Ralph Compton Outlaw Town

by Ralph Compton

  Chancy’s dander was up as it had never been up before. He’d always been a peaceable sort. He wasn’t like Jelly, always looking for trouble, or to be more exact, the excitement that came from trouble. He’d be happy to go the rest of his life and not have to shoot another human being.

  Striking a lucifer, Chancy applied it to a shirt, but the shirt didn’t catch. He tried a second with the same result. Stymied, he roamed about and discovered a lantern on a hook. The tank was half-full. With almost perverse glee, he emptied it over the clothes and prepared to strike another lucifer.

  Loud, harsh laughter from the saloon gave Chancy pause. Straightening, he peered out the front window, curious about the fuss. What he beheld sent an icy spike rippling down his spine clear to his toes. He hadn’t noticed before because Ives and them were in the way.

  Ollie was hanging from the back wall. Literally hanging, his arms and legs spread-eagle, his head drooping. Splashes of scarlet around his wrists and ankles filled Chancy with horror. The outlaws had nailed Ollie up as if he were a tapestry. And one of them—Simmons—had just thrown a drink in Ollie’s face. That was why they were laughing. They thought it was hilarious.

  Chancy started for the door, and caught himself. He couldn’t do anything for Ollie just yet. Not alone. He must stick to his plan, and soon he and the others would get Ollie out of there.

  “You miserable bastards,” Chancy said under his breath, so choked with emotion he could scarcely breathe. Tears formed in his eyes and he blinked them away. Ollie was the kindest, gentlest man he knew, and the outlaws had done that to him. Chancy couldn’t wait to commence squeezing the trigger.

  But first, the store.

  Squatting, Chancy struck the lucifer. This time the clothes caught right away. Small fingers of flame sprouted and grew larger as more garments ignited. Smoke rose, the acrid smell filling his nose and his mouth. He swatted at it, and coughed.

  Chancy returned to the front. He opened the door wide enough to crawl out. The horses at the hitch rail showed little interest. Most were dozing. He crawled around them, and stopped.

  Up the street, flames were visible in the stable. A cabin had a flickering light in a window, and smoke poured from an open door.

  Chancy smiled. The others were doing their part, starting fires of their own.

  More coarse laughter from the saloon. Simmons was poking Ollie with a whiskey bottle. Ollie raised his head. There was blood on his cheek and his chin, and the left side of his face appeared to be swollen.

  Rage gripped Chancy. That was his pard. His saddle mate. His best friend.

  Heaving to his feet, Chancy drew his Remington and started across. He should wait for the others. The plan was to attack the saloon together. To set the saloon on fire and shoot the outlaws as they came out.

  Chancy couldn’t wait. That was Ollie in there. He walked up to the broken window, took aim, and shot Simmons square between the shoulder blades.

  At the blast, everyone inside froze. All except Ives, who spun and whipped out his revolvers and cut loose with ambidextrous skill.

  Chancy jerked aside, pressing his back to the wall. Yells sounded, and boots thudded. An outlaw shouldered through the batwings and Chancy shot him in the face.

  Inside, Mayor Broom hollered, “Out the back! Out the back! They’re waiting for us out front!”

  More boots drummed. Lead clipped the edge of the window and whistled into the night.

  Shouts broke out both up and down the street. So did shots.

  Chancy swore he heard Jelly Varnes let out a whoop of delight.

  Outlaws were running down the hall toward the back door. One snapped a shot at Chancy. The rear door slammed open, and the moment the last of them piled out, he vaulted up and over the windowsill.

  Ollie was looking at him and smiling. “Pard,” he croaked happily.

  Chancy ran over. He had been right about the nails. The outlaws had driven them through Ollie’s wrists and ankles. “Almighty.”

  “I hurt, pard,” Ollie said weakly. “I hurt something awful.”

  “Don’t talk,” Chancy said.

  “I came back to town for you, but you had gotten away and they were mad, so they did this.”

  Chancy put a hand on Ollie’s chest. He had to force his vocal cords to work. “I’ll have you down in two shakes.”

