Death of a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  Sol could feel the air thinning out as the trail took him higher and higher into the mountains. Soon, he found the old mine. At least that meant some of the old man’s directions had been genuine. Sol pulled back on the reins to give his horse a rest. The gelding wasn’t exactly used to the mountain air and his breaths had become increasingly labored.

  Sol climbed down from the saddle and led the horse by the reins as he looked for the next trail that was supposed to lead him to Nester’s property. Walking closer to that mine, Sol had to smile and shake his head. There wasn’t a way he could say for certain it was a silver mine, but he swore he could smell it the way an old dog could sniff out a scarf that had once been worn by its owner.

  After looping the reins around a low-hanging branch, Sol took a few more steps toward the mine. He stopped short and glanced up at the sky. It would be a while before nightfall, which meant he had some time before he was expected at Nester’s. Approaching the mine carefully, Sol could hear echoes of his days spent chipping away at the stones in New Mexico. The texture of the splintered rock under his callused fingers made Sol feel as if the weight of his pickax was still pulling his other arm down.

  According to a couple of small signs posted near the entrance, the mine was closed down. With only a brief acknowledgment of those signs, Sol ducked his head to walk into a rough tunnel that had been blasted into the rock.

  There were no tracks for carts laid into the ground. There were no hooks for lanterns set into the walls. There weren’t even any piles of crates or splintered tool handles that had littered every other mine Sol had worked. The men who’d worked in this mine had done so while hunched over and in the dark. Sol knew that because he’d spent plenty of days working in those conditions. Days like that bled into weeks and those weeks became months before he realized that years had finally gone by. Charlie had spent that time with his feet kicked up behind a desk. He’d listened to his workers’ gripes, but didn’t do anything to alleviate their concerns. When they came in force, hired guns were put onto the payroll to push the miners back into their hole.

  Yes, Sol knew dark, filthy caves like that one pretty well. Crouching in that cave like an animal taking shelter from a storm, Sol ran his hand along one wall and nodded slowly to himself. That life was over.

  That was why he’d come to Leadville.

  That was why he would continue his conversation with Nester Quarles.

  Sol would no longer work and die just to make money for someone else. It was his turn to reap the rewards of his own labors, and if someone else had to pay that price for a change, then so be it.

  In fact, Sol wasn’t going to wait to see what Nester had to say. He would start planning for his own future right then and there. His first move in that direction was to walk back to his horse. After that, it was back into the mine to get a look at some of the more dangerous tunnels.

  The sun was well on its way toward the western horizon when the short fellow emerged from the trees.

  He waddled toward the mine entrance like a troll coming out of the woods. A battered, wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his head and was in such bad condition that its thick leather band seemed to be the only thing holding it together. Long whiskers sprouted from his fleshy face, looking more like strands of ink hanging from his chin.

  The man held a rifle in his hands, which he brought up to his shoulder as he approached Sol’s gray gelding. Reaching out with one hand, he grabbed for the saddlebag and began tugging at the buckle.

  ‘‘What have we here?’’ he grumbled.

  As he worked to open the bag, the man glanced nervously from the horse to the hole that had been blasted into the nearby rock face. Once the buckle came free, he licked his lips and stuck a trembling hand into the bag.

  A shot blazed through the air, sending a piece of lead close enough to the man’s hand to cause both him and the gelding to jump. While the short man hopped away from the horse, he fired a wild shot at the cave. Even though he couldn’t see anything but inky blackness in the abandoned mine, he fired another round into it just to be certain.

  For a moment, there was silence. The echo of those shots rolled into the mountains and was swallowed up by a passing breeze. The short man with the rifle twitched at every rustle he heard and nearly fired at a critter that scampered through some nearby leaves.

  Suddenly, a few solid footsteps could be heard. By the time the short man got his rifle pointed in the right direction, Sol was already stepping out of the mine. Without a single word to announce his intentions, Sol aimed his pistol and fired. His bullet caught the short man in the hip.

