Ralph Compton Outlaw Town

by Ralph Compton

  Reid gestured at Chancy. “To him?”

  “And everybody else, for disturbing the peace.”

  Chancy didn’t expect Reid to do it. The man was too mad. Yet, to his astonishment, Reid straightened and his shoulders slumped, and he said loudly so everyone would hear, but to no one in particular, “I’m sorry.” Then, tucking his chin to his chest, he barreled out of the saloon as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  “Trouble over,” Ives declared.

  Mayor Broom wasn’t pleased. “Join me out back, would you? We need to have words.”

  “That’s one thing you’re good at,” Ives said, but he went along.

  The spell was broken. A few men swore. Others laughed. Hushed conversations broke out, and people moved again.

  “That Ives must be hell on wheels,” Ollie said.

  “Is he ever!” Missy Burke said. “Whatever you do, don’t tangle with him or he’ll bury you.”

  Chapter 16

  Chancy would have liked to ask her a million questions about her life before she came to Prosperity and whatever else he could think of, but Missy excused herself and went off to mingle.

  “She sure is nice,” Ollie remarked.

  “The nicest.” Chancy watched her, feeling absolutely fine for all of half a minute. Then someone blocked his view.

  “Outside,” Lucas Stout said.

  “Uh-oh,” Ollie said.

  Chancy followed the trail boss through the batwings and out into the cool of night. Stars filled the sky and in the distance a coyote yipped.

  “What was that all about?” Lucas Stout said. “As if I can’t guess.”

  Chancy clamped his lips tight.

  “Listen,” Stout said. “A good trail boss never pries into a hand’s personal life. Except when it affects the outfit. And this does. We’ll only be here another day at the most, and when we go, we have to leave Finger behind. He’ll be under their care. We want to part company on good terms. Savvy?”

  “I know all that,” Chancy got out.

  “Then why were you about to throw down on Reid?”

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Ollie said. “That other fella grabbed hold of Chancy’s girl and it riled him.”

  “Your girl?” Stout said.

  Chancy felt himself grow warm for what had to be the fifth or sixth time that night. “We only just met.”

  Lucas Stout sighed. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, then stared up at the stars. “I’ve never seen it to fail. On every drive there’s always one or two who fall head over spurs for some filly who catches their eye.”

  “She’s the prettiest gal I ever saw,” Chancy said.

  “Of course she is. And she almost got Reid or you shot.”

  “That wasn’t her fault.”

  “You’re right,” Lucas Stout said. “It’s yours. I don’t expect my men to be paragons of virtue, as a parson might say. But I do expect them to use common sense. I told everyone back at camp that we’re all to be on our best behavior while we’re here. Anyone hankers to howl at the moon, they can do it in Wichita after they’ve been paid and the outfit can’t be blamed for their antics.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Chancy said. “It just happened.”

  “Gantry, you’re young, but I’ve always thought you had a good head on your shoulders. Don’t go chasing a skirt you’ll never see again. And no gunplay, you hear me? Not without more cause than you had in there.”

  For some reason Chancy’s memory flashed back to the time he was eight and his pa took him to the woodshed. “I won’t get into any more trouble, Mr. Stout. I promise.”

  “I hope you keep it,” Stout said. He glanced to one side, into the shadows. “I’m heading back to camp. Are you coming?”

  Chancy was startled to see Ben Rigenaw come out of the dark. The gun hand had been there the whole time.

  “Well, howdy, Ben,” Ollie said. “You sure are sneaky.”

  “You want some advice, Teal?” Rigenaw said.

  “From you?” Ollie said. “Why, sure. There’s no one I respect more. What’s it about? Have I been talking to my horse too much?”

  “Has it ever kicked you in the head?”

  “My horse? Why would he do a thing like that? He likes me as much as I like him. Besides, I wouldn’t own one that’s a kicker. I knew a man who got his brains bashed out once by a mustang. I like my horses tame and easy to ride.”

  “My advice, Teal,” Ben Rigenaw said, “is to keep a close eye on this pard of yours. I saw the whole thing, and that Reid doesn’t strike me as the kind to turn the other cheek.”

