Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘I have a horse I am powerful fond of.’’

‘‘There you go.’’ Drub offered his hand. ‘‘Can we be friends? I do not have many and I would very much like to be yours.’’

Boone stared at the big paw and then at the bear it belonged to, and warily shook. ‘‘Pleased to meet you. You can call me’’—Boone barely hesitated—‘‘Lightning.’’

‘‘Gosh. That is a good one. I wish my pa had not called me Drub. It sounds too much like dumb.’’

‘‘What is it you do for a living?’’

‘‘Mostly,’’ Drub Radler said, ‘‘we rustle and kill people.’’

Deadly Tally

The butte was a red bull’s-eye at the center of a circle of green. It thrust at the blue vault of sky like an accusing finger. The two men searching for cattle were never out of sight of it.

They had been at the tally two days when Dan Morgan came trotting toward them. Ned Scott drew rein, his brow furrowed. ‘‘I wonder what Dan is doing out here. He is supposed to be on his way to Tucson to hire new hands.’’

Epp Scott leaned on his saddle horn and said he was sure he did not know. He stared at their old foreman like a snake would stare at a bird it wanted to eat, then caught himself and plastered a smile on his face.

Dan Morgan started talking before he came to a stop. ‘‘So they were right. Chester and Billy said they saw you making a count. I didn’t believe them, but here you are with the tally book in your hand.’’ His back became ramrod straight with indignation. ‘‘I will quit now and save you the bother of firing me.’’

‘‘What on earth?’’ Ned said. ‘‘Why would I do that?’’

Dan pointed at the tally book. ‘‘Because you think I miscounted at the last roundup.’’

‘‘That is the silliest thing I have ever heard. You are as honest as Daniel Boone.’’

‘‘Then I am confused.’’

Ned tapped the tally book with the pencil. ‘‘Yes, I am doing a count. But only to be sure our stock is not being rustled.’’

‘‘The hell you say!’’ Dan declared. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me?’’

‘‘You have enough to keep you busy. I intended to let you know when the count was done and I have proof.’’ Ned told him about Cramden, the buyer for the army, and the cow-pen herd that turned out to have blotted brands.

‘‘Hanks, you say?’’ Dan Morgan pursed his lips. ‘‘I seem to recollect a drifter who passed through about a year ago by that name.’’

‘‘He stopped at the ranch?’’

Dan nodded. ‘‘I took him for a grub-line rider. He ate at the cook shack and was gone the next morning.’’

‘‘Anything else you remember about him?’’

‘‘I thought maybe he was looking for work, but he told one of our hands that he was on his way to Ranson.’’

‘‘And that was a year ago, you say?’’

‘‘Thereabouts.’’

Epp pretended to be interested in the news. ‘‘Do you reckon this Hanks was passing through our range with an eye to helping himself?’’

‘‘Could be,’’ Dan Morgan said. ‘‘I will tell our hands to keep their eyes peeled. Strangers are to be confronted, and if they find this Hanks, they are to bring him to me.’’

‘‘And you are to bring him to me,’’ Ned said. ‘‘I do not want you to string him up before I have a chance to question him.’’

‘‘A hemp social is too good for the bastard. Rustlers are the scum of creation. The only thing worse is a horse thief.’’

‘‘There are the Apaches,’’ Epp said.

‘‘They have an excuse. I would be fit to kill too if someone was trying to take my land and stick me on a reservation.’’ Dan paused. ‘‘No-accounts like Hanks have no excuse. They are money-hungry but too lazy to work for it, so they steal.’’

‘‘We don’t have proof that this Hanks stole any of our cows,’’ Epp noted. ‘‘For that matter, he might have bought them from the real rustlers.’’

‘‘And then resold them to the army?’’

‘‘If the rustlers sold them cheap enough to him, he would make a nice profit,’’ Epp said.

That prompted Ned to say, ‘‘I hadn’t thought of that, son. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. If the new tally is short we will ride to Ranson and talk to this Hanks.’’

‘‘Talk, hell,’’ Dan Morgan said.

Ned smiled. ‘‘Now that you have solved the mystery, shouldn’t you be on your way to Tucson?’’

‘‘I will wait for you to get done with the count and then go.’’

‘‘It is not like you to be contrary. Unless you have a better reason, I must insist. We are two hands short.’’

‘‘It is on account of your wife,’’ Dan Morgan said.

‘‘What now?’’

‘‘She has been crying again. Loud bouts that go on and on. She doesn’t bother to shut the windows and we can hear her, especially late at night. The men don’t complain, but it gets to them.’’

‘‘I thought she was over the worst of it or I would not have stayed away the past two nights,’’ Ned said sadly. ‘‘You did right in not leaving. Ride back and keep an eye on her.’’

‘‘What if—’’ Dan Morgan swallowed. ‘‘What if she goes into hysterics like that one time right after we heard that Boone had shot those men and disappeared?’’

‘‘Leave her be. The fit will pass, and after I get back I will take her to visit Doc Baker.’’

They sat in silence and watched their foreman ride off. Epp was the first to break it, saying, ‘‘I will never forgive Boone for what he has done to Ma and you. It was wrong of him to run off like he did.’’

‘‘I don’t care to talk about it.’’

‘‘I can’t help it, Pa. He is my brother. He is your son.’’

‘‘He is and he isn’t,’’ Ned said. ‘‘Your ma gave birth to him, the same as she did you, but we did not raise either of you to be killers. To shoot all those people. And then that girl.’’ His voice trailed off.

‘‘I would never have thought it of him,’’ Epp said, adding salt to the emotional wound.

Ned coughed. ‘‘Me either. I don’t know what got into him. He rode into Ranson and went bad, just like that.’’ He snapped his fingers. ‘‘And then he rode out of our lives without a word.’’ He looked at Epp. ‘‘Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?’’

‘‘My ears work fine, Pa.’’

‘‘Could he have said something that gave some clue but you didn’t realize it at the time?’’

Epp shammed thinking as hard as he could. ‘‘No. Sorry. I have thought about it and thought about it and he did not give so much as a hint.’’

‘‘All right,’’ Ned said softly. Rousing, he clucked to his sorrel. ‘‘Let’s get on with the count. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can comfort your ma.’’

So far they had counted the cattle on the north side of the butte and the cattle to the west. Now they were south of it, drifting east. Up ahead, the butte’s long shadow slashed across the valley. Scattered longhorns, accustomed as they were to cowhands, ignored them.

Epp fell behind his father so he could study the butte without his father noticing. On three sides the butte was sheer cliff. But on the south side, part of the rock wall had buckled ages ago and giant stone slabs crashed onto the valley floor. Many shattered when they hit, but others did not.

Epp nodded to himself, then gigged his mount to catch up. ‘‘We should search around the bottom of the butte.’’

‘‘That can wait.’’ Ned was making for a cluster of twenty to thirty head farther out.

‘‘But we are close to it,’’ Epp said. ‘‘Why not search there first and then do the rest?’’

Ned considered the suggestion. ‘‘I suppose you are right. There might be a few among all that rock.’’ He reined toward the butte. ‘‘I want to thank you again for lending a hand.’’