Ralph Compton the Law and the Lawless Page 7

  “Why, that’s quite profound.”

  Boyd’s skin became prickly under his shirt. Fidgeting, he said, “No one has ever called me that before.”

  “Maybe you’ve hid it from everyone.”

  “If I have, I’ve hid it from me too.”

  Laughing, Cecelia reached out and placed her hand on his knee. “This is a good start. I hope we can go on being honest and comfortable with each other.”

  Boyd wasn’t feeling comfortable. He was feeling hot. It was childish, but he couldn’t help himself. To cover his embarrassment he said, “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a glass of water?”

  “Why, certainly.” Cecelia rose and bustled out.

  Bubbling with excitement, Boyd stood and crossed to a front window. He felt twenty years old again. He envisioned her and him going on long rides together, or going into town to eat and shop, or taking strolls in the pasture, and almost laughed at how ridiculous he was being. He might have gone on fantasizing, but a rider went past out on the road and he caught sight of an older man in a well-worn black coat and a weathered hat.

  The man stared at the farmhouse as he went by. It seemed strange, that stare.

  Boyd couldn’t rightly say why. The man’s face wasn’t familiar and Boyd was about to go down the hall and out onto the front porch to watch the man ride off when Cecelia reappeared with a glass of water in each hand.

  “One for you and one for me.”

  Boyd reclaimed his seat on the settee. “I’m obliged.”

  “I don’t mind fetching for a man so long as it’s not always me who does the fetching,” Cecelia said.

  “Anything else I should know?” Boyd asked, half-jokingly.

  “I don’t like a whiner. I don’t like a complainer. I don’t like a man who doesn’t wash regular or doesn’t take care of his teeth. I don’t like a man who goes around in shabby clothes. Not that you do any of that. At least, you haven’t yet, but a woman never really knows.”

  “Good Lord,” Boyd said.

  “Don’t sound so shocked. You must have standards of your own.”

  “Only one that I can think of.”

  “Name it, and if it’s not something that goes against my grain, I’ll do my best to accommodate you.”

  “I like my gal to be girly.”

  “Girly?” Cecelia said, and chortled.

  “Hear me out,” Boyd said. “Some ladies are as bossy as men, always sayin’ how things will be. They carp all the time, about every little thing that bothers them. Or they put on airs, as if they’re a queen and their man is a commoner.”

  “That’s not me,” Cecelia said.

  “I hope not. I’d be powerful disappointed. Out at the pond you’ve always shown a lot of common sense and it would sorrow me to think that was an act and you’re one of those females who likes to trick a man into sayin’ I do.”

  “Why, Boyd Cooper, I had no idea you’re such a man of the world.” Cecelia paused. “Or that marriage is on your mind.”

  “What?” Boyd said, startled, and realized what he’d said about “I do.” “Gettin’ hitched is as far from my mind as bein’ Wild Bill Hickok.”

  “You have to enlighten me with that last part.”

  Boyd told her about the newspapers, and all the fuss, ending with “I’ll be glad when this blows over. I’m not a gun hand and never will be. I tote a badge and have to shoot my revolver now and then, but I don’t carve notches on it, like some do.”

  “Is it true the Attica Kid does? Sam told me he heard that somewhere.”

  “I never met the man. I couldn’t say.”

  “Do you know what Cestus Calloway is like?”

  “A lot of folks like him. They say he’s right friendly, as owl-hoots go.”

  “I hope so,” Cecelia said.

  “What does it matter?”

  “For me, not a lick,” Cecelia said. “But I should think it would matter to you.”

  “How so?” Boyd asked, hoping he didn’t sound stupid for not knowing.

  “Two of his friends are dead on account of your posse and your deputy and you,” Cecelia said. “Some men would take that as a personal affront and want an eye for an eye. Let’s hope Cestus Calloway isn’t one of them.”

  “Amen to that,” Boyd said.

  Chapter 9

  Ira Toomis arrived at the cave shortly after daybreak. He’d ridden all night to get there and was tired and sore. Only Cockeye was up, standing guard, and all he did was grunt when Toomis rode up and dismounted.

