Bullet for a Bad Man

Lightning Rod

Old Man Radler and his wild bunch had been on the go since dawn, and it was now pushing noon. They were wending north across terrain as rugged as any on the continent. Riding the high lines came with a price, and part of that price was comfort. The withering heat, the choking dust, the prospect of an Apache ambush, had everyone on edge.

Boone Scott had been on drag since sunup. Removing his hat, he wiped his face with his sleeve, then jammed the hat back on and twisted in the saddle to scan their back trail.

‘‘Why do you keep doing that, Senor Lightning?’’ Galeno was the other rider on drag, and he had made no bones of the fact he hated it as much as he hated anything.

‘‘Doing what?’’

‘‘Don’t take me for dumb, because I am not. You keep looking back. Who or what is back there?’’

‘‘No one,’’ Boone said, ‘‘if you don’t count Apaches.’’

Galeno started and twisted in the saddle, his hand dropping to his six-shooter. ‘‘Apaches? Have you seen them?’’

‘‘No. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.’’

‘‘You are, as you gringos say, jumpy.’’

‘‘One of us should have a look-see,’’ Boone proposed, and without waiting for a reply, he wheeled his palomino and trotted back along the trail of pock-marks. The moment he was out of Galeno’s sight, he slowed and whispered, ‘‘Sassy?’’

She appeared from behind a boulder, riding one of the horses her father bought from Old Man Radler. She wore the same clothes as before, only now she had on scuffed shoes instead of going barefoot.

‘‘Are you all right?’’

‘‘You haven’t heard me scream, have you?’’ Sassy grinned.

Boone did not find it funny, and said so. ‘‘I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. I don’t see why we couldn’t have left in the middle of the night when Radler was camped in your pa’s valley.’’

‘‘We have been all through that,’’ Sassy said. ‘‘My pa would have noticed I was gone when he woke up, and come after me. By me sneaking off like I did, I bought myself a whole day. Likely as not he didn’t realize I was missing until that night.’’

‘‘He still might show up. Our trail is not hard to follow.’’

Sassy shook her head. ‘‘He won’t leave home, not with those new horses. He’ll be too afraid the Apaches will steal them.’’

‘‘I still don’t like it.’’

‘‘Because it was my idea?’’

‘‘I don’t like you alone back here. Apaches could jump us at any time and then where would you be?’’

Sassy wagged her Spencer. ‘‘I have this. If I see any, I will give a holler and you can come on the run.’’

‘‘By then it might be too late.’’

Sassy kneed her horse next to his. ‘‘You gnaw on a thing like a pup gnaws on a bone. I will stay close until Old Man Radler makes camp for the night. Then you can slip away and join me and we will go off and be together for as long as we draw breath, so help us God.’’ She giggled.

‘‘I do not find it funny.’’

‘‘Are you going to be this way the rest of our lives? Because if you are, I should go back to Pa. I do not want a man who is grumpy as he is. I do not want a fretter.’’

‘‘I can’t help it. Not after w—’’

Sassy held a hand up. ‘‘Stop right there. That was special and we will not talk about our special times, ever. Talking about them spoils them.’’

‘‘How in God’s name—?’’

‘‘Stop right there, again. If I am to stop cussing like you want me to, then you can’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I may not amount to much, but that is one thing I have never done and I am proud of it.’’

Boone stared at her.

‘‘What?’’

‘‘There is more to you and me than I reckoned. I know so little about you and you know so little about me.’’

‘‘Have you changed your mind?’’ Sassy asked, her voice quavering slightly. ‘‘It all happened sort of sudden, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you have come to your senses.’’

‘‘Hush,’’ Boone said.

Sassy’s horse stamped and she appeared ready to kick, herself. ‘‘This is a fine note. You said you are not bossy. You said I am free to think what I want and say what I want.’’

‘‘You are. But I am not ten years old. I do not change my mind with the changing of the wind. We have pledged to stick by each other, so stick I will until you pry me loose and throw me away.’’

Sassy smiled sweetly. ‘‘That was downright poetical.’’

Boone opened his mouth to say more, but someone snickered behind him. Whirling, he stabbed at his Colt.

‘‘It is only me, senor.’’ Galeno snickered again. He had come unnoticed around the bend and his hands were empty of anything save reins. ‘‘I do not mean you or the senorita any harm.’’

‘‘How much did you hear?’’

‘‘Enough to know you have snuck her away from her father. Ben Drecker will want you dead, and Old Man Radler will not be happy either.’’ Galeno laughed and slapped his thigh. ‘‘I admire your grit, senor. You spit in the face of death.’’

‘‘Are you fixing to tell Radler?’’

‘‘Why should I?’’ Galeno retorted. ‘‘That would make you mad, and I would rather have him mad at me than you. I have seen you draw, remember?’’

‘‘Then what?’’ Boone said.

‘‘I will keep my mouth shut and you two can carry on.’’ Galeno’s expression became crafty. ‘‘But it would help to still my tongue if you were to give me, say, a hundred dollars out of your cut after we divide up the money.’’

‘‘I could shoot you and not have to pay you a cent.’’

‘‘True, senor. But how would you explain it to Old Man Radler? That I was mad and tried to shoot you? But what would I be mad about? No excuse you make will be believed. He knows me too well.’’

Sassy offered her opinion. ‘‘I say give him the hundred dollars. It is not much to pay for our happiness.’’

‘‘Listen to the senorita, senor,’’ Galeno coaxed. ‘‘A hundred dollars is—how do you gringos say it?—a pittance. It is nothing. Your cut will be much more. Do we have an agreement?’’

‘‘I think it is a mistake.’’

‘‘Please,’’ Sassy coaxed.

