Death of a Bad Man

by Ralph Compton

  ‘‘I started this and I intend to see it through,’’ Sol vowed.

  ‘‘That’s good, because there ain’t no backing out now.’’

  Chapter 17

  True to his word, Nester was up the next morning before the sun had had a chance to touch the sky. The air had acquired a set of cold teeth, which sank especially deep in the early hour. Some folks called it ‘‘bracing,’’ or some other such nonsense, but Sol had always found it to be as bracing as getting clubbed with a frozen length of iron.

  Sol hardly remembered waking up. He was shaken from his sleep, booted from the pile of blankets Nester had provided and then told to get the horses ready. Before Sol could peel his eyelids all the way apart, he was on Smoky’s back and heading down the mountain. His eyes snapped open real quickly when he found himself half a step away from toppling down the side of that mountain. Smoky had taken a step onto some loose gravel and started to skid, which caused Sol to grip his reins as if his life depended on it.

  ‘‘I told you to follow me close,’’ Nester growled over his shoulder. ‘‘You wanna take lessons from me, then here’s a good one. Watch yer own damn self, because nobody can do that for ya.’’

  ‘‘I like that advice.’’

  ‘‘Good. Now steer away from that patch o’ dirt before yer horse breaks its neck.’’

  Sol leaned forward, spotted the dirt and pulled his reins to the left. Smoky reacted fairly well, but still managed to scrape one hoof through the edge of that dirt. The gray gelding slipped a bit and then recovered. Sol didn’t care to think about what would have happened if the horse had slipped any worse.

  Although Nester shifted a bit, he was merely adjusting his own motions to accommodate his own horse’s gait. As he flicked his reins, Nester made a clicking sound with his tongue.

  ‘‘Where are we going?’’

  ‘‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you sure do like the sound o’ yer own voice.’’

  ‘‘I was just—’’

  ‘‘I know and we’re going where I said we was going,’’ Nester cut in. ‘‘You want to ride right down the same way you came up? If there’s anyone else coming after us apart from those two we found yesterday, they’ll just love it if we come straight to them along the very trail they’re probably watching.’’

  ‘‘But there might not be anyone watching,’’ Sol pointed out.

  Nester chuckled and replied, ‘‘You gotta always think someone’s watching you. That way, you’ll be ready for the occasional spot where ye’re right.’’

  Nodding, Sol leaned back and focused upon Smoky’s movements and the curve of the trail directly in front of him. For the rest of the ride down the mountain, Sol matched Nester’s pace and rode only in the spots where Nester had ridden. He kept his mouth shut until the ground leveled out and the mountain was behind him. It seemed that was the best way to stay on Nester’s good side.

  It took a bit longer than Sol had expected, but they eventually made their way to a wider stretch of trail that led out to some open terrain. Sol’s ears were still cramped enough to let him know he was a ways up, but at least there wasn’t a drop-off directly beside him.

  Now that he was on even ground, Sol took a moment to look up at the sky. ‘‘I don’t suppose you brought some food,’’ he said.

  ‘‘You rode all the way up from New Mex without carrying any food?’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t exactly planning on bolting out of here so quickly.’’

  ‘‘I got another lesson for ya.’’

  But this time, it was Sol who interrupted. ‘‘Let me guess. Always be ready for anything.’’

  ‘‘Now ye’re learnin’!’’

  ‘‘Great,’’ Sol muttered to himself. ‘‘There’s a gem I couldn’t have gotten on my own.’’

  Nester led Sol along a trail that eventually curved to the north. Even though Sol could see where the trail cut through a low mountain pass, he wasn’t being led in that direction. Instead, Nester took him to a wide patch of grass. By the time they were close enough to the grass for Nester to dismount, Sol could see a small creek trickling along the edge of the grass. Nester led his horse to the creek, dropped the reins and motioned for Sol to do the same.

  After Sol had climbed down from his saddle and stretched his legs a bit, he saw Nester turn and face him. The old man’s hand hovered less than an inch over his holstered pistol.

  ‘‘All right, boy,’’ Nester said. ‘‘I want you to hand over that saddlebag full o’ money.’’

  ‘‘Pardon me?’’

  ‘‘You heard me well enough. Hand it over or I’ll come and take it.’’

