Bullet for a Bad Man

Snakes in the Grass

The caravan of dust-caked figures plodded toward the ramshackle oasis of drink and rest that was Porter’s. The weariness in the men and their mounts and the plodding fatigue of the horses they had rustled in Mexico testified to the trial that was Arizona in the worst heat of the summer.

The exception was Sassy Drecker. She had dust on her but not as much as the others. Her face glowed. The reason was apparent whenever she looked at Boone Scott. It showed in her eyes, and in the curl of her lips in a caring smile.

Everyone noticed. Old Man Radler, Skelman, Vance and Drub, Wagner and Galeno and the rest of the rustlers. But no one said a thing. No jokes were cracked. No sarcastic comments were made. The girl was somehow immune.

The only comment made to Boone Scott was by Wagner one night. Wagner looked across the campfire at him and said without rancor, ‘‘God, how I envy you, you miserable, rotten, stinking, lucky son of a bitch.’’

Boone bristled and started to rise, but Old Man Radler held out a hand, motioning for him to sit. ‘‘Don’t you know a compliment when you hear one?’’

Sassy was immune to something else. No one bothered her. No one leered or made suggestive remarks or groped her when she walked by. The hardest men in the territory, men branded scum by their more civilized brethren, did not molest or harm the girl in any way. She was treated as a princess. She was treated better than many married women were treated. It had nothing to do with Boone and his ivory-handled revolver, and everything to do with the fact that she was an innocent. She had not been tarnished by the taint of that which sent the rustlers down the dark road of violence.

That the rustlers saw the difference and responded to it was demonstrated one morning by none other than Skelman. They were in the mountains, in a barren stretch where water was scarce and vegetation next to unknown, and they came upon a solitary flower, a tiny dot of blue all by itself in the vast expanse of brown. The men looked at it as they rode by. And when it was Skelman’s turn, he suddenly swung over the side of his horse, Comanche fashion, and with a flick of his arm, plucked the flower from the ground. A jab of his spurs brought him up next to Sassy and without saying a word he held the flower out.

‘‘For me?’’ Sassy looked into eyes as blank as a slate. ‘‘Oh, goodness. You shouldn’t have.’’

Skelman did not reply.

Sassy held the tiny blue flower up. ‘‘It’s so pretty. The only life we have seen for miles. And now it will wither and die.’’

‘‘It is you.’’

Sassy looked at him again, and cupped the flower in her palm. ‘‘I will keep it for as long as it lasts.’’

‘‘They never last long.’’

Sassy carefully slid the flower into her shirt pocket. ‘‘Thank you for your kindness.’’

‘‘I should be thanking you. I don’t often get the chance.’’ Skelman used his spurs to catch up to Old Man Radler.

Now here they were, with only half a mile to Porter’s. Boone and Sassy rode side by side. The glances she gave him rivaled the sun for warmth.

‘‘It scares me when you do that.’’

‘‘Whatever for?’’ Sassy asked.

‘‘It scares me that I might not prove worthy. I am new to this and do not know what to think and do sometimes.’’

‘‘I am new to it too.’’ Sassy bobbed her head at the island of human habitation. ‘‘I have been here once. With Pa, years ago. It has not changed much.’’

‘‘I will pay Porter for the use of his bed if you want.’’

Red crept from Sassy’s neck to her hair and she sounded as if she had a cold when she said, ‘‘I must get used to that, I reckon. But you are usually not this blunt about it.’’

‘‘What?’’ Then Boone imitated a beet and quickly declared, ‘‘Not for that. For you to have a bed to sleep in, is all.’’

‘‘Oh. Well, I am not sure I want to sleep in any bed that Porter has used. As I recollect, he is not much for cleanliness.’’

Two horses were at the hitch rail. One had a Mexican saddle with more silver than a silverware set.

Wariness crept over the rustlers. Old Man Radler stared at the two horses and put his hand on his six-shooter. ‘‘Porter has visitors.’’

‘‘Just so they are not tin stars,’’ Vance said.

Spurs jangling, swatting dust from their clothes, they filed inside.

