Finger was breathing heavily when they were done. He sat slumped on the edge of the bed. “That tuckered me out.”
“Rest a minute,” Chancy said, although he would rather they left right away. Someone could walk in at any moment.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the latch moved and the door opened.
Laverne Dodger halted in surprise. “What’s this?” he said.
“Howdy,” Chancy said.
Dodger limped in, his peg thumping. “I came to check on my patient and find him doing what he’s not supposed to.”
“It can’t be helped.”
“No,” Dodger said. “I reckon it can’t.”
“You tried to warn us,” Chancy said. “You knew they were up to something.”
“I know exactly what they’re up to,” Dodger said. “They’ve done it before. And I’ve been part of it, until now.”
“Why the change of heart?” Chancy asked.
“I like you fellas,” Dodger said. “You’re not just a bunch of faces. I got to know you a little.” He stared at Finger Howard. “And operating on your friend there reminded me there was a time when I cared about preserving life. You ever hear of the Hippocratic oath?”
“No.”
“Well, let’s just say doctors are supposed to save lives and not take them. And they will take yours if they can.”
“The mayor says they’ll be content with three hundred head.”
“Broom can talk rings around a tree,” Dodger said bitterly.
A shadow filled the doorway and Chancy glanced over, thinking that Stout and the others had seen Dodger enter and come to investigate. But the man who appeared was the same one he’d seen go into the fifth cabin, and he was holding a leveled rifle. Big and brawny, he had a square jaw and pale blue eyes.
“What’s this?” he demanded.
“Brock!” Laverne Dodger said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” Brock said. He nodded at Chancy. “That’s one of them cowboys. What’s he doing here? Do Krine and Broom know?”
“He came to check on his friend,” Dodger said. “That’s all.”
“I should tell Krine.”
Smiling, Dodger assured him, “He’ll be leaving in a few minutes. You can go on about your own business.”
Clearly uncertain, Brock started to turn, then stopped. “Hold on. Why’s that other one dressed? He’s not to go anywhere. I heard Broom say that with my own ears.”
“He was tired of lying around in his long johns,” Dodger said.
“I sure was,” Finger spoke up.
“This ain’t right,” Brock said. He jerked his rifle to his shoulder. “None of you move until I sort this out.”
Chapter 31
Laverne Dodger spread his single arm. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t point that thing at me.”
“I’m pointing it at the cowpoke,” Brock said.
Chancy was indeed looking right down the barrel. He made no attempt to go for his six-gun. He’d have a slug through the head before he touched it. “Hold on, now,” he said. “All I wanted was to see how my friend is doing.”
“Put that rifle down, you yack,” Finger said.
Brock kept it trained on Chancy. “All three of you sit on that bed and keep your hands where I can see them.” He took a step inside, his cheek to the Winchester.
Chancy backed toward the bed. All it would take was for Brock to holler and townsmen would come on the run. “Your mayor said we could come see Finger any time we wanted.”
“I’m not taking any chances,” Brock said. “The last outfit that came through, we lost three men.”
“Last outfit?” Chancy repeated.
Dodger hadn’t moved except to hike his hand in the air. “Brock, should you be talking about this? Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?”
“What is?” Finger said.
“Don’t try to confuse me,” Brock snapped. “Sit on the bed, Laverne, with the cowpokes.”
“What will you do if I don’t?” Dodger retorted. “Shoot me? Krine and Broom wouldn’t like that.”
“Do as I say.”
That was when another shadow filled the doorway, and in sprang Jelly Varnes. His Colt was out, but he didn’t shoot. Instead he smashed it against the back of Brock’s head, not once but three times. Jelly hit him so hard that Brock folded without a sound, ending up on his side with the rifle half under him.
“About time,” Chancy said.
Lucas Stout strode in. “We had to wait until the coast was clear. Is Finger fit to travel?”
“Why don’t you ask me?” Finger said. “And, yes, I am, provided I go slow.”
“We’ll help you.” Stout came to the bed and slipped an arm under Finger’s and around his shoulders. “Chancy, take the other side.”
“Go easy,” Finger requested.
“Jelly, cover us,” Lucas Stout said.
“With pleasure.”
Together, Chancy and the trail boss, bearing most of Finger’s weight, had gotten him almost to the door when Stout stopped.
“Hold on. What about the doc?”
“I’m not really a sawbones,” Laverne Dodger said. He had moved aside and was tucking his empty sleeve into his belt. “But what about me?”
“I don’t want you yelling to your friends and giving us away.”
“I believe Mr. Gantry and Mr. Finger will vouch for me. I could have given them away but didn’t.”
“He’s helped us,” Chancy confirmed.
“Why?” Stout said suspiciously. “He’s one of them.”
“We all make mistakes,” Dodger said. “I’m with them because the gang robbed a bank up in Kansas about a year and a half ago and Krine was shot in the leg as they rode off. The bullet needed to come out. I was working at a stable in Geary at the time and one of the outlaws happened to know me, so they brought Krine to Geary and asked me to operate on him, like I did for your hand. Krine liked my work so much he offered me a share of the gang’s loot from then on if I stuck with them and tended to their medical needs.”
