Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do

by Ralph Compton

  Aces was looking at the lawman in amusement. “Don’t you beat all?”

  Mrs. Watkins smiled at Fred. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t allow three men to that room. It’s not very big and there’s only the one bed. But with you being an officer of the law, and the statehood and all, it would be remiss of me to refuse you.”

  “My, you are eloquent, kind lady,” Fred said. “And I think you for your kindness.”

  Fanning herself with her hand as if she were suddenly hot, Mrs. Watkins did some coughing of her own. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can sit down together and become better acquainted.”

  “I would like nothin’ more.”

  Tyree led them inside before the marshal made a spectacle of himself. “I’ll show you which room it is and then we can go find the gent who claims to know about my folks. Not that he’ll tell us anything unless I pay him.”

  Aces Connor patted his ivory-handled Colt. “Have a little faith, pard,” he said.

  Chapter 24

  “One thing I’d like to know,” Marshal Hitch said as they threaded their way along the new capital’s busy streets, “is why you call yourself Johnson when your last name is Larn.”

  “I thought I told you before,” Tyree said. “Whoever shot my ma and pa might know their last name was Larn. And if they heard I’m a Larn and I’m askin’ about them . . .” He shrugged.

  They were near the railroad tracks, in a part of the city where the rougher element congregated. Tyree had learned shortly after he arrived that the saloon most hard cases favored, the one where those who lived on the shady side of the law showed up most nights to drink and swap tall tales, was called the Raging Bull. It was owned by a mousy little man by the name of Kierney. Gossip had it that in his younger days Kierney had been a thief who liked to slip into the homes of rich folks when they weren’t there and help himself to their valuables. Apparently he’d been caught and sent to prison, and when he got out, used some money he’d stashed to open the Raging Bull and become respectable.

  Tyree had never met anyone he disliked more. Kierney reminded him of a rat. The little man even had a ratlike face that was always twitching, and beady eyes that never held a hint of friendliness.

  On this particular evening, the Raging Bull was outrageously crowded. The bar was lined shoulder to shoulder, all the tables were taken, and most of the floor space besides.

  And talk about loud. The babble of voices, clinking chips and glasses, and gruff mirth assaulted Tyree’s ears. “Didn’t count on this,” he had to say into one of Ace’s since he wouldn’t be heard otherwise.

  Fred touched his shirt where his badge had been. “Good thing I took this off. I’d stand out like a sort thumb.”

  That he would. The flinty faces and cold stares, the abundance of revolvers and knives, warned anyone who came in that this saloon was the haunt of Cheyenne’s wild and woolly crowd.

  Tyree began rising onto his toes to see better. “Moses has to be here somewhere. He nearly always is.”

  “Moses?” Aces said. “Is that his real handle?”

  “He’s never said.”

  “You don’t know if that’s his real name yet you were set to give him five hundred dollars.”

  “What does his name have to do with it?”

  “You are too young by half,” Aces said.

  Tyree didn’t see why he kept carping about the five hundred. He’d hand over a thousand if it got him the information he needed. He’d been hunting the killers for years now. He’d like for it to finally be over so he could do something with his life. Exactly what, he wasn’t sure. But it was a good thing, in a sense, that his parents were dead and not holding their breath waiting for him to avenge them. He was taking forever.

  Tyree couldn’t help it. As young as he was, a lot of people didn’t take him seriously. He’d explain about his parents and ask for information and be treated as if he was a wet-nosed kid who didn’t know any better than to go around imposing on folks.

  A woman in a shiny green dress appeared as if out of nowhere and attached herself to Aces. Her face was made up with powder and rouge, and she had short blond curls that bounced when she moved her head. “Lookee what I found,” she declared merrily. “Where have you been all my life, handsome?’

  “Never heard that one before,” Aces said.

  “Now, now. Be nice. My name is Clementine. Why don’t you buy me a drink and we’ll become better acquainted?”

  “Some other time,” Aces said. “I’m here on business.”

