Ralph Compton Outlaw Town

by Ralph Compton

  Growling deep in his throat, Lucas Stout raised his head. “Damn you, boy. Listen. Rigenaw has never wanted the responsibility, and I won’t force it on him. Jelly is too reckless. Case doesn’t always do as he’s told, and that’s bad in a boss. Your pard would be worthless. He was born slow in the head. That leaves you. And as this gal is my witness, I’m giving you the job of getting the herd to Wichita. You’re the new trail boss whether you like it or not.”

  Chancy didn’t like it, not even a little bit. The notion was preposterous.

  Stout let out a groan and sank down, his arm falling limp at his side. “Never reckoned on it being like this. Gored by a longhorn, maybe. Shot over cards. Maybe even have lived to old age and died peacefully in bed. But not this.” He shook more violently. “We never know when it’s our time, do we?”

  “How about I find you some water?” Chancy said.

  “Where? From the lake? And bring it in your hands?” Stout dabbed the tip of his tongue at the blood leaking from his mouth. “This will do.”

  “That’s not funny,” Missy said.

  “Not meant to be, ma’am.”

  Chancy thought of an important question. “Did the others get away on horseback or on foot?”

  “Horses. They headed north,” Stout said. “The outlaws had left their own animals somewhere and snuck in on foot and couldn’t give chase.” He paused. “I had a man up a tree. He saw the two who were trailing Ollie. I had a suspicion what Krine and that so-called mayor were up to. That’s why we were ready for them. They surrounded the clearing but we weren’t in it, and they didn’t catch on to their mistake until too late.” He scowled. “It wasn’t the slaughter they’d hoped it would be. But it didn’t work out for us either. We weren’t able to kill as many of them as we needed to when we opened fire.”

  Chancy mustered his courage. It took a lot to buck Stout, even now. “Mr. Stout, I’d like to ask you to reconsider. I’m too young to be trail boss. I’d be no good at it. I don’t want the job. Let me give it to Ben Rigenaw, if no one else. What do you say?”

  “He won’t be saying anything ever again,” Missy said sadly.

  Lucas Stout’s face had taken on a waxy aspect. His eyes were open, but vacant, and his chest had stopped rising and falling.

  “Lord, no,” Chancy said.

  “What will you do?” Missy said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re the trail boss now.”

  “Saying I am doesn’t make it so,” Chancy said. “I can’t do it, I tell you.”

  “You have to try.”

  “Why?”

  “For his sake,” Missy said, nodding at Lucas Stout. “And for me. I’d lose a lot of respect for you if you didn’t.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

  “Yes.”

  “There will be more killing.”

  “A lot more, I suspect,” Missy said.

  “That doesn’t upset you?”

  “Not nearly as much as being in love with a man who won’t do what’s right when he has it to do.”

  Chancy had no answer to that.

  “Just don’t die on me,” Missy added.

  Chapter 56

  The sun was an arch of fire on the western horizon when Chancy spotted wisps of smoke. They had spent all afternoon in the saddle, and he was tired and sore all over.

  “Is that them?” Missy asked. A stray bang hung over one eye, and her dress was rumpled and speckled with dust.

  “Reckon so.”

  “You don’t sound very happy about it. Are you still worried about Ollie?”

  “I should have gone after him first,” Chancy said. Guilt had been eating at him since they left the woods.

  “Into town by yourself? That would have been dumb, and now that you’re trail boss, you have to be smart about things.”

  “Maybe you should be trail boss,” Chancy said, only half in jest.

  “What I know about cows wouldn’t fill a thimble. I know men, though, and I have complete confidence you’re up to the job, whether you believe you are or not.”

  Chancy was learning that arguing with her was pointless. She won nearly every time. “Fine,” he said, and rode toward the smoke.

  “You’re adorable when your dander is up.”

  “Men aren’t adorable. Babies are.”

  “My ma used to say that men are a lot like babies in that a lot of them never grow up.”

  Chancy let that one be.

