The Range Wolf

by Andrew J. Fenady

  “As a matter of fact, to Wolf Riker’s wagon.”

  “To tell him what you heard?” French Frank stood up.

  “What I heard, if anything, nobody else will hear. I give you my word.”

  “That ain’t good enough for me,” French Frank doubled a fist.

  “I’m afraid it’ll have to be. As a matter of fact I’d like to throw my lot in with you if it weren’t for . . .”

  “For what?” French Frank said.

  “For Flaxen Brewster, my fiancée.”

  “He’s right,” Leach nodded, then turned to me. “Maybe sometime you can be of help to us.”

  “Maybe I can,” I said and walked toward Riker’s wagon.

  “Come,” Wolf Riker called out in response to my knocking. I entered and stood inside the threshold without closing the door.

  “Yes, do come in Guth.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Riker, but you did ask me to come by and . . .”

  “Of course I did. Close the door. Cookie and I are drinking a gentleman’s drink and playing a gentleman’s game.”

  From what was left in the bottle of Napoleon brandy, he poured some of the contents into two tumblers in front of Cookie and himself. There were cards and a pile of money on the table between them.

  Cookie’s wet, pale eyes were swimming like lazy summer seas, and he was mumbling something about being the son of a gentleman born on the wrong side of the blanket as he downed a deep gulp of brandy. It was evident that he had already downed many deep gulps.

  Riker also drank with no apparent effect and picked up the cards.

  “You know how to play NAP, Guth?”

  “No, sir. That’s a game I never learned.”

  “Well, Cookie does. You care to play some more, Cookie?”

  “No, no, I don’t,” Cookie slurred as he finished the brandy left in the tumbler and rose unsteadily. “Not now.”

  “Well, there seems to be more than three hundred dollars here,” Riker collected the money and stacked it into a neat pile.

  “You know that’s my money, Mr. Riker,” I said.

  “That’s a lie!” Cookie screeched. “A dirty goddamn lie!” He swung wildly with his fist at my face.

  I stepped back and he missed and would have fallen if I hadn’t grabbed him and held him upright, but not any longer than I had to.

  “A dirty goddamn lie,” he continued to mumble, but managed to weave to the door, open it, step through, and slam it shut behind him.

  Suddenly, Wolf Riker emitted a spate of laughter, and just as suddenly his face turned serious.

  “Why did you take that, Guth? Let him swing at you and even held him up when he was going to fall? He’s drunk; you could have taken the advantage.”

  “And done what?”

  “Whipped him. That’s what! He’s your inferior and still you suffer his abuse. You’re still soft. You should have smashed him.”

  I looked at the money in Riker’s hand, then back at him.

  “You have my money now. Shall I try and smash you?”

  “Ah, but that’s different.”

  “How different. Because you’re my superior?”

  “On this drive, yes. Besides, might makes right. It’s the law of nature.”

  “Does that justify your stealing my money?”

  “Be careful, Guth.”

  “Yes, I will be that.”

  “Don’t you ever play cards, Guth?”

  “Not NAP, but I’m a pretty fair hand at poker.”

  “So am I. We should play a few hands sometime.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . . either way, I’d lose. And now shall we say good night, Mr. Riker?”

  “No. Not at all. I feel like talking if you feel like listening to the next part of the story.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, then, get yourself a clean glass and sit down.”

  I did both.

  “All right,” Wolf Riker said. “Where were we?”

  CHAPTER XXXI

  “Where were we?”

  Riker had asked. I knew that he knew damn well where we were the last time he left off with his story, and that he was just testing me and my memory.

  I took a sip of brandy.

  “Pepper had just saved you and your brother’s lives by backshooting two wanted killer-bandits and was about to utilize his Bowie in decapitating the bodies and carrying back their heads in a sack as identification to collect a four hundred dollar dead or alive reward. He also mentioned that there might be some good ranching prospects around a place called Gilead where you could invest your five hundred dollar poke.”

  “Very comprehensive summary,” Riker nodded. “You were paying attention.”