“You keep calling them a gang,” Lucas Stout said.
“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” Dodger said. “That’s what they are. Outlaws. Robbers and killers, the whole bunch.”
“The entire town?”
Dodger nodded. “When we first came here last spring, there were only a couple of cabins. We stopped to rest up, and a herd happened by and stayed a couple of days.”
“Did your friends try to steal their cattle too?”
“No. But Broom had a brainstorm. He gave a speech, saying how he was tired of always being on the move, and living hand to mouth, and wouldn’t it be nice for them to have their own town and make money legal-like? All they had to do was a little work putting up a saloon and a store and a few more, and it would bring herds in right to their doorstep.”
“Outlaws, by golly,” Finger said.
“An outlaw town, you might call it,” Dodger said. “And they have caught you smack in their web.”
“Like hell they have,” Lucas Stout said.
“Listen, mister,” Dodger said. “More have joined since we came and there are well over forty of them now. They won’t let you leave unless you give them the cattle they want. Fight them, and they’ll take your whole herd.”
“What about us?” Chancy said.
“They can’t take your herd if you’re alive, now, can they?”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Finger said.
“How many herds have they done this to?” Lucas Stout asked.
“Five so far,” Laverne Dodger revealed. “Four gave them the cattle they demanded, and Krine and some of the others took the cows to Wichita and sold them.”
“What
happened with the fifth herd?” Stout wanted to know.
“The trail boss refused to hand over a single cow. There were about eight hundred head. And he only had eight hands.”
“The gang killed them?”
“Every last cowboy. That’s where all the used clothes in the store came from. Krine and his wild bunch will do the same to you if you buck them.”
“Did you warn those other outfits like you’re warning us?”
Dodger bowed his head. “To my shame, I did not. I didn’t get to know them like I have some of you.”
“That’s no excuse,” Stout said.
Dodger flinched.
Jelly Varnes had been watching out the door, and turned. “Did I hear right? They’re outlaws? Every last mother’s son?”
“You heard right,” Dodger said. “They drove off the settlers who were here before them. Everyone in Prosperity except the ladies at the saloon is a member of the gang.”
Jelly looked at Stout. “Does this mean I can stop holding back and shoot any of these buzzards who give us trouble?”
“Shoot away,” Stout said.
“About time,” Jelly said, and he smiled.
Chapter 32
Chancy figured they’d make for the stable as quickly as they could, but he was mistaken.
“Around to the back of the cabin,” Lucas Stout said.
Jelly Varnes covered them. Finger grunted and grimaced but didn’t complain. At the rear, they halted.
“You all right?” Chancy asked Finger.
“That took a lot out of me. I reckon I’m puny yet.”
“You have to hold up,” Lucas Stout said. “In another minute we’ll have you on a horse.”
Drew and Ollie had fetched their mounts from the corral and were hurrying along the back of the cabins toward them. Not at a gallop. The sound might draw attention. They came at a fast walk, tugging on the reins to the riderless horses.
“You’ll have to ride double, Finger,” Lucas Stout said.
“I sure couldn’t do it on my own,” Finger said.
Chancy was eager to get out of there. They had been lucky so far, but a townsman—no, an outlaw—might happen by at any time.
Ollie arrived with Chancy’s animal. Drew Case was behind him with the rest.
“Gantry, how about if you take Finger?” Lucas Stout said.
“Fine by me.” Swinging on, Chancy lowered an arm, and with him pulling and Lucas Stout giving Finger a boost from below, Finger was able to get on. “Hold tight,” Chancy advised.
Finger gripped the back of Chancy’s belt with both hands.
“We go easy until we’re out of sight,” Lucas Stout cautioned. He forked leather and raised his reins. “Jelly, what are you waiting for?”
Only then did Chancy realize Jelly Varnes was still by the cabin and looking toward the street. Suddenly Jelly pressed his back to the rear wall and put a finger to his lips. Not ten seconds later spurs jingled and around the corner came one of the outlaws. The man was heeled, and on seeing them on their horses, he clawed for his six-shooter. “Hold it right there.”
Quick as thought, Jelly stepped in close, jammed his ivory-handled Colt against the man’s ribs, and fired. The slug passed clear through the outlaw’s torso and burst out the other side, spraying blood and gore. The blast wasn’t as loud as it would have been, but it was still more than loud enough to be heard from one end of the town to the other.
Jelly darted to his horse and climbed on. The instant he was in the saddle, Lucas Stout bawled for them to ride.
Chancy didn’t need to be urged. Shouts were breaking out, and it wouldn’t be long before other outlaws showed up.
Racing to the west at a trot, they glanced back.
“There’s one!” Ollie cried out. “He’s seen that dead jasper and now he sees us.”
Chancy braced for the boom of a shot. It was slow in coming, but when it did, he involuntarily flinched in anticipation of taking lead in the back. Which was silly of him. The slug would have to pass through Finger Howard first.
