Ralph Compton Brother's Keeper

by Ralph Compton

  Only then did it dawn on Ursula that it might come to that. She kept expecting the drunks to come to their senses and leave. Instead the pair sidled apart, and the amused glitter in their eyes became angry gleams.

  “You’d best tuck tail while you can, boy,” Kincaid said flatly.

  “If you don’t,” Jack said, “there will be a new grave on Boot Hill come mornin’.”

  “No,” Jesse Lee said. “There will be two.”

  “He’s so young,” Kincaid said to Jack, “we should pound him with our fists.”

  “You heard him,” Jack said. “He wants to be treated like a full-growed man. Fine. We’ll treat him like one and shoot him like we would anybody else.”

  “Show me how dumb you are,” Jesse Lee said. “Either of you.”

  “Don’t kill them, Jesse.” Ursula anxiously broke her silence. “For my sake if for no other.”

  “Ain’t she cute?” Jack said to Kincaid. “She thinks he stands a chance.”

  “Do you want to learn him to mind his betters, or should I?” Kincaid asked. His right hand was close to the revolver under his belt.

  “You did the last one,” Jack said. “Let me do this pup.”

  “Be my guest,” Kincaid said, grinning. He gestured at Jesse Lee. “He’ll be easy as sin.”

  “I think so too,” Jack said, and grabbed for his six-shooter.

  Jesse Lee drew. His hand flashed and his Colt boomed, and Jack was jarred back a step. Crying out, he clutched at his shoulder and gaped at the wound.

  “Why, he done shot you,” Kincaid said.

  Jack tried to talk, but no sounds came out.

  “We can’t let that pass,” Kincaid said. “Folks will think we’re weak sisters. I’ll have to do him my own self.”

  “Do this,” Jesse Lee said, and springing, he slammed his Colt against the bigger man’s temple. Kincaid, caught flat-footed, staggered and clutched at his six-gun. Jesse Lee went after him, pistol-whipping him again and again and again. About the seventh or eighth thud, Kincaid’s knees buckled. Another blow, and Kincaid’s legs gave out; he collapsed with a loud groan.

  Ursula had never seen Jesse look so fierce. For a few seconds she thought he would shoot them. His whole body quivered with a cold rage. Instead he violently wiped his barrel on his pant leg, then twirled his Colt and shoved it into his holster.

  “There,” he snapped at her.

  “What. . . . ?” Ursula said, and realized he’d done as she’d asked and hadn’t killed them. For her. Just for her.

  “Pick up your pard and scat,” Jesse Lee said to Jack.

  “My shoulder’s hurt.”

  “So will a lot more if you don’t get out of my sight.”

  “Kid, you’ve got a lot of bark on you.”

  “Call me that one more time. I dare you.”

  Something in Jesse Lee tone galvanized Jack into stooping and sliding his good arm under Kincaid. He had to strain to lift him, and went on straining as he plodded away with his burden.

  “Mister, that was something,” a townsman said, addressing Jesse.

  Others nodded in appreciation.

  “It was nothin’,” Jesse Lee said. Angrily taking Ursula’s arm, he headed up the street, people parting to give him a wide berth.

  “You were wonderful, how you handled that,” Ursula praised him.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?”

  Jesse Lee stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “You tied rope around my wrists and act like it’s nothin’?”

  “I did no such thing,” Ursula said in astonishment.

  “‘Don’t kill them,’ you told me,” Jesse Lee repeated. “You might as well have tied my hands. You made it plumb easy for them to put windows in our skulls, and then where would we be?”

  “You’re making more out of it than there is.”

  “More out of you,” Jesse Lee said. He resumed walking, moving so fast she had to take two steps to each of his.

  “Slow down, will you, so we can talk this out?”

  “Not here,” Jesse Lee said. “I won’t be a spectacle.”

  Ursula was aware of dozens of pale faces awash in the light from windows and lamps. Unaccustomed to being the center of so much attention, she bowed her own face in embarrassment.

