Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do (14 page)

Tyree had been seeking clues to the murderers of his parents for so long—it seemed like his entire life—that now, on the verge of finding out, a jolt of excitement coursed through him. “Tell me everything,” he said, moving closer to Moses. “Every little thing you can recollect.”

Moses rubbed the hen's egg on his temple. “Before I do, I should tell you a few things. I was born in Missouri. Seems like a hundred years ago.” He grinned, but no one grinned with him. “I was raised on a farm but hated farmin'. It was too much work. Always havin' to get up at the crack of dawn to milk the cows and feed the chickens. All that plowin' and plantin'. All the threshin' and pickin'. Farmers work themselves to the bone.”

“What does this have to do with my folks?” Tyree snapped.

“Bear with me, boy. Your pard has beat on me and I'm doing this for free, so bear the hell with me.”

“Get on with it,” Aces said.

“Where was I? Oh yes, the farm. When I was about the boy's age here, I decided enough was enough. I was tired of workin' myself to the bone, and for what? Sure, the meals were good. My ma was a fine cook. Most farmin' ladies are. But my pa barely made enough money to get by. Farmers don't usually get rich, now, do they?”
Moses grinned again, then said, “Don't any of you have a sense of humor?”

Fred chuckled.

“Anyhow,” Moses continued gloomily, “I left the farm to make my own way in the world. But little did I know.”

“Let me guess,” Fred said. “You found it was just as hard to make a livin' at everything else.”

“That's what I learned,” Moses said. “I tried diggin' ditches. I mended fences. I shoveled manure. Hated all of it. I thought bein' a clerk looked easy, so I got a job at a general store. The owner about worked me to death and paid me barely enough to buy my meals. It was one thing after another, and finally I learned my lesson.”

“I can't wait to hear it,” Fred said.

“I learned that workin' for a livin' is a fool's proposition,” Moses said. “The smart thing to do is not to work. The smart thing is to take what you want by any means you can.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Fred said.

Tyree wished he would stop interrupting. He was anxious to get to the part about his ma and pa.

“I robbed my first man the day I turned sixteen,” Moses said. “Some old geezer who was walkin' home late one night, and I took a rock to the back of his noggin. Heard later that he was never the same. He couldn't talk right or somethin' like that. But the important thing was that the old bastard had sixty-two dollars in his poke.” Moses brightened at the memory. “More money than I'd ever seen. More than my pa made in half a year of grubbin' at the land. I had found my callin'.”

“Outlaw,” Fred said.

“Not how you mean. Not at first,” Moses said. “I robbed, mostly. I'd visit a town or settlement and stay a couple of days gettin' to know who was who and what was what, and then I'd pick a likely prospect and help myself to his poke or their purse and move on.”

“The law didn't catch on?”

“There wasn't a lot of it back in those days,” Moses said. “Only the big towns had marshals. Most of the law work was done by the sheriffs, and they had whole counties to cover. I was crafty enough not to do two robberies in a row in the same county. Took a lot of ridin', but I was young then and didn't mind.”

“Did you shoot or knife anybody?” Fred asked.

Tyree looked at him.

“What?” Fred said.

“Not durin' my robbin' days, no,” Moses said. “Most folks, you point a pistol at them, they'll hand over their valuables without much of a fuss.”

“I wonder why,” Fred said.

“Let him tell it,” Aces said. “I don't aim to be here all day.”

“Thank you,” Tyree said.

Moses grew more at ease as he talked. Tyree got the impression the old man had never done this before, never opened up to others about his life of skullduggery and crime.

“I kept at it for a couple of years. The most I ever robbed was from some fella who had close to three hundred dollars on him. Usually it was less.” Moses placed his hands in his lap and became thoughtful. “That was when I started to fall in with hard characters. I spent most of my time in saloons. Gambled a lot. Drank a lot. Met some who lived as I did, or worse.”

“How worse?” Tyree found himself interrupting as Fred had done.

“I was never a killer, boy. I didn't harm anyone if I didn't have to. Not even when me and a gang robbed a few banks, and once a damn train.” Moses paused. “But there are killers out there. Men who will snuff you as quick as look at you. They're the ones who are worse. The ones you have to tread easy around. Like your pard here.” He nodded at Aces.

“I'm not no killer,” Aces said.

“You told me yourself that you've shot five men in the past year or so,” Moses said. “That don't make you no parson.”

“It was them or me,” Aces said. “When a man points a gun at you intendin' to do you in, you defend yourself.”

