Bullet for a Bad Man

Ruler of the Roost

The second funeral was not as grand as the first.

Most of the punchers attended, as did Maria the cook and her family and cousins, and seven ladies came from Tucson, but only two of their husbands could make it. There was no band and no feast although Maria did cook supper for those who stayed over.

Epp Scott wore his sorrow like a shroud. Only when no one else was around did he crack a smile or chuckle and once, up in the bedroom where she had died, he hopped into the air and squealed for joy.

Doc Baker remarked over and over how it was a shame, Lillian’s heart giving out the way it did. Ned had meant the world to her, and with him gone she wanted to die. ‘‘I see it all the time,’’ he told them, and used one of his favorite lines. ‘‘The human heart is a fragile thing.’’

By ten the next morning Epp had the ranch house to himself. He dismissed Maria and the other servants, saying he would like to deal with his grief alone for a couple of days. Much to Dan Morgan’s annoyance, he gave the punchers a couple of days off too, after he assured them that despite the recent tragedies, the Circle V would go on as it always had.

Nightfall found Epp at the kitchen table carving a slice of meat from a slab of beef. He was watching the back door and when someone knocked, he said, ‘‘Come on in, you lunkhead.’’

The man who entered never used soap and water. His clothes were filthy, his boots had never seen polish. A slouch hat hung over bushy brows. The revolver on his hip was the cleanest thing about him. ‘‘I came all the way from Ranson like you wanted me to, and I am here when you needed me to be, and what do you do? You insult me.’’

‘‘I will insult you all I want, Hanks,’’ Epp said. ‘‘That was sloppy work with Cramden and I will not have sloppy men under me.’’

‘‘Hell, we changed the brands as good as they could be changed. That army buyer is sharp.’’

‘‘We have to be sharper.’’

‘‘I do my best but I am not you. You are hog fat and axle grease rolled into one.’’

‘‘I did not send for you so you could flatter me,’’ Epp said flatly.

‘‘Why did you send for me? I thought you were going to wait awhile before you bared your fangs.’’

Epp was about to fork a piece of meat into his mouth. ‘‘You are dumber than a stump.’’

‘‘And you are prickly tonight. I only meant that no one on the Circle V has any idea what you are really like. They will be some surprised when they find out.’’

‘‘You are a lunkhead and a jackass.’’

‘‘Here, now. I will only stand for so much of that kind of talk. If I am doing so poorly, cut me loose.’’

‘‘I finally have the Circle V all to myself and you want me to throw it away. The foreman and the punchers must never suspect. If they do, they will treat me to a strangulation jig.’’ Epp bit the meat off the fork and jabbed the tines at Hanks. ‘‘There will be no baring of fangs until I say, you hear?’’

Hanks spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. ‘‘When have I ever gone against your wishes? Thanks to you, I stand to make more money than I’ve made my whole life long. Do you think I would do anything to jeopardize that?’’

‘‘Tell it to the army buyer. You are lucky he caught on after you sold those cows to him, and not before.’’

‘‘I never did savvy what you were up to,’’ Hanks said. ‘‘Why have me and the boys rustle your own cows when you could just as well have sold them to the army yourself?’’

‘‘My pa did all the selling. Oh, he probably would have let me if I’d asked. But then he would want to know why I needed the money and I couldn’t very well tell him I was selling them to make good on a few gambling debts.’’

Hanks snickered. ‘‘So you stole your own cows. Don’t you beat all?’’

‘‘What did I tell you about the flattery?’’

‘‘I can’t help it. You have more sand than most ten men.’’

‘‘I will need it for the next step,’’ Epp said.

‘‘So soon? You just planted your ma.’’

‘‘Why waste time? I aim to roll in money up to my armpits, and I don’t mean five years from now.’’

‘‘You could sell the Circle V and make a heap of it,’’ Hanks said.

‘‘That there is why you will always take orders and I will always give them. Yes, I can sell. But the money won’t last forever, and when it is gone I will have nothing.’’

‘‘You will still have your holdings in Ranson.’’