“Anyone hit, cry out,” Lucas Stout bawled.
No one was.
Finger leaned into Chancy and firmed his hold. “All this bouncing,” he said. “It’s not doing me any favors.”
“We’ll slow once we’re out of rifle range,” Chancy offered. Unless the outlaws came after them, they should be safe.
Ollie veered to come alongside. “So far, so good, pard.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Chancy said.
“I’m obliged to you for coming to get me,” Finger said. “You put yourselves in danger on my account.”
“You ride for the brand, the same as us,” Chancy said. “We don’t leave one of our own behind.”
“A whole town of outlaws,” Finger said. “Who would have believed it?”
“Mr. Stout can outfox those buzzards,” Ollie said. “I’d stake my life on it.”
“You are,” Finger said.
Unexpectedly Lucas Stout, who had pulled a good twenty yards ahead, stopped and reined his roan around. Jelly Varnes and Drew Case did the same.
“He must be worried about Finger,” Ollie said.
It wasn’t that at all. Stout pointed toward town and said something that Chancy didn’t catch. One glance sufficed to know why.
Six riders were streaming out of town after them.
“Here comes trouble,” Ollie said.
An understatement, if ever Chancy heard one. His rifle was in his saddle scabbard, and he reached down to slide it out.
“No,” Lucas Stout said. “You keep going with Finger. The rest of us will persuade them to leave us be.”
“Persuade with lead,” Jelly Varnes said. “It’s the best persuasion there is.” He yanked his own rifle free and jacked the lever.
“What are you waiting for, Gantry?” Lucas Stout asked.
Chancy hated to leave Ollie. Times like this, pards should be together. But then Finger was Jelly’s pard, and Jelly was on his own too. The difference being that Jelly was a gun hand and Ollie was a kitten. “I wish we’d never seen that sign,” he grumbled.
“Which?” Finger said.
“The one that brought us here.”
“If you hadn’t,” Finger reminded him, “I wouldn’t have gotten to a sawbones in time. I’d likely be dead now. I’m grateful that you did.”
To make amends, Chancy said, “You’re right. You’re more important than our cattle.”
“Don’t let Stout hear you say that,” Finger said, and laughed. Or started to. Pain caused him to grit his teeth and scowl.
“You should rest,” Chancy said.
“On the back of a horse?”
Chancy was about to mention that they did it all the time while riding herd, when a flurry of shots shattered the afternoon heat.
Chapter 33
The six riders had spread out and two of them had rifles to their shoulders and were spraying lead as they rode.
Chancy didn’t recognize them. It wasn’t any of the leaders. Whoever they were, they were reckless. It was easy enough to hit a target when standing still, but to do it from the saddle of a fast-moving horse took skill. It was hard to hold the rifle steady and fix a bead.
Jelly Varnes laughed. Wedging his Winchester to his own shoulder, he rose in the stirrups, held himself perfectly still, and squeezed off a shot.
The foremost rifleman’s head snapped back and he tumbled from his mount in a whirl of disjointed limbs.
It brought the rest to a stop. Except for the other man with a rifle. He glanced back at his fallen companion, then worked his lever like someone possessed, shooting at Jelly.
Chancy held his breath. Were it him, he’d have ducked. But Jelly stayed straight and took deliberate aim. Chancy heard him say, “Jackass.”
Jelly’s rifle banged.
The second shooter whipped half around, his rifle falling from arms gone limp. His horse went another ten yards or so and the outlaw pitched headfirst to the ground and was still.
The rest decided not to try their luck. One shook a fist and bellowed something. Then they reined around and headed for town.
Chuckling, Jelly sat and rested his Winchester’s stock on his thigh. “Some wolves are chickens.”
“That was damn fine shooting,” Drew Case said.
“It’s what I do,” Jelly said.
“Keep doing it when there’s the need,” Lucas Stout said. Smiling, he reined around and gave a mild start. “Gantry? What the blazes are you still doing here? Didn’t you have the sense to ride on?”
“We were watching,” Ollie said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Stout said. “We can defend ourselves, but Finger can’t. You should have gone on.”
Their trail boss was right, and Chancy knew it. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“From here on we have to stay sharp,” Stout said. “They won’t hold back after this. They won’t pretend to be decent citizens any longer. Not after we’ve killed three of them. They’ll come at us with everything they have.”
“You make it sound like we’re in a war,” Ollie said.
“We are,” Lucas Stout said. “I’ll lay it all out when we get back. All of you have a decision to make.” He didn’t go on.
Chancy pointed his horse toward the lake. “How are you holding up?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t mind resting for a spell,” Finger said weakly. “Some soup and sleep would perk me considerably.”
“Why soup?”
“The sawbones said I shouldn’t have solids, as he called them, for a while. Something about my innards needing time to mend.”
“I keep forgetting that was a serious operation.”
“I don’t,” Finger said.
Ralph Compton Outlaw Town Page 12