  Going to the fire, which had almost died out, Toomis added enough wood to get the flames crackling, and warmed coffee leftover from the night before. As soon as it was hot enough, he filled his cup and drank it black with no sugar. He needed the jolt. As he hunkered, the warm cup between his fingers, he wondered how the others would take the news.

  Toomis knew what he would do, but he wasn’t in charge. By common consent Cestus was their leader, and that was fine by him. He’d freely admit that Calloway was smarter than he was, and he liked riding with a man who outthought everybody. That was rare in outlaw circles.

  Toomis had been living on the shady side of the law for so long that the way of life was as ingrained in him as breathing. He’d stolen a lot of things as a boy, and growing into manhood hadn’t changed anything. He’d only stolen more.

  Stealing was in his blood, he reckoned. His pa had worked the Mississippi riverboats as a pickpocket, and his grandpa had been a footpad.

  Neither ever got caught, and Toomis hoped to do the same.

  He saved every cent he stole, which was why his poke was bigger than the rest. He’d never told anyone, but he was saving for the time when he was too old to steal anymore. He’d take his savings and find a nice, quiet town somewhere and spend his waning days in a rocking chair enjoying the fruits of his stolen spoils.

  Since he joined up with Cestus Calloway, he’d added more to his poke than he ever did by his lonesome, which was another reason why he’d like for things to continue as they were for a good long while. He was worried they wouldn’t. Not with the news he brought. But he had to tell them. They’d find out anyway, eventually.

  Mad Dog Hanks was the first to rouse. Sitting up, he ruffled his unruly hair, jammed his hat on, and saw Toomis. “You’re back.”

  “Seems so,” Toomis said.

  “Don’t start on me,” Mad Dog grumbled.

  Toomis had never met anyone with such a sour disposition. Mad Dog was exactly like his namesake, always foaming at the mouth and ready to bite. It was almost comical. “Did you sleep well?”

  “What the hell do you care?” Mad Dog cast off his blanket and stood. Coming over, he squatted and filled his own cup. “What did you find out?”

  “I’ll tell everyone at once.”

  “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  “Everyone together,” Toomis said. He wouldn’t risk Mad Dog riding off to town in a fury. In addition to being a great grumbler, Mad Dog was bloodthirsty as could be.

  “Keep your secret, then,” Mad Dog said resentfully.

  Cockeye joined them to pour coffee for himself. He grunted at Mad Dog and Mad Dog grunted back.

  “Cestus was sayin’ last night we might hit the Silverton Bank once Larner and McGivern get back,” Mad Dog remarked.

  This was news to Loomis. Good news. The Silverton Bank was a rich one. The town also had a marshal and several deputies. The job would need a lot of planning to do the job right.

  That was another thing Loomis liked about Calloway. The man was a wizard at planning how to get in and get the money and get out again with their hides intact.

  Speak of the Devil. Just then Cestus rolled onto his back, opened his eyes, and saw them. “Mornin’, boys.”

  “Mornin’,” Loomis said.

  Cockeye grunted.


  “Loomis here won’t tell me what he found out,” Mad Dog complained.

  “He likes to put on airs.”

  “I was waitin’ for everbody to get up,” Loomis said.

  “In that case,” Cestus said, and raised his voice. “Kid! Bert! Rise and shine! Ira is back and we should hear what he has to say.” Standing, he stretched and came over to the fire.

  Bert Varrow was slow to come out from under his blankets, but not the Attica Kid. The Kid always sprang up like a cat, fully dressed with his pistol on his hip. The Kid moved like a cat too as he came to the fire.

  Loomis waited for Bert to join them. When all eyes were on him and he couldn’t put it off any longer, he took a breath and declared, “Both Larner and McGivern are dead.”

  “Both?” Cestus said.

  Loomis nodded. “Larner was killed at the lake by the marshal and a cowpoke called Sherm Bonner. A part-time deputy named Dale was involved, but it was the other two who put the lead into Larner.” He took a quick swallow. “McGivern was killed in a saloon. The other deputy, the green one, was there, but it was Sherm Bonner who shot McGivern.”

