Bullets Don't Die

by J. A. Johnstone

  “Damn it, Herb!” Rowden pulled away, violently enough so his arm swung around . . .

  And hit the young woman across the face, knocking her right into the dress display.

  “Son of a—Look what you did!” Tuttle exclaimed as the young woman caught her balance and righted herself.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I never meant to—” Rowden’s hurried apology stopped short as he stared at the young woman. She had turned toward them and dropped her hand to the butt of the revolver holstered at her hip. A deputy’s badge gleamed where it was pinned to the soft buckskin shirt.

  “She’s the law!” Rowden said, and as Tuttle watched in horror, instinct sent the young outlaw’s hand flashing toward his gun.

  The Kid, Jared Tate, and Marshal Porter were walking casually along the street when Porter nodded toward the two men who had just dismounted in front of the general store. “Strangers. Wonder if they’re just passing through.”

  “You try to keep up with all the strangers who come into your town, Marshal?” The Kid asked.

  Instead of letting Porter answer for himself, Tate said, “Of course he does. That’s part of a lawman’s job. Am I right, Marshal?”

  “You are correct, Marshal,” Porter replied with a grin.

  “Those two had the look of hardcases about them, too,” Tate went on.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Porter agreed. “Maybe we’ll mosey in that direction and have a talk with them.”

  Tate nodded. “An excellent idea.”

  It seemed more like an overreaction to The Kid. But he wasn’t a lawman, he reminded himself. Anyway, Tate seemed a little more animated than usual by the prospect, so he supposed it wouldn’t hurt anything.

  Porter didn’t get in any hurry to reach the store, stopping to pass the time of day with several citizens along the way. The Kid half expected to see the two men come back out and go on about their business before he and Porter and Tate got there.

  They hadn’t emerged from the store as The Kid and the two lawmen approached the door, however. Porter went in first, followed by Tate, and then The Kid bringing up the rear.

  The Kid heard what sounded like angry voices, then somebody yelled, “She’s the law!”

  Porter shouted, “Holly!” and lunged forward, clawing at the gun on his hip.

  The Kid surged ahead and shouldered Tate out of the line of fire as he palmed out his Colt.

  Holly was confronting the two strangers. The younger one had his gun out.

  She struck with blinding speed, grabbing the wrist of the stranger’s gun hand and thrusting it upward. The gun roared, but the bullet went harmlessly into the ceiling, scattering plaster.

  At the same time, the edge of Holly’s other hand slashed across the man’s throat. He staggered back a step, gasping for breath.

  Before he could do anything else, Porter stepped in and slammed the barrel of his gun across the man’s head, dropping him senseless to the floor.

  The troublemaker’s older companion had his hand on the butt of his gun, but he froze with it there as The Kid covered him and said quietly, “I wouldn’t do that, mister.”

  Carefully, the man took his hand away from his gun and raised it along with his other hand. “Take it easy, friend. We’re not lookin’ for trouble.”

  “You’ve got a funny way of doing it,” Porter snapped, “trying to take a shot at my deputy . . . and my daughter!”

  “We didn’t know. Look, this is all just a misunderstanding. My friend here . . . well, I’ll admit he was flirtin’ the lady, but he didn’t mean any harm. It was just some harmless joshin’.”

  “He hit me!” Holly had drawn her gun as well.

  “That was an accident,” the older stranger said. “I had hold of my pard and was tryin’ to steer him away, and when he pulled loose he sort of bumped the lady.” He looked around at the proprietor of the store. “Tell them, mister. You saw the whole thing. You know it was just an accident.”

  “It didn’t look like he did it on purpose, Marshal,” the storekeeper said. “I’ll admit that much. And before that these two gents hadn’t caused any problems.”

  Holly asked sharply, “Why did he try to draw on me when he saw my badge?”

  The older man sighed and shook his head. “I’ll admit, we’ve had our share of run-ins with the law. Reckon he just acted without thinking. But we’re not wanted, I swear, and we just needed to pick up some supplies and be on our way.”

