Ralph Compton Brother's Keeper

by Ralph Compton

  “Quit being so logical,” Ursula said, and held his hand where the others couldn’t see. “It’s you that matters now. I care about Myles, sure, but I care about you more.”

  “I’m yours and you’re mine,” Jesse Lee said.

  “Forever,” Ursula said. She stared over his shoulder at Ned and the strangers. “I suppose I better go. Thalis and Myles will hold it against me if I don’t. But you’re to be by me the whole way. We don’t go anywhere without each other from now on.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Ursula grinned, then sobered. “One thing, though. I want Thalis and Myles to hear about your proposal from me. Not from Ned or anyone else. Let’s keep it our secret until we get to American City.”

  “Fine by me,” Jesse Lee said, “but I’d love to kiss you right now.”

  “I’d love to let you.” Ursula laughed, and released his hand. She saw that both Jesse Lee’s palomino and her sorrel had been saddled and were waiting. “You got ready to go before you even talked to me?”

  “I reckoned you’d want them, them bein’ your brothers, and all.”

  “Let me go collect my things. Tell Ned I’ll be out in about ten minutes.”

  Mrs. Peal took the news with a scowl. “American City, you say? That den of iniquity is no place for a young girl like you. If your brothers had any sense, they would have come here.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Ursula assured her. “Thal and Myles are there, and Jesse Lee will always be by my side.”

  “Still,” Mrs. Peal said, “don’t stay any longer than you absolutely must. Be shed of that vile pit as soon as you can.”

  “I intend to.”

  Ursula gave the older lady a hug and departed.

  “There you are,” Ned said, beaming, as she approached. “Give me that bag and I’ll tie it on for you.”

  “Jesse Lee will do it,” Ursula said. She wanted to show where her loyalties lay so there would be no misunderstandings. “Who are these other gents?”

  Disappointed, Ned turned. “They’re special deputies. They work for Trevor Galt, the man who runs American City. The big one is called Bull, the Mexican feller is Mateo, and that broom handle is named Rafer.”

  Ursula didn’t like the looks of any of them. Bull had beady eyes, and could use a washing. Mateo had hungry eyes, and not for food. Rafer had bloodshot eyes, and sores on his face.

  “So you’re their sister,” Bull said.

  Mateo took off his brown sombrero and bowed. “It is my pleasure to meet you, señorita.” He wore a pearl-handled Remington on his left hip, rigged for a cross draw. “Eres muy bonita.”

  Ursula didn’t know what that meant.

  Rafer nodded at her while scratching one of his sores.

  “Let’s be on our way,” Ned said.

  Reluctantly Ursula climbed onto the sorrel. She almost changed her mind. She didn’t want to go, not at all. But she imagined Thalis and Myles, waiting for her, and with a fond glance at the boardinghouse, she gigged her mount.

  Jesse Lee immediately swung his palomino in next to her. He rode with his right hand on his hip, close to his Colt.

  Ursula consoled herself with the thought that they could have some long talks along the way. Then Ned brought his roan up on her other side.

  “Ain’t this somethin’? Together again.”

  To change the subject, Ursula said, “Tell me about American City and how you found Myles.”

  The recital was a long one. Ned was trying to impress her, she suspected. She didn’t like the part about their near encounter with the Sioux, and she liked even less the incident at the saloon.

  “Myles shot those two men dead? My own brother?”

  “They don’t call him Shotgun for nothin’,” Ned said. “Those two weren’t his first neither.”

  “I remember when he was ten and caught a fly and let it go rather than squash it,” Ursula said.

  “Your brother Myles has changed,” Ned said. “Thal said so his own self.”

  A sense of dread came over her and, try as Ursula might, she couldn’t shake it. She was glad Jesse Lee was there. She could rely on him if things became ugly. On him and his ivory-handled Colt.

  She only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  * * *

  “You keep that up,” Crawford said from where he lounged in a chair, reading a newspaper, “you’re goin’ to wear a hole in the floor.”

