Ralph Compton Bullet For a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  ‘‘Some people never get enough. No matter how much they have, they always want more.’’

  ‘‘Let’s look at this another way,’’ Epp said. ‘‘Suppose for a minute you are wrong. Suppose that whatever filled your head with this nonsense is not what you think it is. For instance, Blin Hanks. Who is he?’’

  ‘‘You know damn well who he is. He paid you a visit.’’

  ‘‘The man who owns the cattle in the barrens? I told you before. His name is Edgar, not Blin. At least, that is what he told me.’’

  Some of Dan’s conviction evaporated. ‘‘He said his name was Edgar?’’

  Epp nodded. ‘‘I had no reason to doubt him. He paid in advance for the use of the barrens and gave his word he would only stay a few days.’’

  ‘‘I suppose he could have lied.’’

  ‘‘Now you have been out to the barrens and you say the cows are rustled? If that is the case, then we must call in the law. I will not have the Circle V’s reputation tarnished.’’

  ‘‘And you are serious?’’

  ‘‘Damn it, Dan. How could you think so poorly of me? You, of all people. The one man I count on the most. The man who keeps this ranch running smoothly. The man who was a good friend to my father and my mother, and who I thought was a friend to me. Was I wrong? Was I mistaken about you? Have I trusted you all these years and you have not trusted me?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know what to say.’’

  ‘‘Then I will say it for both of us. We need to clear the air. We should talk this out over supper tonight. Come about eight. I know that is late but I have a lot to do today and it can’t be put off. What do you say?’’

  ‘‘I reckon that’s best.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’ Epp clapped Dan on the shoulder. Fortunately, it was Dan’s good shoulder. ‘‘Eight o’clock it is. I can’t tell you how happy you have made me. The last thing I want is to lose your confidence.’’

  ‘‘I feel like a fool.’’

  Epp smiled and ushered him to the steps. ‘‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. Isn’t that what you told me after my pa died? Take the rest of the day off. Relax. Sort out your thinking. Take a look at things from my point of view and maybe you will see them differently.’’

  Dan went down the steps. ‘‘I will be here at eight and we will hash this out like you want.’’

  ‘‘I want nothing more than to set things right.’’

  ‘‘If I am wrong, and it is beginning to look as if I am, I apologize in advance.’’

  ‘‘We all make mistakes.’’ Epp hurried back inside.

  Dan stared at the door awhile; then he bent his boots toward his shack. ‘‘The benefit of the doubt,’’ he said to himself. ‘‘I have not given him the benefit of the doubt.’’

  Once inside, Dan kicked the wall and kicked the table and then sat with his chin in his hands and did more thinking. He went over the little incidents that led him to believe Epp was rotten to the core. Doubt crept in. He got up and paced, and when that did not relieve the tension he was feeling, he walked to the stable to see whether his saddle was there. It was, and the cinch was being repaired. He took a chance and asked the stable hand, an old puncher whose bones and joints were no longer up to punching, if he thought the cinch broke or had been cut.

  ‘‘My eyes ain’t what they used to be, but I would say it busted. Do you think different?’’

  ‘‘I was just asking.’’ Dan got out of there and for a spell walked in aimless confusion among the buildings.

  The day dragged. Dan did not see anything of Epp. He was in his shack changing into clean clothes when a noise drew him to the window. The buckboard had been brought out and the team was being hitched. Maria and her cousins were on the porch, watching.

  Dan finished dressing.

  At the appointed hour Dan headed for the house. He left his six-gun behind. It wasn’t fitting to go to supper armed.

  Twilight was falling. Most of the punchers were in the bunkhouse, the horses in their stalls and some in the corral, the chickens in the chicken coop.

  ‘‘I am glad you came. It will be good to get this out in the open.’’

  ‘‘I have been thinking and I admit I might have been wrong about you,’’ Dan said.

  Epp smiled and led the way down the hall to the kitchen. ‘‘I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. I need your trust. We must work together if the Circle V is to prosper.’’

  ‘‘I have always been loyal to the brand.’’

  ‘‘That you have. No one is more loyal than you.’’

  ‘‘Tomorrow I will show you just how loyal. I’ll take ten of our hands and ride to the barrens to confront Hanks.’’