  Rather than return fire, the short man let out a pained grunt and turned to run back toward the trees.

  Sol stepped forward and aimed, but didn’t pull his trigger. He had an awfully big target, but it was the short man’s wide back. A second or two after Sol lowered his pistol, another shot blasted through the air. Sol reflexively slammed his back against the rock face next to the opening as he looked around to see if the short man had a partner. If that was the case, the shooter was one of the worst partners a man could have.

  The short man took another step, dropped to his knees and flopped forward. He was still sputtering into the dirt when another man dressed in buckskins sauntered out of the same group of trees from which the short man had emerged.

  Sighting along the top of his pistol, Sol kept his back to the rock. Even after he got a better look at the third man’s weathered face, Sol kept his gun in hand and ready to be fired. He was looking at the same old man he’d met at the opera house, but Sol still felt like he was in the presence of someone else. This old man had the same face and same wiry frame, but carried himself with easy confidence and looked down at the twitching body as if he were admiring a bubbling stream.

  This old man’s eyes were cold and his hands were steadier than the rocks at Sol’s back. This was the Nester Quarles that Sol had been expecting.

  ‘‘Don’t think he’ll be robbing you or anyone else again,’’ Nester said as he stepped up to the short man’s body and nudged him with the toe of his boot. ‘‘Neither will the other two I found in them trees.’’

  ‘‘What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that?’’ Sol asked.

  Nester chuckled and holstered the pistol he’d used to send the short man to his grave. ‘‘I thought you might’ve gotten lost.’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t supposed to be there until nightfall.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, but you still got a ways to go. You waited around here so long that it would’ve probably taken you until well past dark before you got to my house.’’

  Looking up at the sky as if to point out the warm glow of early evening, Sol asked, ‘‘And how did you know I wasn’t still on my way?’’

  ‘‘Because I can keep watch on most of the trail leading up to my spot. That’s why I chose it. Now come on. I know plenty of shortcuts and we might just be able to make it back before it gets too dark.’’

  Sol looked down at the body on the ground between them, but Nester had already seemed to have forgotten about it. In fact, Nester was grinning.

  ‘‘You know him?’’ the old man asked.

  Sol walked over to the squat corpse and patted the dead man’s shirt pockets. There was nothing to be found, but Sol struck pay dirt when he reached into the inner pocket of the dead man’s jacket. He was fairly certain he knew what the folded paper was, but unfolded it just to be certain. Sure enough, it was the reward notice with Sol’s likeness drawn on it.

  ‘‘Either of those other men go by the name of Alex?’’ Sol asked.

  ‘‘Hell if I know,’’ the old man replied as he turned and walked away. ‘‘I didn’t bother shakin’ hands.’’

  Sol folded up the notice and put it in his pocket. He considered describing Alex’s European features to Nester or asking to get a look at the other two men’s faces, but kept his mouth shut instead. It was clear what those men were after. Knowing more than that simply wouldn�
��t have done Sol any good.

  Chapter 16

  No matter what else could be said about Nester Quarles, Sol couldn’t claim the man was a liar. While it might not have been a long stretch between that mine and Nester’s property, the trail connecting the two wound through some rocky ground and had plenty of sharp drop-offs. Even if he had been moving along at a slow pace on his own, Sol thought he would have gotten lost a few times. As it was, he had a difficult enough time just trying to keep up with his guide.

  Nester rode the narrow pass as if he were strolling through a field of daisies. When he wasn’t gazing up at the scenery, he was glancing over his shoulder to check on Sol. He didn’t say much apart from the occasional ‘‘Watch that bit there’’ or ‘‘Mind that cliff.’’ By the time the trail straightened out, the sun was well below the horizon and only a faint smear of orange colored the sky.

  Of course, despite the fact that the trail was straight, Sol had to hang on for dear life as his gray gelding struggled to maintain its footing against what felt like a near-vertical climb.

  ‘‘What’s his name?’’ Nester called back.

