Ralph Compton Outlaw Town Read online

“Well, jabber some other time. It gets on a body’s nerves.”

  “See?” Ollie whispered to Chancy.

  Prosperity appeared deserted. The main street was empty from end to end. The hitch rails too, which struck Chancy as odd. There was no movement in the general store. The stable doors were closed as well.

  “I don’t like the looks of it,” Drew Case said. He had a bristly mustache and wore a long-barreled Colt. Word was he’d been involved in a shooting affray once and wounded a man in the shoulder. But he was no gun hand. His only interest in life was cattle.

  “Me neither,” Jelly said.

  Not so much as a fly buzzed. No dogs were roaming about, no cats slinking in the shade.

  Lucas Stout drew rein at the near end of the street and they did the same. He did something rare for him; he placed his hand on his revolver. “Keep your eyes skinned. Jelly and Chancy, you watch on the right. Ollie, Drew, you watch the left side.”

  “Someone should take the middle,” Ollie said.

  “That would be me,” Stout said.

  “Oh.”

  “Pay attention to the gaps between the buildings,” Jelly Varnes said, “and to the roofs.”

  Lucas Stout clucked to his animal. “Spread out a little. We shouldn’t bunch up.”

  Chancy reined slightly to the right. He was close to the general store.

  “If they come at us, it will be from the saloon,” Jelly Varnes predicted. “It’s where I’d wait if I was them.”

  As it turned out, he was right but he was wrong.

  The batwings did open, but the only one to step out was Mayor Broom. “Greetings!” he called out warmly. “Nice to see you fellas again.”

  Lucas Stout angled over and came to a stop.

  No one else appeared. The saloon was quiet. The rest of Prosperity might as well be a ghost town.

  “There’s just you?” Lucas Stout said.

  “Who were you expecting?” Mayor Broom said, and beckoned. “Come on in and have a drink. On me. I assume you’re here about the bill.”

  “What else?” Stout said curtly.

  “I can tell you’re upset and you needn’t be,” Mayor Broom said. “Please. Climb down. You’re always welcome here. And we do have that bill to discuss.”

  “Discuss, hell,” Lucas Stout said.

  “Now, see?” Mayor Broom said. “We’re getting off on the wrong foot. We’re grown men, and we should talk this over in a rational manner. Getting angry never helps anything.”

  Chancy detected rare indecision in their trail boss.

  Stout gazed up and down the street, and nodded. “All right. Let’s get to it.”

  “Excellent,” Mayor Broom exclaimed happily.

  About to climb down, Lucas Stout said, “Drew, stay with the horses. The rest of you are with me.”

  Chancy alighted. A feeling came over him that unseen eyes were on them. His gut in a knot, he followed the others in and hoped to heaven things didn’t go from bad to worse.

  Chapter 28

  Other than the bartender, the saloon was empty too.

  “Drinks are on me, George,” Mayor Broom called out. “Bring a couple of bottles over, would you?” He moved to the table by the front window. “Pull up chairs, gentlemen. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  “I’ll stand,” Jelly Varnes said, and moved to where he could watch the batwings and also see anyone coming out of the hall at the back.

  Chancy would rather sit but took his cue from Jelly. “I’ll stand too.” He stepped to the bar.

  Ollie was looking around as if he didn’t know what to do.

  “Come over here with me,” Chancy said.

  The mayor sat with his back to the window and folded his hands on the table. Lucas Stout sat across from him.

  “You see how easy we made this?” Mayor Broom said.

  George brought the bottles and six glasses on a tray and set the tray on the table. Without saying a word, he went back around the bar.

  The mayor slid a bottle over to Stout. “Your punchers can drink too. It’s good whiskey.”

  “We’re not here to drink,” Lucas Stout said.

  “What’s your rush? We can be sociable, can’t we?”

  “Broom, you’re loco if you expect me to pay you twelve thousand dollars.”

