Ralph Compton the Law and the Lawless

by Ralph Compton

  “I don’t know if I can,” Cestus admitted. “Robbin’ is one thing. Killin’ is another. I’m not a killer at heart, not like Hanks, and not like—” He stopped.

  “Me?” the Kid said.

  “We’ve got money squirreled away,” Cestus went on. “Maybe it’s time we let the others go their own way and you and me go off to Montana or anywhere that no one knows us and live straight for a change.”

  “And do what? Work cattle? Clerk at a store? No, thank you. I’d rather breathe dirt.”

  Cestus didn’t press the issue, but now that the notion had taken root, he liked it. He liked it a lot. He’d never aimed to be an outlaw forever.

  “What’s that?” the Kid said suddenly.

  The woods were thinning, the trees almost at an end. A grassy pasture spread before them, and something moved in the starlight, a blocklike shape.

  “It’s a cow, you infant,” Cestus said, and laughed.

  “For a second there I thought it was a bear.”

  The glow of lit windows appeared, and Cestus sobered. “That must be it,” he said. Drawing rein, he waited as the others came up on either side. “There’s the farmhouse. Any questions before we pay the marshal’s friend and his sister a visit?”

  “We’ve been all through what to do,” Bert Varrow said.

  “Two in one night,” Toomis mentioned. “We’ll be the talk of the territory.”

  “What are their names again?” Varrow asked.

  “Wilson,” Ira Toomis said. “Sam and Cecelia Wilson.”

  Chapter 20

  Cecelia made beef stew for supper. Her brother was fond of soups and stews of all kinds, and had been since he was a boy. She humored his craving by making it a point to prepare some sort of soup at least once a week.

  This particular evening, Sam got in from the fields late. He’d been hard at work all day preparing a new section for plowing. It involved clearing trees and removing more than a few large boulders and a lot of smaller ones that might damage the plow.

  “I’m hungry enough to eat one of our cows,” Sam announced as he came in the back door. He’d washed up at the pump and his face and hands were clean, if not his clothes.

  Cecelia had his silverware and bowl waiting on the table, and ladled the stew. She didn’t mind waiting on him when he toiled so hard each day for their mutual benefit. He handled almost all the field and barn work, and she handled the house and the vegetable garden.

  “No Boyd tonight?” Sam teased.

  “He was out early today but had to go back,” Cecelia said. “That outlaw business.”

  “Mad Dog Hanks,” Sam said. “The judge will do a service to the town and the territory when he sentences Hanks to hang.”

  “The man hasn’t put been on trial yet.”

  “He will, and that will be the end of him. Or should be,” Sam said, “if the judge doesn’t go easy.”

  Cecelia decided not to pursue the topic. Sam was quite set in his ways when it came to the legal system. He often complained that judges mollycoddled criminals too much. “Eat your stew,” she said, setting his bowl in front of him.

  Sam didn’t need urging. When it came to meals, he jumped in like a starved bear and ate as if it were his last meal on earth. When he was eating soup, he slurped now and then, much to her annoyance. Just now, smearing butter on a piece of bread, he licked his lips and said, “Smells delicious. You’re about the best cook who ever lived, except for Ma.”

  Cecelia moved to the other end of the table and sat. Placing the napkin in her lap, she spread it out. “Your flattery is appreciated, kind sir.”

  Chuckling, Sam was about to spoon stew into his mouth, and froze. “I just had a thought.”

  “Oh no,” Cecelia said.

  “I’m serious.” Sam lowered the spoon. “What happens to me if Boyd and you get hitched?”

  “Pshaw. You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Cecelia said. “We’ve barely begun our courtship.”

  “You’ve been at it long enough to spend a lot of time on the porch swing at night.”

  “That’s hardly your concern,” Cecelia said archly.

  “My stomach is.”

  About to dip her own spoon, Cecelia paused. “How’s that again?”

  “My stomach,” Sam repeated. “Who’s going to feed me if you marry Boyd Cooper and move out?”

