Soft Soap for a Hard Case

by Hall, Billy

  Denton looked at Sam. ‘They didn’t see you?’

  ‘Not then. I was out back cuttin’ wood. That’s why I was hangin’ around here. I offered to cut Kate a wood pile for winter in exchange for a few days’ good grass for the horses. I wanted to fatten ’em up some before I headed south with ’em.’

  ‘So they didn’t see you?’

  ‘Not then. I was listenin’, though. When things started gettin’ ugly, I stepped around the corner. I ordered ’em off the place. One of ’em decided he’d poke a little daylight through me instead. He wasn’t nowhere’s near fast enough.’

  ‘Not too common, a gun hand willin’ to swing an axe.’

  ‘I’m not a gun hand. I’m just a workin’ cowboy that happens to be handy with a gun. I’d just as soon never have to pull it on anybody. I don’t hire my gun out.’

  ‘What happened up along Buffalo Ridge?’ the marshal asked abruptly.

  Billy piped up with the answer. All three of the adults had forgotten his presence, intent as they were on their conversation.

  ‘I get to tell ’bout that! Some guys what was a-stealin’ a whole bunch of our cows. Me’n Ma and Sam seen the tracks where they’d rounded up a whole bunch. We followed ’em. We caught up with ’em, but Ma and Sam wouldn’t let me help. I had my rifle too, but they wouldn’t let me do nothin’. They made me stay with the horses. They shot two o’ the rustlers, then made the other three walk without their boots. I bet their feet was plumb sore afore they got where they was goin’.’

  Denton pursed his lips carefully. ‘Well, that’s either the straight of it, or you did a real fine job teachin’ the boy a tall tale.’

  ‘I ain’t lyin’, mister! Ask my ma.’

  ‘I believe you, son,’ the marshal assured him. ‘Your story makes a lot more sense than the one I got from Russell.’ He turned to Sam. ‘You know Ben Grede?’

  ‘Never met him.’

  ‘I know him,’ Kate interjected. ‘He runs that saloon and gambling hall and house of ill repute in Mariposa. He’s bought out three or four ranchers and homesteaders. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He’s as hungry for more land as Russell is, but he hasn’t bothered me. Why?’

  ‘Him and Russell swore out a complaint against you, Sam. They swore it out together. Said you been rag-tailin’ their outfits and causin’ all sorts o’ trouble.’

  ‘I ain’t done one dad-gummed thing against the law,’ Sam retorted. ‘If they wanta claim I have, let ’em ride out here and say it to my face.’

  ‘They rode clear down to Laramie to swear out a complaint?’ Kate demanded.

  Denton stroked his mustache. ‘Well, no, not exactly. I just happened to be ridin’ up this way on some other business. Russell spotted me when I stopped by Grede’s place for a beer. They told me all about what a real bad hardcase this Sam Heller is, and how it’s my duty to rid the country of such as him. I told ’em I’d look into it. Near as I can tell, you folks are the ones that need to watch your backs.’

  Sam’s eyes continued to flash fire. ‘Russell knows where I stand, and what he can do about it any time he wants. I’ll have a little chat with Grede.’

  Denton acted as if he wanted to take exception to the statement, then finished his coffee instead. ‘Just make sure you stay within the law,’ he said. ‘Don’t give ’em anything they can use to make me take sides.’

  Sam was already mapping out a course of action in his mind he was sure the marshal would not approve.

  CHAPTER 9

  The moon hung in the clear sky, bathing the earth in soft light. The harshness of the day’s heat had given way to a surprising chill. Far distant, the soft cry of an owl sounded like a lullaby of peace to all but the rodents it sought.

  Sam stood in the deep shadows of a grove of trees. He studied the area ahead of him intently. He was in no hurry, he had time to be sure who was where, and why.

  He had entered Mariposa without using the road, keeping to the bottoms of draws, skirting hills, staying well out of sight. His horse was just beyond a clump of plum bushes, tied to a small elm tree.

  In front of him the back side of Grede’s Lucky Lady Saloon and Gambling Hall spilled yellow light from every window. From his vantage he could see through clearly, watching the lively business within.

