Ralph Compton the Law and the Lawless

by Ralph Compton

  Boyd needed to draw the outlaws out of the house somehow. On open ground, in the dark, he stood a better chance of holding his own. He could knock and run, but where would that leave Cecelia and her brother?

  Stumped, Boyd gazed about him. Not far off a pile of chopped wood was ready for use in the stove. An ax leaned against the wall. The barn door was closed for the night, the chicken coop still.

  The barn. There might be something he could use. He was about to cross over to it when he heard an oath from in the kitchen, and pressed his ear to the door.

  “What the hell is keepin’ him?” Mad Dog Hanks rumbled. “He should have been here by now.”

  “Hush, damn you. You’ll give us away.”

  “I tell you he should be here,” Mad Dog said. “Somethin’ is wrong, Calloway. I can feel it.”

  “Could be he’s right,” someone else said.

  “I’ll go have a look-see out the front,” another volunteered.

  “Go ahead, Kid,” Cestus Calloway said. “But don’t let him catch sight of you.”

  “Do you think I’m as stupid as Hanks?” the Attica Kid said.

  “You have your nerve,” Mad Dog declared.

  Boyd was unsure what to do. The Attica Kid would see his horse and warn the others. Should he retreat to the barn, or fight?

  The decision was taken out of his hands.

  The back door was jerked open, splashing him with light. The man known as Cockeye, about to step out, froze in surprise.

  Boyd shot him.

  • • •

  Cecelia was beside herself with worry. She yearned to shout a warning to Boyd, but she might be shot. Or, worse, Sam might. Her brother was fidgeting in his chair and glowering at the outlaws. She recognized the signs. Sam was contemplating something. That worried her even more. He’d be filled with lead before he took two steps.

  Cecelia tried to catch Sam’s eye, but he wouldn’t look her way. She tapped her bowl with her spoon, thinking that might draw his attention, but he was looking over at Mad Dog Hanks, the nearest of the outlaws, crouched beside the stove.

  Dear God, no, Cecelia thought. Jumping Hanks was the last thing Sam should do. But they had to do something. If not, Boyd would walk in and be cut down with no chance to defend himself.

  Desperate, Cecelia glanced about. Her gaze was drawn to the sugar bowl and her matching repoussé salt and pepper in the middle of the table. She’d special-ordered the shakers through a catalogue at the general store. They were sterling silver, and engraved with a floral pattern. As casually as she could, she reached for the saltshaker. No one was looking at her. She brought the shaker to her bosom and commenced to remove the top. She wanted a handful to throw into their eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could think of at the moment.

  Just then Mad Dog Hanks growled, “What the hell is keepin’ him?”

  An exchange took place. The outlaws were suspicious that Boyd was taking so long. The Attica Kid went down the front hall, and the outlaw called Cockeye moved to the back door.

  Cecelia was ready. She would cause a distraction. She gripped the saltshaker and was set to dart over and dash the salt into Mad Dog’s face when her brother exploded out of his chair.

  “Look out!” Ira Toomis hollered.

  Mad Dog was looking toward the front hall and was a shade slow to react. Before he could bring his revolver to bear, Sam slammed into him, smashing him against the stove. Mad Dog cursed, Sam grabbed both of the outlaw’s wrists, and they grappled.

  A revolver boomed, but it wasn’t Mad Dog’s. It came from behind Cecelia. She turned and saw the man known as Cockeye tottering backward from the open back door, a hand pressed to his gut. Boyd was framed in the doorway; he had shot Cockeye in the stomach. Even as she looked, Toomis spun and snapped a shot at Boyd that sent splinters flying from the jamb. Bert Varrow fired too. Boyd bounded to one side, out of sight.

  Toomis and Varrow dashed toward the back door.

  So did Cestus Calloway. As he came abreast of the table, Cecelia rose and threw salt from the saltshaker at his eyes. As it struck him, he instinctively turned his head away, but the harm had been done. Lurching to a halt, he cursed and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. It had to sting like the dickens.

  Cockeye had sunk to his knees with both hands splayed over a spreading scarlet stain.

  Toomis and Bert Varrow had rushed out the back door.

