupor. Something to do with how much he misses poor Carmody.”

  “We all miss her,” Charley lamented. “Damn all drummers to hell.”

  “It was a fine lynchin’,” Toothless said. Especially since, afterward, most of the men had repaired to the Nose Paint to celebrate or drown their guilt, and he had been indulged for a total of nine drinks.

  “A necktie social was too good for that bastard. They should have staked him out over an anthill, like the Indians do. Or tied him to a stake and set him on fire.”

  “Why, Charley. I never knew you have such a gruesome streak.”

  “Carmody was the best dove I ever worked with. She hardly ever got mad. And she wasn’t as moody as most females.”

  “You don’t need to tell me about their moods,” Toothless said. “I was married twice.”

  “You were?” Charlie was surprised. “I never took you for the marrying kind. Fact is, though, I don’t know a lot about you other than you used to punch cows for Goodnight years back, and then you went to work for the stage company for a while. Is that right?”

  “Punchin’ was hard work. Too hard for my likin’. So I gave it up to sit on a stool and sell tickets and help folks tote their bags out to the stage.”

  “When did you become a drunk?”

  Toothless was about to take another sip. He had two or three good ones left in the glass. But he stopped with the glass almost to his lips, and said testily, “I’ll thank you not to call me that. How many times have you ever seen me where I couldn’t hold my booze?”

  “Not many,” Charley admitted. “You can drink most men under the table, but you seldom get to staggering or passing out. Must be you have built up a tolerance to the alcohol.”

  “Why, Charley,” Toothless said, still irritated, “since when did you become an expert on drinkin’ habits?”

  “You old buzzard. That’s enough. Clever of you to trick me into talking so you can stay longer, but I’ve caught on. Get done and get out or so help me, I’ll boot you out on your backside.”

  “I would never try to trick you, Charley,” Toothless lied. “You’re the one man in town I can’t afford to have mad at me.”

  “One minute, and that’s all.” Charley went around the end of the bar and over to the table and shook Harold by the shoulder. “I’m closing, Harry. Can you stand on your own or do you want help to the door?”

  Harold slowly raised his head. He was thin as a rail and had a face that would have given his own mother the shudders. Blinking in confusion, he said, “Where am I? Oh. Still here?”

  “Can you make it out on your own?”

  “Sure.” Harold swatted at the hand on his shoulder. “No need to treat me like I’m helpless. I’m a grown man. I can hold my liquor.”

  “Sure you can.” Charley went to another table to collect glasses. “Prove it by leaving.”

  “You can be rude. Do you know that?” Harold stared to rise but his legs wobbled and he had to sit back down. “Whew. My head is spinning enough to make me sick.”

  “Not in here,” Charley warned. “You do, and you clean it up, and I’ll ban you for a week.”

  “Not only rude but mean.” Harold braced his hands on the table and this time managed to stand erect but he swayed and did not let go of the table for fear of falling. “But don’t you worry. They don’t call me Iron Gut Harry for nothing.”

  “No one calls you that but you,” Charley reminded him. “And your gut is made of paper, not iron. Two drinks and you slur your words. Four, and you can barely hold your head up. How many did you have tonight? Five?”

  “I refuse to stay here and be insulted.” Harold focused on the door, then launched himself toward it with a determined stride. Unfortunately, his body did not share his determination. He weaved like a sailor on a storm-tossed deck and had to stop and grip another table.

  Toothless had finished his drink. Regretfully setting the empty glass on the bar, he straightened. “Want some help there, Harry?”

  “How kind of you,” the clerk said. “You would do that for me?”

  “Why not?” Toothless would help anyone who bought him a drink now and again. He put an arm around Harold. “I ain’t as strong as I used to be, so help out as best you can. You ready?”

  “I am always ready,” Harold boasted.

  Together, they made it to the door, but had to cling there to catch their breath. Toothless remembered a time when he could have thrown Harold over a shoulder and strolled out as casual as you please. He hated growing old. Hated watching his limbs wither like dry corn on a stalk. Hated becoming weaker and weaker as the years went by. He hated it more than he’d ever hated anything.

  “Do you know where my place is?”

  “Sure. Don’t you worry none. We’ll have you there in thirty shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “Isn’t it supposed to be three shakes?”

  “If we were sober, yes.” Toothless firmed his hold and marched out the door, refusing to say good night to Charley on general principle. Harold leaned so hard against him, Toothless nearly fell over. A post saved them. Then they gathered steam, moving faster, more confidently.

  “I can’t thank you enough. Remind me to buy you a drink tomorrow night, will you?”

  “I’ll remind you to buy me a whole bottle,” Toothless said.

  “Do you miss her as much as I do?”

  “Carmody? Sure. She was a great gal.”

  “That she was.” Tears filled Harold’s eyes. “She was the salt of the earth. Always so kind, always smiling.”

  “Findin’ a dove as wonderful to replace her won’t be easy,” Toothless said. “That fat one didn’t impress me much.”

