Ralph Compton Outlaw Town Read online

  “And her husband lets her flaunt herself in a saloon?” Ollie said. “And people say I’m the one who is a mite slow between the ears.”

  Chancy had to admit his pard had a point. As a general rule, married gents didn’t like other men pawing their wives. “If that’s true, I have died and gone to heaven.”

  “How many drinks have you had?” Ollie asked.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Oh, nothing. Only you haven’t even met her yet and you act like you’re in love.”

  “Blazes, you’re right. Here. Watch my drink.” Chancy set it down and threaded through the merrymakers to where Missy Burke stood talking to Margie. He was behind her and to get her attention he lightly tapped her on the shoulder, saying, “Pardon me, ma’am.”

  “Yes?” Missy Burke said, turning. She gave a start, and looked him up and down, her cheeks coloring. “Who might you be?”

  “I’m—” Chancy began, and his throat froze up. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. To make it worse, his body became red-hot, and he broke out in a sweat.

  “Yes?” Missy Burke said again.

  “I . . . ,” Chancy said.

  “Are you all right?”

  A familiar laugh added to Chancy’s embarrassment. Ollie had come over and was holding both their drinks.

  “You have to excuse my pard, ma’am. He doesn’t get to hobnob much with gracious ladies like you. I’m Ollie Teal and his handle is Chancy Gantry. His full name is Chancellor Floyd Gantry, but he hates the Floyd and thinks Chancellor sounds foreign, so he only uses Chancy. I’d never have known, only he got drunk one night and told me all his secrets. Or as much of them as he remembered, I reckon, before he passed out.”

  Missy Burke put a hand to her throat and smiled. “Oh my. Aren’t you something?”

  “Me, ma’am?” Ollie said. “I’m a puncher, is all. I work as a trail hand for now. Chancy too. He talked me into it. Said we’d get to see some of the world and make some extra money. So far we haven’t seen much except some countryside and a few towns like this one, but I expect that will change when we get to Kansas. They say Wichita is as wild as anything, and a sight worth seeing.”

  Missy Burke looked at Chancy. “Does he always go on like this?”

  Chancy coughed, and found his voice. “Only when he opens his mouth.” Her laughter sent a tingle through him clear down to his toes. “But as pards go, he can’t be beat.”

  “Why, thank you, Chancellor,” Ollie said.

  Missy Burke appeared delighted. “You two are cautions. I’m glad we’ve met. There aren’t many here as young as me.”

  “There’s one younger in our outfit,” Ollie said. “His name is Mays. He doesn’t even have peach fuzz on his chin yet.”

  “I’d be grateful if you’d let me buy you a drink,” Chancy said.

  “It’s why I’m here.”

  Chancy gave her a quizzical look.

  “To entice men into buying drinks and spending their money in other ways.” Missy caught herself and, to Chancy’s immense joy, slipped her arm through his. “Why don’t we go to the bar? It’s a little more private.”

  Chancy didn’t see how, but he was eager to comply.

  “Can I come too?” Ollie asked.

  “You certainly may,” Missy Burke said. “You’re his pard, aren’t you? And a lot of fun, besides.”

  “I am?” Ollie said, and blushed a deep red.

  Missy hooked her other arm in Ollie’s. “The three of us will spend a little time together and get better acquainted.”

  “Gosh, ma’am,” Ollie said. “A lady’s never taken my arm before.”

  “Not even your mother or your sisters?”

  “My ma mostly took a wooden spoon to me when I did something that didn’t suit her, and my sisters hardly ever touched me.” Ollie paused. “Say, how did you know I even had any?”

  “A lucky guess,” Missy Burke said.

  “I wish I had your brains,” Ollie said. “Most of my guesses end up being wrong. Like that time the butcher filled a jar with marbles and said whoever guessed how many there were would win a side of beef. Ma made all of us guess and wrote our guesses on slips of papers so we’d have more chances to win.”

  “How did you do?” Missy asked when he didn’t go on.

  “I guessed there were forty-two marbles in the jar.”

