Blood and Bullets

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “What do you know about nuns? You haven’t been near a church since they kicked you out of Sunday school for short-changing the collection plate,” Leticia responded. “Besides, Ma does have a man in her life. She’s got her husband.”

  “Yeah, but he ain’t amounted to nothing since that mule kicked him in the head a couple years back,” argued Romo. “All he does is lay in bed starin’ at the ceiling, like a block of wood with eyeballs. My point, you’ll remember, was about a woman havin’ a man around to take care of her proper.”

  Leticia gave him a disgusted look. “Yeah, and we all know what you mean by that. It’s the only direction your mind ever goes.”

  “Alright you two, that’s enough,” Torrence said sharply. “I didn’t invite these fellas over here to listen to the pair of you bicker.”

  Josh shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Listen, Mr. Torrence, if we’re gettin’ in the way of—”

  “Nonsense,” Torrence cut him off. “I just said I invited you over, didn’t I? I didn’t do that to have you bounce right back up and leave again. This is an example of why we need some fresh blood, so to speak, in the mix. You said that you and Charlie have had no one else to talk to for a while? Well, that goes for our group, too.”

  “Okay.” Josh cleared his throat. “How long have you folks been travelin’ together?”

  “Better part of a year. But, unlike you, we have no particular destination in mind. Not at this point, anyway.” Torrence paused to smile his thin, brief smile once again. “Let’s just say that wherever we end up will be somewhere we haven’t been before.”

  A remark like that could be taken a couple different ways. But the main message seemed clear enough: Never mind, don’t bother asking more. In the West, it was common—and commonly accepted—to run into folks who’d left behind a past they didn’t want to talk about. When even the hint of such an attitude was encountered, it was smartest to just leave it be.

  “That’s why I envy you two fellas,” Torrence went on. “You’ve got a clear-cut goal, a determination to reach it, and a partner to share it with. That makes you pretty lucky, I’d say.”

  “I don’t know that we ever felt like we had a lot of luck runnin’ on our side,” said Charlie. “Seems like whatever good came our way, we had to work our tails off for. But, then again, I reckon we’ve met our share of those who had it worse.”

  “See what I mean?”

  Josh nodded. “Even havin’ that Oklahoma job fall apart on us might turn out to be a better thing than we first thought. Leastways, that’s how we’re tryin’ to look at it. It put the spurs to us to move on and try for something better down in Buffalo Peak.”

  “What are you aiming for that ‘something better’ to take the shape of?” asked Leticia offhandedly.

  Josh squirmed a little uncomfortably under her smoldering gaze. “Well, we ain’t sure exactly. Something different than ranch work, we’re thinkin’. We ain’t fussy, we’ll do any honest job, but it’d be nice to get out of the saddle for a spell and do something besides push around stupid, stubborn cows.” He paused, a shade of color rising in his cheeks, then added, “Most of all, we’re lookin’ to settle down, find a couple o’ good women, and get married.”

  “Married?” squawked Romo. “What in blazes you want to go and do something like that for?”

  “We figure it’s time,” said Charlie, setting his jaw firmly. “We ain’t gettin’ no younger and we figure we been knockin’ around loose long enough. We’ve rode the river a time or two, drank more than our share of liquor, paid for it now and then with knots on our heads and even a taste of jail. Dallied with a good many, er . . . well, not to speak vulgar, ma’am”—here he tossed a quick, nervous glance at Leticia—“but the kind of gals you don’t think about marryin’. We reckon it’s time to put that kind of stuff behind us and, like Josh said, settle down to something more permanent.”

  “Those are sad words, my friends. Sad words indeed,” said Romo, wagging his head. “I hope I never see the day when I’m done chasin’—and I don’t mean cows—and feel ready to quit runnin’ loose.”

  “Don’t worry. No decent woman would ever consent to settling down with the likes of you anyway,” remarked Leticia.