  A low hill rose ahead. The smoke was behind it. Tracks led up and over. Chancy was almost to the crest when a man with a Winchester reared from behind a boulder.

  “Well, look who it is,” Drew Case said. “And with your saloon gal, no less.” His right arm bore a crude bandage, as did his left thigh. “You missed the fight, Gantry.”

  To Chancy’s amusement, Missy came to his defense.

  “Like blazes he did. He killed two of those buzzards in town and four more in the woods. And he was with your trail boss when he died. The only one of you who was,” she added meaningfully.

  “Stout is dead?” Drew said. “We lost sight of him in all the confusion.”

  “Take me to the others,” Chancy said.

  “I’m keeping watch for the outlaws,” Drew informed him. “Rigenaw and Jelly are just over the hill.”

  “The outlaws aren’t after you,” Chancy said. “And I have something to say to all of you. Lucas Stout’s own words.”

  “In that case,” Drew said, and shouldered the Winchester. He waited until they reached the boulder, then fell into step alongside the bay. “Did you see any sign of Addy?”

  “Dead.”

  “Mays?”

  “The same.”

  “Damn. They tried to sneak around behind the outlaws so we’d have them in a cross fire. This just gets worse and worse.”

  Ben Rigenaw and Jelly Varnes were on opposite sides of a small fire. The former was propped on his saddle, strips from a blanket wrapped tight around his chest. Jelly was sipping coffee. Both came to their feet, Rigenaw more slowly than was his wont.

  “Look at who I found,” Drew Case exclaimed. He related Missy’s information, ending with “He says he has words from Stout.”

  “Lucas is gone, then?” Rigenaw said sorrowfully. “As good a man as ever lived. I knew him a lot of years.”

  “We’re all that’s left out of the whole outfit?” Jelly said.

  “Ollie might be alive,” Chancy said.

  “Fat lot of good he’ll do us,” Drew muttered.

  Climbing down, Chancy stepped to the sorrel and assisted Missy. She didn’t need his help, but he did it anyway.

  “Have some coffee, ma’am,” Jelly said. “There’s plenty.”

  “I’ll wait until you hear my man out,” Missy said.

  “Your man?” Jelly said.

  Chancy cleared his throat. “Mr. Stout had a lot to say before he died. About how bad he felt at losing the herd. About how he put it all on him, even though he shouldn’t have. And how there should be a new trail boss to take his place. So he picked one.”

  “Ben Rigenaw here,” Jelly guessed, nodding. “That makes sense.”

  “Fine by me,” Drew said.

  Rigenaw was giving Chancy a strange look. “No, it wouldn’t be me. Lucas knew I’d been offered the job with another outfit and turned it down.”

  “Why, I bet he picked me!” Jelly said, and grinned. “I’ve always cottoned to the idea. I can give orders as well as anyone.”

  “It wouldn’t be you,” Rigenaw said.

  “Me?” Drew said, touching his chest. “I’m as cow savvy as the next puncher, but I’m not sure I’m ready for the job.”

  “Not you either,” Rigenaw said, and he was smiling.

  “Then who?”

&
nbsp; Both Drew and Jelly Varnes looked at Chancy, and Jelly’s eyebrows tried to climb into his hair.

  “You’re joshing,” Jelly said.

  “Him?” Drew said in disbelief.

  “I was there,” Missy declared. “Mr. Stout said I was to be his witness. He picked my Chancy. Told him he was to be trail boss whether he liked it or not.”

  “Well, hell,” Drew said.

  “Just when you reckon you’ve heard everything,” Jelly said.

  “I can’t hardly believe it myself,” Chancy said. “But I’m trail boss. At least until we get the herd to Wichita. And my first order is that we’re going to get our cattle back from those buzzards, come hell or high water. We’ll rest until midnight and then head for Prosperity. By this time tomorrow the herd will be ours again or all of us will be dead.”

  “Listen to you,” Drew said, and laughed.

  “I like what I hear,” Jelly Varnes said. “Go on, boy.”

  “It’s ‘boss’ now,” Ben Rigenaw said.