  Thal had been pacing since they got back from supper. He had a lot to ponder, and he did his best pondering when he walked. “It’s been three days. They’ll be here any time now.”

  “You regret sendin’ for her, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Thal admitted. “I was so glad to see my brother again I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

  “She should be fine,” Crawford said. “She has you and him and the rest of us.”

  Thal went to the window. He wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t share the older puncher’s confidence. Not after what he’d seen of American City. To call it lawless didn’t do it justice. Deadwood was lawless. American City was a vile pit. Every vice was encouraged. Every lust was met.

  The sign at the edge of town had read ANYTHING GOES, and anything did. It was as if all the worst hard cases in the world had gathered in one place, and were free to do as they pleased. If the love of money was the root of all evil, then American City wasn’t just a root, it was the whole tree.

  Yes, Thal reckoned, “pit” was as good a description as any. He recalled hearing a pastor once warn of the dangers of the Pit down below. American City was the pit up above.

  When Thal had sent Ned to fetch Ursula, he’d been under the impression things weren’t as bad as everyone had said. He was wrong.

  Hell had its Satan, and American City had Trevor Galt. He called himself the mayor, but he was much more. Galt lorded it over all he surveyed. His special deputies lent the illusion that American City had law and order, when in fact they were to maintain disorder.

  Thal began to see the light the morning after Ned left for Deadwood. He’d been wakened not much after dawn by a knock on his door to find Myles dressed and holding his scattergun. “A little early for breakfast, ain’t it?” Thal had said. “I was hopin’ to sleep in a little longer.”

  “Mr. Galt doesn’t like to let grass grow under him,” Myles replied. “He wants to pay Tweed a visit and he’d like for you to be there.”

  “The man who wrote to Ursula?”

  “The very same. Get dressed. Mr. Galt doesn’t like to be kept waitin’ either.”

  Befuddled from lack of sleep, Thal did as his brother wanted.

  Trevor Galt was in the lobby, along with a couple more special deputies. One was a small, muscular man called Tiny who wore two revolvers, strapped low. The other answered to the name Olivant, and had a shock of corn-colored hair, along with a drooping mustache. Olivant favored a Remington in a shoulder holster.

  “There you are,” Trevor Galt said, rising from a chair. He was as immaculately dressed as the night before. A derby crowned his head, and he carried a cane with a snake’s-head handle.

  “Hope I didn’t keep you waitin’,” Thal said.

  “Not overly long,” Galt said. “Has your brother explained where we’re going?”

  “Yes, but not why,” Thal said.

  “I want you there to corroborate me, should the need arise.” Twirling his cane, Galt sauntered out into the growing light of the new day. He inhaled and smiled. “I do so like mornings. Starting each day fresh, with a wealth of opportunities.”

  “If you say so.” Thal was partial to sunsets.

  “You’re not very vigorous early in the day, are you?” Galt said. “But no matter. Come along.”

  Taking it for granted Thal would follow, Galt headed down the street. Tiny and Olivant flanked him
, and Myles came behind.

  Thal caught up to his brother. “How are you feelin’ after last night?”

  “Fine.” Myles was watching doorways and windows, his thumb on the hammers of his scattergun.

  “You were able to sleep? Those killin’s didn’t bother you any?”

  “I’ve never lost sleep over a shootin’,” Myles said. “What’s the use? It’s no different than stompin’ a snake. You do it and you forget about it.”

  Two blocks down stood a building with a banner. Thal struggled to make sense of it and finally asked Myles to read it to him.

  “‘The American City Journal. Published twice weekly. Reasonable advertising rates. Abraham Tweed, Owner and General Manager.’”

  Trevor Galt knocked with his cane. He let a few seconds go by and knocked again, louder.

  “Maybe he’s not up yet, Mr. Galt,” Olivant said.

  “Then we will rouse him, or you will kick down this door.”

  Thal wondered what the newspaperman had done to rile Galt so. It must be something serious, he figured.

