Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do (9 page)

Puck Tovey was sure of himself. He straightened and took a step back, saying, “Well, now. It's been a coon's age since anyone was dumb enough to insult me.”

“Maybe you're just too dumb to notice.” Aces took a step too, away from the bar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Tyree had caught on that trouble was brewing and had lowered his right hand to his Colt.

As for Marshal Hitch, he drained the last of his glass, sighed, and set the glass down. “That was nice. I could use another.”

Puck Tovey gave him a look of amusement. “You might want to move, law dog, or you're liable to take lead.”

“Must be Mr. Connor is right about you,” Fred said. “Shootin' a lawman isn't very smart.”

“I've done it before,” Puck told him.

“Shootin' a lawman whose brother is a federal marshal and whose uncle is a federal judge is even dumber.”

“The hell you say.”

“I just did.”

This was the first Aces had heard about Hitch's brother and uncle. Then again, there hadn't been cause for Hitch to mention it.

Acting as if he didn't have a care in the world, Fred stretched and said, “Shoot me and there will be a
federal warrant for your arrest. Every federal marshal in the territory will be after you. They might not be as formidable as the Texas Rangers, but do you really want that?”

Puck was studying the lawman. “What did you say your last name was? Hitch? I never heard of any federal marshal with that handle.”

“Met them all, have you?”

“How do I know you're tellin' the truth? You could be makin' it up to save your hides.”

Reaching for the bottle, Fred began to refill his glass. “Oh, I doubt Mr. Connor's hide needs savin'.” He stopped pouring and set the bottle down. “I've seen him draw, and you don't have a chance in hell of beatin' him.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Especially if he has help,” Fred said.

“What kind of help can you be, you old goat? You don't look to me to be no gun hand.”

“I'm the kind who thinks instead of shoots,” Fred said, and threw the whiskey in his glass into Puck Tovey's face.

Backpedaling and blinking, Tovey stabbed for his Remington.

Acres drew and shot the Texan in the head. Pivoting, he caught Bascomb in the act of bringing a shotgun from under the bar. He fanned two swift shots, just below the sternum. Jolted onto his heels, Bascomb dropped the scattergun and looked down at himself in shock.

“Hell no,” he said, and melted.

Aces was already swiveling to train his Colt on Tovey's pards. Everything had happened so quickly that they were frozen in surprise. Not one had gone for his six-shooter. Now one started to but stopped at the click of Aces's Colt. “If you're hankerin' to die, try.”

Tyree had a six-shooter out but hadn't fired. He seemed as awed as the rest.

Of them all, only Tom McCarthy showed disappointment. “Well, hell. Bascomb said he would set me free for five hundred dollars.”

“Your idea or his?” Aces said without taking his eyes off the others.

“I might have mentioned it first,” McCarthy said.

Fred grabbed hold of McCarthy's wrists. “The hell you say! That's what I get for turnin' my back to you. From here on, you're not to talk to anybody unless I say you can.”

“I'm a walking dead man,” McCarthy said. “I'll do what- ever I have to in order to keep that from happening.”

“We're leavin',” Aces announced. “I'll go last.” So he could cover them as they backed out.

Fred grabbed the bottle. “This goes with us. I figure I'm entitled.”

“Bring a case if you want,” Aces said.

“Would that I could,” Fred said with a laugh. Pulling McCarthy after him, he made for the batwings.

“Look out!” Tyree cried.

Caleb was lumbering out of the store with his big fists balled. “You shot Ira!” he shouted at Aces.

Aces trained his Colt on him. “I don't want to have to shoot you too.” Two in under a minute was more than enough.

Caleb was so mad his entire frame shook. “He was my friend and you killed him. You'll answer for it, you hear?”

“Let it go,” Aces cautioned.

Seldom had anyone looked at Aces with such intense hatred. For a few moments Aces thought Caleb would rush him. Aces reached the batwings and pushed outside. Once Tyree and the marshal were in their saddles, he darted around the hitch rail and forked leather.

Worried they might be shot as they rode off, Aces bawled, “Ride!” and used his spurs.

But no one appeared. No one fired at them.

Tyree let out a whoop and Aces almost did the same. They'd made it out in one piece. By nightfall they'd be so far from Sutter's Stump he reckoned that no one stood a prayer of catching them.

Only after they'd gone a mile did Aces slow.