  “The hammer is behind the bar,” Ollie said.

  Chancy turned and nearly walked into the twin barrels of a shotgun.

  Chapter 59

  Mayor Broom was holding it. His eyes twinkling, he thumbed back a hammer and said, “Try something. I dare you.”

  Chancy turned to stone. There was a saying on the frontier to the effect that buckshot meant burying. At that range, he’d be blown in half.

  “Smart cowpoke,” Mayor Broom said, and chuckled. “I suspected it was you, come for your friend. When the others bolted, I snuck back in. Clever of me, no? And here we are.”

  “Mayors shouldn’t point weapons,” Ollie said.

  Broom glanced at him and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Gantry. For the life of me, I don’t know how you put up with that simpleton. Having him for a partner would irritate me no end.”

  “Was it you nailed him to the wall?” Chancy wanted to know. Out in the street, yells and shots were spreading like a prairie fire.

  “I can’t claim credit, no,” Mayor Broom said. “It was Krine’s idea, but Simmons did the actual nailing.” He looked at the body of the culprit, not two feet away. “And you nailed him, so to speak.”

  “And now it’s my turn.” Chancy braced for the blast sure to come. He was sorry he had failed the others. Sorry too that he would never indulge his dream of living to a fine old age with Missy for his missus.

  “How many are with you?” Mayor Broom asked.

  Chancy didn’t respond.

  Broom thumbed back the other hammer. “I won’t ask you again.”

  “Blow my head off and you still won’t get your answer,” Chancy blustered.

  “It can’t be that many,” Broom said. “There aren’t enough of you left to cause us much trouble.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  The mayor surprised Chancy by taking a couple of steps back and leaning against the wall. “We’ll wait for Krine. He’ll likely want to talk to you personally. Unbuckle your gun belt and let your smoke wagon hit the floor.”

  “What can I say that he’d possibly want to hear?”

  “Who your outfit was selling the herd to, for starters,” Mayor Broom said. “When we take it north, we’ll sell to the same folks.”

  “Don’t you reckon they’ll find that a little bit suspicious?”

  “Not at all. Krine will pass himself off as Lucas Stout. Everything should go smoothly. It’s worked with other outfits.” Broom wagged the shotgun. “That gun belt, if you please, and even if you don’t.”

  Chancy slowly moved his hand to the buckle and pried. From the ruckus outside, a gun battle was raging.

  “That will be my friends and associates wiping out the last of you cowboys,” Mayor Broom said. “And I must say. The Flying V has given us more trouble than all the other outfits we rubbed out put together.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  “Don’t be petty, boy,” Mayor Broom said. “I could have killed you the moment I stepped in here.”

  You should have, Chancy almost said. He slid the end of the belt from the loop that held it.

  “You’re taking too long,” Broom said impatiently. “Take that thing off or I’ll let you have a dose of buckshot here and now, Krine or no Krine.”

  “Got to say,” Chancy said, stalling, “you put on a good act of pretending to be top dog at first. But you lick Krine’s boots, the same as the rest of them.”

  “We’re partners, him and me, like you and the oaf there.”
>
  “Is that what you call it when one tells the other what to do? I bet he helps himself to a bigger share of the money too.”

  “Stop prattling and take off that damn belt.”

  Up on the wall, Ollie groaned and said barely above a whisper, “I could use some water.”

  “Shut up, you,” Mayor Broom barked.

  “I’m awful parched, pard,” Ollie said to Chancy. “They wouldn’t let me have so much as a drop except for the liquor they threw on me.”

  “Tough hombres,” Chancy said scornfully.

  “Tougher than you, boy,” Mayor Broom said.

  “Water, please,” Ollie said.

  Broom glanced up again, scowling. “If you don’t shut up, I will shut you up. This shotgun has two barrels, so I have one to spare.”

  “You were so nice to us when we met you,” Ollie said. “You helped Finger and everything.”

  “What an idiot,” Broom said.