  “And how many were there?”

  “As I recollect, one hundred and seventy-three.”

  “Oh my. You were a ways off.”

  “My ma wasn’t pleased. But she had to write my number down because the butcher was right there. When we got home she took her spoon to me. I couldn’t sit for half a day.”

  “That was terrible of her.”

  “I don’t blame her so much,” Ollie said. “She liked to say that since I wasn’t born with brains, she’d beat them into me. She sure tried her best.”

  “Your own mother.”

  “I didn’t have any other. If I’d had, the other one would probably have beaten me with her spoon too. I was lucky to have any backside left when I got too old to be spooned.”

  Missy laughed, but Chancy didn’t think it was humorous. “You shouldn’t be talking about backsides and such.”

  “Why not?” Ollie said. “Everybody has one.”

  They reached the bar. Amazingly an empty space opened, and Missy Burke steered them into it and let go of their arms. “Now, then. What’s your poison?”

  Chancy was about to point out that they already had drinks when Jelly Varnes appeared out of nowhere, planted himself in front of Missy Burke, and pushed his hat back on his head so his curls spilled out.

  “What do we have here?”

  Chapter 14

  Chancy Gantry felt a surge of anger. Resentment so keen it pierced him like a knife.

  “Shoo,” Ollie said. “She’s with us.”

  “Not anymore she’s not.” With a grand flourish, Jelly clasped Missy Burke’s hand, raised it to his lips, and lightly kissed her knuckles.

  “Goodness gracious,” Missy said.

  “I’d enjoy making your acquaintance, ma’am,” Jelly said, “and expect you’ll enjoy making mine.”

  “Aren’t you humble?” Missy said.

  “He’s not showing good manners,” Chancy said. “Make yourself scarce, Varnes.”

  Jelly and Missy both looked surprised.

  “What’s gotten into you, Gantry?” the young gun hand said. “Why take that tone with me?”

  “He’s smitten,” Ollie said.

  Chancy—and Jelly—and Missy all said, “What?” at the same time.

  “Why, we’ve only just met,” Missy said. “He doesn’t know me well enough to be smitten.”

  “It doesn’t take much,” Ollie said. “I’ve seen gents smitten by a whiff of perfume.”

  Jelly Varnes laughed. “Don’t this beat all?” He tilted his head and studied Chancy, and laughed again. “Tell you what, though. We both ride for the same brand and you’ve never given me cause to dislike you, so I’ll let this pass. You can have some time alone with the lady. But don’t expect to hog it. Some of the rest of us might be interested.” He winked and grinned at Missy Burke and ambled off.

  “He thinks he’s everything,” Ollie grumbled.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Missy said. “He’s rather handsome.”

  Chancy’s ears began to burn. For a short while he had forgotten they were in the middle of a crowded saloon. There had been only her and him and Ollie. Everyone else had faded into the background, as if they weren’t really there. Jelly shattered that illusion. Suddenly the voices around them swelled, and he became all too aware of the press of bodies.

  “Nothing to say, Chancellor?” Missy said.

  “I’d rather you called me Chancy.”<
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  “I don’t know. I like Chancellor. It has a dignity about it,” Missy said. “My real name is ordinary.”

  Chancy was reluctant to pry, but his pard had no such qualms.

  “What is your real name, ma’am?” Ollie asked.

  “Promise not to tell?” Missy said.

  “I promise not to tell other people,” Ollie said.

  “Who else is there to tell it to?”

  “My horse.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I talk to my horse a lot. Especially when I’m riding herd alone and there’s no one else to talk to. I tell him things I’d never tell anyone else. So I can’t promise I might not tell him your name.”

  “Ollie, you’re precious,” Missy said, and reaching up, she brushed a finger across his cheek.

  “Good Lord, ma’am,” Ollie said, and turned even redder than before. “Warn a fella when you’re fixing to do that.” He coughed and fidgeted, then said, “You haven’t said what your name is.”

  Missy lowered her voice. “Geraldine.”

