Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do

by Ralph Compton

  “True again,” Fred said.

  “We follow him when he gets off for the day,” Aces proposed. “When the time and place are right, he’ll be all yours.”

  “Take his advice, son.”

  Tyree had stopped struggling. As much as it galled him, they were right. A public fracas might bring a badge. And it was better where no one could overhear. “If it’s not chickens, it’s feathers,” he complained.

  “That’s life,” Fred said. “It’s always throwin’ obstacles at us. Why do you reckon I like Sweetwater so much? The obstacles are few and far between.”

  “Anything gets in your way, you bust on through it,” Tyree said.

  “Some folks think that way,” Fred said. “Some folks thrive on it. They like the challenge. Me, I like peace and quiet. The only challenge I want in my day is makin’ up my mind what to eat.”

  “Yet here you are, you faker,” Aces said, grinning.

  “If I didn’t feel sorry for Tyree, I wouldn’t be,” Fred said.

  “I don’t need anybody’s pity,” Tyree said.

  “You have it anyway. You’ve earned my respect, son. I’ll see this to the end with you and then I’m going back to my office and my flask and life without obstacles.”

  Reluctantly Tyree let them lead him out. He deliberately turned his head away from the man called Finch so Finch wouldn’t see his face. Once they were outdoors Aces led them along the boardwalk to a bench. No one was using it, so they claimed it for themselves.

  “Here is as good as anywhere,” Aces announced.

  “What if he goes out the back way?” Marshal Hitch said. “It’s unlikely but you never know.”

  “We’d lose him,” Tyree said, immediately furious at the prospect.

  “Rein in that temper of yours,” Aces said. “We lose him today, we come back tomorrow, or the next day after, if we have to. But since Fred will watch the back way out, we won’t lose him.”

  “I will?” Fred said, and sighed. “I will indeed.” He stood and took a couple of steps. “But what do we do if he comes out the front and I’m still back there?”

  “If the store closes and you find us gone, park yourself on this bench. We’ll come fetch you as soon as we can,” Aces suggested.

  Fred pulled his hat brim lower. “I hope this gent really is Tucker. I hope he can point us at Dunn and Lute. I want this over more than anything.”

  “Not more than me,” Tyree said.

  “Don’t take me wrong,” Fred said. “I’ll stick with you come what may.” He smiled and took a couple more steps. “Oh. I almost forgot. I saw a sign that said the store closes at seven. We’ve got until then, at least.” He gave a little wave and ambled toward the general store.

  “Nice man,” Aces said.

  “Too nice,” Tyree said.

  Aces sat back and rested his arms on the back of the bench. “Folks like Hitch make life bearable. If everybody was like you and me, we’d all be at each other’s throats.”

  Tyree knew the cowboy was only making a joke, but he disagreed. “Not you and me. If everybody was like Dunn and Lute.”

  “Or Puck Tovey and Bascomb.”

  “I never thought about it much,” Tyree said. Not about how people in it made the world good or bad.

  “At your age I didn’t either,” Aces said.

  “You’re not that old. You’re not Fred.”

  “It’s not the years, it’s the experience. Some folks haven’t lived half as long as him and yet lived twice as much.”

  Tyree pondered that awhile. It seemed to him to be part right. It wasn’t just living and doing a lot; it was learning from what you did. Take Dunn and Lute. They must have done a lot of vile things in their time, but what did they learn from them? That question sparked another. Were they still the killers they’d been when they murdered his ma and pa? From what Moses had said, he gathered they were. He hoped so. It would make what he aimed to do easier.

  By a clock across the street it was four o’clock when Finch came out of the general store. Tyree started to rise, thinking that Finch was calling it quits for the day. But no, Finch stepped to a barrel full of hoes and shovels. He picked a hoe and went back in. For a customer, Tyree guessed, and sure enough, not long after a man in bib overalls walked out with the hoe and other items.

