Death of a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  After all that looking and smelling, he figured he might as well do a bit of touching. After all, he figured he’d earned a few indulgences and there was no reason they had to be limited to poker and a few expensive suits. With all of the former, Sol had nearly forgotten about the latter.

  The week had gotten by him like an anchor dropping from the end of a coiled rope. The further along it went, the faster it slipped away. When he walked back into the Trail’s End, Sol waved to the clerk, but didn’t expect much of anything in return. Any other time, he would have been correct in that assumption. This time, however, he was not.

  ‘‘Mr. Brakefield?’’

  Sol slowed down and turned around. Once he saw the clerk looking expectantly at him, Sol felt more than a little foolish for feeling so suspicious. Walking up to the desk, he asked, ‘‘Yes? What is it?’’

  ‘‘There’s a message for you.’’

  Sol’s hand drifted toward his gun. ‘‘From who?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ the clerk replied as he held out a single folded piece of paper. ‘‘I’m not supposed to read them.’’

  Wondering how he hadn’t seen that one coming, Sol took the note from the clerk’s hand. Before he opened it, he got a sneaking suspicion as to what he might find. Sure enough, that suspicion was proven correct. ‘‘One of my suits is ready,’’ he announced.

  ‘‘Wonderful. I’ll see if I can get that into the newspaper.’’

  Sol looked over to the clerk, who had already found something better to do. ‘‘I liked you better when you kept quiet.’’

  The clerk shrugged and promptly went about his duties as if Sol had been swept off the face of the earth.

  It was approaching the end of the business day, but Sol decided to try his luck with the tailor anyway. The sky was darkening to a pleasant mix of purple and deep blue, which also put a comforting chill into the air. Sol made his way down the boardwalk as if he were already wearing his new silk suit. He walked tall and held his head high. He tipped his hat to an elderly couple crossing the street. He waved to a woman and her little boy on the corner. And he almost said ‘‘How do you do’’ to the European man staring at him from a saloon doorway.

  Sol met the European man’s gaze and kept walking. In the last several days, he’d seen plenty of familiar faces in the same spots along several different streets. Santa Fe had its share of folks that were down on their luck and some of them had staked their claim to various alleys or corners. Sol didn’t concern himself too much with those folks, just as they didn’t seem to think much of him. The European man was different, however. As much as Sol wanted to believe otherwise, there was no denying that man was more than just some territorial vagrant.

  As he walked toward the tailor’s shop, Sol kept a quick pace and took every opportunity to glance over his shoulder without being too obvious about it. After catching more than one glimpse of the European man behind him, Sol decided subtlety was no longer his biggest concern.

  The tailor’s shop was in sight when Sol stopped and turned completely around. The European man was still behind him and was even hurrying to catch up with Sol before he made it to the tailor’s door.

  ‘‘Who are you?’’ Sol demanded as he walked toward the other man and lowered his hand to within an inch or so of his holster. ‘‘What do you want?’’

  ‘‘Just want a word with you, fella,’’ the European man replied in a slight Irish accent. ‘‘How about you come along with me?’’

  As the other man reached out to grab Sol’s arm, Sol pulled his gun from its holster and took aim. ‘‘Don’t come another step closer.’’

  ‘‘Or what? You kill me like you killed those miners?’’

  ‘‘What miners?’’

  The European man forced a small grin onto his face, but it didn’t stick for long. ‘‘Folks are starting to look. You want the law to find you?’’

  Sol scowled and glanced around at the rest of the street. Sure enough, a good portion of the others walking to and fro in the vicinity of the tailor’s shop were watching Sol closely. Women pulled their children away and husbands escorted their wives in the opposite direction. Before Sol could shift his attention back to the European man, he was knocked off the boardwalk and into the narrow walkway between two buildings.

  The European man wrestled for control of Sol’s gun, but was unable to pull the weapon free. Sol’s heart was beating too quickly and his nerves were too frayed for him to be overpowered so easily. Although he kept his fingers locked around his pistol’s grip, Sol wasn’t able to maintain his footing and soon felt his shoulders slamming against a wall.