  He had quickly picked out which windows opened into Grede’s living quarters. The windows were larger, the drapes that hung on the inside of those windows were plush fabric. The visible furnishings within were elaborate and clearly top quality. Every facet of those quarters reeked of prosperity.

  As far as he had been able to ascertain, there was only one guard on this side of the building. Either Grede was supremely confident, or thought he had no enemies likely to be stalking him. That didn’t square with the mental image Sam had formed of the man.

  Grede himself seemed to be alone in his quarters. He was seated at a desk, with several ledgers open in front of him. The window behind him was open to the world. ‘He either thinks he ain’t got an enemy in the world or he’s dumber’n a knot-headed calf,’ Sam muttered to himself.

  The lone guard idled at the corner of the building, leaning against it, listening to the noise of the conversations and revelry within. He rolled a cigarette and smoked it, oblivious to the fact that he was broadcasting his location to anyone approaching.

  The whole scene made no sense to him, but he finally decided he had to accept it at face value. He made a wide, silent circle, coming up on the guard from around the corner he lounged beside. He stood there, less than three feet from him, watching his shadow. When the shadow indicated he had turned to look along the back side of the building, Sam stepped into the open. The guard sensed his presence just in time to turn into the gun barrel that slammed into the side of his head. He crumpled noiselessly to the ground.

  Moving swiftly and soundlessly, Sam approached the open window. He stepped over the sill and eased himself into the room, almost within reach of Ben Grede. The saloon keeper gave no indication he sensed Sam’s presence.

  Sam stood still in indecision. He looked around. Just to his right a wingback chair, upholstered in rich burgundy velvet, stood empty. He eased himself into it, holding his gun in his lap. He lifted his right boot on to his left knee in an exaggerated position of relaxation. By doing so, he knew he also concealed the gun from Grede’s angle.

  ‘Nice night,’ he said, keeping his voice conversational.

  Grede jumped as if he had been shot. He whirled, nearly upsetting his chair. ‘Who are you? How’d you get in here?’

  ‘I walked. My name’s Sam Heller.’

  Recognition flashed in Grede’s eyes, followed by a perceptible paling of his face. ‘The gunman.’

  ‘Only when I have to be,’ Sam rejoined amicably. ‘I understand you’ve sworn out a complaint against me with the US marshal.’

  A film that should have been invisible passed over Grede’s eyes. Sam recognized it for the wariness he expected. ‘I went along with Lance’s complaint,’ he admitted. ‘You killed a couple of his boys.’

  ‘Did he tell you why?’

  ‘Because he wants the widow’s place.’

  ‘Because his boys were busy drivin’ off about fifty head of her cows.’

  Grede’s eyebrows shot up. ‘They were rustlin’?’

  ‘That’s what it was called the last I knew.’

  ‘You got any proof of that?’

  ‘The woman and her son were both with me. She shot one of ’em.’

  ‘The Bond woman shot one of Lance’s hands?’

  ‘She shot one of the rustlers. You’re the one that seems to know it was Russell’s hands that were doing the rustling.’

  Grede laughed unexpectedly. ‘He sure didn’t tell me that one of his tough Texas gun hands got himself shot by a woman.’

  ‘She’d have shot the one at her place a couple days before that if I hadn’t done it first.’

  Grede’s smile disappeared. ‘You shot another one of his hands?’ />
  ‘I shot one that drew on me. Russell thought he could force her to sell out to him for five hundred dollars, lock, stock, and barrel. He doesn’t seem to have much respect for a woman.’

  Grede took a deep breath. ‘I’ll give you that. That bothers me some about Lance. I got more respect for the whores that work for me than he does for good women.’

  ‘So what are your intentions toward her?’ Sam demanded.

  ‘I’d love to buy her place, if she wants to sell it.’

  ‘For five hundred dollars, I suppose.’

  Grede shook his head. ‘I said I’d love to buy it, not steal it. I might not be the most respectable citizen of Mariposa, but I’m not that low, to take advantage of a widow. By the way, where’s my guard? Did you come in that window?’

