Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘You think of everything.’’

‘‘I try but I am only one man. There are things I would do differently if I had them to do over again.’’ Epp opened the front door.

‘‘What, for instance?’’

‘‘I would have busted my pa’s skull with an ax and not a rock and claimed Apaches were to blame so Doc Baker did not get curious. I would have made my ma suffer more. And I would not have let my brother leave Ranson alive.’’

‘‘That did surprise me some.’’

‘‘I paid Jarrott to do the job, but he proved worthless. I forgot how quick my little brother is. That is the only reason he is still breathing. It is a mistake I would fix if I could, but he has disappeared. Damn him.’’

‘‘You have men looking?’’

‘‘Of course. I sent Tinsdale and Rufio out over two months ago. I told them they are not to come back unless they bring me my brother’s trigger finger wrapped in a handkerchief.’’

‘‘Have you heard from them?’’

‘‘One note from Tinsdale. He can’t spell worth a damn and his writing is chicken scrawl, but I made out that they heard my brother drifted down into the border country.’’

‘‘Maybe he will drift into Mexico and not come back.’’

‘‘If only I was that lucky.’’ Epp frowned. ‘‘But he won’t stay away forever. Sooner or later he will miss my dear, departed parents, and have a hankering to see the Circle V again.’’

Blin Hanks grinned. ‘‘And when he does you can end it once and for all.’’

Epp nodded. ‘‘He was always the good son. Always the one my ma and pa liked best. Always their darling.’’ Epp moved down the hall toward the kitchen. ‘‘I wish he had been here when they died. I would have given anything to see the look on his face.’’

‘‘You hate him that much?’’

‘‘I hate my brother more than I hate anyone,’’ Epp declared. ‘‘He is younger than me, but I have had to live in his shadow.’’ He punched the wall, but not so hard as to hurt his hand. ‘‘Not anymore, by God. I have the Circle V and I run Ranson and before I am done I will run the whole territory.’’

‘‘That is what the governor is for,’’ Hanks remarked.

The kitchen was immaculate. Maria did not allow a speck of dust.

Epp took a cup and saucer from a cupboard. He filled it with fresh-brewed coffee and sipped. ‘‘Don’t kid yourself that the politicians run things. The rich and the powerful do from behind the scenes. The politicians are puppets. The rich and the powerful pull their strings.’’

Shoes clapped down the hardwood hall and Alice Thorpe sashayed into the kitchen. ‘‘Here you are. You were supposed to give a holler when you got back. How did it go?’’

‘‘Good,’’ Hanks said.

‘‘I will reserve my opinion until we see how many stay on.’’ Epp took another sip and noticed Alice Thorp was staring at him. ‘‘What?’’

‘‘You could be a gentleman and pour a cup for me.’’

‘‘Are your hands broken?’’

‘‘Damn you, Eppley,’’ Alice said. She had a high, squeaky voice, an hourglass shape and lips like ripe strawberries. ‘‘Would it hurt you to show a lady a little respect?’’

‘‘Show me a lady.’’

Alice stiffened. ‘‘I will be in my bedroom if you want to say you are sorry.’’ Her lower lip quivering, she whirled and flounced out.

‘‘I think you hurt her feelings,’’ Blin Hanks said.

‘‘I don’t care. She better learn to watch what she says or she will end up like my ma and pa.’’

Blin Hanks chuckled. ‘‘That is what I like most about you. You are one coldhearted son of a bitch.’’

‘‘You don’t know the half of it,’’ Epp Scott said.

Snakes in the Grass

The caravan of dust-caked figures plodded toward the ramshackle oasis of drink and rest that was Porter’s. The weariness in the men and their mounts and the plodding fatigue of the horses they had rustled in Mexico testified to the trial that was Arizona in the worst heat of the summer.

The exception was Sassy Drecker. She had dust on her but not as much as the others. Her face glowed. The reason was apparent whenever she looked at Boone Scott. It showed in her eyes, and in the curl of her lips in a caring smile.

Everyone noticed. Old Man Radler, Skelman, Vance and Drub, Wagner and Galeno and the rest of the rustlers. But no one said a thing. No jokes were cracked. No sarcastic comments were made. The girl was somehow immune.

The only comment made to Boone Scott was by Wagner one night. Wagner looked across the campfire at him and said without rancor, ‘‘God, how I envy you, you miserable, rotten, stinking, lucky son of a bitch.’’

Boone bristled and started to rise, but Old Man Radler held out a hand, motioning for him to sit. ‘‘Don’t you know a compliment when you hear one?’’

Sassy was immune to something else. No one bothered her. No one leered or made suggestive remarks or groped her when she walked by. The hardest men in the territory, men branded scum by their more civilized brethren, did not molest or harm the girl in any way. She was treated as a princess. She was treated better than many married women were treated. It had nothing to do with Boone and his ivory-handled revolver, and everything to do with the fact that she was an innocent. She had not been tarnished by the taint of that which sent the rustlers down the dark road of violence.

That the rustlers saw the difference and responded to it was demonstrated one morning by none other than Skelman. They were in the mountains, in a barren stretch where water was scarce and vegetation next to unknown, and they came upon a solitary flower, a tiny dot of blue all by itself in the vast expanse of brown. The men looked at it as they rode by. And when it was Skelman’s turn, he suddenly swung over the side of his horse, Comanche fashion, and with a flick of his arm, plucked the flower from the ground. A jab of his spurs brought him up next to Sassy and without saying a word he held the flower out.

‘‘For me?’’ Sassy looked into eyes as blank as a slate. ‘‘Oh, goodness. You shouldn’t have.’’

Skelman did not reply.

Sassy held the tiny blue flower up. ‘‘It’s so pretty. The only life we have seen for miles. And now it will wither and die.’’

‘‘It is you.’’

Sassy looked at him again, and cupped the flower in her palm. ‘‘I will keep it for as long as it lasts.’’

‘‘They never last long.’’

Sassy carefully slid the flower into her shirt pocket. ‘‘Thank you for your kindness.’’

‘‘I should be thanking you. I don’t often get the chance.’’ Skelman used his spurs to catch up to Old Man Radler.

Now here they were, with only half a mile to Porter’s. Boone and Sassy rode side by side. The glances she gave him rivaled the sun for warmth.

‘‘It scares me when you do that.’’

‘‘Whatever for?’’ Sassy asked.

‘‘It scares me that I might not prove worthy. I am new to this and do not know what to think and do sometimes.’’

‘‘I am new to it too.’’ Sassy bobbed her head at the island of human habitation. ‘‘I have been here once. With Pa, years ago. It has not changed much.’’

‘‘I will pay Porter for the use of his bed if you want.’’

Red crept from Sassy’s neck to her hair and she sounded as if she had a cold when she said, ‘‘I must get used to that, I reckon. But you are usually not this blunt about it.’’

‘‘What?’’ Then Boone imitated a beet and quickly declared, ‘‘Not for that . For you to have a bed to sleep in, is all.’’

‘‘Oh. Well, I am not sure I want to sleep in any bed that Porter has used. As I recollect, he is not much for cleanliness.’’