  Galt knocked again, striking the door so hard it shook in its hinges. “I do so hate to be kept waiting.”

  Thal thought of how long he’d kept Galt waiting in the lobby.

  “Hold on, hold on,” someone within shouted. “I’m coming, consarn you.”

  Galt stepped aside and nodded at Myles, who took his place with the scattergun leveled.

  “What are you doin”?” Thal asked in alarm.

  “Mr. Tweed,” Trevor Galt said, “is in for a surprise.”

  Chapter 27

  The man who answered the door was in his fifties, if not older. His brown hair was streaked with gray, as was his thin mustache. His shirt and pants were rumpled, as if he’d slept in them or couldn’t be bothered to have them ironed. Thick spectacles were perched on the tip of his nose. They had the effect of making his eyes seem larger than they were, so when they widened in surprise, it made him look like a two-legged owl.

  “Mr. Galt!”

  “Abraham,” Galt said, and when the newspaperman continued to stare, he snapped, “Are you going to stand there with your mouth hanging open or let me in?”

  “Of course,” Tweed said, and stepped aside. A flicker of fear crossed his face as the special deputies filed in after Galt.

  Thal smiled and nodded, but Tweed didn’t respond. He wondered if Tweed thought he was another deputy.

  Over beyond a railed-off area stood the printing press. Thal had never seen one before. It was bigger than he’d have imagined, and looked complicated to operate. Nearby it was a desk where letters were being sorted. “That’s some contraption you’ve got there, Mr. Tweed.”

  The newspaperman was staring worriedly at Trevor Galt. “It’s a Victory-Kidder rotary press,” he said absently.

  Galt held his cane with the snake’s head on his shoulder and gave the printing press a look that suggested he’d like to take the cane to it and bust it to pieces. “Permit me to introduce Mr. Christie. Thalis Christie. Does his name ring a bell?”

  “No,” Tweed said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “I should think it would,” Galt said. “Given that you wrote to his sister.”

  “I did?” Tweed seemed truly confused.

  “You’ve forgotten? But don’t take my word for it.” Galt pointed his cane at Thal. “Relate the circumstances as you told them to me, Mr. Christie, if you would be so kind.”

  Thal told how Ursula had written to Myles, care of American City’s marshal’s office, and about the letter she’d received from Tweed.

  “Now do you remember?” Galt said.

  “Oh, that.” Tweed nodded. “I did the young lady a favor. She was worried about her brother.”

  “How considerate of you,” Galt said sourly. “But I’m a bit puzzled by something, and I’d like you to clear it up for me.”

  “Certainly,” Tweed said. “I’m always happy to help you in any way I can.”

  “How kind of you,” Galt said. Stepping over to the newspaperman, he lightly touched the tip of his cane to Tweed’s chest. “Let’s start with how you ended up with the letter. It was addressed to the marshal, was it not?”

  “We don’t have a marshal. We only have your special deputies.” Tweed flicked Myles, Olivant, and Tiny a nervous glance.

  “You’re missing my point, Abraham,” Galt said. “How is it that you ended up with her letter?”

  “Oh. The postmaster gave it to me.”

  “Mr. Edgerton? Why should he do a thing like that?”

  Tweed’s face twitched. “I often answer general inquiries about the town.”

  “Do you, now?” Galt arched an eyebrow. “This is news to me. How long has it been going on?”

  “Since shortly after I arrived,” Tweed said. “Someone has to answer general inquiries, don’t they? And since I run the only newspaper—”

  “You assumed it might as well be you.”

  “Well, yes,” Tweed said. “I mean, why should you have to bother with something so trivial?”

  “Suppose I decide what’s trivial and what isn’t?” Galt hefted his cane as if he were contemplating using it. “How many general delivery letters have you answered?”

  “Not more than a dozen,” Tweed said. “We don’t receive all that many.”

  “How fortunate for you.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It seems to me,” Galt said slowly, “that Mr. Edgerton and you have taken over a responsibility which wasn’t yours to take. I’m the head of our city government. By rights, all correspondence addressed to any office in the city should go through me.”

