Ralph Compton Straight Shooter

by Ralph Compton

  “Could be upward of two hundred dollars.”

  “Two hundred?” Mose pulled back on his reins as if he meant to snap the leather straps in half. His horse raised its head and stomped fretfully before coming to a halt. “That’s more than we got in our last job! We’d best get plenty of good information for that kind of money.”

  Bringing his horse to a stop as well, Wes made sure he was a good distance from his partner with one hand close to his holster when he warned, “That’s the price for one bit of news that he found. We’ll be in the market for more than that once we get to Cedar Rapids.”

  “Upward of two hundred for just one of his scouting stories?” Mose bellowed. “What kind of fool would pay that much?”

  “It’s an investment!” Wes said. “We spend a little money to make a whole lot more. We’ll be coming out ahead when it’s all said and done! Can’t you see that?”

  Mose cocked his head to one side and bared his teeth like a dog that was getting ready to pounce. “You’re talkin’ to me like I’m stupid. I ain’t stupid.”

  “I know that.”

  “And we’re already ahead! After the work we did in Illinois, we’re ahead close to three hundred dollars, and I won’t have you toss it away just to hear some man talk about what he saw when he was out scouting!”

  “Those jobs were fine, but they were small potatoes.”

  “We nearly got killed,” Mose reminded him. “I don’t call that no small potatoes!”

  “You’re right. We did nearly get killed. That’s because we were on our own, working blind and scrounging for what we could get. In case you’ve been asleep for the last few months, you might have noticed it’s been slim pickings lately. We’ve lined our pockets, but it hasn’t been easy. Having someone point us in the right direction can make things a whole lot easier.”

  Squinting as if he was seeing his partner in a new, mostly unfavorable light, Mose said, “You chose the wrong line of work if you wanted easy.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been in this line of work since I was in short pants. All I’m saying is there ain’t no reason we can’t use our heads a bit more and line up some jobs that could go a little smoother or at least pay off enough for us to sit back and enjoy ourselves for a while. And when I say use our heads,” Wes quickly added, “I didn’t mean to call you stupid or anything of the like.”

  Mose slowly nodded, turning his eyes toward the trail ahead of him even though that trail hadn’t changed since they’d crossed the state line. “How much of our money are you looking to . . . invest?”

  “I figure we could do well if we can line up two or three jobs.” When the bigger man snapped his gaze over to him, Wes quickly added, “I’d make up the difference with my own money. And for that . . . I’m gonna expect a bigger cut until that investment is paid back.”

  Normally, broaching the subject of taking a bigger cut would be enough to put a twitch into any outlaw’s face. This time, however, Mose swallowed it down like bitter medicine. “Suppose that’s fair,” he grudgingly admitted. “You really think we’ll get a line on some good work?”

  “I wouldn’t pay good money if I didn’t.”

  “What kind of things can this fella tell you that we couldn’t figure out on our own? We been doing this for a good, long spell. We ain’t wet behind the ears where robbin’ is concerned.”

  “You got that right,” Wes said. “That’s how I know the two of us can pull off these jobs when most outlaws would need a whole gang. What we don’t know is where the prime work is or when a place will be unguarded or where a certain stagecoach will be taking on supplies so it’s not guarded or . . . I don’t know what else. It’s that sort of thing that we need. We might be able to find out some of that with some scouting of our own . . . if we’re lucky and happen to be in the right spot at the right time. But if we get what Jimmy is sellin’, we don’t have to do that end of the job. We do what we do best because Jimmy did what he does best.”

  They rode for another couple of minutes in silence. Mose chewed on what he’d been told as if the words were tough, stale bread. When he’d finally digested them, he asked, “How long you known this Jimmy?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Do his scouting stories really pay off that good?”

  “Why do you think I’m willing to put up so much money just to hear what he’s got to say?” Wes asked. “And why else would I be willing to ride across this flat bunch of nothing just to hear him say it?”

  Mose looked around at the land surrounding them. It wasn’t particularly ugly terrain, and it sure wasn’t difficult to navigate. In fact, after he’d taken in everything his partner had to say, a small, contented sigh leaked out of him as he admitted, “This really ain’t so bad. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to keep riding and give your friend a chance.”

  “I knew you’d see it that way.”

  “But I’m warnin’ you,” Mose added. “If I don’t like what he has to say, I ain’t about to hand over any money that should be mine. I should still be angry that you were about to spend both of our shares without askin’ me first.” Suddenly the bigger man scowled. “You really were plannin’ on spending all that money. That means you had to spend my share as well.”

  “It’s for the greater good,” Wes said.

  “What if I refused to hand it over?”

  Without missing a beat or sparing the time it took to look over at his partner, Wes replied, “Then I would have gunned you down and taken it from you.”

  The ugly scowl remained on Mose’s face for a few seconds before it was shattered by a wide grin followed by a laugh that rumbled up from his belly and shook his entire body. When he was through, Mose flicked his reins to get his horse moving faster and said, “You would’ve tried! I can get the drop on you any day of the week and twice on Sundays.”

