Ralph Compton Outlaw Town

by Ralph Compton

  “Reid learned that the hard way,” a fourth man said.

  “Reid wasn’t thinking straight,” Ackerman said. “Not after being pounded on.” He gave Chancy a hard look.

  “I’m just glad it wasn’t me,” Franklyn said.

  At Missy’s cabin, Ackerman opened the door and stepped aside. She gave Chancy another smile as she went in, her eyes lingering on his. Then Ackerman slammed the door and told one of the others to stay put.

  Chancy was taken across the street to a smaller cabin. The door was flung open and he was roughly shoved inside. The place had a musty smell, and dust motes hung in the air.

  “Behave yourself, boy,” Ackerman growled, “and you’ll live a little longer.”

  “I’m not no damn boy,” Chancy said.

  The door closed, and Chancy was alone in the dark interior. He moved to the only window, which was covered by a piece of burlap, and peered out. The outlaw called Franklyn was right outside the door. The rest were making for the saloon.

  Dejected, Chancy turned and leaned his own back against the wall. He sagged and said to the empty air, “What do I do now?” He waited, hoping for a brainstorm, but nothing came to him.

  Nothing at all.

  Chapter 50

  Voices outside brought Chancy out of himself. He had slumped to the floor and been mired in gloom for he knew not how long when Franklyn said something and was answered by someone else. He recognized the second voice and, curious, he pushed upright and swiped at the dust on the window.

  Laverne Dodger was hobbling toward the cabin. He was carrying a sack, and a canteen hung from his right shoulder.

  Chancy strained to hear.

  “. . . doing here, Doc?” Franklyn was asking.

  “Food and water for the cowpoke,” Dodger replied.

  “Who cares if he goes hungry?” Franklyn said.

  “Krine, apparently, since he told me to bring them,” Dodger said.

  “Why feed a dead man?” Franklyn said. But he shrugged and opened the door. “Go on in. Be careful. He’s a scrapper.”

  “He won’t hurt me. I saved his friend,” Dodger said as he thunked into the cabin. “Wait outside.”

  “What for?” Franklyn said.

  “I need to talk to him. Krine wants to know how many cowboys are left, and he thinks Gantry might open up to me, the favor I did them.”

  Franklyn shrugged a second time and shut the cabin door. The moment he did, Laverne Dodger quickly hobbled over to Chancy and thrust the sack at him. “Take these. And don’t let on.”

  Puzzled, Chancy accepted the sack. It was heavier than he thought it would be and he nearly dropped it. He discovered why it was so heavy when he peered inside. “A Colt!”

  “Yell it louder, why don’t you?” Dodger said, with an anxious glance at the door. “Keep your damn voice down.”

  “What . . .?” Chancy said in confusion.

  Dodger slid the canteen’s strap off his shoulder and held it out. “This too. It’s the best I can do.”

  “Why are you helping me?” Chancy whispered. “I thought you were on their side.”

  Dodger leaned in close. “I told you before. I never got to know any of the other outfits Krine and his bunch rubbed out. But I’ve gotten to know some of you and it’s made a difference.”

  “You’re saying you’re not one of them anymore?”

  “Look at me,” Dodger said. He touched his empty sleeve and pointed at his peg. “I’m next to worthless except for my doctoring. It’s the only reason they keep me around.” He went on in a rush. “I’m not half the man I used to be. Not just my body, but inside too. I used to believe in things. In my country. In my fellow man. It’s why I enlisted. That all changed the day I was almost blown to bits. I lost more than my arm and my leg and part of my face. I lost my faith. I lost any good qualities I had. I turned sour, and tried to drink myself to death. I was lost in a bottle when Krine and Broom heard about me and offered me a share if I’d tend their wounds and treat them when they were sick.”

  Chancy didn’t interrupt. He had a sense that it was important for Dodger to get whatever was bothering him off his chest.

  “I went along because I had nothing else. I was at the bottom of a barrel with nowhere to go. I told myself it didn’t matter if I rode with them. Sure, they’re vicious and vile. But no one else wanted anything to do with me. People would look the other way when they saw me come down a street, or go out of their way to avoid me. I was shunned, the same as the outlaws.”

