Bullet for a Bad Man

Barrens Affray

The horses in the basin were weary from the long drive from Mexico. They were content to graze the sweet grass and drink from the cool spring. They didn’t spook or snort when Boone Scott crept up on them. By his reckoning it was almost midnight.

The flickering firelight revealed sleepers bundled in blankets and one man nursing a cup of coffee. That man was Wagner. He had a rifle across his legs and could not stop yawning.

Boone did not see Sassy. He figured she was one of the sleepers. He was tempted to march over and demand they give her up. But they might resort to their hardware, and in the dark Sassy could be hit by stray lead. Better, Boone reasoned, to be patient, as hard as it was to do, and wait until first light.

Boone was god-awful tired. Sleep had proven elusive since Sassy was taken. She was practically all he thought about. Whenever he closed his eyes, her face seemed to hang in the air before him. It got so, a couple of times he reached out to touch her and felt foolish when there was nothing there.

A rare gust of wind reminded Boone where he was and what he was doing. He studied the sleepers, hoping Sassy would roll over or move so he could tell which one she was. When, in due course, someone did roll over, it was Galeno.

Only then did Boone think to count the bundled forms. He counted them once. He counted them twice. He probed the darkness past the ring of firelight for more, but either they had hid themselves or they were not there. Alarmed, he rose and moved toward the fire. He did not try to conceal his approach. He walked right up to it, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt.

Wagner had frozen with the tin cup halfway to his mouth. ‘‘Well,’’ he said.

‘‘Well,’’ Boone echoed.

‘‘This is a surprise.’’ Wagner lowered the cup, careful to keep his hands where Boone could see them.

‘‘You knew I would come. I would track you to the ends of the earth to get her back.’’

‘‘I just did not expect you this soon. Old Man Radler thought it would be another two or three days.’’

‘‘You shouldn’t have done it.’’

‘‘It wasn’t my doing, Lightning. Or should I call you Boone now?’’

‘‘Where is she?’’

‘‘I tried to talk Old Man Radler out of it. I told him you would not rest until we were six feet under, but he wouldn’t listen. All he could think of was the money your brother will pay for her.’’

‘‘His mistake.’’

Wagner gazed past him. ‘‘By the way, where is Drub? Covering me with a rifle?’’

‘‘The last I saw of him he was heading for Ranson. Or what was left after the fire.’’

‘‘Strange, it breaking out the night you rode in. There is talk you might have had something to do with it.’’

‘‘Is there?’’

‘‘Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t burn down an entire town to spite your brother.’’

‘‘Sometimes things get out of control. But whether I did or I didn’t is not important here and now. You’re stalling, and I don’t like it.’’

‘‘Am I?’’

‘‘No more beating around the bush. I will ask you once more and only once more.’’ Boone tensed. ‘‘Where is she?’’

‘‘She’s not here.’’

‘‘I figured that out for myself. Some of you are missing. Old Man Radler, for one. Who else?’’

‘‘Vance and Skelman.’’

‘‘Where did they get to?’’

‘‘Your brother invited them to spend the night with him at the ranch house. I wanted to go. I liked the notion of a hot meal and sleeping in a bed. But Old Man Radler left me in charge. I am to make sure the horses don’t stray off.’’

‘‘So that is where she is. I should have guessed.’’ Boone sighed and started to turn.

‘‘Don’t be so hasty,’’ Wagner quickly said. ‘‘I am afraid I can’t let you leave.’’

‘‘You can’t stop me.’’

Wagner smiled and shifted so his hands were closer to his rifle. ‘‘That remains to be seen. But before you go and throw lead, hear me out. I would rather do this without swapping slugs. You are worth more alive than you are worth dead.’’

‘‘Make sense.’’

‘‘You haven’t heard? Your brother is offering five hundred dollars for your body or a thousand for you alive.’’

Boone whistled. ‘‘Why so much more if I am breathing?’’

‘‘The way I understand it, alive he gets to do things to you he can’t do if you are dead. Things Apaches would do.’’