  “I still am. What happened after that?”

  “We took Pepper’s advice and sometime later we were in Gilead at a saloon called The Prairie Port. It looked pretty nearly like any other Texas saloon except it had a painting of a schooner over the bar and was owned by an erstwhile sailor, with a peg-leg, named Captain Jack, and who was, often as not, upstairs with one of the saloon doxies.

  “The Prairie Port featured whiskey, women, and poker. Neither Dirk nor I was much interested in whiskey or women at the time, but the poker game was another matter. We tarried over three or four drinks while I studied the game and the gamblers.

  “There were six players and more money on the table than there is in some banks. The most colorful character called himself Reginald Truscutt-Jones, wore a fancy hat and everything that went with it including a pearl handle pistol more fit for a woman.

  “He also had more money in front of him than any of the other gentlemen, and they all were gentlemen; ranchers, a lumberman, a steamship owner, and I didn’t catch, or much care, about the rest.

  “Truscutt-Jones spoke with a haughty English accent, had a straight, narrow nose, hawk eyes, and a pencil mustache over his pink upper lip. Mr. Truscutt-Jones, from time to time, removed his hat, wiped with an embroidered handkerchief at his brow and the hatband, then went back to winning.

  “Standing at a distance, leaning against the wall, was an interested spectator who could have been, and probably was, until recently, a prizefighter. He wore a semi-squashed derby and a semi-squashed nose.

  “As I nodded to Dirk after analyzing the situation, we both saw a familiar figure limping down the stairs accompanied by another figure, female, very female, who didn’t need all that war paint to go with her orange hair.

  “‘Greetings, fellas,’ Pepper grinned a satisfied grin, and bowed toward the orange-haired lady. ‘Velma, these here are the Riker brothers, acquaintances of mine, and I’m gonna buy the four of us a round or so of drinks and spend some more of that four hundred reward money you boys helped me collect.’

  “Pepper ordered, and we drank while Velma scrutinized both Dirk and me, while I continued to scrutinize the poker game.

  “After a while one of the gentlemen who was devoid of money, rose from the table and went out of the door minus a couple of thousand.

  “I nodded at Dirk and he nodded back in favor.

  “‘Excuse me,’ I said and took a step toward the game.

  “‘Just a minute, son,’ Pepper said, ‘you ain’t thinkin’ what I think your thinkin’, are you?’

  “‘I wouldn’t, mister,’ Velma added. ‘Those boys don’t play for marbles and chalk.’

  “‘Listen, boy,’ Pepper shook his head. ‘I been watchin’ that game some and . . .’

  “‘I’ve been watching it, too, Pepper, and I thank both of you,’ I said and started to move away.

  “‘That poor cooked calf,’ I heard Pepper say. ‘Your brother’s walkin’ himself straight into poverty.’

  “‘My brother’—Dirk swallowed his drink—‘can walk on fire or water . . . he thinks.’

  “‘Is that chair open, gentlemen?’ I smiled as I inquired.

  “‘By invitation only,’ one of the players answered,
‘and it takes cash to get invited.’

  “‘Five hundred cash for openers,’ I said and withdrew a roll of bills from a pocket.

  “‘Welcome, stranger,’ the Englishman nodded. ‘There’s your chair. We play five card draw, jacks or better to open.’

  “Without bothering with introductions the game proceeded.

  “After about half an hour I had at least doubled my poke. Truscutt-Jones’ pile also increased, and the rest of them were luckless.

  “I seldom went directly up against the Englishman and his fancy hat.

  “In due time the other players went broke and Truscutt-Jones and I each had over five thousand stacked in front of us.

  “‘Well, stranger,’ the Englishman said, ‘it seems that you and I are the two survivors.’

  “‘So it seems.’

  “‘You have won a great deal of money.’

  “‘So have you.’

  “‘I’m used to winning.’

  “‘I’d like to get used to it, myself.’

  “‘To keep winning, you have to keep playing.’