  “That don’t matter. You’ll like what Jimmy has to say,” Wes assured him. “And if you don’t, we can always do some scouting of our own. There’s plenty of work to be had, and Omaha is only a few more days’ ride away from there, anyhow.”

  “Or,” Mose said with a cruel grin, “we could just rob that friend of yours and take all the money he collected from other folks wanting to hear his stories.”

  “You have a point there. He truly is more of an acquaintance than a friend after all.”

  Chapter 2

  Cedar Rapids

  Tennison’s was a saloon on the outskirts of town that was filled with enough noise and activity to make both outlaws forget about the days of tedious riding it had taken for them to get there. Not only was there a stage at the back of the house where a trio of dancing girls flapped their skirts to the music provided by the piano and banjo players sitting to one side, but there was a smaller stage in a rear corner where a fourth girl did a little dance of her own. That stage wasn’t much larger than a card table, but the men sitting around it whooped and hollered as if it was the greatest show on earth.

  Wes and Mose took a moment after stepping inside to soak it all in. As with most everyone else, their attention was immediately drawn to the stages. After that, Mose looked toward the long bar that stretched from the front of the saloon on the right side of the house all the way to the back wall. Well over a dozen men stood at the bar, and there was room for several more. Wes, on the other hand, was more attracted to the games of chance being played on the left side of the large room. Three faro tables were closest to the door, and two roulette wheels spun farther back. Poker was being played at several tables as well as some other games going on in the shadows at the farthest end of the room, which Wes couldn’t quite make out from where he stood.

  “I like this place,” Mose said.

  Wes nodded. “Me, too. I think I see Jimmy.”

  “Can’t we get a drink first?”

  “Go right ahead and get me one, too. I’ve got business to tend
to.”

  Being well accustomed to letting his partner dive in to the business dealings first, Mose made his way over to the bar without a complaint about being handed the simpler tasks. He was more than happy to smile at the working girls scattered throughout the saloon and gab with the barkeep while Wes made a straight line to one of the smaller tables situated near the periphery of the poker games.

  The man at that table wore a simple white shirt with his sleeves rolled up to expose arms that looked like cords of tightly knotted leather. His skin was deeply scorched by the harsh sun and elements from every kind of terrain known to man. His eyes were narrowed to slits that seemed incapable of opening fully. A battered hat sat on the table to his left, a constant companion more cherished than any human soul. In front of him, playing cards were splayed into a solitaire game, each of the painted faces showing just as much wear as the man who dealt them.

  “Howdy, Wes,” the grizzled man said before Wes had a chance to say a word.

  Removing his hat and setting it on the table as well, Wes pulled out the only other chair and took a seat. “Been a while, Jimmy. You’re looking good.”

  Glancing up from his game, Jimmy studied the other man’s face. He must have known all too well that he looked like something that had been dug up from a poorly tended garden because he discarded the compliment along with the next three cards from his deck. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “I’ve been busy, that’s for certain. You must have heard that I was all the way down in Arkansas for most of last spring.”

  “No. I thought you’d be dead by now.”

  “Oh,” Wes said with a few quick blinks. “I suppose that sort of thing can work to my benefit. Keeps the law off my tail for a spell.”

  “Sure. Whatever you say. How’d you know I was here?”

  “I crossed paths with Dave Mustaine while in Illinois. He told me you crawled out of the woodwork and set up shop out here in the middle of nothing at all.”

  Once again, Jimmy looked up. He even placed his cards down so as to pay full attention when he asked, “How is Dave?”

  “Dave’s . . . well . . . Dave. Got into a fight about three minutes after I shook his hand. Punched some cowboy in the nose for touching his horse. Turns out it was the cowboy’s own horse he’d touched after all.”

  When Jimmy grinned, it wasn’t pretty. He was missing one out of every three teeth. The ones that remained were brown as dirt and chipped into sharp, jagged angles. “That’s Dave, all right. I sent him to Illinois to check in on a rich fella owns a jewelry store out that way. How’d that pan out?”

  Wes leaned across the table so he could be heard when he whispered, “Dave flashed me a wad of money thicker than his fist. Told me he caught that fella bringing his shipment in during the middle of the night just like you saw him do in Missouri. That merchant would have snuck all that pretty stuff right in if Dave didn’t know he was comin’. Dave was so drunk that it crossed my mind to relieve him of some of that cash, but . . .”

  “But that wouldn’t have been very wise,” Jimmy said with a knowing grin.

  “No,” Wes said. “It wouldn’t at all. Not with Dave bein’ Dave and all.” After contemplating the money he’d lost by not stabbing that particular friend in the back, Wes asked, “So, what have you got left to sell?”

  Getting back to his game, Jimmy shrugged. “Not a lot. I been sitting here for a while now. Plenty of men have come to pay me a visit. Only reason I’m still here at all is that I like this place.”

  Wes looked around at the games being played, the festivities on and near the stages as well as the socializing at the long bar, and wasn’t impressed by any of it. “What do you mean you’re just here because you like this place?”

  “You heard me. What ain’t there to like? You should try the beer.”