Scanning their back trail, Tyree chuckled. “That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

“We were lucky,” Fred said. “Of course, that business about my brother and my uncle helped some.”

“Was that true or not?” Aces asked.

“Not,” Fred said, and laughed.

“Mighty quick thinkin',” Aces said. “So was throwin' your drink in Tovey's eyes. You might have saved our hash.”

“I'm happy to be useful,” Fred said.

Tyree still held the box of cartridges. “I'm happy that I can practice all I want to now.”

“That's all you care about?” Fred said.

“It's what we went there for,” Tyree replied. Turning, he chuckled at Aces. “When word of what you did gets out, you'll be downright famous. Folks will point at you and stare.”

“I've had enough of that, but thank you,” Aces said. Adding to his tally was the last thing he wanted. All the ranchers in the territory would hear of it. Finding work would be harder than ever.

“I don't see why you're so upset,” Tyree said. “If it was me, when we get to Cheyenne I'd celebrate.”

“You worry me some,” Aces said. “You truly do.”

“Why? I haven't even shot anybody yet.”

“You shot a horse,” Fred said.

Tyree jaw muscles twitched. “I swear, you would make a great biddy hen. You should have been born a girl.”

Tom McCarthy had been listening and now he snorted in disgust. “Hypocrites. You go around killing and talking about killing, yet you insist on turning me over to the law for doing the same thing you do.”

“You're loco,” Fred said. “A shootin' affray isn't the same as muderin' your missus and her lover.”

“What do you know?” McCarthy said. He was clearly in a mood for an argument, but Fred didn't take the bait.

That evening, Aces gave Tyree another lesson. He
explained that it was important not to lose one's head in a fight. “A clear head gives you an edge on a man who is mad or drunk.”

Tyree was more interested in bettering his draw. He had a tendency to grab at his pistols instead of drawing them. Aces showed him how to do it with a smooth down-and-up motion.

“No wasted movement. That's the key.”

Tyree was an eager pupil. He practiced drawing both his right and his left hands, singly and together, until they were ready to crawl under their blankets.

As Aces was sinking back on his, the boy came over, beaming.

“I think I have it.”

“Show me.”

Wagging his arms to loosen them, Tyree drew. “What do you think?” he asked anxiously.

“Keep at it and you'll be able to hold your own against most anybody,” Aces said. He'd like to see the boy be faster, but it was important to encourage him.

“It's the three who killed my ma and pa I want in my sights,” Tyree said. “If only I can find them.”

“When you do, remember what I told you about keepin' your head.”

“That might be hard to do,” Tyree admitted. He began to spread out his bedroll, pausing to say, “I can't tell you how much this means to me. No one has ever helped me like you're doing.”

It had been a long day and Aces was looking forward to catching some sleep. But just when he was on the verge of drifting off, Marshal Hitch came over.

“Did you hear anything?”

“For instance?” Aces said.

“While you were givin' the boy his lesson, I thought I heard hooves.” Fred pointed back the way they'd come. “A couple of horses, or more.”

“Why didn't you say somethin'?”

“I heard it and then I didn't. It could have been my ears playin' tricks on me.”

Aces stared into darkness. “We'll take turns keepin' watch,” he proposed. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Fine by me,” Fred said. “I'll go first, if you don't object.”

“Stay awake,” Aces cautioned.

“You can count on me.”

Aces hoped so. He folded his hands on his chest and waited, but sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned and finally succumbed, but he couldn't have been asleep more than an hour when Marshal Hitch shook his shoulder to wake him.

“Your turn, shootist.”

“I'm a cowpoke and don't you forget it,” Aces said irritably. “The shootin' just happens.”

“A lot,” Fred said.

Sitting up, Aces riffled his hair and put his hat on and tried to get his brain to work. Fortunately, half a pot of coffee was being kept warm on a flat rock by the fire. He filled his tin cup and gratefully drank.

Tyree was snoring. Somewhere out on the prairie a wolf howled.

Aces had always liked to listen to wolves, to their high, throaty cries and their lonesome laments. At times a wolf could sound happy and at other times so inexpressibly sad that it plucked at a man's soul. Some nights, packs would sing in chorus together, and he would lie there and thrill to the beauty of it.

Aces finished his coffee and stood. He needed to stretch his legs and clear his head. Stepping around the fire, he went over to the horses. The palomino, the bay, and the sorrel were dozing. He went out farther, to where the glow of the firelight met the black of night.

He saw nothing; he heard nothing other than the wolves.

