Ralph Compton Outlaw Town Page 15

  “Did that bullet rattle your brainpan, boss?” Ollie asked.

  Stout gave a cold laugh. “Think, Ollie. We’ll let those buzzards do our work for us. Once they’ve gathered up the cattle, we’ll take the herd back.” His mouth became a slit. “Or die trying.”

  Chapter 39

  Luck favored them. They had no sooner reached the cover of the trees when hooves drummed out by the lake. Krine and Mayor Broom and the rest of the outlaws were hard after the herd and didn’t give the woods a second glance.

  “We just made it,” Ollie said.

  Ben Rigenaw swung Old Charlie down and lifted his reins. “The rest of you sit tight. I’m going after Lester and Drew.”

  “No,” Lucas Stout said. He was slowly dismounting, using only his right arm.

  “Les is my pard,” Rigenaw said.

  “You stay put,” Stout said, “and that’s an order.”

  Chancy could tell that Rigenaw wasn’t happy about it, and Chancy didn’t blame him. He’d feel the same if it were Ollie.

  “Lester and Drew won’t let themselves be caught,” Lucas Stout assured the gun hand. Moving to a log, he sank down and winced. “If they don’t show up after a while we’ll all go after them ourselves, but right now I need this slug out. Who’s going to do the digging?”

  Chancy would if he was asked but fortunately Old Charlie pulled a clasp knife from his pocket and pried it open with a thumbnail.

  “I reckon that would be my job. We need a fire, though, and water to clean the wound.”

  “No fire,” Lucas Stout said. “Krine and his friends might spot the smoke and come back.”

  Old Charlie went over. “You’re not thinking straight, Lucas. Taking the bullet out ain’t enough. Infection could set in. I have to clean it before and I have to clean it after, with hot water, or you can dig the thing out yourself.”

  “Damn it, Charlie.”

  “Do we have time to argue?” the cook said.

  Lucas Stout was as tough an hombre as ever drew breath, but he was no fool. “Make it a small fire, and be quick. I don’t aim to stay here any longer than we have to.”

  “Who wants to start it?” Old Charlie said to the rest of them. “And who has water in their canteen? I need a tin cup too, since all my pots and pans were with my wagon.”

  “You can have my canteen and my cup,” Rigenaw said.

  “Someone should keep watch,” Lucas Stout said. “In case some of those sons of bitches stray back our way.”

  Chancy volunteered. Climbing down, he shucked his Winchester and moved to the edge of the trees. From his vantage he could see the entire lake and a dust cloud to the south, as well as the distant buildings to the east.

  “I bet that I know who you’re thinking of,” Ollie said, stopping at a tree near his. “It’s that pretty filly, ain’t it?”

  “It’s not fair,” Chancy said. “She and me just met, and we’re broke apart.”

  “What are you fixing to do?”

  “What can I?” Chancy rejoined.

  “It’s a cinch—you can’t go see her,” Ollie said. “Those owl-hoots will shoot you on sight.”

  “After dark I could slip in.”

  “Stout wouldn’t let you.”

  “He doesn’t have to know.”

  Ollie puckered his mouth as if he’d taken a bite out of a lemon. “You’d sneak off on your own? Desert your friends? Risk your hide over a gal you hardly know? With us in the middle of this war?”

  Chancy stayed silent. His pard was right. But one way or the other he was determined to see Missy again. It could be—and his heart leaped at the notion—she would agree to come with him. And if Stout didn’t like it, he’d up and quit and go on to Kansas with Missy.

  Out of the blue Ollie remarked, “I think you creased Ira Reid’s noggin back there. I saw blood when his hat blew off.”

  “It’s a shame I didn’t blow his brains out.”

  “He’ll be mad as anything at you,” Ollie said. “I hope he doesn’t take it out on Missy, her being your friend and all.”

  Chancy gave a start. He hadn’t thought of that. He wouldn’t put it past Reid to slap her around, or worse. All the more reason for him to go find her.

  “This drive sure has gone to hell in a handbasket,” Ollie said. “We don’t even know how many of us are still alive.”

