Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do (11 page)

They set out at daybreak.

Aces refused to push as hard as they had before, which angered Tyree. Aces pointed out that their horses hadn't had enough rest, that McCarthy had an entire night's lead, and that haste might cause them to lose the tracks they were following. Tyree gave in but he wasn't happy.

Marshal Hitch, on the other hand, was in uncommonly good spirits. Aces mentioned as much when they were riding together.

“Why wouldn't I be in fine fettle?” Fred said. “It's a gorgeous day and no one is tryin' to kill me.”

“Yet,” Aces said, and grinned.

“To be honest, this is the most excitement I've had in my whole life. I'm used to sittin' in my office all day and not doing much of anything,” Fred said. “When we started out for Cheyenne I wasn't pleased the mayor made me go. But now I'm sort of gettin' used to it. I'm not nearly as sore from all the ridin', and I find I like bein' out and about.”

“I'm glad somebody is havin' a good time.”

“The boy has been givin' you grief, I know. Remember he's young yet. He's not as patient as you or me.”

“There's more to it than that,” Aces said. He didn't elaborate.

Fred inhaled and beamed. “Isn't this day gorgeous? I'm beginnin' to understand what some people see in the outdoors.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Are you pokin' fun at my gray hairs?” Fred rejoined. “I admit I'm not the sharpest knife in the toolshed. It takes me a while to figure things out. I'm like the tortoise in that story about the tortoise and the hare.”

“You don't say.”

“I do. A man should know his limitations, and mine are that I'm slow but steady. I'll stick on McCarthy's trail from now until Armageddon if that's what it takes to bring him to bay.”

“Tyree will be happy to hear that.”

“He worries you, doesn't he?”

“Some,” Aces admitted.

“Remember. People don't usually change overnight. Or in a week or two either. You've only known him a short while and you've done him more good than anybody else. Give it more time and I bet he'll change considerably.”

Aces admired the lawman's attitude, but he was more practical. There was only so much he could do to help the boy. The rest, Tyree had to do on his own.

Toward noon they came on a herd of cattle. Aces spied several cowboys in the distance and figured the punchers would ride over to find out who they were, but the cowpokes were riding to the east and didn't spot them.

McCarthy's tracks continued north.

Aces wondered where the killer was bound. Certainly not to Sweetwater, where everyone knew what he had done.

“He's pushin' awful hard,” Fred remarked at one point.

“Probably switchin' animals like he did before,” Aces said.

“Even two will tire out after a while,” Fred said. “He'll be lucky to make it to the mountains.”

To Aces's immense frustration, McCarthy did.

That night they camped in a clearing by a stream, ringed by pines and spruce. The beans had lost their appeal. Aces hankered after a thick steak dripping with fat juice, and a mess of potatoes besides.

Gazing about them, Tyree said, “Here we are again. In two days we'll be in Sweetwater, and won't that tickle your mayor?”

“He'll make me a laughingstock,” Fred predicted. “Tell everyone I can't do my job.”

“Well, we have lost McCarthy twice,” Tyree said. “It's not anything to crow about.”

Aces was about to say that he would crow when McCarthy was behind bars in Cheyenne and not before, when a scream carried to them on a gust of wind, a faint, high-pitched shriek that hinted at unspeakable horror.

Fred shot to his feet. “Lord Almighty, did you hear that?”

“How could I not?” Tyree said. “It gave me goose bumps.”

Standing, Aces turned into the wind. “It wasn't an animal.”

Fred came around the fire to stand next to him. “You don't reckon it was McCarthy, do you?”

“It better not have been,” Tyree declared. “They pay more if he's alive. Guess they want to put on a show with a trial and whatnot.”

After a while they sat back down. Aces refilled his tin cup and thought about something he should have thought about sooner. “The Arapahos.”

“What about them?” Fred said.

“It could be they're still around.”

“You reckon they're to blame for that scream?” Tyree said.

“We'll take turns keepin' watch,” Aces proposed.

No one objected. Fred offered to sit up first, and Tyree said he didn't mind being second.

So it was that along about two in the morning, Aces
was roused by a nudge on his leg. The fire had burned low and the horses were dozing. “Anything happen?”

“I was bored silly,” Tyree said. “Heard some coyotes and a bear once, that was all.” Yawning, he shuffled to his bedroll. “I'm losin' more sleep over McCarthy than I have over all the others I've gone after.”