  Sol struggled to pull his wrist free of the other man’s hold. He even felt his wrist coming loose, but Sol was forced to pull it through the European man’s long, cracked fingernails. Deep gouges were scraped into Sol’s wrists, but he would be free if he could endure the pain. Despite the fact that he might win that struggle, Sol quickly realized he might lose the war.

  Someone else had joined the fray, and it wasn’t an overly curious bystander. The second man had his gun drawn, but kept it close to his body to keep it out of plain sight. ‘‘Having some trouble, Alex?’’ the second man asked.

  Sol tried to fire a shot just to startle the other two, but was diverted when the second man lunged toward him, giving the first a chance to make another grab for Sol’s wrist. Although he kicked at both men and swung with his free hand, Sol only managed to make things worse for himself. Both of the other men also stepped up their efforts. Alex grabbed hold of Sol’s gun arm with both hands while his partner tenderized Sol’s torso with one punch after another.

  Tensing his stomach and gritting his teeth, Sol was able to weather the first series of blows. The moment he relaxed enough to pull in another breath, Sol caught a punch in the stomach that forced all the wind from his lungs. The next thing he knew, Sol was no longer able to keep his knees from buckling.

  As soon as Sol faltered, Alex pulled the gun from his hand. ‘‘That’s got him. Check his pockets. This one likes to carry around plenty of money.’’

  Sol was unable to take a full breath at the moment, which meant he was also unable to lift a finger to stop the second man from searching his pockets like a vulture swooping down on a fresh corpse.

  ‘‘Did you find any money?’’ Alex asked.

  ‘‘Just give me a chance, will ya?’’ the second man replied.

  ‘‘Who . . . are you?’’ Sol asked.

  Alex grinned. Now that he had his partner with him, his European features took on a livelier sheen. ‘‘Who we are don’t matter. What matters is that we know who you are.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ the second man chuckled as he held out the bundle of money he’d found. ‘‘You’re a gravy train, is what you are!’’

  ‘‘Where’s the rest of it?’’ Alex asked.

  Sol shook his head. ‘‘I . . . there . . . there isn’t anymore.’’ Before he could get out another word, he felt the numbing impact of a fist slamming against his face. Sol’s head knocked against the wall and a warm flow of blood trickled down his face.

  ‘‘You’re lying! I saw you pull a fortune out of them pockets when you paid that tailor. That was only a portion of what you was supposed to pay for them fancy suits, right?’’

  Blinking away the haze that was creeping into his head, Sol could see the second man leaning forward with his fist cocked back. Although he knew he’d feel plenty of pain in a while, Sol was just numb enough at the moment to keep going through a few more punches. That realization brought a grin to his face.

  ‘‘You been following . . . me all this . . . time?’’ Sol wheezed. ‘‘And you decided to jump me . . . now? You . . . should’ve caught me before I went to that . . . last poker game.’’

  The second man punched Sol again and that blow was followed up by one from Alex.

  Sol could tell the men were dealing out their worst. Fortunately, their worst wasn’t enough to make Sol hurt any more than he already
was.

  ‘‘Where’s the rest of that money?’’ Alex asked. ‘‘I know you got more. I know you been winning the last few nights at cards. Where’s that money?’’

  Perhaps Sol had been knocked around worse than he thought and something had come loose. Perhaps he was finding out firsthand what it meant to be punch-drunk. Whatever the reason was, Sol widened his grin and started to laugh. That didn’t set well with the other two men at all.

  At first, Alex and the second man merely looked at each other as if they both thought their eyes were deceiving them. When they got another look at Sol’s laughing face, they took it upon themselves to knock that smile into oblivion. This time, however, it was Sol who beat them to the punch.

  Sol’s leg snapped up to catch Alex in the groin. Alex doubled over and let out a hacking wheeze. Since the second man wasn’t positioned to catch a foot in the same spot, Sol kicked that one in the knee. The second man grunted and took a halfhearted swing. Sol kicked him in the leg again, forcing the second man to punch the wall instead of his intended target.