‘‘And you aim to collect?’’

‘‘I will have to share. Which is why I’d rather you were alive. More money to go around that way.’’

Several of the blanket-shrouded figures had sat up, among them Galeno. As yet none had drawn a pistol or produced a rifle. Or if they had, the guns were under their blankets.

‘‘You can see how it is,’’ Wagner said with a nod toward the others. ‘‘I saw Galeno wake up and he nudged the others. Why make it hard on yourself? Hand over that fancy Colt of yours and we will take you to the house come first light.’’

‘‘That won’t happen this side of the grave.’’

‘‘Be reasonable,’’ Wagner said. ‘‘Would you rather we shoot it out when we don’t have to? You are not bulletproof. Then where would Sassy be?’’

‘‘You shouldn’t have reminded me of her.’’

‘‘Why not?’’

Boone’s hand was a blur. He drew and fanned the Colt’s hammer and a hole appeared between Wagner’s eyes. Even as it did, Boone was spinning. Galeno’s arms were rising from under the blanket; he had a rifle. It went off a split second before Boone triggered the Colt, but in his haste Galeno missed.

Boone didn’t.

The rest tried but they were rustlers, not gun sharks. Of the two who cleared leather, only one got off a shot.

In the silence that followed, Boone’s ears rang. He immediately reloaded, but his hours of practice had paid off. None were breathing.

Boone sat and poured himself a cup of coffee. The tantalizing aroma of food made his stomach growl. He was famished. He had not had a meal in days. A cast-iron pot was the source of the aroma. In it was leftover rabbit stew. Boone stirred the stew a few times with a large wooden spoon that was in the pot; then he dug in. He ate as any half-starved man would, wolfing the morsels. It was too salty for his taste, but he didn’t care. He felt guilty eating when he should be lighting a shuck to go to Sassy, but a full belly would give him the stamina he needed to carry out his vengeance.

Boone bit into a thick chunk of rabbit meat and juice dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off with his sleeve and sat back. In doing so he bumped Wagner’s body. ‘‘Sorry,’’ he said, and chuckled.

‘‘It is not so damn funny to me,’’ said a voice out of the dark, and a gun hammer clicked.

Boone turned to stone.

Vance Radler advanced on the fire, a Winchester wedged to his shoulder. ‘‘I wanted you to know it was me who killed you,’’ he said, and stroked the trigger.

At the head of the table sat Eppley Scott, puffing contentedly on a cigar. At the other end sat Old Man Radler. Skelman was to Epp’s right, Sassy Drecker to his left. He addressed her with mock sincerity, saying, ‘‘It is a shame you let that food go to waste.’’

‘‘Go to hell.’’

‘‘I am beginning to see what my brother likes about you. You are well named.’’

‘‘And you are a murdering bastard. I know about your ma and pa. I know you hired an assassin to do in Boone.’’

‘‘That boy is harder to kill than a bedbug.’’ Epp puffed and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘‘He must care for you an awful lot to have told you so much.’’

‘‘He will come after me.’’

‘‘I am counting on it,’’ Epp informed her. ‘‘Blin Hanks and nine gunnies are outside my house right this moment, waiting for him to show.’’

‘‘Your house? If it belongs to anyone it belongs to Boone. You do not deserve it.’’

‘‘What the hell does deserve have to do with anything? In this world we take what we want when we want, and keep it however we can.’’

‘‘You have an answer for everything.’’

‘‘That I do,’’ Epp crowed. ‘‘It is why I am sitting in this chair, comfortable as can be, while your lover is off in the wilds somewhere, riding to your rescue and his death.’’

‘‘I hate you.’’

‘‘You don’t even know me.’’

Old Man Radler drained his glass of whiskey and set it down on his plate with a loud chink. ‘‘Enough of this silliness. We have business to discuss.’’

‘‘I suppose we should get to it,’’ Epp agreed.