A brisk breeze had brought a chill. Aces huddled with his hands close to the flames. His knee had stopped hurting, but his leg was stiff and gave him twinges when he moved. He wouldn't be doing any running for a few days.

Other than the occasional chirp of a cricket, the night had gone unusually still.

Aces was glad he could sit there and relax. It had been one thing after another for days now, and the reprieve was welcome. He could use a deck of cards to pass the time. The thought brought back memories of his gambling days. He had no regrets about giving up a life of luck to tend cattle, although now and then he missed the excitement.

No sooner did that cross his mind than another scream pierced the night. As far off as the first, it was a tremulous wail of utter despair. Aces was on his feet before it died. He moved to the edge of the clearing, trying to gauge the direction and distance. To the northwest, he decided, maybe a mile or more. He was tempted to investigate, but it would be foolhardy to bumble around in the dark.

Neither Tyree nor Marshal Hitch stirred.

Aces scoured the mountains. In all that dark sprawl of untamed wilderness, there wasn't a light anywhere. It galvanized him into going to their fire and putting it out. He should have done it sooner.

The rest of the night crawled on the tiny feet of a centipede. In the gray of predawn, birds broke into chorus and deer came out of the undergrowth to graze and drink.

All appeared normal.

Aces woke his companions. No one was hungry. They
were saddled and ready when a golden arc blazed on the horizon.

Assuming the lead, Aces headed northwest. He went over a mile without finding anything and was about convinced that he'd been mistaken about the direction when he rounded a bend in a game trail and beheld a flat bank bordering a stream—and on it, staked out naked, a white man.

Tyree was first off his horse. “No, no, no,” he said, running over. “You damn jackass. Why'd you have to go and run off?”

“I was afraid of this,” Marshal Hitch said. “A man alone doesn't stand a prayer. He brought it on himself.”

Alighting, Aces stood over the victim. “I reckon you're sorry that you didn't give yourself up at Sutter's Stump.”

Tom McCarthy had been mutilated. Certain body parts had been cut off, and he'd been scalped. That he still had his tongue was a miracle, almost as big a miracle as the fact that he was still alive. “Is that you, Hitch? And Tyree?”

“It's us,” Tyree said, moving closer. “What did they do to your eyes?”

“Cut them,” McCarthy said.

“Was it the Arapahos?” Aces needed to know.

McCarthy nodded, and winced. “Caught me when my guard was down. I hadn't seen any sign of them, so I figured they were long gone.” He licked lips that weren't there. “Never thought I would end like this.”

“I could have told you,” Fred said.

“You've cost me two thousand dollars, you stupid yack,” Tyree said. “Good riddance.” Turning his back, he walked off.

Aces hunkered. “Is there anything I can get you? Water? Food? You name it.”

“Brains,” McCarthy said, and laughed bitterly.

Aces fought down a wave of revulsion. “Tyree, you should join us.”

“The hell I will,” the boy replied. He was sulking and leaning against an oak. “He has spoiled everything.”

“Come join us anyway.”

Tyree cussed and smacked the oak. “I shouldn't, but for you I will.” He came back and planted himself and folded his arms. “What do you want me to do?”

“Feel a little sorry for him.”

“Now I've heard everything,” Tyree said. “He's a murderer, for cryin' out loud. His wife, his friend, that dove. You want to feel sorry for someone; feel sorry for them.”

“That's all right, kid,” McCarthy said. “I was your age once.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “I'd like to be your age now, knowing what I know that I didn't back then. I'd like to live my whole life over and not make the mistakes I did the first time.” He shuddered some more, his neck muscles bulging. “The pain,” he said softly. “The pain.”

“I can end it,” Aces offered.

“No, thanks,” McCarthy said. “I'll milk what's left to me, pain or no pain. I've never taken life for granted, and I won't start now.”

“It was nice knowin' you back in Sweetwater,” Fred said. “You always treated everyone decent.”

“For a murderer?” McCarthy said.

“For a human being.”

“That was kind of you, Fred. I won't forget it.”

“For the love of heaven,” Tyree said. “Did any of you bring a violin? You're dyin', mister. You've been cut to ribbons and it's what you deserve for what you did. Hell, you'd have been better off hanged.”

“That'll be enough,” Aces said.