  “‘Sounds logical—up to a point.’

  “‘The point is we can call it a day, each with a healthy profit or . . .’

  “Or what?’

  “‘Keep playing until there is one winner with a huge profit. What do you think, stranger?’

  “‘It’s your game. I’m just sitting in. What do you think, Mr. Jones?’

  “‘Truscutt-Jones.’

  “‘Ah, yes. Truscutt-Jones. Your call.’

  “‘One hand for the entire pot.’

  “He put the deck on the table.

  “‘High card deals.’

  “I nodded and cut. Drew a jack.

  “He drew a king, shuffled, and started to deal. Nobody in The Prairie Port drew a breath as each of us read our hand.

  “‘Cards?’

  “‘Two.’

  “‘Dealer takes one.’

  “He dealt himself a card, removed his hat, put it on the table, drew a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his brow, then the inside of his hat, put it back on, and looked at his cards.

  “‘Well, stranger,’ he smiled, ‘what do you have?’

  “‘Just a minute,’ I said. ‘You have two choices, Mr. Truscutt-Jones.’

  “‘What are you saying?’

  “‘I’m saying you can fold without showing your hand or . . .’

  “‘Or what?’

  “‘Or play the hand that’s in your hatband, because that’s the hand I’m calling. Take your choice.’

  “Truscutt-Jones looked up at the man with the semi-squashed nose who took a step forward, then stopped.

  “‘In that case . . .’

  “Truscutt-Jones started to draw his pearl handle pistol but he was already looking into the barrel of my .44.

  “‘Mine’s bigger,’ I said.

  “‘Then I have no choice.’

  “He rose, holstered his pistol, and started to move away.

  “‘Come, Stoker.’ He nodded to the man with the derby who began to follow him, but suddenly turned toward me.

  “However, Dirk had leaped across the room and threw a left into Stoker’s kidney, followed by a right into his oblong jaw, felling him like a shot buffalo.

  “Both Truscutt-Jones and I were aiming at each other when a shot rang out and the Englishman fell gripping his right shoulder.

  “Pepper limped toward us with his gun ready for anything more.

  “But there wasn’t anything more. At least not to speak of.”

  Wolf Riker finished the brandy in his glass and smiled.

  “Well, that’s the end of that part of the story. That enough for tonight?”

  “No,” I said. “What about the Double R? How did that come about?”

  “You want to hear that part, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’ll call for another drink.”

  He opened a fresh bottle of Napoleon and poured.

  “A few days later we were back at The Prairie Port and so was Pepper—he was still there.”

  “‘Have you two fellas made up your minds how you’re gonna spend all that money?’

  “‘We already spent most of it. Bought a ranch,’ I said. ‘We were just going to have a drink and ride out there.’

  “‘Mind if I ride along? I’ve pertiner spent that four hundred and not on no ranch,’ he grinned.

  “‘There it is,’ Dirk pointed in the distance. ‘Ten thousand dollars worth of adobe, sticks, bricks, and thousands of acres of land.’

  “‘We bought it from the widow of Don Carlos Acosta, Consuela, who wanted to go back to her birthplace in Mexico,’ I said. ‘She signed the Spanish land grant over to us, and I’ve got it right here in my pocket.’

  “‘Looks like you got somethin’ else,’ Pepper said, ‘company.’

  “Three swarthy figures stood on the porch of the otherwise deserted main building of the ranch. Pistols on their hips and one of them held a rifle.

  “I introduced my brother and me as the new owners.

  “‘Who’s the other gringo?’ The rifleman pointed with the rifle.

  “‘A friend,’ I said.’

  “‘You haven’t brought enough friends,’ the leader said.

  “‘What does that mean?’

  “‘It means we are Don Carlos’ brothers, and we want our share.’

  “‘The ranch belonged to his wife, and we bought it from her.’

  “‘We don’t think so.’

  “‘This deed in my pocket thinks so.’

  “‘A thousand pesos apiece will close the deal.’

  “‘Got no pesos—or dollars—for you.’