Aces admired the stars awhile, then returned.

Tyree was muttering in his sleep and moving his arms and legs as if he were running.

Aces wondered if the boy was dreaming about the men who murdered his folks. What a burden that would be, carrying a thing like that around in your head for the rest of your life.

Aces refilled his cup. He was about to take a swallow when he heard a faint metallic clink. Not a click, as a gun hammer would make, but a slightly louder, sharper sound. He didn't know what to make of it. It reminded him of a pickax striking a rock, but who would be using a pickax in the middle of the prairie in the dead of night?

He hoped it would be repeated, but it wasn't.

But someone, or something, was out there.

Aces set his cup down. The coffee could wait. He went back to the horses and stood between the palomino and the bay, his hand on his Colt.

The minutes dragged and the fire burned low, the flames crackling softly. Now and again a piece of firewood popped. Smoke rose in gray ribbons.

Aces figured he must be mistaken. Whoever or whatever was prowling around out there should have shown by now. He had started to come out from between the horses when he heard the clink again, closer this time.

His palomino raised its head and pricked its ears. It was staring to the north, the way they had come.

Aces debated waking the others.

Suddenly the bay and the sorrel both looked up. The sorrel nickered lightly and stomped a front hoof.

Figures moved just beyond the firelight. It was hard for Aces to tell, but there appeared to be four or five. They were spread out like soldiers in a skirmish line.

Aces let them come closer so he'd have targets to shoot. Faces took form, pale against the dark. One was a lot higher than the rest.

Aces placed his hand on his Colt. Whoever they were, they must intend to shoot his friends in their sleep.

The big one crept forward. For his size, he was as silent as an Apache. Metal glinted in his hand. He was carrying a long-handled ax.

Aces had seen enough. He was about to step into the open when a gun barrel was jammed against his spine.

It was rare for Aces to be taken so completely by surprise. He froze, his hand still on his Colt.

“Not so much as a twitch,” the man behind him growled. “You do, and I blow you in half.”

Aces's hand was yanked away and his Colt was snatched from his holster. Whoever was behind him grabbed him by the back of his shirt and shoved from between the horses.

“Walk toward the fire and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Aces looked over his shoulder. His captor was one of the men who had been playing cards with Puck Tovey. Grizzled and thick-lipped, he wore a buckskin shirt and britches and a floppy hat. “Never had anyone sneak up on me like that.”

“I'm good at sneakin',” the man said. “I was a scout once.” He jabbed Aces with an old Maynard buffalo gun.

Marshal Hitch and Tyree were sound asleep, the boy on his back with his blanket to his chin and his hat half-down over his eyes.

“Your pards are in for a surprise,” the scout said.

The silhouettes in the dark emerged.

Caleb was the large one. He had a revolver around his waist but was carrying an ax. The other two were from the card game.

Smirking, Caleb glowered down at Aces. “Didn't
reckon on seein' us again, did you?” He spoke quietly so as not to wake the marshal and the boy.

“We watched our back trail but saw no sign of you,” Aces admitted. Truth was, Caleb had been cleverer than he figured.

“You killed my friend,” Caleb said, and held the ax head under Aces's nose. “The best partner I ever had.”

“He was about to back-shoot me.”

“You should have let him.” Caleb wagged the ax. “You see this? I aim to chop you into bits and pieces for what you done.”

“I thought you were here to chop firewood,” Aces said.

“Funny man,” Caleb said, and slammed the flat of the ax head against Aces's temple.

Pain exploded, and Aces lost his hat. He sank to a knee, the world spinning, and felt a drop of blood trickle down his cheek.

“I'm going to enjoy choppin' you up,” Caleb said quietly. He turned and regarded Hitch and Tyree. “Them too.”

“Let's get on with it,” the scout said.

“What's your hurry, Kline?” Caleb said. “We've got them right where we want them.”

“Do you?” Tyree Larn said, and sat up. His blanket fell away, revealing a cocked Colt in each hand, pointed at Caleb's broad chest. “Drop that ax and have your pards drop their rifles or I'll put holes in you.”

Caleb showed no alarm whatsoever. Sneering, he said, “Listen to you, boy. If'n you shoot me, Kline and these others will blow out the cowboy's wick and do the same to you and that no-account tin star.”

“Maybe they will and maybe they won't,” Tyree said. “But you won't be around to see it.”