  Sol narrowed his eyes to study Nester. It was difficult to tell whether the old man was serious or giving him another test. Either way, Sol only came up with one way to answer Nester’s challenge. ‘‘No,’’ he said defiantly. ‘‘I won’t hand it over.’’

  Nodding slowly, Nester adjusted his stance so he could square his shoulders to Sol. ‘‘All right, then. We do this the hard way.’’

  For a few moments, Nester stared at Sol as if he were reading the small print upon his soul. Every so often, Nester would shift his gaze just a bit and look deeper. Finally, he snapped his hand down and up again to aim his pistol and thumb the hammer back.

  Sol hadn’t even seen the old man’s gun clear leather.

  ‘‘Ye’re dead,’’ Nester stated. ‘‘But you got some promise.’’

  Letting out the breath that had caught in his throat, Sol only realized at that moment that he’d gotten to his own weapon. This pistol was still pointed toward the ground and his finger was hooked around the outside of the trigger guard, but Sol had indeed managed to draw without needing to waste more than half a thought on the process.

  Chuckling, Sol let out a deep breath. ‘‘I thought you meant to take that money from me.’’

  ‘‘I do.’’

  Sol blinked, but didn’t know if he should stop smiling or not. ‘‘You can have a share of the money, if that’ll make up for how I messed up your situation in Leadville.’’

  Nester shook his head. ‘‘Take out what’s in that saddlebag and we’ll split it between us. Whatever we can’t carry stays here. An’ you can wipe that mean look offa yer face while ye’re at it. We won’t get anywhere if we’re too busy lookin’ after that much cash.’’

  As much sense as that made, Sol still didn’t like the sound of it. Dropping that set of saddlebags was like dropping his gun and waiting for the hammer to fall. It hit the ground with a heavy thump. Nester descended upon it, pulled the bag open and started sifting through it.

  ‘‘There’s a lot here,’’ the old man said.

  ‘‘I know.’’

  ‘‘Here,’’ Nester said as he started tossing bundles of cash to Sol. ‘‘Stuff this into yer pockets and tell me when you ain’t got any more room.’’

  Sol caught several bundles and tucked them into his pockets. Just as he’d promised, Nester kept tossing them until Sol ran out of free space. After that, Nester packed some money away for himself. It took considerably less time for the nimble-fingered old man to finish his task. When he was finished, there was still about half of one pouch remaining.

  ‘‘We should bury the rest right here an’ we’ll come back for it later,’’ Nester announced.

  ‘‘No,’’ Sol replied. Seeing the warning glare in Nester’s eyes, he added, ‘‘We don’t know if we’ll even make it back here. We might not even be able to come back this way after we’re through in Albuquerque.’’

  Nester’s eyes snapped back and forth between Sol and the saddlebags. ‘‘You really think there’s all that money to be had, boy?’’

  Sol nodded without hesitation. ‘‘I heard as much from Charlie himself.’’

  ‘‘He could’a been lyin’.’’

  ‘‘He wasn’t lying. He was too scared to be lying.’’

  After studying the saddlebags some more, Nester finally shrugged. ‘‘I gotta admit I like yer instinct. I expect you’ll
want to haul that money around?’’

  ‘‘I’ve brought it this far,’’ Sol said cautiously.

  ‘‘Fine. Keep it hidden and if anything happens to it, I expect you to hand over a portion of yer own cut to make up for the portion I lost.’’

  ‘‘That’s fair.’’

  ‘‘Damn right it is. Now let’s have a look at what sort of lead ye’re slingin’.’’

  As Nester walked forward, he reached out to take Sol’s gun from him the way he might take it away from a child that was about to hurt himself. The old man’s gun was back in its place at his side and, once again, Sol hadn’t seen the pistol move.

  ‘‘It’s all right, boy,’’ Nester said. ‘‘If I meant to shoot, I would’a done it.’’

  Reluctantly, Sol released his grip on the gun so Nester could take it away. ‘‘You’ll have to work on yer draw,’’ Nester said as he examined the pistol. ‘‘An old Cavalry model, huh? By the look of it, an 1873 model.’’

  Sol nodded. ‘‘Yeah. I think it is.’’

  ‘‘I just said it was. You’ll have to get something better. These are good when they’re new, but I had one stick on me after being exposed to the elements.’’

