Ralph Compton the Law and the Lawless

by Ralph Compton

  “Good enough to tell it was an arrow,” Toomis said. “Why?’

  “Could you carve one just like it?”

  “I reckon I could, yes.”

  Calloway faced his men. “I’m through bein’ nice. The marshal played me for a fool and I aim to give him a dose of his own medicine.”

  “About damn time,” Mad Dog said.

  “What do you have in mind?” Bert Varrow said.

  “You ever heard that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander?”

  “Sure.”

  “We’re goin’ to use their own trick against them. Ira, I want you to ride back a ways. Say, about half a mile or so. Carve an arrow in a tree just like the one you saw, pointin’ this way. Carve another about halfway between there and here. We’ll be waitin’ for you.”

  Harvey Dale stifled a groan. Not because of the pain he was in, but because the posse was in for it.

  “I savvy,” Toomis said. “We’re goin’ to lead them right to us and blow them out of their saddles.”

  “We are,” Cestus said. “But this ain’t the place for that. There’s too many trees for them to hide behind. No, we’ll lead them on until we find the perfect spot for an ambush and can pick them off like ducks on a pond.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Cecelia Wilson exclaimed.

  “My dear woman,” Cestus said, “your tin star has done the worst thing he could. I plan to wipe him and those others out like the redskins wiped out Custer. To the very last man.”

  Chapter 30

  So far Boyd and the posse were lucky. They hadn’t lost the trail. The tracks were fresh enough that Vogel stuck to them without much difficulty, although twice, on rocky ground, they drew rein and waited while the blacksmith climbed down and searched on foot.

  They were climbing toward a distant ridge when Titus, a stocky young man of twenty or so who worked as a butcher’s apprentice, hollered and pointed at a pine tree.

  “Marshal! Look there! Isn’t that one of the scout’s?”

  Boyd had ridden past the tree and not even noticed an arrow cut into the bark. He ran a finger along it, and smiled. “Good eyes.”

  “Then Dale is still on their trail,” Vogel said.

  “Maybe he left others and we missed them,” Lefty guessed.

  “We won’t lose the outlaws now,” Sherm Bonner declared.

  Boyd let himself relax a little. They could take their time now, to spare their horses.

  Divett, who worked as an accountant out of a small office over a barbershop, and who wore a suit and bowler, said, “I guess this means we won’t be turning back any time soon?”

  “You’re welcome to if you want,” Boyd said. The pencil pusher would be next to worthless in a fight anyway.

  “By myself?” Divett said. He looked hopefully at young Titus. “How about it? If I go back will you go with me?”

  “And leave that lady in the clutches of those outlaws?” Titus shook his head. “What do you take me for?”

  “I was only suggesting,” Divett said.

  Boyd assumed the lead. A glance at the sun, which was sinking to the west, left no doubt they wouldn’t overtake the outlaws before nightfall. He stayed on the lookout for a site to camp in, and just as twilight fell, as they were passing through thick timber, a wide clearing opened before them. There was no water, but they had enough in their canteens to see them through the night.

  Boyd called a halt. The horses were stripped and picketed, a cook fire was kindled, and coffee was put on to brew. For supper they had beans and jerky. Everyone was so hungry they ate with relish. The exception was the accountant, who picked at his beans and wouldn’t touch the jerky.

  “You should eat to keep your strength up, Mr. Divett,” Titus said to him.

  “I’m not that hungry,” Divett said. “I miss my wife’s cooking. I could be home right now, having roast beef and mashed potatoes, or a thick steak with all the trimmings. Instead we have fare fit for a field worker.”

  “A what?” Titus said.

  Boyd was irritated by the accountant’s attitude. “Why did you come along if you don’t want to be here?”

  Divett shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do. To help rescue Miss Wilson, I mean.”

  They were high up on the mountain, and the wind out of the northwest chilled them unless they sat close to the fire or draped a blanket over their shoulders.

