Maria was the source of the news that the second night after Alice Thorpe showed up, Epp and Thorpe and Hanks drank enough to put a regiment under the table. Maria also hinted of carryings-on of which Maria did not approve. She would not go into detail.
Then a puncher was shot.
His name was Bob Carver and at seventeen he was the youngest. He was out working the south range and happened to drift toward the barrens in search of strays. Bob never saw who shot him, but he heard the shot and felt the pain of the slug when it cored his shoulder. He reined around to flee and another shot nearly took his head off.
When another puncher found him, young Bob was still in the saddle but so weak from loss of blood he was barely conscious. The puncher brought him to the bunkhouse and Epp Scott was sent for. Epp was none too happy. With Hanks in tow, he examined the wound, oversaw the bandaging and listened to Bob’s brief recital of how he was wounded.
The punchers expected sympathy and outrage.
Instead, Epp snapped, ‘‘What in hell were you doing near the barrens anyway? I gave word that no one was to go near there. Weren’t you told?’’
‘‘We were told not to go in them,’’ Bob weakly answered.
‘‘In. Near. It is all the same. See that you never go near them again.’’
And that was it. Epp did not investigate. He did not gather the men and race to the barrens to find the culprit. He acted as if the shooting was of no consequence.
That was when the muttering started. The punchers spent every spare minute huddled in bitter resentment of the state of affairs. And the more they muttered, the more bitter they became. The discontent was a disease that spread from hand to hand.
A pall of gloom hung over the Circle V. At meal-times the punchers ate mostly in silence, picking at their food with little enthusiasm. They went about their daily work with even less.
Their unhappiness did not escape notice. They were at supper one evening when the door opened and in strode Epp Scott. Hanks, as usual, was at his elbow. Epp came straight to the head of the table.
‘‘I want to know why I haven’t seen any of you smile in days.’’
An older puncher called Pete was the only who answered. ‘‘We are eating.’’
‘‘I can see that. But it is not your stomachs I came here to talk about. It is the long faces I keep seeing out my window. I would swear we were about to have another funeral.’’
‘‘If that was a joke it was in poor taste,’’ said a cowboy by the name of Jeffers.
‘‘Start talking,’’ Epp said.
‘‘Do you want it all at once or in bits and pieces?’’ From Pete.
‘‘I am a grown man. I can take it whole.’’
Pete looked at the other punchers and several nodded. ‘‘All right. Since you asked.’’ He did not hold back. When he was done an expectant hush fell, with all eyes on Epp.
‘‘If that is how you and some of these others feel, I have this to say.’’ Epp raked them with a glare. ‘‘Pete, you are fired. Gather your plunder. First thing in the morning throw your war bag in the buckboard. I will pay you what is due and you will be taken to Tucson. The same with anyone else who does not like the changes I have made.’’
Many a sun-weathered faced mirrored shock.
‘‘Only those who want to ride for the Circle V need stay on. Freaks are not welcome. Those who whine make life miserable for those who don’t, and I will be damned if I will put up with it.’’
‘‘I have been here seven years,’’ Pete said.
‘‘Then you should know better than to air your lungs behind my back,’’ Epp said. ‘‘Do you think I don’t know what has been going on? My house has windows, and some of the other hands have talked.’’
‘‘You mean the new ones,’’ Jeffers said.
‘‘I will not name names. Make up your minds, all of you. Either you work for me without griping or you will be on the drift. It is up to you.’’ Epp pivoted on his boot heels and strode out, Hanks slightly behind him.
‘‘How many do you reckon will quit?’’
‘‘Two or three at most,’’ Epp predicted.
‘‘That’s all? You were awful hard on them.’’
‘‘I had to shake them up. Make them realize I am the big sugar and I will by God not stand for their shenanigans. Nip it in the bud, as the saying goes.’’
‘‘How long before those who stay become suspicious?’’ Hanks asked.
‘‘Never, if we do this right. They will work the legal cows and you and your men will work the rustled herds. So long as your men keep their mouths shut, there should not be a problem.’’
‘‘My boys know what to do. Don’t you worry.’’