  “First off,” Cecelia said, “you’re old enough to feed yourself. Second thing, who says I will? Maybe Boyd wouldn’t mind moving in here.”

  “No married man in his right mind wants to live with his brother-in-law. He’ll want a place of his own. Or your two’s own, rather.”

  “And why wouldn’t he live with both of us?” Cecelia asked.

  “It’s just not done,” Sam said. “He’ll want his own place to raise his own family.”

  “Sam, neither Boyd nor I are spring chickens,” Cecelia reminded him. “There won’t be children. There won’t be a family. Just him and me.”

  “Say, that’s right,” Sam said. “You’re both a little long at the tooth to have children.”

  “Thank you so much,” Cecelia said.

  “I didn’t mean anything,” Sam said quickly. “Finding a man at your age, that’s some feat.”

  “You can shut up now.”

  “All I’m trying to say is that maybe you’re right and he won’t mind living here. Although we’d have to arrange things so that you two are at one side of the house and I’m at the other. I don’t know how noisy you two will be.”

  “Oh, Samuel.”

  “Don’t ‘Oh, Samuel’ me. I’m not the one who thinks she is sixteen again. But you know, sis”—Sam beamed with warmth and affection—“I couldn’t be happier for you. Who knows? It could be lightning will strike twice and I’ll find a woman my age willing to put up with the dirt and the smells.”

  “You don’t stink that much except when you’ve been shoveling mature,” Cecelia said gaily.

  “I had that coming, I suppose, for pointing out your gray hairs are a factor.”

  “Eat your stew.”

  Laughing, Sam bent to his meal.

  As for Cecelia, she ate slowly, thinking of Boyd and the possibilities ahead, and how she would love more than anything if her brother’s prediction came true. She didn’t like living single. If her previous marriage had taught her anything, it was that having someone to love increased her happiness tenfold. Always doing things together, laughing together, snuggling together, it filled a body’s heart close to bursting with joy.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sam asked unexpectedly.

  “Nothing much. Why?”

  “You looked like you were about to cry.”

  “No, not that. I was—” Cecelia stopped. She’d heard the front door open and now saw someone coming down the hall toward the kitchen. The lamp in the parlor wasn’t lit yet and all she saw was a dark silhouette. “Who on earth is that?”

  Sam twisted in his chair. “Boyd? Is that you?”

  The back door opened and in came three men with drawn revolvers. They spread out as they entered. The oldest of them had a beard, another had a stray eye, while the third wore a derby and an expensive suit. “Ma’am,” the third one said politely.

  “Good God!” Sam blurted.

  Out of the hall came three more.

  Startled to her core, Cecelia recoiled in dismay. She’d recognized them from what Boyd had told her: Cestus Calloway, the Attica Kid, and Mad Dog Hanks.

  “Lord help us,” she gasped.

  Calloway strolled to the table while the other two moved to the right and the left, respectively. Picking up a piece of corn bread, Calloway took a bite. “Yum-yum,” he said. “Did you bake this yourself, Miss Wilson?”

  Cecelia couldn’t seem to find her voice.

  “What is this?” Sam demande
d. “How dare you come marching into our home? You have no business here. Get out.”

  “I wouldn’t be bossin’ folks around, if I were you,” Cestus Calloway said. “Not with five six-shooters pointed in your direction.”

  “Let me do him and we can be on our way,” Mad Dog Hanks said.

  Calloway gave him a sharp glance. “Didn’t you learn your lesson back in town? We talked this out and you’re to behave.”

  “He better,” the Attica Kid said.

  “Oh hell,” Mad Dog growled.

  Cecelia had regained enough control to say, “Mr. Calloway, isn’t it? What is the meaning of this? Would you please explain?”

  Cestus came around the table and, to her surprise, doffed his hat. “Listen to you, ma’am. As polite as anything. You remind me of my ma, some. She was always goin’ on about bein’ polite.”

  Not sure what to make of his friendliness, Cecelia glanced at each of the others. They weren’t nearly as friendly. The Attica Kid showed no emotion at all, Mad Dog Hanks was worthy of his nickname, and the bearded man and the man with the mismatched eyes seemed almost bored. The only one who did her the courtesy of smiling was the one in the derby.

