Smirking, Caleb glowered down at Aces. “Didn’t reckon on seein’ us again, did you?” He spoke quietly so as not to wake the marshal and the boy.
“We watched our back trail but saw no sign of you,” Aces admitted. Truth was, Caleb had been cleverer than he figured.
“You killed my friend,” Caleb said, and held the ax head under Aces’s nose. “The best partner I ever had.”
“He was about to back-shoot me.”
“You should have let him.” Caleb wagged the ax. “You see this? I aim to chop you into bits and pieces for what you done.”
“I thought you were here to chop firewood,” Aces said.
“Funny man,” Caleb said, and slammed the flat of the ax head against Aces’s temple.
Pain exploded, and Aces lost his hat. He sank to a knee, the world spinning, and felt a drop of blood trickle down his cheek.
“I’m going to enjoy choppin’ you up,” Caleb said quietly. He turned and regarded Hitch and Tyree. “Them too.”
“Let’s get on with it,” the scout said.
“What’s your hurry, Kline?” Caleb said. “We’ve got them right where we want them.”
“Do you?” Tyree Larn said, and sat up. His blanket fell away, revealing a cocked Colt in each hand, pointed at Caleb’s broad chest. “Drop that ax and have your pards drop their rifles or I’ll put holes in you.”
Caleb showed no alarm whatsoever. Sneering, he said, “Listen to you, boy. If’n you shoot me, Kline and these others will blow out the cowboy’s wick and do the same to you and that no-account tin star.”
“Maybe they will and maybe they won’t,” Tyree said. “But you won’t be around to see it.”
Aces wished the boy had come out from under the blanket with his pistols blazing. Any moment, Kline or one of the others might take it into his head to shoot him.
“I’ve been shot before,” Caleb said. “It don’t worry me none.”
Aces saw that Kline had tucked his ivory-handled Colt under a wide leather belt the old scout wore. It was within easy reach, provided he had a distraction.
“Shows how few brains you have,” Tyree said.
Caleb’s bushy eyebrows met over his eyes. “All my life folks have been callin’ me dumb. It riles me something fierce.”
“For the last time, you ugly-as-hell giant, drop the damn ax.”
Caleb looked at it, and smiled. “That’s not going to happen, boy. What will happen is this. You’ll shoot me, but it won’t bother me none, and then my friends will shoot you and I’ll take this ax to the gun hand.”
“You take a lot for granted, mister.” Tyree glanced at Aces as he said it, and Aces gave a slight nod. “There ain’t none of us bulletproof.”
“It’s you who should drop those pistols,” Caleb said.
“To make it easier for you to kill me?” Tyree laughed. “You must reckon I’m as dumb as you.”
“There you go again,” Caleb said. “Someone shoot this brat so we can get on with the killin’.”
“You first,” Tyree said, and fired both Colts.
Caleb was jolted back by the twin slugs tearing through his body. One burst out his back, high on his shoulder, spraying drops of blood.
At the twin blasts, Aces sidestepped and spun. He counted on Kline having turned his head toward Tyree and Caleb. It bought him the split second he needed to yank his Colt from under Kline’s belt, cock it as he raised it, and shoot the old scout in the face. Whirling, he fanned shots at the others. Tyree was shooting at them too. The boy must have figured that Caleb would fall, but Caleb didn’t. Instead the giant roared like an enraged grizzly and hurled his bulk at Tyree, raising the ax on high. There was another shot, just one, and Caleb’s head snapped back and he buckled to sprawl in a heap next to the fire.
Both Aces and Tyree looked over at Marshal Hitch.
The lawman had risen on an elbow, his revolver poking from under his blanket. He seemed as surprised as they were. “For Pete’s sake. I’ve killed somebody.”
“I’m damn glad you did,” Tyree said.
Aces went from body to body, making sure.
“It happened so quick,” Tyree said. “Just like you said it would. I didn’t hardly have time to think.”
“I’ve never killed anybody before,” Fred said, staring aghast at Caleb’s sprawled form.
