Town Tamers (5 page)

T
he Winchester lever-action shotgun in his right hand with the barrel on his shoulder, Asa surveyed the saloon. Instead of making straight for the bar, he circled and came up on the four people in the middle so that no one was between him and them.

The two punchers had been alerted by the sudden silence. They were more curious than anything.

“What’s with the artillery, mister?” Crusty asked.

“The pair of you ride for the Circle K,” Asa said. He’d been given descriptions of the hands, especially the most notorious. “You’re Crusty Wilkins and this other is Jake Bass.”

“What’s it to you?” Jake Bass said.

“I’m Asa Delaware,” Asa said.

“So?” Jake responded.

“You look part Injun,” Crusty said.

“I am.”

“Which tribe?”

“Why does everyone ask that?”

Crusty shrugged. “Probably because a lot of folks, me included, don’t like redskins much. Which tribe is it?”

“Guess,” Asa said.

“Comanche?”

“No.”

“Kiowa?”

“No.”

“Lipan Apache, maybe? Or Caddo?”

“No and no.”

“Wichita?”

Asa shook his head.

“You don’t look Pueblo.”

“I’m not.”

“Damn. You must be from one of those faraway tribes. Which is it?”

Jake Bass growled, “What the hell difference does it make? A breed is a breed.”

“I was only askin’,” Crusty said.

Asa looked at Byron and Noona. “You two might want to go over by the wall. Blood tends to splatter.”

“Blood?” Crusty said.

Noona plucked at Byron and when he didn’t move, she grabbed him and pulled him away.

Only when they were out of the spread of the buckshot did Asa fix his complete attention on the cowboys. “I take it you’ve never heard of me.”

“Mister,” Jake Bass said, “we don’t know you from Adam. But I’ve commenced to take a powerful dislike to you.”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Crusty said. “This ain’t a breed-friendly town.”

“Friendly enough to hire me,” Asa said.

“How’s that again?”

“The Circle K blew out the wick of the last lawman and they haven’t been able to hire a replacement, so they brought me in.”

“You’re a lawman?” Jake Bass said.

“No,” Asa said. “I tame towns.”

“You what?” Crusty said.

“That’s what the newspapers call it. I don’t much like being wrote about, but the important thing is that I’ve been hired to put an end to your outfit.”

“Put an end to the Circle K?” Crusty asked, and laughed.

“All by your lonesome?” Jake Bass said.

“I need to send a message to your employer, Knox, and to his ramrod, Bull Cumberland.”

“This should be good,” Jake Bass said.

“What’s the message?” Crusty asked.

“I’m serving notice. Every Circle K hand with sense has one week from today to pack their war-bag and light a shuck. If they’re still around after that, I put them on the list.”

“What list?” Crusty asked.

“I call it my Boot Hill list.”

“Listen to you,” Jake Bass sneered. “Who in hell do you think you are?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Mister, you have sand,” Crusty said. “Not much brains but a lot of sand. We’ll give Mr. Knox and Bull your message. And then you’d best be ready for when we come ridin’ in to settle your hash.”

“You misunderstood,” Asa said. “I didn’t say I want you to deliver the message. I said I need to send one. I’ll hire a boy to ride out to the ranch for me.”

“Why, when we can do it?” Crusty said.

“You won’t be able to.”

“Why in hell not?”

Asa Delaware always liked this part. He liked the looks on their faces when it sank in. “Because,” he said matter-of-factly, “both of you will be dead.”

C
rusty chuckled as if it were a joke, but Jake Bass didn’t. He glanced at the Winchester shotgun and started to move his hand toward his Colt. He did it so slowly that he probably figured Asa wouldn’t notice.

“Hold on,” Crusty said. “You’re not joshin’?”

“I never josh about killing,” Asa said. “It’s my work, and I take it serious.”

“You come in here, you threaten us, and then you kill us?”

“If it wasn’t me it would be a lawman, sooner or later,” Asa said. “You can’t go around murdering folks and stealing and expect to live forever.”

“Mister, you beat all.”

As he always did when he was about to be in a shooting affray, Asa fixed his entire attention on the men he was about to buck out in gore, which was why he didn’t notice a townsman about to step between them until Byron called out, “Floyd, you might not want to do that. Turn around and hunt cover.”

Floyd bore the stamp of a clerk, teller, or any job fit for a mouse. He stopped, an empty glass in his hand, and said, “I need a refill.”

“Back off, mister,” Noona warned.

Floyd’s red nose showed he was into his cups. His brain probably didn’t work too fast under the best of circumstances, and with booze in him, he was a turtle. He looked at the cowhands and at Asa and his eyebrows tried to meet over his nose. “What’s going on here?”

Crusty wasn’t as dumb as Asa thought. Slipping behind Floyd, he grinned at Asa. “We’re on our way out, and we’d like you to escort us.”

“Do what?”

“You heard me,” Crusty said, putting a hand on Floyd’s arm. “Tell us how your missus is. And the kids if you have any.” He backed away, pulling a befuddled Floyd after him.

“Where’s your big talk now, mister?” Jake Bass taunted as he, too, backed out. He stood close to Floyd so that if Asa cut loose with the 12-gauge, Floyd was bound to take some of the buckshot.

Asa stood there and let them go. He had a rule. He had a lot of rules, actually. But the one that applied here was that no innocents were to ever be harmed, not if he could help it.

At the batwings, Crusty gave a little wave and went out, pulling Floyd after him.

Jake Bass paused. “When we come back it will be all of us . . . or pretty near.”

“I’ll be here,” Asa said.

A lot of the patrons had stopped what they were doing to stare. They’d sensed violence in the air, and more than a few had sidled toward the far walls.

