Jurisdiction

by Ralph Cotton

  Ronald Andrews froze in place, the gray’s reins dangling from one of his raised hands. “You’re the Indian, ain’t you?”

  Willie John snatched the reins from his hand and nudged him sharply with his pistol barrel. “Don’t worry about who I am. Get in that stall. Hurry up!”

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” Ronald Andrews said matter-of-factly. “You don’t want to bring that Ranger running, do you?”

  Willie John didn’t answer. “Is that posse still here?”

  “Nope, you just missed them,” said Andrews. Willie was amazed at this man’s calm, unshaken manner. “The Ranger threw them quite a going-away party, though. You might’ve gotten a kick out of it.”

  “I saw the last of them leaving,” said Willie John. He lifted the pistol from Ronald Andrews’s holster as they stepped inside the empty stall. Owing to the unusually placid manner of the man, Willie John asked, “What’s your name, blacksmith?”

  “Andrews,” was all Ronald Andrews said, reluctantly.

  “Andrews, huh?” Willie John reached around Andrews and ran his free hand across his belt, checking for any more pistols. “That’s not always been your name though, has it? You haven’t always lived here, have you?”

  “What’s it to you what my name’s always been . . . or where I’ve lived, or how?” There was no fear in Ronald Andrews’s voice.

  “All right,” Willie chuckled, “I see through you, Andrews. You’ve done some long-riding in your time.”

  Andrews fell silent for a second, then said, “I was a no-good sonuvabitch like you half my life. But I straightened up, been upright ever since. You need to kill me? Go on with it. I ain’t built to beg.”

  “I ain’t going to kill you, Andrews . . . not unless you make me do it.” Willie John kept the pistol jammed into his back, but he did ease his finger off the trigger. “Tell me what’s happened to that boy?”

  “You mean Billy Odle? Nothing, yet. Fuller’s men wanted to eat him for breakfast, but the Ranger stopped him. Why? What’s your big interest in that kid?”

  “Never mind my interest,” Willie snapped, nudging the barrel when it appeared Ronald Andrews might turn his head facing him.

  “You don’t have to poke me with that damned pistol,” Andrews said. “Keep doing it, and we’ll go out of here locked at the horns like mountain rams. You want to know about Billy, I’ll tell you, but no more back-poking. It shortens my temper.”

  “Good enough,” said Willie, easing his grip a little more. “I feel sorry for that kid. He’s young and stupid . . . and I worried about him getting in trouble.”

  “You mean for helping you escape?” said Andrews. “Hell yes he got in trouble for it. I rode out and saw what happened to Old Man Renfro. I tried to help him out some—told them no kid Billy’s age could’ve done it. They believed me . . . the Ranger did, anyway. That’s the only one who counted. I figured he’d get a couple of more people on his side, enough to keep Fuller from hanging the boy.” Andrews shook his head. “What the hell did you mean by dragging that kid into all this? Poor little bastard . . . his ma’s a whore, his pa’s a convict. Damned if you didn’t come near getting him stuck with horse theft and murder. What’s wrong with you?”

  Willie John started to offer some sort of excuse, but he realized there was no answer for what this former outlaw had just asked. There wasn’t meant to be. “I did it because I still am what you used to be . . . a no-good son of a bitch,” said Willie John. He let down the hammer with his thumb as quietly. But still Ronald Andrews heard it.

  “So the Ranger kept them from lynching the kid? Maybe he ain’t such a devil after all,” said Willie John.

  “Oh, the Ranger’s a devil all right, depending which side of hell you live on. Make no mistake about that. He’s out to kill you graveyard dead.”

  “I’m not worried about who kills me,” said Willie John. “I know somebody’s going to. I’m just putting it off long as I can. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yep, I sure do,” said Ronald Andrews. He let out a breath. “I felt the same way before I gave it up. Toward the last I believe I might have even been wanting somebody to do it, just to get it over with. It’s a sad state when going to hell looks no worse than what you’ve got here.”

  “That’s enough,” said Willie John. “Get over there closer to the wall.”

