Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘And nice is bad?’’ Boone asked while inserting the tip so it was between the slug and sinew.

‘‘Nice is stupid. The world isn’t nice. It bites us and chews on us and swallows us whole if we don’t watch out.’’

Boone looked up. ‘‘I will get a few shots off before I am swallowed. I can promise you that.’’

Old Man Radler glanced at Boone’s ivory-handled Colt. ‘‘That is something to keep in mind.’’

‘‘My ma is nice and she is not stupid.’’

‘‘Women can afford to be. They do most of the kid raising, so it is natural for them. But for a man it is a weakness. If we aren’t hard, life grinds us under like a miller’s wheel grinds flour.’’

‘‘You have a colorful way with words.’’

Old Man Radler reacted as if he had been slapped as hard as he had just slapped Vance. ‘‘Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?’’

‘‘Do what?’’

‘‘Give me praise. That is a woman’s trick. Get it through your head I don’t want to know you or like you or be your friend. The only worth you have to me is as a pistol with a body attached.’’

‘‘I will keep that in mind.’’ Boone twisted his knife and the slug popped out into his open palm. He held it for Drub to see. ‘‘Here. Your arm should be good as old in a week or so.’’

Grinning, Drub inspected it. ‘‘Hard to believe puny things like this kill so many folks. It is no bigger than the marbles I used to play with.’’

‘‘Your pa let you have marbles?’’ Boone asked, with a sideways glance at the father.

Old Man Radler colored, and swore. ‘‘Don’t make more of it than it was. I needed to stop him from yapping.’’

‘‘Can I keep it, Pa?’’ Drub asked.

‘‘Not a lick of sense.’’ Old Man Radler spat. Suddenly snatching the slug, he threw it far away.

‘‘What did you do that for?’’

‘‘Because I know you, Drub. You would show it to people and they would ask how you got shot, and you, with your head so full of mud, would tell them you were shot rustling horses down in Mexico.’’

‘‘But I was.’’

Old Man Radler hissed like an angry rattler. ‘‘Damn it. How many times must I tell you?’’ He put his hand on Drub’s other shoulder. ‘‘Pay attention, boy. Is what we do legal or not?’’

Drub’s face scrunched up. ‘‘Not.’’

‘‘And if it’s not legal, what is the law liable to do to us if they catch us?’’

The furrows on Drub’s face multiplied. ‘‘Dangle us from cottonwoods.’’

‘‘Good, son. You remember.’’

‘‘But why can’t I tell folks about the slug? I won’t tell it to anyone wearing a badge. I can be smart, Pa.’’

‘‘Then try to be smart now. What happens if one of those you tell goes and tells it to a tin star?’’

‘‘Oh,’’ Drub said.

Old Man Radler sighed and turned to Boone. ‘‘Do you see what I have to put up with?’’

‘‘Yet you put up with it. As hard as you are.’’

‘‘You can go to hell.’’ Old Man Radler walked off, glowering at the world and everyone in it.

‘‘You made Pa mad.’’

‘‘He is mad at himself, not me. You should wash the bullet hole and then button your shirt back up.’’

‘‘Can’t waste the water,’’ Drub said. ‘‘Pa says we are only to use it for drinking, and then only a little bit at a time. That’s so we don’t die of thirst.’’

‘‘Your pa takes good care of you.’’

‘‘He does?’’ Drub’s face did more scrunching. ‘‘He doesn’t talk like he does. But he hasn’t shot me yet, so that is something.’’ He paused. ‘‘He shot my cousin, Thad.’’

‘‘No fooling?’’

‘‘Thad used to ride with us. One day Pa saw him talking to a sheriff, and that night when we were camped Pa walked around behind him and shot him in the back of the head. It shook me so much, I about spilled my coffee.’’

‘‘I can imagine,’’ Boone said.

Grimacing, Drub shrugged into his sleeve. ‘‘We are never to talk to lawdogs. Don’t forget that or Pa will shoot you too.’’

‘‘Your pa probably thought your cousin was about to turn him in for the reward.’’

‘‘You know about that?’’

‘‘Everyone in Arizona must know about it. Five thousand dollars is a lot of money.’’

‘‘That’s why Pa has to be so careful. Anyone is apt to shoot him in the back. Except me. He told me once I am the only person in the whole world that he trusts not to do that.’’

‘‘Yes, sir. Your pa is as hard as flint.’’

Wagner and the others had gathered wood and Galeno had kindled a fire. Coffee was put on to brew and beans were poured into a pot.

Drub sat with his big hands to the flames and grinned from ear to ear.

‘‘What the hell are you so happy about?’’ Vance snapped.

‘‘My shoulder doesn’t hurt no more.’’

Old Man Radler was poking the ground with a stick. ‘‘Tomorrow we start to sell off the horses. If all the buyers have the money in hand like they are supposed to, by the end of the month we will be back at the canyon.’’

‘‘The canyon?’’ Boone said quietly to Drub.

‘‘Our secret place.’’

Old Man Radler had gone on. ‘‘That is where we will divide up the money. Then all of you can go off and do as you please.’’ He pointed the stick at Boone. ‘‘You are one of us now, so you get an equal share.’’

Drub chuckled in delight. ‘‘Do you hear that, Lighting? You are one of us!’’

‘‘Get married, why don’t you?’’ Vance said.

Boone was up and around the fire in two swift bounds. No one had time to react except Skelman, whose hands swooped to his mother-of-pearl Colts. Boone’s own Colt flashed up and out and caught Vance Radler on the temple, felling him like a poled ox. For a moment Boone stood over him, and then he stepped back and twirled his Colt into his holster.

Galeno, grinning, reached over and slapped Vance. He kept slapping him until Vance groaned and groggily sat up.

‘‘God, my head hurts.’’ Vance blinked in confusion. His eyes alighted on Boone and he swore and started to stand but apparently thought better of it. ‘‘You had no call to do that.’’

‘‘I warned you about the insults. On your feet.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘You heard me.’’

‘‘The hell I will.’’ Vance looked around for help, but no one answered his mute appeal. He swallowed, and sat back. ‘‘I won’t let you goad me. If I draw on you, you will kill me.’’

‘‘It will be fair. Skelman will count to three.’’

Skelman looked up. ‘‘I don’t recollect being asked.’’

‘‘Three or four or none, it is all the same,’’ Vance said. ‘‘I am not getting up.’’

‘‘The insults will stop?’’

Vance glared at Drub and his mouth became a slit. ‘‘You have heard the last of them.’’

Boone turned to their father. ‘‘Was that hard enough for you?’’

Old Man Radler snorted. ‘‘Hard, hell. Hard is never giving the other bastard a chance. Hard would have been to shoot the fool dead.’’

‘‘Thanks, Pa,’’ Vance said.

‘‘I am not your umbrella, boy. You bring rain down on your head, you are bound to get wet.’’

Drub chose that moment to wriggle with glee and say, ‘‘This is more fun than I’ve had in a coon’s age.’’

Dawn found them on the move. The lingering cool of night gave way to the inferno of day. The dust they raised hung in the air as if reluctant to fall back to earth.

Boone was riding drag when a figure in black came around the trailing end of the horse herd and reined in alongside him.

‘‘We need to talk,’’ Skelman said.