Fatal Justice

by Ralph Compton

  “That is two favors. You have enough fingers to count that high. Or is it your medicine?”

  “You can go to hell,” Ash said, and laughed. He walked back out and around the teepee.

  Rin Templeton had stripped his saddle and saddle blanket off the bay and gotten a fire going. He was on a knee, spooning Arbuckle into a coffee pot. Without looking up he said, “I’ve changed my mind. Tell me more about your condition.”

  Ash was taken aback. “You heard?”

  “That overgrown tent is paper thin. I could hear the Injun break wind.” The rancher stopped spooning. “I’ve been honest with you. I expect the same treatment. It sounds like this condition of yours could pose a problem.”

  Resentment flared, but Ash smothered it. “Fair is fair,” he agreed. Over two cups of steaming coffee he told about Sharkey and the slug and the morphine. He held nothing back and when he was done he said, “You’re welcome to change your mind about tagging along. I won’t hold it against you.”

  Templeton held a battered tin cup in both big hands and sipped, his eyes shadowed by his hat brim. “You have sand, I’ll give you that.”

  “I have nothing to lose is what it amounts to.”

  “Still,” Templeton said. He tilted the cup to his lips. “These attacks of yours. You say they come with no rhyme or reason? You could be doing just about anything and one will hit you?”

  “There’s no predicting.”

  “What if you have one in the middle of our fight with the Fraziers? I could find myself alone against the three of them.”

  “I won’t lie to you,” Ash responded. “I’ll do all I can but you can’t count on me. You’ll have to watch your own back as well as mine.”

  “Hell.”

  “Do you still want to join us?”

  Rin Templeton nodded. “I wouldn’t miss out for all the tea in China. I buck odds for a living so this is no different.”

  “You’re a rancher, not a gambler.”

  “You know nothing about ranching. There are diseases that can drop cows like flies. There’s drought. There are winter snows that bury them alive. Raising cattle is a gamble, each and every day. What’s one more?”

  “This one could get you killed,” Ash pointed out.

  “A man does what he has to. I owe the Fraziers for murdering my hand and stealing my cows. I won’t back out on account of a little risk.”

  “It’s not little.”

  “Are you trying to talk me out of it? Save your breath. When I give my word, I keep it. We’ll hunt those three sons of bitches together and if we die together, then it was meant to be.”

  “No,” Ash said. “Nothing is ever meant to happen. Things just do and we pick up the pieces and move on.”

  “Were you this cynical before you were shot?” Templeton grinned as he asked it.

  “No. Being a Walking Dead Man will do that to you.”

  Chapter 16

  It was the talk of the territory. The Rocky Mountain News called it the most brazen act of lawlessness ever conceived. The News exaggerated but they had newspapers to sell.

  The facts, as Ash pieced them together, were these: Six days ago three men rode into a small mining camp known as Ute City on the bank of the Roaring Fork River. Ute City wasn’t named in honor of the Utes; it was named to spite them. The camp was on Ute land and the Utes weren’t happy about it.

  An enterprising banker from Denver put up a tent and went into business. He planned to have a building built if the camp lasted but in the meantime the miners and prospectors could place their ore and money in the banker’s safe. A team of six sturdy horses brought the safe up from Denver, and the banker bragged that it was the only safe between Denver and the Pacific Ocean. He exaggerated, but he wanted their money.

  Word got around, as word always did. So it was that the three men in slickers rode into Ute City on a sunny morning and made straight for the banker’s large tent. One held their horses while the other two went in. All three were armed with shotguns. That was how the sheriff later deduced they were the Fraziers. The brothers favored shotguns for close work. As one of them once mentioned to a bystander, “We like the splatter.”

  The two who entered the tent leveled their cannons and commanded everyone to throw their hands up. The banker threw his up the quickest but one of the clerks reached down instead of up and a Frazier fired. The shotguns were loaded with buckshot and there wasn’t much left of the clerk’s head. It was later established that the clerk had been reaching for his spectacles, which he needed to see at any distance but not for when he was writing deposit slips and the like.