  Jesse Lee turned into a side street and slowed. Not as brightly lit, it was quiet enough to hear their own footsteps. He came to a closed butcher shop and pulled her into a recessed doorway. “This will do.”

  They were so close Ursula felt his breath on her cheek. She had to cough to say, “I’m sorry if I upset you back there.”

  “You cut me off at the knees, askin’ what you did.”

  “I was worried.”

  “So you made it easier for them to buck me out in gore? That makes no kind of sense.”

  “Explain to me how I did that. I must have missed that part.”

  “You hampered me,” Jesse Lee said, his voice crackling. “They were out to shoot me and you made me fight with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “All I did was ask you to let them live. How is that hampering?”

  “Don’t you see?” Jesse Lee said. “You made it so I couldn’t just draw and shoot them dead. I had to choose where to put my lead so they’d live. It slowed me. And it left them able to gun me down.” He paused. “If there’s one thing I learned from my pa, it’s to never wound an animal or a man. The wounded ones are always more dangerous.”

  Ursula had heard something to that effect, but she still wasn’t convinced she had done wrong. “I had every confidence in you. From what Thal told me, you’re almost as good a shootist as Wild Bill.”

  “No one is in his class,” Jesse Lee said. “And that’s not the point. The best pistoleer can have holes blown in him if he goes into a shootin’ affray with his hands tied.”

  “There you go again. But you did fine, despite me.” Ursula sniffed. “You ask me, I have an apology coming.”

  Jesse Lee tapped his belt buckle. “Do you want me to take this off, is that it? Do you want me to give up wearin’ a six-shooter for the rest of my born days?”

  Ursula felt he was exaggerating again. “No, I don’t. But would it be so bad if you did? Hardly anyone in Salina goes around wearing a sidearm.”

  “Deadwood ain’t a farmin’ town. Every killer in the territory is in these hills, and a lot of them are right here.”

  “What if I promise to never do anything like that ever again?” Ursula sought to end their spat. “Will you forgive me so we can go do something fun?”

  “You just don’t see,” Jesse Lee said.

  “Must we talk about it now? The night’s still young. I don’t have to be back at Mrs. Peal’s for an hour yet.”

  “Sure,” Jesse Lee said without much enthusiasm. He made for Main Street, his face mired in shadow.

  Worried, Ursula asked, “What’s going through that head of yours? Please. I’d very much like to know.”

  “I’m thinkin’,” Jesse Lee said, “that this won’t work.”

  “What won’t?”

  “You and me.”

  Ursula was both elated and devastated. Elated, because this was the first time he’d hinted that there was a him and her. And devastated because he was having second thoughts. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I never meant anything more,” Jesse Lee said.

  Chapter 21

  Thal was taken aback by the man’s size. He didn’t reply but waited for the bearded giant to move aside.

  “Who are you and what are you doin’ here, mister?” the giant demanded.

  “We’re goin’ into the saloon,” Thal informed him.

  “You’re not goin’ anywhere just yet.” The man puffed out his already enormous chest. “I’m Bull.”

 
; “So?” Thal said.

  “I’m one of Mr. Galt’s special deputies,” Bull said as if he were making a grand announcement.

  “I don’t see no badge,” Ned said, stepping to Thal’s side.

  “Me neither,” Crawford chimed in, moving to Thal’s other side. “And law dogs always tote tin.”

  “Not here, they don’t,” Bull said. “Mr. Galt says it’s so we don’t stand out and can mingle better.” He jabbed a thick finger at them. “Now answer my damn question. You’re new in town, and Mr. Galt likes to know about newcomers.”

  “You mention him a lot,” Thal said.

  “He runs things,” Bull said. “Lock, stock, and barrel.” As an afterthought he added, “Mr. Galt is the mayor and gets to do as he pleases.”

  “We’ve heard he’s the mayor,” Crawford said. “But that there wasn’t an election.”

  “Who needs one?” Bull said. “Mr. Galt just sort of made himself the mayor and that was that. Now back to you. Those hats and those clothes and those spurs. You’re cowpokes, by God. Am I right?”