Aces wished the boy had come out from under the blanket with his pistols blazing. Any moment, Kline or one of the others might take it into his head to shoot him.

“I've been shot before,” Caleb said. “It don't worry me none.”

Aces saw that Kline had tucked his ivory-handled Colt under a wide leather belt the old scout wore. It was within easy reach, provided he had a distraction.

“Shows how few brains you have,” Tyree said.

Caleb's bushy eyebrows met over his eyes. “All my life folks have been callin' me dumb. It riles me something fierce.”

“For the last time, you ugly-as-hell giant, drop the damn ax.”

Caleb looked at it, and smiled. “That's not going to happen, boy. What
will
happen is this. You'll shoot me, but it won't bother me none, and then my friends will shoot you and I'll take this ax to the gun hand.”

“You take a lot for granted, mister.” Tyree glanced at Aces as he said it, and Aces gave a slight nod. “There ain't none of us bulletproof.”

“It's you who should drop those pistols,” Caleb said.

“To make it easier for you to kill me?” Tyree laughed. “You must reckon I'm as dumb as you.”

“There you go again,” Caleb said. “Someone shoot this brat so we can get on with the killin'.”

“You first,” Tyree said, and fired both Colts.

Caleb was jolted back by the twin slugs tearing through his body. One burst out his back, high on his shoulder, spraying drops of blood.

At the twin blasts, Aces sidestepped and spun. He counted on Kline having turned his head toward Tyree and Caleb. It bought him the split second he needed to yank his Colt from under Kline's belt, cock it as he raised it, and shoot the old scout in the face. Whirling, he fanned shots at the others. Tyree was shooting at them too. The boy must have figured that Caleb would fall, but Caleb didn't. Instead the giant roared like an enraged grizzly and hurled his bulk at Tyree, raising the ax on high. There was another shot, just one, and Caleb's head snapped back and he buckled to sprawl in a heap next to the fire.

Both Aces and Tyree looked over at Marshal Hitch.

The lawman had risen on an elbow, his revolver poking from under his blanket. He seemed as surprised as they were. “For Pete's sake. I've killed somebody.”

“I'm damn glad you did,” Tyree said.

Aces went from body to body, making sure.

“It happened so quick,” Tyree said. “Just like you said it would. I didn't hardly have time to think.”

“I've never killed anybody before,” Fred said, staring aghast at Caleb's sprawled form.

“It's about time you did, you bein' the law and all,” Tyree said. “If you're that weak sister about it, hand in your tin star and become a chicken farmer.”

“Who is the man here and who is the boy?” Fred said.

“Cluck, cluck,” Tyree said.

Satisfied their enemies were dead, Aces commenced to reload. “You did fine, Tyree. Right fine.”

The boy grinned and held out his Colts. “I did, didn't I? I did just like you told me and kept my head and shot that big one.”

“You put slugs into two of them,” Aces said.

“I did, didn't I?” Tyree said once more, proud of his accomplishment. “It shows I can do it when I find those who murdered my ma and my pa.”

“That you can,” Aces said.

“How can you be so happy over killing someone?” Fred said. “It will eat at me the rest of my days.”

“You are the most peculiar law dog I ever met,” Tyree said. “You're always nice to folks. You don't like to shoot anybody. I reckon you must cry at a hangin'.”

“They don't please me none, no.”

“If chickens aren't to your likin', how about raisin' hogs?”

“Cut it out,” Fred said. “This is serious.”

“What makes you think I wasn't?” Tyree pushed his blankets off and stood. Nudging Caleb with a toe, he laughed. “I did it. I actually did it.”

“You don't have to keep crowin' about it,” Fred said.

“Sure I do,” Tyree said. “I'm not a weeper like you.”

“Aren't you forgettin' something?” Aces asked him.

Tyree tore his gaze from Caleb. “Like what?”

“What's the first thing you're to do after you shoot?”

“Reload,” Tyree said. Replacing his left Colt in its holster, he slipped a cartridge from a belt loop. “Sorry. I got excited.”

Aces grinned. “So I noticed.”

Marshal Hitch rose, his features downcast. “I'd be obliged if neither of you mentions my part in this to anyone.”

“You don't want us to brag on you shootin' that Caleb?” Tyree said.

“I surely don't.”

“See what I mean about him bein' peculiar?” Tyree said to Aces. “You ever met a lawman like him?”

“I surely haven't.” Aces mimicked the boy.