“You wanted me to join you,” Tyree said. “Here I am. Just don't expect me to weep and blubber.”

“That's the spirit, kid,” McCarthy said.

“I hate you,” Tyree responded.

Aces changed the subject by asking, “Which way did the war party go? Those Arapahos?”

“I couldn't tell with my eyes put out.”

“Ask him what the sky looks like, why don't you?” Tyree said.

Aces could have hit him.

“Would you like some words said over you?” Fred asked. “I've never read the Bible all the way through, but I know a few passages.”

McCarthy showed some interest. Tilting his head toward the sound of Fred's voice, he said, “What would you say over me?”

“You want to hear it now?”

“I can't when I'm dead.”

Flustered, Fred said, “I'll have to think about it some. I know Psalm Twenty-three, but that's hardly fittin'.”

“Why not?” McCarthy said.

“Well, in that case,” Fred said, and cleared his throat. “Let's see. How does it go again?” He paused. “‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.'” Fred stopped and scratched his chin.

“Is that all you remember?” McCarthy said.

“No. Give me a minute.” Fred did more scratching. “Now I recollect.” He took a breath. “‘He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake—'”

“Oh, for Pete's sake,” Tyree interrupted. “He strangled his wife and you're quotin' Scripture over him?”

“Even a strangler deserves that much,” Fred said.

“Go on,” Aces said.

“I'm not sure I remember it all, but I do this next part,” Fred said. “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'” He started to go on, stopped, and sadly shook his head. “Dang. That's all I can recollect at the moment.”

“That was fine,” McCarthy said, and turned his sightless eyes to the sky. “God, please forgive me.”

“Just die already,” Tyree said.

“Death comes to all of us, boy,” McCarthy said. He was weakening and they could barely hear him. “It'll come for you one day, like a thief in the night, and that'll be the end of you like this is the end of me.” He gasped, stiffened, and gave up the ghost.

“Finally,” Tyree said.

Tyree was as mad as could be for three whole days.

He'd needed the two thousand he'd have been paid. He only had about forty to his name. To be so close to finally learning the name of his parents' murderers and then to be thwarted infuriated him.

Sometimes it seemed as if Tyree had been hunting their murderers forever. The hunt was everything to him. He lived it, breathed it. Some might say he was wasting himself, that he should come to terms with his loss and get on with his life. Especially since he had only been an infant when they were slain. He never knew his folks. He'd never heard their voices, never been hugged or hugged them in return. He had no idea whatsoever what they had been like. He didn't even know the color of their eyes.

So it made sense to get on with his life.

Problem was, Tyree couldn't forget them. Something inside him, something deep down that he couldn't account for, drove him to find their murderers. He'd tried to explain it to others and couldn't. It wasn't love. You couldn't love someone if you didn't know him. It wasn't out of fond memories. He didn't have any. It was something else. A compulsion he could no more resist than he could eating or sleeping.

It was why he became a bounty hunter. The men he
was after were criminals. Outlaws. To find them, he had to deal with others of their kind. He could ask around. Had they ever heard of an incident in Missouri? His hope was that one day he'd get lucky.

He was too young to wear a tin star or he might have become a lawman. A badge could sometimes get people to talk.

Since he couldn't tote tin, the bounty work seemed a smart way to conduct his hunt. He had dealings with the criminal element, and he wasn't tied to any one place. He could go wherever the trail led him.

It had been a tidbit of information from an outlaw he'd brought to bay in Kansas City that had brought Tyree to Cheyenne. The man bought his freedom with it. Tyree had asked his usual questions, and to his surprise, the outlaw claimed to know someone who knew the three men who were to blame. The outlaw had offered to tell him where to find the one who knew if Tyree let him go.

Tyree had agreed. He'd packed his saddlebags and left for Cheyenne the very next day. He looked for bounty work and a man offered him the chance to bring in Tom McCarthy.

He hadn't counted on McCarthy dying.

He hadn't counted on a lot of things this time.

First there was Marshal Fred Hitch. Tyree couldn't decide whether the lawman had taken a fatherly interest in him, or whether it was Hitch's natural niceness that accounted for him acting like a mother hen. Tyree liked the man, sort of, but he was next to worthless in a fight and had about as much vim and vinegar as a lump of clay.