  “The herd is only half of it,” Chancy continued. “Those outlaws have to pay. Krine. That mayor. Ives. We can’t leave them alive to do this to anyone else.”

  “Now I really like what I hear,” Jelly said.

  “Just the five of us?” Drew said, “Provided your pard is still breathing,” he added.

  “Six,” Missy said.

  “Worse and worse and worse,” Drew said.

  “Are you in or are you out?” Chancy demanded to know.

  Drew glanced at each of them, threw back his head and laughed. “I must be as loco as all of you. Count me in.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Jelly asked.

  To Chancy’s surprise, he did; it burst full-blown into his head. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll tell you about it after my lady and I have eaten and rested a bit and I’ve given it more thought. The thing to keep in mind is that from here on out, it’s them or us. We don’t leave any of them alive if we can help it.”

  “Shouldn’t the herd come first?” Ben Rigenaw said.

  “Nothing else but,” Chancy said. “But those owl-hoots have our cows under guard and won’t give them up without a fight. So I say we give them that fight first, and take our cattle after.”

  “There are more of them left than there are of us,” Drew Case said.

  “So what? There won’t be any left if we do it right. We’re going to rub out every last outlaw.”

  “Oh my,” Jelly Varnes said. “Aren’t you a surprise? If you were any more bloodthirsty, you would be me.”

  “Are all of you in?” Chancy pressed the issue. “Do we give them back the hell they brought down on us?”

  Ben Rigenaw nodded grimly.

  “You bet,” Drew Case said.

  As for Jelly, he grinned and said, “We give them hell in spades, boss.”

  Chapter 57

  Chancy always liked riding herd at night. He liked riding at night, period. The sparkle of the stars, the bright moon on occasion, the wind, and the general quiet were a tonic. They relaxed him. Made him think that all was right with the world.

  Not this night.

  As they neared Prosperity’s mostly dark buildings, Chancy was a bundle of nerves. He had made a decision that might cost others their lives, and the possible consequences weighed on his shoulders with all the weight of the world.

  On his right were Jelly and Drew Case. To his other side, Missy and Ben Rigenaw. He’d wanted to leave Missy behind, but she wouldn’t hear of it. They’d argued for nearly half an hour, until he gave up in frustration.

  Chancy was also worried about Rigenaw. Ben had been uncommonly reticent all night. Chancy figured that the wound was bothering him. He’d quietly suggested to Missy that she should take a look at it and see how bad it was, but Rigenaw refused to let her. Twice, earlier, Chancy saw Rigenaw put a hand to his side and wince as if in great pain. It was doubly troubling that the strips wrapped around Rigenaw’s chest showed fresh splotches of blood.

  Drew Case had been unusually quiet too. Maybe because, as he had made plain, he thought Chancy’s idea would land all of them in early graves.

  Jelly Varnes was the only one in merry spirits. As they slowed from a trot to a walk, he chuckled and said, “Look out, bastards, here we come.” He glanced over past Chancy at Missy. “My apologies for the language, ma’am.”

  “I’ve heard worse.”

  “It’s just that there’s nothing I like more than bucking out a bad man,” Jelly said. “When I was fourteen, the local tough made the mistake of making my pa dance to his bullets, and then slapped him around. So I took my pa’s old revolver, looked that tough up, and added a new nostril.”

  “Boast, why don’t you?” Drew Case said.

  “I want the lady to understand,” Jelly said.

  “She’s my lady,” Chancy said, “and the only one she needs to understand is me. Spare us your exploits.”

  Drew chuckled.

  “Exploits?” Jelly said. “You become trail boss and suddenly you’re using big words.”

  “You men,” Missy said.

  By then they were close enough that everyone fell quiet. When Chancy drew rein, so did the rest. They were about three hundred yards north of town. To the southwest, about twice the distance, the herd was a dark blotch of shapes against the backdrop of night. The only light in Prosperity came from the saloon.

  “We’ve been all through what to do,” Chancy said. “Any last questions before we get to it?”