  Speaking before the two of them could start up again, Torrence said to Josh and Charlie, “If that’s what suits you fellas, then I say good for you. Not a doggone thing wrong with the way you’re thinking. I’m curious, though. Why are you so set on Buffalo Peak as the place where you think all of this can happen for you?”

  Josh appeared a little surprised by the question. “Well, like we told you—and like you said some friends of yours even mentioned—it just seems like the perfect spot for plans like we’re makin’. It stuck in both our minds as bein’ that from just passin’ through the one time. A nice, friendly place where we’d have a good chance to meet the right kind of gal so’s we could commence to courtin’, then marry and settle in.”

  “I must say, you seem to have thought it through very thoroughly,” allowed Torrence. Then, his brow creasing, he added, “But this whole ‘courting’ thing . . . are you sure that’s the best way to go about it?”

  “Ain’t quite sure I follow you,” Josh said, his expression turning a bit puzzled. “I mean, that’s how it’s done, ain’t it?”

  “In some cases, yes, I suppose that’s a method that works. That’s what the storybooks would have you believe. And, back East, in prim and proper settings, I imagine that may even be how it’s done a good deal of the time.” Torrence leaned forward over the table and regarded the two cowpokes closely. “But this is the West, boys. Surely you’ve seen how hard life is out here and how fast it can go by. If you waste time for all the niceties and delicate manners like they put in those storybooks and supposedly practice in other places, why, you might find everything passing by you like a stampede leaving you in the dust.

  “Just look at what happened to that Oklahoma rancher where you just left. What if he’d tarried when it came to finding a wife and starting a family and a ranch? He might have wasted time looking for just the right girl and the right circumstances and the right piece of land . . . Then boom! That same old bull could have tore him up and he would have suffered and died a lonely man with his last thoughts being nothing but regrets for not making his move on what he wanted out of life quicker and sooner than he did.”

  By the time he finished speaking, Charlie and Josh were leaning over the table, too, leaning right into his words. Charlie gulped and said, “So what are you sayin’, exactly? About us, I mean—about how you think we maybe oughta proceed different to go after what we’re lookin’ for?”

  CHAPTER 4

  “I don’t know where he is, I tell you. If I did, I’d certainly cooperate.” Earl Sterling stood behind the bar in his saloon, palms planted flat on the polished surface, his expression very earnest. “Believe me, with all the problems I’ve got piling up, the last thing I want is to lose Arthur on top of everything else.”

  “What do you mean by ‘lose’ him?” asked Firestick from where he stood with his elbow resting on the bar from the opposite side.

  It was still fairly early in the morning and the two men had the place to themselves. The Lone Star Palace Saloon wasn’t yet officially open for business, but Firestick had spotted Sterling inside through the front window and had rapped on the glass to gain admittance.

  “Oh, come on, Marshal,” replied Sterling. “You know how talk travels around this town. You think I can’t figure out why you’re here looking for Arthur in the first place? Everybody’s heard by now that you’re letting those three troublemaking cowboys loose today, turning them over to the custody of Clint Harvey, owner of the High Point Ranch—a highly questionable decision, if you ask me.”

  “Nobody did,” Firestick pointed out tersely.

  “Uh-huh. And nobody asked me about the rumors going around about Arthur claiming he’ll be waiting to get even with big Orval Retlock as soon as he’s out from behi
nd bars, either—at least not until now. But I heard the talk all the same.”

  “You hear it from Arthur himself?”

  Sterling shook his head. “No, he never said anything like that to me. I do know, however, he was pretty upset by what happened the other night—getting coldcocked by Retlock the way he did. A matter of pride. It embarrassed him, I guess you could say. He even offered to resign because he failed to keep things under control that night, to do his job as bouncer. I refused, of course. He’s too good a man, a competent bartender and a good bouncer. Hell, he’s quelled twenty times more signs of trouble than he ever let get out of hand. You know that, from all the times you haven’t been called to tame things down.”