  Knowing better than to celebrate too early, Sol climbed to his feet. Alex was still groaning and doubled over, so Sol grabbed hold of him to help pull himself up. Once Sol had his legs beneath him, he pulled Alex into the wall and cracked his head against the wooden slats. Sol reached for his gun, but his holster was empty. The second man made the same move, but had the pistol to back it up.

  ‘‘You’re dead!’’ the second man yelped.

  But Sol could see fear in that one’s eyes.

  Sol reached out to take the gun away from the second man. There was a struggle, but Sol had already taken enough lumps for the second man’s punches to feel more like slaps from a baby. The moment Sol’s hand closed around the second man’s gun, he swung the pistol around to crack it against the man’s cheek. There was a solid impact, but the second man was surprised and taken off balance more than anything else. Sol pressed his advantage by shoving the second man into Alex and taking a few steps back.

  ‘‘You’re not just robbers,’’ Sol said.

  Alex and the second man bumped against each other before turning to face Sol. Seeing the gun in Sol’s hand was enough to take the wind from their sails.

  ‘‘You can have your money back,’’ Alex said. ‘‘We can part ways and that’ll be that.’’

  Sol paid no attention to those words. ‘‘What do you know about miners that were killed?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘It says so on the notice.’’

  As Sol’s brow furrowed, the second man stepped in to his friend’s defense. ‘‘He ain’t lying. There’s a notice posted about those men you killed.’’

  ‘‘What men?’’

  The second man reached into his pocket, but Sol reflexively aimed his gun directly at him. ‘‘I got the notice right here,’’ the second man said. ‘‘I brung it to show the law when we handed you in.’’

  Sol thumbed back the gun’s hammer and said, ‘‘Let’s see it, but you’d best be real careful.’’

  Nodding slowly, the second man pulled out a square of paper that was folded into fourths and started to hand it over.

  ‘‘Show it to me,’’ Sol said.

  ‘‘All right. Fine. Just settle down,’’ the second man said as he unfolded the paper. When he was finished, he held up the notice so it was facing Sol.

  When he saw the crudely drawn portrait of himself beneath the word REWARD written in large block letters, Sol thought he was dreaming. It just didn’t seem real to see his face amid such words as ‘‘wanted for murder’’ and ‘‘fugitive.’’ Sol snatched the notice from the man’s hand and looked it over as best he could without taking his eyes from the other two men. He didn’t need to read too far into it to see there was a fifteen-hundred-dollar reward for his capture.

  ‘‘Where’d you get this?’’ Sol asked.

  ‘‘It was posted at the sheriff’s office and here-abouts, ’’ Alex replied.

  ‘‘And you were after this money back when I was buying my suits?’’

  Alex shook his head. ‘‘I didn’t know about it then. I seen you waving all that cash around. I went back a few times to see if the tailor would let me know where to find you. He wouldn’t do it right away, but he sure did once we found that notice and showed it to him.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t kill any miners,’’ Sol said. ‘‘This is a mistake.’’

  ‘‘Then tell it to the fella offering up that money.’’

  Sol looked at the bottom of the notice and saw the name Alex had referred to. ‘‘Upon capture,’’ the notice read, ‘‘contact Charles Lowell in Warren, New Mexico.’’

  When the two men shifted in front of him, Sol snapped his eyes up and tightened his grip on the gun. ‘‘Neither of you move.’’

  Both Alex and the second man held their hands up and backed against the wall.

  There were more folks moving about, but they passed by the mouth of the alley without thinking to check in the narrow, dirty corridor. The few who did glance down the alley just kept walking when they saw what was going on in there. Sol’s stomach clenched with the certainty that he couldn’t rely on his privacy lasting much longer.

  ‘‘Toss your guns,’’ Sol demanded.

  Both men nervously glanced back and forth at each other.

  ‘‘This fight’s over as far as we’re concerned,’’ Alex said. ‘‘No need for—’’

  ‘‘Drop your guns,’’ Sol barked. ‘‘Now!’’

