Joe Millard - The Good the Bad and the Ugly

The hunter leaned an elbow on the headboard and watched impassively as Tuco whirled the cylinder, staring at it from bulging eyes. He slapped frantically at his gunbelt.

“My bullets are all gone. You—you—”

The hunter said, “I took them out last night after you went to sleep. You’re a little too handy at switching sides to suit my fancy.”

“You could have got me killed,” Tuco yelled.

“That would have been a pity—before you’d finished doing the heavy digging for me.” The hunter wrenched the headboard from the ground and tossed it at the bandit’s feet. “Get on with it. And use this instead of your bare hands to dig with. You’ll get the job done a lot quicker.”

Behind him Sentenza said, “In fact, you’ll get it done twice as fast with both of you digging.”

He stood at the edge of the woods, smiling sardonically. The long-barrelled pistol pointed steadily. The hammer was drawn back. Sentenza’s finger lightly caressed the trigger.

“I wondered when you’d show up.”

The bounty-hunter seemed unperturbed.

“Now you know,” Sentenza said. “Drop your gun-belt and step back away from it.”

The hunter smiled faintly and shook his head.

Sentenza’s face darkened. His pale eyes glittered with rage.

“Damn you, do as I say or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what, Sentenza? Kill me? You would be foolish. The only wealth you’ll find in Arch Stanton’s grave are the remains of poor Arch Stanton. His mother might like them—but they wouldn’t bring a dime on the open market.”

“Don’t believe him, Sentenza,” Tuco howled. “He’s lying—it’s only a trick to save his miserable skin. The gold is here. It’s got to be here—”

“I think so, too,” Sentenza said through his teeth. “How else would he have known there was an Arch Stanton’s grave? But there’s one simple way to find out. Start digging.”

The bounty-hunter shrugged.

“They’re your hands, Tuco. Go ahead and get them all blistered for nothing if you want to.”

He leaned against an adjacent headboard and watched with mild interest as the bandit attacked the grave with his makeshift shovel. Sentenza moved down to a point where he could keep the hunter covered and still watch the progress of the digging. Under the packed surface the earth was fairly soft and the excavation was soon knee-deep.

Tuco stopped suddenly, panting, and mopped his streaming face. “Why should I do all the hard work, Sentenza? Make him dig, too.”

The hunter smiled faintly and shook his head. “Sorry, but grave-digging just isn’t my trade.”

Tuco said, “Don’t let him bluff you.”

Sentenza stared at the hunter’s bland face and the first faint shadow of doubt clouded his eyes.

He gestured with his gun and said savagely, “Shut up and get on with the job. I’ll give the orders now.”

CHAPTER 20

TUCO’S board suddenly encountered firm resistance. A hollow thump was followed by the unmistakable grate. lag of wood agairat wood.

“Sentenza,” Tuco yelled. “It’s here. A box—a big one.”

Sentenza stepped to the edge of the grave.

“Get it uncovered and open,” He waggled his gun at the tall figure. “You—stay right where you are. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

The hunted stifled a yawn. “I wouldn’t think of moving. I lose all interest in corpses once the worms have been at them for a while. You two enjoy yourselves.”

The coffin-sized chest was quickly cleared of earth. Tuco hooked his fingers under the edge of the lid and wrenched hard. It gave way with a protesting squeal of nails. A human skull grinned up at the intruders. Then, as the lid was flung back, the entire skeleton came into view, fleshless hands folded across the cage of ribs. A fete mildewed shreds of blue uniform still clung to the remains.

Tuco howled and scrambled wildly art of the grave. He spun and shook a furious fist at his late partner. “You son of a saloon tart! You filthy pig. You tricked me. I told you the truth—the name of Sad Hill Cemetery—but what you told me in return, on your word of honour, was a big lie.”

“I told you the absolute truth, Tuco,” the hunter said in a mild tone, “as far as it went. But I just didn’t see any particular pant in telling you all of it. Arch Stanton was the name Bill Carson told me to look for—but it wasn’t the name on the grave where he hid the money. It’s only a key, a signpost to indicate the location of the real hiding place.”

He smiled genially at Sentenza’s strained face. “This makes for a kind of complicated situation now, doesn’t it? Here I am, still in the driver’s seat and you two are practically back where you started. Still want to use that gun on me, Sentenza? Or do you have a better idea?”

“Your deal. You call it. What’s it to be? A three-way split?” He gave a contemptuous jerk of his head in the direction of Tuco. “Or better still—two ways, down the middle.”

“Whitey,” Tuco bleated. “Don’t listen to him. We’ve been partners, fifty-fifty in everything. You won’t let him kill me now—just for some filthy dollars? You’ve still got your gun. You can take him, Whitey. Hurry up and shoot him so we can find the right grave, eh?”

The bounty-hunter eyed him coldly.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t use my gun on you? You were ready enough to shoot me for those filthy dollars.”

“Sentenza,” Tuco howled, throwing out his hands. “Make him talk. Make him tell us where the gold is buried, eh? Then we’ll be rich—just you and me, Sentenza. You can get it out of him. Or let me do it. I am an old hand at making a pig squeal.”

Sentenza’s left band whipped around in a vicious backhand that caught Tuco across the lips. The outlaw yelped and stumbled back into the open grave. He scrambled out, sobbing.

“You’ve got a proposition of some kind in mind,” Sentenza said, ignoring Tuco. “Spit it out.”

The bounty-hunter finished lighting one of his stubby cigarros and flipped the spent match into the open grave. “Why, as a matter of fact, I have. You two came here with the some idea—that once the gold was found only one man would leave with the whole two hundred thousand dollars. The more I think about it, the better I like that deal myself.”

Sentenza’s pale eyes narrowed.

“Meaning what?” Get to the point”

“For a long time I’ve bene hearing about how fast you are with that cross-belly draw. I’m not exactly an amateur at the trade. I’m sure you’ve been wondering the same thing I have, Sentenza. In a showdown between us—which one would come out alive? This seems like a good time to settle the question. The stakes are high—more than a life or two. Besides, men like you and me live on borrowed time. You might say we’re already dead.”

“What about the two hundred thousand? If you win you’ll be rich. If I win—I’ll still be a pauper.”

“Not at all,” the other said amiably. “I’ll write the location of the real hiding place on a piece of paper. If you want it enough—take it off my dead body. Fair enough?”

For a Long moment Sentenza stared at the bounty-hunter, his dark wedge of face without a hint of expression. Then, slowly, he slid the long gun back into its holster.

“Go ahead. Write.”

The hunter fished out an old reward poster from his pocket and dug out a stub of pencil. He scrawled a few words, folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. He grinned at Sentenza.

“That clear space should give us plenty of elbow room.”

“Lead the way,” Sentenza said.

“You go first. I don’t want a bullet in my back. Whoever gets the gold will have to earn it the hard way, my friend.”

Sentenza’s lips stirred fn the ghost of a smile. He strode on into the amphitheatre. The bounty-hunter followed. Tuco stumbled after them, wringing his hands and whimpering.