  The safe was closed. The Frazier who shot the clerk demanded that another clerk open it. When the second clerk balked, the Frazier brother blew his left leg off at the knee. That loosened the banker’s lips. He eagerly gave them the combination.

  The Fraziers took their sweet time filling the burlap sacks they’d brought. Everyone the journalist from the News interviewed said how the Fraziers were extremely calm the whole time. They joked and laughed while they were emptying the safe.

  The blasts had been heard, though, and men converged from all over. The Frazier holding the horses sought to discourage the curious by firing into the air. Some ran off. The rest resorted to their revolvers and rifles.

  The ensuring bloodbath, the News proclaimed, was horrific. The two brothers inside the tent rushed to help the brother outside the tent, and in the battle that followed, five men were slain and seven were wounded, two so severely they might not live. As one observer told the journalist, “Bodies were everywhere.”

  None of the bodies belonged to a Frazier. When the shooting ended and the gun smoke was drifting on the breeze, they calmly mounted and calmly departed Ute City, taking much of its wealth with them.

  The News was outraged. In an editorial the owner declared,

  Our territory has long had a reputation for lawlessness. Decent and honorable citizens wish it were otherwise. Our minions of the law have made considerable inroads in curbing the violence and crime but plainly more needs to be done. In our territory’s pantheon of lawbreakers, the Frazier brothers are at the pinnacle. Steps must be taken to put a stop to their blood-drenched sprees. Call in the army. Call out the militia. Organize vigilantes. As incentive, the News is offering a thousand dollars for each Frazier to the person or persons who send the Fraziers to their Maker. The News isn’t squeamish. Shoot them to death or string them from cottonwoods, but for God’s sake rid our territory of this menace.

  Ash liked the part about the thousand dollars.

  “The trail will be cold when we get there,” Rin Templeton commented as the three of them headed out on horseback the next morning. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Ash nodded. “At least two weeks old but it’s the freshest we’re likely to have so we’ll give it a try.”

  “What do you say, Injun?” Templeton asked. “Think you can track the Fraziers after so much time has gone by?”

  “My name is Broken Nose.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Treat me as you would treat a white man and I will. Treat me as you treat your dog and I won’t.”

  “Damn, you’re prickly,” Templeton responded. “Why should I treat you as white when to me you’re nothing but another redskin?”

  “Why should I treat you as red when to me you are another white with his head up his ass?”

  Ash drew rein. He fully expected the rancher to turn on the old warrior in a fit of anger. To his surprise, Templeton laughed.

  “You learned that from a white man, didn’t you? All right. I’ll show you respect, but you have to earn it the same as everybody else. Now, can you track the Fraziers after two weeks have gone by or not?”

  “It depends.”

  Ash was interested in the answer himself. “Depends on what?”

  “Many things. If it has rained. If anyone knows which way they went when they left Ute City. If they were smart enough to wipe out their trac
ks or they figured no one would come after them because everyone was afraid.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs.”

  “Do not give up hope. Horses are heavy. They always leave tracks except on rock. If we strike their sign, I will find them. On that you can count.”

  “If you say so.” Templeton made no attempt to hide his skepticism. “Just so when we catch up to them it comes as a surprise to them and not us.”

  “Do not worry. I do not want to die.”

  “Me either.”

  Ash made it unanimous, adding, “It’s important they don’t catch on that we’re after them. Anyone asks, we’re elk hunters and Broken Nose is our guide.”

  “It’s the wrong time of the year for elk,” Templeton disagreed. “Mountain sheep would be better.”

  From Kester to Ute City was a distance of fifty miles as the raven flew, but they weren’t ravens. Two ranges barred their way. To save time they avoided the first by swinging to the southwest until they came to Buena Vista and the Arkansas River and then they followed the Arkansas north until they reached Twin Lakes. From there they struck off due west. A hard climb brought them to Independence Pass.

