Ralph Compton Outlaw Town

by Ralph Compton

  “They’re not as clever as they think they are,” Ollie said.

  “For once we agree,” Drew said. “Most bad men think they’re smarter than they are. It’s why so many end up doing strangulation jigs or behind bars.”

  “My pa used to say I’d make a terrible outlaw because I’d be caught in no time,” Ollie whispered. “Once I took cookies from the cookie jar and he found me out right away. I asked him how and he pointed at the floor. I never knew cookies left so many crumbs.”

  “You’re doing it again,” Drew Case said.

  “Doing what?”

  Drew sighed. “Are you set for this, Teal? Really and truly set?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Ollie said.

  “And you, Gantry?”

  “You can count on me,” Chancy said.

  Rising into a crouch, Drew Case drew his six-shooter. “Then let’s get killing.”

  Chapter 42

  It seemed as if every time Chancy turned around lately, he had butterflies in his stomach. As he followed Drew Case around to the back of the buildings on the east side of the street, he almost wished he was anywhere but there. Then he thought of Missy and his butterflies died on the wing. Palming his Colt, he placed his thumb on the hammer.

  Ollie had the good sense to stay quiet.

  Drew Case hugged the rear walls. The few windows they came to, he ducked under. Doorways, he moved wide around and covered them as he went.

  Chancy was impressed. Case didn’t have the reputation that Ben Rigenaw and Jelly Varnes did, but he was obviously a gent you didn’t want to trifle with. Chancy prayed he could hold up his end when the shooting commenced.

  The saloon was midway down, the racket being raised more than enough to drown out the slight sounds they made. The back door was shut, and light gleamed along the bottom.

  Drew motioned for them to wait while he tried the latch. Ever so slowly, he cracked the door enough to peer in. Suddenly he jerked upright, shut the door again, and motioned for them to back away. They retreated to the corner.

  The back door opened and a man stepped out. He was humming to himself and smiling. His spurs jangling, he shut the door and moved toward the outhouses.

  Chancy let out a breath of relief. It was short-lived. For without any forewarning, Drew Case darted toward the unsuspecting outlaw, drawing something from his left boot as he went. Chancy caught the glint of metal and remembered that Case carried an Arkansas toothpick in that boot. He’d seen Case use it to cut rope.

  The outlaw was reaching for the outhouse door when Drew Case rammed the blade to the hilt into his back. The man stiffened, and Case drove the blade home again, higher up.

  Like a puppet with its strings cut, the outlaw collapsed. Drew caught him and hauled the body behind the outhouses. He reappeared, wiping the blade on his pants.

  Sliding the toothpick into his boot, he returned to the back door and beckoned.

  “That was slick,” Ollie whispered.

  Chancy had been shocked by the brutality of the deed, but now that he thought about it, he realized it was necessary. They all needed to be brutal from here on out or they wouldn’t live to see the morning sun. “We have to be just like him, pard,” he whispered. “You can’t be your usual nice self.”

  “I’ll try,” Ollie whispered.

  Drew cracked the door, peered in, and quickly opened it wide enough to slip inside.

  A hall led to the front, and a curtain. There was a door on the left and two on the right. Drew tried the first on the right, stuck his head in, and hastened them into what turned out to be a darkened storeroom filled with cases of liquor.

  “Where did they get all this?” Ollie marveled.

  From down near the curtain, a man said loudly, “I’ll fetch the whiskey and be right back.”

  Drew Case gestured for them to move against the far wall and drew his Arkansas toothpick. He left the door partway open and slipped behind it, the knife held close to his chest.

  George the bartender entered, pushing on the door. When it didn’t open all the way, he stuck his head around to find out why.

  With the speed of a striking rattler, Drew buried his blade in the barkeep’s throat. He shoved it in and up with such force, George’s head snapped back. George had no time to cry out, no time to dodge, no time for anything except an expression of astonishment, and then his legs buckled and he deflated like a punctured water skin.