“Have your fun, both of you,” Fred said. “But it would please me mightily if we stopped talkin' about it.”

“I have one last question for you,” Tyree said.

Fred sighed. “Let me hear it.”

“Where the hell is our bail jumper?”

Aces turned. He'd forgotten about Tom McCarthy in all the excitement. McCarthy's blanket had been flung aside, and he was gone.

“How in the world?” Fred exclaimed. “I tied his hands and feet, both.”

Aces went over and squatted. A jagged rock and pieces of rope explained things. “He must have sawed himself free before Caleb and those others showed up.”

“Then took advantage and ran off while we were busy with them,” Fred said.

“He won't get far on foot,” Tyree declared.

Struck by a thought, Aces straightened. “He might get farther than you think. Caleb and his friends left their horses out there somewhere.”

“Oh, hell,” Fred said. “We can't go runnin' off in the dark. We have no idea which way he went.”

“I'll catch him tomorrow, wait and see,” Tyree said confidently. “I did it once. I can do it again. There hasn't been a bounty yet who escaped me.”

“We'd best get some sleep,” Aces said. If McCarthy did get hold of a horse, it promised to be a long day.

“What about the bodies?” Fred said.

“Buzzards get hungry too,” Aces said.

“That's not right.”

“It would take all night to bury them and we'd be worthless in the mornin'. Is that what you want?”

“I suppose not,” Fred said. “What's one more thing I never thought I'd do? I make it back to Sweetwater, I'm never leavin' again. This world is too rough for my tastes.”

“Strangest lawman ever born,” Tyree said.

Aces found sleep elusive, and he wasn't the only one. He'd been lying there for about fifteen minutes when Tyree let out a long sigh.

“Are you awake, Aces?”

“Afraid so.”

“I can't fall asleep for the life of me. I'm too wrought up. It feels as if my blood is racin' through my body.”

“That can happen your first time.”

“I'd like it to happen every time,” Tyree said. “It's a good feelin'. All warm and tingly.”

“I never felt the tingly part,” Aces said.

“I feel like I'm on top of the world. Like I've proven somethin' to myself that most folks don't ever get to.”

“You shot somebody. That's all.”

“Two somebodies,” Tyree said, and chuckled.

Aces was a little disturbed by how happy the boy was about it. “Listen, Tyree. You're young yet, so it's natural you're het up. But there's no glory in shootin' someone. Even when they deserve it.”

“It's glorious to me,” Tyree said.

“That will wear off. When you're my age you'll see things more clearly.”

“I'm not your age. I'm me.”

Aces rolled over to face him. “Don't let it go to your
head. You start struttin' around like you're the toughest hombre who ever lived, and you won't last long. The loud ones, the proud ones, never do.”

“I'd never go that far.”

“Keep a sensible head and you'll live to a ripe old age, like Hitch yonder.”

“I heard that,” the marshal said grumpily. “And I'm not ripe yet, I'll have you know.”

“You could have fooled me,” Tyree said, “the notions you have.”

Aces wasn't done trying to make things clear. “Keep your shootin' to yourself. Don't get drunk and boast. Don't prod when there's no call. Don't scare folks for the fun of it.”

“What do you think I am?” Tyree said.

“It happens,” Aces said. “Puck Tovey thought he was the cock of the walk and look at what it got him. There's always someone faster. Someone smarter. Live by the gun and your name is on a bullet. You just never know when or who will pull the trigger that does you in.”

“I like how you put that,” Fred said. “Heed him, boy.”

“I do everything he says, don't I?” Tyree said. “I've never looked up to anybody as much as I look up to him.”

Aces was flattered.

“Truth is, I never had anyone to look up to before. No one's ever taken the time to teach me anything.”

“Life can be cruel,” Fred said, “but it can be good too. It's up to us, with the decisions we make. Puck Tovey made his decision to be a bad man a long time ago, and look at where it got him.”

“You are a mother hen,” Tyree said. “I'm not going to be like Puck Tovey. I'm going to be like Aces. I won't ever shoot anyone unless they deserve it.”

“What?” Aces said.

“Like you did with that rustler and that tinhorn. They deserved it, didn't they? There are always some who do.”

“Happy now, Aces?” Fred said.

“Don't you be pickin' on him,” Tyree said. “Thanks to Aces, from this day on, I'm not Tyree Larn, a nobody. I'm Tyree Larn, gun hand.”

“God help us,” the marshal said.