“Bull Cumberland will want to have words with you,” Jake Bass said, “and his words are always final.”

“Makes two of us.”

Bass shouldered the batwings open.

Asa moved to the front window. Careful not to show himself, he peered out. The cowboys were already mounted and had used their spurs. He frowned and cradled the shotgun in the crook of his left elbow.

Byron came up on his right, Noona on his left.

“That didn’t go well,” Byron said.

“What will you do?” Noona asked.

“Don’t talk to me yet,” Asa said. He wheeled and walked out.

Floyd was coming back in but staring after the Circle K hard cases, and almost collided with him. “Say. What was that about, anyhow?”

“They used you as a shield,” Asa said.

“Are you saying there might have been gunplay?”

“No might about it.”

“My word. I could have ended up like poor Ed and Myrtle Sykes.”

“Just like them.”

The man swallowed and quaked. “Those cowboys are the bane of our lives. I wish someone would put an end to their reign of terror.”

“Someone will,” Asa said.

“Who?”

“You’re looking at him.”

A
sa Delaware left Floyd with his bewilderment and walked down the street to the Sykes house. He hesitated, then knocked lightly. He was about convinced no one would answer when the door opened and lamp light spilled over him. “You’re still here?”

“We all are,” George Tandy replied. “Come on in, please.”

“I was hoping to pay my respects to Miss Sykes.”

“She’s in the kitchen with the rest. Follow me.”

To Asa’s surprise, Madeline was at the counter cracking eggs into a bowl.

Four men were at the table, two in chairs over by a potbellied stove. Middle-aged or older, their clothes marked them as more prosperous than most.

“Gentlemen,” George Tandy said. “I’d like you to meet the famous Town Tamer, Asa Delaware.”

“The one we hired?” a portly man at the table said.

“The very same, Horace,” Tandy said.

At the stove, a bespectacled man with sharp features adjusted his spectacles and said with barely concealed disapproval, “You didn’t tell us he was an Indian.”

“Be nice, Thaddeus,” Tandy said. “He’s doing us a favor.”

“Favor, hell,” Thaddeus said. “We’re paying him more than I earn in two months.”

“You can afford your share,” Tandy said. “You’re the banker.”

“Even so,” Thaddeus said. “You know how I feel about Indians.”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Horace said.

Madeline stopped breaking eggs and glared at them.

“I’ll thank you to show more respect to my guest. You’re in my house, after all.”

“My apologies, my dear,” Horace said glibly. “I meant no disrespect. I have only the greatest fondness for you, as I did for your parents.”

The reminder caused Madeline visible hurt. She turned and came over to Asa, saying, “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

“She’s holding up fine,” George Tandy interjected.

“We’re holding a council session.”

“Here?” Asa said.

“We came to offer our condolences,” Horace said, “and figured we might as well discuss the situation since we’re all here.”

“I don’t mind,” Madeline said, although from her tone, it was plain she did.

Asa simmered. When Tandy stepped to the table, he leaned close to Madeline and said in her ear, “Say the word and I’ll make them go.”

Madeline wearily smiled and shook her head. “That’s awful kind of you, but no. My father was on the council, and these are his friends.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Thaddeus asked.

“None of your business,” Asa said.

“It’s most unseemly, if you ask me.”

“No one did.”

Madeline held up her hands in appeal. “Please, Mr. Falk. Let’s be civil, shall we? This day has been horrible enough. The last thing I need is petty bickering.”

“I’m never petty,” the banker said in a mild huff.

“How about those eggs you offered?” Horace said. “My stomach is rumbling again.”

“Coming right up, Mr. Wadpole.”

Asa moved to the counter and leaned against it, the Winchester cradled in front of him, deliberately staying aloof from the townsmen.

“So tell us,” Thaddeus Falk said. “How exactly do you plan to go about ridding us of our problem?”

“I thought you knew,” Asa said. “I kill everybody.”

They looked at one another. Horace Wadpole harrumphed and said, “Ed Sykes showed us the newspaper clippings Madeline sent. From those and your statement just now, I gather that you have no compunctions about shedding blood.”

“Not a lick.”

“Yes, well,” said a spindly specimen with a hooked nose, “I can’t say as I’m entirely comfortable with that.”

“Then why did you hire me?”

“Permit me to answer that,” George Tandy said. “We hired you because we’re at our wit’s end. We literally had nowhere else to turn. You know about our marshal being shot? What you might not know is that we sent for someone to replace him and when he showed up, Bull Cumberland beat him so severely that he took the next stage out.”

The banker cleared his throat. “We contacted the Rangers. They sent a pair to investigate, but Mr. Knox swore his punchers are the salt of the earth. And since we have no evidence against them other than hearsay, there wasn’t anything the Rangers could do.”

Horace Wadpole took up the account. “Then Ed Sykes told us about you, how you’ve cleaned up a dozen towns or more and could do the same for us.”

“Only, we’d like it done with as little blood spilling as possible,” the spindly man said.

“How much spills is up to the other side,” Asa said.

Madeline had finished cracking eggs and was carrying a bowl and a large spoon to the stove. “If I am to be so bold, gentlemen?”

“Certainly, my dear,” George Tandy said. “You have every right to offer an opinion.”

“Keeping in mind that you’re not a member of this council,” the banker said.

“And your opinion has no weight where official matters are concerned,” Horace Wadpole added.

“Her opinion matters to me,” Asa said.

“Let’s hear what you have to say, my dear,” Tandy said.

Madeline bestowed a warm smile on Asa. “Well, then. Speaking only for myself, you understand, I sincerely hope that you kill every last one of the sons of bitches.”

“Count on it,” Asa said.