  Curled in a heap, he quivered, gasped, and was still.

  “Two down,” Drew said.

  “What do you need us for?” Ollie whispered. “You’re killing everybody.”

  “Your turns will come.” Hunkering, Drew slowly pulled the toothpick out, careful not to get a lot of blood on him. He wiped it on the bartender’s apron and stood.

  “I never knew you were such a knife man,” Ollie said.

  “Some things a man doesn’t talk about.”

  “If it was me, I would,” Ollie said. “I’d be proud of it, and go around with a big knife like yours on my hip where everybody could see.”

  Drew stared at Chancy.

  “Ollie,” Chancy said. “Hush now.”

  “Well, I would,” Ollie said.

  Drew Case slid the toothpick into his boot sheath and checked the hall. “The coast is clear,” he whispered. “From here on out stay close and be ready to sling lead.”

  “I’ll sling as best I can,” Ollie said.

  They crept toward the curtain.

  Chancy felt familiar butterflies. He tried to think of Missy, but the trick didn’t work. The butterflies fluttered worse. He looked at the Colt in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. He was about to shoot other men. It didn’t seem entirely real, despite the events of the day.

  “Remember to aim,” Drew Case whispered. “We want to be sure. Go for the leaders, like we talked about.”

  “Krine and Broom and Ives,” Ollie said.

  “And Ira Reid if you see him,” Drew said. “I owe that bastard for Long Tom.”

  “It was Reid who shot him?” Chancy said.

  Drew nodded.

  A silhouette appeared on the other side of the curtain, and they froze. They saw a lucifer flare, and heard someone puff on a cigar, and the silhouette went away.

  “I never have liked cigars,” Ollie said. “They stink.”

  “Rein in that mouth of yours,” Drew said. “Concentrate on the killing and nothing else.”

  “I’ve never done that before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” Drew paused at the curtain and thumbed back the hammer on his six-shooter. He did it slowly so the click wouldn’t be as loud. “Ready?” he whispered.

  Chancy swallowed and nodded.

  “I have a question,” Ollie said.

  “Of course you do,” Drew said.

  “What do we do about them?” Ollie asked, pointing down the hall.

  Chancy turned.

  Della Neece and Margie had just come in the back way and were standing with their mouths agape.

  Chapter 43

  Chancy was worried one or the other would let out a yell and warn the men in the saloon, but they were rooted in surprise.

  Drew Case didn’t help matters by pointing his revolver at them. He put a finger to his lips to caution them to keep quiet.

  The next moment the situation became infinitely worse, as far as Chancy was concerned.

  Missy Burke walked in. She was smiling and focused on her friends and drew up in midstep when she spied Chancy and his. “What in the world?” she blurted, and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Don’t you dare shoot her,” Chancy warned Case.

  Ollie smiled at the ladies and gave a little wave.

  Then everything went to hell.

  The curtain was jerked asid
e by Mayor Broom. He was looking over his shoulder and said, “I’ll see what’s keeping George. How long does it take to fetch a bottle anyhow?”

  Broom faced them just as Drew Case shoved the muzzle of his long-barreled Colt at his face, and Della Neece let loose a shriek that would do justice to a panther.

  A lot of outlaws were in the saloon. Most were at tables, relaxing with a drink of coffin varnish or beer after their day of blood and thunder. They all heard the shriek and turned toward the back.

  Mayor Broom’s eyes became the size of saucers. “No!”

  “Yes,” Drew Case said, and shot him.

  Or tried to. Broom jerked aside at the absolute last instant. Blood sprayed, and he cried out and pressed a hand to his temple while tottering to one side.

  The outlaws galvanized into motion.

  Drew Case fired while shouting, “Lend a hand, damn you two!”

  Embarrassed that he had just stood there, Chancy extended his six-shooter and sent lead into a beefy outlaw taking aim at Case. Thumbing the hammer, he fired at another. Belatedly he realized Krine and Ives and Reid weren’t in the saloon. Only Broom, of the big shots.

