Ralph Compton Bullet For a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  ‘‘There will be shooting, Drub. A lot of shooting and a lot of killing.’’

  ‘‘I know how to shoot. Remember those Mexicans? I point my gun and I thumb back the hammer and I squeeze the trigger. I never hit much but the shooting is easy.’’

  ‘‘Drub, these will not be vaqueros or rustlers. My brother has likely hired men who are as good with guns as they are at blotting brands.’’

  ‘‘So? If they try to hurt you, I will hurt them.’’

  ‘‘I don’t want you hurt, Drub.’’

  Drub cocked his head. ‘‘That is why you don’t want me to go? You are afraid I will be shot?’’

  ‘‘That is why.’’

  ‘‘Why, that is the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.’’ Drub grinned a huge grin. ‘‘You are a good pard.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘And I want to be a good pard too. It is why I killed those two horses getting here. It is why I am going with you in the morning.’’

  ‘‘Damn it, Drub.’’

  ‘‘Be mad if you want, but the only way to stop me is to shoot me and you would never do that.’’ Drub slurped and licked his fingers. ‘‘I never ate stew with my fingers before. It’s a lot more fun than with a spoon.’’ He gave the pot a playful shake, then pursed his lips. ‘‘Why have you stopped talking? Are you mad at me? That is what Pa does when he gets mad. He stops talkling.’’

  ‘‘I am not happy with you, no.’’

  ‘‘Because I want to go so much?’’

  ‘‘Do you care for your pa, Drub?’’

  ‘‘What kind of question is that? He is my pa. I reckon I care for him more than I do anybody.’’

  ‘‘He might try to kill me tomorrow, Drub. He might try to shoot me like Vance did and I will have to shoot him.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  ‘‘I would spare you that, pard. No man should have a part in the killing of his own pa. It would make you no better than my brother. You don’t want that, do you?’’

  ‘‘I guess not.’’

  ‘‘Do not take it personal. I am doing this for your own good. You will thank me when this is over.’’

  ‘‘If you say so.’’

  ‘‘Give me your word. Promise me here and now that you will wait here for Sassy and me.’’

  ‘‘All right. If it is what you want.’’ Drub smiled his boyish smile. ‘‘You can count on me.’’

  Reckoning

  The sun had been up an hour when Blin Hanks rose from the rocking chair on the front porch of the ranch house. He switched the Winchester he was holding from his right hand to his left, and stretched. Moving to the steps, he nodded at the pair of gun sharks he had posted at the stable, and raised his hand to the rifleman in the door of the hay loft.

  The rosebushes to the right of the porch rustled and a man’s head popped out.

  ‘‘What do you think you’re doing, Carns?’’ Hanks demanded.

  ‘‘You got up so I figured we were done waiting.’’

  ‘‘You figured wrong. Sit back down. I will tell you when we are done.’’

  ‘‘Damn it. We have been out here all night and I am hungry.’’

  ‘‘Do you want me to let Mr. Scott know? I can ask him to bring you a hot breakfast.’’

  ‘‘God, no,’’ Carns said. ‘‘Are you loco? He might get mad and there is no telling what he will do when he is mad.’’

  Boone Scott heard every word. He was on his stomach at the front corner of the house. It had taken him hours to crawl there from the wash where he left his horse, hat and spurs. Now he carefully peered out.

  ‘‘Smart man.’’ Hanks turned and stepped to the front door. He knocked, waited and knocked again.

  Boone couldn’t see who opened it.

  ‘‘Sorry to bother you but he hasn’t shown. Do you want me to let the men get some rest?’’

  ‘‘When I do I will say so.’’

  At the sound of Eppley’s voice, a flood of fury coursed through Boone.

  He felt his face redden and he dug his fingers into the dirt until the knuckles hurt.

  ‘‘Are all the punchers out on the range?’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir. I sent everyone away like you wanted. When your brother gets here, it will just be us and the gunnies and that new one you hired last night.’’