  “There’s a difference,” Chancy got out.

  Laverne Dodger frowned. “I know that now. Maybe I knew it all along but refused to admit it.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “You see?” Dodger said, brightening slightly. “That’s why I can’t let them kill you. You’re a good person, Chancy Gantry, like I used to be. So I snuck you that revolver. The rest is up to you.”

  “I’m obliged.”

  “Do me a favor and wait awhile before you make your break,” Dodger whispered. “I don’t want it obvious I lent a hand.”

  “What will they do if they figure out you did?”

  “What do you think?” Dodger rejoined. He started toward the door.

  “Wait,” Chancy said. “Have you heard anything about my outfit? When are the outlaws planning to attack?”

  “The men who followed your pard aren’t back yet,” Dodger said. “Krine expects them anytime, and all his gun sharks are ready to ride.”

  Chancy realized he couldn’t wait long to escape. He must warn Lucas Stout and the others.

  Dodger limped out, closing the door behind him.

  Hefting the sack, Chancy moved to a small table and set it and the canteen down. He slid out a chair and sat. Five minutes. That was all he’d give Dodger to get clear. Then he would bust out, jump on the first horse he saw, and fan the breeze to the woods near the lake.

  The door opened again, framing Franklyn in the doorway. “What did he bring you?”

  Unable to hide his surprise, Chancy blurted, “Bring me?”

  “The food, you lunkhead,” Franklyn snapped. “What’s in the sack? I’m half-starved and could use a bite myself.”

  “He brought it for me, not you,” Chancy said, stalling.

  “I want some anyway,” Franklyn said. “Now, what the hell is in there?”

  “Jerky and beans, is all,” Chancy lied.

  “That will do. Give me some jerky.”

  Chancy was tempted to scoop open the sack and jerk the revolver out, but he played it smart. “You want some, help yourself.”

  Franklyn showed his yellow teeth in a sneer. “You’ve got gall, boy. I’ll give you that.” He rested his hand on his six-gun. “Bring me some. I won’t tell you twice.”

  “You won’t shoot me,” Chancy bluffed. “Krine wants me alive.”

  “There’s always your sweetheart,” Franklyn said.

  “What?”

  “Forgot about her, did you?” Franklyn said. “Make me mad, and tomorrow or the next day I’ll pay her a visit and beat on her until she’s black and blue. Krine won’t care once we’ve wiped out you cowboys.” He laughed at the prospect.

  For Chancy, it was do or die. Or have Missy suffer. “Fine,” he said. “You want some jerky? You can have it.” Gripping the sack, he slid his hand in and molded his fingers to the Colt.

  Chapter 51

  “What are you waiting for?” Franklyn said when Chancy just sat there. “Bring it here.”

  “Want me to feed you too?” Rising, Chancy went over, his hand still in the sack, his thumb on the Colt’s hammer.

  “You’ve got a mouth on you, cowboy,” Franklyn said. “When it comes time to buck you out in gore, I think I’ll ask Krine if I can do the honors.”

  “If I had a pistol yo
u wouldn’t be saying that,” Chancy said.

  “Hell, boy,” Franklyn scoffed. “You’re about as fearsome as a kitten. Just give me the damn jerky and shut the hell up.”

  “I’ll give it to you all right,” Chancy said. By then he was close enough. He lunged, jammed the Colt’s muzzle as far as he could into the pit of Franklyn’s gut while simultaneously gripping the outlaw’s shoulder to hold him close, and squeezed the trigger. He was afraid the blast would be so loud they’d hear it over to the saloon. But the sack, and the fact that the barrel was buried in Franklyn’s paunch, muffled the shot considerably.

  Franklyn jerked at his own six-shooter. He had it half out when blood spurted from his mouth, and he staggered. He would have fallen except for Chancy’s grip on his shoulder. “You bastard!” he gasped, and doubled over.