  Tyree let the passersby entertain him. They were quite a collection. City folks, farm folks, frontiersmen, cowboys—an awful lot of cowboys—now and then tame Indians and once a dozen troopers in uniform with a sergeant at their head.

  Aces was doing the same. “I’ve always like to study on folks,” he remarked. “You never know what you’ll see. Take that rainbow yonder.”

  Tyree laughed.

  A big woman was coming down the street. She lumbered like a bear and had a face that could by no means be called pretty, but for all that, she dressed as feminine as anything. Her dress was pink and gold, her hat, with an ostrich feather waving in the air, was green and purple, her parasol was striped with six or seven colors. She held her head high in dignity and was one of the few not in a hurry.

  “I think I’m in love,” Aces said.

  “Her?” Tyree said.

  “It’s not the size or the looks,” Aces said. “It’s the heart.”

  “Did you think about that a lot too?” Tyree teased. He’d never met anyone who thought so much. And Aces a cowboy, to boot.

  “Ridin’ herd gives a man a lot of time for ponderin’.”

  “I’d imagine you’d be a thinker no matter what work you did.”

  “And I thank you for the compliment.”

  Tyree wasn’t so sure it was. There was such a thing as too much thinking. He’d as soon live life as think about it.

  A buckboard clattered past with a passel of squealing, laughing kids in homespun in the back. Shortly after, along came an elegant carriage, the best money could purchase, with leather everywhere and brass trim and even lanterns hanging from brass posts. The driver wore a uniform.

  “Rich folks,” Aces said.

  Seven o’clock didn’t come quickly enough to suit Tyree. By then a lot of the traffic had thinned. It was suppertime for those with families, and workers were heading home to be with their loved ones.

  Finch and the younger clerk came out of the store and took the barrel and other displays inside.

  Tyree stood. It wouldn’t be long now, he told himself. He was surprised when Marshal Hitch came around the side of the general store and over to their bench.

  “Miss me?” Fred said.

  “You were to watch the back,” Aces said.

  “No need. The owner came out and discarded some trash. When he went back in, I heard him throw the bolt. No one is comin’ out that way.”

  “You better be right,” Tyree said.

  The last of the customers straggled out. The owner escorted an elderly woman and pecked her on the cheek. She patted his and left.

  Next was the young clerk. He was as happy as could be to get off work and scampered away like a shot.

  Last to emerge were the owner again, and Finch. The owner locked the door and shook it as if to be certain it was really locked. Then he said a few words to Finch and they parted company.

  “He’s comin’ our way,” Fred said.

  Tyree turned his back to the street, placed his boot on the bench, and pretended to be doing something to it. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed his quarry go past.

  Finch was wearing a bowler and had a folded newspaper under his arm. His suit was plain and cheap, his shoes the same. He looked downright dowdy, as unremarkable as dishwater. That the man had had a hand in the slaying of his parents seemed preposterous.

  They let Finch get half a block ahead. There was no danger of losing him, the traffic had thinned so much.

  Still, Tyree was uneasy. He worried that
Finch somehow knew they were stalking him and had a trick up his sleeve to shake them, as Moses had done.

  Presently Finch turned and entered a small saloon called the Silver Spur. They saw him through the window; he went to the bar and the bartender greeted him warmly. Apparently they knew each other. A whiskey glass was set in front of him and half-filled.

  “Wonderful,” Fred said. “He’ll spend all night drinkin’. Not that I have cause to complain, mind you.”

  The marshal was proven wrong. Finch only downed the one glass, taking his sweet time.

  They made it a point to be under an overhang across the street when Finch came out. Without so much as a glance their way, he was off again, strolling contentedly along.

  “First time I’ve seen him happy all day,” Fred said.

  Finch left the center of the city for the outskirts. He picked up his pace when he came to a quiet side street lined with quaint homes, some with picket fences. Opening a gate, he was almost to the porch when the front door opened and out came a woman about the same age in a print dress. She greeted him with a hug and a kiss and together they went inside.