  “You were there? I didn’t see you. But then I was looking at that Reid at first, and then at that Ives. He sure is fearsome.”

  “For some he might be.”

  “Not for you? I reckon not, as good as you can draw and shoot. If I was as quick as you, I wouldn’t be scared of anything. Except maybe grizzlies. I used to have nightmares about being eaten by a bear. When I was little, we had a neighbor whose dog got ate, and I saw what was left. I’ve been afraid of bears ever since.”

  “Ollie?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  Rigenaw gazed up and down the street and at the buildings around them. “You and your pard be careful. There’s something about this place I don’t like. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Feel right how? Like a coat that’s too small?”

  “Like when you hear a rattler but can’t see it.”

  Chancy figured that Rigenaw meant Reid and Ives. “We won’t get into any more trouble. I’ve given my word.”

  “See that you don’t,” Lucas Stout said. He wheeled toward the hitch rail and said, “You coming?” over his shoulder.

  As Ben Rigenaw turned, he paused and said quietly, “Watch your backs, boys.”

  The trail boss and the gun hand swung onto their mounts, and Stout raised his reins.

  “Be at the herd by midnight.”

  “We will,” Chancy said. He was eager to go back into the saloon and be near Missy Burke.

  “That Rigenaw sure is nice,” Ollie remarked.

  “You think everybody is.”

  “That’s not true,” Ollie said indignantly. “That Ives is mean as anything. And Reid is always on the peck.”

  “Is that a fact?” someone said from across the street, and a figure moved toward them.

  Chancy swore.

  The light spilling from the saloon window lit the hate-stamped features of Ira Reid.

  Chapter 17

  Chancy tensed to go for his six-gun. He would draw and shoot and throw himself to one side at the same time. With luck, Reid would miss but he wouldn’t.

  But Reid made no attempt to go for his own six-shooter. Glaring, he stalked up and made as if to jab Chancy in the chest. But he glanced at the batwings and lowered his arm. “You’re damn lucky, boy.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “We’re men, the both of us,” Ollie said. He had taken a step to the left and his hand was close to his holster.

  “Stay out of this, idiot,” Reid said.

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Ollie replied. “He’s my pard.”

  “He can’t do better than a jackass like you?” Reid said.

  For Chancy it was the last straw. And since Reid wasn’t going for his hardware, he didn’t go for his. Instead he punched him on the jaw.

  The blow knocked Reid back a step, but he didn’t go down. Fury gripped him, and he started to lower his hand to his Remington but once more glanced at the batwings. “No,” he snarled. “Ives would gun me for sure.” He pried at his belt buckle, saying, “You want fists, fine by me. They can’t hold that against me. Not when you started it.”

  Chancy prided at his own belt.

  “What are you doing?” Ollie said
.

  “Stay out of this,” Chancy said.

  “You heard the trail boss. Stay out of trouble, he told us.”

  Chancy was tired of Reid’s insults. He got his gun belt off, wrapped the belt around the holster, and shoved them at Ollie. “Hold these for me.”

  “Pard, you shouldn’t,” Ollie said.

  Reid had his own gun belt off and was draping it over the near end of the hitch rail. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  “You like to hurt folks?” Ollie said.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Chancy raised his fists as he had seen some men do, but he had barely set himself when Ira Reid was on him. He blocked a right jab, but a looping left caught him low in the ribs and pain exploded up his side. Grunting, he backpedaled. Reid came after him. He countered a cross and was jarred by a blow to his cheek.

  Reid was good with his fists, and knew it. “What’s the matter, boy?” he gloated. “We’re only getting started.”

  Hunching his shoulders and holding his elbows in front of his gut, Chancy thought he was ready, but the next flurry nearly overwhelmed him. For every punch he blocked, another got through. He was hit on the chin, on the ribs again, on the temple, on his ear. That last hurt the worst even though it only grazed him.

  Ira Reid laughed. “I’d heard you Texicans are pitiful with your fists, but you take the cake.”