‘‘But they are not respectable. I need the Circle V to help me hide my other activities. In the long run I will make more money by holding on to it than I would by selling it. Which brings us to why I sent for you.’’

‘‘I am all ears.’’

‘‘It is time to extend our rustling. Pay the Bar Thirty a visit, and the Box T. Round up as many of their cows as you can. But be damn sure you cover your trail.’’

‘‘I do not want to get caught. They are salty outfits. But what about your own hands?’’

‘‘I am the big sugar now. My punchers will do as I say or they will look for work elsewhere.’’

‘‘Just so they don’t get curious and nose around.’’

‘‘Let me worry about that.’’

‘‘Begging your pardon,’’ Hanks said, ‘‘but it is my hide they will perforate. I can’t help but worry.’’

Epp began to slice another piece from the side of beef. ‘‘How many men have you rounded up?’’

‘‘Seven, besides me.’’

‘‘Good men?’’

‘‘If they were good they wouldn’t be fit for the job, would they?’’ Hanks cackled, showing teeth as yellow as pus.

‘‘Warn them against itchy trigger fingers. Rustling is one thing. We can get away with it for a good long while if all we do is steal cows. But kill a rancher and the whole territory will be up in arms. Or you will have the law after you.’’

‘‘After us,’’ Hanks amended.

Epp scowled as he chewed. ‘‘We are lucky Arizona has so few tin stars. If this was Texas, we would have Rangers behind every bush.’’

‘‘We’ll be careful,’’ Hanks promised.

‘‘Off you go. Report to me when you get back. Just come to the back door any night between eight and ten.’’

Hanks placed his hand on the latch. ‘‘I am glad to be working with you. I won’t let you down.’’

‘‘You better not.’’ When the door closed, Epp laughed. He sliced more meat onto a plate, and, taking it with him, he left the kitchen and bent his steps to his father’s liquor cabinet. His father had always kept it locked. The key was on a hook next to the cabinet, but no one was to touch it without permission. ‘‘Look at me, Pa,’’ Epp said to the ceiling. He opened the cabinet, selected a bottle of Cyrus Noble and deposited his food and drink and himself on the settee in the parlor. Once again he raised a mocking grin to the ceiling. ‘‘How about you, Ma? Remember that time you smacked me for eating Saratoga chips in here?’’

Epp ate with relish, smacking his lips as his mother would never let him do. He washed each mouthful down with the Noble. He was enjoying himself so much that when a knock came on the front door, he almost didn’t answer it.

‘‘I hope I am not disturbing you,’’ Doc Baker said. He had his hat in one hand and his black bag in the other.

‘‘Not at all.’’ Epp stepped aside so he could come in. ‘‘I figured you would be back in Tucson by now.’’

‘‘I was halfway there and turned back.’’ Doc Baker sniffed as he walked past. ‘‘Unless I miss my guess, I could ask you for a drink and the bottle would be handy.’’

Epp slowly closed the door. His brow knitted but otherwise he was composed as he ushered the aged physician into the parlor. ‘‘Have a seat, why don’t you? I will fetch a glass.’’

‘‘That is all right,’’ Doc Baker said. Going over, he drank several quick swallows straight from the bottle and set the bottle down again. When he turned, his face was flushed. ‘‘I needed that.’’

Epp crossed to the settee and reclaimed his seat. ‘‘What is on your mind, Doc?’’

‘‘You.’’

‘‘Me?’’

‘‘Don’t bandy words with me,’’ Doc Baker said. ‘‘I want to know why, Eppley. Your folks were two of the finest people I know. They were good to you and your brother, and raised you proper. Why did you murder them?’’

‘‘Hell,’’ Epp said. ‘‘If it ain’t chickens, it’s feathers.’’

‘‘Don’t try to deny it. You pulled the wool over my eyes for a bit, but I sensed something wasn’t right about your father’s death and I had my doubts about your mother’s.’’

‘‘So you are accusing me on a guess?’’

Doc Baker stepped to a chair and tiredly sank down. ‘‘Hear me out, Eppley. That is all I ask.’’

‘‘I would not make you leave now for anything. I am not easily surprised, but you have surprised the skin off me.’’