  “Well, now,” Fred said. “He has a missus.”

  “Didn’t expect this,” Aces said.

  Tyree frowned. That made two of them. It never occurred to him that the old outlaw had turned a new leaf and somewhere along the line become respectable.

  “Maybe Moses was lyin’.” Fred voiced Tyree’s own fear. “Maybe this isn’t Tucker at all.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Aces said, looking at Tyree. “It’s up to you how we go about it.”

  “What if he has young’uns?” Fred said. “We can’t brace a family.”

  “All I want is to talk to him,” Tyree said. And he would be damned if he would wait another minute. Tugging at his gun belt, he marched to the gate, opened it, and strode up the steps to the porch. At the door he hesitated.

  The curtains that covered the windows glowed with lamplight, and from within came soft voices.

  “We can do it tomorrow on his way to work,” Aces said.

  “No.” Tyree knocked louder than was called for, waited barely five seconds, and pounded again.

  “Get ready,” Fred said.

  The door opened and Finch stood there, smiling. “Yes?” he said uncertainly, looking from one of them to the other. “May I help you?”

  The man was so polite, so earnest, that Tyree couldn’t find the right words to say. He mustered the will to demand if his name was really Tucker, but the woman appeared and placed her hand on her husband’s arm.

  “What is it, Charles? Who are these people?”

  “I don’t know, dear,” Finch said. “They haven’t told me yet.”

  “I’m . . . ,” Tyree got out, and stopped, struck speechless.

  Charles Finch was staring at Tyree’s face, at his jaw. Finch’s eyes widened and every drop of blood in his head must have drained away because he became as white as paper. Taking half a step back, Finch clutched at his throat and bleated in a whisper, “No. It can’t be.”

  “Charles?” the woman said.

  “Who . . . ?” Finch said, and had to swallow twice before he could finish. “Who are you, young man?”

  “Tyree Larn.”

  “Merciful God,” Finch said, and put a hand to the wall for support.

  “Charles?” the woman said anxiously. “What on earth is going on? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Oh, Ethel,” Finch said. Recovering, he smiled and patted her. “Everything is fine, dear. Don’t you worry.” He faced his visitors. “Are you hungry? We’re about to sit down to supper, and you and your friends are welcome to join us.”

  “They are?” Ethel said.

  Tyree wasn’t the least bit hungry. He wanted answers, not food, but Aces answered for him.

  “We’d be right happy to share your meal. We’ve come a long way and have a lot to talk about later.”

  “That we do,” Charles Finch said. Then again, more to himself than to them, “That we surely do.”

  Chapter 29

  Ethel Finch didn’t hide how puzzled she was by the turn of events. To her credit, she didn’t pester her husband with questions or demand to know more about their guests. She simply remarked that she needed to spend a little time in the kitchen. She had cooked for two and now there were five and she wanted to add to the vegetables and whatnot.

  With a polite smile, she excused herself.

  Charles Finch bade them take seats in the parlor. He seemed fascinated by Tyree and hardly took his eyes off him.

  Marshal Hitch and Aces sat in chairs. Tyree was about to claim the last one when Finch roosted on a settee and patted it. “Why don’t you sit over here, young man? That way we won’t have to holler.”

  Tyree suspected there was more to it. They wouldn’t need to raise their voices if he was in the settee, and the wife wouldn’t overhear them. He sat and shifted so he faced the man, his right hand on his Colt.

  Finch noticed. “There’s no need for that. I’m not heeled.”

  “There is if you’re who I think you are,” Tyree said.

  “I’m George Tucker.”

  The declaration took Tyree by surprise. Even though he’d suspected the truth, even though he came here to demand it, the forthright admission left him momentarily startled.

  “But you already know that,” Tucker said, “or you wouldn’t be here. I don’t know how you found me, but I’ve always dreaded this day would happen. I’ve dreaded it since I saved your life.”

  “Saved it?” Tyree blurted louder than he intended.

