Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do (15 page)

It took Aces and Fred both to keep Tyree from barging on over. They each grabbed an arm and Aces moved in front of him.

“Not here, pard.”

“Why in hell not?” Tyree demanded. He was so close to at long last finding his parents' killers.

“Keep your voice down, you lunkhead,” Fred said.

Tyree saw the man working on the display raise his head and idly look around, but he didn't look in their direction.

“Didn't you learn anything from Moses?” Aces said. “If that's Tucker, you can't confront him here, with all these people around. We lay a finger on him, and someone is bound to holler for the law.”

“True,” Fred said.

“And even if he's friendly and will talk to you,” Aces went on, “his boss ain't about to let him stand around jawin' when he should be workin'.”

“True again,” Fred said.

“We follow him when he gets off for the day,” Aces proposed. “When the time and place are right, he'll be all yours.”

“Take his advice, son.”

Tyree had stopped struggling. As much as it galled him, they were right. A public fracas might bring a badge.
And it was better where no one could overhear. “If it's not chickens, it's feathers,” he complained.

“That's life,” Fred said. “It's always throwin' obstacles at us. Why do you reckon I like Sweetwater so much? The obstacles are few and far between.”

“Anything gets in your way, you bust on through it,” Tyree said.

“Some folks think that way,” Fred said. “Some folks thrive on it. They like the challenge. Me, I like peace and quiet. The only challenge I want in my day is makin' up my mind what to eat.”

“Yet here you are, you faker,” Aces said, grinning.

“If I didn't feel sorry for Tyree, I wouldn't be,” Fred said.

“I don't need anybody's pity,” Tyree said.

“You have it anyway. You've earned my respect, son. I'll see this to the end with you and then I'm going back to my office and my flask and life without obstacles.”

Reluctantly Tyree let them lead him out. He deliberately turned his head away from the man called Finch so Finch wouldn't see his face. Once they were outdoors Aces led them along the boardwalk to a bench. No one was using it, so they claimed it for themselves.

“Here is as good as anywhere,” Aces announced.

“What if he goes out the back way?” Marshal Hitch said. “It's unlikely but you never know.”

“We'd lose him,” Tyree said, immediately furious at the prospect.

“Rein in that temper of yours,” Aces said. “We lose him today, we come back tomorrow, or the next day after, if we have to. But since Fred will watch the back way out, we won't lose him.”

“I will?” Fred said, and sighed. “I will indeed.” He stood and took a couple of steps. “But what do we do if he comes out the front and I'm still back there?”

“If the store closes and you find us gone, park yourself on this bench. We'll come fetch you as soon as we can,” Aces suggested.

Fred pulled his hat brim lower. “I hope this gent really is Tucker. I hope he can point us at Dunn and Lute. I want this over more than anything.”

“Not more than me,” Tyree said.

“Don't take me wrong,” Fred said. “I'll stick with you come what may.” He smiled and took a couple more steps. “Oh. I almost forgot. I saw a sign that said the store closes at seven. We've got until then, at least.” He gave a little wave and ambled toward the general store.

“Nice man,” Aces said.

“Too nice,” Tyree said.

Aces sat back and rested his arms on the back of the bench. “Folks like Hitch make life bearable. If everybody was like you and me, we'd all be at each other's throats.”

Tyree knew the cowboy was only making a joke, but he disagreed. “Not you and me. If everybody was like Dunn and Lute.”

“Or Puck Tovey and Bascomb.”

“I never thought about it much,” Tyree said. Not about how people in it made the world good or bad.

“At your age I didn't either,” Aces said.

“You're not that old. You're not Fred.”

“It's not the years, it's the experience. Some folks haven't lived half as long as him and yet lived twice as much.”

Tyree pondered that awhile. It seemed to him to be part right. It wasn't just living and doing a lot; it was learning from what you did. Take Dunn and Lute. They must have done a lot of vile things in their time, but what did they learn from them? That question sparked another. Were they still the killers they'd been when they murdered his ma and pa? From what Moses had said, he gathered they were. He hoped so. It would make what he aimed to do easier.

By a clock across the street it was four o'clock when Finch came out of the general store. Tyree started to rise, thinking that Finch was calling it quits for the day. But
no, Finch stepped to a barrel full of hoes and shovels. He picked a hoe and went back in. For a customer, Tyree guessed, and sure enough, not long after a man in bib overalls walked out with the hoe and other items.