Placing his left ankle on his right knee, Doc Baker held his black bag in his lap. ‘‘I have been a doctor for fifty-two years. Did you know that?’’

‘‘I knew it was a long time.’’

‘‘I have seen all the hurts and wounds and diseases there are. I have mended more broken bones than you can count. I have healed more sores and blisters. I’ve delivered more babies. In range parlance, I am an old hand at what I do.’’

‘‘There is a point to this,’’ Epp said.

‘‘Men fall from horses all the time. They break arms, they break legs. Every so often a man lands on his head. Concussions are common. Fractured skulls happen a lot. But it’s rare for a man to die from the fall.’’

‘‘It does happen, though.’’

‘‘Yes, it does,’’ Doc Baker conceded with a nod. ‘‘But here is the thing. In all the falls from horseback that I am acquainted with, not one rider fell on his head the way your father did.’’

Epp said irritably, ‘‘A head is a head. Make sense.’’

‘‘Bear with me.’’ Doc Baker opened his black bag and took out a large magnifying glass. ‘‘Do you know what this is?’’

Epp frowned. ‘‘What do you take me for?’’

‘‘Of course you do. It is not an instrument a doctor uses much, but my eyes are not what they used to be. It helps when I lance a boil or need to stitch a cut.’’ Doc Baker paused. ‘‘Or when I examine a wound like your father’s.’’

Epp went on frowning.

‘‘You see, when a man falls from a horse, usually there is a lot of bruising. Your father hardly had any. And when a man takes a tumble like his, usually he lands on the back of his head or on the side of his head or the front of his head, not smack on top of it. For your pa to hit the way he did, he would have to be upside down when he fell.’’

‘‘You make it sound impossible but it’s not.’’

‘‘True. But then there is the other thing. His skull was caved in a good three inches. I measured it. And with my magnifying glass I found bits of stone embedded deep in the wound.’’

‘‘So?’’

‘‘So you claimed he hit his head on a boulder. Boulders are harder than bone. They don’t splinter.’’ Doc Baker fiddled with his bag. ‘‘I took your word about how he died. But it bothered me, Epp. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop wondering if maybe he didn’t die the way you said he did.’’ The physician took a deep breath. ‘‘Then your mother gave up the ghost.’’

‘‘You told everyone her heart gave out.’’

‘‘It was the logical conclusion. After all, you told me she was having chest pains. But when I examined her, I saw something in her throat. Something so far down, I almost missed it. I fished it out and didn’t say anything, because at the time my doubts had not become a certainty.’’

Epp clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘‘What was in her throat?’’

‘‘A feather.’’

‘‘A what?’’

‘‘A feather. The kind you find in a mattress. Or in a pillow. A feather that had no business being where I found it.’’

‘‘That is plumb ridiculous. Maybe she swallowed it when she was thrashing around on the bed.’’

‘‘You said there was no sign of a struggle. She died as peaceful as could be. Your very words.’’

‘‘I could have been mistaken.’’ Epp picked up the whiskey bottle but put it down again without taking a drink. ‘‘All of this amounts to a lot of hot air. I am insulted you think I would do such a thing.’’

Doc Baker was silent a bit. Then he cleared his throat. ‘‘You are right. I can’t prove a thing. But I know you did it, and I am going to keep an eye on you from here on out. If anyone else dies under peculiar circumstances, anyone at all, I will take my suspicions to the United States marshal.’’

Epp started to come up off the settee, but Doc Baker’s hand suddenly rose out of his black bag, holding a derringer.

‘‘Stay where you are.’’

‘‘You are a bundle of surprises, Doc.’’

‘‘I never go anywhere without this.’’

‘‘And you, a healer. What would people think?’’

Doc Baker rose. ‘‘I no longer trust you, Eppley. I will see myself out. Don’t try to stop me. Don’t come after me. I told several of your funeral guests I was coming back, so if I turn up missing you will get a lot of attention you might not want.’’ He backed toward the hall, the derringer steady in his varicose-veined hand. ‘‘Be seeing you.’’

Epp did not stir until the front door slammed. Then he swore and said, ‘‘You can count on it, old man.’’