Bullet for a Bad Man

Claws of the Schemer

For the third funeral they did not have much to bury. The head was in the coffin, minus the scalp. So was one arm, without the hand, and both legs, with the feet. Some of the chest had to be scooped up with a shovel.

The scalping pointed the finger of blame at the Apaches, exactly as Epp knew it would. Poor Dan Morgan, he told everyone.

Only two people came from Tucson, and they were old friends of Morgan’s. The punchers attended, to a man, and Maria was there, dressed in a black dress she now kept at the ranch, along with her family and cousins.

The parson spoke about how Dan Morgan was now in the hands of the Lord and would be smiling down on them from beyond the pearly gates.

Epp said a few words, but only because they were expected. About how awful it was that a good man like Dan Morgan had been jumped by stinking red-skins. About how lucky they were that a puncher had noticed buzzards circling out on the range and gone to see why. About how the Circle V now needed a new foreman and he had picked a man named Blin Hanks, and he hoped the hands would treat Hanks with the same respect they had treated Dan Morgan.

The punchers were puzzled. When cowhands weren’t herding cows, they talked about cows, and everything that had to do with cows. They talked about roundups and what made a good cow horse. They talked about other outfits and the big sugars of those outfits. They talked about cooks, and argued over who was best. They talked about the men who made good foremen and the men who did not.

The Circle V punchers were puzzled because in all their talk none of them had ever heard of a cowhand or a foreman or anyone connected with cows by the name of Blin Hanks.

Hanks installed himself in the foreman’s shack. He ate with the men that evening and stood up to say that he was looking forward to working at the Circle V, and how he heard that the hands there were some of the best anywhere. When a puncher asked what other outfits he had worked for, Hanks smiled and said he would tell them all about himself in due time.

The next day Hanks called all the cowhands together and Epp Scott came from the ranch house to address them. Epp had an announcement to make.

‘‘To continue to prosper the Circle V must grow. Before Dan Morgan’s untimely end, he and I had talked about how best to do that. He agreed with me that a good start would be to bring in more cattle. We don’t use nearly enough of our range. I intend to use more. Every square foot will be put to use from here on out.’’

The punchers looked at one another. To overgraze a range was to risk disaster. But they did not say anything.

‘‘More cows means more work for you,’’ Epp continued. ‘‘It also means I will be hiring new hands to help out, and I trust you will make them feel at home at the Circle V.’’

The punchers assumed it would be a while before the new hands showed up. Normally, an announcement was placed in the Tucson newspaper, and as word spread, men looking for work drifted in. But the very next day two new men were added, and three more the day after. Four more were signed on a bit later, from where the punchers couldn’t guess.

Right away the Circle V hands noticed a few odd things about the newcomers. They kept to themselves and always worked and ate together. The new foreman did not mind. In fact, when a herd of new cattle was brought in, Hanks put the cows in charge of the new hands.

Resentment flared. The old hands did not like the special treatment given the new hands. They especially did not like it that some of the new hands put on airs and swaggered around as if they owned the Circle V.

Then something happened that took their minds off the new punchers and set tongues to wagging about their boss.

A woman arrived at the Circle V. She came in a buggy early in the afternoon, a pink parasol shielding her from the sun. She wore a dress that was much too tight and showed too much cleavage. Several trunks came with her. To the collective amazement of the punchers, she was promptly installed in the ranch house, in the very bedroom Lillian had slept in.

Her name was Alice Thorpe and she hailed from New Orleans. That much Maria the cook learned, and passed on the information. How and where Epp Scott met Alice Thorpe was a mystery until Maria overheard Alice say to Epp that she had her doubts about giving up the excitement Ranson offered for the boredom of ranch life.

The discontent grew when Blin Hanks did not do as much work as the punchers felt he should. Hanks certainly did far less than Dan Morgan. He seldom ate with them and seemed to take it for granted that they knew what to do and would do it without bothering him. Hanks spent a lot of time at the ranch house.

Maria was the source of the news that the second night after Alice Thorpe showed up, Epp and Thorpe and Hanks drank enough to put a regiment under the table. Maria also hinted of carryings-on of which Maria did not approve. She would not go into detail.

Then a puncher was shot.