  ‘‘I expect Vance Radler with the horses sometime before noon. Keep him at the stable until I come out. It is best he not suspect about his pa. He and his men might cause trouble.’’

  ‘‘They are bound to wonder when Old Man Radler does not come out talk to them.’’

  ‘‘I will say the old man is resting. Then I will look at you and rub my eyebrow. That will be your signal. You and the others shoot the rustlers dead. Not one is to be left alive.’’

  ‘‘Not one. Got it.’’

  The front door closed and Blin Hanks returned to the rocking chair.

  Boone backed from the corner. Twisting, he crawled toward the rear of the house. He was on the west side, in shadow, and near invisible. He passed under a window and came to another. Stopping, he scanned a nearby shed and other outbuildings.

  No one was in sight.

  Slowly rising, Boone tried the window. It wasn’t latched. He opened it high enough for him to swing a leg over the sill and ease inside. He was in the parlor. It was empty, but sounds came from the direction of the kitchen. Filling his hand, he crept to the hall.

  Again, no one.

  Boone sidled out. He did not go toward the kitchen, but to the stairs instead. Climbing them two at a stride, he reached the landing. The bedroom doors were shut. He crept to the first and quietly opened it. The bed his parents had slept in all those years was unmade. A jacket flung over a chair told him who was using it now. He scowled and moved to the next room.

  Boone put his ear to the door. From within came faint sounds. Rustling, and the soft tread of someone pacing. He was reaching for the latch when a gruff bark of annoyance saved him from making a mistake.

  ‘‘Stop that, girl. It is getting on my nerves.’’

  ‘‘I can’t help it,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘I get restless when I am cooped up. If it bothers you so much, go out in the hall.’’

  ‘‘Mr. Scott says I am to stay in here with you and that is exactly what I will do. You do not cross Mr. Scott.’’

  Boone scratched at the door with a fingernail.

  ‘‘What the hell was that?’’

  Scratching again, Boone did the best imitation he could of Mabel, their mouser. ‘‘Meow.’’

  ‘‘Sounds like a cat,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘Can I let it in and pet it?’’

  ‘‘And have you throw the thing in my face and run out while it is clawing me to ribbons? Hell, no. You sit there on that bed. I will shoo it off.’’

  Boots clomped. Boone moved past the door. When it opened, he was ready. The gunny who stepped out was short and cleft jawed and had his left hand on a Smith & Wesson revolver in a brown leather holster. Boone smashed his Colt against the cleft.

  Squawking in surprise, the gunny stumbled back, flailing his arms to keep from falling. Boone was on him before he could regain his balance, slashing the Colt’s barrel across the man’s throat. The man gagged and sagged, and Boone punched him twice in the side of the neck.

  With a groan the gunny sank to the floor. He feebly sought to draw his Smith & Wesson.

  ‘‘No, you don’t.’’ Boone brought his boot heel down hard on the man’s neck and there was a crunch.

  The gunny stopped moving.

  Sassy had tears in her eyes. ‘‘Boone!’’ she breathed, and threw herself into his arms. ‘‘Oh, Boone, Boone, Boone.’’

  ‘‘Hush. They will hear us,’’ Boone cautioned despite a lump in his throat. He stroked her hair, her back. He cupped her chin. ‘‘Did they hurt you?’’

  ‘‘Not yet. But your brother said that after he was done with you he would start in on me, and he promised I would be a long time dying.’’


  ‘‘He did, did he?’’ Boone embraced her, his cheek on her head. ‘‘Don’t you fret. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever.’’ He moved to the door and checked the hall. ‘‘No sign of anyone. Let’s go. With any luck we can sneak out as I snuck in.’’

  Sassy was bent over the dead man.

  ‘‘What are you doing?’’

  ‘‘What do you think?’’ Sassy held up the Smith & Wesson. ‘‘It’s not my rifle but it will do.’’