  “Now, now.” The mayor opened his bottle, filled a glass halfway, and treated himself to a sip. Sighing with contentment, he took his bowler off and placed it beside the bottle. He was going bald, and the hair over his ears stuck out in little tufts. “The money isn’t for me. It’s for the town treasury.”

  “It’s robbery, is what it is.”

  Broom’s thin eyebrows arched as if he was surprised. “Why are you taking this attitude? You know as well as I do that taxes are as common as air. A town has the legal right to impose them as the town deems fit. In our case, we tax the herds that come through.”

  “You invited us here,” Lucas Stout said. “You told us we were welcome to use your graze and your water.”

  “And you were.”

  “You took in one of my men and had your doc tend to him.”

  “It was the humane thing to do,” Mayor Broom said. “How can you find fault with that?”

  “And then you charge for everything.”

  “I hate to be a stickler about it, but a tax isn’t a charge, per se. It’s more of a compulsory contribution, you might say.”

  “I say you had it planned all along,” Lucas Stout said. “You invited us here and went out of your way to pretend to be friendly, knowing all along that you were going to sock us with a tax bill.”

  “O ye of little faith.”

  “Keep the Bible out of this,” Lucas Stout said. “You and it have little in common.”

  “Insults now?” Mayor Broom said, and shook his head. “I expected better of you. Despite what you might believe, I’ve dealt with you in good faith. We didn’t have to take your sick man in. Your hands practically begged us to. And when you showed up, did I twist your arm and make you bring your herd here? I did not. I merely offered you the opportunity. You came of your own free will.”

  “You never said anything about the cost.”

  “Come, now.” Mayor Broom laughed. “When is anything ever free? Apparently you assumed it was, which shows a remarkable lack of judgment on your part. How long have you been a trail boss anyhow?”

  “Now who’s spewing insults?”

  “I don’t mean to,” Broom said good-naturedly. “I’m simply trying to explain that your expectations weren’t realistic. And as for the taxes the town has imposed, we’re perfectly willing to work with you if you think they’re a tad too much.”

  “A tad?” Lucas Stout growled.

  “You think our fee is unfair?”

  Stout bent toward him, and it was obvious he was controlling his temper. “Grazing on public lands is free. So is the water.”

  “Public land under the jurisdiction of the federal government, yes,” Mayor Broom said. “But the land for ten miles around, and the lake where your cattle have slaked their thirst, are owned by the town. We can assess fees as we please.”

  “No other town has ever done anything like this.”

  Mayor Broom grinned. “There’s a first time for everything, as they say. Who knows? Prosperity might start a trend that will sweep the West.”

  “Over our dead bodies.”

  Broom pursed his lips. “By that do you mean you and your hands, specifically? Or do you mean cowboys in general?”

  Lucas Stout sat back. “You like to bandy words, don’t you? You should be a lawyer.”

  “I was, in fact,” Mayor Broom said. “But the legal profession and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on certain finer points of the law, and my license was revoked.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”


  Broom showed his first trace of anger. “Let’s not make this personal. The fact remains that you are accountable for the bill that was delivered. We expect payment within twenty-four hours. After that, the fees will go up.”

  “All I have on me are a few hundred dollars for expenses,” Lucas Stout said. “You’re welcome to all of it, but that’s the best I can do.”

  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be anywhere near enough.”

  “Then we’re done talking. I tried to be reasonable,” Stout said, and went to stand.

  “Hold on,” Broom said. “There’s a solution that evidently hasn’t occurred to you. We’re more than willing to settle your bill by taking its equivalent in goods or livestock.”

  “I should have known,” Stout said.

  Mayor Broom nodded. “Cattle are going for about forty dollars a head up north, the last I heard. Three hundred of your longhorns would cover the bill in full.”

  “That’s nearly a fifth of the herd.”

  “You’ll still have the rest.”

  “No.”

  “It’s more than fair.”

  “You try taking our cattle, you’ll regret it.”

  “Please,” Mayor Broom said. “Let’s not resort to threats. You have twenty-four hours to think about it. Give us the three hundred head and you can leave in peace.” He paused. “If you don’t, this will get ugly.”