  “Aren’t they all?” Clementine said. “I just overheard a couple of gents talking about a stage somebody else robbed. And before that, I heard how Puck Tovey had his wick snuffed up to Sutter’s Stump.”

  “They call that business?” Fred said.

  “Honey, anything that has to do with the wrong side of the law is business to this bunch,” Clementine said, and laughed.

  “What’s this about Puck Tovey?” Aces said.

  “He was well-known in these parts. Came up from Texas, I think. Shot a man not long ago.” Clementine pursed her ruby lips. “Him and another fella by the name of Bascomb were sent to their reward by some shootist from who knows where.”

  Tyree was taken aback when Aces hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and said, “At the moment he’s standin’ in front of you.”

  “What’s that, handsome?” Clementine said. She was regarding one of her painted fingernails.

  “Puck Tovey braced me and came down with a terrible case of slow.”

  “Wait a minute,” Clementine said, looking up and stiffening. “Are you saying that you’re the one who shot him?”

  “And Ira Bascomb too,” Aces said.

  “Good heavens. And damn me if I don’t believe you. Who are you anyhow? Anybody I’d have heard of?”

  “Aces Connor,” Aces said.

  “Why, I believe I have heard your name. Didn’t you shoot a drummer or a rustler some time ago?”

  “Both,” Aces said.

  Clementine looked around at all the celebrants, then stepped up close to Aces. “Listen, you might want to keep it to yourself about Bascomb. He was well thought of by a lot of these curly wolves.”

  “Don’t you worry, gal,” Aces said, and playfully swatted her fanny. “Tell everybody I shot the both of them.”

  “You want everyone to know it was you?”

  “It would help things, yes.”

  “It will get you buried in Boot Hill, you damn idiot. I’m trying to warn you to tread easy. You don’t realize what you’re in for.”

  “Ah, but I do,” Aces said. Turning her around, he nodded toward the bar. “Start there and work your way around the room. Point me out to everybody, and when you come back, I’ll buy you that drink and give you a couple of dollars besides.”

  “You’re loco,” Clementine said, but she giggled and sashayed off.

  “I agree,” Fred said. “You’re askin’ for trouble. Why draw a target on your chest?”

  “For my new pard,” Aces said, and clapped Tyree on the back.

  “What?” Tyree was trying to make sense of it all. Until this moment, Aces had impressed him as having more sense than most. But this was reckless.

  “Fear can loosen lips,” Aces said.

  Tyree still didn’t understand, but evidently Marshal Hitch did.

  “So that’s why,” Fred said. “I admire your grit and your cleverness, but there has to be a better way.”

  “If you have one let me hear it,” Aces said.

  “I don’t, I’m sorry to say. Your bluster will have to do.” Fred turned to Tyree. “I hope you appreciate what he’s doing for you. Not many men would put themselves in a bullet’s path for someone else, pard or no pard.”

  “I don’t want him hurt on my account,” Tyree said.

  “Too late to stop it now,�
�� Fred said, and nodded toward the bar where Clementine was huddled with several drinkers. She looked in Aces’s direction and pointed, and the drinkers excitedly began spreading the news themselves.

  “You’re too calm by half,” Fred said to Aces.

  “If it happens, it happens,” Aces said. “But they’ll be more curious than anything. They’ll want to study me awhile. Gives us time to do what we came for and be gone.”

  “You hope.”

  Tyree saw Clementine go over to a table. As she bent, he noticed the face of a man at another table past her. His pulse quickened and he placed his hands on his Colts. “I knew he’d be here.”

  Aces said, “Is it Moses? Point him out.”

  Few in the Raging Bull had gray hair and a lot of wrinkles. Those on the wrong side of the law seldom lived to a ripe old age. Being an outlaw or a gunman just about ensured an early grave.