Tyree let the passersby entertain him. They were quite a collection. City folks, farm folks, frontiersmen, cowboys—an awful lot of cowboys—now and then tame Indians and once a dozen troopers in uniform with a sergeant at their head.

Aces was doing the same. “I've always like to study on folks,” he remarked. “You never know what you'll see. Take that rainbow yonder.”

Tyree laughed.

A big woman was coming down the street. She lumbered like a bear and had a face that could by no means be called pretty, but for all that, she dressed as feminine as anything. Her dress was pink and gold, her hat, with an ostrich feather waving in the air, was green and purple, her parasol was striped with six or seven colors. She held her head high in dignity and was one of the few not in a hurry.

“I think I'm in love,” Aces said.

“Her?” Tyree said.

“It's not the size or the looks,” Aces said. “It's the heart.”

“Did you think about that a lot too?” Tyree teased. He'd never met anyone who thought so much. And Aces a cowboy, to boot.

“Ridin' herd gives a man a lot of time for ponderin'.”

“I'd imagine you'd be a thinker no matter what work you did.”

“And I thank you for the compliment.”

Tyree wasn't so sure it was. There was such a thing as too much thinking. He'd as soon live life as think about it.

A buckboard clattered past with a passel of squealing, laughing kids in homespun in the back. Shortly after, along came an elegant carriage, the best money could purchase, with leather everywhere and brass trim and
even lanterns hanging from brass posts. The driver wore a uniform.

“Rich folks,” Aces said.

Seven o'clock didn't come quickly enough to suit Tyree. By then a lot of the traffic had thinned. It was suppertime for those with families, and workers were heading home to be with their loved ones.

Finch and the younger clerk came out of the store and took the barrel and other displays inside.

Tyree stood. It wouldn't be long now, he told himself. He was surprised when Marshal Hitch came around the side of the general store and over to their bench.

“Miss me?” Fred said.

“You were to watch the back,” Aces said.

“No need. The owner came out and discarded some trash. When he went back in, I heard him throw the bolt. No one is comin' out that way.”

“You better be right,” Tyree said.

The last of the customers straggled out. The owner escorted an elderly woman and pecked her on the cheek. She patted his and left.

Next was the young clerk. He was as happy as could be to get off work and scampered away like a shot.

Last to emerge were the owner again, and Finch. The owner locked the door and shook it as if to be certain it was really locked. Then he said a few words to Finch and they parted company.

“He's comin' our way,” Fred said.

Tyree turned his back to the street, placed his boot on the bench, and pretended to be doing something to it. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed his quarry go past.

Finch was wearing a bowler and had a folded newspaper under his arm. His suit was plain and cheap, his shoes the same. He looked downright dowdy, as unremarkable as dishwater. That the man had had a hand in the slaying of his parents seemed preposterous.

They let Finch get half a block ahead. There was no danger of losing him, the traffic had thinned so much.

Still, Tyree was uneasy. He worried that Finch somehow knew they were stalking him and had a trick up his sleeve to shake them, as Moses had done.

Presently Finch turned and entered a small saloon called the Silver Spur. They saw him through the window; he went to the bar and the bartender greeted him warmly. Apparently they knew each other. A whiskey glass was set in front of him and half-filled.

“Wonderful,” Fred said. “He'll spend all night drinkin'. Not that I have cause to complain, mind you.”

The marshal was proven wrong. Finch only downed the one glass, taking his sweet time.

They made it a point to be under an overhang across the street when Finch came out. Without so much as a glance their way, he was off again, strolling contentedly along.

“First time I've seen him happy all day,” Fred said.

Finch left the center of the city for the outskirts. He picked up his pace when he came to a quiet side street lined with quaint homes, some with picket fences. Opening a gate, he was almost to the porch when the front door opened and out came a woman about the same age in a print dress. She greeted him with a hug and a kiss and together they went inside.

“Well, now,” Fred said. “He has a missus.”

“Didn't expect this,” Aces said.

Tyree frowned. That made two of them. It never occurred to him that the old outlaw had turned a new leaf and somewhere along the line become respectable.

“Maybe Moses was lyin'.” Fred voiced Tyree's own fear. “Maybe this isn't Tucker at all.”

“Only one way to find out,” Aces said, looking at Tyree. “It's up to you how we go about it.”

“What if he has young'uns?” Fred said. “We can't brace a family.”

“All I want is to talk to him,” Tyree said. And he would be damned if he would wait another minute. Tugging at his gun belt, he marched to the gate, opened it,
and strode up the steps to the porch. At the door he hesitated.