  ‘I did. Your guard’s right where he was. When he wakes up, he’ll have a dandy headache.’

  Grede thought about it a long moment, then nodded. ‘You know I could holler and have half a dozen of my men in here instantly, don’t you?’

  ‘You know you’d be dead before the first one made it through the door, don’t you?’

  Grede studied him a long moment. ‘I like you. Do you want a job?’

  ‘I got one. I just want to know whether I’m gonna have to deal with you to make sure the Bond woman gets a fair shake.’

  Grede shook his head. ‘Like I said, I’d love to have her place. But I play it straight up with everyone. I don’t need to be crooked or lowdown to make money. I probably made more money this year than you’ve ever seen at one time. But I’ve done it honest. I don’t rig the games. I don’t water the whiskey. And I don’t let the girls roll any drunk cowboys. If the Bond woman wants to sell out, I’ll pay her a fair price for her patent and market price for her livestock, whenever she wants to sell.’

  It was Sam’s turn to study the other man for a long moment. He stood up and dropped his gun back into its holster. ‘Fair enough,’ he said.

  He deliberately turned his back on Grede, knowing he was inviting a bullet in the back if he had mis-read the man. How badly he had mis-read the man became immediately apparent.

  ‘You’d best not be goin’ out that window.’

  He looked back at the owner of the Lucky Lady. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You don’t really think I’d sit there with my back to a window, with the lamps on, without taking measures to be sure I don’t get shot, do you?’

  Sam’s mind cast about feverishly, trying to figure out what he might have missed. Either Grede was bluffing, or he had missed something that could well be fatal. ‘It sure enough appears that way,’ he stalled.

  Grede chuckled. ‘Every fifteen minutes my guards have to check in. When the guard you knocked out didn’t, someone came to check on him. By now there’s half a dozen men with their guns trained on you. If I give the signal, you’re a dead man. And it doesn’t matter how fast or good you are. You’re standing in good lamplight. My boys are standing in the dark. You don’t have a chance to see them. They don’t have a chance of missing you.’

  If it was a bluff, it was a good one. It explained why Grede was so willing to visit. He was giving his men time to get into position. Now the tables were turned, and Sam was in a situation from which he had no chance to escape.

  He thought of the bustling saloon and casino on the other side of the door. If he took Grede hostage and exited that way, he might make it to the outside door alive.

  Grede chuckled as if reading his thoughts. ‘You don’t need to try to take me hostage,’ he said. ‘I already said I like you.’

  He picked up the coal oil lamp from his desk, walked to the window, and swung it back and forth twice in a wide arc. He set it back on the desk. ‘You can go ahead and leave now. The next time you stop in to visit, please use the front door.’

  Sam hesitated for a long moment, uncertain whether to take the man’s word. He shrugged inwardly, deciding it was as good a course of action as any. He stepped out through the window. To his left, the guard he had knocked out was struggling to his feet. He walked over to him and grabbed his arm, steadying him. He steered him toward the open window. ‘Better go tell your boss you got a headache,’ he advised.

  The guard shook his head and tried to focus his eyes on whomever had helped him up. There was nobody there.

  CHAPTER 10

  The angry whine past his right ear needed no explanation. Sam dived for cover, even as he heard the ‘thwack’ of a bullet burying itself in the back of the house.

  Whipping his .45 from its holster where it hung near at hand, he took cover behind a large tree. With some subconscious part of his mind, he had already aligned the whine of the leaden missile of death with the sound of its impact on the house, and knew the approximate location of his hidden adversary.

  Standing gun in hand, braced with his bare back against the rough bark of the tree, he listened intently. There was only silence for a long moment, then he heard faint whispering from the copse of trees that reached nearest to Kate’s ranch house.

  ‘Did I git ’im?’

  ‘I don’t know. C’mon. Let’s just get outa here.’

  Even in their whispers, the slur in their voices and lack of reasoning ability testified to the amount of courage they had drunk on their way there. ‘I ain’t leavin’ till I know I killed that worthless coyote what cost me my job.’

  ‘You can’t just shoot ’im down like a dog.’