  Chancy tripped him. He hooked a boot behind the outlaw’s, and Franklyn came down hard on both knees. “Beat on my sweetheart, will you?” Chancy said, and pulling the Colt out, he struck Franklyn across the temple, not once but again and again and again. When he stopped, Franklyn lay still on the floor.

  Chancy checked for a pulse. There wasn’t any. “Serves you right,” he said. Helping himself to Franklyn’s Remington, he rose with a revolver in each hand.

  Moving to the doorway, Chancy scanned the street. No one was in sight except for the man standing guard at Missy’s cabin. He had his arms folded and his shoulder to the wall and appeared to be dozing on his feet.

  “Good,” Chancy said. All the rest of them, he figured, were at the saloon. All he needed now was a horse. Conveniently enough, the hitch rails in front of the saloon and the general store were lined with animals. Several others were at another. The general store’s was the closest, but the outlaw guarding Missy would see him.

  Missy. Her image rooted Chancy in place. There was no predicting what the outlaws would do to her if he escaped. They might punish her. Beat her, as Franklyn wanted to do, or worse.

  Chancy couldn’t leave without her. But how to effect her rescue with the guard yonder? On an impulse, he dashed out and around to the side. No outcries broke the stillness. He ran to the rear and began to work his way from cabin to cabin until he reached the stable. From there, he sprinted to the rear of the buildings on the other side of the street and along them until he was behind Missy’s cabin.

  Once again, luck was with him.

  Pausing to catch his breath, Chancy gazed skyward and did something he hadn’t done in a coon’s age. He prayed.

  Cat-footing to the front, he risked a quick glimpse. The guard hadn’t moved.

  About to step out, Chancy ducked back. A figure had appeared at the batwings. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it might be Krine. He stood stock-still, his heart thudding in his chest; no alarm was given. He let a minute or so go by, then peeked out. The figure was gone. The guard had shifted position and had his back to him.

  Another glance at the batwings, and Chancy made his move. He was behind the guard in three bounds. The man heard him and began to straighten. Chancy slammed Franklyn’s Remington against the guard’s head, then the Colt, then the Remington again. Somehow the outlaw stayed on his feet and clawed at his own hardware. “Fall, damn you,” Chancy hissed, and swung the Colt with all his might. The crack of metal on bone was too loud for comfort. The outlaw melted at his feet.

  Backing to the door, his eyes on the saloon, Chancy slid the Colt under his belt and lightly knocked. When Missy didn’t answer, he tried the latch. She had bolted the door. He knocked again, whispering, “Missy?”

  There was no answer. Chancy reckoned she hadn’t heard him, so he said her name a little louder. Her continued silence worried him. He imagined her unconscious, or worse. Krine had said she was to be kept alive but outlaws were notorious for not keeping their word.

  Chancy shook the door until it rattled. “Missy?” he called softly. “It’s me! Let me in before they catch me.”

  Muffled sounds reached him. The next moment the bolt rasped, the door was pulled wide, and Missy’s arms were around his neck and her face buried in his throat.

  “Chancy! Oh, Chancy!”

  “Shh,” Chancy cautioned, pulling her in after him.

  Missy drew back, her eyes glistening with tears of happiness. “I dozed off. I was so sad I cried and I cried, and then I—”

  Chancy kissed her full-on the lips. The urge just came over him, and he did it. He was as astonished as Missy, who put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening.

  “Oh my. What was that for?”

  “What do you think?” Chancy said, and since he’d been so bold once, he saw no harm in being bold a second time. Only he let the kiss linger a little, until sounds from the vicinity of the saloon reminded him they were in the middle of a nest of vipers and not at a church social.

  “You kiss real nice.”

  Chancy coughed and turned. “We have to go. Stay close. I’ll help you on a horse and I’ll climb on another and we won’t stop for anyone or anything until we reach the lake and my friends.”

  “You came for me,” Missy said softly.

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “You could have gotten clean away and you came for me.”

  “What sort of man would I be if I didn’t?” Chancy said. He tugged on her hand, but she didn’t move.

  “I’ve never had anyone do something like this. It’s scary.”

  “Missy, please.”