  Chancy’s anger got the better of him. He closed in and swung, but he was reckless and his swing was too wide. Reid easily blocked, and the next instant it felt as if a hammer slammed into Chancy’s stomach. He doubled over, saw a fist sweeping at his face, and jerked aside barely in time.

  Simultaneously a shout came from the saloon. A head was poking over the batwings.

  “Everybody! Come see! There’s a fight!”

  Boots pounded, and there were more yells.

  Reid had been about to come at Chancy again, but he stopped and regarded the people pouring from the saloon with unease.

  Chancy could guess why. He was grateful for the reprieve. His gut hurt so much he couldn’t straighten.

  Mayor Broom emerged, followed by Ives. Ives made as if to step into the street, but the mayor held out an arm, stopping him. “Hold on. Let’s hear what this is about.”

  Reid was quick to say, “I didn’t start it. The cowpoke did. And we’re not using our guns.”

  “I can see that,” Mayor Broom said. “Is he telling the truth, Mr. Gantry? You’re the cause of this ruckus?”

  “He insulted my pard,” Chancy said, “and I hit him.”

  “That was awful sweet of you,” Ollie said.

  Ives gave him a strange look. “Sweet?”

  “Sure. Like when someone says bad things about a lady you’re with. You’d fight for her, wouldn’t you? Like my pard is fighting for me.”

  Embarrassed, Chancy said, “You don’t need to say any more.”

  “I’m not done,” Ollie said. “More people should be sweet like you. It’d make the world a better place. My ma used to say that she fell in love with my pa because he was so sweet and I should go through life trying to be the same. Be sweet as sugar, she’d say, and then pinch my cheek and kiss me on the head.”

  Ives cocked his head from side to side as if studying a new sort of creature. “Are you sure you’re a Texan?”

  “How’s that again?” Ollie said.

  “I’m told your outfit is from down Texas way,” Ives said, “but I never saw a Texan who acts anything like you.”

  “There aren’t as many as sweet as me.”

  Reid had been glowering this whole while. “Can I get on with this, Broom? I want to pound him while my dander is up.”

  The mayor looked at Chancy. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t permit it. But since you admit you’re to blame, and since no six-guns are involved, I’m afraid I’ll have to give my consent. Nothing personal, you understand, Mr. Gantry?”

  “Let’s do this,” Chancy said. He wanted to get it over with. And hope that Lucas Stout didn’t hear about it. But he’d forgotten that Ollie and him weren’t the only hands there.

  “Kick his slats in, Gantry!” Jelly Varnes whooped.

  “You can do it!” Drew Case shouted.

  “Show him what you’re made of!” young Mays hollered.

  “I already know the answer to that,” Reid said. “You’re made of mush.” And sneering confidently, he waded in.

  Chapter 18

  Chancy had never traded punches with another man before. He’d never wanted to. By nature he had a peaceable disposition. His folks, like Ollie’s, had impressed on him from an early age that he should try to get along with everyone, and he supposed that had stuck.

  And now that his initial anger had faded, he felt a sudden lack of confidence. Reid was older. Reid had done this before. And Reid was hell-bent on beating him to a pulp.

  It was all Chancy could do to defend himself as Reid unleashed a furious flurry that nearly drove him to his knees. He blocked. He twisted. He tried to sidestep. But punch after punch landed. Unless he rallied, he would be beaten senseless.

  A blow caught him on the side of the head, and he reeled. He realized his hat was gone. But that was the least of his worries. He managed to avoid a straight arm to the face by throwing himself to one side. For a few seconds he was in the clear, and his gaze happened to drift to the onlookers and to alight on Missy Burke.

  She stood with her hands clasped to her bosom, worry lighting her face. Her eyes caught his and something seemed to pass between them. He had a sense that they had touched minds, somehow. A sense that she was rooting for him, that she cared if he won or lost. And she yelled as loudly as the men were doing. “Hit him!” she screeched. “Knock him down!”

