Hard Ride to Wichita

by Ralph Compton

  “You don’t know where to find Granger. I do.”

  “I’ll be able to find him,” Carlo said.

  “Can you do that before he moves on again?”

  “Yeah,” Red added. “And can you do that before he sends more gunmen to hunt you down for swindling him outta his money?”

  “I didn’t swindle anyone!” Carlo said. “That fat man we chased down today spent it on candlesticks and . . . Lord knows what else.”

  “But does Granger know that?” Red asked. “And even if he did, do you think he’d care? You carry yourself like a gunfighter, but you’re hiding out in a horse stall sleeping in a pile of hay. I reckon that means you need to find Granger even worse than we do.”

  “I’ll find him.”

  “And then what?” Luke asked. “Put a gun to his head and convince him to forgive you? Whatever it is you paid Granger to do must have been important or you wouldn’t be so interested in finding him at all.”

  “And it must be expensive too,” Red said. “Judging by all the candlesticks and whatnot your money bought and paid for.”

  “Maybe you’re right about us all having business with Granger,” Carlo admitted. “But I also know I’m right when I say the both of you will get yourselves killed right quick if you keep trying to use those guns of yours.”

  “Then show me what I’m doing wrong,” Luke said. “Tell me how I can better defend myself.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Carlo said, “you’re too eager for it. And you,” he said while looking over to Red. “You’ve got just enough of a temper to be more dangerous to yourself than to anyone else. I’ve got nothing to gain by helping you boys. Nothing but a guilty conscience, that is.”

  “We’re going to meet Granger whether you help or not,” Luke said. “I say we’ve all got something to gain by making the ride together.”

  “Is that a fact?” Carlo asked.

  “Yes, sir. How much money do you owe?”

  “To Granger or everyone in general?”

  “Granger.”

  Placing his hands on his hips and staring at Luke as if he were about to deliver a knockout punch, Carlo said, “Three thousand.”

  Red let out a low whistle.

  “What if I could get that money for you?” Luke asked.

  Shaking his head as if he already knew the answer to his own question, Carlo muttered, “How could you do something like that?”

  “It doesn’t matter how. What if I could? Would that be enough to convince you to ride with us to face Granger together?”

  “That’s the part I’m trying to keep you from, kid.”

  “Stop calling me that,” Luke demanded. “I’m no kid.”

  “I don’t know anything else to call you,” Carlo said. “It ain’t as if you properly introduced yourselves.”

  “I’m Luke Croft and that’s Red.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Carlo said. “And now that we have that out of the way . . . we can part company. Nice meeting you both.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I. The two of you have been lucky so far. If you want to spit in the face of someone like Granger, you’ll need more than luck on your side.”

  “That’s right,” Luke admitted. “Which is why the three of us stand a better chance.”

  “Look, as much as I’d like to keep going round and round about this, I’m pretty sure I’ll have a busy day tomorrow tying to wrangle that shopkeeper again to get a portion of the money he stole. After that . . . well . . . you two don’t need to concern yourselves with after that. Run along now.”

  Spitting a disgusted breath while turning his back to the stall, Red said, “I say we leave this vagrant where he is. We don’t need the stink of him fouling our air anyhow.”

  Although Red was all too willing to leave the stable, Luke stayed behind.

  “What are you waiting for?” Carlo asked. “Don’t you have a tantrum of your own to throw?”

  “I think if you were in our place, you’d be angry too.”

  “Could be.”

  “What sort of thing were you paying Granger for anyway?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I’d like to know what I’m getting into when I face him.”

  “You’re a smart fella,” Carlo said. “The best thing for you to do is not face Granger at all. Even if you think you stand a chance against him, you wouldn’t be facing him alone. And even if you think you could figure out a way to get to him when he is alone, you’d never make it back alive.”

  “I’m not worried about that last part,” Luke said in an icy tone.

  Carlo laughed under his breath while shaking his head. “I know you’ve probably heard this from plenty of others, but I know exactly what you’re thinking. I used to think the same thing, you know.”

  “And what am I thinking?”

  “Well, right at the moment you’re thinking I’m just another sack of wind trying to sound like he knows what he’s talking about.”

  Luke shrugged. “Good guess.”

  “You’re also thinking you’re immortal. Not right at this exact moment perhaps, but it’s in there. Strangely enough, that goes hand in hand with thinking that you’re all settled up with dying.”

  Although Luke had been doing a good job of keeping his poker face intact this far, he couldn’t help twitching when he heard that.

  Carlo nodded to acknowledge that he knew he was on the right track. “Some big part of you thinks it’s seen all there is to see or that you’ve seen so much that you don’t want to see no more. A kid your age—and I’m sorry if that rubs you the wrong way but you are still a kid to me—he gets a notion in his head that he can walk right up to death and tell him to wait until he’s ready. Me? I used to go around tellin’ everyone I wouldn’t live to be any older than my pappy was when he died. Know how old he was?”

  Luke tried to look as though he didn’t care.