  Porter looked at the storekeeper. “How about that, Norman?”

  “They were buying supplies, all right. A pretty good lot of them.”

  Porter thought about it for a moment and then holstered his gun. He said to the older man, “You think you can get him on his feet and get him out of here once you’ve got your provisions?”

  “I’m sure I can, Marshal,” the man replied.

  “All right. We’ll let this go, then, providing both of you get out of town and don’t show your faces here again.” Porter glanced at Holly. “If that’s all right with you. You’re the one who got hit.”

  “It didn’t amount to anything,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve had horses bump into me a lot harder. Sure, let ’em go.”

  She slid her revolver back into its holster, as did The Kid.

  “I’m going to keep an eye on them until they ride out of town, though,” Holly added.

  “That’s fine.” Porter turned to The Kid. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Morgan.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” The Kid said.

  “Yeah, but you were ready to step in if you needed to.” Porter turned to Tate. “And you were right, as usual, Marshal Tate.”

  “Well, you pick up some instincts when you wear a badge long enough,” the old lawman said.

  The three of them started out of the store to continue their stroll around town. As they left, something made the back of The Kid’s neck prickle. He wasn’t a lawman, but he had some instincts of his own. He glanced back and saw the older stranger watching them intently. The man looked away, but not fast enough that The Kid missed his scrutiny.

  He couldn’t help wondering what that was about, and he was still curious when he saw the two men ride out of Chalk Butte a short time later.

  Chapter 25

  One thing Herb Tuttle had learned over the years was to never turn his back on a stroke of luck. So he was excited as he and Rowden rode toward the chalky-looking butte that gave the settlement its name. “Brick’s gonna be mighty happy when he hears what we found out. We come all this way and the man he’s lookin’ for falls right into our laps.”

  “I don’t give a damn about that,” Rowden said with a surly frown on his face. “I want that blasted marshal who buffaloed me. My head hurts like hell, and he’s got to pay for that.” Rowden’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t mind teachin’ that deputy of his a lesson, too.”

  “That’ll be up to Brick. But I’ve got a hunch as long as he gets his revenge on Tate, he won’t care much what happens to the rest of the people in that town.”

  “You think there are enough of us to take it over?”

  “You saw the place,” Tuttle answered with a shrug. “If we take the citizens by surprise, they won’t have a chance to fight back. If it was me, I’d hit ’em in the middle of the night, but that’ll be up to Brick, too. He makes the plans.”

  “Better be a good one,” Rowden growled. “As far as I’m concerned it’s past time ridin’ with this gang starts to pay off, and some of the other fellas feel the same way.”

  Tuttle knew Rowden was telling the truth. Discontent had spread throughout the gang, especially among the younger members. But if Cantrell’s desire for revenge led to the looting of an entire town, the other outlaws would forget about their complaints quickly enough.

  They rounded the butte with their heavily loaded horses. Tuttle spotted the rest of the men taking their ease while their horses grazed on the grass growing in the lee of the butte. Cantrell walked out a short distance to meet them,
raising a hand in greeting.

  “I see you got the supplies.” He nodded toward the heavy packs lashed to their saddles.

  “We got more than that.” Tuttle swung down from the saddle and went on. “Guess who’s in that town right now, Brick.”

  Cantrell frowned and snapped, “If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out, Herb. You know I’m not much for playing games.”

  “Sorry. It’s Tate. Jared Tate. He and that fella Morgan are in Chalk Butte. From what I could gather, they’re friends with the marshal there.”

  Cantrell’s bushy, graying eyebrows rose in surprise. “Tate,” he whispered. “This close.”

  Tuttle nodded. “Yeah, no doubt about it. I saw him myself and heard him called by name. Morgan, too.”

  “Son of a—” Cantrell stopped short and pounded his right fist into his left palm. “I never expected to find them so easy!”

  Rowden said, “I’m not sure how easy it was. I got a gun barrel bent over my head by that damn marshal.”