  Something happened. A grim resolve came over Chancy, and a surge in confidence. He raised his arms higher and waited, and Reid came at him swinging. Chancy blocked a cross, then drove his right fist into Reid’s gut with all the power in his body, driving in with his legs and whipping himself half around. He heard Reid grunt. It was music to his ears. He saw a look of shock on Reid’s face. It added fuel to his inner fire. He swatted a weak counter and hit Reid twice on the chin so fast he wasn’t even sure he threw the punches. Reid was jolted onto his bootheels and flapped his arms to steady himself, leaving himself wide-open.

  Chancy showed no mercy. He pressed his attack, landing a solid right to the ribs, a left to the face, a right to the stomach that he buried almost to his wrist, a left to the face and a right to the face and another left and suddenly there was no one to hit, no one in front of him. He stopped swinging and blinked in confusion and saw Reid lying unconscious at his feet. “What?” he blurted.

  People were cheering and clapping, and Jelly Varnes patted him on the back and Mays did the same on his shoulder. Addison was there. Ollie grabbed his arm and pumped it.

  “You did it, pard!”

  Chancy looked at Missy Burke and she smiled the finest smile any female had ever bestowed on him. He wanted to say he had done it for her, and it occurred to him that she knew that. He smiled back, and tasted blood.

  And then Mayor Broom and Ives came up, blocking his view of Missy.

  His friends faced them, standing on either side, backing him. Jelly Varnes stared hard at Ives.

  “What?” Chancy said.

  Mayor Broom frowned down at Reid. “He brought that on himself, the fool.”

  “I wouldn’t have reckoned you had it in you, cowboy,” Ives said.

  “It was a fair fight,” Chancy said.

  “That it was,” Mayor Broom agreed. “And I want to be sure there are no hard feelings. You and these others shouldn’t hold Reid’s actions against the entire town. The rest of us are happy to have you here, and invite you to stay as long as you’d like.”

  “It’s not up to us,” Chancy said. “It’s up to the t
rail boss.”

  “I realize that,” Broom said. Smiling, he held out his hand. “To be clear. No hard feelings?”

  “Not from me,” Chancy said, shaking hands. “Except at him.” He nodded at Reid.

  “We’re going to have a long talk with him once he comes around,” Mayor Broom said. “His shenanigans have to cease.”

  The mayor gave orders to several others and they lifted Reid none too gently and carried him into the saloon.

  Chancy looked for Missy, but she was gone.

  “We have to get you to camp, pard,” Ollie said.

  “No,” Chancy said. He wanted to go talk to Missy.

  “Listen to him,” Jelly Varnes said. “You’re a mess.”

  “I am?” Chancy said.

  “You took a terrible beating,” Addison said. “You need to be cleaned up. See how bad it is.”

  “That’s right,” Mays said.

  Chancy thought of Lucas Stout. “I’d rather get cleaned up here.”

  “Don’t buck us on this,” Addison said. “You’re heading back, and we’ll go with you in case Reid has friends. I saw some giving you dirty looks. They’re not all willing to forgive and forget like the mayor.”

  Reluctantly Chancy gave in. Ollie brought his horse, and together the five of them rode out of Prosperity and across the valley toward the lake.

  Chancy thought about Missy. How pretty she was. And how he couldn’t wait to see her at noon tomorrow. He’d never looked forward to anything so much in his life.

  He wondered what was happening to him. He’d only just met her. Yet he was head over heels.

  He’d heard of men being love-struck, they called it, but he’d never imagined it would happen to him. When it came to women, they were nice and all, but he’d had no interest in finding a gal of his own. Falling in love was the last thing on his mind. Until now.

  They passed a lot of their cattle, and punchers riding herd. The light of the campfire illuminated the chuck wagon parked nearby, and part of the horse string. Ben Rigenaw and Lester Smith were hunkered by the fire, drinking coffee. Smith was the talker of the outfit, a teller of tall tales, like the time he’d been to California and seen a grizzly as big as a Conestoga, or the time he went to Utah and saw the Great Salt Lake, and claimed there was so much salt in the water he could walk on it.