Boone and Sassy were the last to go in. He was walking past the two horses at the hitch rail when he abruptly stopped and placed a hand on one of them. ‘‘I’ll be damned.’’

‘‘What is it?’’

Shaking his head, Boone let Sassy go in ahead of him.

Porter was behind the bar. He smiled and greeted them and answered the question in their eyes by nodding at the corner table and saying, ‘‘Those two showed up about four days ago. They say they want to join up with you.’’

‘‘Do tell.’’ Old Man Radler studied the pair. ‘‘They look salty, don’t they?’’

‘‘They are not infants.’’

‘‘Start passing out bottles.’’ Old Man Radler took one, and he and Vance and Skelman moved toward the corner table.

Drub held out a big hand.

‘‘You too? You don’t often drink.’’

‘‘It is not for me.’’ Drub carried the bottle to another table and thrust it out. ‘‘For you.’’

Boone stared at it and then at the gentle giant. ‘‘I thought you were mad at me.’’

‘‘I have stopped. I want to be your friend again.’’ Drub grinned eagerly. ‘‘Please.’’

Accepting the gift, Boone pushed out an empty chair with his foot. ‘‘Join us if you want to.’’

‘‘I do.’’ Drub had to wriggle to fit in the chair. ‘‘I am sorry I was mad for so long. I do that sometimes.’’

‘‘What were you mad about?’’ Sassy asked.

‘‘I wanted him to go to California with me but he wouldn’t. I didn’t figure out why until last night.’’ Drub pointed a finger as big as a railroad spike at her. ‘‘He couldn’t because of you. That’s right, isn’t it, Lightning? That is why you turned me down.’’

‘‘That’s why.’’

Sassy said, ‘‘We could all go together. I have heard it is a wonderful place. Flowers grow all year long.’’ She touched her shirt pocket.

‘‘You would do that? Take me with you?’’ Drub lit like a lantern. ‘‘You wouldn’t mind my company?’’

‘‘Don’t be silly. We will go as soon as your pa sells off the last of the horses and Boone and you get your share of the money.’’

Boone frowned and burst their bubble of delight with ‘‘I have something to do before we can go anywhere.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘I can’t say.’’

Sassy sat back in dismay. ‘‘You are keeping something from me? I thought we agreed. No secrets, ever.’’

‘‘I will tell you when the time is right to say.’’

‘‘Why not do it now?’’ Sassy asked.

Boone gazed across the saloon at where Old Man Radler was talking to the two strangers in the corner. ‘‘It is not you I am keeping the secret from.’’

‘‘I would never tell—’’ Sassy caught herself. ‘‘Oh.’’

‘‘I would never tell either, Lightning,’’ Drub said.

Boone opened the bottle and tilted it to his mouth, then coughed. ‘‘God, this stuff tastes awful. I could never be a drunk.’’

Sassy covered his hand with hers. ‘‘That is fine by me. I have lived with one all my life and I am not hankering to live with another.’’

‘‘I wouldn’t tell,’’ Drub said again.

‘‘I know.’’ Boone slid the bottle toward him. ‘‘But Galeno has ears that can hear a pin drop and he is over at the bar. I will wait for now. Besides, it is personal.’’

Sassy set him straight. ‘‘There is no personal between us.’’

Vance came over and without being asked plopped into an empty chair. He helped himself to a swig and smacked his lips with pleasure. ‘‘See those two men?’’ he said to Drub.

‘‘The Mex and that other one with the scar?’’

‘‘They want to join up with us. The Mex says he has done rustling south of the border and Tinsdale is a curly wolf if ever there was one. Pa wants us to keep an eye on them just the same. He never trusts anyone until they prove they can be trusted.’’

‘‘That Mexican sure likes silver. He has more on his clothes than on his horse.’’

‘‘For you that is a good one, brother.’’

They all looked when Boone’s chair scraped. He stood and loosened his Colt in its holster. ‘‘Stay here,’’ he told Sassy.

‘‘Hold on. Where are you going?’’

Boone smiled at her. ‘‘I hope you will still love me after this. But I have it to do.’’