  ‘I sure can’t call ’im out in a stand-up fight. You seen him handle that gun?’

  ‘If you kill ’im this way, they’ll hang you.’

  ‘Not if they can’t find me. We’re headin’ outa the country soon’s I take care of him.’

  Sam eyed his surroundings carefully. If he had their location fixed accurately in his mind, he should be able to crouch below the level of the wood pile, scurry around the corner of the house, then approach the hidden pair from an unexpected direction.

  Without hesitation he silently lifted his gunbelt and holster from their perch and slid the .45 into its holster. Careful to stay behind the tree’s massive trunk, he strapped the belt and holster around him, then fastened the strap to keep the weapon from falling out. He dropped to all fours and scuttled swiftly past the wood pile and around the corner of the house.

  Ducking down, he paused to listen. No sound indicated his intended killers had noted his departure from where they thought him either pinned down or dead.

  Kate stepped out of the door. She looked at Sam with a mixture of concern and fear. ‘Did I hear a gunshot?’

  Sam put his finger to his mouth to shush her. ‘Stay inside,’ he cautioned in a soft voice, knowing a soft voice would actually carry less than a hissed whisper. ‘Couple fellas snuck up behind the house and took a shot at me. I’m gonna circle around and switch the surprise some.’

  Kate frowned. In scarcely more than a whisper, she asked, ‘Who is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not sure. I’m guessin’ it’s that Farmer kid. Hiram said he was gonna can ’im. I’m guessin’ he stopped by to get even before he pulls freight.’

  ‘You think it’s Bobby? What are you going to do?’

  ‘That all depends on him. Just stay in the house. Keep your rifle handy, in case it’s one of them that comes around after it’s over, instead of me.’

  Without waiting for a response, he moved to the other corner of the house. Looking around it carefully, he mapped out in his mind a path of movement that would keep him concealed from his attackers. Without hesitance he followed that path as swiftly and silently as he could.

  Once in the neck of timber, he moved more slowly but more confidently. Placing each foot carefully, so as not to betray his presence, he circled the pair, coming up within thirty feet of them without either one being aware of his approach.

  ‘You boys lookin’ for me?’

  The effect of his voice was electric. One of the men leaped up with a shriek, thrusting his hands as high as he could reach into the air. The other whirled, pi
stol in hand, toward the surprising location of his intended prey. Before he could focus on Sam, however, a hurtling hunk of lead from Sam’s .45 drove him backward. He sprawled across the downed tree he had been using for cover and to steady his gun, dead before he slid on downward and toppled sideways.

  ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’ the other man pleaded, his voice suddenly sounding markedly more sober than the slurred whispers Sam had heard. ‘I done tried my best to talk ’im outa comin’ after you. I didn’t want no part o’ this. Honest. I ain’t got no bone to pick with you. Honest, Mister. Don’t shoot me.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Sam demanded, the harshness of his voice making the other wince.

  ‘My name’s Younger. Fred Younger. I been Bobby’s friend on the H Bar V. He talked me into headin’ down to Texas with him, when Hi canned him. We hung around town for a week, an’ he just kept gettin’ madder’n madder. But I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout him aimin’ to back-shoot you afore he left the country, or I wouldn’ta gone with him. Honest. I ain’t no back-shooter. And you gotta believe I wouldn’ta never let ’im do what he said he was gonna do to the Bond Widder. I wouldn’t let even my best friend rape nobody. Honest. I just wouldn’ta stood still for that atall.’

  Sam hesitated a long moment, then said, ‘Unbuckle your gunbelt and let it drop.’

  Moving as if his life depended on his haste, Younger complied. ‘Now let’s go get you boys’ horses.’

  ‘What … what’re you gonna do?’

  ‘You’re gonna put your friend across his horse and haul him to town. Then I’m gonna let you ride outa this country in one piece. But if I ever see you hangin’ around these parts again, I’ll kill you on sight.’

  Relief flooded Younger’s face. ‘Thanks, Mister! You won’t be sorry. I ain’t never … I mean I wouldn’t never … I mean—’