‘‘You owe us money and it is time you paid. First for the horses I sent my oldest to fetch. Then for this girl that Hanks said you wanted so bad. Five hundred dollars was the amount he mentioned.’’

‘‘I must have a talk with him. He is too generous with my money.’’ Epp tapped ash from his cigar into an ashtray. ‘‘Two hundred is the most you will get for her.’’

‘‘I brought her to you for five hundred and I expect five hundred.’’

‘‘Expect as much as you want. But you only get two hundred.’’

Old Man Radler drummed his fingers on the table. ‘‘I should have expected this from you. Our deal is off. I will take her with me when I go.’’

‘‘But she is already here,’’ Epp said. ‘‘It is an easy two hundred, if you ask me.’’

‘‘I knew her pa. I have known her since she came to my knees. Handing her over to you is harder than you think. It is five hundred or you do not get her.’’

‘‘Oh?’’

Old Man Radler nodded toward Skelman. ‘‘Any objections, take them up with my right-hand man, here.’’

‘‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’’ Epp faced the scarecrow in the black slicker. ‘‘I have heard of you. They say you are hell on wheels. As fast as Holliday or Ringo or any of that crowd.’’

Skelman did not say anything.

‘‘You deserve better than to rustle for a living. What do you earn? A thousand on a good month? How would you like a thousand each and every month without fail? And for a lot less work?’’

‘‘What are you up to?’’ Old Man Radler demanded.

‘‘I am talking to Mr. Skelman, not to you.’’ Epp calmly blew another smoke ring. ‘‘Think about it. No more riding day and night in the worst of weather. No more dodging the bullets of vaqueros and lawmen. You would have a roof over your head at night and three meals a day.’’

Old Man Radler laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. ‘‘You are wasting your time. Skelman and me are partners. He always gets as much as I do. I treat him right and he appreciates that.’’

‘‘There is cold and hot and hungry right, and there is soft and easy and a bed at night right,’’ Epp said.

‘‘You talk like a fool.’’

‘‘Do I?’’ Epp gestured at Skelman. ‘‘Tell me. Your partner here. Does he ever let you give the orders? Does he ever let you lead? Or is it him in charge, and only him, and you have to do as he says?’’

‘‘Damn you,’’ Old Man Radler said.

‘‘I am only looking at both sides of the coin so Mr. Skelman can decide on his own. Where is the harm? If you and him are true partners, what I say will wash off his back like water off a duck.’’

‘‘You are glib with words.’’

‘‘We are all good at something,’’ Epp said. ‘‘But tell me. How many men has Mr. Skelman had to kill for you? Does he get extra for that? Or do you take his pistol skills for granted?’’

‘‘Rot in hell.’’

Epp shifted toward Skelman again. ‘‘I will pay you extra for every set of toes you curl.’’

‘‘He is not interested,’’ Old Man Radler said.

‘‘A thousand a month and, say, three hundred each kill is more than generous.’’

‘‘Do you know what I think?’’ Old Man Radler snapped. ‘‘I think you are trying to get out of paying us for the horses and the girl, but it won’t work. We will have our money and we will have it now or you will find out the hard way that Skelman is no bluff.’’

‘‘I never said he was.’’ Epp placed his cigar on the ashtray. ‘‘What do you say, Mr. Skelman? Blin Hanks is good but he is not your caliber. With you working for me, no one will be able to stop me. You can start by shooting your former partner. I will still pay you for the horses, and for bringing Boone’s girl to me, plus a thousand in advance, and all that money will be yours and yours alone.’’

Old Man Radler shoved to his feet. ‘‘That is enough. We refuse to sit here and listen to more of your prattle.’’ He turned to go. ‘‘Come on, Skelman. We will sell our horses somewhere else.’’

Skelman stood. As his hands rose above the table, they filled with his mother-of-pearl Colts. Each Colt boomed. Then Skelman moved to the end of the table and shot Old Man Radler once more, in the head. ‘‘To be sure,’’ he said.

Epp Scoot grinned. ‘‘I like a man who gets a job done right.’’