  “How hard are you going to crack me with that thing? Did I make you mad, blaming you for what happened to the kid? Too damn bad if I did. You asked for it, getting him all excited thinking he’s—”

  “Naw, I’m not mad over any of that,” said Willie John, cutting him off. “If I take it easy on you, will you do what you can for that boy?”

  “It would be easy to lie to you right now, tell you I will, Willie John,” said Andrews. “But the truth is the kid won’t have nothing to do with me . . . or nobody else in this town for that matter.”

  “Because of his ma?” said Willie John.

  “Yep, that’s the whole of it.” Ronald Andrews sounded ashamed. “Hell, I never stopped to think about it, you know? She was selling, I was buying. Never gave any thought the kid might be understanding what was going on. Now I feel awful about it, but it’s done. I can’t change it. All I can do is see my mistake and try to fix it. Can you damn me for that?”

  “Nope, I reckon not.” As Ronald Andrews spoke, Willie John drew back the pistol, ready to knock him cold. But right before he started to swing, he stopped himself and asked, “Tell me something, Andrews, when you gave it up, how’d you go about it?”

  “I just quit one day,” said Andrews. “I was supposed to meet some boys from up at Wind River, getting set to raise some hell down along the border. I spent a week fighting with myself over it. Come the day, I just didn’t show up. I came north, been up here ever since. I just let time and distance swallow me up, so to speak. Whoever I was back then is dead, the way I look at it. Anybody who knows me now, wouldn’t guess I was ever that person.”

  “Has it been worth it?”

  “Worth it? Hell, I don’t know,” said Andrews. “I’ll always miss it . . . taking what I wanted any time I wanted it . . . doing what suited me any time it suited me. You think it’s easy working for blacksmith wages after all that? Worth it? Ha! You try it a while, then you tell me. What you’re really asking is do I think you can do it, give it up and never look back. Well, I can’t answer that for you—nobody can. It’s like asking can you outrun your shadow. I told you I’ll do what I can for the kid if he’ll let me. Now go on, crack me in the head, get it over with. You better make it good, too. I’ve worked too hard at being straight to have somebody here accuse me of helping you escape.”

  Willie John drew back again, this time sending a hard blow to the back of Ronald Andrews’s head. Andrews fell forward and down, against the wall of the barn, then sank to his knees on the straw-covered floor. He swayed back and forth until Willie John reached out with a boot and shoved him forward. “There, Mister Andrews,” Willie said. “You talk too damn much, anyway.”

  Morgan Aglo, Joe Shine, Texas Bob Mackay, and Tack Beechum sat atop their horses three miles outside of town, behind a snow-covered pile of brush along the flatland trail. They watched Willie John ride toward them from the south along the snowy trail, raising a fine white drift of powder in his wake. “What the hell is he doing coming back?” Morgan Aglo asked himself aloud, straightening in his saddle and squinting for a better look at Willie John.

  “If you ask me,” said Joe Shine, “that Injun ain’t acted right since we took up with him.”

  “I didn’t ask you, Joe,” said Morgan. He settled down onto his saddle and waited while Willie John rode the last hundred yards.

  “I don’t like this,” Tack Beechum said, sidling his horse up close to Aglo. “He’s suppose to scout things out and wait for us there, give us some cover when we come out of that bank.”

  “Well, thank you for reminding me, Beechum,” said Morgan Aglo in a sarcastic growl. “I had plumb forgot
ten he was supposed to do any off that.” He gave Beechum a harsh stare and jerked his horse away from him.

  “Maybe somebody spotted him,” said Joe Shine.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Aglo grunted.

  Texas Bob Mackay just sat quietly observing the men from a few feet away.

  When Willie John cut off from the trail and guided his horse over toward them, Morgan Aglo and Joe Shine widened the space between them to allow Willie John in. But Willie John stopped his big dapple-gray short of the men by five feet and turned his horse sideways to them, his right hand resting atop his pistol butt. “What’s wrong, Willie?” Morgan Aglo asked, looking him up and down. “You ain’t supposed to be out here.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” said Willie John, patting the dapple-gray’s withers with his rein hand. Steam blew from the big animal’s nostrils. “I told you I wanted my stallion back . . . and I got him.”