  The Attica Kid was coming back down the hall on the run.

  And over at the stove, Sam and Mad Dog Hanks continued to grapple, with Mad Dog trying to point his revolver at Sam and Sam doing his utmost to prevent him.

  Cecelia sprang to help her brother. There was still some salt in the saltshaker and she intended to throw it into Mad Dog’s eyes. That should give Sam the advantage he needed. She was almost to the stove when Sam rammed Mad Dog’s gun arm against it in an apparent attempt to make Mad Dog drop the six-shooter. Instead the gun went off.

  Cecelia felt as if a fist punched her in the head. A searing pain spiked her and she stumbled, suddenly weak all over. “Sam?” she said as her vision swam and her legs gave out. She heard him shout her name, and the cuff of blows. Then she was on the floor, on her side, dizzy and nauseated and wishing very much that she could get back up.

  She had been shot. It didn’t seem real, somehow, yet it was. She had been shot in the head. The pain wasn’t as terrible as she’d always imagined it would be, but it was enough that she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.

  A revolver thundered twice from over near the hall, so swiftly the shots were as one.

  Cecelia heard the thud of a body. She opened her eyes, but the room was whirling around and around. Bile rose in her gorge and she swallowed it back down and closed her eyes again against the dizziness.

  “I’m obliged for the help,” Mad Dog Hanks said, sounding surprised. “He was a tough bastard.”

  Boots drummed, and the Attica Kid asked anxiously, “Are you hit? Who shot you?”

  “Salt,” Cestus Calloway gasped. “She threw salt in my eyes.”

  “She got hers. She’s down,” the Kid said.

  “You shot her?”

  “No. Mad Dog did.”

  “Like hell,” Hanks said. “My pistol went off when that stupid farmer jarred my arm.”

  “Water,” Cestus Calloway said. “I need water to wash out my eyes.”

  “Comin’ right up,” the Attica Kid said.

  “Mad Dog?” Cestus said.

  “Right here.”

  “I can hardly see. Where are the rest?”

  “Toomis and Varrow ran out after the law dog. Cockeye is sittin’ on the floor, bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

  “Damn. Get him to his horse. Holler for the others. We’re lightin’ a shuck.”

  “What’s your hurry?” Mad Dog asked.

  “The marshal might not be alone.”

  “I only saw him.”

  “Just do it,” Cestus snapped.

  Cecelia might have heard more, but she blacked out. The next she knew, she experienced the sensation of moving, but that couldn’t be; she was too weak to even open her eyes. She realized someone must be carrying her, and blacked out a second time.

  More motion. This time Cecelia felt something under her. A horse, unless she was dreaming. She had been propped up and was slumped against someone, her back to his front. An arm was around her waist. In a panic, she groped blindly about and her hand came to rest on a saddle horn. “What . . .?” she got out.

  “It’s all right, ma’am,” a voice said in her ear. “I have a good hold on you. You won’t fall off.”

  Cecelia recognized Bert Varrow’s voice. It must be his horse. The outlaws must be abducting her. Or were they merely taking her somewhere to dispose of her body when her wound took its toll? She struggled
weakly.

  “Be still, ma’am,” Varrow said. “It’s hard enough ridin’ at night in these woods without you actin’ up.”

  Cecelia clutched at his arm, and her own went limp. She wanted to scream for help but couldn’t. She wanted to jump off and hide, but her body wouldn’t move. She had the illusion of falling into a well with no bottom, and then there was nothing, nothing at all.

  Chapter 22

  Marshal Boyd Cooper had no choice but to hunt cover. Lead was striking the jamb and buzzing past his head. Whirling, he sprinted for the barn. He hoped the outlaws would come after him and leave the Wilsons alone.

  He went a dozen feet, glanced back, and tripped. His boot snagged in a rut or a hole and he crashed down hard. He went to push up and keep going, but Ira Toomis and Bert Varrow rushed outside and turned from side to side, looking for him. They hadn’t spotted him in the dark, but they would if he stood, so he stayed put.

  Voices were raised in the kitchen. There were the sounds of a struggle. A revolver boomed, and seconds later there were two more swift shots.