  Tucker glanced at the hall to the kitchen. “Please keep your voice down. Ethel doesn’t know any of it. She would be upset if she did. Frankly I don’t know if she would accept what I did. She might walk out on me, and I can’t lose her. I love her. I love that woman more than anything.”

  “That’s all right,” Fred Hitch said. “We won’t tell her.”

  “Speak for yourself, law dog,” Tyree growled. He wasn’t making any promises. Touching his scar, he said, “Was it you who did this or one of the others? Was it Dunn or Lute?”

  “You know about them too?” Tucker bent to see the scar better, and a great sorrow came over him. “Dear Lord. Is that what I did to you?”

  “It was you?” Before Tyree could stop himself, he had his Colt out and cocked and shoved it against Tucker’s chest. He came close to shooting. If the man had jerked back or resisted, he might have. As it was, it took tremendous will on his part to lower the Colt again when it was obvious Tucker wasn’t going to do anything. “I should fill you with holes.”

  “By rights you should, yes,” Tucker said.

  “Put the smoke wagon away, pard,” Aces said.

  “I thought you were on my side,” Tyree replied sullenly, but he shoved the Colt into its holster.

  Tucker glanced at the hall again. “I’d imagine you want answers. And I want to give them to you. But I don’t know how much time we have. Can you wait until after the meal? Until after Ethel turns in? I’ll stay up as late as need be and tell you all you want to know. You have my word.”

  “The word of a man who cuts babies,” Tyree said.

  Tucker seemed to shrivel in on himself, and bowed his head. “It was the most awful thing I’ve ever done. At the same time, it put me on the road to a better life.” He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. “Will you be patient with me, Mr. Larn? Please?”

  “Yes, he will,” Marshal Hitch said. “Won’t you, son?”

  “I don’t see why I should.” Tyree was growing mad. Here was the man who could end his years-long search. He wanted answers now.

  “I’m askin’ you to be patient too, pard,” Aces said.

  Tyree wasn’t a simpleton. He knew that Aces kept bringing up that they were partn
ers to persuade him to go along. “Damn it all.”

  “Please don’t swear,” Tucker said. “Ethel doesn’t like profanity. She was brought up in a religious house.”

  “As if I care,” Tyree said.

  “Please,” Tucker pleaded.

  Tyree might have told him to go to hell, but the old outlaw had unexpected allies.

  “You’re bein’ childish, and unreasonable to boot,” Fred said. “Can’t you see what you’ve done to this man?”

  “What I’ve done to him? Don’t you have that backward?”

  “He’s given his word, pard,” Aces said. “That should be enough for now.”

  “For you, maybe,” Tyree said. But he gave in. Every nerve in him screamed not to, but he said, “I’ll wait until after we eat, Tucker, but know this. Try to run off on us like Moses did, and I’ll gun you. It won’t matter if your wife is there. You had a hand in the killin’ of my folks and I hate you for that.”

  Tucker looked sickly. He coughed and wiped at his eyes. “I suppose I’d feel the same if I were in your boots. But I won’t run. I’m too old for that. And I have Ethel. I’d never leave her. Not for any reason. Not in a million years.”

  Just then his wife appeared wearing an apron. “It won’t be but two minutes yet. George, if you would be so kind as to help me set the table?”

  “Certainly, dear.”

  Tyree almost got up to go with them. He didn’t want the man out of his sight. Restraining himself, he sat there with his fingers twitching.

  “That was decent of you, son,” Fred said.

  “Decent, hell,” Tyree said.

  “You have to rein your feelin’s in,” Aces advised. “Hide your hate for the time being.”

  “You heard him,” Tyree said. “He was the one who cut me.” He ran a finger along the scar he’d had his whole life long, the scar that constantly reminded him of the horror that turned his life into a living hell.

  “To save you, he said,” Fred reminded him. “I wonder.”

  “He’d say anything to save his own skin.”

  “It’s been fifteen years,” Aces said. “You can be patient a little longer.”