  Boyd had finished eating and was holding his hands to the flames to warm them when he happened to glance to the north and a tingle shot down his spine. He was on his feet before he realized it and moved away from the fire so he could see better.

  “What’s got you so excited?” Vogel asked, joining him.

  Boyd pointed.

  Far off, a pinpoint of light flickered. It could only be one thing. Another campfire.

  “The outlaws,” Vogel said.

  “To be so close . . . ,” Boyd said.

  The cowboys joined them, and Lefty let out a whoop. “They’re not that far ahead. About five miles, I reckon, although it’s hard to judge in the dark.”

  “We’ll catch up to them tomorrow,” Sherm Bonner predicted.

  Later, Boyd turned in, feeling more confident than he had felt in days that the end was near. He lay on his back, his hands behind his head, and thought about Cecelia.

  He wondered if she was thinking about him.

  Boyd wasn’t all that worried about her being harmed. Calloway had promised she wouldn’t be, and Boyd believed Calloway would keep his word.

  It bothered him a little that the outlaw was keeping his promise, and he had broken the one he made. But he’d never intended to keep it. He’d lied when he said he’d take the posse back to town. And while lying, by and large, was wrong, there were times when it was justified.

  Boyd heard it said once that a lie told for a good cause wasn’t a lie at all. Like when a doctor told a patient that the medicine the patient was to take tasted just fine to get him to take it, when in fact the medicine was god-awful bitter. Or when someone lied about another’s looks to spare that person’s feelings. Those weren’t lies so much as twisting the truth so the other person would feel good. His reason had been nobler than that. He’d lied so he could save a woman’s life.

  Boyd chuckled to himself. He’d never thought of himself as “noble” before. And if he was to be completely honest, he needed to admit that saving Cecelia was only part of the reason he’d lied. The other part wasn’t nearly as “noble.”

  He wanted the outlaws dead.

  • • •

  Cecelia Wilson lay on her side with a blanket to her chin, her eyes closed as if in sleep when actually she was wide-awake. Nearby, the fire crackled. It had burned low but cast enough light that when she cracked her eyelids, she saw Ira Toomis start to nod off.

  The outlaws had divided the night into shifts for keeping watch. Cestus had the first, the Attica the Kid the second. Now it was Toomis’s turn. By a clock it would be well past midnight, and the tired outlaw was trying mightily to stay awake. He jerked his head up, shook it, and yawned.

  Cecelia clasped her hands and prayed that he would fall asleep. She might never have a better chance to escape. The outlaws had made a mistake, and she intended to take advantage of it.

  Her wrists were bound but not her legs.

  Bert Varrow had tied her after their supper, and he hadn’t bothered with her ankles. Maybe Varrow figured she wouldn’t try anything with them so deep into the wilds. Or maybe he was just being nice.

  Cecelia turned her head enough to see Harvey Dale. He appeared to be asleep, and unlike her, he was bound hand and foot.

  Ira Toomis muttered something.

  Shifting, Cecelia waited. She’d spied a fist-sized rock between her and the fire that would suit her purpose. All she needed was for Toomis to doze off.

>   Cecelia refused to be the bait that lured Boyd and the posse into an ambush. She would escape to warn them, come what may.

  Off in the mountains a wolf howled, a long, wavering lament that echoed off the high peaks. The wolf sounded lonesome, a feeling Cecelia shared. She missed Boyd. With Sam gone, he was all she had left in the world. Her parents were dead. Her first husband and her never had children. Lord knows, they’d tried, but the doctor said it wasn’t meant to be.

  That was one of her greatest regrets. She’d always yearned for kids. Always imagined how wonderful it would be to be a mother and lavish affection and care on a passel of young ones.

  It was a shame life didn’t always work out the way a person wanted. Hopes and aspirations were dashed like so many eggs on the cruel rocks of reality. Her hope of children had been dashed, but she’d be damned if she’d let her hope for Boyd and her be dashed as well.

  Cecelia had been alone for more than a decade. Alone in the sense of not having a man to share her dreams and aspirations, or to help keep her warm at night. She missed that.

