Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘Put them on a table over by the far wall,’’ Skelman directed. ‘‘Line them up in a row.’’

Scowling, Porter swung toward the others. ‘‘Any of you want to help move a table? My hands are full.’’

No one responded.

‘‘A free drink for those who lend a hand.’’

Six men sprang and grabbed the table. Two others tried to take hold but were shouldered aside.

Vance Radler hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and swaggered up to Boone. ‘‘That business about the insults. It does not apply to me. I am his brother and I will insult him as I please.’’

‘‘He insults me more than anyone,’’ Drub said.

‘‘It goes for you the same as everyone else.’’ Boone motioned at the crumpled ruin that had been Barnes. ‘‘When you feel the urge, think of him. It might help.’’

‘‘Damn you. Drub is my brother.’’

‘‘Then you should be nice to him.’’

‘‘Nice?’’ Vance blurted, and cackled. ‘‘What the hell are you? A Good Samaritan?’’

‘‘I am this,’’ Boone said, and patted his Colt.

Now it was Skelman who laughed. Several of the others glanced sharply around, as if they had never heard him laugh before. ‘‘Damn, Lightning. You remind me of me when I was your age.’’

Vance could not let it drop. ‘‘I do not like being told what I can say. I do not like it one little bit.’’

‘‘Feel free to object,’’ Skelman said, and laughed some more.

Old Man Radler had been unusually quiet, but now he stepped forward. ‘‘Better rein in that temper of yours, Vance. We have a job to do soon and I cannot afford to lose anyone else.’’

‘‘Hell.’’

Old Man Radler thoughtfully regarded Boone. ‘‘I like to take a while to judge whether a man is dependable or not, but you have cost me a man and you claim to be Drub’s friend so—’’

‘‘There is no claim about it,’’ Boone broke in.

‘‘All right. But he goes where I go, and if you want to go where he goes, then you have to join us. And by join I mean you do what I say, when I say, and kill who I say when I want you to kill. And you need to make up your mind here and now. What will it be?’’

Just then Porter hollered, ‘‘The bottles are all set up. Just don’t blow holes in my table, damn it.’’

Skelman crooked a finger at Boone and they moved to the middle of the room. Setting himself, Skelman swept his slicker back. ‘‘When I give the word. You take the three on the right and I will take the three on the left.’’

‘‘There is no need to do this.’’

‘‘There is for me if not for you. Don’t hold back. Give it your all.’’ Skelman’s voice cracked like a bullwhip. ‘‘ Now .’’

No one saw their hands move. Blurred motion was all.

Skelman drew both of his revolvers simultaneously, each hand equally swift, and his were out and up even as Boone’s Colt rose. Six shots thundered and six bottles shattered.

‘‘Wheeeooo!’’ Wagner cried.

‘‘I never saw the like!’’ another man exclaimed.

‘‘They tied!’’ a third said.

‘‘No, Skelman was a shade faster.’’

‘‘You’re loco.’’

Old Man Radler strode over and said brusquely, ‘‘Enough of this tomfoolery.’’ He focused on Boone.

‘‘It is time to decide. What will it be? Are you with us or not?’’

‘‘Count me in,’’ Boone Scott said.

For Want of Breath

The funeral was grand.

Lillian Scott roused from her emotional lethargy to take charge. She spared no expense on the coffin. She insisted it be of the best wood and have red velvet inside. She also demanded that a red pillow be placed under her husband’s head.

Tucson was a day’s ride by carriage or buckboard, so the guests had to stay the night. The evening after the burial, Lillian arranged a feast. She had Maria, her cook, call on Maria’s sister and cousins and an uncle for help. The dishes were a mix of Mexican and gringo, as Maria liked to call them.

Tables were set up outdoors and everyone was invited to partake. Burying their friend and neighbor had put them in a somber frame of mind, and no one touched the food. Hardly anyone spoke.

Lillian solved that. Dressed all in grave black, she went from table to table, insisting they get up and help themselves and have a good time.

Over a dozen ranchers attended. So did a score of townspeople. Almost all the punchers were present. A band provided music, and to the astonishment of many, Lillian proceeded to dance and laugh and be as gay as she could be. More than a few thought it strange that she made merry so soon after losing her husband, but they were too polite to say anything.

Epp Scott mingled freely. He too was in good spirits. He smiled as he shook hands and smiled as he was offered condolences. But he did not smile when, midway through the evening, Dan Morgan marched up to him.

‘‘What in hell has gotten into you and your mother?’’

Epp took a step back, his glass of whiskey half-raised. He looked around to make sure no one had overheard. ‘‘I beg your pardon?’’

‘‘We buried your pa not three hours ago, and here you are drinking and carrying on. And your mother!’’ Dan glared at where Lillian was doing a lively fandango. ‘‘I swear. If I live to a hundred I will never understand women.’’

Epp lowered his glass. ‘‘You overstep yourself.’’

‘‘Do I?’’ Dan Morgan said gruffly. ‘‘I have been foreman since the Circle V started. Your pa was more than my boss. He was my friend. Maybe the best friend I ever had. To see his memory treated this way makes my blood boil.’’

‘‘Does it, now? Then maybe I should set you straight on a few things. My pa was your best friend. Well and good. But he was my father . No one loved him more than me. No one respected him more than me. His death was stupid and senseless and it makes me sick inside just to think about it.’’

‘‘Thrown from his horse,’’ Dan said in disbelief. ‘‘I would never have thought it possible.’’

‘‘Accidents happen. I blame myself, partly. If I had been at his side, maybe I could have prevented it. Maybe I could have grabbed hold of his bridle or caught hold of him when his horse reared.’’

Dan Morgan softened. ‘‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. Like you said, accidents happen. I have seen more men thrown and hurt than I care to count. It is just bad luck that your pa fell on his head.’’

‘‘One of those things,’’ Epp said.

‘‘Peculiar how things work out. Your pa was as fine a rider as I ever saw, yet he dies when his horse is spooked by a rattler.’’ Dan paused. ‘‘You say you actually heard the snake?’’

‘‘I will never forget the sound for as long as I live. I wasn’t more than twenty feet away, but I couldn’t get to him in time.’’

‘‘Still,’’ Dan said. ‘‘All this laughing and dancing.’’

‘‘What would you have us do? Wallow in misery?’’

‘‘No, but—’’

‘‘Look at Ma. Her heart broke when Boone went off and left us. Day after day, all she has done is sit in a chair with tears in her eyes.’’

‘‘Now your pa dies and she is her old self. Where is the sense in that?’’

Epp watched his mother whirl at the end of the Tucson mayor’s arm. ‘‘If I had to guess, I would say that Pa’s death shocked her out of her shell. Come morning, she will probably be a wreck. But right now she is showing everyone she was proud to be Pa’s wife. She is being strong like he would want her to be.’’

‘‘I never thought of it like that.’’

‘‘No hard feelings,’’ Epp said. ‘‘I’m just glad you came to me and not to Ma. It would not take much to bring her down.’’