“It’s about time you did, you bein’ the law and all,” Tyree said. “If you’re that weak sister about it, hand in your tin star and become a chicken farmer.”
“Who is the man here and who is the boy?” Fred said.
“Cluck, cluck,” Tyree said.
Satisfied their enemies were dead, Aces commenced to reload. “You did fine, Tyree. Right fine.”
The boy grinned and held out his Colts. “I did, didn’t I? I did just like you told me and kept my head and shot that big one.”
“You put slugs into two of them,” Aces said.
“I did, didn’t I?” Tyree said once more, proud of his accomplishment. “It shows I can do it when I find those who murdered my ma and my pa.”
“That you can,” Aces said.
“How can you be so happy over killing someone?” Fred said. “It will eat at me the rest of my days.”
“You are the most peculiar law dog I ever met,” Tyree said. “You’re always nice to folks. You don’t like to shoot anybody. I reckon you must cry at a hangin’.”
“They don’t please me none, no.”
“If chickens aren’t to your likin’, how about raisin’ hogs?”
“Cut it out,” Fred said. “This is serious.”
“What makes you think I wasn’t?” Tyree pushed his blankets off and stood. Nudging Caleb with a toe, he laughed. “I did it. I actually did it.”
“You don’t have to keep crowin’ about it,” Fred said.
“Sure I do,” Tyree said. “I’m not a weeper like you.”
“Aren’t you forgettin’ something?” Aces asked him.
Tyree tore his gaze from Caleb. “Like what?”
“What’s the first thing you’re to do after you shoot?”
“Reload,” Tyree said. Replacing his left Colt in its holster, he slipped a cartridge from a belt loop. “Sorry. I got excited.”
Aces grinned. “So I noticed.”
Marshal Hitch rose, his features downcast. “I’d be obliged if neither of you mentions my part in this to anyone.”
“You don’t want us to brag on you shootin’ that Caleb?” Tyree said.
“I surely don’t.”
“See what I mean about him bein’ peculiar?” Tyree said to Aces. “You ever met a lawman like him?”
“I surely haven’t.” Aces mimicked the boy.
“Have your fun, both of you,” Fred said. “But it would please me mightily if we stopped talkin’ about it.”
“I have one last question for you,” Tyree said.
Fred sighed. “Let me hear it.”
“Where the hell is our bail jumper?”
Aces turned. He’d forgotten about Tom McCarthy in all the excitement. McCarthy’s blanket had been flung aside, and he was gone.
“How in the world?” Fred exclaimed. “I tied his hands and feet, both.”
Aces went over and squatted. A jagged rock and pieces of rope explained things. “He must have sawed himself free before Caleb and those others showed up.”
“Then took advantage and ran off while we were busy with them,” Fred said.
“He won’t get far on foot,” Tyree declared.
Struck by a thought, Aces straightened. “He might get farther than you think. Caleb and his friends left their horses out there somewhere.”
“Oh, hell,” Fred said. “We can’t go runnin’ off in the dark. We have no idea which way he went.”
“I’ll catch him tomorrow, wait and se
e,” Tyree said confidently. “I did it once. I can do it again. There hasn’t been a bounty yet who escaped me.”
“We’d best get some sleep,” Aces said. If McCarthy did get hold of a horse, it promised to be a long day.
“What about the bodies?” Fred said.
“Buzzards get hungry too,” Aces said.
“That’s not right.”
“It would take all night to bury them and we’d be worthless in the mornin’. Is that what you want?”
“I suppose not,” Fred said. “What’s one more thing I never thought I’d do? I make it back to Sweetwater, I’m never leavin’ again. This world is too rough for my tastes.”
“Strangest lawman ever born,” Tyree said.
Aces found sleep elusive, and he wasn’t the only one. He’d been lying there for about fifteen minutes when Tyree let out a long sigh.
“Are you awake, Aces?”
“Afraid so.”
“I can’t fall asleep for the life of me. I’m too wrought up. It feels as if my blood is racin’ through my body.”