Aces Connor was an entirely different matter. Tyree respected him, looked up to him. And why not? Aces was a bona fide gun hand. A man-killer. And for some reason he too had taken an interest in Tyree.

Tyree had leaped at the opportunity to learn gun handling from Aces. Learn from the best, people were always saying. He wasn't nearly as happy about his newfound mentor's constant carping to him about right and wrong.
He didn't share Aces's desire to always do right. To Tyree, right and wrong were fuzzy notions that seldom applied to the needs of the moment. He did what he had to when it needed to be done and didn't worry about whether he should or not.

Now, the morning after they'd buried Tom McCarthy, Tyree sat at the fire, nursing a cup of coffee and fuming. “I'll have to go after another bounty as soon as I get back to Cheyenne. That gent who knows one of the buzzards who killed my folks won't say who it is unless he gets that five hundred.”

“If he even knows,” Aces said.

“He said he does.”

Marshal Hitch shook his head. “You're too trustin', son. Only pay him half and tell him he gets the rest when he proves he's not tryin' to trick you.”

“I'm not your son, law dog,” Tyree said. “And he won't tell me unless it's the full five hundred.”

“He'll tell me,” Aces said.

Tyree was mightily pleased but hid the fact. “You aim to tag along with me once we get there?”

“Why not?” Aces said. “I've got nothin' else to do. And you and me are pards now, aren't we?”

“I've never had a pard before,” Tyree said, dazzled by the offer.

Marshal Hitch cleared his throat. “I reckon I'll tag along too.”

Tyree was puzzled. “What on earth for? Your part in this is over. The mayor wanted you to help me take McCarthy to Cheyenne. Well, McCarthy's dead, so you have no reason to come along. Go back to Sweetwater and roost in that office of yours and sip your flask and be happy.”

“To tell the truth, I'd like nothin' better,” Fred said. “But I find I'd like to see this through.”

“See what through? Me findin' the murderers? What are they to you?”

“Nothin'. It's not them. It's us. I've never, ever done
anything like this, Tyree. Common sense tells me I should do as you say. But part of me wants to go on. Helpin' you is only part of it. The rest has to do with me. With doing something I've never done before. With livin' for a change, and not hidin' from life. When it's over I'll go back to my hidey-hole.”

“I don't know,” Tyree said. He was skeptical the lawman could be of help. And he didn't like being mothered.

“You won't have any jurisdiction in Cheyenne,” Aces mentioned.

“I'm still a marshal,” Fred said. “People will be less likely to give you trouble if I'm along. Most won't buck a tin star.”

“I don't know,” Tyree said again.

“Give him a chance,” Aces said. “What can it hurt?”

Tyree agreed, reluctantly, and was tilting his cup to his lips when he happened to gaze into the forest and saw a pair of eyes gazing back at him. Startled, he dropped the cup and leaped to his feet, drawing both Colts as he rose.

“What on earth?” Fred blurted.

“A redskin,” Tyree said. “I saw him as plain as anything.” Well, the eyes, at least, and some of the face.

Aces was up, his own Colt leveled. “One of the Arapahos?”

“It could be all of them,” Fred said worriedly, scrambling up. “They came back to see if McCarthy had given up the ghost.”

“Or they were out there the whole time,” Aces said. “Watchin' and waitin' for a chance to jump us.”

Tyree wasn't hankering to die. Not with his quest unfinished. “I have no quarrel with them. Let's light a shuck.”

“And hope they don't come after us,” Fred said.

Aces covered them while they saddled the horses, his included. Revolvers unlimbered, they made off to the south.

The skin on Tyree's back crawled. He kept expecting
to take an arrow. Head twisted, he didn't relax until they'd gone over half a mile. “No sign of them,” he said in relief.

“Let's hope it stays that way,” Aces said.

They rode until noon and stopped to rest their animals. Tyree walked in circles to stretch his legs, then went over to where Aces sat on a log watching their back trail.

“You sure are a worrier,” Tyree teased.

“I'm fond of breathin'.”

Reaching behind him to move his saber, Tyree joined him on the log.

“I've been meanin' to ask,” Aces said. “Isn't it uncomfortable walkin' around with that armory of yours? You have to keep movin' the saber, and the bowie is always flappin' around.”

“I'm used to it, I suppose.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“I told you before. The saber was my grandpa's. The bowie was my pa's. They're all I have of my past. I'm keepin' them with me until the day I die.”