  “‘Gold? Silver?’

  “‘Just lead,’ Dirk said.

  “‘Lead won’t buy anything—but death.’

  “‘Ride away, Pepper,’ I said.

  “‘I intend to.’ Pepper turned his horse.

  “Two of the swarthies went for their guns. The other one started to raise his rifle. He never brought it up.

  “Pepper shot him in the chest. Then killed another one as Dirk and I drew and fired again and again, some shots alternately missing and hitting, until all three were on the ground twitching and dying.

  “Pepper appeared more amused than otherwise affected by the incident. He stepped off his horse, glanced at the trio of bodies, and began to reload his gun.

  “‘Glad you came along,’ Dirk said.

  “‘Had nothin’ better to do. Still don’t.’

  “‘What about the Texas Rangers or bounty hunting?’ I asked.

  “‘Leg’s gettin’ a mite stiff for either; ’sides, I’m gettin’ a little tired of travelin’. I ain’t no gypsy.’

  “Dirk and I looked at each other and smiled.

  “‘You know, Pepper,’ I said, ‘three times now we’ve been beholden to you.’

  “‘Right,’ Dirk nodded. ‘If it weren’t for you we wouldn’t be here—have this ranch.’

  “‘Why don’t you stay here with us?’ I suggested. ‘Be foreman, or whatever you want to call yourself. ’

  “‘Call myself Pepper. What’re you gonna call this ranch?’

  “‘The Double R,’ we both said, since we had already talked it over.

  “‘Double R. That’s a good brand. But like I mentioned before, if you two fellas want to stay alive . . .’

  “‘We do,’ both of us said.

  “‘Then there’s a few things’—he pointed to our holsters—‘I gotta teach you about guns.’

  “And that”—Wolf Riker started to lift his glass—“is how the Double R . . .”

  But suddenly he put the glass down on the table, closed both eyes, and rubbed his forehead.

  “That’ll be all for tonight, Guth. You can go now.”

  “Do you want me to . . .”

  “I don’t want you to do anything but go.” He slammed a fist on the table.

  I rose and moved toward the door.


  “Good night, Mr. Riker.”

  CHAPTER XXXII

  I had just closed the wagon door and taken a step or two when I saw a figure leaning on the side of the wagon with a cigarette glowing in the dark.

  “Hello, Pepper.”

  “Hello yourself.”

  “Just had an interesting session with Mr. Riker.”

  “That so?”

  “Told me about a certain card game, then a visit with his brother and you to what became the Double R ranch.”

  I waited momentarily for some reply from the figure but none was forthcoming. Only smoke from the darkness.

  “Did you ever teach the two of them more about the use of guns?”

  This time there was a reply.

  “There’s them that found out the hard way.”

  “Dead?”

  “That’s the hard way.”

  “Uh-huh. May I ask you one question?”

  “You can ask.”

  “What caused the animosity between him and his brother?”

  “It’s more than . . . animosity.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I’m not goin’ to.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause that’s up to him to tell you that . . . when, and if, the time comes.”

  “I see. Maybe you’d better go inside. He doesn’t seem to be feeling so well.”

  “He’ll let me know if he wants me.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll know.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “No. You wouldn’t. But you might say we’re close as Siamese sisters. Good night, Mr. Guthrie.”

  “Good night . . . Mr. Pepper.”

  As I moved on I heard another voice identifiable as George Leach.

  “Just answer the question, Reese. Are you with us?”

  “I’ll answer, and don’t ask me again. I signed on to finish the drive and I’ll stay on until it’s finished one way or another.”

  “Well, we’ve got the other. French Frank, Dogbreath, Smoke, and some of the rest of us.”

  “Don’t tell me about it. I don’t want to know.”

  “He’s crazy and before long you’ll change your mind and be with us.”

  “‘For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.’”

  “What’s all that about?”

  “It’s about the Bible.”

  Alan Reese turned and walked away. So did I. In another direction. This time I thought it best not to be heard or seen.