‘‘What are you talking about? I am confused.’’

Boone regarded Drub a moment. ‘‘If you are my friend again, I have a favor to ask. Keep her at this table. Do not let her get up no matter what. Do you hear me? No matter what.’’

Drub did not ask why. He placed a big hand on Sassy’s wrist, and grinned. ‘‘We are pards again. Don’t you worry. She will stay put.’’

‘‘What the hell?’’ Vance said.

Sassy tried to stand, but Drub pulled her back down. ‘‘Consarn it! Let go of me. What is this? Tell me what you are up to.’’

‘‘Sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of our face,’’ Boone told her. ‘‘I have been so stupid I should shoot myself.’’

‘‘You are making no sense.’’ Sassy struggled, but Drub’s hand was an iron clamp.

Boone stalked toward the corner table. Some of the rustlers noticed, and froze. Old Man Radler and Skelman were talking to the two new men and it was Skelman who saw Boone coming and took a few steps to one side, his brow knit with interest.

‘‘I hope you work out,’’ Old Man Radler was saying. ‘‘I can always use good men. They are hard to come by and harder to keep. None of us live a long life in this trade.’’

‘‘You have,’’ said the man with the scar.

Boone stopped six feet from the table. ‘‘You might want to get out of the way.’’

Old Man Radler glanced over his shoulder. ‘‘Eh? Oh, Lightning. I want you to meet Tinsdale and Rufio. They will be riding with us.’’

‘‘No, they won’t.’’

‘‘Since when do you say who does and who doesn’t?’’ Old Man Radler went to turn, and stopped. ‘‘What is going on here?’’

‘‘This is between them and me.’’ Boone took a half step to his right so he could see the pair clearly.

Rufio pushed his sombrero back on his head. He had a thick mustache and ferret eyes. ‘‘Do we know you, senor?’’

‘‘I am sure he described me.’’

‘‘Who?’’ Tinsdale casually asked. But his scar twitched and his hand eased toward the edge of the table.

‘‘Those are good horses you have.’’

‘‘Our horses, senor?’’

‘‘At the hitch rail. The ones with Circle V brands. Did he give them to you or sell them to you?’’

Tinsdale’s scar would not stop twitching. ‘‘I don’t have any damn idea what you are talking about.’’

‘‘How about you?’’ Boone asked the Mexican. ‘‘Do you want to play dumb too?’’

‘‘I have no need to play dumb, as you call it, so long as I have my pistola, senor.’’

‘‘You are that sure of yourself?’’

‘‘I still breathe, senor.’’

‘‘And the horses?’’

‘‘As you say, they are good animals. Better than the ones we were riding when we went to your rancho. He had many good horses in the corral.’’ Rufio paused. ‘‘I did not think about the brands.’’

‘‘How much is he paying you?’’

‘‘Five hundred. Each. And a good horse.’’

Tinsdale twisted toward his companion. ‘‘Damn it to hell. Tell him everything, why don’t you?’’

‘‘He has already guessed. What good would lying do?’’ Rufio had not taken his eyes off Boone. ‘‘Is there anything else, senor?’’

‘‘Not unless I can convince you to change your minds.’’

‘‘I am sorry, senor. I am more fond of money than I am of a good horse. Will you permit us to stand?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘That is a pity, senor. It is harder to draw when sitting.’’

‘‘I know.’’

‘‘You are clever for one so young.’’

‘‘I still breathe,’’ Boone said, and grinned.

Rufio smiled. ‘‘I would like you if I did not have to kill you. You are nothing like him, senor.’’

‘‘Let’s get on with it, shall we?’’

The pair glanced at each other and then both heaved out of their chairs and clawed at their hardware. Rufio was faster and he almost had his pistol out when Boone slammed two shots into his chest. Shifting, Boone fanned another two into the man with the scar. Gun smoke wreathing them, the pair oozed back down and sprawled onto the floor.

For the first time since Boone met him, Skelman laughed. ‘‘I wish I could see that again.’’

‘‘Are you going to tell me what that was all about or not?’’ Old Man Radler demanded.

‘‘No,’’ Boone Scott said.