  Chapter 29

  They had been angry when they rode in. They were mad as Hades when they rode out.

  “The nerve of that no-account,” Drew Case fumed. “Claiming they have every right in the world to fleece our outfit.”

  “You should have given me the word,” Jelly Varnes said to Lucas Stout’s back. “I’d have gunned him where he sat.”

  “He sure was a talker,” Ollie said.

  Chancy was as furious as the others, but he had nothing to add.

  Lucas Stout turned and regarded them somberly. “We’re not handing over three hundred head. They can take their taxes and fees and choke on them, for all I care. When we leave, our cattle go with us. They try to stop us and there will be hell to pay.”

  “There are more of them than there are of us,” Ollie mentioned.

  “We have enough guns to hold them off,” Lucas Stout said.

  Chancy wasn’t so sure, but he had something else on his mind. “We’re forgetting someone.”

  “Eh?” Lucas Stout said.

  “Finger Howard,” Chancy reminded him. “He’s not well enough yet to sit a horse. What do we do about him?”

  “Oh, hell,” Stout said, and wheeling his mount sideways, he drew rein. “You’re right. We can’t leave him there.” He snapped his fingers and smiled. “I know. We’ll make space for him in the chuck wagon. He can ride with Old Charlie.”

  “If they’ll hand him over,” Drew Case said.

  Jelly nodded. “I wouldn’t put it past them not to let us have him. It gives them something to hold over us.”

  Lucas Stout thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “I was so mad I wasn’t thinking straight. Now I am. We’ll do the last thing they’ll expect. We’ll circle around and take Finger out.”

  “The ride to camp might not be good for him,” Chancy noted.

  “He’s tough,” Lucas Stout said. “He’ll make it.” He resumed riding but bore more to the south than the west. When they had gone about halfway to the lake, he began the loop that would take them back to Prosperity.

  “What if they try to stop us?” Ollie asked.

  “We don’t let them,” Stout said.

  “Good,” Jelly Varnes said. “I’ve been hankering to shoot one of those buzzards.”

  “It might not be the whole town,” Ollie said. “Could be it’s just the mayor.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” Jelly said. “He doesn’t have the grit. You can bet Ives is backing his play, and who knows how many others?”

  “There’s Krine,” Chancy said.

  “Who?” Lucas Stout said.

  Only then did it occur to Chancy that he hadn’t told them about the mystery man. He corrected his lapse, ending with “From what I was told, Krine is the real brains of that bunch.”

  “He’ll be the dead brains if he butts in,” Jelly Varnes said.

  Chancy expected Lucas Stout to speak up and say that there wasn’t to be any shooting without his say-so, but Stout stayed quiet. He’d always regarded the trail boss as the most levelheaded in the outfit, but now he saw that when the herd was threatened, Stout would do whatever was necessary, the consequences be damned.

  As they drew near the south end of town, Chancy found himself wrestling with his nerves. Here they were, attempting to sneak into Prosperity in broad daylight. Someone was bound to see them. They could be up to their armpits in armed townsfolk before they knew it.

  Lucas Stout led them to the rear of the stable. It hid them well enough that they reached the corral without an outcry. They dismounted, tied their animals to the rails, and cat-footed around to the side. When Stout drew his six-shooter, so did everyone else.

  Chancy hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He wasn’t Jelly. He didn’t take delight in shooting people. He would if they left him no choice, though.

  At the front Stout stopped and indicated they should hug the wall. Removing his hat, he poked his head out. “No one,” he whispered. “The town is as dead as when we rode in.” He gestured at Chancy. “Come up here and point out the cabin Finger is in. I can’t remember of it’s the second or the third.”

  Chancy moved past the others. “There,” he said, pointing at the second. They would have to cross about fifty feet of open space to reach it.

  “Where is everybody?” Ollie whispered.