The curtains that covered the windows glowed with lamplight, and from within came soft voices.

“We can do it tomorrow on his way to work,” Aces said.

“No.” Tyree knocked louder than was called for, waited barely five seconds, and pounded again.

“Get ready,” Fred said.

The door opened and Finch stood there, smiling. “Yes?” he said uncertainly, looking from one of them to the other. “May I help you?”

The man was so polite, so earnest, that Tyree couldn't find the right words to say. He mustered the will to demand if his name was really Tucker, but the woman appeared and placed her hand on her husband's arm.

“What is it, Charles? Who are these people?”

“I don't know, dear,” Finch said. “They haven't told me yet.”

“I'm . . . ,” Tyree got out, and stopped, struck speechless.

Charles Finch was staring at Tyree's face, at his jaw. Finch's eyes widened and every drop of blood in his head must have drained away because he became as white as paper. Taking half a step back, Finch clutched at his throat and bleated in a whisper, “No. It can't be.”

“Charles?” the woman said.

“Who . . . ?” Finch said, and had to swallow twice before he could finish. “Who are you, young man?”

“Tyree Larn.”

“Merciful God,” Finch said, and put a hand to the wall for support.

“Charles?” the woman said anxiously. “What on earth is going on? You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

“Oh, Ethel,” Finch said. Recovering, he smiled and patted her. “Everything is fine, dear. Don't you worry.” He faced his visitors. “Are you hungry? We're about to sit down to supper, and you and your friends are welcome to join us.”

“They are?” Ethel said.

Tyree wasn't the least bit hungry. He wanted answers, not food, but Aces answered for him.

“We'd be right happy to share your meal. We've come a long way and have a lot to talk about later.”

“That we do,” Charles Finch said. Then again, more to himself than to them, “That we surely do.”

Ethel Finch didn't hide how puzzled she was by the turn of events. To her credit, she didn't pester her husband with questions or demand to know more about their guests. She simply remarked that she needed to spend a little time in the kitchen. She had cooked for two and now there were five and she wanted to add to the vegetables and whatnot.

With a polite smile, she excused herself.

Charles Finch bade them take seats in the parlor. He seemed fascinated by Tyree and hardly took his eyes off him.

Marshal Hitch and Aces sat in chairs. Tyree was about to claim the last one when Finch roosted on a settee and patted it. “Why don't you sit over here, young man? That way we won't have to holler.”

Tyree suspected there was more to it. They wouldn't need to raise their voices if he was in the settee, and the wife wouldn't overhear them. He sat and shifted so he faced the man, his right hand on his Colt.

Finch noticed. “There's no need for that. I'm not heeled.”

“There is if you're who I think you are,” Tyree said.

“I'm George Tucker.”

The declaration took Tyree by surprise. Even though he'd suspected the truth, even though he came here to
demand it, the forthright admission left him momentarily startled.

“But you already know that,” Tucker said, “or you wouldn't be here. I don't know how you found me, but I've always dreaded this day would happen. I've dreaded it since I saved your life.”

“Saved it?” Tyree blurted louder than he intended.

Tucker glanced at the hall to the kitchen. “Please keep your voice down. Ethel doesn't know any of it. She would be upset if she did. Frankly I don't know if she would accept what I did. She might walk out on me, and I can't lose her. I love her. I love that woman more than anything.”

“That's all right,” Fred Hitch said. “We won't tell her.”

“Speak for yourself, law dog,” Tyree growled. He wasn't making any promises. Touching his scar, he said, “Was it you who did this or one of the others? Was it Dunn or Lute?”

“You know about them too?” Tucker bent to see the scar better, and a great sorrow came over him. “Dear Lord. Is that what I did to you?”

“It was you?” Before Tyree could stop himself, he had his Colt out and cocked and shoved it against Tucker's chest. He came close to shooting. If the man had jerked back or resisted, he might have. As it was, it took tremendous will on his part to lower the Colt again when it was obvious Tucker wasn't going to do anything. “I should fill you with holes.”

“By rights you should, yes,” Tucker said.

“Put the smoke wagon away, pard,” Aces said.

“I thought you were on my side,” Tyree replied sullenly, but he shoved the Colt into its holster.

Tucker glanced at the hall again. “I'd imagine you want answers. And I want to give them to you. But I don't know how much time we have. Can you wait until after the meal? Until after Ethel turns in? I'll stay up as late as need be and tell you all you want to know. You have my word.”

“The word of a man who cuts babies,” Tyree said.