  “Damn it!” said Aglo, “I’m talking about the bank! You was supposed to stay there if everything was all right. What the hell are you doing coming back here unless it’s to warn us something’s wrong?”

  Willie John offered a thin straight smile. “Take it easy, Aglo,” he said. “Everything’s fine in Hubbler Wells. The town’s still there, the bank’s still there. All you four have to do is ride in and rob it.”

  “What about the bounty posse?” Aglo asked.

  “The bounty posse was pulling out as I got there. The town’s a duck in a shooting gallery. I came for my stallion, and that’s all. I scouted the town for you as a favor. When you ride in, get off this trail, swing wide around and come in from the south. Now I’ll take my leave and wish you the—”

  “Huh-uh, I don’t think so,” Tack Beechum cut in. “You rode here with us, you’re staying with us. How do we know the posse really left town?”

  A tense silence set in. Even Willie’s horse seemed to freeze in place at Tack Beechum’s words. Texas Bob caught the hard look on Willie John’s face and whispered, “Jesus.”

  “Easy now, boys,” Morgan Aglo finally said, barely above a whisper. “If Willie says the posse left, that’s good enough for me.” He gave a slow nod toward Tack Beechum, saying to Willie John, “Don’t you mind Beechum here, Willie. He’s just a little over cautious. He wasn’t calling you no liar.”

  “That’s funny,” said Willie John, “I could’ve sworn he did.” His voice was cool and level, but his eyes were ablaze and fixed on Tack Beechum’s.

  “Don’t do me this way, Willie,” Morgan Aglo coaxed, keeping his voice calm and unheated. “One shot out here and we can kiss Hubbler Wells good-bye.” He slowly turned in his saddle and said to Tack Beechum, “Beechum, if Willie says the posse left town, it left town. Do you understand me, man?”

  Beechum was ready to do whatever it took to get things settled with Willie John. “Yes, I understand.” He spoke to Willie John in a level tone, saying, “No offense intended. I spoke out of turn and I apologize for it.”

  Without acknowledging Beechum in any way, Willie John backed the dapple-gray a step at a time until he was ready to turn it away toward the trail. Then he said to all four of them, “Good luck, boys. Maybe I’ll see you in Old Mex.”

  “Whoa, Willie,” said Aglo, “what about the Ranger? Is he going to be there waiting for us?”

  “Not if you do like I told you,” said Willie John, the big stallion stepping high-hoofed and restless beneath him. “Like I said, swing around wide and come in from the south. By the time you get there, the Ranger will be gone.” The stallion reared up and rolled its hooves in the air, then came down at Willie’s command and bolted away.

  Morgan Aglo grinned and watched for a moment. Then he said to the others without turning to them, “Well, boys, you heard him. He’s got it all set it up for us.”

  Chapter 19

  Only a few minutes had passed when Ronald Andrews dragged himself to his feet and stood on shaky legs, steadying himself against a grain bin until he caught his balance. A swirl of confusion clouded his mind. Then everything came back to him as he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Damn it,” he murmured, his hand dropping to his empty holster. He forced himself forward and staggered to the sheriff’s office with a hand pressed to the swollen cut on the back of his head.

  At the sheriff’s office, Carl Yates hurried over and caught Ronald Andrews just in time. Andrews had swung the door open and fell against the frame. “Give me . . . a hand,” he said, his voice sounding like a drunkard’s.

  “God Almighty, Ronald!” Yates looped Andrews’s arm across his shoulder and guided him to a wooden chair. “What the hell has happened to you?”

  As Selectman Collins moved in with Yates and helped get Andrews seated, Bootlip Thomas called out from his cell, “Look, his hand’s bleeding!”

  “No, it’s not.” Ronald Andrews shook his head and slumped forward. Yates and Collins both saw the swollen welt left by the pistol barrel at the same time. “Aw hell,” said Yates. He and Collins looked at one another. “Who did this, Ronald?” Yates asked, leaning down for a closer look.

  “The Indian . . . caught me by surprise,” Ronald Andrews managed to say. “He . . . came back for his horse.”

  “On no!” said Collins. “I better go get the Ranger.” He turned a full circle then asked Yates, “Where did he go?”