  “He was twenty-six,” Carlo said. “I was certain I wouldn’t see one day past that number. The part that makes no sense is that I also thought I was somehow safe until then. That’s why I had no fear of God or man when I took up a knife and swung it at anyone that looked at me cross-eyed. When I was bested by someone who was better with a blade than me, I picked up a gun and put that to work.”

  “Seems like you handled yourself pretty well,” Luke said. “You’re alive and I’d wager you’re older than twenty-six.”

  “Sure. I’m also on the run and sleeping in a horse stall. The only reason I’ve got that much is that I thought harder about another trail to follow because the one I was on led nowhere.”

  “I know what trail I’m on,” Luke said. “Until I get to have a talk with this Captain Granger, there isn’t another one for me.”

  “There’s always another one, Luke.”

  “Do you want to ride with me and Red or not?”

  “I can find Granger on my own,” Carlo said.

  “But you’ll get there quicker if you know where he is.”

  “What sort of help do you think I can offer anyways?”

  “You’re good with a gun,” Luke replied while ticking his answers off on his fingers. “You know Granger better than I do, so you know what we’ll be up against when we get there. And if things take a turn for the worse, it can only help to have more guns on our side.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you to drag your friend into this when you could both wind up dead?”

  “I didn’t drag him anywhere. He does what he pleases.”

  “He’s a good friend. Don’t treat him like he’s got nowhere else to be other than where you need him.”

  “You’re just plumb full of advice,” Luke grumbled.

  “I’ll save my breath, then. To be honest, what
I said wouldn’t have made a dent in me either when I was your age. As far as your offer goes, I’ll pass.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah.”

  Luke started walking away. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at Stormy’s for another day.”

  “Don’t worry, kid. I won’t change a thing.”

  Chapter 16

  Bright and early the next morning, Carlo was up and brushing the stray pieces of hay from his shoulders, legs, arms, chest, and head. His horse stood looking as unimpressed as ever with his saddle and bags waiting nearby. Everything was packed, and if the need arose, Carlo could be galloping away in a matter of minutes.

  “Hey there, Old Man,” Carlo said as he patted the horse’s neck and sifted his fingers through his gray-black mane. “Hope you slept better than I did.”

  The horse glanced over to him, nudged Carlo with his nose, and stuck it into his trough for a drink.

  “We’re not heading out just yet, but I want you to be ready. Hope you don’t mind.”

  When Carlo buckled the saddle and bags onto his back, the horse seemed to mind it as much as he minded anything else. Judging by the animal’s lack of movement, he might not have been aware of the saddle or Carlo’s presence whatsoever.

  Once that was done, Carlo left the stable and crossed the street to have some breakfast at a little bakery that served its day-old biscuits and bread at a discounted price. The woman who worked there recognized him on sight and prepared a plate of biscuits along with a cup of honey.

  “You’re in luck,” she said with a gap-toothed smile. “These are yesterday’s day-old biscuits, so you can have ’em for free. It was either that or I’d be tossing them out.”

  “Three-day-old biscuits, huh? I suppose I’ll take whatever luck I can scrape up. Much obliged.”

  “A good man like you shouldn’t have to scrape for luck.”

  Carlo tipped his hat. “Thanks to the good graces of angels like yourself, I don’t have to.”

  The old woman smiled and headed back into the kitchen to finish baking the day’s fresh cakes. Carlo took his plate to one of the small tables in the front corner of the bakery. His backside didn’t even get a chance to warm the seat before the honey and biscuits were gone. After spending the last several days surviving on scraps and handouts, his belly was in a constant state of discontent. Wolfing down the breakfast helped take the edge off his hunger but didn’t come close to squashing it entirely. He got up, brought the plate to the counter, and leaned toward the kitchen door.

  “Anything I can do for you, ma’am?” he shouted.

  “There’s a stack of wood outside that could be brought in for my stove,” she replied.

  Without another word, Carlo went out and circled around to the back of the bakery. Sure enough, there was a pile of wood there, which he carried inside and stacked next to the stove. It only took two trips, but the woman was so grateful that she offered him more to eat.

  “No need for that,” he said. “You’ve been plenty helpful since I’ve been in town.”

  “It’s the least I can do for a fighting man like yourself,” she said with a beaming smile.

  “I honestly do appreciate it.”

  “I’ll have something good for you tomorrow,” she assured him. “Just you wait.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll more than likely be leaving town today.”

  “Then stay put,” she said as she started bustling about the kitchen to grab bread and cheese from a few different spots. She even went to her front counter to collect some bacon that she kept in short supply. “I’m making you something for lunch.”

  “No, ma’am. You’ve been more than helpful. I couldn’t.”

  She reappeared with more speed than her little body seemed capable of producing. When she spoke to him, it was in a fierce whisper that could not be refused. “These are rough times for folks like us. Men like you need to do what you can to keep the spirit alive. You hear me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing!” she interrupted. “It’s your duty to fight and my duty to keep you fed and . . . well, that’s about all I’m good for anymore, so just take what I give you along with my thanks for what you done.”