  Chancy tallied them in his head. If Lester and Drew were still among the living, that made nine. With the trail boss wounded, and Old Charlie of little use in a fight, they had seven who could fight. Hardly enough to take on all those outlaws.

  “Someone’s coming,” Ollie said.

  A lone rider was approaching from the north at a trot. It took a few seconds for his blond hair and the splash of ivory on his hip to jolt Chancy into exclaiming, “Why, it’s Jelly! And he’s in one piece.”

  “We have to stop him,” Ollie said, stepping into the open and waving his arms.

  Chancy did the same, but Jelly didn’t spot them, so he hollered.

  It worked. Jelly lost no time trotting over and drawing rein. He was as dusty as everyone else, and bore a bright red slash on his cheek from a nick. “Fellas!” he said happily as he halted. “I’m not the only one still breathing.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Ollie said. “There’s more of us in the trees. Old Charlie is taking lead out of Mr. Stout.”

  “Finger?” Jelly said.

  “He’s kicking still,” Ollie said. “My pard got him off the chuck wagon in the nick of time.”

  “I’m in your debt, Gantry,” Jelly said.

  “Any of you would have done the same,” Chancy said.

  Jelly tiredly leaned on his saddle horn. “Parker and Webb and Lafferty and Collins are all dead.”

  “We’d heard about the others, but Collins too?” Ollie said.

  “Shot in the face when he was reloading.”

  “You’ll make ten of us now,” Chancy said.

  “That’s more than I dared hope.” Jelly glared in the direction of Prosperity. “This war ain’t over by a long shot.”

  Chapter 40

  The elation of the others over Jelly Varnes being alive was tempered by the goings-on at the fire.

  Old Charlie had made Lucas Stout lie on his back, opened Stout’s shirt, and managed to tug the trail boss’s left arm out of its sleeve, exposing the wound. Now Charlie was gingerly probing with the thin blade of his folding knife. He paused whenever Stout looked to be in a lot of pain.

  On hearing the hands converge, Old Charlie looked up. “It’s in here somewhere. I figure it glanced off the collarbone.”

  “Don’t take forever,” Ben Rigenaw said.

  Chancy should have returned to his lookout duty but he was as anxious as the rest to see how it turned out.

  Old Charlie was surprisingly gentle. After a little more probing, he widened the entry wound, inserted his index finger, and probed with that instead.

  “I’m feeling queasy,” Ollie said.

  “Don’t watch,” Chancy said.

  “How can I not?”

  “What’s this?” Old Charlie said, and practically put his face to the cut. “I think I found it.”

  “You think?” Lucas Stout grunted.

  Old Charlie gave a sharp twist of his wrist. Stout’s mouth opened wide but he didn’t utter a sound, and then Old Charlie was beaming and held up the bloody slug in his dripping fingers. “Slippery cuss but I got it.”

  Lucas Stout rose onto his right elbow. “About time. Now stitch me up so we can get on with things.”

  “I don’t have anything to stitch you with,” Old Charlie said.

  “I have a sewing needle in my saddlebag,” Ollie offered. “My ma gave it to me years ago but I hardly ever use it.”

  “That’ll do,” Old Charlie said. “Make m
e even happier and tell me you have some thread.”

  “Sorry,” Ollie said.

  Stout had his own suggestion. “Unravel the bottom of my shirt. That will give you enough to do the job.” He glanced over at Chancy and Ollie. “Aren’t you two supposed to be keeping a lookout? Those outlaws could sneak up on us and we’d be caught flat-footed.”

  “I knew we were forgetting something,” Ollie said.

  Chancy hurried out to the same tree and leaned against it, his Winchester cradled in his arms. Nothing had changed except that most of the dust in the vicinity of the lake had settled. Farther south, a lot still rose to the sky.

  “How far do you reckon the herd will go?” Ollie said.

  Chancy couldn’t say. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the evening before. Like a lot of the others, he’d skipped breakfast. He’d been too nervous over the impending clash to down more than a cup of coffee.

  Ollie chuckled and said, “It must be our lucky day.”