‘‘Yes. Please,’’ Galeno said. ‘‘What do I care if you two want to be together? There is no reason for me to tell Radler if I do not want to.’’

‘‘A hundred dollars,’’ Boone said. ‘‘And you are not to mention what you saw or heard to a living soul.’’

‘‘You have my word, senor.’’ Galeno wheeled his pinto.

Boone lowered his voice so Galeno couldn’t hear. ‘‘I don’t trust him, but I reckon we have no choice. Stay close. I will sneak away first chance I get and we will light a shuck.’’

Galeno was waiting at the bend. ‘‘I suspected you were up to something, senor, when you came back from your walk yesterday. You could not stop smiling, and you are not a man who smiles much.’’

‘‘Does anyone else suspect?’’

‘‘No one has said anything to me.’’

They used their spurs and soon came on two of the stolen horses. The animals had stopped and the herd had gone on without them. Boone and Galeno reined to either side and drove the pair on. They had not gone far when Vance Radler appeared.

‘‘Where the hell have you two been?’’

‘‘I don’t like your tone,’’ Boone said.

‘‘And my pa won’t like that you two dropped back. You are supposed to be riding drag.’’

‘‘We dropped back after these two.’’ Boone nodded at a pair of horses. ‘‘Or would your pa rather we let them run off?’’

‘‘It took both of you to catch them? What do you use for brains? Didn’t my pa make it clear that one of us must be on drag at all times?’’

Galeno acted sheepish. ‘‘We made a mistake, for which I apologize. We would be grateful if you keep this to yourself. And we promise it will not happen again.’’

‘‘It better not.’’ Vance gazed past them. ‘‘Have you seen any sign of Apaches?’’

‘‘No, senor,’’ Galeno said. ‘‘But you know how Apaches are when they do not want to be found.’’

Vance grunted and turned his mount. ‘‘Remember. One of you always stays on drag no matter what.’’

‘‘Damn,’’ Boone said.

‘‘Your senorita is safe. Vance believed us.’’

‘‘But if he tells his pa—’’

‘‘What if he does? We caught the two horses. They are all Old Man Radler will care about.’’

Boone rode uneasily on. About two in the afternoon Drub trotted back to spell him, but Boone said he was fine.

‘‘You can spell me,’’ Galeno said. ‘‘I have eaten enough dust for one day.’’ He touched his sombrero.

‘‘It is you and me now, Lightning.’’ Drub beamed. ‘‘What would you like to talk about to help pass the time?’’

Boone did not answer right away. When he did, he chose his words with care. ‘‘Do you like this kind of life, Drub?’’

‘‘Like it how? I don’t much care for the heat. Cold is better, but Arizona is short on cold unless you go up in the mountains and play in the snow.’’

‘‘Do you like stealing horses and cattle and being wanted by the law?’’

‘‘It is all I have ever done.’’

‘‘But do you want to do it?’’

Drub rubbed his chin. ‘‘No one has ever asked me that before. Pa decides what I want to do, not me.’’

‘‘If it were yours to choose,’’ Boone persisted, ‘‘would you go on rustling or start a new life?’’

‘‘You mean be on my own? Without Pa? Without Vance? Just me and only me?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

Drub squirmed on his saddle. ‘‘Would you go along, pard? I wouldn’t want to go alone. It would scare me to be on my own.’’

‘‘A big man like you?’’

‘‘Sure, I am big. Bigger than most and stronger than most. But I’m not very smart.’’

‘‘You are smart enough,’’ Boone said.

‘‘That is kind but it is not true. And not just because my pa has always told me how dumb I am. I know I’m not smart. I know it by how I think and how I talk. I am slow as a turtle and other people are rabbits.’’

‘‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’’

‘‘It is not being hard. It is seeing things as they are. You wouldn’t want me to lie to myself, would you?’’

‘‘No, Drub, a man should never lie.’’

‘‘I would start a new life if we started it together. You and me and no one else? We could go to California. Pa keeps saying it is awful nice out there. There is an ocean and everything. I am not much at swimming, but I think it would be fun.’’ Drub was growing excited. ‘‘What do you say? You and me, pard?’’

‘‘Drub, listen. I would—’’

‘‘We can cut our fingers and mix our blood and be blood brothers. How does that sound? That way you will be my brother and not Vance.’’ Drub chortled. ‘‘It would serve him right. He doesn’t deserve a brother, as mean as he is.’’

‘‘Drub,’’ Boone said again. ‘‘I would like nothing better than to go to California with you. But I can’t.’’

‘‘Why not?’’ Drub was upset and didn’t hide it. ‘‘Was all that talk about being my pard just talk?’’

‘‘You are my pard. But things are complicated. I have plans. Plans that involve someone else.’’

‘‘Oh.’’

‘‘Don’t look like that. You can come with us. We will all go to California. Once we get there you can srike off on your own and live your life as you see fit and not as your pa makes you live it.’’

‘‘No, thanks,’’ Drub said.

‘‘Don’t be so contrary. I wouldn’t ask you to come if I didn’t want you along.’’

‘‘So you say. But you are just like all the rest. You pretend to be nice but deep down you aren’t really my friend. You only say that so I will be nice to you.’’

‘‘You are mistaken.’’

‘‘And here I was so happy. I thought I had a real friend at last. But you want nothing to do with me.’’

‘‘Damn it, Drub. That is not what I said. You are putting words in my mouth.’’

‘‘We are not pards anymore.’’ Drub jabbed his spurs and broke into a gallop, leaving swirls of dust in his wake.

Boone called to him, but Drub did not answer or stop and presently Boone was alone. He almost reined around then and there. Instead, he said to himself, ‘‘Night will be better. We will be far away before they realize I am gone.’’ He patted the palomino. ‘‘Between you and me, I hope I didn’t just make the worst mistake of my life.’’