“Well, there are some that don't need that excuse. They point their guns first. They are killers no matter how you cut it.”

“Puck Tovey was a killer,” Marshal Hitch said.

“Missouri had its share,” Moses said. “I met more than a few. And about fifteen years ago, I think it was, I was playin' cards in Jefferson City with a friend by the name of Tucker. He was a lot like me. Grew up in a cabin in the woods and took to robbin'. He never killed anybody either. Then he fell in with a pair who had, and not once but a lot of times.” Moses looked at Tyree. “Which almost brings us to your folks.”

“Finally,” Tyree said.

Moses glanced at the ivory-handled Colt Aces was still pointing at him, and sighed. “My friend was unhappy. Said he didn't know they were such a gun pair when he helped them rob a stage. They took him on other jobs. He didn't want to go, but he did. And just when he's tellin' me this, two fellas walk in and come over to our table. ‘That's them,' Tucker whispered.” Moses lowered his own voice. “That was when I first set eyes on Dunn and Lute.”

“Were they brothers?” Fred asked.

“Hell no. What gave you that idea? Dunn is white and Lute is black. But they are peas in a pod. One look at them and you know—you
know
—that they are mad dogs who don't have a lick of love anywhere in their bodies.”

“Love is a strange word comin' from you,” Aces said.

“Why? I've had me a gal a time or three. I loved my folks. I just didn't want to be like them. No, you're mixin' apples and oranges. Dunn and Lute are ice inside. They have no feelin's for anybody. They will kill man or woman with no more regard than you would swat a fly.”

“Or kill a baby, maybe?” Fred said.

Moses looked at Tyree. “That too.”

For about a minute the old highwayman didn't speak and no one urged him to. Then Aces said, “Get on with it.”

Moses nodded. “Dunn and Lute had come to get Tucker for a stage job. I learned about it later, the next time I ran into Tucker. That was pretty near a year later. I was passin' through a place called Monegaw Springs and had a powerful thirst, so I stopped at the saloon. And who should I see but my friend Tucker, sittin' by himself and chuggin' on a bottle? I went over and damn near couldn't believe my eyes when I saw he was cryin'.”

“Cryin'?” Fred repeated.

“You heard me. Tucker sat there guzzlin' that whiskey with tears wettin' his cheeks. It spooked me, a grown man like him. I'd taken a chair and asked if he was all right and he looked at me and said he'd never be all right again.”

Tyree and Aces and Fred waited.

“I asked him what the matter was, and he said it was Dunn and Lute. The law had posters out on them, and things were too hot in Missouri, so they were fixin' to leave and head west where there'd be easier pickin's.”

“But why the cryin'?” Fred said.

“I'm gettin' to that.”

“Fred, please,” Tyree said.

Moses pressed a hand to his forehead. “I asked Tucker what there was to cry about if he was going to be shed of them, and he said he wasn't, that they'd told him he was going with them. I said he didn't have to if he didn't want to, and he said no one told Dunn and Lute no. He said they were camped outside the Springs and he had come in for a drink to get away from them for a while.”

“So he was cryin' because he wanted to be shed of them,” Fred said.

“No, you dang nuisance,” Moses said angrily. Calming himself, he fixed on Tyree. “Tucker was cryin' on account of a baby.”

Tyree thought his heart had stopped.

“It seems that Dunn and Lute were going around gettin' travelin' money, as they called it, by robbin' farms and whatnot. They'd come on a homestead with a farmer and his missus and the baby. Dunn shot the man and Lute shot the woman, and Dunn wanted Tucker to kill the kid. ‘And did you?' I asked him. And Tucker looked at me, all wildlike, and stood up and walked out without sayin' so much as good-bye. And that was the last I saw of him for a good long while. I'd forgotten about the homesteader and the baby until the kid here showed up and started askin' around if anyone knew anything about a Missouri farmer and his family who'd been murdered years ago.”

“All my askin' finally paid off,” Tyree said. He'd done it in St. Louis. In Kansas City. In Denver. Now here in Cheyenne.

“I'll be honest, boy. I wasn't going to tell you a damn thing,” Moses said. “But then I got a sign from heaven, as my ma used to say.”

“An angel appeared to you in a dream?” Fred said.

“Ain't you funny?” Moses said. “No, it weren't that kind of sign. I was at the other end of town, or the city, I should say, and I went into a general store for some chaw. I saw someone with an apron sweepin' the floor, and it shocked me so much I turned around and walked back out.”