His name was Bob Carver and at seventeen he was the youngest. He was out working the south range and happened to drift toward the barrens in search of strays. Bob never saw who shot him, but he heard the shot and felt the pain of the slug when it cored his shoulder. He reined around to flee and another shot nearly took his head off.

When another puncher found him, young Bob was still in the saddle but so weak from loss of blood he was barely conscious. The puncher brought him to the bunkhouse and Epp Scott was sent for. Epp was none too happy. With Hanks in tow, he examined the wound, oversaw the bandaging and listened to Bob’s brief recital of how he was wounded.

The punchers expected sympathy and outrage.

Instead, Epp snapped, ‘‘What in hell were you doing near the barrens anyway? I gave word that no one was to go near there. Weren’t you told?’’

‘‘We were told not to go in them,’’ Bob weakly answered.

‘‘In. Near. It is all the same. See that you never go near them again.’’

And that was it. Epp did not investigate. He did not gather the men and race to the barrens to find the culprit. He acted as if the shooting was of no consequence.

That was when the muttering started. The punchers spent every spare minute huddled in bitter resentment of the state of affairs. And the more they muttered, the more bitter they became. The discontent was a disease that spread from hand to hand.

A pall of gloom hung over the Circle V. At meal-times the punchers ate mostly in silence, picking at their food with little enthusiasm. They went about their daily work with even less.

Their unhappiness did not escape notice. They were at supper one evening when the door opened and in strode Epp Scott. Hanks, as usual, was at his elbow. Epp came straight to the head of the table.

‘‘I want to know why I haven’t seen any of you smile in days.’’

An older puncher called Pete was the only who answered. ‘‘We are eating.’’

‘‘I can see that. But it is not your stomachs I came here to talk about. It is the long faces I keep seeing out my window. I would swear we were about to have another funeral.’’

‘‘If that was a joke it was in poor taste,’’ said a cowboy by the name of Jeffers.

‘‘Start talking,’’ Epp said.

‘‘Do you want it all at once or in bits and pieces?’’ From Pete.

‘‘I am a grown man. I can take it whole.’’

Pete looked at the other punchers and several nodded. ‘‘All right. Since you asked.’’ He did not hold back. When he was done an expectant hush fell, with all eyes on Epp.

‘‘If that is how you and some of these others feel, I have this to say.’’ Epp raked them with a glare. ‘‘Pete, you are fired. Gather your plunder. First thing in the morning throw your war bag in the buckboard. I will pay you what is due and you will be taken to Tucson. The same with anyone else who does not like the changes I have made.’’

Many a sun-weathered faced mirrored shock.

‘‘Only those who want to ride for the Circle V need stay on. Freaks are not welcome. Those who whine make life miserable for those who don’t, and I will be damned if I will put up with it.’’

‘‘I have been here seven years,’’ Pete said.

‘‘Then you should know better than to air your lungs behind my back,’’ Epp said. ‘‘Do you think I don’t know what has been going on? My house has windows, and some of the other hands have talked.’’

‘‘You mean the new ones,’’ Jeffers said.

‘‘I will not name names. Make up your minds, all of you. Either you work for me without griping or you will be on the drift. It is up to you.’’ Epp pivoted on his boot heels and strode out, Hanks slightly behind him.

‘‘How many do you reckon will quit?’’

‘‘Two or three at most,’’ Epp predicted.

‘‘That’s all? You were awful hard on them.’’

‘‘I had to shake them up. Make them realize I am the big sugar and I will by God not stand for their shenanigans. Nip it in the bud, as the saying goes.’’

‘‘How long before those who stay become suspicious?’’ Hanks asked.

‘‘Never, if we do this right. They will work the legal cows and you and your men will work the rustled herds. So long as your men keep their mouths shut, there should not be a problem.’’

‘‘My boys know what to do. Don’t you worry.’’

Epp stopped so suddenly that Hanks nearly walked into him. ‘‘If I don’t, who will? Worry is what keeps me from making mistakes. It shows me where we need to improve. Worry is good.’’ He walked on.

Hanks waited until they reached the porch to ask, ‘‘Wouldn’t it be easier to get rid of all those who worked for your pa and bring in an entire new outfit?’’

‘‘The punchers we cut loose would talk. And before long people would start to wonder why I let them go. It might raise suspicion where we do not want suspicion raised.’’

‘‘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.