  ‘‘There is an idea.’’

  ‘‘You’ll come along, won’t you?’’

  ‘‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’’ Epp held the kitchen door open. ‘‘After you.’’

  Dan walked past him. He felt a searing pain in his chest and looked down at a knife hilt jutting from his body. Shock seized him. Then he saw Blin Hanks. Dan went to cry out and a hand came from behind and clamped over his mouth. He struggled, but his legs were mush and the next thing he knew he was on his back and the world around him was fading to black.

  A face filled his vision. A cruel face. A mocking face. ‘‘You were right about me. I always want more. And if the only way to get it is to get rid of you, all I can say is—’’

  Dan Morgan did not hear the rest. He did not hear anything at all.

  Plans Awry

  Minutes had never dragged so slow in Boone Scott’s life. At last the sun perched on the brink of its daily extinction, blazing red in farewell and splashing the sky with orange and yellow.

  Old Man Radler called a halt in a wide canyon. Charred embers, a pile of dry brush and old tracks showed they had been there before. A new fire was kindled and coffee put on to brew.

  Boone left the palomino saddled and joined them. Drub was across from him and would not meet his gaze.

  The coffeepot hissed and steam rose from the spout. ‘‘We have one more ranch to visit and then we can split the money,’’ Old Man Radler announced.

  ‘‘I can’t wait,’’ said a rustler named Roerig. ‘‘I want a shave and a bath and a woman and whiskey.’’

  ‘‘Give me bug juice before anything else,’’ said another, and smacked his lips. ‘‘I miss that the most.’’

  ‘‘Keep that up, Aten, and you will end up like Ben Drecker,’’ Old Man Radler told him. ‘‘You will be so far down in the bottle, you will never climb out.’’

  ‘‘Why say a thing like that?’’ Aten asked.

  Old Man Radler turned to Boone. ‘‘How about you, Lightning? Is there anything you miss?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Oh? I could have sworn you had taken a fancy to Drecker’s daughter, Sassy. Or doesn’t she count?’’

  Boone grew cold inside. ‘‘Talk like that can get a man bucked out in gore.’’

  ‘‘Quick is not everything,’’ Old Man Radler said.

  ‘‘Meaning?’’

  ‘‘Smart will beat quick if the smart is done right.’’ Old Man Radler nodded at Skelman, who stood with his hands close to his black-handled Colts. Old Man Radler nodded at Vance, and Vance shifted the rifle he was holding in his lap so the muzzle pointed at Boone. Old Man Radler nodded a third time, and Drub put his hand on his six-shooter, but he didn’t draw it. Old Man Radler frowned.

  ‘‘What is this?’’ Boone snapped.

  ‘‘I don’t want you flying off the handle when Galeno and Wagner get back,’’ Old Man Radler said.

  Boone glanced around the campfire and gave a start. He began to rise, but a flicker of movement from Skelman froze him in place.

  ‘‘See what I mean?’’ Old Man Radler said. ‘‘Smart will beat quick if the smart is done right. You might want to work on being smarter and then you will be twice as dangerous. Provided you live that long.’’

  ‘‘You had no
right.’’

  ‘‘Did you really think you could keep it a secret? That Galeno would keep his mouth shut if you paid him? Hell. Trusting him is like trusting a rattler not to bite you. He came to me straightaway and I sent him and Wagner to fetch her.’’

  Something in Boone’s expression prompted Skelman to say, ‘‘Don’t try it. You might get two or three, but we will sure as hell get you.’’

  ‘‘Listen to him, Lightning,’’ Old Man Radler said. ‘‘If I had wanted you dead, you would not be breathing.’’

  ‘‘Then what?’’

  ‘‘I like that girl. I have known her since she came to my knees. And I can’t think of anything more stupid than to let her ride alone through Apache country.’’

  ‘‘She has stuck close to us,’’ Boone said before he could stop himself.

  ‘‘And that will stop Apaches? Damn, boy. If you weren’t so young I would have you shot for being so dumb. Have you ever tangled with them? I have. And they are smart and quick. If they spot her they will snatch her and either make her one of their women or do things to her that would turn your stomach.’’

  ‘‘You care what happens to her?’’