  “I don’t have a question, but I do have something to say,” Ben Rigenaw said. “I’m older than the rest of you, so pay attention.” He turned slightly in his saddle. “We’re never to say a word about what happens here tonight. Take the secret with you to your grave.”

  “How come?” Drew Case said. “It’s not as if we’re breaking the law. We have the right to get our herd back.”

  “And to kill these buzzards for killing our pards,” Jelly said.

  “The law might not see it that way,” Rigenaw said. “And no good ever came from bragging about a killing.”

  “Says you,” Jelly said.

  “No,” Chancy said. “We’ll do as Ben says. I want your word, from each of you, that you’ll never talk about this night your whole life long.”

  “Well, hell,” Jelly said.

  “You have my word,” Drew said.

  “Mine too,” Rigenaw said.

  “I have better things to talk about than bloodshed,” Missy said.

  “Jelly?” Chancy said.

  Jelly sat there.

  “Are your ears broke?”

  “Dang it, Gantry.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “You ask me, it’s a hell of a note when a man can’t shoot somebody and brag about it. What else is bragging for?”

  “Jelly.”

  “Damn it. All right. I give my word. But Lucas Stout wouldn’t make us give a stupid promise like this.”

  “Yes,” Ben Rigenaw said, “he would.”

  “It’s settled,” Chancy said. “Let’s get to it.”

  They dismounted and gave their reins to Missy, who was gnawing on her bottom lip. Chancy was the last to do so, and as he went to turn away, she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

  “For luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I wish I had someone to give me luck,” Jelly said.

  “Behave,” Rigenaw said.

  “All of you,” Missy said, “please take care. Enough have already died. We don’t want to lose any of you.”

  “Amen to that, lady,” Drew said.

  “Check your six-shooters,” Ben Rigenaw advised, and drew one of his.

  “Mine is always loaded and clean and ready to shoot,” Jelly said.

  “Check it anyway.”

 
“Who’s the boss here?” Jelly said. “You or Chancy?”

  “Check your six-shooter,” Chancy said.

  “Well, hell.”

  Chancy made sure there were six pills in the wheel, and shoved the black-handled Remington into his holster. They had delayed long enough. With a parting look at Missy, and a yearning such as no other, he stalked toward Prosperity.

  “Let the killing commence,” Jelly Varnes said, and laughed.

  Chapter 58

  The town was deceptively still. The only sound was the tinkle of a bottle or glass in the saloon.

  Chancy didn’t know how many outlaws were left. He reckoned at least a dozen. Krine and Ives were the gun hands of the bunch, the ones to worry about the most.

  He reached the first building and crouched along the dark wall. “You know what to do. Do you have your lucifers?”

  Jelly patted a pocket. “Right here.”

  “Start them, and we’ll meet back at the saloon,” Chancy said.

  “We’ve already been through this five times,” Drew said. “We know what to do.” He threw in a “boss.”

  “Then go.”

  They melted away.

  Chancy crept toward the general store.

  Low voices came from the saloon. Broken glass from the window lay scattered about, and shadows moved inside.

  He had to be careful they didn’t spot him. Easing onto his belly, he snaked the last thirty feet.

  The store was directly across from the saloon. Through the busted window, Chancy saw Ives and Simmons and a couple of others at the bar. Mayor Broom was at a table, playing cards.

  Chancy wondered if they had been up all night or had risen early. It occurred to him that Krine might start the herd north as soon as possible, maybe even that very day. They were in for a surprise, Chancy reflected, and smiled.

  He figured the front door would be locked, but he was wrong. The latch moved easily; the door didn’t squeak. Once he had slithered in, he quietly shut the door behind him, rose, and moved down an aisle to the collection of used clothes. He thought it fitting that the apparel taken from dead cowpokes would help bring the outlaw operation to ruin.

  Chancy couldn’t say exactly when the notion came to him that wiping out the outlaws wasn’t enough. He aimed to wipe out the town itself. Every last building. Only when this den of evil was removed from the face of the earth would future outfits that passed by be safe.