‘‘You shouldn’t have reminded me of her.’’
‘‘Why not?’’
Boone’s hand was a blur. He drew and fanned the Colt’s hammer and a hole appeared between Wagner’s eyes. Even as it did, Boone was spinning. Galeno’s arms were rising from under the blanket; he had a rifle. It went off a split second before Boone triggered the Colt, but in his haste Galeno missed.
Boone didn’t.
The rest tried but they were rustlers, not gun sharks. Of the two who cleared leather, only one got off a shot.
In the silence that followed, Boone’s ears rang. He immediately reloaded, but his hours of practice had paid off. None were breathing.
Boone sat and poured himself a cup of coffee. The tantalizing aroma of food made his stomach growl. He was famished. He had not had a meal in days. A cast-iron pot was the source of the aroma. In it was leftover rabbit stew. Boone stirred the stew a few times with a large wooden spoon that was in the pot; then he dug in. He ate as any half-starved man would, wolfing the morsels. It was too salty for his taste, but he didn’t care. He felt guilty eating when he should be lighting a shuck to go to Sassy, but a full belly would give him the stamina he needed to carry out his vengeance.
Boone bit into a thick chunk of rabbit meat and juice dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off with his sleeve and sat back. In doing so he bumped Wagner’s body. ‘‘Sorry,’’ he said, and chuckled.
‘‘It is not so damn funny to me,’’ said a voice out of the dark, and a gun hammer clicked.
Boone turned to stone.
Vance Radler advanced on the fire, a Winchester wedged to his shoulder. ‘‘I wanted you to know it was me who killed you,’’ he said, and stroked the trigger.
At the head of the table sat Eppley Scott, puffing contentedly on a cigar. At the other end sat Old Man Radler. Skelman was to Epp’s right, Sassy Drecker to his left. He addressed her with mock sincerity, saying, ‘‘It is a shame you let that food go to waste.’’
‘‘Go to hell.’’
‘‘I am beginning to see what my brother likes about you. You are well named.’’
‘‘And you are a murdering bastard. I know about your ma and pa. I know you hired an assassin to do in Boone.’’
‘‘That boy is harder to kill than a bedbug.’’ Epp puffed and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘‘He must care for you an awful lot to have told you so much.’’
‘‘He will come after me.’’
‘‘I am counting on it,’’ Epp informed her. ‘‘Blin Hanks and nine gunnies are outside my house right this moment, waiting for him to show.’’
‘‘Your house? If it belongs to anyone it belongs to Boone. You do not deserve it.’’
‘‘What the hell does deserve have to do with anything? In this world we take what we want when we want, and keep it however we can.’’
‘‘You have an answer for everything.’’
‘‘That I do,’’ Epp crowed. ‘‘It is why I am sitting in this chair, comfortable as can be, while your lover is off in the wilds somewhere, riding to your rescue and his death.’’
‘‘I hate you.’’
‘‘You don’t even know me.’’
Old Man Radler drained his glass of whiskey and set it down on his plate with a loud chink. ‘‘Enough of this silliness. We have business to discuss.’’
‘‘I suppose we should get to it,’’ Epp agreed.
‘‘You owe us money and it is time you paid. First for the horses I sent my oldest to fetch. Then for this girl that Hanks said you wanted so bad. Five hundred dollars was the amount he mentioned.’’
‘‘I must have a talk with him. He is too generous with my money.’’ Epp tapped ash from his cigar into an ashtray. ‘‘Two hundred is the most you will get for her.’’
‘‘I brought her to you for five hundred and I expect five hundred.’’
‘‘Expect as much as you want. But you only get two hundred.’’
Old Man Radler drummed his fingers on the table. ‘‘I should have expected this from you. Our deal is off. I will take her with me when I go.’’
‘‘But she is already here,’’ Epp said. ‘‘It is an easy two hundred, if you ask me.’’
‘‘I knew her pa. I have known her since she came to my knees. Handing her over to you is harder than you think. It is five hundred or you do not get her.’’
‘‘Oh?’’
Old Man Radler nodded toward Skelman. ‘‘Any objections, take them up with my right-hand man, here.’’
‘‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’’ Epp faced the scarecrow in the black slicker. ‘‘I have heard of you. They say you are hell on wheels. As fast as Holliday or Ringo or any of that crowd.’’