  Old Man Radler glowered. ‘‘What the hell? Why wouldn’t I? Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?’’

  ‘‘I just thought . . .’’ Boone said, but he did not go on.

  ‘‘What do you think of me? Yes, I am a rustler. It is my trade. But have you ever heard of me robbing banks? Or killing folks just to kill them? Or murdering women and children?’’

  Boone looked down.

  ‘‘You son of a bitch,’’ Old Man Radler said. ‘‘I have not been this insulted since Hector was a pup. Give me one good reason why I should not snap my fingers and have you shot to pieces.’’

  ‘‘I can give you several. You just said you don’t kill for the sake of killing. Then there are the two or three I will take with me, one of which will be you. And then there is Sassy.’’

  Old Man Radler drummed his fingers on the ground. ‘‘If you don’t beat all, I don’t know what does.’’

  Vance said, ‘‘I say we shoot him, Pa.’’

  ‘‘When I want your opinion, which I never do, I will ask for it.’’ Old Man Radler gazed into the gathering twilight. ‘‘Unless I am mistaken we are about to have company. There will be no more talk of killing unless I do the talking.’’

  Hooves drummed and into view came three horses but only two riders, Galeno and Wagner. Galeno was leading the riderless animal by the reins.

  Boone was on his feet before they got there, and he was not the only one. Old Man Radler hurried past him.

  ‘‘Where is she? Why bring her horse and not her?’’

  ‘‘The horse is all we found,’’ Wagner said.

  ‘‘We yelled and yelled for her, senor,’’ Galeno reported. ‘‘But she did not answer us.’’

  ‘‘Were there tracks?’’ Old Man Radler asked. ‘‘Anything that might give you a clue?’’

  ‘‘Not a sign, senor.’’

  ‘‘She wouldn’t go off and leave her horse,’’ Wagner said. ‘‘Something must have happened to her, and it wouldn’t surprise me if that something was Apaches.’’

  No one tried to stop Boone from dashing to the palomino. No one tried to stop him as he gripped the saddle horn and swung up. ‘‘Where exactly did you find her horse?’’

  ‘‘Half a mile back in some boulders. I can show you if you want,’’ Wagner offered.

  ‘‘I want,’’ Boone said.

  Old Man Radler had other ideas. ‘‘Hold on.’’ He ran up and seized hold of Wagner’s bridle. ‘‘No one goes anywhere without my say-so.’’

  ‘‘You better give it quick,’’ Boone said.

  ‘‘Don’t go off half-cocked. That might be what those red devils want. It could be they took her as bait. Apaches know how white men think. They know that when they steal our females we will move heaven and earth to get our womenfolk back.’’

  Vance added, ‘‘There are too many of us and we are too well armed for the Apaches to jump us without losing a lot of warriors. So they took your girl-friend to draw some of us out.’’

  ‘‘It worked,’’ Boone said, and applied his spurs. Shouts were flung after him and Old Man Radler bawled for him to stop, but Boone was not about to draw rein this side of the grave. He lashed the palomino, calling on all the speed it possessed. Soon he was out of the canyon, galloping headlong. He was keenly aware that night was about to fall, and with it any hope he had of finding Sassy quickly.

  ‘‘Dear Lord, spare her,’’ Boone said. He rose in the stirrups, seeking the boulders Wagner mentioned. He vaguely recollected passing them with the herd.

  From behind him the drumming of more hooves was added to those of the palomino. A glance showed four men coming to help. Drub was one, Wagner was another. The third was Skelman. Why Skelman should care about Sassy, Boone could not begin to guess. But the fourth rider was the biggest surprise; it was Old Man Radler.

  The four were well back and had no chance of overtaking Boone before he reached the boulders. And there they were, some as wide as Conestogas and others big enough to conceal a cabin.

  ‘‘Sassy!’’ Boone shouted, reining in among them. ‘‘Sassy! Can you hear me?’’

  The silence taunted him.

  Boone came to the end of the boulders and was about to rein around to go back and search for tracks when a lithe form hurtled at him from out of the shadows. In pure instinct Boone’s hand flew to his ivory-handled Colt. It was up and out before he knew he had drawn, the click of the hammer a prelude to the blast to come.