Tucker seemed to shrivel in on himself, and bowed his head. “It was the most awful thing I've ever done. At the same time, it put me on the road to a better life.” He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. “Will you be patient with me, Mr. Larn? Please?”

“Yes, he will,” Marshal Hitch said. “Won't you, son?”

“I don't see why I should.” Tyree was growing mad. Here was the man who could end his years-long search. He wanted answers
now
.

“I'm askin' you to be patient too, pard,” Aces said.

Tyree wasn't a simpleton. He knew that Aces kept bringing up that they were partners to persuade him to go along. “Damn it all.”

“Please don't swear,” Tucker said. “Ethel doesn't like profanity. She was brought up in a religious house.”

“As if I care,” Tyree said.

“Please,” Tucker pleaded.

Tyree might have told him to go to hell, but the old outlaw had unexpected allies.

“You're bein' childish, and unreasonable to boot,” Fred said. “Can't you see what you've done to this man?”

“What
I've
done to
him
? Don't you have that backward?”

“He's given his word, pard,” Aces said. “That should be enough for now.”

“For you, maybe,” Tyree said. But he gave in. Every nerve in him screamed not to, but he said, “I'll wait until after we eat, Tucker, but know this. Try to run off on us like Moses did, and I'll gun you. It won't matter if your wife is there. You had a hand in the killin' of my folks and I hate you for that.”

Tucker looked sickly. He coughed and wiped at his eyes. “I suppose I'd feel the same if I were in your boots. But I won't run. I'm too old for that. And I have Ethel. I'd never leave her. Not for any reason. Not in a million years.”

Just then his wife appeared wearing an apron. “It
won't be but two minutes yet. George, if you would be so kind as to help me set the table?”

“Certainly, dear.”

Tyree almost got up to go with them. He didn't want the man out of his sight. Restraining himself, he sat there with his fingers twitching.

“That was decent of you, son,” Fred said.

“Decent, hell,” Tyree said.

“You have to rein your feelin's in,” Aces advised. “Hide your hate for the time being.”

“You heard him,” Tyree said. “He was the one who cut me.” He ran a finger along the scar he'd had his whole life long, the scar that constantly reminded him of the horror that turned his life into a living hell.

“To save you, he said,” Fred reminded him. “I wonder.”

“He'd say anything to save his own skin.”

“It's been fifteen years,” Aces said. “You can be patient a little longer.”

“If you want to find Dunn and Lute, it's what I'd do,” Fred said.

“Enough.” Tyree was tired of talking about it. “I said I would and I will. But I don't have to like it.”

“Ethel sounds like a good woman,” Fred remarked.

“That she does,” Aces said.

Tyree got it then. They wanted him to act nice for the wife's benefit, to be considerate to spare her any suffering. But what about his own suffering? he asked himself.

“Your ma was a good woman, wasn't she?” Fred said.

Tyree gave him a cold stare. “That was low.”

“She was, don't you reckon?”

“Don't you dare compare them,” Tyree said. “It won't soften me. Did Tucker stop Dunn and Lute from killin' them? He did not.”

“Ethel wasn't there,” Fred said.

“So you're sayin' I shouldn't cause her misery over somethin' her husband did or didn't do.”

“That's only fair,” Fred said.

“And right,” Aces echoed.

“As friends you are pitiful,” Tyree declared.

“You don't mean that,” Fred said, “so we won't hold it against you.”

No, Tyree didn't, but it still irritated him that they preferred he tread easy when he yearned to storm into the kitchen, seize Tucker by the throat, and shake him until his teeth rattled.

“If Tucker knows where to find Dunn and Lute, you're going after them, aren't you?” Aces said.

“Need you even ask?”

“I reckon I'll hold off lookin' for work for a while, then,” the cowboy said, and grinned.

Tyree slumped in the settee. Aces was only trying to cheer him up, but he was beyond that. His emotions were all in a whirl. It was if he were being torn in all different directions at once.

“I've heard a good woman can do that to a man,” Fred said to Aces. “First time I came across it.”

“He loves her—that's for sure,” Aces said.

“I never could find a woman for me,” Fred said. “Too particular, I reckon. Or too set in my ways. Females like a man they can change to suit them. One look at me and women see I'm hopeless.”

“I have hopes, one day,” Aces said.

“You do?” Fred chuckled. “Why, you romantic cowpoke, you.”

“There comes a time when a feller gets tired of keepin' his own company under the blankets at night,” Aces said wistfully. “A lot of late, I've thought about findin' a filly and hangin' out the feed bag.”