  The man called Moses was an exception. He looked to be older than Methuselah, his face so cragged and seamed there wasn’t a smooth spot anywhere. A bristly mustache and scraggily beard added to the impression of great age. His store-bought clothes had been patched and sewn so many times they nearly had as many wrinkles and creases as he did. His face was smudged from being unwashed; his fingernails were black from never being cleaned. When he opened his mouth he revealed yellow teeth, with more than a few missing.

  Tyree worked his way around the table. On reaching the older man’s elbow, he leaned down and said, “Remember me?”

  Moses glanced up. His eyes were bloodshot and a wad of tobacco bulged his left cheek. “Well, look who it is. Got my money?”

  “Not yet but—”

  “Then we have nothin’ to gab about. Come see me when you do.” Moses held a hand over his cards, peeked at them, and added five dollars to the pot. “Are you still here, boy?”

  Tyree turned to go. He didn’t want to make an issue of it with so many people around.

  “No,” Aces said, and put a hand on his chest. “Stay put. He’s going to talk to you whether he wants to or not.”

  Moses fixed his attention on Aces. “Who the hell are you to tell me what I will and won’t do?”

  As luck would have it, just then a townsman in a bowler rushed up to another of the players. The man in the bowler was so excited he didn’t pay any mind to anyone else. “You won’t believe what I just heard,” he exclaimed. “Remember last week when we were told that Bascomb up to Sutter’s Stump and a gun shark by the name of Tovey were bucked out in gore?”

  “I do,” the man at the table said.

  “Well, word is being spread that the gun hand who did the bucking is here in the saloon.”

  The game came to a stop.

  “Where is he?” the man at the table asked.

  “Someone pointed him out to me a minute ago,” the man in the bowler said. He straightened and looked around the room. “He’s got a brown hat and looks to be a cowboy.”

  “Does his hat look like mine?” Aces asked.

  The townsman in the bowler gazed across the table. “As a matter of fact it—” He stopped and his eyes seemed to bulge. “Lord in heaven, mister. I didn’t mean nothing.”

  “Rafer?” the townsman at the table said.

  Rafer had gone pale. Nervously licking his lips, he nodded at Aces. “That would be him right there.”

  Tyree would never forget their reaction. To a man, they betrayed a spark of awe or outright fear. To a man, they stared at Aces’s ivory-handled Colt in a sort of wonderment that it had been the instrument of two deaths.

  To Tyree, the effect was magical. He’d like to have that effect on folks. He’d like to be regarded with the same awe.

  Aces was focused on Moses. “Suppose you cash in your chips.”

  “Suppose I don’t want to?” Moses replied testily.

  “I wasn’t askin’,” Aces said.

  Moses glowered, his wrinkles folding in on themselves. “I don’t know what gives you the right.”

  Aces placed his hand on his Colt. “I’ve shot five men in the past year or more. Is that enough right for you or would you like more?”

  Moses was no coward, Tyree had to say that for him. Where most would have been intimidated, he growled, “There’s law in this town. You can’t go around doing as you damn well please.”

  “Any of that law in here?”

  A hush had come over the nearest tables and those around them. Everyone was hanging on the exchange between Aces and Moses.

  “I have half a mind to call your bluff,” the latter said. “You cause trouble and the marshal will have you behind bars before you can blink.”

  “It won’t be quite that quick,” Aces said. “The trouble will be long over.” He took half a step to one side so no one was between him and Moses. “My pard wants words with you. He’ll have them, here and now, or you answer to me.”

  “Go to hell,” Moses said, but he smacked his cards down and scooped up his pile of chips. Muttering, he stood. “You heard him, fellers. Deal me out, but I’ll be back as soon as him and me finish up.”

  Tyree suddenly understood why Aces encouraged the dove to let everyone know Aces had curled up Tovey and Bascomb permanent. It was to impress Moses into doing what they wanted.

  Tyree made up his mind then and there that he would like to be just like Aces Connor when he was older. A man could do worse.

  The hush was spreading. Fully half the saloon had gone silent; half the heads were fixed on Aces.