  “Who?”

  “Some fat gal who wandered into town today. She came into the saloon and asked Charley if he was hirin’. I figured he’d be glad to find someone so soon, but he looked her up and down and said he wasn’t in need of a girl.”

  “He had no call to do that. Was she nice?”

  “I didn’t get to talk to her,” Toothless said. “She wasn’t as easy on the eyes as Carmody, but there sure was a lot of her. Enough for half the men in town, I reckon, with some left
over.”

  “I’d like to meet her. There aren’t many single women hereabouts, and—hey!”

  Harold yelped because two men had lunged out of a gap between the buildings and grabbed them. One of the men slammed Harold against a wall. The other threw Toothless to the dirt. They both had revolvers in their hands. The one man swung his. There was the thuck of metal on bone, and Harold folded onto his side, groaning, a nasty gash in his temple.

  The other man raised his six-shooter to pistol-whip Toothless but a harsh voice out of the darkness growled, “Don’t bother with that one. He’s not worth our time.”

  Cringing in fear, Toothless saw Luke Deal step out of the shadows. The man standing over him was Bronk. It was Grutt who had nearly split Harold’s skull. “What do you want?”

  “Travelin’ money,” Luke Deal said. “We’re tired of Whiskey Flats.” He bent over Harold and rummaged in the clerk’s pockets. A vest produced coins and a few bills. Luke counted them. “Twelve dollars. It’s not much but it will tide us over.”

  “Hell,” Grutt snapped, “I don’t see why we don’t just rob the stage office. They have a lot of cash sometimes.”

  “Oh, sure. We’ll rob it first thing in the mornin’,” Luke said sarcastically. “Then spend all of next week fightin’ shy of a posse.” He nudged Harold with the tip of a boot. “This idiot is safer. He didn’t get a good look at us so he can’t set the Rangers on our trail.”

  “How about you?” Grutt asked Bronk. “Whose notion do you like? Do we rob the stage company?”

  “I’m with Luke,” Bronk said.

  “You always take his side of things.” Grutt shoved his revolver in its holster. “Just once I’d like us to do what I want.”

  Luke Deal placed his right hand on his Remington. “Is that so? Does this mean you think you should be runnin’ things?”

  Grutt blanched and thrust his hands out from his sides. “I never said any such thing! Don’t be puttin’ words in my mouth.”

  “And don’t you be tellin’ me what we should do,” Luke warned. “Now I want to be clear. Are we still pards?”

  “Always,” Grutt said, glancing at Deal’s gun hand. Evidently anxious to change the subject, he pointed at Toothless. “But what about this old coot? He’s seen us. He can tell we took the money.”

  Luke Deal’s slate gray eyes fixed on Toothless. “How about it, old-timer? Do you have a leaky mouth?”

  “Not me, Mr. Deal. Never. No, sir. I know better than to cross someone like you.”

  “What does that mean, exactly? Someone like me?”

  Toothless wished his head was clearer. The whiskey had him befuddled, and the three hard cases had him downright scared. “Someone who doesn’t take any guff. Someone who stands up for himself.”

  “You’re not as dumb as you look.” Luke visibly relaxed and started to make for the street. “Let’s skedaddle. By sunrise we’ll be long gone.”

  “What about Owen?” Grutt asked.

  Deal stopped, then turned back, wearing the same cold smile. “How is that again?”

  “I owe him for that shellackin’ he gave me with his fists. How about if we go out to the Bar 40 and jump him when he least expects?”

  It was always best when dealing with violent sorts, Toothless had learned long ago, to not say more than was necessary. He should have kept his mouth shut, but he heard himself say, “Owen ain’t there.”

  “Then where is he?” Grutt demanded.

  “I’m curious myself,” Luke Deal said. “I heard he went down to Mexico with his boss but they’re supposed to have come back.”

  “Oh, they returned, all right,” Toothless said. “But now Owen and three other hands have gone off north. They won’t be back for months.”

  Suddenly Luke Deal was in front of Toothless, his expression smoldering with intensity. “Where did you hear this?”

  “From a couple of Bar 40 hands who were in town yesterday,” Toothless said. “Buck Tilman and Lute Bannister. You know them, don’t you?”

  “I’ve seen them around.” Luke gazed northward. “Did they happen to say where Owen is bound? Or why?”

  “The where is Wyoming Territory,” Toothless informed him. “The why is he’s takin’ one of the Bar 40’s best bulls to a ranch up that way. You ran into the buyer yourself. Don’t you remember? That mail-order catalog? From England, I believe it is.”

  “He sure didn’t look like no rancher I ever saw,” Luke said. “And he bought a bull, you say?”

  “Big Blue.”

  “Interestin’,” Luke Deal said. “Mighty interestin’.” He leaned down. “Tell me more, old man.”

  “That’s about all they told me, except Buck Tilman is temporary foreman until Owen gets back.”