  Sol’s knuckles were white as they wrapped around the reins and the saddle horn. He was well past the point of keeping up the appearance that he wasn’t worried about falling to his death. By this point, he was more concerned with preventing himself or his horse from skidding down the side of a mountain.

  ‘‘Wh . . . what?’’ Sol gasped.

  Nester was already at the top of the pass and looking down at him. ‘‘Your horse,’’ he replied. ‘‘He’s been doing real good. Seems like a fighter. What’s his name?’’

  ‘‘Oh. Smoky. His name’s Smoky.’’

  ‘‘I never heard you call him by name. Never even heard you talk to him.’’

  ‘‘I don’t write him letters, either. Is that a problem? ’’

  Nester chuckled and slipped his fingers beneath his hat so he could scratch his head. ‘‘I guess it’s fine, since he’s doing his part well enough, but you should talk to your horse. It’ll make him more of a partner than just some pack animal.’’

  After a bit more struggling, Sol felt the ground level out. He was feeling dizzy and wobbling a bit in the saddle, but that was only because he realized that he’d been holding his breath over the last couple of yards. Sol exhaled and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘‘I suppose he had been doing a good job,’’ he admitted. ‘‘I guess it just seemed sort of . . . well . . . odd to talk to him.’’

  Nester nodded and turned his own horse away from him. It was the same chestnut brown Morgan that had pulled Nester’s cart, but seemed much livelier now that it was on its own and not attached to anything with wheels. As he led the way down a gravel trail, Nester reached out to scratch his horse’s ear. ‘‘Everyone needs a friend,’’ he said.

  Nester’s house wasn’t much to look at. It was less of a spread and more of a lonely shack on top of a rocky hill surrounded by trees. While Sol had never spent a lot of time in the mountains, he never thought he had much of a fear of heights. That all changed when he turned to look back in the direction from which he’d arrived.

  Suddenly, Sol felt as if he’d been picked up and tossed a thousand feet into the air. His stomach clenched at the sight of all those treetops scattered beneath him. The trail Smoky had negotiated looked more like a line that dropped straight down a jagged, rocky slope. If it were brighter at the moment, Sol might have been able to see Leadville from that vantage.

  ‘‘Nice, ain’t it?’’ Nester asked. ‘‘It didn’t cost much of anything, neither.’’ When he didn’t hear a reply, the old man looked over and asked, ‘‘What’s the matter, Solomon? You afraid you might start to skid? You feeling light-headed?’’ Nester grinned and slapped Sol on the back. ‘‘Don’t worry. You’ll get your legs beneath you by the time you walk to the house.’’

  Feeling that slap on his back immediately put visions into Sol’s mind of all the various ways he could topple down that mountain. Gritting his teeth, he declared, ‘‘It’s Sol.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘You heard me.’’

  Nester stopped and turned to look back at the younger man. There was more than enough fire in the old man’s eyes to make Sol glad it was only half a stare.

  Trying not to squirm too much under that gaze, Sol added, ‘‘Only my mother and a few aunts called me Solomon. My grandmother did too.’’

  As he turned to face the house again, Nester said, ‘‘I recall your grandma. She was real nice.’’

  The house was crooked, but it was difficult to tell if that was due to uneven ground, tough conditions or bad craftsmanship. There was a brick chimney holding up one end of the house, which was straighter than anything else in sight. In fact, it seemed as if that chimney was keeping the rest of the place from falling over.

  ‘‘You were a mason, weren’t you?’’ Sol asked.

  Climbing down from his saddle, Nester replied, ‘‘Yeah, way back when I was a pup.’’

  ‘‘Did you build this house?’’

  ‘‘Nah, but I did put that chimney together. I just happened to find this house.’’

  ‘‘Isn’t this your property?’’ Sol asked.

  ‘‘Sure . . . when I took possession of it, I found this house. You wanna come inside or are you content to stay out here until you catch yer breath?’’

  Sol climbed down from his saddle and led Smoky to the same tree where Nester had tied his own horse. The Morgan scraped a few times at the ground, but soon lowered its head before a cold breeze whipped through like a set of nails through Sol’s flesh. Pulling his jacket in tight around him, Sol stepped into Nester’s house.