  “If I had any doubts, I don’t anymore.”

  Nearly beside himself with worry, Chancy pulled harder. “Now isn’t the time. We’re going, you hear me?”

  “Whatever you say, Chancy.”

  Intent on her, Chancy didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until they were almost to the cabin door.

  Chapter 52

  Chancy swung toward the door, drawing the Colt as he turned so that both pistols were level and cocked when Laverne Dodger limped up and put his only hand on his hip. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, and didn’t give Chancy a chance to answer. “I told you to light out. Instead you sneak over here. I saw you club Amos. And then you just left him lying there in the open for anyone to see.”

  “Chancy came for me,” Missy said.

  “That’s no excuse for being stupid,” Dodger said.

  “Don’t talk about him like that,” Missy said.

  “Lady, harsh words are the least of your worries.” Dodger pointed at the bleeding Amos. “Drag him in here or all of us will be in hot water.”

  Chancy finally got a word in. “I couldn’t leave without her. I’m sorry.”

  “Amos, damn you,” Dodger said, glancing toward the saloon. “Any moment, someone could see him.”

  Giving his pistols to Missy, Chancy slipped past Dodger, grabbed hold of both of Amos’s ankles, and dragged him into the cabin. He used the outlaw’s belt to bind his ankles. For the wrists, he tore a strip from the blanket on Missy’s bed. He was almost done when Laverne Dodger swore and shook his head.

  “Why did you waste time with that? Get the hell gone while you still can.”

  “You sound afraid,” Missy said.

  “Girl, if you’d seen some of the things Krine has done to those who displease him, you’d be afraid too. So afraid you’d wet yourself.”

  “You’re awfully crude,” Missy said.

  Dodger appealed to Chancy. “Get her out of here before it’s too late. I was willing to help you, but I don’t hanker to die on your account.”

  Chancy took the pistols back and slipped the Colt under his belt once more so he had a hand free to clasp Missy’s. “Let’s go,” he said, and was pleased when Missy came without an argument. He paused in the doorway long enough to make certain the street was still empty.

  Off to the west, visible between buildings on the other side, was the herd, an outlaw ri
ding a circuit.

  Breaking into a run, Chancy made for the hitch rail in front of the general store. Missy matched him stride for stride, as lithe and graceful as an antelope. They were halfway there when a shrill shout came from the saloon.

  Chancy glanced at the batwings, spied a figure about to push out, and snapped a shot to discourage him.

  They ran faster.

  Chancy deliberately let Missy gain on him so he was between her and the saloon and could shield her with his body. A shot boomed and lead nearly sizzled his ear. He returned fire without taking aim and heard glass crash and tinkle; he’d accidentally shot out the front window.

  An inner blare of warning spurred Chancy into seizing Missy and propelling her bodily toward the nearest mount, a sorrel that was fidgeting and straining at its reins because of the gunfire. They reached it just as a ragged volley erupted from the saloon. The next horse down whinnied in pain. Hornets buzzed right and left. Heedless of the danger, Chancy virtually threw Missy into the saddle. “Stay low!” he bawled as he undid the reins. More lead sought him. His left shoulder flared hot as he turned the sorrel toward the south end of the street and gave it a solid smack on the rump.

  “Chancy!” Missy screamed.

  Several outlaws were barreling from the saloon, firing as they came.

  Dashing to a bay, Chancy banged off two shots and the outlaws dropped flat to keep from being hit. It took him harrowing seconds to free the reins. Hooking his boot in the stirrup, Chancy was only half on when he wheeled the bay after the sorrel and fired on the fly. He didn’t expect to hit anything, yet an outlaw cried out and thrashed in the dust.

  “Stop him!” another roared.

  Missy was almost to the stable but she had slowed to wait for him. “Keep going!” Chancy hollered, forking his leg up and over. He swiftly caught up and side by side they swept around the stable and off across the prairie.

  “We did it!” Missy yelled in elation.

  Chancy hated to disabuse her, but the outlaws would be after them in no time, a pack of bloodthirsty wolves who wouldn’t let anything stop them this side of the grave.