  As if in answer, one of the stable doors opened and voices filled the air. Into the sunlight strolled the townsmen in clusters of twos and threes. Mayor Broom, Krine, and Ives were among them. So was Ira Reid.

  With a start, Chancy realized they must have been holding some sort of meeting in the stable. He ducked back before he was spotted.

  “I expect all of you at the saloon within the hour,” Krine called out. “Bring your rifles. If those cowboys try to slip away, they’re in for a surprise.”

  Someone laughed, and Mayor Broom said, “Those Texans think they have twenty-four hours. We have plenty of time. We must do this right, gentlemen. Like we did with the last herd.”

  Chancy risked a peek. The townsmen were talking and smiling and acting as if the scheme they’d hatched was the most natural thing in the world. And for them, maybe it was. That notion started a troubling train of thought.

  “Should we forget about Finger for now?” Drew Case whispered.

  “No,” Lucas Stout said.

  “We can’t reach him without being seen,” Drew pointed out. “They could riddle us with slugs.”

  “If all of us tried they’d spot us for sure,” Stout agreed. “But maybe not if only one of us goes.”

  “Let me,” Jelly Varnes whispered.

  “You’re too eager to squeeze the trigger,” Lucas Stout said. “It has to be someone else.” He looked at Chancy.

  “Oh hell,” Chancy said.

  Chapter 30

  Chancy poked his head around the corner.

  Krine and Broom and the rest were well down the street. They had gone past the cabin where Finger was recuperating. Several were entering other cabins, maybe to fetch their rifles as they’d been instructed.

  Chancy pulled his hat brim down. “Wish me luck,” he said, and moved into the open. His chin tucked low, he didn’t rush. It might draw attention. He walked at the same gait as the townsmen and watched them from under his hat brim. At a casual glance, he might appear to be one of them.

  The four leaders, as he had come to think of them, were headed for the saloon. Krine and Mayor Bro
om were in a heated discussion. Ives and Reid trailed behind, neither so much as looking at the other.

  A man at the fifth cabin down, about to go in, stopped and looked back.

  Chancy’s skin prickled. He expected to hear a bellow and have the whole town come charging down the street. But the man went into the cabin and closed the door behind him.

  Chancy reached Finger’s cabin and was quick to do the same. Once the door was shut, he breathed a little easier. He stepped to the bed thinking he’d have to shake Finger to rouse him.

  “Well, look who it is.”

  “You’re awake!” Chancy exclaimed.

  “Have been for hours,” Finger said. “I’m sick of lying here.” He looked past Chancy. “Where’s my pard? Jelly can’t be bothered to pay me a visit?”

  “He’s here and so are Lucas and some of the others, but they sent me,” Chancy said. “We have to get you out. Things are happening.” There wasn’t time for a long-winded explanation.

  “Fine by me,” Finger said. “There’s something wrong about this town.”

  “You already warned us.”

  “I did?” Finger was propped on his pillow, and sat a little higher, wincing from the pain. “I don’t recollect doing that.”

  “You were pretty much out of it, but you did.” Chancy was anxious to leave. “Can you walk yet? Can you even stand?”

  “I haven’t tried,” Finger said. “That sawbones of theirs told me not to get out of bed for another day or two.”

  “It has to be now,” Chancy said. “There’s a war brewing, and they might take it into their heads to hold you as a hostage.”

  “A war? Why?”

  “We’ll tell you all about it once you’re safe. Where are your clothes?”

  “On the floor at the end of the bed. I wanted to get dressed and the doc said something about them being there, but he wouldn’t let me put them on because my britches might irritate the incision, was how he put it.”

  The clothes were there all right, the shirt and the pants neatly folded, the gun belt with the belt wrapped around the holster, and Finger’s boots.

  Chancy had never helped a man dress before. He tugged the pants on as high as Finger’s knees and then had Finger ease them the rest of the way. The shirt was easy. He held it open and slipped each sleeve up an arm. The boots were the hardest. They were a tight fit. They had to be. Loose boots chafed and raised blisters, even with socks on sometimes.