  “You mean Tate?” Cantrell asked.

  “No, the other one. The one who’s actually the marshal in Chalk Butte.”

  Cantrell waved that off. “I don’t give a damn about him. You can kill him if you want, Rowden. Makes no never mind to me.”

  A vicious grin creased Rowden’s face. “I was hopin’ you’d say that, boss.”

  “How does the town look?” Cantrell asked Tuttle.

  “Ripe for the pickin’. If we hit the place hard and fast enough, we’ll be in charge before the people who live there even know what’s goin’ on.”

  “Then they won’t have any choice but to turn Tate over to us,” Cantrell mused. “I can deal with him while the rest of you clean out all the businesses.”

  “That sounds like a good plan to me,” Tuttle agreed with a nod. “When do you want to hit them?”

  Cantrell glanced narrow-eyed at the sky. “It’s pretty late in the day. We’ll wait here until after it’s dark . . . let the town settle down a little and then strike while most folks have already gone to sleep.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Tuttle said. “Maybe round up some hostages as soon as we get there. Chances are they won’t even put up a fight.”

  “Tate will,” Cantrell declared. “So will Morgan, I expect, and the local star packer, too.”

  Rowden said, “The marshal’s got a hellcat of a daughter who works as his deputy. Wouldn’t surprise me if she puts up a better fight than most of the men in the town.”

  “Still, that’s just four of them against all of us.” Cantrell shook his head. “They won’t have a chance, and finally, I’ll settle up with Tate for the past ten years!”

  The Kid and Tate ate dinner at Marshal Porter’s house again that evening. When they went out on the porch after the meal, The Kid mentioned the odd look the older stranger had given them in the general store. “He acted like he didn’t want me noticing, but I saw him watching us.”

  Porter was packing tobacco into his pipe for an after-dinner smoke. “He was probably just mad because his friend got knocked out. He should’ve been grateful it wasn’t worse than that. I could’ve locked up the two of them for disturbing the peace.”

  “Maybe that was it,” The Kid said, but he wasn’t convinced. There had been something else provoking the man’s interest in them.

  He cast his mind back to that afternoon and tried to remember everything that was said inside the general store. Porter had called Marshal Tate by name, The Kid recalled, and that led him to speculate.

  Tate had made quite a few enemies while he was packing a badge. The Kid had already seen ample proof of that. Maybe the stranger was another one of those. Given Tate’s current mental state, there was a better than even chance he wouldn’t recognize someone who was holding a grudge against him.

  In that case, there was also a chance the man would double back to Chalk Butte and try to bushwhack the old lawman. It would be easy enough to do in the hotel.

  “Marshal, I was thinking,” The Kid said to Porter. “You’ve got a cot in your office, don’t you?”

  “Sure. Sometimes I have to spend the night there when I have a prisoner who has to be watched.”

  “How would it be if Marshal Tate and I spend the night there tonight?”

  Porter frowned as he puffed on his pipe. He blew out a cloud of smoke and asked, “Why would you want to do that?”

  “I was thinking that fella this afternoon might be somebody with a score to settle with Marshal Tate.”

  “Nonsense,” Tate said. “I never saw that man before in my life, or the one with him, either.”

  “Maybe you just don’t remember them, Marshal.” The Kid tried not to sound too harsh about it.

  “Of course I’d remember somebody who wanted to kill me,” Tate insisted.

  Porter glanced over at The Kid, no doubt recalling their conversation on the porch the previous night. “You’re thinking the marshal’s office would be safer than the hotel.”

  The Kid nodded. “It’s got nice thick stone walls, and nobody would think to look for us there.”

  “Not a bad idea. Probably not necessary, but still not a bad idea.”

  Tate shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “That’s all right, Marshal,” Porter said. “Actually, you’d be doing me a favor if you spent the night at the office. I don’t like leaving it unattended. Somebody needs to be there in case anybody has some trouble to report.”