  Anxious about Cecelia and Sam, Boyd came close to charging back in. But Toomis and Varrow blocked the doorway.

  Muffled talk didn’t tell Boyd much. He thought he caught the word salt a few times.

  Mad Dog appeared. He was supporting Cockeye, who could barely stand. “The horses, Toomis,” Mad Dog barked, “and be quick about it. Calloway thinks we might have a posse down on our heads.”

  Boyd wished that were true. He could use the help. As it was, the outlaws might spot him at any moment. Twisting, he crawled toward Cecelia’s flower garden. Her rosebushes were high enough to hide him.

  Toomis hurried into the night. Mad Dog and Varrow were staring after him. Cockeye’s head had slumped to his chest.

  Boyd reached the roses.

  Mad Dog hefted Cockeye and grumbled, “Damn. You weigh more than I reckoned.”

  “How bad is he?” Bert Varrow wanted to know.

  “You’ve got eyes, don’t you?” Mad Dog replied.

  “Quit bein’ so damn contrary,” Varrow said. “All I did was ask.”

  “He’s gut-shot,” Mad Dog said. “What does that tell you?”

  “Hell,” Varrow said.

  It told Boyd that Cockeye wasn’t long for this world. Stomach wounds were nearly always fatal. Sometimes the victim lingered for days in the worst agony imaginable. He supposed he should feel a shred of regret, but he didn’t. It had happened too fast. He’d shot in reflex, not aiming at all.

  “Hell is right,” Mad Dog said. “We lose him, that makes three. This outfit is becomin’ a dangerous proposition.”

  “Things were fine until we robbed the Alpine Bank,” Bert Varrow said. “That’s when it all went to hell.”

  “The worst might be yet to come,” Mad Dog said, “with Cestus so worthless these days.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

  “He doesn’t scare me any,” Mad Dog said. “Him nor the Kid neither.”

  “Anyone with any sense is afraid of the Attica Kid.”

  As fate would have it, the Kid picked that moment to emerge. “What was that about me?”

  “Nothin’,” Varrow said.

  “I heard my name,” the Attica Kid said.

  “I was tellin’ Mad Dog that most folks are scared of you and should be. You’re hell on wheels with that smoke wagon of yours.”

  “I can shoot too,” Mad Dog said.

  “Not as fast or as accurate,” Bert Varrow said. “Compared to the Kid, we’re a bunch of beginners.”

  “Lick his boots, why don’t you?” Mad Dog said.

  Rising onto his knees, Boyd parted a rosebush to see better and winced when a thorn pricked his hand.

  A horse nickered, and Ira Toomis hurried up, three sets of reins in each hand. One of the horses was giving him trouble and resisted being pulled. “Your damn animal,” he griped at Mad Dog. “It’s as cantankerous as you are.”

  “It should be,” Mad Dog said, grinning. “I trained it.”

  Groaning loudly, Cockeye was boosted onto his mount and clutched the saddle horn. “I hurt,” he said.

  “You’ve been shot, you simpleton,” Mad Dog said.

  Boyd wondered where their leader had gotten to and found out when Calloway came out of the house carrying Cecelia. She appeared to be unconscious. Boyd went to stand but caught himself. He’d be cut down before he reached her.

  “What the hell are you doin’ with the farm gal?” Mad Dog said.

  “We’re takin’ her with us,” Cestus replied. “Bert, you’ll have the honor. Climb on your critter.”

  “Why me?” Yarrow said.

  “Why take her at all?” Mad Dog said. “Leave her with her brother. It’s fittin’ they die together.”

  “That’s just it,” Cestus said. “We don’t want her to.”

  “Here you go again,” Mad Dog said.

  “I can think of no surer way to have the whole countryside out for our hides than to harm a woman.”

  “We weren’t to blame. Her brother was.”

  “Who’d believe that? Who’d take our word for anything?” Cestus moved to the horse Bert Varrow was mounting. “If we can we’ll patch her up, sneak into town, and leave her for the sawbones. If it’s hopeless, we’ll bury her where no one can ever find the body.”

  “I savvy,” Mad Dog said. “Without the body they can’t prove a thing.”

  “Are you done arguin’, then?”