  “That used to be the case,” Firestick said pointedly. “But here lately, since you’ve made certain changes, that’s starting to hold true less and less of the time.”

  Sterling cocked a brow. “By ‘certain changes’ you of course mean the gals I brought in and made available for interested men. Do I sense a note of prudishness, Marshal? I must say that surprises me, coming from a big, rugged former mountain man like you. Surely, coming down after months up in the high, lonely mountains, you must have let the wolf howl now and then at one of those famous rendezvous I’ve heard tell of. Didn’t you?”

  “Whether I did or didn’t ain’t none of your damn business.” Firestick scowled. “And I ain’t no prude. What goes on up in those second-floor rooms between a fella and a willing gal don’t make no never mind to me. Long as no trouble comes out of it, that is. Like I said, that ain’t exactly been the case lately and you know it. And a big increase in the trouble has come since you brought that gal Cleo aboard.”

  “You can’t blame Cleo for being good-looking and popular. She can’t help it if a bunch of hump-backed cowboys are unable to control their urges and act like a pack of rutting dogs,” protested Sterling.

  “I’ll put blame where and when I see fit. All I’m sayin’ for right now is that when there’s been trouble in here lately, it often as not turns out to have Cleo somewhere in the middle of it.” Firestick made a slashing motion with one hand. “But that ain’t what I came to talk about. Let’s get back to the subject of Arthur.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “I don’t have no beef with him. Like you said, he’s helped stop a lot more trouble in here than he ever started. I appreciate that. But this talk about Arthur layin’ for Orval Retlock when I let Orval out of jail . . . I can’t hold with that. If you see him before I do, you make sure he understands.”

  “I will . . . if I see him.”

  Firestick gestured toward the wall of bottles behind the saloon owner. The section of shelving and the bottles on it that had been destroyed by Beartooth’s shotgun blast the other night had all been replaced. “Clint Harvey sent word that he’ll go ahead and cover your costs for repairin’ the damage from the other night. Since neither you nor Arthur are willin’ to file charges outside of that, there ain’t a whole lot more I can do. If you don’t like the idea of me lettin’ Orval out of jail, you had your chance to do otherwise.”

  Sterling glowered at him. “Let’s just say I have my reasons. But that still don’t mean I like it.”

  * * *

  Leaving the Lone Star Palace, Firestick headed in the direction of the jail building at the west end of Trail Street. After three days of drenching rain and battering winds, the sky overhead was clear and Buffalo Peak was bustling with activity, even this early in the day. The marshal spotted several buckboards and wagons carrying folks he recognized as being from outlying farms and ranches, taking advantage of the break in weather to make it in for supplies.

  As he strode along the boardwalk, pinching his hat to the ladies and nodding to the men he passed, Firestick reflected on how comfortable he’d grown in his role here. He guessed maybe it was Sterling’s remark about his mountain-man days that had set his thoughts stirring. It was true he’d spent a big chunk of his life up in the high reaches, hunting and trapping from one end of the Rockies to the other and even some points farther west. In the course of leading that life, he’d formed solid friendships with two other men cut from bolts of rawhide similar to the one he came out of.

  It was over their years of sticking together that they earned, from the Indians with whom they frequently skirmished, the colorful nicknames they carried with them to this day. Elwood McQueen was called “Firestick” due to his unerring accuracy with a rifle; Malachi Skinner became “Beartooth” due to his knife-fighting prowess with a blade as sharp and deadly as a grizzly tooth; and Jim Hendricks was “Moosejaw” as the result of an incident where he fought off a handful of braves armed with tomahawks and war clubs by snatching up the jawbone from a moose skeleton lying on the floor of the gully where they’d jumped him.

  During that time, if anybody had tried telling Firestick he would not only eventually settle in a little West Texas border town but would end up also wearing a marshal’s badge for the place, he would have given them the biggest horse laugh you ever heard.