Epp stopped so suddenly that Hanks nearly walked into him. ‘‘If I don’t, who will? Worry is what keeps me from making mistakes. It shows me where we need to improve. Worry is good.’’ He walked on.
Hanks waited until they reached the porch to ask, ‘‘Wouldn’t it be easier to get rid of all those who worked for your pa and bring in an entire new outfit?’’
‘‘The punchers we cut loose would talk. And before long people would start to wonder why I let them go. It might raise suspicion where we do not want suspicion raised.’’
‘‘You think of everything.’’
‘‘I try but I am only one man. There are things I would do differently if I had them to do over again.’’ Epp opened the front door.
‘‘What, for instance?’’
‘‘I would have busted my pa’s skull with an ax and not a rock and claimed Apaches were to blame so Doc Baker did not get curious. I would have made my ma suffer more. And I would not have let my brother leave Ranson alive.’’
‘‘That did surprise me some.’’
‘‘I paid Jarrott to do the job, but he proved worthless. I forgot how quick my little brother is. That is the only reason he is still breathing. It is a mistake I would fix if I could, but he has disappeared. Damn him.’’
‘‘You have men looking?’’
‘‘Of course. I sent Tinsdale and Rufio out over two months ago. I told them they are not to come back unless they bring me my brother’s trigger finger wrapped in a handkerchief.’’
‘‘Have you heard from them?’’
‘‘One note from Tinsdale. He can’t spell worth a damn and his writing is chicken scrawl, but I made out that they heard my brother drifted down into the border country.’’
‘‘Maybe he will drift into Mexico and not come back.’’
‘‘If only I was that lucky.’’ Epp frowned. ‘‘But he won’t stay away forever. Sooner or later he will miss my dear, departed parents, and have a hankering to see the Circle V again.’’
Blin Hanks grinned. ‘‘And when he does you can end it once and for all.’’
Epp nodded. ‘‘He was always the good son. Always the one my ma and pa liked best. Always their darling.’’ Epp moved down the hall toward the kitchen. ‘‘I wish he had been here when they died. I would have given anything to see the look on his face.’’
‘‘You hate him that much?’’
‘‘I hate my brother more than I hate anyone,’’ Epp declared. ‘‘He is younger than me, but I have had to live in his shadow.’’ He punched the wall, but not so hard as to hurt his hand. ‘‘Not anymore, by God. I have the Circle V and I run Ranson and before I am done I will run the whole territory.’’
‘‘That is what the governor is for,’’ Hanks remarked.
The kitchen was immaculate. Maria did not allow a speck of dust.
Epp took a cup and saucer from a cupboard. He filled it with fresh-brewed coffee and sipped. ‘‘Don’t kid yourself that the politicians run things. The rich and the powerful do from behind the scenes. The politicians are puppets. The rich and the powerful pull their strings.’’
Shoes clapped down the hardwood hall and Alice Thorpe sashayed into the kitchen. ‘‘Here you are. You were supposed to give a holler when you got back. How did it go?’�
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‘‘Good,’’ Hanks said.
‘‘I will reserve my opinion until we see how many stay on.’’ Epp took another sip and noticed Alice Thorp was staring at him. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘You could be a gentleman and pour a cup for me.’’
‘‘Are your hands broken?’’
‘‘Damn you, Eppley,’’ Alice said. She had a high, squeaky voice, an hourglass shape and lips like ripe strawberries. ‘‘Would it hurt you to show a lady a little respect?’’
‘‘Show me a lady.’’
Alice stiffened. ‘‘I will be in my bedroom if you want to say you are sorry.’’ Her lower lip quivering, she whirled and flounced out.
‘‘I think you hurt her feelings,’’ Blin Hanks said.
‘‘I don’t care. She better learn to watch what she says or she will end up like my ma and pa.’’
Blin Hanks chuckled. ‘‘That is what I like most about you. You are one coldhearted son of a bitch.’’
‘‘You don’t know the half of it,’’ Epp Scott said.
Snakes in the Grass
The caravan of dust-caked figures plodded toward the ramshackle oasis of drink and rest that was Porter’s. The weariness in the men and their mounts and the plodding fatigue of the horses they had rustled in Mexico testified to the trial that was Arizona in the worst heat of the summer.