“It must have been Dunn or Lute,” Fred guessed.

“Sweepin' a floor? What do you use for brains? They'd no more work at clerkin' than they would herdin' sheep. They kill for a livin'. That's what they do.”

“You saw Tucker,” Tyree realized.

Moses nodded. “He looked a heap different. A lot of his hair is gone and what's left is mostly gray. And he's lost a lot of weight. But it was him. I'm as sure as anything.”

“Dunn and Lute?” Tyree said. “Do you know where they are?”

“How would I, boy?”

“Tucker might,” Aces said.

“If anyone does, it'd be him,” Moses said. “And for five hundred dollars I was going to take you over there personally and introduce you. But now you've spoiled that. Now you can go yourself. And you know what? I hope he doesn't know. I hope he's no help at all.”

“That's damn mean,” Tyree said.

“What do you expect after your pard went and walloped me? I was going to play fair by you, as your pard likes to say, but now you both can go to hell. I want nothin' more to do with you.”

“I like that idea,” Aces said.

“About us bein' shed of him?” Tyree said.

“About him introducin' you to Tucker.”

Moses sat up. “Didn't you hear me? I'm not doing any such thing. You know all you need to. You're on your own.”

“How about you take us there right now?” Aces said.

A flush spread from Moses's chin to his hair. “You prod and you prod. I suppose if I don't, you'll pistol-whip me again.”

“No,” Tyree said. “He won't.”

Both Aces and Moses said, “What?” at the same time.

Tyree regarded the old outlaw a few moments. “I'm much obliged for what you've told me. To be honest, I'd about given up hope of ever learnin' who was to blame. Like you say, comin' across you was a godsend. I don't blame you for being mad at us, what with us runnin' you down and all.”

“You don't?” Moses said.

“You say you had a ma and pa, and you left them to be on your own,” Tyree said in mild amazement. “I can't imagine doing that. I've gone my whole life without any parents. To me, you turned your back on the two people who should have mattered the most. The two who brought you into the world. The two who fed you and put clothes on your back. So what if it was hard work? You were a family. Don't you know how precious that was?”

“Hell, boy,” Moses said.

“So go your own way,” Tyree said. “I'd like for you to take me to this Tucker, but I won't have my pard force it on you. And as soon as I make some bail money, I'll pay you. Not the full five hundred. That's too much and you know it. But I'll pay you a hundred when I can, and that should make us even.”

“You'd do that after I damn near choked you to death?”

“I would,” Tyree said, not at all sure what was making him say it. By rights he should shoot the old goat.

“Well, now,” Moses said, “if you can be that generous, so can I. I'll take you to Tucker. Just don't hold it against me later.”

“Why would I?” Tyree said.

“Because if Tucker does know where you can find Dunn and Lute, you'll likely go after them and they will kill you dead.”

Tyree was glad that Moses had come around to doing as he wanted. The old man wasn't as coldhearted as he'd appeared.

They made their way along the busy streets of Cheyenne, Tyree only a few steps behind Moses, Aces and Fred Hitch trailing after.

Statehood had put most everyone in a festive mood. There was a lot of laughing and people whooping and hollering.

When someone nudged his elbow, Tyree assumed it must be one of the people who hemmed him. Then Aces materialized, looking grim.

“It's a trick,” Aces said so only Tyree would hear.

Distracted by all the commotion, Tyree said absently, “What is?”

“Are you turnin' into a simpleton? Moses is up to somethin'. Don't let your guard down.”

Tyree was all interest. “What makes you think so?” He'd pegged Moses as being sincere.

“He did all he could to get away from us and wouldn't cooperate until I threatened to shoot him.”

Tyree shrugged. “He had a change of heart, is all.”

“Not him. He's a chip of flint inside. A lot of the old-timers are like that. They don't back down, ever. And they sure don't betray their friends.”

“I don't know as I agree.”

“You want to believe him, fine. Just be careful. Fred and I have your back, but there's no tellin' what Moses will do.” Aces dropped back to be with the marshal.

Tyree grew uneasy. His newfound pard was a good judge of character. If Aces said not to trust Moses, then he shouldn't.

But Moses sure was acting friendly. He looked at Tyree every now and again and gave a slight smile.

They rounded a corner and started up another street. A particularly loud crowd filled it, and Tyree found himself completely surrounded. He lost sight of Moses. He tried to shoulder through those ahead of him, but they were slow to give way. “Let me by,” he said. Hardly anyone paid attention.