  ‘‘This is my fight. You are to keep out of it and keep low. Once we are outside, head northeast until you come to a wash, and my buttermilk. Don’t wait for me if I am not right behind you. Light a shuck for Tucson.’’

  Sassy came over and took his hand in hers. ‘‘You forget who I am.’’

  ‘‘You are the girl who means everything to me.’’

  ‘‘That is nice but I am more. Remember when you found me? I was raised in the wild places and I am half wild myself. I never went anywhere without my rifle and I was not afraid to use it.’’ Sassy’s eyes glistened with something other than tears. ‘‘You are my man now. I am your woman. And I am not timid. We will fight your brother and his cutthroats together.’’

  ‘‘I would rather you didn’t. I am too worried about you making it out alive as it is.’’

  ‘‘And I am less worried about you?’’ Sassy shook her head. ‘‘No, Boone Scott. If we are together, then we are together in everything, good or bad. This is bad, but two guns have a better chance than one.’’

  ‘‘Sassy, please—’’ Boone began, and stopped.

  Shadows flitted on the stair wall. Whispering broke out. A face rose above the top step and sank down again.

  ‘‘Wasn’t that Hanks?’’ Sassy asked.

  Boone thought it was. He extended his Colt, but the face did not reappear. ‘‘They have us trapped.’’

  As if it were an echo, from down the stairs came ‘‘We have you trapped! Give up without spilling blood and we will go easy on you.’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t born yesterday, lunkhead.’’ Careful not to show himself, Boone edged forward.

  ‘‘It was me who saw you,’’ Blin Hanks said. ‘‘I was out in the rocking chair and I looked in the window and you were climbing the stairs.’’

  ‘‘Good for you.’’

  There was a commotion, and movement, and a new voice hollered, ‘‘You shouldn’t have come back, brother.’’

  ‘‘Eppley,’’ Boone said, and stopped. His chest hammered and his mouth went dry.

  ‘‘What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.’’

  ‘‘Ma and Pa—’’ Boone could not bring himself to say the rest.

  ‘‘What about them? I reckon you heard they are dead. Pa died in a fall and Ma’s heart gave out and—’’

  ‘‘Don’t!’’ Boone exploded, his whole body quaking. Sassy clutched at his arm, but he shook her off.

  ‘‘Why, little brother, is it me or are you about to cry?’’

  ‘‘I know the truth, Epp.’’

  ‘‘What is the truth? Is yours the same as mine?’’ Epp laughed. ‘‘Can you guess where I got that from? Remember all the reading Ma did to us when we were kids? God, how I hated that.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t.’’ Boone started toward the landing again, placing each boot with care.

  ‘‘That was always the difference between you and me. You listened and did whatever Ma or Pa wanted. You cleaned up after yourself. You did your chores without having to be told. All they had to do was snap a finger and you jumped.’’

  Boone stopped when Epp stopped talking and resumed his silent advance when Epp went on again.

  ‘‘I only did what I had to do in order to keep them off my back. To me it was a game. To see how much I could get away with without being punished. And I got away with a lot.’’ Epp chuckled. ‘‘The truth is, I am nothing like you thought I was. I pulled the wool over all of your eyes. And now I have the Circle V to myself, and you are about to be turned into worm food. Strange how life works out, isn’t it?’’

  By then Boone was crouched low near the landing. He took a deep breath, held his Cold at hip height with his left hand palm-down over the hammer and sprang. He caught them flat-footed.

  Half a dozen steps below crouched Blin Hanks, one hand on the railing. Hanks was looking down, not up, at Epp and several gun sharks. Epp saw Boone, and his eyes widened in consternation.

  ‘‘Look out!’’

  Blin Hanks spun, the revolver in his hand rising. ‘‘No, you don’t!’’ he bellowed.

  Boone fanned a shot into Hanks’ chest. In the close confines it was like the boom of a cannon. Hanks was punched back. A low, animal snarl burst from his throat as he tried to take aim. Boone fanned a second shot and a new hole appeared in the center of Hanks’ brow.