  Sam’s own confusion was apparent. “Whatever it is you’re after, take it and go. Just don’t hurt her. She’s never done anything to you.”

  “Hurt her?” Cestus said. “Farmer, you have it wrong. It’s not her we’re here for.”

  “No,” Cecelia gasped.

  “What?” Sam said.

  “It wasn’t your sister who rode with the posse,” Cestus Calloway said. “It wasn’t your sister who had a hand in Ben Larner bein’ blown to hell.”

  “I didn’t shoot that old buffalo hunter.”

  “You were with those as did.”

  Sam started to rise but froze when a revolver hammer clicked. Sinking back down, he said, “Now, see here. I only rode with the posse to have words with the marshal.”

  “Words about what?” Cestus asked.

  “That’s none of your affair.”

  “You might live longer if you tell me.”

  Mad Dog Hanks uttered a string of oaths. His jaw muscles had been twitching the whole while, and now he wagged his revolver at Sam and rasped, “What the hell difference does it make? He was part of the posse. That’s all we need to know. Quit playin’ nice and finish this.”

  “You’re tryin’ my patience,” Cestus said. “You truly are.”

  “I can say the same,” Mad Dog said. “Did we come here to kill him, or not? If we did, put one in his brainpan and we can go.”

  Cecelia tried to think of a way to use their bickering to her advantage. It was plain they didn’t like each other. Plain too, given the looks they shot at Hanks, that some of the others didn’t like him either. “May I interrupt?”

  “You certainly may, good lady,” Cestus said.

  “I can’t take this,” Mad Dog fumed. “Are we outlaws or a sewin’ circle? If the rest of you want to stay here and listen to this, fine. But count me out.” Wheeling, he stomped off down the hall like a mad bull.

  “So much for the nuisance,” Bert Varrow said.

  Cecelia was only concerned with saving her brother’s life. “Sam,” she said, seizing the opportunity. “You can tell them why you went to see Boyd.” She had suspected the truth when Boyd brought up courting her the very next day.

  “Boyd, is it?” Cestus Calloway teased her.

  Cecelia was sure she blushed. “Please, Sam. It’s for your own good. I don’t mind them knowing.”

  “It’s not proper,” Sam said.

  “Hang proper,” Cecelia said, and inwardly winced at her choice of words. “If you don’t tell them I will.”

  Sam glared at the leader of the outlaws. “I went to see the marshal about her behind her back. She was taken with him, and he wasn’t doing anything about it, so I suggested he should come courting.”

  “And I thank you for that,” Cecelia said.

  Cestus Calloway laughed. “Well, now. I believe this is a case of true love, boys.”

  “Don’t poke fun at her,” Sam said.

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  Sam mumbled something, then said, “When I got to town, the bank had been robbed and the marshal was leavin’ with a posse. The only way I could talk to him was if I rode along.”

  “So we didn’t enter into it at all?” Cestus said.

  “In what way?”

  “It never dawned on you that if the posse caught up to us, lead might fly? That you could be shot helpin’ your sister with her romance?”

  “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

  “I believe you,” Cestus said, and laughed even louder.

  The Attica Kid came closer to the table. “Don’t tell me you’re thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’.”

  “You heard him,” Cestus said. “We can’t shoot a man over romance.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Ira Toomis said. “First you wanted to spare that deputy and now you want to spare this farmer?”

  “You missed your callin’, Calloway,” Cockeye said. “You’re so fond of sparin’ folks, you should have been a parson.” That was more words than he’d uttered in months.

  Whatever Cestus was about to say in response was cut off by the slamming of the front door. Boots thudded in the hall, and down it ran Mad Dog Hanks.

  “Not you again,” the Attica Kid said.

  “You’ll want to hear this,” Mad Dog said. “I was out by the road and heard a rider. I looked, and caught a gleam on his shirt. It must be a badge. I suspect the marshal is comin’ to court his farm gal.”

