Curly Bill and Ringo (5 page)

“Yours,” Curly said, resisting the impulse to look back over his shoulder.

Mad Dog Shorty trembled with anger and fondled the handle of a bowie at his belt. A few of the others let their hands drift toward their guns.

“You tryin’ to make us laugh, Curly?” Pike asked, and one or two of the others did laugh, though it sounded a little forced. “There’s six of us and one of you.”

“You don’t like them odds?” Curly asked. “Would you like for me to turn my back and let you boys get over there behind them rocks?”

They didn’t like that and for a long tense moment they watched him out of cold narrow eyes, ready to grab their guns.

“You boys are right on the edge of the volcano,” Curly said. “Better back off.”

Scar-face Harry turned his head about, trying to listen first with one ear and then the other. Finally he leaned his head over toward Rattlesnake Sam and muttered, ‘’What’s he sayin’?”

“He says we’re on the edge of hell,” Rattlesnake told him.

“Son of a bitch,” Scar-face Harry said.

Pike decided to heed Curly’s warning. He knew Curly couldn’t get them all, but he knew Curly could get him, and that was all he was concerned about. So he made himself relax and folded his hands on the saddlehorn in plain sight. “We got more important things on our minds right now than you, Curly,” he said. “Bear thinks he saw Johnny Ringo ride by the ranch goin’ toward town. You seen him, Curly?”

Curly grinned. “You boys seeing ghosts? You bushwhacked Ringo, remember?”

“Who says so?” Pike asked.

“I do,” Curly said. “I heard you boys bragging about it out at the Lazy G one night. That’s why I quit when the Hatchers did.”

“You was just drunk and thought you heard something you never.”

Curly shook his head. “It was you boys who were drunk, not me.”

“That wasn’t us done that to Ringo,” Pike said, rubbing his bearded mouth and watching Curly with his terrible eyes. “It was them Earps.”

“Then you boys ain’t got a thing to worry about,’’ Curly said.

“Yeah, but he may think it was us.”

“Why would he think that?”

“You prob’ly told him!” Mad Dog Shorty said in a trembling voice.

“Shut up,” Bear Lefferts muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“If it was the Earps, you boys ain’t got a thing to worry about,” Curly said again. “Because if it was them, he’s dead. But if it was you boys, you most likely bungled the job and he may still be alive. But you better hope he’s dead, because if he ain’t, you soon will be.”

There was naked fear in their eyes. Mad Dog Shorty’s face twitched and his watery eyes swam crazily. But this time it wasn’t from hate. In his almost superstitious dread of Ringo, he seemed for a moment to forget his hatred for Curly.

Pike Lefferts never took his narrow eye off Curly, while the other eye, the big round one, seemed to be staring beyond him in stark terror, as if he expected at any moment to see Ringo coming with a gun in his hand and several death warrants in his heart.

“Why’d he wait this long, if it is him? That was way back last year.”

The heavy bones seemed to stand out in Curly’s dark strong face, making it even bigger and rougher. He watched them with open contempt in his bright gray eyes. “I reckon it would take even a man like Ringo a while to get over a thing like that,” he said. “Two or three of you prob’ly missed him, and maybe a couple more only nicked him, but at least one or two of you should of scored a good hit, if only by accident. Not good enough, though.”

“Then it is him,” Pike breathed, and the others muttered like doomed men. “Listen, Curly, the next time you see Ringo, you tell him we never had nothin’ to do with that. It was them Earps.”

“You seem to forget, Pike. The Earps had all left Arizona before that happened.”

“One of them could of snuck back. Prob’ly old Wyatt. He never went to California with them other Earps like some folks think. He’s been in Colorado all the time. He could of snuck back without anyone knowin’ about it. A lot of folks think it was him.”

“If it was Wyatt, what’s Ringo doing here?”

“Like I say, he prob’ly thinks it was us. But you better convince him it wasn’t, and tell him not to come lookin’ for us, if he knows what’s good for him. We’ll kill him if we have to, and this time we won’t miss.”

Curly barked a short laugh, baring his teeth in savage scorn. “Pike,” he said, “if they ever get you in court, you’ll hang yourself. But I don’t think that’s what Ringo’s got in mind. He wants to save you the trouble.”