  Eppley was bounding down the stairs. He said something to the gun sharks as he flew past them, and whatever he said, suddenly they came charging up the stairs shrieking like Comanches and shooting just as fast as they could.

  Boone fanned three shots in the blink of an eye and two of the gunnies went down thrashing and gurgling. The third took lead but stayed on his feet and gamely sought to fire, but his arm would not rise high enough.

  ‘‘Damn you to hell.’’

  Boone cored his eye and vaulted over the body while it was falling. He only went a few more steps, then stopped and quickly reloaded. From outside came shouts. Other killers were converging.

  Boone raced to the bottom. He glanced at the front window. The man who had been in the rosebushes, Carns, was about to shoot. Swift as thought, Boone fired and Carns dropped.

  The front door burst open and two more spilled in, spraying lead. Boone felled the first and sent the second spinning. Through the open door Boone saw yet another gun shark leap onto the porch. Suddenly a gun blasted behind the man and he sprawled in a dead heap. More shots pealed.

  Boone moved toward the front door, reloading as he went. He was not quite there when thunder cracked behind him and he was slammed to his knees. He swiveled, plenty of fight still in him. ‘‘You.’’

  ‘‘Me,’’ Epp said, and banged off another shot.

  Boone fired at the same instant. He fired as Epp swayed, fired as Epp teetered, fired as Epp pitched onto his side, fired as Epp roared like a maddened beast and fired his final shot smack between Epp’s eyebrows.

  The acrid odor of gun smoke filled the hall. Boone tried to stand, but he was suddenly weak. He had been hit again, in the leg. He propped his back against the wall and heard more shots outside. Then a shadow fell across him and he looked up into the twin muzzles of mother-of-pearl Colts. ‘‘Not you too.’’

  Skelman was a statue. He didn’t shoot. He didn’t say anything.

  ‘‘Don’t you dare!’’

  At the outcry, Skelman spun.

  Sassy was on the stairs, pointing the Smith & Wesson at him. ‘‘Please,’’ she pleaded. ‘‘For me.’’

  For a span of heartbeats no one moved.

  ‘‘I still have the flower you gave me,’’ Sassy said softly. ‘‘That day on the trail.’’

  Skelman slowly straightened. He glanced down at Boone and the corners of his thin mouth quirked. ‘‘I reckon not. But just so you know.’’ And the mother-of-pearl Colts were in their holsters. It happened so fast, Boone did not see Skelman’s hands move.

  ‘‘Damn,’’ Boone said.

  Skelman touched his hat brim to Sassy. ‘‘You are the only one who is immune.’’ He smiled and strolled out, his spurs jangling.

  With a squeal of joy, Sassy flew down the stairs and over to Boone. ‘‘Where are you hit? How bad is it?’’

  ‘‘In the other shoulder and in the leg. But I think I will live.’’

  ‘‘You better.’’ Sassy pressed a wet cheek to his.

  A large form filled the doorway and darkened the hall. Both of them turned, tense with dread, only to beam in relief at who it was.

  ‘‘I found you, pard!’’ Drub happily excla
imed, entering and squatting. ‘‘I was afraid you would be dead.’’

  ‘‘That was you out there?’’

  ‘‘I had to shoot some men who tried to stop me. One got me in the side.’’ Drub showed a crimson circle on his shirt.

  ‘‘Oh, Drub!’’ Sassy said.

  ‘‘I’m all right. The bullet hit a rib and went somewhere else. It hurts, but I will be around a good long while yet.’’

  ‘‘I hope so, pard,’’ Boone told him.

  ‘‘How about me?’’ Sassy asked, her face aglow with her feelings for him. ‘‘Once we clean you up and bandage you, do I get to stick around a good long while?’’

  ‘‘For as long as you want,’’ Boone Scott said.