  “You don’t have nothing left to sell?” When he didn’t get a response right away, Wes slammed a fist onto the table hard enough to mess up the solitaire layout. “My partner and me rode across this whole damn state as well as a part of Illinois to get here.”

  Jimmy collected his cards and started shuffling. “That ain’t my concern.”

  “The hell it isn’t! We dropped everything we were doing, turned down jobs on account of the promise that you had better ones for sale.”

  “If you had jobs to do, you should’ve done them. Just like I’m doing mine. If I want to sit here and play my cards before crawling back into the woodwork, that’s my affair.”

  When Jimmy dealt another game of solitaire, Wes couldn’t stomach it. He slapped his hand onto the table again and this time swept the cards off in a single angry motion. “You’d best think twice before you talk to me that way,” Wes warned. “I’ve killed men for less.”

  “You wanna go down that road?” Jimmy asked in a voice that sounded like rusted iron being dragged across wet slate. “I see worse than you on my best days, and I’m still alive and well. Plenty of them can’t say as much. I don’t guarantee anything to the men who ask to hear what I seen, but I can guarantee you one thing. If you so much as twitch toward that hog leg at your side, I’ll cut yer throat and leave you to bleed out where you sit.”

  So far, nobody in the immediate vicinity took notice of the cross words being exchanged. Everyone else had better things to do and probably wouldn’t stop doing them until they were forced to defend themselves. More than any of them, however, Wes was concerned with the scout sitting directly across from him. Jimmy’s features were uneven lines slashed into sunbaked flesh. His eyes betrayed not a single reservation about making good on his threat or taking a bullet in the process. Wes knew that if he drew on Jimmy, he’d have to put him down with one shot because there wouldn’t be a chance to fire another.

  Wes slowly let out a breath and did his best to ease back into his chair as if he was doing a favor for the scout instead of thinking twice about his own course of action. By the time he’d placed both hands flat on the table to prove they were empty, Mose ambled over to drop a pair of mugs down to splash dark foamy liquid in every direction.

  “I know you prefer whiskey, but this beer is some of the best I’ve had in a while!” Mose said. “Took it upon myself to bring you one.”

  Jimmy wiped off his cards. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “This yer friend?” Mose asked.

  Wes nodded and made quick introductions. His patience was clearly wearing thin by the time the other two had shaken hands, which did nothing to speed Mose up as he found another chair and dragged it over to the table. “Now that we got all that out of the way,” Wes said, “can we get back to business?”

  “He’s always goin’ on about business,” Mose said before taking a healthy gulp of beer.

  Jimmy smirked and fixed his eyes on the larger of the two men as he said, “There is one bit of information I picked up that could be of some use.”

  “That so?” Mose grunted. “You pick that up while scouting and such?”

  “I do my fair share of scouting, but I also have friends who tell me things. I sell those things to earn my keep.”

  Mose used the back of his hand to wipe some foam from his mouth. “So I been told.”

  “There’s a train due to leave Omaha,” Jimmy explained. “It’ll be picking up a load of money that’s to be used to pay all the men laying down the new Union Pacific tracks along that whole line. Them Chinese may not earn much, but there’s a whole lot of them. Same goes for every other poor soul driving spikes into the ground. Then there’s the foremen and bosses. They’ve got pay coming as well, and a good portion of it will be carried on that train.”

  Wes straightened up. “You mean one train is gonna carry enough money to pay all them workers?”

  “Not all of them,” Jimmy said. “The train will make stops along the way to pick up funds from banks across the country, but it will be starting with a siza
ble amount when it leaves Omaha.”

  Mose let out a belch that was loud enough to catch the attention of the players at a nearby poker game and put a foul stench in the air drifting past Wes’s face. The big man didn’t care about any of that, although he did seem to catch a whiff of the scent because he waved it away as if it were smoke. “Sounds like a pretty valuable piece of information,” he said.

  Jimmy nodded once. “It is.”

  “Then how come you still got it?”

  “Shut your mouth and let me do the talking,” Wes said impatiently.

  “No,” Mose said. “If he’s saying anything about it to us, it means that it must still be for sale, right?”

  “That’s right,” Jimmy replied.

  “And if it’s still for sale, that means ain’t nobody seen fit to buy it yet.”

  “Or,” Wes said hopefully, “it could be that he just came across it in the last day or two.”

  Mose conceded that point with a shrug before pouring some more beer down his throat.

  Reluctantly Wes asked, “How long have you known about this?”

  Keeping his eyes on Mose, Jimmy said, “I heard rumblings about it a few months ago when I was coming down through the Badlands. I rode with a tribe of Sioux while in that neck of the woods, and they watched the iron horses very carefully. Some of their scouts told me about one train in particular that caught their eye because of all the soldiers riding along with it.”

  “Soldiers?” Wes asked.

  “Told ya,” Mose grunted. “Ain’t nothing that sweet is gonna be taken easy. There’s gotta be plenty of gun hands riding on a train like that. That is, if there really is some load of railroad money in some boxcar.”

  “Oh, there is,” Jimmy said. “I can assure you of that. If I was in the habit of leading men like yourselves on wild-goose chases, I wouldn’t have survived this long to talk about it.”