  “Our herd was stampeded, our trail boss has been shot, and seven of us are dead,” Chancy said in disbelief. “Where’s the luck in all that?”

  “Only five,” Ollie said, and pointed.

  A pair of riders had appeared out of the dust cloud. Their clothes marked them as cowboys, but it wasn’t until they were closer that Chancy could put faces with the clothes. “It’s Lester Smith and Drew Case.”

  “First Jelly and now them,” Ollie said. “If that’s not luck, I don’t know what is.”

  Lester and Drew were looking all around and spied Chancy the instant he stepped from cover. One wave was all it took, and they spurred their lathered horses over.

  “You’re alive!” Ollie exclaimed.

  “We wouldn’t be sitting these saddles if we weren’t,” Drew Case said. “How many others have made it?” He peered into the woods. “And where are they?”

  Chancy filled them in. Lester let out a squawk on hearing that Ben Rigenaw was unhurt and went to find him.

  Drew wasn’t in any hurry. His horse was tuckered, and he alighted. “You boys almost didn’t see us again.”

  “We’d like to hear how it was,” Ollie said.

  Drew took off his hat and ran his hand over his hair, then placed his hat back on. “We stayed ahead of the herd, but it was nip and tuck. Twice the blamed longhorns almost overtook us but finally they slowed and we swung to the west to be shed of them. Once we were out of the dust, we headed back. Hadn’t gone far when we spotted Broom and a lot of other outlaws. They were after the herd and didn’t see us.”

  “By now they must have our cattle,” Ollie said. “They’ll be tickled, the buzzards.”

  “Not for long,” Drew Case vowed. “Once our boss is on his feet, we’ll take the fight to them.”

  “By attacking those owl-hoots when they have our cattle.” Ollie repeated what Lucas Stout had proposed.

  “There might be a better way,” Drew said. “You don’t kill a snake by chopping off its tail. You go for the head.”

  “Which snake head are we talking about?” Ollie said.

  “They have three,” Drew said. “Broom, Krine, and Ives. We snuff their wicks and the rest might fold and let us go our way.”

  “Might,” Ollie said.

  “You have a better brainstorm?” Drew snapped.

  Chancy liked the notion, only there was a problem with it. “How will we get close enough to pick them off with all the others around?”

  “Think for a minute,” Drew said. “Once they have the herd, they’ll likely drive our beeves to the lake and bed them down. A lot of the owl-hoots will stay with the longhorns to keep guard. But not the bigwigs, I suspect. They’ll be in town where it’s nice and cozy, and leave the work to those under them. And that’s where we’ll hit them.”

  “It’s awful risky,” Ollie said. “Mr. Stout might not go for it.”

  “What if we don’t tell him?” Drew said. “What if the three of us sneak in and do the job ourselves?”

  “Just us three?” Ollie said skeptically. He gestured at Chancy. “We’re not gun hands. Tell him, pard.”

  Chancy was about to when it dawned on him that this might be his one and only chance to see Missy Burke again. “We should give it some thought,” he hedged.

  “Don’t take too long,” Drew said. “Stout will likely let everyone rest up tonight and then go try to retake the herd at daybreak. We have to do it before then.” He looked at them. “We should sneak into town as soon as we can after it’s dark.”

  “Your notion could get us killed,” Ollie pointed out.

  “What do you say, Gantry?” Drew said.

  Chancy thought of Missy and knew what his answer would be.

  Chapter 41

  Things went as Drew predicted. Old Charlie sewed Lucas Stout up, and Stout called them together to say that they should try to catch some sleep because in the morning they were retaking their herd. Jelly Varnes wanted to head right out, but Stout brought up that their horses needed rest as much as they did, and once they reclaimed the longhorns, they’d need to move fast.

  There was no sign of the outlaws until toward sunset. Addy and Mays were taking a turn keeping watch and Mays came to report that the herd was in sight. Everyone crept to the tree line.

  With Krine and Ives in the lead, the outlaws brought the longhorns to the lake to let the cattle drink, then drove them to within a couple hundred yards of Prosperity to bed them down.