Panic set in. Tyree rose onto the tips of his toes but couldn't see Moses. He jumped up and down and still didn't. He commenced to push and shove, and more than a few glares were thrown his way.

“Watch what you're doing, boy,” a burly man warned.

“No pushing,” another snapped.

Tyree ignored them. If he lost Moses, all the trouble he had gone to would be for nothing. All the years of going from city to city, all his time spent tracking down wanted men, all the hours of mingling with those on the wrong side of the law to ask if any had ever heard of his folks.

A dandy in a suit and derby suddenly barred Tyree's way. He sought to go around, but the wall of people prevented him. “Let me pass,” he hollered, but the dandy didn't so much as look at him.

Tyree was losing his temper. The celebration was no excuse for people to be rude. He attempted to squeeze between the dandy and another man and the dandy pushed him.

“Watch what you're doing, youngster.”

“Out of my damn way,” Tyree bristled.

The dandy was talking to a friend and smiling, but now he looked sharply at Tyree and lost the smile. “Don't cuss at me, boy. And don't tell me what to do.”

“I'm tryin' to get past.”

“You'll have to be patient,” the dandy said. “Everyone is moving as slow as turtles.”

“Just move a little.”

“Quit pestering me,” the dandy said, and turned back to his friend.

Tyree placed his hands on his Colts, but just then Moses appeared in front of the dandy and wagged a finger in his face.

“Let the kid past, consarn you.”

“What are you, his grandpa?” the dandy said, but he moved enough that Tyree could move on.

“I'm obliged,” Tyree said to Moses.

The old man wheeled. “Keep up, boy. I'm doing this against my better judgment and I want to get it over with.”

It continued to be slow going. Tyree chafed at the delay every step of the way. He distinctly recalled Moses saying that Tucker worked at a general store, so he was surprised when the old man veered toward the right side of the street and made as if to enter a saloon. He snatched Moses by the arm.

“What are you doing? That's not a general store.”

“The store is farther on,” Moses said. “I don't know if Tucker is workin' today. When he's not, this is where he comes.”

Tyree was instantly suspicious. Moses had told them he didn't talk to Tucker. He would have grabbed him and demanded to know what was really going on, but Moses pulled ahead and gained the batwings. “Hold on,” Tyree hollered.

Moses pushed on in.

“What is this?” Aces asked, suddenly at Tyree's side. “He didn't say anything about a saloon.”

“I don't know,” Tyree said.

Fred was at his other elbow. “He gave in too easy. It has to be a trick.”

“Or worse,” Aces said.

Barreling in, they stopped and looked about. The place was almost as jammed as the street.

“I don't see him,” Marshal Hitch said.

Neither did Tyree. Panic set in again and he bulled his way deeper in, not caring who he had to shove. He went clear across to the bar and there was no sign of Moses. “We've lost him!”

Aces said, “What have I told you about losin' your head? Moments like these are when you need to think clearly.”

“Easy for you to say.”

One of the bartenders came over and said to Aces and Fred, “What will it be, gents?”

“Did you see an old man come in here?” the lawman asked.

“You have to be joshing.”

“It's important.”

“Do you want drinks or not?”

Tyree was about to reach over and grab the barkeep by his apron, but a hand fell on his shoulder.

Aces pointed toward the back.

Tyree glimpsed someone going through a door. From the back it looked a lot like Moses. “Damn him anyhow.”

Aces started to follow, but Tyree beat him to it, darting past and weaving like mad. The door was to a narrow hall. He ran down it, looking into the rooms he passed. One was a storeroom for the liquor. Another had a desk in it.

The rear door hung partly open. Tyree burst outside and blinked in the glare of the sun. An alley ran in both directions. And there, running toward the far end, was Moses.

“Stop!” Tyree cried.

Moses glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

Tyree took off after him. He heard Aces yell for him to wait, but he would be damned if he would. The old man had played them for fools. Moses must never have intended to help all along but had strung them like a fisherman playing out a fish line, waiting for an opportunity like this to slip away.

Tyree felt a powerful impulse to shoot him. But no, that wouldn't help them find Tucker. And it would bring the law down on their heads.

So Tyree ran. He reached the end of the alley and was confronted by another river of people. A crate sat against a wall. Climbing onto it, he scanned the street.

Moses was gone.

Tyree's frustration knew no bounds. To be so close, and to be thwarted. He sagged against the wall, momentarily crushed.