“Better tell him to forget it,” Pike said. “We don’t plan to just wait around while he picks us off one at a time.”

“I don’t think you should wait around, Pike. I think you boys should clear out just as fast as you can, and go so far Ringo won’t find you.”

Pike bared his yellow teeth in a wolfish grin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Curly? If we cleared out, you and them Hatchers could steal all of Uncle Willy’s cows. Well, it won’t work. Me and the boys has got a good thing here and ain’t nobody gonna spoil it for us. Not you or Ringo or anybody else.”

“I’ve got a feeling Uncle Willy’s about ready to spoil it for you, Pike.”

“That reminds me of something,” Pike said. “Right after Ringo or whoever that was rode by the ranch, Uncle Willy saddled his horse and headed for town without a word to anyone. We thought that was kind of odd. You think Uncle Willy sent for him, Curly?”

“What difference does it make? Your goose is cooked anyway.”

Pike’s grin reappeared, nastier than before. “Maybe not, Curly. Uncle Willy thinks it’s you and them Hatchers that’s stealin’ his cows. If he thought it was us, he would of fired us before now.”

“Uncle Willy ain’t as dumb as you think he is, Pike.”

“Wouldn’t that be a hell of a joke, though?” Pike said. “Maybe Ringo ain’t here after us at all. Uncle Willy might of sent for him to put a stop to you and them Hatchers. He was workin’ with them Earps before, when you thought he was your best friend. He only joined up with you and the Clantons so he could tell the Earps what you boys was up to. And he must of tipped them off about that stage holdup me and the boys was plannin’. If it wasn’t him, I sure don’t know who else it could of been.”

“Is that why you boys bushwhacked him? You thought he told the Earps you were planning to rob a stage?”

“That wasn’t us, Curly. You’re just guessin’. And that’s all Ringo’s doin’, if he thinks it was us.”

“You boys sure played hell that time,” Curly said. “The Earps didn’t know you were alive. They had bigger fish to fry. Ringo didn’t either, till you bushwhacked him.”

“Like I say, Curly, Ringo may not even be here after us. He may of come after you and them Hatchers. He never was your friend, Curly. He just fooled you like he fooled everybody else. Except me. He never had me fooled any of the time.” Pike grinned. “You and them Hatchers is the ones who better make tracks, Curly, while you can. Me and the boys ain’t got a thing to worry about. Ain’t no way Ringo could know who bushwhacked him. And it won’t do no good for you to tell him it was us. He won’t believe you. He knows what a big liar you are, and he’ll soon realize how convenient it would be for you if we was out of the way. Ringo ain’t no fool, I’ll give him that much.”

“He sure ain’t,” Curly agreed.

Pike was enjoying himself. “Hell, Curly, he’d come nigher thinkin’ it was us if you told him it wasn’t.”

Mad Dog Shorty laughed like a hysterical woman, his twitching lips pulled back from his funny little teeth that still clenched his dead cigar. “Shut up,” Bear Lefferts grunted. But Pike didn’t seem to mind the shrill laughter, from the way he kept grinning.

Curly shrugged. “Suit yourself. I tried to give you boys some good advice. If you don’t want to take it, that’s your hard luck. Just remember what I said when you’re looking down the muzzle of Ringo’s gun. It will be the last thing you’ll ever see this side of hell.”

He lifted the reins and was about to ride right through them, when Pike thought of something else. “By the way, Curly,” he said with his malicious grin. “Me and the boys seen Injun sign back up the road a piece. Bear said he could even smell them. But they didn’t bother us. So it must be the one you call Big Nose and four or five others come back after that horse you stole from him. Nobody in their right mind steals horses from the Apaches, Curly. I figgered even you had more sense than that.”

“They stole my pinto,” Curly said.

Pike and some of the others laughed, and Pike said, “ That glass-eyed pinto you give Uncle Willy five dollars for, so he wouldn’t see you ridin’ a horse you stole from him. You admitted as much yourself.”

“It was still my horse.”

“Well, they must not figger it was a fair swap, Curly, that fine Appaloosa for your glass-eyed pinto. It don’t look like Big Nose aims to quit till he gets his horse back and your scalp along with it.”