  “Why did they move the cattle so close to town?” Ollie asked no one in particular.

  “To make it harder for us,” Lucas Stout said.

  It would also make it harder for Chancy, Ollie, and Drew. With the herd that close, the outlaws needed fewer night guards. All it would take was a shout to bring the rest from their cabins or wherever.

  Drew Case caught Chancy’s eye and gave him a quizzical look.

  Chancy nodded. He was going in, regardless. That his motive was Missy and not the three snake heads, as Ollie called them, was his little secret.

  They were a quiet outfit that evening. The deaths of their friends had a somber effect. Their supper consisted mostly of jerky. Rigenaw and a few others had enough to share that each hand got at least one piece.

  Chancy bit into his and chewed and debated the wisdom of the rash act he’d decided on. Was Missy Burke worth his life? The question was ridiculous. Yet he wanted to see her more than anything.

  Lucas Stout insisted they turn in early.

  Chancy contrived to spread his blankets close to a thicket. Ollie, without asking why, did the same.

  Night fell. The hour after that was the longest of Chancy’s life. Even though he was expecting it, he nearly jumped when Drew Case, having crawled over as quietly as a cat stalking a mouse, put a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s time,” Drew whispered.

  They had already decided to leave their horses. A hoof fall in the quiet of the night carried a long way. Better to go on foot, they’d reasoned. All three of them had removed their spurs before turning in.

  For once even Ollie was quiet. Not until the woods were behind them and they were moving toward the lake did he say, “It’ll be a long walk, won’t it?”

  “Less than half a mile,” Chancy said.

  “That’s more than I’ve walked at one time in a coon’s age.”

  “You want us to carry you?” Drew Case sarcastically asked, and before Ollie could respond, he said sharply, “No more gum-flapping, Teal. I swear, you come across as a punk sometimes. From here on out, you only talk when you have to, and you keep your damn voice down. Savvy?”

  “You don’t need to be so mean about it,” Ollie whispered.

  “I’m not Gantry. I like salty pards, not paper-backed.”

  “Here, now,” Chancy said, coming to Ollie’s defense. “My pard’s not yell
ow.”

  “He’s not Ben Rigenaw either.”

  “Neither are you,” Chancy said.

  Drew Case wouldn’t relent. “We’re about to sneak on into a nest of sidewinders. Any blunder, even a small one, and we’ll cash in our chips. Ollie here is a good man. I’ll admit that. But he doesn’t know when to shut up, and he’s about as fierce as a puppy. So if I’m hard on him it’s for his own good.” He turned to Ollie. “You understand that?”

  “I reckon,” Ollie said.

  They stalked on, Drew Case out in front.

  Chancy smothered his anger at Case’s treatment of his friend. Now wasn’t the time for whittle-whanging. Not with, as Case rightly pointed out, their lives at stake. He would talk to Ollie later and reassure him that as far as pards went, Ollie was the best any puncher could have.

  The night was cooler than had been the case recently, and more than a few clouds scuttled across the sky, blotting out swaths of stars. There was no moon, so for the most part they moved in near-black darkness.

  They circled to the north to avoid the herd and the men riding guard. It took longer, but within an hour they were on their bellies less than a hundred feet from the north end of the single street.

  “It sounds like they’re celebrating,” Ollie whispered. “If you don’t mind my saying,” he said to Drew Case.

  Every window in the saloon glowed bright, and from it issued raucous laughter, loud voices, and the clink of bottles and glasses. Only one cabin showed a light. The rest of the town was dark.

  “Makes it easier for us,” Drew Case said. “All the chickens in one coop.”

  “Or all the ants in one hill,” Ollie said. “Or all the coyotes in one den. Or all the—”

  “Don’t start,” Drew growled.

  “Sorry.”

  Chancy almost laughed. To distract Drew from Ollie, he whispered, “I don’t see anyone patrolling the street.”

  “Why would they bother?” Drew said. “They think they’ve licked us. The herd is well guarded, and to them that’s the important thing. I doubt Broom and Krine expect anyone to come after them.”