  At the summit Ash drew rein and dismounted, both to rest their weary animals and to admire the magnificent view. Below lay a vast vista of forested slopes rolling in green waves to wash against the continental divide. “I’ve never been three miles above the earth before,” he marveled.

  Broken Nose tamped the ground with a moccasin. “How can we be three miles above when it is under our feet?”

  Rin Templeton snickered.

  “When I say three miles above the earth I mean three miles above sea level,” Ash explained.

  The Ute looked around them with an air of puzzlement. “The water sea or the eyeball see?”

  “The water sea.”

  “There is no sea in these mountains.”

  “The nearest are the oceans, and they are a long way off.”

  “Why do you think of them when they are so far away?”

  “It’s how whites measure how high mountains are,” Ash elaborated. “We compare the mountains to the sea.”

  “I thought my English was good.”

  “It is.”

  “I do not understand. Why do you measure a mountain by the sea? Do you compare a chicken to a goat to tell how big a cow is?”

  Templeton roared and slapped his leg. “Keep at it. You two are downright comical.”

  Ash wasn’t feeling so comical by the time they reached Ute City. His chest was acting up. Not with the pressure so much as pangs of pain that came and went. He hadn’t used morphine for a few days and was sorely temped to, but held off.

  Ute City was no different from any other mining camp: a lot of dirt, a lot of tents, a lot of grimy, smelly men, and when the wind was right, the stink of outhouses. It was a wretched example of why Ash liked big towns and cities.

  The banker’s tent was the largest. Over it hung a long board with neatly painted letters: THE FIRST BANK OF DENVER. Under that was A SUBSIDIARY.

  Ash read it out loud.

  “I do not know ‘subsidiary,’ ” Broken Nose said.

  “It means ‘branch.’ ”

  “Like the branch of a tree or the branch of a river?”

  “Here you two go again,” Templeton said.

  The banker was a moon of a man with a puffy face. He sweated a lot and liked to chew on unlit cigars. “Why do you want to know about the robbery?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I read about it,” Ash answered, which was no answer at all, but the real reason had to stay secret.

  “Then you know all there is to know.” The banker chewed some more. “Those damn Fraziers. Marched in here bold as brass. I recognized them right away from descriptions I’d read. They are all as big as oxes and have big noses and red hair.”

  “I don’t recollect the newspaper mentioning their first names,” Ash said.

  “No one knows. All they have ever been known by are the Fraziers or the Frazier brothers.”

  “Did you see them ride off?”

  “Hell, no. I was too busy having the mess they left cleaned up. Blood all over the place, and one of my workers was missing a head. I tell you, I’ll have nightmares for the rest of my days.”

  Ash asked a few more questions but it was apparent the banker would be of no help. They left and roamed the camp, asking people they met about the robbery. Most were eager to talk. Few, though, had seen the Fraziers leave Ute City. One man who swore he did said they rode off to the northwest.

  By then the fiery orb of the sun was balanced on the rim of the world.

  “I suggest we stay the night and start the hunt at first light,” Rin Templeton proposed.

  Ash had wanted to head right out but the suggestion made sense. They needed to rest up and his chest was still bothering him. “All right.” He looked at Broken Nose. “But no one gets drunk and we turn in early.”

  They camped near the river in a clearing in the trees. Templeton picketed the horses while Ash kindled a fire and put on coffee.

  Broken Nose stood off by himself, his arms wrapped around his chest, his eyes closed, chanting quietly and shuffling his feet in a circle.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ash’s chest had made him irritable. He still refused to use the morphine if he could help it. He had become entirely too dependent on it.

  “Singing my death song.”

  “You expecting to keel over?”

  “The Fraziers like to shoot.” Broken Nose went on shuffling.