  “You shouldn’t ought to be mean to folks,” Ollie said. “My ma always said that being mean is wrong.”

  Mayor Broom jerked his shotgun to his shoulder and trained it on Ollie. “I have listened to all I’m going to.”

  It was the moment Chancy had been waiting for, the mistake he’d hoped Broom would make. He drew as quick as he was capable, cocking the Remington as it cleared leather. Broom caught the movement and tried to swing the shotgun in his direction. Chancy fired, thumbed the hammer, fired again.

  The slugs smashed Mayor Broom back. His arms flailing, the portly mayor stumbled against the bar and clutched at it to keep from falling. He looked down at the holes in his chest and gasped, “No! It can’t be.”

  “You’ve been shot,” Ollie said.

  The mayor gave him the strangest look. Then his legs gave, and he hit the floor with a fleshy thud, rolled onto his big belly, and was still.

  “Serves him right for being so mean.”

  Chancy wasted no time darting behind the bar. The hammer was on a shelf in plain sight. Going back around, he slowed at a shriek in the street.

  “Who was that, you reckon?” Ollie said.

  “Will you stop talking?” Chancy said as he ran to a chair and dragged it to the wall. “You’re in no condition to do anything.”

  “My mouth isn’t nailed to the wall. It works fine.”

  “Consarn you, Ollie.”

  “Why are you so upset with me?”

  “It’s not you,” Chancy said. “It’s what these vultures did to you.” A feeling of urgency ripping at his vitals, he holstered the Remington and set to prying the nails out. To do so, he had to hook the hammer’s claws under the head of the nail, gouging Ollie’s wrist in the process.

  “Ouch,” Ollie said, and gritted his teeth.

  “I’m trying to be gentle,” Chancy said.

  “Don’t worry. I can take it. Do what you have to. I’m mighty sick of hanging here.”

  For two bits, Chancy would have climbed down from the chair, taken the hammer, and beaten Simmons’s head to a pulp. He managed to hook the first nail and swiveled the hammer to loosen it. Fresh blood flowed, and Ollie gasped.

  “I’ve never hurt so much in my life.”

  “I bet.”

  “People shouldn’t do this to other people.”

  Chancy pulled with all his strength, but the nail resisted his efforts.

  That was when the batwings crashed open.

  Chapter 60

  Chancy whirled so fast he lost his balance and fell off the chair. He tried to land on his feet but tripped and sprawled to his hands and knees. The hammer went skittering. Fearing an outlaw would shoot him before he could rise, he fumbled at his holster and got the Remington out, only to realize it was a friend, not a foe.

  Drew Case reeled as if drunk, his gun hand level but his other arm hanging as if broken. Scarlet ran from a hole near his elbow and another high on his shoulder. He also had a crease in his temple that was bleeding badly. “Gantry!” he gasped.

  Pushing up, Chancy ran to help. He was looking at Case and not at the batwings and almost didn’t spot the revolver barrel that blossomed above them. “Get down!” he shouted, and snapped a shot to discourage the shooter. It worked. The revolver was yanked back.

  Drew Case turned and fired at the batwings, but he was much too slow to hit whoever was out there. Backpedaling, he said, “That buzzard shot me from an alley. He’s been after me since.”

  “Hunt cover,” Chancy said, watching the entrance and the window both. He was thinking of Ollie, helpless on the wall behind them, and how a stray slug might hit him instead of them.

  “It’s a war out there,” Drew said through clenched teeth. “I lost sight of Ben and Jelly.” He glanced toward the rear wall, and stiffened. “What have they done to Ollie?”

  “Nailed me up,” Ollie said.

  “I have to get him down,” Chancy said, stating the obvious. “Can you watch out for them while I do?”

  “Go,” Drew said. He sank into a chair facing the front. “I’ll shoot anyone who shows his face.”

  Time seemed to slow down. Retrieving the hammer, Chancy pried and pried and finally got the first nail out. Ollie didn’t complain once. Quickly moving the chair, Chancy was about to pry at the nail in Ollie’s other wrist when he realized the mistake he was making. He should do the ankles first so Ollie could stand on a chair while he did the wrists. Leaping down, he hauled a second chair over.