  Now along came Boyd Cooper. A handsome figure of a man, in her eyes anyway. He wasn’t the most educated gentleman she’d ever met, and his taste in clothes wasn’t refined, but that was all right. She wasn’t refined either. She wasn’t one of those fancy ladies who always had to wear the latest fashions and be driven around in carriages. She was down-to-earth, and so was he. A perfect match, some might say.

  Cecelia would like to stop being alone. She enjoyed companionship. Enjoyed having someone to talk to. Someone to rub her back late at night, and the other thing. That might be scandalous to think, but women had urges the same as men. Women were just more discreet.

  Enrapt in her reflection, Cecelia was taken aback to suddenly realize that Ira Toomis had slumped over and was snoring lightly. He’d finally succumbed.

  Elated, Cecelia sat up and cast her blanket off. She must move quickly. Sliding to the rock, she hefted it. She would only get the one blow. She must make it count.

  Toomis mumbled something.

  Cecelia checked on the others. Calloway and the Attica Kid had their backs to her. Neither had moved in over an hour. Mad Dog was snoring louder than Toomis. Bert Varrow had his blanket clear up over his head, and he hadn’t moved in a long time either.

  As slow as a turtle, Cecelia crept up behind Toomis. She raised the rock high, took a deep breath, and smashed it down where Toomis’s head met his neck.

  She was deathly afraid he would cry out, but he sprawled to the ground like a poleaxed ox and was still.

  Cecelia couldn’t get over how easy that had been. Setting the rock down, she helped herself to Toomis’s belt knife. It made short shrift of the rope binding her. She snatched hold of Toomis’s revolver and sidled over to Harvey Dale, placing each foot with care.

  A hand enfolded her ankle, and Cecelia nearly cried out. But it was only Harvey Dale, letting her know he was awake. Quickly she slashed the rope around his ankles, then did the same for his wrists.

  Dale gestured, indicating he wanted the revolver, and Cecelia gave it to him. She had very little experience with firearms. He was undoubtedly a better shot.

  Crooking a finger, Dale moved toward the horses.

  Cecelia nodded and followed. It was going better than she’d dared hope. So long as none of the outlaws woke up, she and Dale should get clean away.

  The horses were dozing. A few pricked their ears and a couple looked over, but none gave alarm. Why should they, when they were used to Dale and her?

  Working swiftly, the scout untied his animal and turned to another. They both froze when Mad Dog Hanks rolled over. But in a bit he rolled away from them and commenced snoring again.

  Cecelia couldn’t wait to get out of there. She grabbed the reins that Dale thrust at her and moved around to the side of the horse to mount. It didn’t have a saddle, but that was all right. She could ride bareback. Farm girls rode bareback all the time. Gripping the mane, she was about to climb on when a hand touched her shoulder and made her jump.

  “Didn’t mean to spook you” Dale whispered.

  “We should go,” Cecelia whispered back.

  “Stay close to me. If we get separated, head south. It’s that way.” Dale pointed.

  “We should really go.”

  “I’ll get you to Coop and you’ll be safe.” Dale held a hand down low and cupped it. “Want me to give you a boost?”

  “No. Please. Let’s leave while we still can.”

  “All right. Calm down. We’re as good as gone.” Dale smiled and moved around her horse toward his own. He suddenly stopped dead.

  “God no,” Cecelia breathed.

  The Attica Kid stood between the scout and his horse. The Kid was smiling, which was rare for him, his right hand at his side, brushing his holster. “Goin’ somewhere, you two?”

  “Hell,” Harvey Dale said.

  “Drop the six-shooter, old man,” the Kid said, “and you and the lady go to your blankets and have a seat.”

  Dale looked down. He was holding the revolver close against his leg, the barrel pointed at the ground. “I don’t believe I will.”

  “Harvey, don’t,” Cecelia said.

  “Listen to her, you old fool,” the Attica Kid said. “You can cock that iron and point it and I’ll still drop you before you can shoot.”

  “That’s twice you’ve called me old,” Dale said.