  Templeton snorted. “Injuns and their silly ways. What good does singing do you?”

  “Shouldn’t you be dying when you sing it?” Ash asked. He had heard that somewhere.

  “With the Fraziers our deaths will be quick,” Broken Nose answered. “I might not have the chance.”

  “Silly red idiot,” Templeton said, then announced, “I’m going to have a drink and maybe play a hand or two of cards. I’ll be back early like you want.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Ash said. The death chant was making him think of the lead rubbing against his heart, and he’d rather not.

  Saloon tents weren’t hard to find thanks to tinny music, rowdy voices, and the tinkle of poker chips.

  Ash bellied to a plank bar and asked for whiskey. He would have one and only one. His elbow on the plank, he sipped and watched the rancher sit in on a poker game. Doves in tight dresses roamed among the customers, smiling and teasing. Ash didn’t notice one approach until a warm hand fell on his arm.

  “Buy a girl a drink, Mister?”

  She was pushing thirty and the wear and tear showed. Her blue dress could use mending and her shoes were scuffed. She had a nice smile, though, and her hazel eyes were friendly.

  “One and only one. I won’t be staying long.”

  “The name is Mabel. It’s short for Mabeline.”

  Ash didn’t give her his. He paid for the rye she wanted and they touched glasses and sipped.

  “Been up here long?”

  “A couple of months. Between you and me, I miss Denver. But I have to do what the boss wants.” For a few moments her guard was down and her face mirrored sorrow. “I hate it that life never leaves us any choice.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ash said. “So long as we’re breathing we always have a choice.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re a man and can do pretty much whatever you please. Us women don’t have it so easy. There aren’t a lot of jobs to be had and those that are don’t pay much.” Mabel motioned. “This job does. I make three times what I would as a seamstress. The hours are too long and the men paw us too much but my kids and me don’t go hungry.”

  “You have children?”

  “Three. I had a husband too. He was a miner. He went and got crushed in a cave-in.”

  A commotion broke out at the poker table and Ash looked to see why.

  Rin Templeton had drawn his revolver.

  Chapter 17

  The las
t thing Ash wanted was to draw attention to either of them.

  The voices and laughter faded, the piano pinged a last note, and all eyes shifted to the poker table.

  Templeton pointed the Colt at the man who was dealing. “Shuffle the cards and deal again and this time deal from the top.”

  The dealer, a gambler in a frock coat and derby, was as rigid as stone, the deck in one hand, a card he was about to deal in another. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, friend.”

  “I made it plain enough,” Templeton said. “You’re dealing from the bottom. Try it again and I’ll blow out your wick.”

  “You haven’t been playing but two minutes and you accuse me and make threats,” the gambler blustered.

  “I have good eyes.”

  Another player next to the gambler, a miner who looked to have come to the saloon straight from the mine with his dirty clothes and his cheeks smeared brown, cleared his throat. “You’ve been winning an awful lot of hands, Dyson.”

  “So I’ve had a run of luck. So what?” Dyson returned. “Some nights the cards are in our favor. Some nights they’re not.”

  Templeton hadn’t lowered his Colt. “When you were done dealing I saw the ace of spades on the bottom of the deck. Show us what the bottom card is now.”

  “This is stupid,” Dyson said.

  “Show us.”

  Dyson turned the cards enough for all to see that the bottom card was the two of hearts. “You were mistaken.”

  “Turn over your cards.”

  “The hell I will.”

  The click of the Colt’s hammer was ominously loud. “The hell you won’t. I won’t be cheated by a tinhorn.”

  Dyson was mad, his face flushed red, his jaw muscles twitching. “I don’t have to sit here and take this.”

  “You try to leave and you’ll walk out with lead in you.” Templeton glanced at the dirty miner. “Turn his cards over so we can have a look.”

  The miner started to reach for them but Dyson grabbed his wrist.

  “No one is allowed to look at another player’s cards. Ever. That’s always the rule.”