Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

They climbed until they were higher than the oaks, and went on climbing. Boone glanced down once and did not glance down again. When a bird swooped past his head, he nearly lost his grip.

Sassy was not the least concerned. Several times she looked down at him and smiled. ‘‘It is not much higher,’’ she said at one point.

Presently Boone heard a scratching noise. He glanced up and was startled to find she had disappeared. ‘‘Sassy?’’

There was no answer.

‘‘Sassy?’’ Boone said again in concern.

‘‘Not so loud. This high up, voices carry. Do you want them to hear you at the spring?’’ A hand appeared, beckoning. ‘‘Keep on. You are almost there.’’

Boone climbed quickly, not caring that if he slipped, he would plummet to his death. He reached up, and instead of another niche his fingers closed on the rough edge of what he took to be a ledge. But when he raised his head above it, he was shocked.

Sassy clapped her hands and laughed at his expression. ‘‘Isn’t it something?’’

Before them was a fair-sized cavern. Worn by erosion, the sides and ceiling were smooth, so that it resembled a bowl tipped on its side. Filling the bowl, to Boone’s amazement, were houses. Made of sandstone and mortar, they were stacked one on top of the other like boxes. The dust of great age covered them, and there were other signs of antiquity. He climbed up and stood, agog.

‘‘Have you ever seen the like?’’ Sassy asked breathlessly.

Boone shook his head. ‘‘I have heard tell of places like this. My pa saw one once. If I recollect right, it was bigger but not as old.’’ He moved past her and then turned and gazed out over the valley. ‘‘How is it we couldn’t see it from down below?’’

‘‘It is in shadow during the day. Almost as if whoever lived here did not want to be found.’’

‘‘A whole village in the cliff,’’ Boone marveled.

‘‘I was out hunting one day and I spotted those cut marks. I went on hunting, but I got curious, so I came back.’’ Sassy motioned. ‘‘This is what I found. I never told Pa.’’

‘‘Why not?’’

‘‘He wouldn’t care. And he hates Injuns. Hates them worse than he hates anything.’’

‘‘I wonder what happened to the people who lived here.’’

‘‘That is a mystery,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘Maybe their enemies drove them off. Or maybe they got tired of toting water up here.’’ She took his hand. ‘‘Come on. I want to show you something.’’

In places the sandstone had crumbled and there was other evidence of the stress of centuries.

Boone was dubious about entering, and said so.

‘‘It has not collapsed on me yet,’’ Sassy said as she bent slightly to go in a doorway.

The dust smell was strong. Openings permitted enough sunlight to filter in to see by, but it was too dark for Boone’s liking. He kept his right hand on his Colt.

Sassy moved with the sure tread of familiarity. ‘‘See these?’’ she said, pointing.

On the plaster walls were paintings rendered in shades of yellow, green, white and red. Many were scenes that depicted the life of the Indians who had lived there. One showed women making baskets. Another depicted warriors fighting a mountain lion. Still others were of symbols.

Sassy was leading them down, not up. She went along a narrow passage and turned right and walked down another, bringing them at last to a large circular chamber. Sunlight streamed in slits high up. She moved to the center and spread her arms wide. ‘‘Isn’t this glorious?’’

Looking at her and not at the paintings or the ceiling, Boone said, ‘‘It is more than that.’’

‘‘I would live here if Pa would not have a fit. It is so quiet, so peaceful.’’ Smiling, Sassy turned in a circle. ‘‘That is silly, I reckon.’’

‘‘Not if you want it, it isn’t.’’

Sassy faced him and bit her lower lip, then asked, ‘‘Be honest with me. Do you have a girl off somewhere you are powerful fond of?’’

‘‘I would never lie to you. And no, not unless you count my ma.’’

‘‘By girl I meant sweetheart or wife.’’

Boone laughed. ‘‘I am too young to be married off.’’ He quickly amended, ‘‘That is, I haven’t met the right girl yet.’’

‘‘Are you particular?’’

‘‘What kind of question is that?’’ Boone rejoined. ‘‘But since you ask, I reckon I am.’’

Sassy’s mouth curled down. ‘‘Oh.’’

‘‘I would like for her to have all her teeth. And to be able to cook. And it would be nice if she was real pretty although she doesn’t have to be if she is sweet and nice.’’

Brightening, Sassy said, ‘‘I can be nice when I put my mind to it.’’ She looked down at her feet and poked at the dust with a toe. ‘‘Do you find me at all pretty?’’

‘‘You are a sunrise and a butterfly rolled into one,’’ Boone answered before he could stop his mouth from moving.

‘‘Really?’’ Sassy moved a few feet away so her back was to him. She coughed and did more dust scraping. ‘‘That is just about the best thing anyone has ever said to me.’’

‘‘If you lived in a town you would have suitors crawling out your ears,’’ Boone predicted.

‘‘The hell you say.’’

‘‘There you go again.’’ Boone walked up behind her. He started to reach for her but lowered his hands.

‘‘Would you be one of them?’’

‘‘I would be the first and only,’’ Boone said hotly. ‘‘There are two things in this life I will not share. One is my horse. The other is my girl.’’

‘‘Do you think you could grow to care for me?’’

‘‘It is too late for that.’’

Sassy turned. Her eyes were limpid pools of worry and confusion. ‘‘Too late how?’’

‘‘You can’t tell?’’

‘‘Oh.’’ Sassy bowed her head. ‘‘Oh,’’ she said again, and her bronzed face grew darker. ‘‘I bet you say that to all the females.’’

‘‘Not ever!’’ Boone replied, more loudly and harsher than he intended. ‘‘There has only ever been one girl who—’’ He caught himself, aghast.

Sassy’s head jerked up. ‘‘Another girl? But you said there wasn’t one. Who is she?’’

‘‘Was,’’ Boone said. ‘‘She is dead. Her name was Lucy. I hardly knew her, but she was nice and she died taking a bullet meant for me.’’

‘‘Was it a lawman’s bullet?’’

‘‘Why would you think that?’’

‘‘You ride with the Radler gang. Every tin star in the territory is on the lookout for them. Twice that I know of the Radlers have shot it out with posses and been lucky to get away.’’

‘‘I am not an outlaw,’’ Boone said. He began to explain how it was that he was with them, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. He told her everything. About the Circle V. About going to Ranson. About Jarrott. About Condit. About drifting to Porter’s, and the rustling in Mexico. ‘‘And here I am.’’ He ended his account with a gesture at the chamber made ages past by a tribe long dead.

Sassy had not said a word during his recital. Her eyes, alive with interest, grew bright with something else. ‘‘Then you are not really one of them.’’

‘‘They act like I am but I am not. I only stayed with them because I like Drub.’’

‘‘So do I.’’

Suddenly Sassy grabbed his hand again and wheeled toward a doorway on the other side. ‘‘There is one spot left to show you. The most special spot of all.’’

The next passage was lined with clay pots. Some were cracked. Others lay in shards. A mouse went skittering away in fright. Soon they were at the foot of a wooden ladder that reached up into darkness.