  “You are,” Thal acknowledged, wondering where this was leading.

  Bull bobbed his bristly beard. “Thought so. We don’t see a lot of punchers hereabouts. I used to live in New Mexico and saw them all the time.”

  “You’re a long way from there,” Thal said.

  “Came for the gold, like everybody else,” Bull said. “Then I killed a man and met Mr. Galt and he hired me. That’s how he picks who works for him. They have to be killers.”

  Thal thought of his brother. “All of you deputies have killed your man?”

  The beard bobbed again. “Mr. Galt says he knows he can count on us not to flinch when push comes to shove. He talks like that. He also says no one is to be bothered in what he calls their pursuits of sin. Isn’t that a pretty way of puttin’ it?”

  Thal wondered if the giant was all right in the head. He hedged by saying, “If you say so.”

  “I don’t say it. Mr. Galt does.” Bull put his hands on his hips. “So let me welcome you. You might have heard that anything goes . . .”

  “We read the sign,” Crawford said.

  “—and it means what is writ. Anything does go, so long as you don’t cause so much trouble that Mr. Galt has to get involved. If that happens, he brings the eight of us special deputies with him and we settle matters, permanent.”

  “When you say ‘anything,’” Ned said, “what exactly does that mean?”

  “It means anything,” Bull said, looking at Ned as if he were a dunce. “Drink all you want, whore all you want, gamble all you want. Robbin’ and killin’ we allow too, so long as you don’t get carried away.”

  “Hold on,” Crawford said. “It’s legal to take somebody’s poke? Or to kill someone?”

  “Take all the pokes you want if you think you can get away with it. As for the killin’, it can’t be willy-nilly.”

  “How do we tell the difference?” Ned said.

  “You’re slow, ain’t you?” Bull said, smirking. “If someone tries to take your poke and you kill him, that’s fine by Mr. Galt. But if you start shootin’ at everybody you see, that won’t do, and we’ll bury you faster than you can spit.”

  “Why, this town is wide-open,” Crawford said.

  “Ain’t it, though?” Bull gazed happily about them. “It’s the most openest town there ever was, and it’s all thanks to Mr. Galt.” He turned to go. “Have a good time, gents.”

  “Wait,” Thal said. “I’m lookin’ for my brother. Maybe you’ve heard of him. We were told he goes by the handle of Shotgun Christie.”

  “Shotgun is your brother?” Bull said, and surprised Thal by bursting out in laughter and clapping him on the arm. “Don’t that beat all? Him and me are friends.”

  “You are?”

  “He’s a special deputy too, just like me,” Bull said. “Wait until he hears you’re here. I didn’t even know he had a brother.”

  “Where could I find him?” Thal asked.

  Bull motioned at the thronged street. “He could be anywhere. Us deputies move around a lot.” He scratched his beard, and his eyebrows puckered. “Tell you what. Stay right here in this saloon. I’ll mosey around and try to get word to him. Let him know where to find you.”

  “I’m obliged.”

  “Your brother saved my bacon once. I owe him.”

  “Saved it how?”

  “A drunk got mad and stabbed a few people. He was wavin’ an Arkansas toothpick around and threatenin’ to stab more when I got there. I made him drop the knife by breakin’ his arm. He had a partner I didn’t know about, and the no-account was goin’ to shoot me in the back when your brother blew his head clean off.”

  “My brother did?” Thal said.

  “Us special deputies look out for each other,” Bull said. “Watch each other’s back.”

  “My brother is a killer.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? He did it to save my life. All those he’s killed except the first were in the line of his work.”

  Thal felt a strange sort of emptiness inside. Myles had always had a restless streak, but he’d never shown the least inclination to hurt another human being. “His first?” he repeated.

  “A miner assaulted a gal over to the Lace House. Broke her nose, and was poundin’ on her when Myles told him to stop. The miner drew a six-shooter, and your brother cut loose on him with both barrels.”

  Thal remembered how gentle his brother had been, growing up. Like the time Myles nursed a kitten that had lost its mother. And another instance when Myles took a shine to a calf and treated it like his pet.