The exception was Sassy Drecker. She had dust on her but not as much as the others. Her face glowed. The reason was apparent whenever she looked at Boone Scott. It showed in her eyes, and in the curl of her lips in a caring smile.
Everyone noticed. Old Man Radler, Skelman, Vance and Drub, Wagner and Galeno and the rest of the rustlers. But no one said a thing. No jokes were cracked. No sarcastic comments were made. The girl was somehow immune.
The only comment made to Boone Scott was by Wagner one night. Wagner looked across the campfire at him and said without rancor, ‘‘God, how I envy you, you miserable, rotten, stinking, lucky son of a bitch.’’
Boone bristled and started to rise, but Old Man Radler held out a hand, motioning for him to sit. ‘‘Don’t you know a compliment when you hear one?’’
Sassy was immune to something else. No one bothered her. No one leered or made suggestive remarks or groped her when she walked by. The hardest men in the territory, men branded scum by their more civilized brethren, did not molest or harm the girl in any way. She was treated as a princess. She was treated better than many married women were treated. It had nothing to do with Boone and his ivory-handled revolver, and everything to do with the fact that she was an innocent. She had not been tarnished by the taint of that which sent the rustlers down the dark road of violence.
That the rustlers saw the difference and responded to it was demonstrated one morning by none other than Skelman. They were in the mountains, in a barren stretch where water was scarce and vegetation next to unknown, and they came upon a solitary flower, a tiny dot of blue all by itself in the vast expanse of brown. The men looked at it as they rode by. And when it was Skelman’s turn, he suddenly swung over the side of his horse, Comanche fashion, and with a flick of his arm, plucked the flower from the ground. A jab of his spurs brought him up next to Sassy and without saying a word he held the flower out.
‘‘For me?’’ Sassy looked into eyes as blank as a slate. ‘‘Oh, goodness. You shouldn’t have.’’
Skelman did not reply.
Sassy held the tiny blue flower up. ‘‘It’s so pretty. The only life we have seen for miles. And now it will wither and die.’’
‘‘It is you.’’
Sassy looked at him again, and cupped the flower in her palm. ‘‘I will keep it for as long as it lasts.’’
‘‘They never last long.’’
Sassy carefully slid the flower into her shirt pocket. ‘‘Thank you for your kindness.’’
‘‘I should be thanking you. I don’t often get the chance.’’ Skelman used his spurs to catch up to Old Man Radler.
Now here they were, with only half a mile to Porter’s. Boone and Sassy rode side by side. The glances she gave him rivaled the sun for warmth.
‘‘It scares me when you do that.’’
‘‘Whatever for?’’ Sassy asked.
‘‘It scares me that I might not prove worthy. I am new to this and do not know what to think and do sometimes.’’
‘‘I am new to it too.’’ Sassy bobbed her head at the island of human habitation. ‘‘I have been here once. With Pa, years ago. It has not changed much.’’
‘‘I will pay Porter for the use of his bed if you want.’’
Red crept from Sassy’s neck to her hair and she sounded as if she had a cold when she said, ‘‘I must get used to that, I reckon. But you are usually not this blunt about it.’’
‘‘What?’’ Then Boone imitated a beet and quickly declared, ‘‘Not for that. For you to have a bed to sleep in, is all.’’
‘‘Oh. Well, I am not sure I want to sleep in any bed that Porter has used. As I recollect, he is not much for cleanliness.’’
Two horses were at the hitch rail. One had a Mexican saddle with more silver than a silverware set.
Wariness crept over the rustlers. Old Man Radler stared at the two horses and put his hand on his six-shooter. ‘‘Porter has visitors.’’
‘‘Just so they are not tin stars,’’ Vance said.
Spurs jangling, swatting dust from their clothes, they filed inside.
Boone and Sassy were the last to go in. He was walking past the two horses at the hitch rail when he abruptly stopped and placed a hand on one of them. ‘‘I’ll be damned.’’
‘‘What is it?’’
Shaking his head, Boone let Sassy go in ahead of him.