  Cestus jammed his hat on and drew a revolver. “Don’t this beat all? What is it religious folks like to say? Ask and you will receive.”

  “Let’s blow out the lamps and ambush him,” Mad Dog said.

  “And make him suspicious, the house bein’ all dark?” Cestus shook his head. “We’ll let him ride up and walk in as natural as you please, and then we’ll blow him to hell.”

  “Finally you want to kill somebody,” Ira Toomis said.

  “When it comes to the marshal,” Cestus Calloway said, “I truly do.”

  Chapter 21

  Marshal Boyd Cooper told himself he should turn in early. He needed rest. He was to lead the posse in the morning, and he was worn out. Fighting the fire had exhausted him. Mitch’s death had made a wreck of his emotions. Competing tides of fury and sorrow were ripping at him, and something else. A growing sense of worry.

  According to a witness, the Calloway Gang had headed south after they murdered Deputy Mitchell. At the time, Boyd hadn’t thought anything of it.

  But after the undertaker had removed the body and Dale had gone to make his rounds, Boyd had a troubling thought. After they’d robbed the bank, the outlaws had gone north. Boyd had figured—and Harvey Dale agreed—that they had a hideout somewhere.

  To the north, not the south.

  So why, Boyd asked himself, had they gone south this time? No one had ever reported seeing them south of town before. Had they done it to throw pursuers off their scent, or was there a more sinister purpose? Because the Wilson Farm was south of town, and Sam had been with the posse that killed Ben Larner.

  Boyd told himself he was fretting over nothing. That the outlaws wouldn’t break Mad Dog out and then kill Mitch and go after Sam. They’d expect the whole countryside to be roused against them. They’d head for their hole-in-the-wall to the north and lie low.

  The more Boyd thought about it, though, the worse he worried. He’d suspected that the outlaws sent McGivern to murder Sherm Bonner and Lefty, and now they’d killed Mitch. It could be they were doing the unthinkable: wiping out every member of the posse.

  Finally it reached the point where Boyd couldn’t stand the worrying. He had to do something abo
ut it. Saddling his horse, he took the south road out of Alpine. He would check on the Wilsons, and if all was well, stay for a short visit with Cecelia and head back to get his much-needed sleep.

  Everything appeared normal. A couple of their windows were lit and the farm lay peaceful under the sparkling host of stars.

  Boyd dismounted and was almost to the front porch when he stopped in his tracks, troubled. The farm was too quiet. Sam and Cecelia might be sitting quietly in the parlor, Sam reading and Cecelia knitting, as they liked to sometimes do after their evening meal, but a sense of unease warned Boyd that wasn’t the case. He was probably being foolish, but he palmed his revolver and moved around to the side of the house.

  The first window that was lit was to what Cecelia called her sitting room. It contained a lot of female knickknacks and a flute she played on occasion. She wasn’t there.

  The other lit window was to the kitchen.

  Boyd crept forward, still feeling a bit foolish. Removing his hat, he inched an eye to a corner.

  Sam and Cecelia were at the kitchen table, eating.

  Exhaling in relief, Boyd was about to put his hat on and go around to the back door and knock when a shadow moved by the stove. He looked, and his blood ran cold. A man was crouched beside it where he wouldn’t be seen by anyone coming down the front hall.

  The man was Mad Dog Hanks.

  Ducking, Boyd moved to the other side of the window and again raised his eye.

  Cestus Calloway and the Attica Kid were to either side of the hall doorway, their backs to the wall, their revolvers out and cocked.

  Boyd ducked down again. The whole gang must be in there. Somehow they were expecting him. He must do something, quickly, before they came out to investigate what was keeping him. Replacing his hat, he moved to the rear of the house.

  No one was out back.

  Careful not to let his spurs jingle, Boyd stalked to the back door and hesitated. All the outlaws must be inside. All six of them. By bursting in he’d take them by surprise and might get one or two or maybe even three, but the rest would surely fill him with lead, and where would that leave Cecelia and Sam?

  Boyd was in a quandary. What else could he do? Shoot through the kitchen window? That wouldn’t work any better than charging on in