  “Tilman happen to mention the names of the punchers who went with him?”

  “Let’s see.” Toothless had to concentrate. “It was Slim and that cowhand from Ohio. Oh, and Lon Chalmers.”

  “The gun hand,” Bronk said.

  “Just those four?”

  Toothless did not understand Deal’s sudden interest but he was not about to hold anything back. “The mail-order catalog went, too, I believe. Oh, and a cook, but I don’t know much about him other than he’s a Mex.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t let Grutt split your noggin,” Luke Deal said. Smiling, he squatted, his hands low on his legs. “If I had, you wouldn’t have given me an idea how I can make a lot of money.”

  “Glad I could be of help,” Toothless said.

  “You can help me more by dyin’.” Luke Deal’s right hand came away from his right boot. A double-edged dagger glinted dully as he thrust the blade to the hilt into the old man’s belly.

  Shock glued Toothless in place. He glanced down at his stomach and bleated, “Dear God, no.”

  “Are those your last words?” Luke twisted his arm, slicing upward. “You can do better.”

  Agony such as Toothless had never known coursed through him. Throbbing, excruciating pain, and with it came a wet sensation that welled up in his throat and filled his mouth. “Please,” he pleaded, feeling the wetness ooze over his lower lip and down his chin.

  Grutt laughed mirthlessly.

  Luke Deal bent and whispered in Toothless’s ear, “Best make your peace with your Maker.”

  Toothless wet himself. He couldn’t help it. “Why?” he mewed. A strange tingling spread outward from his gut.

  “I always cover my tracks,” Luke Deal said, “and you happen to be one of them.” He drew out the blade and plunged it in again. “You can die anytime you want.”

  Belatedly, Toothless opened his mouth to scream. But all that came out was more sticky wetness. He tried to swallow and nearly choked.

  “Tough old buzzard,” Luke said. He smiled, then merrily and methodically plunged the blade in over and over again. Ten times. Fifteen. Twenty. Finally he stopped and wiped the blade clean and slid the dagger into the sheath inside his boot.

  Bronk snickered and nodded in appreciation. “When you kill ’em, you do it right. What about this other one? Want me to do him, too?”

  “He never had a good look at us, remember?” Luke unfurled. “Hit him again, but not hard enough to break his skull. We just want to keep him here until mornin’.” He walked out to the street and leaned against a post. He did not look around when his shadows joined him.

  “Just when I think you’re gettin’ soft, you go and do somethin’ like that.” Grutt offered faint praise. “What made you turn that old buzzard into maggot bait, anyway? A couple of minutes ago you told us to leave him be.”

  “I didn’t want him tellin’ anyone he told us about Owen.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “A heap of difference when word gets out,” Luke Deal said. “I don’t want every lawman and Ranger in the state after us.”

  “Over that old drunk?” Bronk was skeptical.

  “Try to pay attention. Not because of Toothless. Because Owen and his pards will be dead an
d we will have Big Blue.” A cold smile curled Luke’s cruel mouth. “That bull can bring us thousands if we play our cards right. Let’s vamoose. We have a lot of ridin’ to do.”

  They hurried down the street and were almost to the hitch rail where they had left their horses when their way was blocked by an apparition in a dress as huge as a tent. Cheap perfume filled the air like fog.

  “Looking for a good time, boys?”

  “You’ve got to be joshin’,” Grutt told the woman. “I don’t mate with buffaloes.”

  “Be nice,” the apparition said. “Sure, there’s a lot of me, but I come with a lot of experience.”

  “We’re not interested, lady,” Luke Deal said.

  The woman pursed lips as thick as plums. “You won’t say that once you’ve had a taste. One at a time or three at once, it’s all the same to me.”

  “My kind of woman!” Bronk declared.

  Luke glared at him. “We’re sheddin’ this two-bit town, remember? It will take us days to catch up as it is. Longer if we’re shackled with a damn whore.”

  “I resent that,” the woman said. “But what’s this about you leaving? I’ve only been in Whiskey Flats one day and I can’t wait to be somewhere else. Which direction are you boys heading?”

  Luke started to brush past her. “In the opposite direction from you.”

  “Wait. Please.” The woman gripped his sleeve. “Hear me out. I don’t have the money for stage fare. I’m stuck here until I rustle it up, or until some friendly gents like you take pity on a poor workin’ girl.”

  “I’m not in the pity business,” Luke said.

  “I can make it worth your while to take me.” The woman bestowed a somewhat seductive look on Bronk and Grutt. “Free pokes every day until we get to wherever you’re going.”

  Bronk lit up like a candle. “Free pokes?”

  “For all of you as want them.”

  “And we can do it any way we want?” From Grutt.

  “So long as you don’t spill blood.” The woman grinned. “What do you say? When was the last time you fondled treats like these?” She cupped her enormous breasts and jiggled them.

  “I think I’m in love,” Bronk said.