So far he had managed to keep both the horse and his scalp. But Big Nose had vowed to have them both and had already made several attempts to get them. Sneaking off the reservation with several other wild young bucks, usually on foot in order to lessen the risk of discovery and also in the hope of returning mounted on stolen horses. They had watched for a chance to collect Curly’s scalp and the coveted Appaloosa with little or no risk to themselves, for that was the way Apaches were taught from childhood.

Curly didn’t know Big Nose’s Apache name. Apparently he hadn’t been any great shakes as a warrior until he had set out to recover his prized war horse. But Curly, through his efforts to enlarge himself, had made Big Nose famous also, and the stories had drifted back to his people and now they were making up stories and songs of their own about him and had even started calling him Big Nose or the Apache equivalent.

That was one of the reasons why Big Nose and his little band kept coming back for another try at Curly and the Appaloosa. They liked the way they were cheered by their people on their return and, even if empty-handed, backed up one another’s lies about their adventures. Curly knew the routine.

Ahead there was a jumble of rocks on one side of the road backed by a rough slope covered with brush and cactus, and more rocks and brush on the other side. It was an ideal spot for an ambush. Of course, Apaches were apt to be where you didn’t expect them. But they didn’t know Curly had been warned of their presence in the area, and such a perfect ambush would be almost too good for them to pass up.

He reined in just out of rifle range and lit a cigar, his slitted eyes studying the rocks and brush from under the wide brim of his hat. When he shook the match out he was careful not to make the movement too sudden, and to keep his hands well away from his guns. At various times in his checkered career he had been called a good-natured rogue, a reckless adventurer, a swaggering bully, a harmless clown, a shameless liar and fourflusher, and at various times he had been all of those things, his choice dictated as much by passing fancy as by the requirements of the situation. At the moment he would have liked to assume a new role, that of rank coward. But he had his reputation to consider, and he knew the stories the Apaches told their people would get around sooner or later.

At the same time he had no wish to kill any of the Apaches or to let them kill him. So he decided to detour around the probable ambush ahead, but in a way that would not seem too obvious. Still being careful to make no sudden movements, he began patting his pockets and feeling in them as if he couldn’t find something. Uncle Willy had given him the idea back in town. He looked down at the ground, then turned his head and looked back the way he had come. After a moment he turned the Appaloosa and walked him back along the road, his eyes searching the ground. If he did not miss his guess the Apaches would remain concealed where they were and wait for him to find whatever he was looking for and return. They would have a long wait.

Curly rode back a half mile, then swung off the trail and circled around the likely ambush, picking his way carefully through the rocky eroded hills. Several times he paused to study his back trail but saw no sign that he was being followed, and he felt fairly safe once he was in the canyon where the Hatchers had their ranch. The Apaches had never followed him all the way to the ranch house, which was a thick-walled adobe guarded by a pack of the noisiest, meanest curs he had ever seen.

Curly had long since given up on trying to make friends with those dogs, but at times he still hoped they might come to some sort of understanding and live in peace, tolerating if not liking each other. But the only kind of “piece” those dogs wanted was a fresh piece of his carcass every time he came around. He sometimes thought that the old bitch must have mated with a rabid wolf to produce such a vicious litter, and in fact they all looked a little like overgrown but half-starved wolves. They never got enough to eat and perhaps that was one reason why they tried to devour him every time he got near the place.

Parson Hatcher was sitting on the little front porch in his time-varnished black suit and stovepipe hat, reading his Bible, his eyes and nose dripping. But that didn’t necessarily mean he had been crying. For at this time of the year and on into the summer Parson’s nose and eyes always dripped. He always watched with alarm for the first signs of spring, when his hay fever would commence to drive him crazy. But in the winter he always had a bad cold, so there were times when he couldn’t decide which season he dreaded the most. Though he was a big strong fellow with a healthy black beard, there was always something wrong with him. If it wasn’t a bad cold or hay fever it was gout or a toothache. Most of the time he suffered all these afflictions in silence, believing that he was being punished for past sins. But at times he trembled with anger and raised his bitter black eyes to the heavens and said in a voice that shook like thunder, “I’ve been punished enough!”