Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

Another hill, this one covered with boulders. Boone reined in among them and went around one twice as big as the palomino, and stopped.

Whimsical fate had decided to be nice.

A tank lay in deep shade. A small oval that held no more than a few gallons.

Boone let the palomino drink while he gingerly lifted his shirt. The slug had dug a furrow a quarter inch deep. It could have been worse. Unless the wound became infected, it wouldn’t kill him.

The arrow was another thing. Boone craned his neck to confirm it had gone clean through. The barbed tip and several inches of shaft jutted out the other side of him. He used his knife to cut his shirt, and gave thanks a second time. The arrow had caught him in the fleshy part of his shoulder, missing the bone. It would hurt like hell for a week or so, but already the bleeding had stopped, and as with the other one, unless it became infected he should be all right.

Boone was getting ahead of himself. He reversed his grip on his knife and clamped his teeth down on the blunt side of the blade. Reaching over his shoulder, he gripped the shaft, and with a sharp wrench, snapped the tip off. The easy part was pulling the arrow out. Easy, but it left him feeling queasy and weak.

Stripping to the waist, Boone splashed water on both wounds. He debated cutting up his shirt for bandages, but he had only one spare in his saddlebags and he wanted to keep it clean for when he saw Sassy again.

Boone lay on his belly and drank his fill, but not so much that it would make him sick. He refilled his canteen, then stretched out on his back in the shade, his Colt in his hand. He figured it would take the Apaches an hour or more to get there. He could afford to rest. He closed his eyes.

A whinny woke him.

Boone sat up. The sky had gone from the blue of afternoon to the gray of twilight. He had slept much too long.

The palomino was staring back the way they had come.

‘‘No,’’ Boone said. Scrambling to his feet, he donned his torn, bloody shirt. He jammed on his hat and forked leather. The rest had not refreshed him. He was stiff and sore and slow.

Boone climbed to the top of the hill. A check of his back trail showed he had gotten out just in time. Two-legged wolves were on his scent, and closing fast. They had their eyes to the ground and hadn’t seen him.

Boone hurried over the crest and brought the palomino to a trot. He didn’t trot long. Only far enough to be confident he had left the Apaches behind. Thank God they were on foot.

Night descended, and brought with it relief from the heat. Boone breathed deep, glad to be alive. He had survived a clash with Apaches. Not many whites could say that. Not many would want to.

A coyote yipped. A bird screeched. Reassuring sounds, in that if the Apaches were near, the wild creatures would be silent.

Boone thought of Epp, and a burning rage filled him. Epp, who lured him to Ranson. Epp, who hired Jarrott to gun him. Epp, who advised him to flee for the good of their parents. Epp, who killed his mother and father so he could lay claim to the Circle V.

Epp, as evil as a man could be.

Boone wondered how it was they had turned out so different. What made one man good and another bad? Their parents loved them both and never favored one over the other, that he could remember. Whatever turned Epp bad was inside him. It was as if he had a great empty hole where his heart should be. A hole that couldn’t be filled this side of the grave.

‘‘I am coming for you, brother.’’

Barrens Affray

The horses in the basin were weary from the long drive from Mexico. They were content to graze the sweet grass and drink from the cool spring. They didn’t spook or snort when Boone Scott crept up on them. By his reckoning it was almost midnight.

The flickering firelight revealed sleepers bundled in blankets and one man nursing a cup of coffee. That man was Wagner. He had a rifle across his legs and could not stop yawning.

Boone did not see Sassy. He figured she was one of the sleepers. He was tempted to march over and demand they give her up. But they might resort to their hardware, and in the dark Sassy could be hit by stray lead. Better, Boone reasoned, to be patient, as hard as it was to do, and wait until first light.

Boone was god-awful tired. Sleep had proven elusive since Sassy was taken. She was practically all he thought about. Whenever he closed his eyes, her face seemed to hang in the air before him. It got so, a couple of times he reached out to touch her and felt foolish when there was nothing there.

A rare gust of wind reminded Boone where he was and what he was doing. He studied the sleepers, hoping Sassy would roll over or move so he could tell which one she was. When, in due course, someone did roll over, it was Galeno.

Only then did Boone think to count the bundled forms. He counted them once. He counted them twice. He probed the darkness past the ring of firelight for more, but either they had hid themselves or they were not there. Alarmed, he rose and moved toward the fire. He did not try to conceal his approach. He walked right up to it, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt.

Wagner had frozen with the tin cup halfway to his mouth. ‘‘Well,’’ he said.

‘‘Well,’’ Boone echoed.

‘‘This is a surprise.’’ Wagner lowered the cup, careful to keep his hands where Boone could see them.

‘‘You knew I would come. I would track you to the ends of the earth to get her back.’’

‘‘I just did not expect you this soon. Old Man Radler thought it would be another two or three days.’’

‘‘You shouldn’t have done it.’’

‘‘It wasn’t my doing, Lightning. Or should I call you Boone now?’’

‘‘Where is she?’’

‘‘I tried to talk Old Man Radler out of it. I told him you would not rest until we were six feet under, but he wouldn’t listen. All he could think of was the money your brother will pay for her.’’

‘‘His mistake.’’

Wagner gazed past him. ‘‘By the way, where is Drub? Covering me with a rifle?’’

‘‘The last I saw of him he was heading for Ranson. Or what was left after the fire.’’

‘‘Strange, it breaking out the night you rode in. There is talk you might have had something to do with it.’’

‘‘Is there?’’

‘‘Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t burn down an entire town to spite your brother.’’

‘‘Sometimes things get out of control. But whether I did or I didn’t is not important here and now. You’re stalling, and I don’t like it.’’

‘‘Am I?’’

‘‘No more beating around the bush. I will ask you once more and only once more.’’ Boone tensed. ‘‘Where is she?’’

‘‘She’s not here.’’

‘‘I figured that out for myself. Some of you are missing. Old Man Radler, for one. Who else?’’

‘‘Vance and Skelman.’’

‘‘Where did they get to?’’

‘‘Your brother invited them to spend the night with him at the ranch house. I wanted to go. I liked the notion of a hot meal and sleeping in a bed. But Old Man Radler left me in charge. I am to make sure the horses don’t stray off.’’

‘‘So that is where she is. I should have guessed.’’ Boone sighed and started to turn.

‘‘Don’t be so hasty,’’ Wagner quickly said. ‘‘I am afraid I can’t let you leave.’’

‘‘You can’t stop me.’’

Wagner smiled and shifted so his hands were closer to his rifle. ‘‘That remains to be seen. But before you go and throw lead, hear me out. I would rather do this without swapping slugs. You are worth more alive than you are worth dead.’’

‘‘Make sense.’’

‘‘You haven’t heard? Your brother is offering five hundred dollars for your body or a thousand for you alive.’’