  Carlo didn’t have to wait long for her to put together some sandwiches and wrap them up for him. When she handed them over, he gave her his thanks and she gave him a farewell hug. Outside, the town was bustling with folks getting their workday off to a running start. Carlo looked down the street toward Westminster and started walking along the straightest route to the Eastern Trading Company.

  After rounding a corner and walking along the boardwalk, he caught sight of Bickle’s store. Carlo stood in front of a smaller place so he could watch for any sign that Bickle might be up to something. There were a few people standing around near the front of the Eastern Trading Company, but nobody struck him as familiar.

  The wagons from the day before were no longer parked in front of the place. Once he got inside, however, Carlo had no trouble telling several large payloads had been dropped off. Every one of the store’s shelves was full and there were even a few barrels situated near the front counter that bore large, freshly painted signs advertising new wares for sale at reasonable prices.

  “These rugs are lovely!” declared a tall woman with flowing black hair. She wore a dress that seemed much too formal for that time of day and a hat that looked as if it might start flapping its wings to take off on its own.

  Bickle stood behind the front counter, poking keys on his cash register and puffing his chest out like a peacock. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Havermeyer,” he said. “They only just arrived yesterday.”

  “I hear there was a problem with your shipment when it arrived. Something about a robber?”

  “Oh, I’d rather not discus that,” Bickle replied. “Rest assured, nothing was taken. In fact, there are even more of those fine broaches you like so much in this case. Have a look for yourself.”

  “What about the candlesticks?” Carlo said as he approached the counter. “Don’t forget about those candlesticks.”

  Mrs. Havermeyer turned to look at him and was clearly displeased with what she saw. “Thank you, no,” she said as if she’d just taken a swig of lemon juice. “I’ll just have a look at those broaches.” Whether she was truly interested in jewelry or just wanted to get away from a man who looked as if he’d spent the night in a stable, the finely dressed woman couldn’t get away from the front counter fast enough.

  “What are you doing here?” Bickle asked in a fierce whisper.

  “Did you forget already? I’ll have that money you owe me.”

  “I told you I couldn’t get all of it so quickly. Especially after you made me hand over so much to those two thugs.”

  “Then I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Carlo said.

  “Come back tomorrow.”

  “That wasn’t the proposition I offered. You were to pull together my money or as much as you could. Not spend your time painting signs and arranging broaches.”

  “Oh, so that was the proposition you offered?” Bickle asked in a mocking tone. “Well, I think about as highly of that proposition as I did of the first one where you put that money in my hands to begin with.”

  Carlo did not like the way Bickle was speaking or the confidence that grew with every smug word the shop owner threw at him. Although Bickle was a naturally grating man, the fact that he was suddenly brave enough to defy Carlo when he’d been a sniveling little toad the previous day meant something had changed. For some reason, Bickle thought he had an advantage. Carlo didn’t have to wait long before that advantage showed itself.

  “Get out of my store,” Bickle said. “If I see you in here again, it’ll be the worst day of your life.”

  Hearing footsteps knock against the floor behind him, Carlo turned to see two men emerge from a
storeroom. He recognized them as workers who’d been unloading the wagons the day before. Today, however, the only thing they carried was shotguns.

  “You really want to do this?” Carlo asked. “Looks like you just got everything straightened up and now you want to make another mess.”

  “I’ve got a broom,” Bickle replied. “Now leave.”

  “I will . . . just as soon as I get my money.”

  Both armed men fanned out so they could take aim with their shotguns from two different angles.

  “I heard from Granger,” Bickle said. “He is upset by not getting his money, but he doesn’t have the slightest notion where it went. He’s convinced you took it, and considering who you are, that’s what anyone would think. That means you’re still the one that has to answer for that money, and since you can’t take it from me,” he added while motioning toward the two shotgunners, “you’d best put this town behind you and not look back.”

  “Why don’t I worry about what’s best for me?” Carlo said. “And I wouldn’t be so certain that I can’t take my money back right here and now.”

  Both of the other men were burly and thick with muscle. While they held their shotguns with confidence, neither had the look of anything but wagon drivers.

  “I’ve got more hired guns guarding my money,” Bickle warned. “You’ll never get to it.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The shotgunners shifted on their feet, tightening their grip on their weapons and slowly bringing them up to take aim. Before they could get settled into something close to a firing stance, Carlo walked toward Bickle. Almost immediately, the shop owner became the panicked ninny from the previous day and wailed, “Shoot him! Shoot him!”

  In one smooth motion, Carlo dropped to one knee while drawing the pistol from his holster. When he hit the floor, thunder exploded from a shotgun to tear apart one of the rugs that Mrs. Havermeyer had been admiring. The rug was hanging from a wooden rod above a table stacked high with others of its kind, and it billowed like a flag in the wind as buckshot ripped through its woven fibers. The air filled with even more smoke when one of the second man’s barrels erupted noisily. As Carlo had hoped, both shots were well off their mark after being taken in a rush.