  “He better be,” the Attica Kid said.

  The hardest thing Boyd ever had to do was kneel there while the woman he cared for was hoisted up to Bert Yarrow and her leg slid over his saddle so Yarrow could hold her in front of him. Five to one, Boyd kept reminding himself. Five to one. Five to one. Cockeye didn’t count. He was in no condition to shoot.

  Cestus Calloway wiped a sleeve at his face. “Consarn that salt anyhow. I still can’t see straight.”

  “Can you see good enough to ride?” the Attica Kid asked.

  “We’ll find out,” Cestus answered. Forking leather, he did more wiping, then reined his horse to the north. “Back to the cave, boys. It has been a long day and I’m plumb tuckered out.”

  “At least you ain’t shot,” Cockeye gasped.

  Spurs tapped and reins were lashed, and the outlaws trotted to the barn and on around.

  Boyd was up the second they were out of sight. He flew into the kitchen, digging in his heels when he saw the form crumpled by the stove. A pair of bullet holes low in Sam’s back were dribbling drops of blood.

  “Sam!” Boyd cried, and dropped beside his friend. “Sam? Can you hear me?” Carefully turning him over, Boyd cradled Sam’s head on his leg.

  Sam groaned and his eyelids fluttered.

  “Sam?” Boyd said. “Don’t you die on me.” He felt for a pulse. It was terribly faint, barely a tick of the vein. “Lord, no.”

  “Boyd?” Sam opened his eyes and gazed blankly about. “What happened? Where am I?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Boyd said. “One of them shot you.”

  Memory returned, and fear lit Sam’s eyes. “Sis? Where’s Cecelia?” He tried to sit up but couldn’t.

  “Be still,” Boyd cautioned. “You’re in a bad way. I’ll get you to your bed and go fetch the doctor.”

  “Where’s my sister? Why haven’t you said?”

  Boyd could hardly say the words. “They took her.”

  “Lord in heaven, no.” With sudden strength, Sam gripped Boyd’s wrist. “Forget about me. Go after them. Save Cecelia.”

  “I can’t track at night.”

  “Save her,” Sam said again. “She’s more important than me. Leave me here and go.”

  “You’re not listenin’. I can’t find them in the dark. I’ll have to wait until dawn, and
set Harve on them.”

  Tears filled Sam’s eyes and his grip tightened. “Damn it, Boyd. Don’t make excuses. You care for her, don’t you? Or have all your visits been a sham?”

  “You know better.”

  “Then go.”

  “Maybe I will, at that,” Boyd said. To town, to bring the physician and tell Dale to have the posse at the jail before the break of day. He eased Sam off his leg and rested Sam’s head on the floor. “Are you comfortable? Do you want a blanket?”

  “All I want is my sister, safe.”

  Boyd began to stand but stopped when Sam uttered a sharp cry and shuddered. “Sam?”

  “I hurt, Boyd. God, I hurt.”

  Boyd sank back down. “How about if I dig the slugs out? I’m no doctor, but it may keep you alive until the real doc gets here.”

  “Too late,” Sam said. Arching his back, he opened his mouth wide as if to scream, but instead he exhaled and gazed wildly at the ceiling. “Boyd? Where did you go.”

  “I’m right here,” Boyd said.

  “Did the lamp go out?”

  Boyd glanced over. The wick burned as brightly as ever.

  “It got dark all of a sudden. Is the back door open? Did the wind blow the lamp out?”

  Boyd didn’t have the heart to tell him there wasn’t any wind, that the night had been perfectly still.

  “I feel strange,” Sam said, “like there’s something inside me that’s crawling up my chest. What can that be?”

  The only thing Boyd could think of was blood. Sam must be bleeding inside. That was bad. That was very bad.

  “Do me a favor, would you? Tell Cecelia I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her. I failed her when she needed me most.”

  “You did no such thing. Hush and rest.”

  “I don’t even know who shot me. I was grappling with Hanks and it felt as if I was kicked in the back, and then I was on the floor and not sure how I got there.”

  “You should stop talkin’.”

  “My sister likes you, Boyd. She likes you an awful lot. Do me another favor and ask her for her hand.”