  ‘‘Don’t shoot!’’ Sassy squealed. ‘‘It’s me!’’

  Shock rooted Boone to his saddle. Then her hand was on his arm, and instantly he swung her up behind him. Her Spencer gouged his back. ‘‘I thought the Apaches had you.’’

  ‘‘I will explain after we are safe,’’ Sassy said in his ear. ‘‘Hurry. This may be our only chance to get away.’’

  ‘‘But your horse—’’

  ‘‘We are more important. For God’s sake fan the breeze before it is too late.’’

  Boone did as she wanted. He was so happy she was safe that for a few minutes he drifted on a tide of pure relief. Then reality crashed down, as it always did. ‘‘Where are we going?’’

  ‘‘Anywhere so long as it is away from the Radlers.’’

  As ideas went, hers smacked of panic. But Boone would like to be shed of the Radler gang too, so he knuckled down to riding. Her arm slid around his waist and held snug, and he grew warm all over.

  Nightfall was upon them. The dark was their ally; it would cloak them from white and red alike.

  Boone glanced over his shoulder. Old Man Radler and the other three were nowhere to be seen. He lashed his reins harder.

  Half a mile they fled, with no sign of pursuit. Boone would have gone farther, but by then the palomino was winded. He hauled on the reins and they came to a sliding halt, dust rising from under its hooves.

  ‘‘Why did you stop?’’ Sassy anxiously asked. ‘‘They are still back there somewhere.’’

  ‘‘Somewhere but not here.’’ Boone twisted and her nose almost bumped his. ‘‘How did they get your horse?’’

  ‘‘I saw they had made camp so I hunkered in those boulders to wait for you,’’ Sassy said, her eyes dancing with a secret light. ‘‘When I heard someone coming I figured it was you and ran to see. But it was Wagner and Galeno. They were almost on top of me, but I ducked down and they went on by and found my horse. I stayed hid until they were gone, and here we are.’’

  ‘‘We need a horse for you,’’ Boone said. ‘‘We can’t go all the way to California on mine.’’

  ‘‘There is something else,’’ Sassy said.

  ‘‘If it is bad news I don’t want to hear it.’’

  ‘‘I think I saw an Apache earlier.’’

  ‘‘You think?’’

  ‘‘It was a face
, and it was watching me. But when I saw it the face disappeared and I did not see it again.’’ Sassy nervously licked her lips. ‘‘I am pretty sure it was an Apache.’’

  ‘‘From the frying pan into the fire.’’ Boone was not making a joke. Impulsively pulling her close, he glued his mouth to hers.

  ‘‘Goodness. What was that for?’’

  ‘‘It might be our last.’’

  ‘‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’’ And Sassy molded her lips to his and kept them there until he pushed her back. ‘‘You don’t like to kiss me now?’’

  ‘‘Your kisses are my heaven. But now is not the time.’’

  ‘‘Listen to you. We are not hitched yet and here you are, taking me for granted.’’

  Boone thrust a hand over her mouth and whispered in her ear, ‘‘I heard something.’’

  In deathly stillness they waited, the only sound the palomino’s heavy breathing.

  After a while Sassy broke the brittle shell of their dread by whispering, ‘‘Whatever it was must be gone.’’

  Boone nodded, and then because he was not sure she saw him, he said in her ear, ‘‘I wish we were anywhere but here. Apaches are ghosts and I can’t shoot a ghost.’’

  ‘‘That is silly talk. They are flesh and blood, the same as we are.’’

  ‘‘Maybe so. But they don’t die easy.’’

  ‘‘We can’t let them get their hands on us. If it comes to that, you must shoot me. Do I have your word?’’

  ‘‘I would rather shoot myself.’’

  ‘‘You can do that too. But first shoot me. I have heard what they do to white women. Promise me, Boone.’’

  ‘‘I am not sure I can. Shooting you would be like shooting my own heart.’’

  ‘‘That is a hell of a thing for you to say. If you care for me you will put a window in my skull.’’

  ‘‘I will not make a promise I don’t know if I can keep.’’ Boone was straining his eyes to pierce the gloom, to no avail.

  ‘‘I would put a bullet in your brain if you were the woman and I was the man.’’