  Tyree decided to take their talk outside. Too many ears were listening. As he turned toward the batwings, it amazed him how quickly everyone got out of his way. All because he was with Aces. He smothered a laugh of delight. Here he was, a boy by most standards, and he was being treated as if he were one of the terrors of the territory. It was heady stuff.

  Moses came after him, with Aces right behind, while Marshal Hitch brought up the rear, smiling at everybody and saying, “How do you do? How do you do? Pleased to meet you.”

  Tyree wanted to kick him. The lawman would spoil things, he was being so nice. Hard cases didn’t act that way.

  “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearin’, ma’am,” Fred said to a dove.

  Shouldering a batwing, Tyree held it open and motioned for Moses to go ahead of him. Moses did, but no sooner did he step outside than he turned and shoved Tyree at Aces. Tyree would have fallen if Aces hadn’t grabbed him, and before either could hope to prevent it, Moses whirled and bolted.

  Chapter 25

  Tyree was out of the saloon like a shot, and collided with a man walking past, nearly knocking him down.

  “Watch where you’re going, boy,” the man declared, and went around.

  Aces and Fred burst through the batwings and stood on either side, looking right and left.

  “Where?” Aces said.

  Tyree had no idea. Moses had disappeared into the flow of people and horses in the street. On an ordinary day it would be easy to spot him. But today, with every artery jammed with residents and visitors, it was like looking for a needle in a constantly moving haystack.

  “He can’t have gotten far,” Fred said.

  Tyree had an inspiration. Hopping off the boardwalk, he crouched low to the ground. This let him see under the horses and wagons and buckboards. A river of legs moved in each direction, some at a brisk pace, others more slowly. But only one pair of legs was moving like a bat out of hell.

  “This way,” Tyree said, and took off in pursuit.

  “Wait for us, son,” Fred called out.

  Tyree wasn’t about to. If Moses got away, he might never find him again, and lose the best chance he had of finding his parents’ murderers. He weaved and dodged and twisted like a madman, drawing irate glares from those he brushed against or caused to draw up short. He darted into the path of a horse and bounded aside before it hit him, earning
a curse from its rider.

  Tyree was fortunate in that he was thin and agile. He could slip through the throng like quicksilver. But most of the adults were taller than he was, and to see over them he had to keep jumping into the air. He’d spotted Moses’s hat, which was almost as old and worn as Moses, and tried to keep it in sight.

  The chase went on for several blocks. Tyree was almost to an intersection when he jumped up yet again, and the hat was gone. He came to the junction and turned both ways. There weren’t quite as many people—and no sign of Moses.

  In a sudden panic Tyree turned left. He’d gone about twenty steps when something—instinct, a hunch, a feeling—caused him to whirl and run the other way. Darting over to the boardwalk to a post supporting an overhang, he quickly clambered up.

  Eureka, Tyree congratulated himself. Moses was entering a building across the way. The old man was in such a hurry he didn’t look back.

  Sliding down, Tyree made a beeline for the building. He figured it must be where Moses was staying, but no. It appeared to be a warehouse. Twin doors had been left partly open, and within were crates and boxes and bins, plunged in dark shadow.

  His hands on his Colts, Tyree slipped inside and stood with his back to a door to let his eyes adjust. After the hubbub of the streets, the warehouse seemed unnaturally still. There were two windows, but they were small and high on the side walls. Dust motes hung in the air, and a spiderweb was suspended from a rafter.

  Tyree edged forward. He saw no sign of a back door, which meant he had the old geezer trapped.

  Whoever owned the warehouse, and any workers, must be out and about, like everyone else.

  Tyree placed each foot quietly. He probed the gloom between the piles and stacks, seeking telltale movement. Moses was too wily to give himself away. Finding him would take some doing.

  Tyree thought of his ma and pa, and grew angry. All he wanted was to find their killers. In a decent world, Moses would help him out of the goodness of his heart. But the world wasn’t a decent place. It was a maze of shadows and danger, just like the warehouse. And filled with vultures like Moses who didn’t give a damn about anyone except themselves.