“That's all she'd be to you?” Fred teased. “A cook?”

“A good woman can be everything to a man,” Aces said. “His reason for gettin' up in the mornin'. Hell, his reason for breathin'.”

“Listen to yourself,” Tyree said.

“What do you know, youngster?” Fred said. “When you're old like us, then you can talk. We know what we
know. And I tell you now that if you ever find a woman as good as this Ethel, you hold on to her like she was the rarest jewel on earth. Because, as God is my witness, she is.”

“Amen,” Aces said.

That was when Ethel appeared, her apron gone, smiling timidly. “Supper is served, gentlemen. If you would follow me?”

Tyree jumped up. “Where's your husband?” he demanded, afraid that Tucker had done the same as Moses and taken flight.

“Carving the beef. I would do it myself, but he's much better with a butcher knife.” Ethel held up a hand and moved her fingers. “I have a touch of arthritis. It impairs me sometimes.”

“With me it's gout,” Fred Hitch said. “Some days my feet pain me so I want to chop them off.”

“That would be gruesome,” Ethel said.

“Show us your husband,” Tyree said, earning pointed glances from both Fred and Aces.

A troubled look came over Ethel, but she smiled and motioned. “Right this way. Mind the cat if he's around. He likes to rub against your leg. I nearly trip over him on occasion. His name is Whiskers.”

Tyree was in no mood for a cat on top of everything else. Fortunately for the feline it didn't appear. Tyree made it a point to hook a thumb in his gun belt close to his holster as he entered the kitchen. A butcher knife could carve more than beef.

George Tucker was just setting a large plate with slices of meat on the table. “All set, dearest,” he announced. “I filled the water glasses too.”

“Isn't he wonderful?” Ethel said to them.

“A good man is like a good woman,” Fred said. “They make each other's lives a lot happier.”

“Why, Mr. Hitch,” Ethel said. “That was sweet.”

“Did you call him good?” Tyree said to Fred.

Everyone froze except for Ethel. “My George has
been good to me, yes.” She came to Fred's defense. “All these years, I've never had a complaint. So I'll thank you not to take that tone. It seems to me you have a burr under your skin, Mr. Larn, and it would please me greatly if you would pluck it out.”

Tyree hovered on the cusp of fury. He couldn't help himself. Now after so long, after enduring so much.

Unwittingly Ethel said the very thing it would take to cool the heat of his resentment. “I'd warrant your own mother would say that going around mad at the world is a poor way to be.”

“My mother would,” Fred said quickly. “All good mothers feel that way, and your ma was a good woman, wasn't she, Tyree? Just like Mrs. Finch here.”

Tyree felt a constriction in his throat. “I'd imagine so,” he said, coming out of himself. “I apologize, ma'am. I reckon I have a burr, at that.”

Relief showed on Fred's and Aces's faces.

On George Tucker's too, who patted the top of a chair. “Have a seat, gentlemen, and we can begin.”

It was a fine meal. Tyree couldn't remember the last time he had home cooking, unless it was when he had made the acquaintance of that man in St. Louis who told him there was money to be made in bounty work.

The beef had been bought that very day, Ethel mentioned. There were potatoes smeared in butter and carrots and peas. She'd baked the bread that morning. For dessert there was pudding Tyree had never tasted—butterscotch. He forgot himself so much he ate fit to burst.

George Tucker seemed pleased by that. “You have quite the appetite, son,” he remarked.

Just like that, Tyree's anger came crashing back. He realized Tucker was doing as Fred always did, that calling him “son” didn't mean anything. But he couldn't stop himself from saying harshly, “Don't ever call me that, you hear?”

“I didn't mean anything,” Tucker said.

“There you go with your burr again, young man,” Ethel said.

Tyree felt the need to explain. “I lost my folks when I was little. I don't like for anyone to call me son. Not even Marshal Hitch there, and we've been ridin' together for a while now.”

“Mr. Hitch is a lawman?”

“That I am,” Fred said cheerfully. Reaching into his pocket, he produced his badge and pinned it on. “I keep forgettin' to wear this.”

“Does whatever you have to talk to my husband about have to do with the law?” Ethel asked in obvious concern.

Fred laughed. “I'm not here to arrest him, if that's what you're thinkin'.”

“It has to do with me,” Tyree said.

“Oh. Well. That's a relief,” Ethel said.

Tyree did something he hadn't done all night. He laughed too.