  “You are,” the Kid said, his smile widening. He was mocking the scout, taunting him. “I’d have gunned you already except that Cestus wants you alive. So be smart and shed the six-gun and live a little longer.”

  Dale looked over at Cecelia. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was careless. I should have kept an eye on all of them.”

  “Don’t do it,” Cecelia begged. “You have nothing to prove.”

  “Except to myself.”

  “Old man,” the Attica Kid said, stressing each word. “Listen to the lady. I have no hankerin’ to kill you. It’d be like killin’ an infant. You’re not worth the bother.”

  Harvey Dale drew himself up to his full height. “Could be, I get off a shot. Could be, I wound you, or worse. That would make it worth it.”

  “Harvey, please,” Cecelia said, tears in her eyes.

  Two hands flicked, but only one shot boomed.

  Chapter 31

  Boyd and his men ate a quick breakfast of coffee and corn bread. Divett had brought the bread, courtesy of his wife, who had grabbed it from their cupboard as he was rushing out to join the posse.

  Boyd wanted to head straight out at the crack of dawn, but Divett and Titus complained they were hungry, and after thinking about it, he decided that they all needed something in their bellies. They had a long day ahead that might end in a clash with the outlaws.

  Now, as he dipped a piece of corn bread in his coffee and bit off the end, he overheard part of a question Divett asked Lefty. “What was that?”

  The accountant coughed. “I asked him if he heard a shot last night. About the middle of the night.”

  “I said I didn’t,” Lefty said.

  “Did you?” Boyd asked Divett.

  “I might have. I remember waking up and thinking I’d heard one. I lay there awhile listening for more, but there weren’t any. It was awful windy. So maybe it was a dream, or I only imagined it.”

  “I didn’t hear any,” Sherm Bonner said.

  “Me either,” Vogel said with his mouth crammed with corn bread.

  Boyd hoped the accountant was mistaken. It had to have been the outlaws. No one else was in that neck of the mountains. The wind would have carried the blast a considerable way. Maybe a roving bear or a hungry mountain lion had come close to the outlaw camp, drawn by the horses. If it had been hostiles, he figured there would have been more than one.

  “Today is the day,” Lefty said
eagerly. “We’ll catch up to those varmints at last.”

  “We hope,” Vogel said, taking another huge bite.

  “Don’t jinx it,” the puncher said.

  “I’m being practical,” Vogel replied. “You said yourself they’re five miles or more ahead of us. That’s a lot of ground to make up.”

  “We can do it with Dale markin’ the trees for us,” Lefty said confidently.

  “We hope,” Vogel said again.

  Sherm Bonner drained his cup and set it down. “It’s a shame we don’t have Dale’s spyglass. It would come in handy.”

  The important thing, Boyd reflected, was that Dale had one. The old scout was their ace in the hole. With him to mark the way, the Calloway Gang was as good as caught.

  Apparently the prospect of swapping lead was weighing on Divett. He coughed nervously, then said, “I’ve never shot anyone before.”

  “Me either,” young Titus said.

  Lefty chuckled. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “But to shoot another human being,” Divett said. “The Book says ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

  “Tell that to all the people the outlaws have murdered,” Boyd said. “Tell it to Hugo Mitchell. Tell it to Sam Wilson. Tell it to those three men Mad Dog Hanks shot in cold blood. Tell it to those who died gurglin’ blood so the Attica Kid could carve a new notch on his six-shooter.”

  “Does he really do that?” Titus asked. “Like folks say?”

  “I haven’t seen his pistol up close yet,” Boyd said. But he hoped to before the day was out, clutched in the Kid’s lifeless hand.

  “Mr. Reems, the butcher, will have a fit, me being going so long,” Titus mentioned. “We have a shipment of beef coming in today that needs to be carved up for sale.”

  “He didn’t mind, you joining the posse?” Divett asked.

  “No, sir,” Titus said.

  “My wife did. She said I had no business traipsing off into the wilds after a pack of two-legged wolves.”