  Ollie added his lead to theirs.

  Several outlaws were down. Others were dropping flat or flipping tables over for cover. A man near the batwings fanned four shots that struck the curtain and made it jump.

  “Light a shuck,” Drew Case bawled. “We’re sitting ducks in this hall.” Whirling, he bolted.

  Della Neece and Margie were backing out the rear door as fast as they could, and hauling Missy with them.

  Chancy shoved Ollie. “Run!” he shouted, and fired as he retreated. He saw Mayor Broom scrambling toward a table and snapped a shot but missed.

  Chancy wished that Jelly Varnes and Rigenaw were there. He fired at a head jutting out but he wasn’t fast enough. That made two slugs he’d wasted. By his reckoning, he had only one cartridge left in the cylinder, and quickened his pace.

  A glance showed that the women had made it outside. Drew Case was next to dart into the night, with Ollie close on his heels.

  Chancy had delayed the outlaws as long as he could. Racing out, he stopped in consternation when he didn’t see Drew and Ollie. They must have gone around the corner, he figured, and was about to hurtle after them when a hand fell on his shoulder. Tearing loose, he turned and trained his Colt—on Missy Burke.

  “It’s me!” she exclaimed. “Don’t shoot.”

  Roars of fury rose from the saloon. Chancy turned, but none of the outlaws were reckless enough to show themselves in the hall. A warm hand gripped his, and he felt a tug.

  “Come with me,” Missy said. “I know where you might be safe.”

  The smart thing for Chancy to do was to find Ollie and Drew. The smart thing was to head for the woods, and the rest of the outfit. Instead he let Missy pull him in the opposite direction, past several buildings and into a gap between a couple of cabins. It was so dark he almost tripped over his own feet, but fortunately she knew where she was going and in short order they ducked into a dark cabin and she shut the door behind them.

  Chancy could tell there was furniture, but not much else. “Where . . . ?”

  “Della and me live here,” Missy said. “Quick. I’ll hide you. They’re bound to come looking.”

  Chancy let her pull him. His shin bumped something hard and he stumbled.

  “Sorry,” Missy said. “That was a chair. I forgot it was there.”

  Chancy was about to say he forgave her when her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down.

  “Lie flat. Hurry.”

  Without hesitation, Chancy did. He trusted her. Completely. Given how short a time they’d known each other, some might brand that silly. But he flung himself onto his belly.

  “Get under,” Missy urged.

  Only then did Chancy realize he was lying next to a bed. It was a tight fit, but he scrambled underneath just as shouts erupted out in the street. “I’m obliged,” he said, but Missy wasn’t there. She was rushing about, doing things. Why and what, he couldn’t imagine, until a lamp flared with flame and revealed she had thrown a robe on over her dress and mussed her hair.

  None too soon. The door shook to heavy pounding.

  “Who’s there?” Missy called out.

  “Me. Open the hell up.”

  Chancy recognized Ira Reid’s voice.

  “Hold on. I’m not decent.”

  “I don’t care,” Reid replied.

  The door opened, but all Chancy could see of Reid were his boots and legs. He would dearly love to put lead into the coyote, but he didn’t shoot. Other legs had appeared behind Reid’s.

  “What’s going on?” Missy asked. “What’s all the ruckus?”

  “Why aren’t you at the saloon?” Reid demanded. “You’re supposed to be working.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well. I intended to be there soon.”

  “You don’t look sick to me.”

  “I’m not that kind of sick,” Missy said.

  “Then what the hell is wrong?”

  “You know.”

  “If I did, you sow, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “It’s my womanly complaint.”

  “Your . . . ,” Reid said, and stopped. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? You know I don’t like to hear about those. It’s disgusting.”

  “Women can’t help how they’re made.”

  “Don’t remind me. Stay in here and bolt your door. You have the night off.”