  One man tossed over a pistol, but the other shifted on his feet as if he were about to jump from his skin.

  ‘‘You already got my gun,’’ the second man said.

  ‘‘Then start walking,’’ Sol replied. ‘‘Better yet, start running.’’

  Neither of the two men had to be told twice. They bolted from the alley as if their backsides had caught fire. After giving them a good head start, Sol collected the rest of the guns, pointed his nose toward the other end of the alley and followed the example set by Alex and his partner.

  Sol didn’t stop running until he got back to his room.

  Chapter 12

  Sol did his best to keep from running out of his room like a scalded dog. The saddlebags were slung over his shoulders and they’d never felt heavier. In fact, he never would have imagined what a burden all that money could be. When he got to the front desk, he forced a smile onto his face and set his key down.

  ‘‘Here’s my key,’’ Sol said. ‘‘And this should settle up my bill.’’

  ‘‘Don’t forget about your meals,’’ the clerk replied. ‘‘You charged some onto . . .’’ He swallowed the rest of his words when he saw how much money was piled on the desk. ‘‘Actually, this looks like it should be more than enough. I’ll get your change.’’

  Sol had been watching the clerk for any trace that he might know about the reward. Apparently, the clerk was more concerned with his job than he was about his customers’ entanglements with the law.

  ‘‘Keep the change,’’ Sol said. ‘‘Everything was fine.’’

  The clerk nodded and smiled. Fortunately, Sol’s estimate had been close enough to keep him from making the clerk too wealthy. ‘‘I appreciate that, sir. Hopefully, you’ll come again.’’

  But Sol was already heading for the door and rushing down the boardwalk.

  As he made his way to the stable, Sol considered everyone he passed a potential threat. While he might not have recognized anyone on the street, he was certain at least one or two of them recognized him. There could be lawmen about, waiting for their chance to corner him. There could be bounty hunters setting up an ambush. There could even be some more enterprising souls who merely wanted to get their hands on the reward being offered for Sol’s head.

  Sol got to the stable and hurried past the boy brushing one of the horses. When he pulled open the gate to the stall where his own gray gelding was being kept, Sol tossed down his bags and reached for the saddle propped against the nearby wall.

  ‘�
�You can’t go in there, mister!’’ the stable boy said. ‘‘That horse ain’t for sale!’’

  ‘‘Don’t worry, kid,’’ Sol replied as he dug into his jeans pocket. ‘‘This is my horse.’’ He found his ticket and handed it over to the boy.

  Once the boy got a look at the ticket, he let out a relieved sigh. ‘‘Sorry about that, mister. You want me to help you?’’

  ‘‘No need for that. I’m fixing to leave.’’

  ‘‘Oh. I’ll get my pa so—’’

  ‘‘Here,’’ Sol interrupted as he shoved some money into the boy’s shirt pocket. ‘‘Give that to your pa.’’

  The boy let out an amazed gasp as he fished out the money and flipped through the bills. ‘‘This is a lot!’’

  ‘‘Here,’’ Sol said as he handed over another wad of money. ‘‘This is for you, so don’t touch any of your pa’s money. You hear?’’

  Holding two handfuls of money, the kid could do nothing but nod.

  ‘‘Good. Now, you’re getting your own money because I’m playing a game. You like games?’’

  The kid nodded again.

  By this time, Sol was almost done saddling up his gelding. ‘‘Some friends of mine may be looking for me and I don’t want them to find me. You think you could pretend I wasn’t here?’’

  ‘‘You mean like hide-and-seek?’’

  ‘‘That’s it exactly,’’ Sol replied as he cinched up one of the final buckles.

  ‘‘I could tell your friends you went somewhere else! That way, they’ll never find you!’’

  ‘‘No. Just pretend like you don’t know who I am. In fact, pretend you never even seen my horse. Think you can do that?’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘Perfect.’’ Sol put his saddlebags into place and hung his new carpetbag from the saddle horn. It wasn’t a perfect arrangement, but he figured it would do well enough to get him out of Santa Fe. Leading his horse to the front door, Sol cautiously started to peek outside.