  “Geraldine?” Ollie practically hollered. “What’s wrong with that? I have an aunt named Geraldine. And there was a lady over to the county seat, the wife of a baker. She was named Geraldine too. It’s right popular.”

  “I’ve never liked it,” Missy said. “The same way Chancellor doesn’t like his.”

  “Wait a minute,” Ollie said. “How did you get from Geraldine to Missy? Shouldn’t it be Gissy?”

  Missy squealed with glee and clapped her hands.

  “What’s gotten into her?” Ollie said to Chancy.

  “You, you lunkhead.”

  Missy was shaking her head and chuckling. “When I was little, Ollie, my pa used to call me his little miss. That stuck, and when I got older, they dropped the ‘little’ and I became Missy.”

  “Names sure are peculiar,” Ollie said. “I had another cousin called Abimelech. Who names a fella that? We called him Frank on account of he liked it best of all the men names he’d ever heard.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Chancy realized he’d hardly said a word except when Jelly butted in. He figured he’d better say something soon to show Missy he could hold up his end of a conversation. It needed to be something smart. Something clever. Taking a breath, he said the first thing that came into his head. “How would you like to go out with me sometime?”

  “You and me?” Missy said.

  “I don’t think he means me,” Ollie said. “We go practically everywhere together as it is.”

  Chancy made bold to do as Jelly had done, and grasped Missy’s hand. “Yes, you and me. Just the two of us.”

  “Are you saying you want to court me, Chancellor?” Missy asked as if he must be loco.

  Chancy didn’t even have to think about it. “I reckon I am,” he said, nodding. “If you’re not attached to anyone else, that is.”

  Missy grinned. “The only person I’m attached to is me.”

  “I’m attached to my horse,” Ollie said.

  “Please hush,” Chancy said. He was still holding Missy’s hand, and the feel of her skin, so soft and so warm, set him to tingling anew. “What do you say, Miss Burke?”

  “Aren’t you formal?” Missy said, and laughed, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. “No one has ever asked to court me before.”

  “How can that be?” Chancy marveled. He’d have expected every man she met to want to.

  Missy bit her bottom lip, glanced quickly around, then said quietly, “Why not? But we have to keep it between ourselves. Reid finds out, he’ll take a switch to me.”

  “Reid?” Chancy said, remembering how crusty and unfriendly the man had been. “What’s he got to do with it?”

  “He runs the saloon for Broom,” Missy said. “He’s my boss.”

  “Damn,” Chancy said before he could stop himself.

  “How about if you come by at noon tomorrow?” Missy proposed. “I’ll have an hour or so free.”

  “I’ll be here,” Chancy vowed.

  “And you.” Missy addressed Ollie. “You’ll be quiet about it?”

  “Can I tell my horse?”

  Missy snorted, and put a hand over her nose. “Yes, you may.”

  Ollie grinned. “Then your secret is safe. My horse won’t tell a soul.”

  Chapter 15

  It was all Chancy could think about the rest of the night. He got to enjoy ten more minutes with her, talking about where she came from (Indiana) and how she had ended up in Prosperity (Della brought her and the other girls). He would have talked to her the rest of the night, but Reid came striding up.

  “What’s going on here, woman? I pay you to mingle. You’ve been with these two long enough.”

  “They bought me a drink,” Missy said, holding it up.

  “Only one?” Reid said. “And I see a lot of other hombres with empty hands.” He gripped her wrist and gave her a push. “Mingle, damn it, before I get my dander up.”

  Chancy’s already was. “Let go of her.”

  “Chancellor, don’t,” Missy said.

  “Chancellor?” Reid said.

  Chancy shoved him, hard. So hard Reid stumbled a couple of steps and bumped into others, and had to grab a chair to keep from falling. His cheeks flushed, and as he straightened, he moved his hand close to his Remington. “You miserable cowpoke,” he snarled. “No one lays a hand on me.”

  “You were laying a hand on Missy,” Ollie said.

  “Keep out of this, jackass,” Reid snapped. He pushed a man to make room and took another half step back. “Whenever you think you’re man enough, cowboy.”