“You could put them somewhere for safekeepin',” Aces suggested. “Those derringers too.”

“All that would leave me are my Colts.”

“They should be all you need.”

Tyree wasn't fond of being lectured to, and Aces had taken to doing that a lot lately. “You live your life your way. I'll live mine my own.”

“You have a thick head, boy, and that's no lie,” Aces said, but he grinned as he said it.

“I'm not used to someone givin' me advice,” Tyree confessed. “I've been on my own my whole life.”

“I only offer it when I think it will help.”

Tyree fingered the bowie's sheath and looked over his shoulder at the saber's hilt.

He supposed he did look a mite silly toting them around. But he didn't have a normal keepsake like a watch or a ring. And the same compulsion that drove him to hunt down the murderers also made him want to
cling to the only links he had to those who had brought him into the world.

Resting his chin in his hand, Tyree closed his eyes. Sometimes he wished he wasn't so driven. He should take a job as a clerk somewhere and live an ordinary life and forget about his pa and his ma. He should, but he couldn't. What sort of son would he be if he did? No son at all.

Opening his eyes, Tyree sighed.

“Something eatin' at you?” Aces asked.

“Just the usual.”

Marshal Hitch walked over, looking worried. “They're after us. The war party. I feel it in my bones.”

“There hasn't been any sign of them,” Aces said.

“There won't be until they're ready to jump us,” Fred said. “But they're out there, bidin' their time.”

That was all Tyree needed. To be attacked and slain before he accomplished his life's purpose.

“It's your nerves talkin',” Aces said.

“I know what I know,” Fred replied, “and nothin' you say can change my mind.”

“You and Tyree have that in common,” Aces said, chuckling.

Tyree wasn't amused. He was as unlike the law dog as a body could be. He wasn't timid. He didn't hide from the world. When things got rough, he got rough right back. Give as good as he got, that was his motto.

Presently they moved on.

Tyree rode alongside Aces. The cowboy seldom said much when they were on the go. The lawman, on the other hand, was a chatterbox. Always going on about this or that. It annoyed Tyree no end.

The middle of the afternoon found them winding down out of the mountains. Below stretched the plain that would take them to Sutter's Stump, and beyond. Tyree wondered out loud if they should stop when they got there.

“Are you loco?” Fred said. “Twice we barely got out with our lives. Give it a wide berth, I say.”

They were descending the last slopes. Aces was in the lead, and as he went around a blue spruce he drew sharp rein. Bending low from the saddle, he said, “Look here.”

Hoofprints pockmarked the earth.

Tyree knew fresh ones when he saw them. And he noticed something else. “They're not shod.”

“No,” Aces said.

“The Arapahos,” Fred exclaimed, unlimbering his six-shooter. “They circled around in front of us, I'll bet. That's why we haven't seen any sign of them behind us.”

“Be my guess,” Aces said. Straightening in his saddle, he drew his ivory-handled Colt and held it on his thigh.

“When we reach the prairie,” Fred said, “there won't be any cover.”

“Which means they aim to jump us between here and there,” Aces predicted.

“Oh, hell,” Fred said.

Tyree didn't blame him for being anxious. His own mouth went dry at the prospect of fighting Indians. Drawing his right Colt, he said, “What if we do some circlin' of our own? Swing wide and go around them.”

“Depends on how spread out they are,” Aces said, “and how badly they want to count coup on us.”

“They're young warriors,” Fred said.

“So?” Tyree said.

It was Aces who answered. “So they have something to prove to themselves and to their tribe. If they take our scalps back, there will be a feast and a dance in their honor. They'll be praised as great warriors.”

“I don't want my hair to end up hangin' in some lodge,” Fred said. “Let's avoid them if we can.”

“Stay close,” Aces said, and reined to the east. For a quarter of a mile he rode parallel to the plain. “This should be far enough,” he declared, and reined down.

“I hope you're right,” Fred said.

Tyree was sure they'd outwitted the redskins. And once they reached the plain, the warriors could eat their dust.

A final slope was all that remained. Thick with timber, it was plunged in shadow. Their horses made little noise on the carpet of pine needles.

They came to the last rank of trees, and Fred laughed. “We did it,” he said happily. “Will wonders never cease?”

That was when an arrow streaked out of nowhere and struck him in the shoulder.