Ralph Compton - Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘I expect Vance Radler with the horses sometime before noon. Keep him at the stable until I come out. It is best he not suspect about his pa. He and his men might cause trouble.’’

‘‘They are bound to wonder when Old Man Radler does not come out talk to them.’’

‘‘I will say the old man is resting. Then I will look at you and rub my eyebrow. That will be your signal. You and the others shoot the rustlers dead. Not one is to be left alive.’’

‘‘Not one. Got it.’’

The front door closed and Blin Hanks returned to the rocking chair.

Boone backed from the corner. Twisting, he crawled toward the rear of the house. He was on the west side, in shadow, and near invisible. He passed under a window and came to another. Stopping, he scanned a nearby shed and other outbuildings.

No one was in sight.

Slowly rising, Boone tried the window. It wasn’t latched. He opened it high enough for him to swing a leg over the sill and ease inside. He was in the parlor. It was empty, but sounds came from the direction of the kitchen. Filling his hand, he crept to the hall.

Again, no one.

Boone sidled out. He did not go toward the kitchen, but to the stairs instead. Climbing them two at a stride, he reached the landing. The bedroom doors were shut. He crept to the first and quietly opened it. The bed his parents had slept in all those years was unmade. A jacket flung over a chair told him who was using it now. He scowled and moved to the next room.

Boone put his ear to the door. From within came faint sounds. Rustling, and the soft tread of someone pacing. He was reaching for the latch when a gruff bark of annoyance saved him from making a mistake.

‘‘Stop that, girl. It is getting on my nerves.’’

‘‘I can’t help it,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘I get restless when I am cooped up. If it bothers you so much, go out in the hall.’’

‘‘Mr. Scott says I am to stay in here with you and that is exactly what I will do. You do not cross Mr. Scott.’’

Boone scratched at the door with a fingernail.

‘‘What the hell was that?’’

Scratching again, Boone did the best imitation he could of Mabel, their mouser. ‘‘Meow.’’

‘‘Sounds like a cat,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘Can I let it in and pet it?’’

‘‘And have you throw the thing in my face and run out while it is clawing me to ribbons? Hell, no. You sit there on that bed. I will shoo it off.’’

Boots clomped. Boone moved past the door. When it opened, he was ready. The gunny who stepped out was short and cleft jawed and had his left hand on a Smith & Wesson revolver in a brown leather holster. Boone smashed his Colt against the cleft.

Squawking in surprise, the gunny stumbled back, flailing his arms to keep from falling. Boone was on him before he could regain his balance, slashing the Colt’s barrel across the man’s throat. The man gagged and sagged, and Boone punched him twice in the side of the neck.

With a groan the gunny sank to the floor. He feebly sought to draw his Smith & Wesson.

‘‘No, you don’t.’’ Boone brought his boot heel down hard on the man’s neck and there was a crunch .

The gunny stopped moving.

Sassy had tears in her eyes. ‘‘Boone!’’ she breathed, and threw herself into his arms. ‘‘Oh, Boone, Boone, Boone.’’

‘‘Hush. They will hear us,’’ Boone cautioned despite a lump in his throat. He stroked her hair, her back. He cupped her chin. ‘‘Did they hurt you?’’

‘‘Not yet. But your brother said that after he was done with you he would start in on me, and he promised I would be a long time dying.’’

‘‘He did, did he?’’ Boone embraced her, his cheek on her head. ‘‘Don’t you fret. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever.’’ He moved to the door and checked the hall. ‘‘No sign of anyone. Let’s go. With any luck we can sneak out as I snuck in.’’

Sassy was bent over the dead man.

‘‘What are you doing?’’

‘‘What do you think?’’ Sassy held up the Smith & Wesson. ‘‘It’s not my rifle but it will do.’’

‘‘This is my fight. You are to keep out of it and keep low. Once we are outside, head northeast until you come to a wash, and my buttermilk. Don’t wait for me if I am not right behind you. Light a shuck for Tucson.’’

Sassy came over and took his hand in hers. ‘‘You forget who I am.’’

‘‘You are the girl who means everything to me.’’

‘‘That is nice but I am more. Remember when you found me? I was raised in the wild places and I am half wild myself. I never went anywhere without my rifle and I was not afraid to use it.’’ Sassy’s eyes glistened with something other than tears. ‘‘You are my man now. I am your woman. And I am not timid. We will fight your brother and his cutthroats together.’’

‘‘I would rather you didn’t. I am too worried about you making it out alive as it is.’’

‘‘And I am less worried about you?’’ Sassy shook her head. ‘‘No, Boone Scott. If we are together, then we are together in everything, good or bad. This is bad, but two guns have a better chance than one.’’

‘‘Sassy, please—’’ Boone began, and stopped.

Shadows flitted on the stair wall. Whispering broke out. A face rose above the top step and sank down again.

‘‘Wasn’t that Hanks?’’ Sassy asked.

Boone thought it was. He extended his Colt, but the face did not reappear. ‘‘They have us trapped.’’

As if it were an echo, from down the stairs came ‘‘We have you trapped! Give up without spilling blood and we will go easy on you.’’

‘‘I wasn’t born yesterday, lunkhead.’’ Careful not to show himself, Boone edged forward.

‘‘It was me who saw you,’’ Blin Hanks said. ‘‘I was out in the rocking chair and I looked in the window and you were climbing the stairs.’’

‘‘Good for you.’’

There was a commotion, and movement, and a new voice hollered, ‘‘You shouldn’t have come back, brother.’’

‘‘Eppley,’’ Boone said, and stopped. His chest hammered and his mouth went dry.

‘‘What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.’’

‘‘Ma and Pa—’’ Boone could not bring himself to say the rest.

‘‘What about them? I reckon you heard they are dead. Pa died in a fall and Ma’s heart gave out and—’’

‘‘Don’t!’’ Boone exploded, his whole body quaking. Sassy clutched at his arm, but he shook her off.

‘‘Why, little brother, is it me or are you about to cry?’’

‘‘I know the truth, Epp.’’

‘‘What is the truth? Is yours the same as mine?’’ Epp laughed. ‘‘Can you guess where I got that from? Remember all the reading Ma did to us when we were kids? God, how I hated that.’’

‘‘I didn’t.’’ Boone started toward the landing again, placing each boot with care.

‘‘That was always the difference between you and me. You listened and did whatever Ma or Pa wanted. You cleaned up after yourself. You did your chores without having to be told. All they had to do was snap a finger and you jumped.’’

Boone stopped when Epp stopped talking and resumed his silent advance when Epp went on again.

‘‘I only did what I had to do in order to keep them off my back. To me it was a game. To see how much I could get away with without being punished. And I got away with a lot.’’ Epp chuckled. ‘‘The truth is, I am nothing like you thought I was. I pulled the wool over all of your eyes. And now I have the Circle V to myself, and you are about to be turned into worm food. Strange how life works out, isn’t it?’’

By then Boone was crouched low near the landing. He took a deep breath, held his Cold at hip height with his left hand palm-down over the hammer and sprang. He caught them flat-footed.