“No sign of him?” Aces asked.

Tyree bleakly shook his head.

“He hoodwinked us,” Fred said, “and we fell for it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Aces said.

Tears of frustration filled Tyree's eyes and he wiped them away with his sleeve. “I see him again, I'll kill him.”

“You should always let the other fella start it,” Aces said, “or you'll be the one behind bars.”

“I don't care,” Tyree said. “Not with him.”

“Don't give up,” Aces said. “I suspect he wasn't a complete liar.”

Tyree would clutch at any straw. “How do you mean?”

“He might have really seen Tucker workin' at a general store,” Aces speculated. “We look for the nearest one, and if Tucker's not there, go on to the next.”

“That's better than givin' up,” Fred said.

They retraced their steps down the alley into the saloon and out the front to the street. Aces assumed the lead. Tyree found that following his wake was a lot easier than following Moses. Aces only had to ask once for someone to move aside and he usually did.

The entire city was in fine fettle. Statehood was the
goal of every territory. It took years, and a lot of work. Wyoming would become the forty-fourth state, Tyree had heard tell. There had been a lot of talk about what to call it. A nickname of sorts. All the states had them. The newspaper said they should call Wyoming the Equality State on account of Wyoming being the first place in the country where women were granted the right to vote. Others wanted to call it the Cowboy State on account of all the ranches and the cattle trade. Tyree reckoned the Saloon State would be a great name since Wyoming had more saloons than anywhere he'd ever been. He was thinking of that when Aces abruptly angled to the left and motioned for them to catch up.

AVERALL'S GENERAL MER
CHANDISE
, a large sign on a false front proclaimed. Under that was
GOODS OF AL
L KINDS
. And under that was
CASH ONLY
.

The place was doing brisk business, with people buying things for the celebration. A rake-thin man who must have been the owner and his young helper were kept busy answering questions and taking payment.

Aces went down a side aisle and along a wall to a spot where they could watch the front counter.

“What are we doing?” Tyree wanted to know. “Let's go ask if Tucker works here.”

“And risk him being warned that someone is lookin' for him?” Aces shook his head. “Let's wait and see if he's around.”

“He might be off for the day,” Fred said.

“As busy as it is? Not likely,” Aces replied.

Tyree hated waiting. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other and running his hands over the handles of his Colts.

“You're a bundle of nerves,” Aces remarked at one point.

“Can't help it,” Tyree said.

“Don't be discouraged,” Fred said. “If it's not this store, it might be the next or the one after that. A city this size, there has to be quite a few.”

“And we'll check them all,” Aces said.

They were trying to help, but that didn't put Tyree at ease. It could be that Moses had lied about everything. There was no Tucker. There might not even be a Dunn and a Lute. It could be that Moses had killed his ma and pa. At that idea, Tyree burned under his collar.

Just then another man in an apron came out of the back. He was carrying a lot of fireworks and took them to a display near the front window.

“I'll be damned,” Fred Hitch said.

The man fit Moses's description. He was old. A lot of his hair was gone. He set the fireworks down and began arranging them in the display.

Tyree took a step, but Aces grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Not yet.”

“He's right there,” Tyree said. To be so close and have to wait was more than he could bear. “Give me a good reason.”

“He might take one look and bolt.”

“Why should he?” Tyree argued. “He doesn't know me from Adam. And he has no idea anyone is lookin' for him.”

“I have an idea,” Fred said. “You two stay put.” Plastering a smile on his face, he went over to the man working on the display.

“He better not give us away,” Tyree said.

“Give him more credit,” Aces said. “He's not you.”

Fred and the man talked a bit, but they couldn't hear what was being said. Finally Fred said something that made the other man laugh, and then came back around to where they waited.

“Well?” Tyree said impatiently.

“He says he likes brandy more than whiskey and he does his nightly drinkin' at the very saloon we were at a while ago,” Fred related.

“
That's
what you talked about? Drinkin'?” Tyree could have hit him.

“I mentioned how I was a drinkin' man and new in town and asked him if there was a saloon he'd recommend.”

“Smart,” Aces said.

“Dumb,” Tyree said. “We don't know if he's Tucker or not.”

“He says his name is Finch,” Fred revealed. “And when I asked where he's from, guess what he told me?”

“Missouri,” Aces said.

Marshal Hitch smiled. “The very same.” He clapped Tyree on the arm. “I believe you have found your man.”