  “Reid, no,” Missy said.

  “Shut the hell up, girl,” Reid snarled without looking at her. “This is your fault for not doing your job.” He fell into a slight crouch, his fingers splayed. “Don’t keep me waiting, boy.”

  Chancy was thunderstruck. He’d never been in a shooting affray. The closest he’d come was once in Texas when he’d witnessed a shootout between two drunks, neither of whom could hit the broad side of the saloon unless they stood next to it. Other drinkers had broken them apart before they did any harm.

  “Say something,” Reid said. “Or are you too busy wetting yourself?”

  Chancy moved a step out from the bar.

  “Pard, no,” Ollie said.

  Missy’s eyes went wide with fright. “Both of you. There’s no need for this. None whatsoever.”

  “I won’t tell you again to shut up,” Reid growled. “This cowpoke laid a hand on me.”

  Chancy’s mouth had gone dry and his heart was thumping in his chest. “You shouldn’t have manhandled her.”

  “She works for me, boy. I can do any damn thing I want.”

  Chancy became aware the saloon had gone quiet. Word had spread, and a roomful of statues were awaiting the outcome.

  “Jerk that smoke wagon, boy,” Reid taunted. “Or should someone do it for you?”

  Chancy girded himself to draw. He had no idea how fast Reid was, but that didn’t matter. He had to prove himself, to show Missy, and everyone else, he wasn’t yellow. He was on the verge of swooping his hand to his own Remington when the unexpected occurred.

  Mayor Broom stepped between them. “That will be quite enough,” he said to Reid. “I leave the saloon for five minutes and look at what happens.”

  “Out of the way,” Reid rasped.

  “You know that’s not going to happen,” Mayor Broom said, “and you know why. I’ll thank you to control yourself and go outside for some fresh air and simmer down.”

  “He laid a hand on me.”

  “He’s with the herd,” Mayor Broom said.

  “I don’t care.”

  “The rest of us do.”

  “I don’t care,” Reid said once more.


  “We don’t get that many. We have to be hospitable. I’ve made that perfectly plain and everyone agreed.”

  “Move out of the way.”

  To Chancy’s considerable surprise, the mayor stayed put.

  “Listen to me, Reid. You can’t let your temper get the better of you. You gave your word, remember? The same as everyone else. I expect you to abide by it. He does too. And you don’t want to make him mad, do you?”

  Chancy figured the mayor must be talking about Ives.

  “Damn it, Broom,” Reid said. “You and your tricks.”

  “This isn’t one of them,” Mayor Broom said. “This is man-to-man. A request, if you will. Back off, or else.”

  Chancy wasn’t quite sure what they were arguing about. Part of it had to do with him, but another matter was at stake, a more important matter, from the way the mayor talked. He decided to apologize. It might smooth Reid’s ruffled feathers, and no one would think less of him.

  But suddenly someone else was there. Ives, the one in black, the two-gun man with the pearl-handled Colts. He seemed to materialize out of thin air. His hands were at his sides, and his posture was as relaxed as if he were in a pew in church. He smiled that icy smile of his and said as mildly as anything, “Problem?”

  Reid went rigid.

  “No,” Mayor Broom said.

  “Sounds like a problem to me,” Ives said. He gazed about the room. “Looks like one too. You could hear a pin drop in here.”

  “I’ve taken care of it,” Mayor Broom said.

  “Have you, now?” Ives squared on Reid, and now his body was as taut as wire and his voice as hard as quartz. “Why is it always you? This makes, what, two or three times now? The last was over your cut.”

  “Ives, no,” Broom said.

  “No more out of you,” Ives said without looking at him. “This is between Reid and me.”

  “I’m not looking for trouble with you,” Reid said.

  “You make trouble for everyone else, you make it with me,” Ives said. “That’s how it’s always been.” He paused. “You have two ways to go. Fill your hand or drag your tail.”

  “That’s no choice.”

  “It’s all you’ve got. Your six-gun, or you say you’re sorry.”