Skelman did not say anything.
‘‘You deserve better than to rustle for a living. What do you earn? A thousand on a good month? How would you like a thousand each and every month without fail? And for a lot less work?’’
‘‘What are you up to?’’ Old Man Radler demanded.
‘‘I am talking to Mr. Skelman, not to you.’’ Epp calmly blew another smoke ring. ‘‘Think about it. No more riding day and night in the worst of weather. No more dodging the bullets of vaqueros and lawmen. You would have a roof over your head at night and three meals a day.’’
Old Man Radler laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. ‘‘You are wasting your time. Skelman and me are partners. He always gets as much as I do. I treat him right and he appreciates that.’’
‘‘There is cold and hot and hungry right, and there is soft and easy and a bed at night right,’’ Epp said.
‘‘You talk like a fool.’’
‘‘Do I?’’ Epp gestured at Skelman. ‘‘Tell me. Your partner here. Does he ever let you give the orders? Does he ever let you lead? Or is it him in charge, and only him, and you have to do as he says?’’
‘‘Damn you,’’ Old Man Radler said.
‘‘I am only looking at both sides of the coin so Mr. Skelman can decide on his own. Where is the harm? If you and him are true partners, what I say will wash off his back like water off a duck.’’
‘‘You are glib with words.’’
‘‘We are all good at something,’’ Epp said. ‘‘But tell me. How many men has Mr. Skelman had to kill for you? Does he get extra for that? Or do you take his pistol skills for granted?’’
‘‘Rot in hell.’’
Epp shifted toward Skelman again. ‘‘I will pay you extra for every set of toes you curl.’’
‘‘He is not interested,’’ Old Man Radler said.
‘‘A thousand a month and, say, three hundred each kill is more than generous.’’
‘‘Do you know what I think?’’ Old Man Radler snapped. ‘‘I think you are trying to get out of paying us for the horses and the girl, but it won’t work. We will have our money and we will have it now or you will find out the hard way that Skelman is no bluff.’’
‘‘I never said he was.’’ Epp placed his cigar on the ashtray. ‘‘What do you say, Mr. Skelman? Blin Hanks is good but he is not your caliber. With you working for me, no one will be able to stop me. You can start by shooting your former partner. I will still pay you for the horses, and for bringing Boone’s girl to me, plus a thousand in advance, and all that money will be yours and yours alone.’’
Old Man Radler shoved to his feet. ‘‘That is enough. We refuse to sit here and listen to more of your prattle.’’ He turned to go. ‘‘Come on, Skelman. We will sell our horses somewhere else.’’
Skelman stood. As his hands rose above the table, they filled with his mother-of-pearl Colts. Each Colt boomed. Then Skelman moved to the end of the table and shot Old Man Radler once more, in the head. ‘‘To be sure,’’ he said.
Epp Scoot grinned. ‘‘I like a man who gets a job done right.’’
Hell Bound
‘‘I wanted you to know it was me who killed you.’’
Even as Vance Radler boasted of what he was about to do, B
oone Scott dived. The Winchester went off, but Boone did not feel the jolt of impact. He hit on his wounded shoulder and pain spiked through him, pain he ignored as he rolled up into a crouch and his hand lived up to the nickname the rustlers knew him by. Lightning, they called him, and lightning he was. His short-barreled, nickel-plated, ivory-handled reaper thundered, and Vance Radler, impaled, staggered back, a look of astonishment crawling over his face.
Radler swore and tried to work the Winchester’s lever, but his movements were sluggish and disjointed.
Boone had not gone for the head or the heart, for a reason. Now he gave voice to it. ‘‘Is Sassy all right?’’
Vance Radler still stood, confusion replacing his disbelief. ‘‘What?’’ he said.
‘‘Sassy. Has she been harmed?’’
‘‘She was fine when I left them at your house.’’ Vance swayed, and groaned. A red ribbon seeped from a corner of his mouth and trickled down over his chin. He let go of the Winchester and pressed a hand to his chest. ‘‘What have you done to me?’’
‘‘What you were about to do to me.’’ Boone slowly unfurled. He kept his Colt level.