  ‘‘I’ve taken good care of it,’’ Sol said in his own defense.

  ‘‘You been cleanin’ it after every time it was fired? Making sure all the moving parts is dry?’’

  ‘‘Mostly.’’

  ‘‘Yeah? Well, yer finger didn’t even make it through the trigger guard,’’ Nester replied. ‘‘What you got to say about that?’’

  Sol grinned and shrugged. ‘‘I suppose you’ve got me there.’’

  ‘‘Take a shot at that tree,’’ Nester said as he pointed to a nearby specimen. ‘‘Clip a few of them branches.’’

  Pulling in a breath, Sol fixed his eyes upon a target and grabbed his gun from its holster. Once again, his finger snagged upon the guard.

  ‘‘Don’t try for speed,’’ Nester scolded. ‘‘I wanna see accuracy.’’

  Sol nodded and rested his finger upon the trigger. From there, he raised his arm and fired. Several branches shook as the bullet tore through them, but the proper one didn’t fall. Keeping his head up, Sol took another few shots.

  ‘‘Never mind,’’ Nester grunted.

  ‘‘I can do better. Just let me get set.’’

  But the old man waved at him as if he were erasing Sol’s last few words from a chalkboard. Stepping in Sol’s line of fire without the slightest hesitation, he said, ‘‘None of that matters. You ain’t out here to shoot targets and you won’t never get the chance to set yer feet.’’

  Sol nodded and reloaded his pistol. ‘‘I can practice my draw.’’

  ‘‘Any man can practice till he gets quick, but you won’t get much of anywhere if’n you can’t draw yer gun without getting tripped up on the guard. Besides, that ol’ thing’s too heavy. You need a better one.’’

  ‘‘Do you have another gun?’’ Sol asked.

  ‘‘Nope. Don’t need one.’’

  ‘‘Then where do you suppose I’ll find one?’’

  Nester grinned and replied, ‘‘Sometimes the easiest answers are the best ones.’’

  Chapter 18

  The trading post was just over five miles south of the little creek where Sol had shot down those unfortunate branches. It was the largest of a small cluster of buildings huddled on either side of the road like a patch of mulberry bushes that had sprung up through nothing but pure chance and a stiff wind. Apart from the trading post, there was a small shelter for horses and a pair of outhouses. Sol thought the last building at the end could have been a post office, but there was no sign in the window and no other way for him to be sure.

  Nester wasn’t too interested in the other buildings anyway. After riding up to the trading post, he dismounted and snapped his reins around a post. ‘‘There’s a case of guns to the right after you walk in. Pick out something smaller than what you got now and newer, as well. And don’t forget a new holster and some ammunition.’’

  Feeling like he was being sent on an errand by one of his grandparents, Sol nodded at Nester’s demands and sauntered into the store. As he walked past the tables stacked high with blankets, shirts, socks and other sundries, Sol mused at how normal it felt to be there. He needed some things, so he went to the store. Even after his tracking down an infamous legend like Nester Quarles, some things remained the same. It did him a whole lot of good to know that.

  ‘‘Looking for anything special?’’ a spindly man with glasses asked.

  Sol looked over to the man who’d spoken and found the narrow-boned fellow straightening a rack of fringed coats along the wall. ‘‘Yes. I need a gun.’’

  ‘‘Right this way.’’ As he walked to a counter situated to the right of where Sol had walked in, the spindly fellow brushed his hands against the apron he wore and flexed his fingers. ‘‘Looking to do some hunting?’’

  Before the salesman could reach for one of the rifles hanging from a rack behind the counter, Sol replied, ‘‘Not as such. I need a pistol.’’

  ‘‘I’ve got a fine selection.’’ The salesman stuck a few fingers into his shirt pocket and glanced at the opposite end of the store. He saw Nester over there speaking to a woman who looked to be the same age and build as the salesman. There was also a kid of no more than ten or eleven years darting back and forth between Nester and the woman. Finally, the salesman took his eyes away from Nester and smiled. ‘‘Any particular model you’re looking for?’’ he asked as he removed a small key from his pocket.

