Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘Will it hold us?’’

‘‘It has always held me. But to be safe we will climb one at a time.’’

The ladder creaked and shimmied. Boone stood ready to catch her should it collapse. Sassy disappeared into the shadows and a few moments later called down out of the ink.

‘‘Your turn.’’

Boone placed his right boot on the bottom rung and carefully applied his full weight. ‘‘Will wonders never cease?’’ he muttered, and cautiously ascended. A square of pale light at the top turned into an opening onto the roof.

Sassy was over at the edge, hands on her hips, staring down at the cliff homes and the valley beyond. ‘‘Isn’t the view wonderful?’’

‘‘It is more wonderful than anything.’’

Curling her legs under her, Sassy sat and patted the roof. ‘‘Have a seat. I reckon we should rest a spell before we start down.’’

Boone did not need to rest, but he sat cross-legged with his elbows on his knees. The sun was streaming into the mouth of the cavern, but at such an angle he doubted anyone on the valley floor could see the secret village.

‘‘What now, Boone Scott?’’ Sassy asked.

‘‘There is no need for you to be so formal,’’ Boone answered. ‘‘We are friends, aren’t we?’’

‘‘Are we friends? Or are we more than friends?’’ Boone did not answer. His tongue had tied itself into knots.

‘‘I took it for more but maybe that is me. I do not have much experience at this.’’ Sassy paused. ‘‘Hell, I do not have any experience at all.’’

‘‘One more hell out of you and I will take you over my knees and spank you,’’ Boone was able to joke.

Sassy leaned toward him, her breath warm on his cheek. ‘‘Would you? I might like that.’’

‘‘The things you say. I never heard a girl talk like you. But damn me if I don’t like it.’’

Sassy put a hand on his leg. ‘‘I want you to like me. I want you to like me as much as I like you.’’

‘‘God help me.’’

‘‘We have to work out how it is to be with you and me. Old Man Radler will leave in the morning. He will expect you to go with him.’’

‘‘He has no say over what I do.’’

‘‘Then what will it be? I need to know your intentions. If I am too forward I am sorry, but I have never felt this way.’’ Sassy leaned so close that her lips practically brushed his. ‘‘I want you, Boone Scott. I want you to want me. I want for you to take me with you when you leave. I will go anywhere you say, do anything you want me to do. But only if you feel the way I do. If you don’t, tell me now. There will be no hard feelings. I promise. Just tell me true.’’ She stopped, and her next words were a whisper. ‘‘What will it be?’’

Layers of Deceit

For the Circle V it was not life as usual.

The foreman and the hands and everyone else tried to shake off the deaths of the owner and his wife, but the wounds were too fresh. Ned Scott had been well liked. He was a working owner, not one of those who sat on his porch and gave orders but never sat a saddle. Lillian was fondly recalled for her many kind words and for her cookies and pies. Their dough puncher didn’t mind. As good as he was—and it was the Circle V’s boast that their cook was the best in the territory—neither his cookies nor his pies were the equal of Lillian’s.

Dan Morgan did what he could to draw the men out of their funk. He had been a working cowboy at fourteen and a foreman by twenty-three, and he was employed in that capacity at three other ranches before he came to work for Ned Scott. Dan knew cows and Dan knew men. It was said that what he did not know was not worth knowing. He had peers, but no one anywhere was better. He was wise but practical. He was tough but fair. And he never missed a thing. He could pull two and two out of thin air and get four.

For all his savvy and ability, Dan was hard pressed to restore the Circle V to where it should be. The freak mishap that claimed Ned Scott was bad enough; to have his wife die so soon afterward was a shock. A few hands muttered about a jinx, but Dan nipped that in the bud by announcing that anyone silly enough to believe such nonsense had no business working at the Circle V.

Dan tried tactics that never failed him in the past. He gave the men extra days off. He practically booted some of them in the general direction of Tucson with the admonition that they better have a good time, or else. He told the cook to whip up extra treats. He did all this, and more, and it had no effect on morale.

Dan was about at his wits’ end the morning he came out of the tack room and discovered his new boss waiting for him. ‘‘This is a surprise. What can I do for you, Mr. Scott?’’

‘‘I have told you before about being formal. Call me Epp or call me Eppley, but for God’s sake do not call me Mr. Scott.’’

‘‘It was good enough for your pa.’’

‘‘I am not him. You will treat me as me. And what is so surprising about me being in my own stable?’’

Dan Morgan shrugged. ‘‘We have not seen much of you of late. I reckon you are busy with the books, and all.’’

‘‘There is that.’’ Clasping his hands behind his back, Epp moved down the aisle between the stalls, and the foreman naturally went with him. ‘‘I needed to talk to you.’’

‘‘My ears are yours any hour of the day or night,’’ Dan said amiably. ‘‘It is what you pay me for.’’

‘‘I know I can always count on you, just like my pa could. If he told me once, he told me fifty times that without you the Circle V would fall apart.’’

‘‘That was kind of him, but it was not true. I can name half a dozen men who can do as good a job as me.’’

‘‘I am content with you. I trust the reverse is true?’’

‘‘I am still here,’’ Dan said, and smiled.

They emerged into the harsh glare of the summer sun. Epp squinted at the horses in the corral and then at Red Butte in the distance. ‘‘How would you say the ranch is doing?’’

‘‘I am not sure how you mean that.’’

‘‘Let me rephrase the question. In your opinion, is the Circle V as prosperous as it can be?’’

‘‘We could run a few more head, I suppose. But where is the need? The Circle V has been in the black since I signed on. Your pa never complained about a lack of profits.’’

‘‘Oh, the ranch is still earning well enough,’’ Epp said. ‘‘I just happen to think it could earn more.’’

They were near the corral. The bronc buster was working, and too busy with a bronco to do more than nod.

‘‘Earn more how?’’ Dan Morgan asked. ‘‘Tell me what you want me to do and I will get it done.’’

Epp turned his back to the rails and leaned against them, his legs crossed in front of him. ‘‘My idea does not involve you and the men. My idea involves our grass.’’

‘‘If I were any more lost I would be booze blind,’’ Dan said. ‘‘You are fixing to cut and sell hay?’’

Epp grinned and shook his head. ‘‘I am fixing to rent out our range.’’

‘‘Rent?’’ Dan Morgan said the word as others might say ‘‘warts’’ or ‘‘toe fungus.’’

‘‘Rent,’’ Epp said again. ‘‘The Circle V is one of the largest ranches in the territory. We have plenty of range. More than we use at any one time.’’

‘‘A ranch can never have enough graze.’’

‘‘True, true,’’ Epp said quickly. ‘‘But I was thinking of that section to the southwest. The barrens. We never use it, but there is good grass and water.’’

Who first coined the name, no one could remember. The barrens consisted of five square miles of washes and low bluffs. A spring watered enough grass to keep a small herd fed. But choked thick with thorny brush, the barrens were more hospitable to deer and mountain lions than to cows.