‘‘I . . . I . . .’’ Vance stammered. ‘‘I didn’t know what I was doing. It was the idea of all that money.’’
‘‘The bounty my brother put on me.’’
‘‘You know about that?’’ Vance coughed and the red ribbon grew wider. He took a shuffling step toward the fire and abruptly pitched to his knees. ‘‘Oh God. I think you have killed me.’’
Boone kept the Colt trained on him.
‘‘I don’t want to die.’’
‘‘Most folks don’t.’’
Vance sank back and braced himself with his hands. He looked down at a spreading scarlet stain on his shirt. Mewing like a kitten, he trembled. ‘‘No, no, no, no, no, no. Please no.’’
‘‘Is there anything you would like me to tell Drub when I see him?’’ Boone asked.
‘‘Drub?’’
‘‘Your brother. The one you treat like dirt. The one you always poke fun at. The one who is a better man than you ever were. He will show up at the Circle V eventually.’’
‘‘What do I care about that moron? He has no more brains than a tree stump. I was embarrassed to be his kin.’’
‘‘I will say you wanted me to tell him that you loved him.’’
‘‘You go to hell.’’
Boone gestured at his chest. ‘‘You first.’’
Vance coughed and more blood appeared. He swiped a sleeve across his mouth, then gaped in horror at the sleeve. ‘‘Not like this. I don’t want it to be like this.’’
‘‘We do not always get to choose.’’
Vance’s eyes narrowed. ‘‘At least I die knowing you will die soon too. Your brother is ready for you. He has Blin Hanks and a lot of killers surrounding the house. When you show, you are as good as dead.’’
‘‘I am dead when I stop breathing. Not before.’’
Vance sagged but thrust himself up again. ‘‘I feel so damn weak.’’ He gazed at the sprawled forms ringing the fire. ‘‘You got all of them? Galeno and Wagner and all the rest?’’
‘‘Every last mother’s son.’’
More coughing delayed Vance’s response. ‘‘I didn’t like you that day we met you at Porter’s and I like you less now. We should have killed you that day. If I had it to do over again, I would.’’
‘‘You would try.’’
‘‘You cocky bastard. But you will get yours. And I will be waiting in hell to laugh in your face.’’
‘‘We can drink a cup of brimstone to old times.’’
Vance mewed and sank onto his back. His fingers clenched and unclenched. His face twitched. ‘‘I have no strength at all. But there isn’t much pain. Isn’t that strange?’’
‘‘I hear it happens.’’
‘‘Why am I talking to you? You killed me.’’
‘‘There is no one else.’’
‘‘God help me,’’ Vance said, and then added, ‘‘If there even is one.’’
‘‘You will find out for sure soon enough. Write me and let me know.’’
Vance swore. ‘‘You are worse than my brother and that takes some doing.’’
‘‘Drub has one thing you never did.’’
‘‘And what would that be?’’
‘‘A heart.’’
Vance snorted and scarlet drops sprayed from his nose. ‘‘That is a hell of a thing to say about a man. Even a man as worthless as my stupid excuse for a brother.’’
‘‘A man without a heart is no man at all. Look at my brother. He murdered my ma and my pa and God knows how many others.’’
‘‘He is a ruthless son of a bitch, but I respect him. Which is more than I can say about you.’’ Vance gasped. ‘‘It is taking longer than I thought it would. Maybe I won’t die after all. Maybe I will lie here a spell and my strength will come back and I will get up and bandage myself and in a couple of weeks I will be good as new. And then I will come after you and do it right.’’
Boone stood over him. ‘‘That is not going to happen.’’
Vance grinned. ‘‘You never know.’’
‘‘Yes, I do,’’ Boone said, and shot him twice more. He reloaded, slid the Colt into his holster and walked back to the fire. Hunkering, he refilled the tin cup and drank as if trying to wash a bitter taste down his throat.
The drum of hooves snapped Boone out of his crouch. He cast the cup down, drew his Colt and retreated out of the firelight so he would not be an easy target. The hooves came closer. Out of the night materialized a plodding sorrel and a hulking rider. The sorrel was close to collapse. The rider brought it close to the fire and stared down at the ring of bodies.
‘‘Can any of you tell me where I am? I am lost and in a hurry.’’
Boone stepped into the firelight. ‘‘Drub?’’