  Sol was looking down through the glass top of the case. As his eyes wandered among the shiny firearms, he thought about how much money was in his pockets. Judging by the look of some of those guns, he might just have to step outside and get some more so nobody would see all the bundles he needed to flip through. Sol decided that would be just fine. He was investing in his future, after all.

  ‘‘What’s that one?’’ Sol asked as he pointed to a finely polished gun resting upon a velvet cushion.

  The salesman grinned like a snake that had unhinged its jaw to welcome a stray mouse. ‘‘Ahh, that’s a great choice,’’ he said as he unlocked the case and reached inside. ‘‘Thirty-eight-caliber Colt. Nickel-plated. You ever fire one of these beauties?’’

  ‘‘No, I . . .’’ Shifting his attention from the salesman to the other end of the trading post, Sol took notice of a few burly men who’d stepped into the place. Those men seemed to have taken a shine to Nester and were walking straight over to him. Sol then looked at Nester and got an easy nod in return. Since Nester wasn’t too concerned about those men, Sol continued what he’d been doing.

  ‘‘I’ve never fired one,’’ Sol said. ‘‘Mind if I get a feel for it?’’

  The salesman already had the gun out of the case and was giving it a few last-minute polishes using another piece of velvet. ‘‘Help yourself,’’ he said as he draped the gun over one arm and handed it over. ‘‘There’s a few targets out back, if you’d prefer.’’

  Sol held the gun in his hand and let it sit there like a deadweight that had been tied to his wrist. ‘‘I don’t like it.’’

  ‘‘Well, how about this one?’’ the salesman asked as he started to reach for another one in the case.

  Before the salesman could lift the second gun, Sol stopped him. ‘‘Not that one, either,’’ he said, since that second gun looked to be about the same size as the one he already had. ‘‘I need something lighter. Something I can work on.’’

  ‘‘Work on? You mean you want to modify it?’’

  Sol nodded, but was distracted by more activity coming from the other end of the trading post. It seemed that Nester was drawing a crowd. The old man faced them all and was saying something to one of the men who’d recently walked in. Before Sol could see much of anything else, he caught the glint of polished metal in the corner of his eye. Sol turned toward the salesman to find him holding out another pistol.

&n
bsp; ‘‘Why don’t you try this one?’’ the salesman asked. ‘‘It’s a .44 Smith and Wesson. Carved grips. Fires like a dream and I hear it can be modified easily enough. Of course, you’ll have to take care of that on your own. I’m hardly a gunsmith.’’

  ‘‘Hey,’’ Nester shouted from the front of the trading post. ‘‘You find anything yet?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. I might have.’’

  ‘‘Good. Wrap it up and take it home.’’

  The longer Sol held on to that Smith & Wesson, the more he liked it. Rather than being a weight in his hand, it felt more like an extension of his arm. When he thumbed back the hammer, it sounded like a soft, metallic kiss. It shouldn’t take much for him to remove that trigger guard. After that, he’d be ready for business.

  ‘‘How much?’’ Sol asked.

  The salesman rubbed his hands together and glanced at a list that was tacked to the back of the case. ‘‘Will you need ammunition as well?’’

  ‘‘Yes, please.’’

  ‘‘Hey!’’ Nester shouted. ‘‘You find what you need?’’

  Sol nodded. ‘‘I think I found just the one. It might need a little work, though.’’

  The salesman nodded and looked over toward Nester as well. ‘‘I can recommend some good men who can work on this pistol.’’

  Ignoring the salesman, Nester asked, ‘‘What about a holster?’’

  Placing his own gun on the counter, Sol picked up the .44 and asked, ‘‘You mind if I see how this one fits?’’

  The salesman didn’t look too happy about it, but he consented with a nod.

  Sol dropped the gun into his holster and could feel there was some extra space in there. The leather was comfortably worn, but all Sol had to do was take a step or two as he paced in front of the display case and he could feel the new gun jostling about against his hip. When he went to take the gun out, the pistol snagged upon the leather.

  ‘‘Why not?’’ Sol decided. ‘‘If I’m buying a good gun, I should get a good holster for it.’’

  ‘‘Most definitely,’’ the salesman replied. Even though Sol only paused to think about how much money he would be spending, the salesman filled the silence with a quick ‘‘If you buy the gun and some ammunition to go along with it, I can take a quarter of the price off the holster.’’