  “He went to the hotel,” said Yates. “Him and Tinnie Malone has been getting pretty close, if you know what I mean.”

  Collins winced at the thought of disturbing the Ranger. Then he looked around the office as if noticing for the first time that Billy Odle was gone. “Where’s that crazy Odle kid?” he asked hurriedly.

  “He went to see about his ma,” said Yates, whipping his bandanna from around his neck and shaking it out. “Go get the Ranger, Collins,” he demanded. “And hurry it up! We can’t have that murdering Indian running loose around here. I’ll get some cold water on Ronald’s head and come join you.”

  Andrews snatched the bandanna from Yates’s hand and said, “Don’t worry about my head. Go on with Collins.”

  Once Collins and Carl Yates were out the door, Ronald Andrews pushed himself up from his chair and reached for a pitcher of water sitting near the wood stove. He poured water on the bandanna, then squeezed it and held it to the back of his head. Bootlip Thomas called out from his cell, “Looks like Willie John got you a good one, huh?”

  Ronald Andrews gave him a flat stare, the intensity of it causing Bootlip to take an uncomfortable step back from the bars. “I been waiting for the right time to ask this,” Bootlip said in a hushed tone. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Andrews took a step forward and said in icy reply, “No . . . You’ve never seen me before in your life, mister.”

  There was mettle in Andrews’s words, enough to send Bootlip Thomas another step back. “Oh . . . well, my mistake,” he said, “I meant no harm by it.”

  When the urgent knocking resounded on the hotel room’s wooden door, Sam Burrack grabbed his shirt and his Colt. “Who is it?” he asked, catching a glimpse of Tinnie Malone as she rose quickly from the bed, snatched a sheet around herself and moved to the other side of the room.

  “Ranger Burrack,” Yates called out, “Indian Willie John is back. He busted Ronald Andrews in the head and left him laying in the barn. Ronald said he came back for that dapple-gray of his.”

  The door swung open so fast, Yates and Collins jumped back from it a foot. Sam stood with his shirt unbuttoned and his thumb across the hammer of his Colt. “Where’s the boy?”

  “Billy?” said Carl Yates. “The last I knew, he was coming here to see his ma.” Yates jerked his head toward Hattie Odle’s room down the hall.

  Collins saw the look on Sam’s face and said, “We’ll go get him.”

  “Good,” Sam said with a nod, “I’ll be right with you.” He closed the door slightly, and turned to Tinnie as he stepped over to the chair and picked up his gun belt. “You heard them, I reckon.”

  “Yes, I heard,” she said.
She drew the sheet more securely around her and offered a half-hearted smile. Nodding toward Sam’s feet, she said, “You didn’t even get your boots off.”

  “Next time?” he asked.

  She watched him stuff his shirt into his waist with one hand, his other hand holding his gun belt and pistol. “Sure, next time,” she said.

  When Sam got to Hattie Odle’s room, Collins and Yates were bringing Billy Odle out into the hall. “Ma’s asleep,” Billy said to Collins. “Can’t I wait here and see her when she wakes up?”

  “The Ranger said come and get you, Billy,” said Carl Yates, his hand on the boy’s shoulder as if to keep him from bolting away. Yates saw Sam walking toward them and said to Billy Odle, “Here he comes now.”

  “Did you tell him?” Sam asked.

  “Nope,” said Carl Yates, both he and Collins shaking their heads. “All we said is that you wanted to see him.”

  “Tell me what?” Billy asked looking up at them, his eyes shifting back and forth as they spoke.

  “Willie John came back for his horse,” Sam said to Billy Odle. He saw Billy’s eyes light up, and he added quickly, “I wanted to make sure you were still here, Billy.”

  Billy couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “You think he came here for me? Came back here to take me with him? Maybe he’s looking for me right now.” As he spoke, his eyes darted back and forth along the hall as if Willie John might appear.

  Sam looked at Yates and Collins, then down at Billy Odle. “No, Billy. Willie John got what he came for, so he’s gone now. But, to be honest, I thought you might have seen him and tried to follow him. That would have looked real bad on you, if you had.”