“That can happen your first time.”
“I’d like it to happen every time,” Tyree said. “It’s a good feelin’. All warm and tingly.”
“I never felt the tingly part,” Aces said.
“I feel like I’m on top of the world. Like I’ve proven somethin’ to myself that most folks don’t ever get to.”
“You shot somebody. That’s all.”
“Two somebodies,” Tyree said, and chuckled.
Aces was a little disturbed by how happy the boy was about it. “Listen, Tyree. You’re young yet, so it’s natural you’re het up. But there’s no glory in shootin’ someone. Even when they deserve it.”
“It’s glorious to me,” Tyree said.
“That will wear off. When you’re my age you’ll see things more clearly.”
“I’m not your age. I’m me.”
Aces rolled over to face him. “Don’t let it go to your head. You start struttin’ around like you’re the toughest hombre who ever lived, and you won’t last long. The loud ones, the proud ones, never do.”
“I’d never go that far.”
“Keep a sensible head and you’ll live to a ripe old age, like Hitch yonder.”
“I heard that,” the marshal said grumpily. “And I’m not ripe yet, I’ll have you know.”
“You could have fooled me,” Tyree said, “the notions you have.”
Aces wasn’t done trying to make things clear. “Keep your shootin’ to yourself. Don’t get drunk and boast. Don’t prod when there’s no call. Don’t scare folks for the fun of it.”
“What do you think I am?” Tyree said.
“It happens,” Aces said. “Puck Tovey thought he was the cock of the walk and look at what it got him. There’s always someone faster. Someone smarter. Live by the gun and your name is on a bullet. You just never know when or who will pull the trigger that does you in.”
“I like how you put that,” Fred said. “Heed him, boy.”
“I do everything he says, don’t I?” Tyree said. “I’ve never looked up to anybody as much as I look up to him.”
Aces was flattered.
“Truth is, I never had anyone to look up to before. No one’s ever taken the time to teach me anything.”
“Life can be cruel,” Fred said, “but it can be good too. It’s up to us, with the decisions we make. Puck Tovey made his decision to be a bad man a long time ago, and look at where it got him.”
“You are a mother hen,” Tyree said. “I’m not going to be like Puck Tovey. I’m going to be like Aces. I won’t ever shoot anyone unless they deserve it.”
“What?” Aces said.
“Like you did with that rustler and that tinhorn. They deserved it, didn’t they? There are always some who do.”
“Happy now, Aces?” Fred said.
“Don’t you be pickin’ on him,” Tyree said. “Thanks to Aces, from this day on, I’m not Tyree Larn, a nobody. I’m Tyree Larn, gun hand.”
“God help us,” the marshal said.
Chapter 18
Tyree’s last comments bothered Aces. They bothered him considerably. But he put them from his mind for the time being to concentrate on catching Tom McCarthy.
At daybreak the three of them were in the saddle. They left the bodies, although Marshal Hitch once again objected. They did bundle all the rifles in a blanket and tie it to the lawman’s bay. They also collected all the six-guns and put them in saddlebags. Leaving bodies to rot was one thing. Wasting good guns was another. Aces went through the pockets of the deceased and came up with fifty-four dollars in bills and coins. Aces and Tyree split the money.
They headed north at a trot. Tyree was eager to overtake McCarthy quickly, but that wasn’t going to happen.
The hulking Caleb and his friends had left their mounts in a dry wash about two hundred yards out. McCarthy had found them and helped himself to two of the horses. The others were still there, ground-hitched.
“Why’d he take two animals?” Tyree wondered. “Is he usin’ the second as a packhorse?”
“He’ll ride the first into the ground to get as far ahead of us as he can,” Aces reckoned, “then switch to the second animal.”
“He probably rode all night,” Marshal Hitch said. “He could be to Sutter’s Stump soon.”
“Hell in a basket,” Tyree said.
“We’ll take the extra horses with us,” Aces said. “Use them when our own get tired.”