  If he thought the nail in the wrist had been difficult, it was nothing compared to the nail in the ankle. The bone was a lot thicker. It was like trying to pull the nail out of rock.

  “Hurry,” Drew urged.

  Chancy bit off a sharp retort. He was doing the best he could. He tried scraping the claws deeper, and Ollie groaned. “Sorry, pard.”

  “Do what you have to.”

  Chancy clenched his jaw. Ollie was right. He must get the nails out, the pain and the blood be hanged. He renewed his attempt.

  “Oh Lordy,” Ollie said.

  The boom of a shot made Chancy jump.

  “Missed!” Drew exclaimed.

  Without warning, the nail came loose, causing Chancy to stumble back a few steps. He stared at the bloody nail dripping red, then cast it down in disgust and moved to the other leg.

  “I won’t be able to walk for a spell, will I?” Ollie said weakly.

  Chancy hadn’t thought of that. “Probably not. But don’t you worry. You’ve got my shoulder to lean on.”

  “How can you shoot with me leaning on you?”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  The second ankle nail was as stubborn as the first. Chancy sweated buckets trying to get it out. When it loosened, he nearly yipped for joy. Grabbing the other chair, he placed it under Ollie.

  “Do you have to sit and rest?” Ollie asked.

  “It’s for you, you silly goose,” Chancy said. “When I get this nail out, try to put both feet on the chair. It will hold you up long enough for me to take out the last nail.”

  “I’ll try, pard.”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “I don’t feel fine.”

  Another shot rocked the saloon.

  “Show yourself again!” Drew hollered. “I dare you, you no-account polecat.”

  “Drew sounds real mad,” Ollie said.

  “Aren’t you?” Chancy said, his sole attention on the nail.

  “Not that I know of, no.”

  “They nailed you to this wall.”

  “What good does it do to be mad at a wall?” Ollie said. “And you called me a silly goose?”

  Chancy figured the torment and the loss of blood had made his friend more addlepated than usual. He accidentally scraped bone and felt Ollie quiver. “Sorry.”

  “It’s a good thing wood can’t feel like we do. It
would hurt a board something awful to be nailed up.”

  “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  “What stuff?”

  A loud crackling caused Chancy to look toward the street. The general store was fully engulfed in flames, the light from the fire so bright the street between the store and the saloon was lit up as if it were the middle of the day.

  “Ain’t that pretty?” Ollie said.

  With a sickening sound reminiscent of a fingernail on a blackboard, the nail came out. Instantly Chancy clamped his arm around Ollie’s legs to steady him and helped guide his feet to the chair. “Can you stand or not? I have to know.”

  “I think I can.”

  Maybe it was the fact that he was acutely conscious that they were running out of time, or maybe the fact that he had done it three times, but Chancy extracted the last nail in less than a minute. Throwing the hammer aside, he supported Ollie, helping him down from the chair. “I’ve got you.”

  Ollie collapsed against him. “I feel so puny,” he apologized. “You should leave me and go before more of those owl-hoots come.”

  “Not going to happen,” Chancy said.

  “You’re my pard. I don’t want you hurt.”

  “Right back at you.”

  Ollie, astoundingly, chuckled. “That was a good one. I’ll have to remember it.”

  Draping Ollie’s arm across his shoulders, Chancy hooked his left around Ollie’s waist to hold him up. “We’re going out the back. Can you make it?”

  “Watch me.”

  Chancy turned. “Drew!” he called. “Let’s get while the getting is good.”

  Grimacing, Drew rose. “Fine by me.”

  It was then that the outlaw who had been lurking out front charged through the batwings with his pistol blazing.

  Chapter 61

  Drew Case was caught with his back to the shooter. He swiveled toward the entrance just as the outlaw fired. The impact of the slug jolted him. He banged off a shot and it was the outlaw’s turn to be jolted, but the curly wolf fired again, and once more. Drew started to melt.