  “So . . . we’d be like unofficial deputies.”

  “You could say that,” Porter agreed.

  The Kid thought it was a good tactic to try.

  “I don’t mind the sound of that,” Tate said. “You and your daughter have been so kind to us while we’re here, and this would be a way to pay you back a little.”

  “Sure,” Porter said. “It works out best for everybody that way.”

  “All right, fine. We’ll be glad to help out, won’t we, Kid?”

  “Of course.” The Kid gave Porter a grateful nod. “Maybe the marshal could stay here while I go back to the hotel and get some of our things?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “What sounds good?” Holly asked as she came out onto the porch after finishing with the after-dinner chores.

  “Marshal Tate and Mr. Morgan are going to spend the night at the office instead of the hotel,” Porter said, giving her a meaningful look. “You know I don’t like to leave the place empty.”

  “That’s right,” Holly said.

  The Kid thought she looked like she didn’t fully understand, but was willing to play along.

  He picked up his hat from the porch beside the rocking chair where he’d been sitting. He stood up and put it on, saying, “I’ll be back in a little while, as soon as I move a few things down there.”

  “Take your time,” Porter said between puffs on his pipe. “It’s a beautiful evening. The three of us will sit here and enjoy it, won’t we, Marshal?”

  “That we will,” said Tate.

  “Maybe I’d better come with you, Mr. Morgan,” Holly suggested. “After all, the office is locked up, and you’ll need somebody to let you in.”

  “I could give you the key—” Porter began, but he stopped when his daughter shot a sharp glance in his direction. After a second he continued. “Yeah, I guess it’d be better if an official deputy went along.”

  “Anyway, I don’t particularly want to sit around listening to you two old war horses swapping stories,” she said.

  “Fine. Go along, both of you,” Porter said with a grin.

  As they walked along the street toward the hotel, Holly said, “I hope you don’t mind me volunteering to accompany you like that, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Call me Kid,” he suggested, “and a man would have to be a fool to object to spending time with you, Miss Porter. Or would you rather I call you Deputy Porter?”

  “I’d rather you call me Holly, Kid.”

  He chuckled. �
�I think I can do that.”

  He didn’t have any interest in starting a romance with Holly Porter. For one thing, he had shied clear of such things for the most part since his wife’s death, and for another, he and Tate would be moving on in another day or two, continuing their journey to Wichita. There wasn’t time for anything serious to develop, and The Kid wasn’t the sort of man to trifle with a woman’s affections. Conrad Browning might have been, but those days were long past.

  However, he didn’t see anything wrong with enjoying Holly’s company. She was certainly a pleasant companion.

  When they reached the hotel, The Kid went up to the rooms he’d rented for himself and Tate. Since the rooms were already paid for, he didn’t gather up all their gear, just what they would need for the night. When he went downstairs, Holly was waiting for him in the lobby.

  “Why don’t you tell me the truth, Kid?” she said as they walked toward the marshal’s office. “You’re doing this because you think there might be some trouble.”

  “Marshal Tate made a lot of enemies in his time. We ran into some of them back up the trail. I didn’t like the way one of those strangers was eyeing us this afternoon.”

  “You think he’s got a score to settle with the marshal?”

  “Could be.”

  “And that hotel’s a cracker box,” Holly mused. “Anybody could get in there without much trouble and start shooting.”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  “Yeah, you’ll be safer in the jail. And nobody would think to look for you there.”

  They reached the squat building that housed the marshal’s office and jail. Holly unlocked the front door and led the way inside. She scraped a match to life and lit the lamp on the desk.

  “There’s a cot in the back room, and the sofa out here,” she said. “It’s not too uncomfortable if you watch out for the broken spring.”

  The Kid smiled, “I’ll remember that.” He dropped the gear on the sofa.

  As he did so, she moved closer to him, and something stirred inside him. He had a feeling she wasn’t looking for anything serious any more than he was, but he also had the distinct impression she was thinking about kissing him.