The hulking figure squealed in delight and ponderously dismounted. ‘‘Lightning! I have done it! I found you!’’ In a rush he flung both huge arms around Boone and lifted him off his feet. ‘‘I am so happy I could dance!’’
‘‘Don’t,’’ Boone said. ‘‘Put me down.’’ But he smiled with genuine delight. ‘‘We were just talking about you.’’
‘‘Who was?’’
Boone nodded at Vance. ‘‘Your brother and me.’’
‘‘What is the matter with him? Why is he just lying there?’’
‘‘Don’t you see the holes in his head?’’
Drub bent down. ‘‘Oh. Now I do. Why, he is dead. The rest too. What happened, pard? Were they mean to you?’’
‘‘First things first.’’ Boone put his left hand on Drub’s arm. ‘‘I am plumb amazed to see you so soon. I figured it would take you a month of Sundays.’’
‘‘I am proud of myself, pard. I remembered you saying your ranch was north, so after I got me a horse I headed north as fast as I could. That horse died and I had to get another. Then it died and I had to get a third.’’
‘‘Where did you get all these horses?’’
‘‘One I bought from some folks with a wagon train and the sorrel here I took out of a corral.’’
‘‘That is stealing, Drub. You could be hung for that.’’
‘‘I don’t care. I was worried sick about you and Sassy and I wasn’t letting anything stop me.’’
‘‘You came quick,’’ Boone marveled.
‘‘I know where north is. I know where south and east and west are too. It is the one thing I have learned that I have never forgot. My pa taught me when I was little so I could always find my way back to him.’’ Drub stopped and looked across the benighted basin. ‘‘But I didn’t know how far I had to come. Or that I was this close. Then I heard shots. And I figured where there were shots, there were people, and I could ask them how to find the Circle V.’’ His gaze shifted to the crumpled forms. ‘‘Thank goodness you were still here. They wouldn’t have been able to tell me.’’
‘‘Would
you like some coffee?’’
‘‘Gosh, would I! I have not had a bite to eat or anything to drink since you left me.’’
‘‘That was days ago.’’
‘‘No wonder my belly won’t stop growling. Sometimes when it growls it tickles my belly button.’’
‘‘I have missed you, pard.’’
Drub swelled with happiness. ‘‘And I have missed you. And Sassy. Where is she anyhow?’’
‘‘My brother has her. At first light I am going to pay him a visit and get her back.’’
‘‘I’ll go with you.’’
Boone opened his mouth, then closed it again. ‘‘How about that coffee?’’ He filled a cup and gave it to Drub, who gulped it down.
‘‘That was good. Can I have more?’’
‘‘Help yourself.’’ Boone squatted with his forearms across his knees. ‘‘We will rest until daybreak.’’
‘‘You are the best pard anyone ever had.’’ Drub poured and drank and poured some more. ‘‘You didn’t say what Vance did that you had to put those holes in him.’’
‘‘He tried to kill me.’’
‘‘Vance never did have much manners.’’ Drub tilted the tin cup. ‘‘I have not been this thirsty since that time Pa took me across a desert. I was so hot I thought I would melt.’’
‘‘We need to talk, pard.’’
‘‘Go right ahead. I am so glad to see you, you can talk my ears right off my head and I won’t mind.’’ Drub put down the cup and picked up the pot. ‘‘Say, there is food in this. Can I have some?’’
‘‘Finish it.’’
‘‘For real?’’ Drug laughed and scooped some out with his hand. He slurped and chewed noisily. ‘‘This is the best stew I ever ate. Did you make it?’’
‘‘I don’t know who did.’’
‘‘What do you want to talk about?’’ Drub asked while dipping his big hand in the pot. ‘‘If it is that horse I stole, I am sorry.’’
‘‘It is about tomorrow. I am going to the ranch house alone.’’
Drub’s head jerked up. ‘‘You don’t want me to come? But we’re pards, aren’t we?’’
‘‘That we are.’’
‘‘Then I go with you. A pard always sticks by his pard, no matter what. That is the other thing I learned good.’’ Drub scooped out more stew, but stopped. ‘‘How come you don’t want me to go? Is it you don’t like me anymore?’’
Ralph Compton Bullet For a Bad Man Page 23
