Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘Do you ever miss her?’’

‘‘If a man asked me that I would shoot him,’’ Old Man Radler said in disgust. ‘‘There are some things a person should not talk about, and losing a wife or a child is one of them.’’

‘‘I never saw this side of you.’’

‘‘What side? The side that brought up two sons? We are all of us more than we seem to be. I rustle and I have killed, but that does not make me worthless.’’

‘‘May I ask you something?’’

‘‘So long as it is not about my wife.’’

‘‘Why did you take up horse stealing for a living? Why live on the wrong side of the law when it is less trouble to live on the other side?’’

‘‘That is a fair question and I will answer you.’’ Old Man Radler paused. ‘‘When I was Drub’s age I didn’t know any better. I took up with a rough bunch. They made their money the easy way. They stole it or rustled it. That is where I learned the trade and I have stuck with it in part because I do not know how to do anything else and in part because I like it.’’

‘‘You like taking stock that doesn’t belong to you?’’

‘‘Careful, girl. I am fond of you but I will not be pricked. As for the rustling, it is root hog or die in this world. A man does what he has to or he doesn’t last.’’

‘‘You never feel any guilt?’’

‘‘Hell. Let me tell you something. Ravens and jays steal eggs and hatchlings from the nests of other birds. Do you think they feel guilt? Rabbits help themselves to the vegetables in a garden. Do they feel guilt? A wolf will leap into a pen, take a lamb in its jaws and leap out again. Does the wolf feel guilt? It is the same with me.’’

‘‘You are mixing people and animals.’’

‘‘So? It is in their nature and it is in ours. If you ask me, we are nothing more than animals in clothes.’’

‘‘It is not in my nature to hurt things,’’ Sassy said.

‘‘Oh?’’ Old Man Radler bared his teeth in a grin.

‘‘Tell that to your pa. You ran out on him, didn’t you? Left him there all alone with his bottle. If that is not hurt, I don’t know what is.’’

Wagner laughed.

‘‘I left him. I didn’t kill him. And we were talking about rustling. What I did is not anywhere near the same and don’t pretend it is. You are only saying that to annoy me.’’

‘‘I am saying that deep down people are more alike than those like you are willing to accept. We are none of us perfect. Yet you make up excuses when you do something that you don’t think is right so you can pretend to be.’’

Drub said, ‘‘You sure do think good, Pa.’’

‘‘Someone in our family has to. Your brother never thinks of anything except himself, and you are lucky if you have a thought a day.’’

‘‘Ahhhh, Pa.’’

That ended the talk for a while. Until Sassy started it up again by clearing her throat and saying, ‘‘I want to ask you something else, Ezekiel.’’

Old Man Radler rounded on her with a low growl. ‘‘Don’t ever call me that again, girl. Only my wife could.’’

‘‘It is just a name.’’

‘‘It is my name and it will not be used if I don’t want it used. Go ahead and ask what is on your mind.’’

‘‘What are your plans for Boone and me?’’

‘‘Who?’’

Boone felt Sassy stiffen. He looked over his shoulder and smiled to show he was not upset.

‘‘Lightning, I mean.’’

‘‘That is not what you called him.’’ Old Man Radler focused on Boone. ‘‘Is that your real name?’’

‘‘I don’t use it much, just like you don’t use yours.’’

‘‘I have heard it somewhere.’’

‘‘It is not uncommon,’’ Boone said. ‘‘Maybe you are thinking of Daniel Boone. Everyone has heard of him.’’

‘‘I’ve heard it somewhere else, and not all that long ago.’’ Old Man Radler shrugged. ‘‘If it is important it will come to me.’’ He turned back to Sassy. ‘‘My plans for you, you asked? I don’t have any. Once we sell the rest of the horses we will divide up the money. You and Lightning or Boone or whatever you want to call him are free to go where the wind carries you.’’

‘‘How long will it be?’’

Old Man Radler chuckled. ‘‘Don’t worry. It won’t take a month of Sundays. We have one more ranch to visit. Ten days or so to get there, another two or so to collect our money and off you can go.’’

‘‘I can’t wait,’’ Sassy said.

‘‘That is, if all goes well,’’ Old Man Radler amended.

Boone decided to take part. ‘‘Why wouldn’t it?’’

‘‘The man we have to deal with is one of the worst I have ever come across. I don’t trust him any further than I can throw a buckboard.’’

‘‘Worst how?’’

‘‘People think I am bad, but I am an angel compared to him. He works in secret, letting folks think he is upright and law-abiding. If they knew the truth they would take the law into their own hands.’’

‘‘How is it I have never heard of him?’’

‘‘Didn’t I just say he works in secret? You would never know it to look at him that he is wicked to the bone. He practically runs a town called Ranson—’’

‘‘Ranson?’’ Boone repeated.

‘‘Heard of it, have you? As vicious a nest of sidewinders as you will ever find, and the man I have been telling you about is the top serpent. When we meet with him let me do the talking and don’t turn your back on him or anyone who is with him.’’

Sassy chuckled. ‘‘Does this demon have a name or should we call him Satan?’’

‘‘Poke fun if you want, girl.’’

‘‘His name,’’ Boone said when Old Man Radler did not go on. ‘‘I would like to know his name.’’

‘‘The worst hombre in all of Arizona Territory goes by the name of Epp Scott.’’

Claws of the Schemer

For the third funeral they did not have much to bury. The head was in the coffin, minus the scalp. So was one arm, without the hand, and both legs, with the feet. Some of the chest had to be scooped up with a shovel.

The scalping pointed the finger of blame at the Apaches, exactly as Epp knew it would. Poor Dan Morgan, he told everyone.

Only two people came from Tucson, and they were old friends of Morgan’s. The punchers attended, to a man, and Maria was there, dressed in a black dress she now kept at the ranch, along with her family and cousins.

The parson spoke about how Dan Morgan was now in the hands of the Lord and would be smiling down on them from beyond the pearly gates.

Epp said a few words, but only because they were expected. About how awful it was that a good man like Dan Morgan had been jumped by stinking red-skins. About how lucky they were that a puncher had noticed buzzards circling out on the range and gone to see why. About how the Circle V now needed a new foreman and he had picked a man named Blin Hanks, and he hoped the hands would treat Hanks with the same respect they had treated Dan Morgan.

The punchers were puzzled. When cowhands weren’t herding cows, they talked about cows, and everything that had to do with cows. They talked about roundups and what made a good cow horse. They talked about other outfits and the big sugars of those outfits. They talked about cooks, and argued over who was best. They talked about the men who made good foremen and the men who did not.

The Circle V punchers were puzzled because in all their talk none of them had ever heard of a cowhand or a foreman or anyone connected with cows by the name of Blin Hanks.

Hanks installed himself in the foreman’s shack. He ate with the men that evening and stood up to say that he was looking forward to working at the Circle V, and how he heard that the hands there were some of the best anywhere. When a puncher asked what other outfits he had worked for, Hanks smiled and said he would tell them all about himself in due time.