  “Bonner again,” Mad Dog growled.

  “Both of them,” Cestus said sadly. “I didn’t expect this. I figured McGivern was sleepin’ off a drunk and that was why he hadn’t made it back yet.”

  “I liked him,” Cockeye said.

  “We’ll have to find men to replace them,” Cestus said. “Any of you have anyone you’d recommend?”

  “Hold on,” Mad Dog said. “That’s it? They’re dead and we forget them? To hell with that.”

  “What would you suggest?” Cestus asked.

  “What the hell else?” Mad Dog retorted. “They were good men. We rode with them a long time. We owe it to them to kill the bastards who killed them.”

  “We kill a marshal,” Bert Varrow said, “we’ll have every tin star in the state out to do us in.”

  “They have to catch us first,” Mad Dog said.

  “I’d rather we didn’t,” Cestus said. “Bert is right about killin’ a law dog. It’s not good for business.”

  “Business?” Mad Dog growled. “We rob folks. We’re not no general store. Our business is stealin’. And killin’ those who get in our way.”

  “We haven’t had to kill anyone since we joined up with Cestus,” Toomis remarked.

  “You make that sound like a good thing,” Mad Dog said. “Sometimes killin’ has to be done whether we like it or not. We’re a bunch of outlaws, not a bunch of blamed monks.”

  The Attica Kid surprised them by saying, “Mad Dog is right.”

  “Again?” Mad Dog said.

  “Not you too, Kid?” Cestus said.

  The Kid nodded. “We’re outlaws, sure. And we take pride in what we do. In doin’ it better than anyone else. And in stickin’ together through thick and thin. Or am I wrong?”

  “You’re not,” Bert Varrow said. “Go on.”

  “Two of our own have been bucked out in gore,” the Kid continued. “We let that pass and go on as if nothin’ has happened, and folks will think we’re paper-backed. That as outlaws, we’re worthless.”

  “You’re exaggeratain’,” Cestus said.

  “Am I?” the Attica Kid said. “You know as well as me that fear is the best thing we have goin’ for us when we rob a bank or a stage. The fear we put in those we’re robbin’. The fear that we’ll gun them or knife them if they don’t turn over their money or their valuables. Or am I wrong?” he asked once more.

  “You’re right as rain,” Mad Dog said.

  “If no one is afraid of us, we become a laughin’stock,” the Kid said. “We show up at a bank, they’re more likely to resist. We rob a stage, the passengers are more likely to fight back.” He shook his head. “I, for one, do not intend to become a laughin’stock.”

  Everyone looked at Cestus.

  “I savvy all that,” Cestus said. “I truly do. But revenge can be a costly proposition. We might lose more of us. Do you want that?”

  “We owe it to Larner and McGivern to do in those who did them in,” Mad Dog said. “That cowpoke and the marshal and his deputy, all three.”

  “I strongly advise against it,” Cestus said.

  Bert Varrow cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Cestus, but I side with the Kid and Mad Dog on this. I was a gambler before I took to bein’ an outlaw, and they both have somethin’ in common. We live by our reputations. An outlaw no one is afraid of isn’t much of an outlaw.”

  “That’s just it,” Cestus said. “I’ve worked hard to do the opposite. To have folks like us. That’s why I always give money away as we ride out of a town. I don’t want folks scared of us. I don’t want them to want us dead. It’s important that they don’t put a lot of pressure on the law to corral us and have us hanged.”

  “That’s worked until now,” the Attica Kid said. “And if it had been only Larner they’d shot, I might go along with you. But Larner and McGivern? Two of us, and we do nothin’? I’d be ashamed to ride with an outfit so worthless.”

  “Same here,” Mad Dog said. “I say we find that cowboy and then we jump the marshal and his sidekick and show everyone in the territory that we’re the real article.”

  To Loomis it was obvious which way the wind was blowing. “For what it’s worth, I side with Cestus. But if the rest of you are hell-bent on spillin’ blood, I’ll go along if Cestus does.”