  “Every single one?”

  “Must I repeat myself?”

  “No,” Tweed said quickly. “I apologize for overstepping. We didn’t think we were doing any wrong.”

  “I’m not pleased, Abraham,” Galt said.

  “Please,” Tweed said. “I answered Mr. Christie’s sister out of kindness, nothing more.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Galt said. “Which brings me to my second puzzlement.”

  “You have another?” Tweed said bleakly.

  “It strikes me as strange that you didn’t pass her letter on to Myles here. He’s the one she was worried about.”

  Myles had been glaring at the newspaperman the whole while, and now he moved closer and pointed his scattergun. “I don’t like that you didn’t give me her letter, mister. I don’t like it even a little bit.”

  “Now, hold on,” Tweed said, his voice quavering. “You were laid up. You’d been shot, remember?”

  “I’m not likely to forget a thing like that.”

  Galt glanced at Myles. “He doesn’t seem to comprehend. Perhaps words aren’t enough. Why don’t you show Mr. Tweed exactly how you feel?”

  Before Thal could think to stop him, Myles rammed the scattergun’s twin muzzles into the newspaperman’s stomach. Tweed cried out, doubled over, and clutched himself.

  “Myles, no,” Thal said.

  Ignoring him, Myles raised the scattergun as if to club Tweed over the head. Instantly Thal sprang and grabbed his brother’s arm.

  “No! What do you think you’re doin’?”

  Myles went rigid with resentment. “Let go of me.”

  “He did you a favor and you beat on him?” Thal said.

  “I won’t tell you twice.”

  Thal released his hold but was set to grab Myles again if he had to. “Sis and me wouldn’t be here if not for this gent. You owe him your thanks. Not to treat him like this.”

  Trevor Galt appeared amused. “That’s all right, Myles. You’ve made your point. As for you, Thalis, it would be wise if you don’t meddle in matters which you don’t fully understand.” Galt turned to Tweed, who was gasping and grimacing in pain. “Which brings us to y
ou. I’ll have a talk with the postmaster. Effectively immediately, all general delivery letters are to be forwarded to my office and not to the newspaper. Am I clear?”

  Tweed nodded.

  “Have I mentioned how fortunate you are? Because, to be honest,” Galt said, cupping Tweed’s chin, “I suspect there’s more involved here. I’m well aware of your sentiments toward me. You feel I’ve usurped power, as it were, and don’t agree with my methods. Is that not so?”

  “Please. All I do is run the newspaper.”

  Galt let go and stepped back. “And you can go on doing so provided you don’t meddle in matters that don’t concern you.” He paused. “Take that editorial you wrote a while ago. About the need to hold elections.”

  “All towns have them,” Tweed gasped.

  “And American City will, eventually,” Galt said. “When I decide the time is right. Until then, it’s up to me to wrest order from the chaos.”

  “A chaos you encourage.”

  Galt frowned. “I encourage a certain laxity, yes. But I do so in the town’s best interests. We’re the most remote town in the Black Hills. No one would come here without incentive to do so. All our saloons and the ladies I’ve brought in? They are as big a lure as gold, if not more so.”

  “Some would say they bring in the wrong element.”

  “Wrong in whose eyes? Yours? If you don’t like how American City is run, you’d be well advised to set up shop somewhere else.”

  “I like it here,” Tweed said. “I think this town has great potential.”

  “Finally something we agree on,” Trevor Galt said, and made a tsk-tsk sound. “I must say, Abraham, I’m disappointed in you. But I’m also optimistic that the two of us can come to a meeting of the minds and work together to make our dream for American City come true.”

  “I very much doubt your dream is the same as mine.”

  “There you go again. Don’t force me to pay you another visit, Abraham. The next time will be the last, if you catch my drift.” Galt started to turn. “Oh. And if word of our little talk should get out, I’ll know who’s to blame, and that next visit will come sooner rather than later.” He smiled and sauntered from the premises.