Porter was behind the bar. He smiled and greeted them and answered the question in their eyes by nodding at the corner table and saying, ‘‘Those two showed up about four days ago. They say they want to join up with you.’’
‘‘Do tell.’’ Old Man Radler studied the pair. ‘‘They look salty, don’t they?’’
‘‘They are not infants.’’
‘‘Start passing out bottles.’’ Old Man Radler took one, and he and Vance and Skelman moved toward the corner table.
Drub held out a big hand.
‘‘You too? You don’t often drink.’’
‘‘It is not for me.’’ Drub carried the bottle to another table and thrust it out. ‘‘For you.’’
Boone stared at it and then at the gentle giant. ‘‘I thought you were mad at me.’’
‘‘I have stopped. I want to be your friend again.’’ Drub grinned eagerly. ‘‘Please.’’
Accepting the gift, Boone pushed out an empty chair with his foot. ‘‘Join us if you want to.’’
‘‘I do.’’ Drub had to wriggle to fit in the chair. ‘‘I am sorry I was mad for so long. I do that sometimes.’’
‘‘What were you mad about?’’ Sassy asked.
‘‘I wanted him to go to California with me but he wouldn’t. I didn’t figure out why until last night.’’ Drub pointed a finger as big as a railroad spike at her. ‘‘He couldn’t because of you. That’s right, isn’t it, Lightning? That is why you turned me down.’’
‘‘That’s why.’’
Sassy said, ‘‘We could all go together. I have heard it is a wonderful place. Flowers grow all year long.’’ She touched her shirt pocket.
‘‘You would do that? Take me with you?’’ Drub lit like a lantern. ‘‘You wouldn’t mind my company?’’
‘‘Don’t be silly. We will go as soon as your pa sells off the last of the horses and Boone and you get your share of the money.’’
Boone frowned and burst their bubble of delight with ‘‘I have something to do before we can go anywhere.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘I can’t say.’’
Sassy sat back in dismay. ‘‘You are keeping something from me? I thought we agreed. No secrets, ever.’’
‘
‘I will tell you when the time is right to say.’’
‘‘Why not do it now?’’ Sassy asked.
Boone gazed across the saloon at where Old Man Radler was talking to the two strangers in the corner. ‘‘It is not you I am keeping the secret from.’’
‘‘I would never tell—’’ Sassy caught herself. ‘‘Oh.’’
‘‘I would never tell either, Lightning,’’ Drub said.
Boone opened the bottle and tilted it to his mouth, then coughed. ‘‘God, this stuff tastes awful. I could never be a drunk.’’
Sassy covered his hand with hers. ‘‘That is fine by me. I have lived with one all my life and I am not hankering to live with another.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t tell,’’ Drub said again.
‘‘I know.’’ Boone slid the bottle toward him. ‘‘But Galeno has ears that can hear a pin drop and he is over at the bar. I will wait for now. Besides, it is personal.’’
Sassy set him straight. ‘‘There is no personal between us.’’
Vance came over and without being asked plopped into an empty chair. He helped himself to a swig and smacked his lips with pleasure. ‘‘See those two men?’’ he said to Drub.
‘‘The Mex and that other one with the scar?’’
‘‘They want to join up with us. The Mex says he has done rustling south of the border and Tinsdale is a curly wolf if ever there was one. Pa wants us to keep an eye on them just the same. He never trusts anyone until they prove they can be trusted.’’
‘‘That Mexican sure likes silver. He has more on his clothes than on his horse.’’
‘‘For you that is a good one, brother.’’
They all looked when Boone’s chair scraped. He stood and loosened his Colt in its holster. ‘‘Stay here,’’ he told Sassy.
‘‘Hold on. Where are you going?’’
Boone smiled at her. ‘‘I hope you will still love me after this. But I have it to do.’’
‘‘What are you talking about? I am confused.’’
Boone regarded Drub a moment. ‘‘If you are my friend again, I have a favor to ask. Keep her at this table. Do not let her get up no matter what. Do you hear me? No matter what.’’
Ralph Compton Bullet For a Bad Man Page 17