They rode hard. Tyree’s sorrel played out first and he switched to a pinto. Hitch’s bay lasted another hour and a half, and then he had to switch to a chestnut.
The palomino had more stamina. It was tired but gamely held to the pace Aces set.
Night was falling when they came within sight of Sutter’s. Lamplight bathed the windows with a rosy glow. Half a dozen animals were at the long hitch rail out front.
Aces dismounted, looped the reins off, and started toward the batwings but drew up short.
A crudely fashioned casket, made of oak, had been propped against the front of the building. The top was off, and in the casket, his arms folded across the chest, were the mortal remains of the former owner.
“Bascomb, by heaven,” Fred exclaimed.
“Why haven’t they planted him?” Tyree wondered.
“The novelty of it.”
“The what?”
Fred stepped to the casket. “It’s not every day we get to see a dead person. They put him out here to give themselves somethin’ to talk about.”
“That’s silly,” Tyree said.
“No, son. It’s human nature. In some towns, if a famous person dies, the undertaker props the coffin outside his establishment and charges folks for the privilege of gawkin’ at the dear departed.”
“I’d never pay to see somebody dead,” Tyree said. “Hell, I wouldn’t pay to see somebody alive even if they were famous. What’s famous anyhow but folks talkin’ about a person a lot?”
“Some folks like that. They think that being famous is all that matters in life.”
“Seems senseless to me. All that fame ends up in the same place,” Tyree said, and nodded at the coffin.
“Are you two done?” Aces asked.
“Would you want to be famous?” Tyree said.
“No.”
“Wild Bill Hickok was, and folks still talk about him. So maybe I was wrong and being famous is good for you.”
“A hundred years from now no one will remember who he was,” Aces said. “And he’s long past carin’ already.”
“How do you know?” Fred said. “If there’s a hereafter, he might hear what folks say and take some comfort in that.”
Aces stared at him.
“What?” Fred said.
Aces pushed
on the batwings. Two men were at a corner table, drinking. A stocky man with curly russet hair was tending bar. No one appeared to be in the store section.
“Well, look who it is,” the russet-haired man said when they reached the bar. “You’ve got some nerve.”
“I beg your pardon?” Marshal Hitch said.
“You heard me,” the bartender said. “You killed Mr. Bascomb and now you must have killed Caleb and those who went with him or the three of you wouldn’t be standin’ there.”
“We defended ourselves,” Fred said. “A man has that right.”
Aces was more interested in finding McCarthy. “Our prisoner got away. Have you seen him?”
“I sure ain’t,” the barkeep said.
“And you wouldn’t tell us if you had,” Aces said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Aces said. “Your face said it for you.”
“Where is he?” Tyree demanded. “Is he still here or did he fan the breeze?”
“Go to hell, kid.”
“After you,” Tyree said, and drawing a Colt, he leaned across the bar and struck the bartender across the jaw with the barrel.
Crying out in pain, the man stepped back.
“I’ll do that again if you don’t tell us,” Tyree said.
Clutching his chin, the bartender became as red as a beet. “You damn kid. You had no call to do that.”
“Where’s McCarthy?”
The two men at the corner table began to rise, but Aces swung toward them, his hand poised over his ivory-handled Colt. “Stay where you are, gents. This is none of your affair.”
Fred tapped his badge at them. “And the law is involved. So behave.”
“Where’s McCarthy?” Tyree asked the barkeep a second time.
The bartender hissed like a kicked snake. “I have half a mind to come around there and stomp you into the floor.”
“If you can stomp with lead in you, you’re welcome to try.” Tyree smiled, pointed his Colt, and cocked it. “The days when someone can take a fist or boot to me are over. I’ll shoot you like I did your dumb-as-a-stump friend.”
“You shot Caleb?”
“Let’s say I helped. Now, where’s Tom McCarthy? Is he here or not? And keep in mind that if you lie to us, we’ll come back, and the next time I’ll march in shootin’. Do yourself a favor and don’t be as dumb as Caleb.”
Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do Page 13