  The inside of the house wasn’t any more impressive than the outside. It consisted of one room and, as one might have guessed, the fireplace was the centerpiece. Apart from a cot, some cooking implements and a few stools, there wasn’t much else to see.

  ‘‘So,’’ Nester said as he walked over to the fireplace and started stacking a few logs, ‘‘are you gonna tell me who that fella was that tried to ambush you?’’

  Sol winced, but didn’t know what to say to that. A few months ago, the very notion that someone could be gunning for him would have been ridiculous. Now it was a fact of life.

  In the silence that had followed his question, Nester nodded and kept building the fire. ‘‘I see. You ain’t used to tellin’ folks yer sins. Not much of a church type, are ya?’’

  ‘‘No, but I suppose that man could have been coming after me. That’s mostly the reason why I wanted to try and find you.’’

  ‘‘So you could pass some of those enemies on to me? Thank you kindly.’’

  Sol chuckled.

  ‘‘Why did you come here, Sol? After what you cost me today, I think I have a right to know that much.’’

  ‘‘What I cost you?’’

  The fire sparked and smoke started to curl up from the pile of wood. Shifting to look at Sol, Nester growled, ‘‘I had a nice little life goin’ here. Ain’t nobody knew who I was and the occasional gunman that came sniffing around was thrown off my trail easily enough once they saw an old man ’stead of an outlaw with fire in his eyes.’’

  ‘‘So nobody’s found you?’’ Sol asked.

  ‘‘Well, there were a few that were more persistent than the others,’’ Nester admitted. ‘‘They seemed to have gotten lost in these mountains and were never heard from again.’’

  Those words came out of Nester’s mouth like breath that had been frozen into steam. Whoever those persistent fellows had been, it was Sol’s guess they were now joined by the three men who’d meant to attack Sol at the abandoned mine.

  ‘‘You know how long it took for me to build this up?’’ Nester asked. ‘‘You know how long it took for me to get situated in a town where I could sit and rest for a while in one place?’’

  Sol didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet.

  ‘‘Answer me, boy!’’

  Nester’
s voice boomed like a cannon within the confines of that house. Sol twitched at the sound of it and reflexively placed his hand over his gun. That reflex did not go unnoticed.

  ‘‘You gonna draw on me, boy?’’ Nester snapped as he stared directly into Sol’s soul. ‘‘You come all this way to swap lead with me, then you’d best be faster than you look! An’ if ye’re tryin’ to scare me, ye’re gonna have to do a whole lot more’n that.’’

  For a second, Sol didn’t even realize he’d made a move toward his gun. He had to look down to see how close his hand was to his holster. Once he saw that, he held his hands up where they could be seen. ‘‘I . . . didn’t mean anything like that.’’

  Nester squinted and eased up a bit. He barely moved more than a few muscles, but the air within the house suddenly became much easier to breathe.

  Finally, Nester reached around behind him for a stool and then plopped down onto it. ‘‘What the hell you got yerself into?’’

  ‘‘I . . . well . . . I’m wanted for a murder I didn’t do.’’

  That was one of the few times Sol had given voice to that thought. Part of him was ashamed to say the words and the other part didn’t want to believe they were true.

  Despite all of that, Nester only chuckled. ‘‘A murder you didn’t do, huh? I’ve been there. Plenty of times, actually.’’

  ‘‘I’m serious, Nester.’’

  ‘‘I’ll bet you are.’’

  ‘‘I killed one man, but that was all,’’ Sol admitted.

  ‘‘Now it comes out. Why don’t you tell me the story from the beginning?’’

  Sol shifted on his feet and then pulled up a stool that only had three good legs beneath it. The fourth leg required some balance and a bit of guesswork to keep from collapsing. It did Sol some good to have a diversion as he spooled out what had happened, starting from the point when he’d agreed to chase down the men who’d robbed Charlie.