  “Have a good time, gents,” Bull was saying. “Wish me luck findin’ him.” He smiled and lumbered away.

  “I ain’t ever heard the like,” Crawford said.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into?” Ned said.

  Thal was awash in more childhood memories. Of Myles and him, collecting butterflies in nets their ma made. Of the two of them at their favorite fishing hole. Of catching tadpoles with their hands. Growing up together had been fun. Simple. Peaceful.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Ned said.

  “This is no place for an honest cowpoke,” Crawford remarked.

  “We stick together and we’ll be all right,” Thal said.

  Another shot sounded down the street, and a man screamed his death wail.

  “You sure about that?” Crawford said.

  “They named this town wrong,” Ned said. “It shouldn’t be called American City. It should be Hell on Earth.”

  Thal entered the Devil’s Due. The place was packed. It was elbow to elbow at the bar. Poker, faro, and roulette were being played. Liquor flowed like water, and cigar smoke hung thick below the rafters.

  “There’s somethin’ different,” Crawford said.

  “A saloon is a saloon,” Ned said.

  “No. Look closer.”

  Thal had noticed too. The babble of voices was louder than usual, the laughter more shrill. The faces were harder too, many aglow with greed or lust. It was an assembly of two-legged wolves out to howl, indulging in every vice known to man. He shuddered slightly, and was annoyed at himself.

  “I miss Texas,” Ned said.

  Hooking his thumb close to his revolver, Thal shouldered toward the bar. The looks he was given weren’t exactly friendly. Not until a vision in pink blocked his way, with golden curls cascading past her shoulders.

  “Hold on there, handsome. Lookin’ for a good time?”

  The woman had too much rouge on her cheeks. Her eyelids were colored blue. She reeked of whiskey, not perfume, and her dress had seen a lot of wear but not nearly as much as she had.

  “We’re just here to drink,” Thal said.

  “Nonsense.” She giggled and ran a finger over his ear. “For five dollars I�
��ll take you to the moon and back.” She plucked at his shirt. “Buy me a drink first, and then we’ll have us some fun.”

  “No, thanks, lady,” Thal said.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she said, sounding hurt. “Ain’t I good enough? Ask anyone and they’ll tell you that Sagebrush Sally gives you your money’s worth.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Thal said patiently, “but I’m here to wait for my brother. Nothin’ more.”

  “Fine, then,” Sally said grumpily. “It’s your loss.” Tilting her nose in the air, she sashayed off.

  “Pushy dove,” Ned said, chuckling. “You’re lucky she didn’t rip your clothes off right there.”

  Thal wasn’t as amused. He spied an open space at the far end of the bar and made for it before someone else did. Two bartenders were filling glasses as fast as they could, and were hard pressed to keep up. Thal had to shout twice to get the attention of the nearest. The whiskey, when it came, had been watered.

  “I’d have to drink ten gallons of this to get drunk,” Ned griped after taking a gulp.

  “It’s probably for the best,” Crawford said. “We need our wits about us.”

  Thal agreed. American City was the last place in the world to become booze-blind. They were liable to wake up with their pokes gone, if they woke up at all.

  “What do you make of your brother bein’ a killer?” Ned asked.

  “You would bring that up.”

  “I’m here with you, ain’t I?” Ned replied. “It affects me as much as it does you. Will your brother be friendly or not?”

  “He should,” Thal said. Although, now that he thought about it, it had been years since he saw Myles last, and apparently his brother had changed a lot in that time. An awful lot.

  “It’s too bad Jesse Lee ain’t here,” Crawford said. “We’re in a nest of sidewinders, and he’s good at stompin’ snakes.”

  “At least Thal’s sis is safe,” Ned said.

  An altercation broke out over at the roulette wheel. There was pushing and shoving and a lot of cursing, but the hotheads were prevailed on to calm down.

  Down the bar, a drinker jostled another, by accident, spilling his drink. A knife was flourished and threats uttered, and the first man offered to pay for a refill.