  “Hell,” Cestus said.

  “We haven’t ever bucked you in anything,” Mad Dog said. “You owe us this.”

  “You don’t know what you’re askin’,” Cestus said. “It could ruin everything. And I like how things are.”

  “So do I,” the Attica Kid said. “But which do you put more stock in? The robbin’ or your pride?”

  “I’ve taken pride in not takin’ life.”

  “So now you take pride in takin’ it,” the Kid returned. “Either that or we’re washed up as an outfit.”

  Cestus stared at each of them, a silent question in his eyes. Finally he scowled and said. “It would have to be done right. With a lot of plannin’. The same as when we hit a bank or a stage.”

  “That goes without sayin’,” the Attica Kid said.

  “We need to find out all we can about the punchers and the tin stars,” Cestus said. “Their habits and whatnot.”

  “I figured it might come to this,” Loomis said, “so I nosed around at a few saloons. Talked to a bartender and some others. I learned that Sherm Bonner rides for the Circle T.” He looked over at the Attica Kid. “It might interest you to know that this Bonner has a reputation as a gun hand.”

  “Does he, now?” the Attica Kid said.

  “Bonner has a pard called Lefty. I don’t know anything about him except he’s not much with a six-shooter. It’s Sherm Bonner who’s the quick-draw artist. A fanner, they say.”

  “Better and better,” the Attica Kid said.

  “What are you thinkin’?” Cestus asked. “You and him, straight up?”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s smarter to shook him in the back and be done with it,” Cestus said. “Or better yet, pick him off with a rifle from a distance so that pistol of his doesn’t do him any good.”

  “I’m no back-shooter,” the Kid said.

  “Your damn pride again,” Cestus said, but not angrily.

  “I don’t have much else except this,” the Attica Kid said, and patted his ivory-handled Lightning. “Without both I’m nothin’.”

  “The Circle T is a big spread,” Cestus said, “with a lot of salty cowpokes who ride for the brand.”

  “So I take him when they’re not around,” the Kid said.

  “Him and his pard visit Alpine a lot,” Loomis informed them. “It’s his favorite waterin’ hole.”

  “There you go,” the Attica Kid said
.

  Loomis had more to impart. “That deputy, Hugo Mitchell, you already ran into at the bank. He’s as useless as teats on a bull. He can’t shoot and he’s not too bright. Killin’ him would be as easy as killin’ a puppy.”

  “I’m thinkin’ we should let him be,” Cestus said. “Doin’ him in would be pointless.”

  “The marshal won’t be pointless,” Bert Varrow said.

  “Marshal Cooper has killed his man,” Loomis said. “Down to Kansas, it was. He’s one of those sticklers for the law, but he treats folks decent and most everyone likes him.”

  “Good for him,” Mad Dog said sarcastically.

  “He’s not quick on the shoot, but he might die hard if we go at him from the front,” Loomis said. “He does have a habit, though, we can use against him.”

  “Oh?” Cestus said.

  “He’s friends with some farmer. I followed him to the farm. From what I can gather, he goes out there a lot. It’d be easy to catch him on the road or at the farm and do it with no one else around.”

  “Well, there you go,” the Attica Kid said. “You’ve given us both of them on a platter.”

  Loomis appreciated the compliment. “Thanks, Kid.”

  Once again all eyes were fixed on Cestus Calloway.

  “You have the final say,” Bert Varrow said. “You know how we feel, but I’ll abide by your decision.”

  “Do we or don’t we?” Mad Dog demanded.

  Cestus Calloway sighed. Standing, he gazed about the cave and then down at his wild bunch and announced, “We do.”

  Chapter 10

  Deputy Hugo Mitchell was considerably surprised when someone tried to kill him.

  Mitch was making his usual late-night rounds. He always started at the east end of Main Street and worked his way west, checking the doors of closed businesses, poking his head into saloons, and whatnot. Most of the time it bored him. Crime was rare in Alpine, or had been until recently.

  On this particular night, Mitch had just made sure that the front door to a general store was locked. He gave the door a good shake to make it rattle, then moved on.