  “I do?” Missy said, sounding amazed.

  Reid and the other men turned to go.

  “Wait,” Missy said. “You haven’t told me what all the fuss is about.”

  “Some of those cowboys snuck into town and killed three of ours at the saloon. We’re hunting them down.”

  “Oh my. Who was killed?”

  “I don’t have time for this, you silly woman,” Reid snapped.

  All the boots clomped into the night.

  Missy shut the door, threw the bolt, and laughed. “Pulled the wool over that so-and-so’s eyes, didn’t we?”

  Chancy realized she was talking to him. “You were great.”

  “Come on out. No one can see in. We have drapes over the window.”

  Eager to be with her, Chancy slid his head and shoulders from under the bed and went to slide his legs clear. Then froze.

  More knocks were shaking the door.

  Chapter 44

  A look of panic came over Missy Burke.

  Chancy scrambled back under and cocked his Colt. He figured Reid had returned to search the cabin, and prepared to sell his life dearly.

  “Ira? Is that you?” Missy asked, her voice quaking slightly.

  “It’s Della,” was the reply.

  Once more Chancy heard the latch rasp, then the rustle of Della’s skirts.

  “What are you doing here, girl?” the older woman demanded. “I lost sight of you in all the confusion, then just saw Reid leave.”

  “I was scared,” Missy said.

  “Who wasn’t, with all that shooting?” Della moved to the table. “Why do you have your robe on?”

  Afraid she might spot him, Chancy eased farther back.

  “It’s my time,” Missy said.

  “Say again?” Della said.

  “What does Reid hate more than anything?”

  “Oh,” Della said. “That.” She cackled merrily. “He should thank his lucky stars he was born male. He couldn’t take being female.”

  “He told me to stay here.”

  Della put her hand on Missy’s arm. “You do what he says, dearie. I’m going back to the saloon. And don’t you worry. Me and the other girls will take care of things.”

  “Aren’t you worried there might be more shooting?”

 
“I hope to heaven there is.” Della stepped to the doorway. “Finally some excitement.” She winked and skipped out.

  Missy quickly closed and bolted the door. Leaning against it, she smiled. “You can come out now. Again.”

  Chancy was glad too. Unfurling, he arched his back to relieve a cramp, let down the hammer on his Remington, and slid it into his holster.

  The cabin was comfortably furnished. In addition to two beds, in the center was the chair he’d bumped into, along with a table. Along a wall stood a chest of drawers. A small stand was by the other bed. A cupboard for dishes, and a stove, added to the hominess.

  “Cozy,” Chancy said.

  Missy looked around. “It wasn’t when Della and the other gals were first brought here. She told me there was a bed and a stove and nothing else. They hated it, and griped so much Reid gave in and let them brighten up the place.”

  Chancy smiled. Here he was alone with her, as he’d been yearning to be, and he was suddenly unsure of what to do. Coughing, he moved to a chair, pulled it out, and sat. “Thanks again for hauling me out of there.”

  Missy sat across from him. “What were you thinking, you and your friends? Just the three of you against the whole town.”

  “We were after the brains of the bunch,” Chancy informed her. “Krine and Broom and Ives.”

  “All Ives is good for is killing,” Missy said. “Krine is the one in charge. Broom is smart, in his way, but he’s their mouthpiece more than anything.”

  “We almost had him.”

  “Too bad you didn’t,” Missy said. “As for the other two, I know for a fact that they’re out with the herd. Krine figures you cowboys will try to take it back tonight.”

  “He figures right, but it will be in the morning.”

  Missy gazed at him expectantly, then shifted in her chair and ran her fingers back and forth across the edge of the table. “So,” she said. “Want to tell me about the fight? When they came back, they bragged about how many of you they shot, and how easy it was to take your cattle.”

  Chancy thought of all his friends who had been killed. “I’d rather not.”

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  Taking a deep breath, Chancy said, “You.”