  Yet here he was, doing exactly that. What was more, his two close pals who had traipsed the mountains at his side were right here with him. When the freedoms of their wild existence no longer outweighed the bitter winters and rugged conditions that took more and more of a toll on their aging bones and muscles with each passing year, the three of them had decided it was time for a change.

  Texas had beckoned, along with thoughts of starting up a horse ranch, something Firestick had some limited experience with from his younger days. They found what they were looking for in the grassy valley that surrounded Buffalo Peak. At a spot just west of the town, they built a sturdy ranch house and began putting together a herd.

  It got off to a good start and promised to be everything they’d hoped for—except for an awareness of the frequent outbursts of violence in the nearby town, and the lack of any established law and order to try and keep it under control. Seeing the good citizens of Buffalo Peak—the ones who were trying to make it a decent place that would grow and amount to something—getting whipsawed by an unrestrained handful who didn’t give a damn about decency stuck hard in the craws of the former mountain men. To the point where, on more than one occasion, they finally stepped in and put a stop to the antics of some of the hell-raisers.

  Out of that came an offer from the town council to put on badges and serve as full-time marshal and deputies. They could still run their horse ranch, so long as they arranged for one or more of them to be in town a reasonable share of the time in order to settle any problems that arose. If the offer came as a surprise, then their agreement to give it a try came as an even bigger one.

  Nearly three years had passed since then. The ranch was doing well, the town was growing, and things in general were working out okay. This was still the Western frontier, though, so flare-ups of gunplay and other kinds of trouble still cropped up from time to time. But when it did, the three former mountain men proved quite capable of handling it.

  Entering the front office area of the jail, Firestick was met by the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. He was also welcomed by a pair of friendly faces and the wet snout of a dog nudging his leg, wanting to be petted. The faces belonged to his deputy Moosejaw and Sam Duvall, a widower and former New York City constable who’d come out West for his health and who served as a part-time jailer for times when there were owlhoots being kept in the lockup overnight. The wet snout was provided by Shield, Sam’s dog who accompanied him wherever he went. Beartooth, Firestick’s other deputy and close friend, was busy out at the ranch that morning and wouldn’t be in town until later.

  “Any luck findin’ Arthur?” Moosejaw asked, pouring a cup of coffee from a dented old pot taken off the stove in the middle of the room and holding it out to the marshal.

  Taking the cup and then balancing it in one hand while he reached down to give Shield a good scratching behind the ears, Firestick said, “None. Nobody’s seen him around this morning. Or, if they have, they ain’t sayin�
� so.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much the same thing I ran into when I asked around,” reported Moosejaw. He was the youngest of the three former mountain men by a handful of months. He was also the largest, standing nearly six-six, a little thick through the gut but thicker by far through the shoulders. He had a broad, fleshy face, blunt nose, and a wide mouth quick to display a grin. But when provoked, his friendly giant persona could turn into just about the last thing you’d want to see, especially if you were unfortunate enough to be the cause of the provocation.

  “When is Clint Harvey due in to pick up his boys?” Sam wanted to know. The tuberculosis that had driven him West had indeed been diminished by the drier, warmer conditions, but it still left him a rather frail-looking individual suffering occasional coughing fits. He remained tough spirited and outspoken, however, and was a well-regarded member of the community.

  “I expect him any time,” Firestick answered, straightening up from petting Shield and walking around to take a seat behind his desk.

  “If you ask me,” said Sam, “I don’t really think you’re going to have any trouble from Arthur.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I bend my elbow fairly regularly at the Lone Star Palace,” explained Sam, “and I’ve gotten to know Arthur pretty good. Sure, I can understand how he’s wanting some payback from Retlock for clubbing him alongside the head with a sawed-off and making him look bad that night. Chalk it up to professional pride. But everybody seems to be forgetting one thing.”

  “And that is?” Firestick prompted him.

  “That same pride, in my opinion, wouldn’t allow Arthur to take his anger out on a one-armed man—which is essentially what you made Orval, at least for the time being, when you blasted the hell out of his gun hand.”