Town Tamers (8 page)

W
eldon Knox liked his brandy. He always had one exactly at noon and once an hour thereafter until he retired. His wife didn’t like it, but she knew better than to complain. The only time she had, he’d slapped her from the parlor to the kitchen and back again, with her caterwauling for him to stop. He liked the feeling it gave him, liked the power he had over her, liked the fear he inspired.

Weldon hadn’t inspired much fear in anyone when he was growing up. Fate had dealt him a cruel blow in that he was so short. It’s hard to inspire fear when you’re no taller than a heifer. You have to be muscular, or tough, and Weldon was neither.

But he did like inspiring fear.

Which was partly why when he took a wife, he made sure she was shorter than he was. Esther fit the bill, and was frail, to boot, so he could smack her around to his heart’s content and she couldn’t do a thing.

Esther didn’t like it when he brought in Bull Cumberland, either, but she kept her mouth shut except to mention that she couldn’t understand why he’d hired “a man like that.”

Weldon chuckled at the memory. The silly woman didn’t see that Bull and him were the same. They both liked doing as they damn well pleased. They both liked making money any way they could. And they both liked hurting people.

But then, how was Esther to know? When they met, he’d fed her a cock-and-bull story about being from back east and raised religious and impressed her as being a gentleman in all his ways.

She’d be shocked, Weldon reckoned, if she learned he was Texas born and bred. That he’d lived on a small ranch over San Antonio way until his father died and left him the place. For most that would suffice, but Weldon always hankered after a bigger spread, a ranch with thousands upon thousands of acres, his very own empire that he could rule with an iron fist. One day he’d heard that the Circle K was up for sale and sold the ranch his pa had sweated and near broken his back to build up for the down payment.

Esther never suspected the rest of it, either. That he’d been running rustled stock on the sly for years. That he let wanted men hide out at his place—for a price. That for all his seeming respectability, he was as much a cutthroat as the worst of them.

And a far better actor.

It had amused him, riding into town and duping the famous Asa Delaware. It rankled a bit, though, treating the breed as if he mattered. He despised mixed-bloods almost as much as he despised redskins.

Still, things had gone “swimmingly,” as a Brit he knew might say. He sipped his brandy, gazed out the big parlor window over his domain, and was content.

Then someone pounded on the front door, and Weldon yelled for Esther to answer it. Presently boots clomped, spurs jangled, and in strode Bull Cumberland with a frown as deep as the Grand Canyon.

“That damn jaguar has been at our cattle again?” Weldon guessed. Jaguars were rare this far north, but a big male had taken to filling its belly with Circle K cows.

“Old Tom and Tyree Lucas are back,” Bull Cumberland said.

“This early?” Weldon said. The sun wouldn’t set for an hour yet. They had the night off, and he wouldn’t have expected them until past midnight.

“What’s left of them.”

“Say that again?”

“Old Tom is missin’ most of his head and Tyree has a great big hole where half his chest used to be.”

Weldon came out of his chair so quickly, he spilled some of his brandy. “What the hell?”

“You said you had Asa Delaware hoodwinked.”

“I did.”

“You said he’d never refuse five thousand dollars.”

Weldon swore.

“You said we could get rid of him easy and go on as before.”

“Quit reminding me of what I said.”

Bull Cumberland walked to the bar, and without being invited to, commenced to help himself to some whiskey. “I figure him sendin’ them back blown to hell is his way of tellin’ you to shove your five thousand up your ass.”

“Damn him,” Weldon said.

“We have to do it now. If we don’t, folks will say we’re paperbacked. They’ll get up the grit to stand up to us. We can’t have that.”

“No,” Weldon said, “we can’t.”

“So how? Just me by my lonesome? Or can I take Jake and Crusty and a few others?”

“All of you not out on the range.”

About to tilt the glass to his mouth, Bull Cumberland arched a bushy eyebrow. “Sort of overdoin’ it, ain’t you? He’s just one man.”

“You do it my way,” Weldon said. “You ride in together. You confront him together. You cut loose on him together. That way, witnesses can’t pin the blame on just one or two.”

“Mighty clever,” Bull said with a grin. “The law can’t arrest all of us.”

“They might,” Weldon said. “They might even prosecute. But a good law wrangler will tie a jury into knots over which man fired the fatal shot. Likely as not, you’d all get off.”

“This is why I stay on with you,” Bull said. “You’re always one step ahead of everybody.”

Flattered by the compliment, Weldon said, “I try to be.”

“After we’re done, we’ll head right back.”

“Bring the body.”

“You want proof we did it?”

“I want to feed him to my hogs,” Weldon said. “Without a corpse, it’s that much harder for the law to prove its case.”

“Don’t you beat all?” Bull raised his glass in admiration. “Here’s to thinkin’ ahead.”

“And to dead town tamers,” Weldon said.

A
plague had swept through Ludlow—the plague of fear. Every business closed, save for the saloon. The children were sent home from the one-room schoolhouse. The streets were deserted, the hitch rails empty.

It’s like having the town to myself
, Asa thought. Although that wasn’t entirely true.

As he walked down the middle of Main Street, curtains and shades moved and faces peered out. No one shouted encouragement. No one hollered, “We’re with you, Asa!”

Asa didn’t expect them to. It was their town, but he wasn’t part of it. He had been hired, was all. And he was—in their eyes if not his own—a breed.

Asa came to the end of Main. Far across the prairie, the setting sun blazed on the horizon.

He couldn’t predict when the Circle K boys would come, but he doubted they’d wait very long. He’d thrown down the gauntlet, and they had to come after him quick or be branded cowards. That would never do.

Asa went back up the street four blocks and stopped. To his right was the bank, the tallest building in town. It had a steeple at the top. Why, he couldn’t say. Maybe the banker, Thaddeus Falk, was fond of churches. Or maybe he just wanted to have the highest building in Ludlow.

On Asa’s left was a dress shop. It was only one story high but had a flat roof.

He didn’t look at the steeple or the roof after that, in case unfriendly eyes were watching.

Asa cradled the Winchester and waited. He was good at that. Patience was his prime virtue, as Mary used to say. A legacy of his Indian blood, he reckoned, since Indians were noted for theirs.

The sky darkened and night fell, bringing with it a cool wind out of the west and the ululating wail of coyotes.

Asa didn’t move. He could stand there all night if he had to. Once, he could mimic a statue for days. His sinews weren’t what they once were, but they were still better than most.

Few lights came on, and that wasn’t good. Fortunately, just when he had made up his mind to hunt George Tandy down, who should come walking up the street but Tandy and Thaddeus Falk.

“Ask and you shall receive,” Asa said.

“What?” Tandy said.

“We demand you desist.” Falk got right to it. “We’ll pay you the full amount but pack up and go before they get here.”

“Can’t,” Asa said.

“It’s not a request,” Falk said.

“Still can’t.”

George Tandy was less arrogant. He tried being reasonable. “Please, Mr. Delaware. We’ve changed our minds. We realize a lot more blood will be spilled, and we don’t want that.”

“You knew there would be blood going in,” Asa said.

“Yes,” Tandy admitted, “your reputation preceded you. We anticipated violence. But imagining violence and experiencing it aren’t the same thing, we’ve discovered.”

“Is that right?”

“The bloodbath in the saloon taught us we’re not as bloodthirsty as we thought we were.”

“Few are.”

“You seem to be,” the banker said.

“Part of the job.”

“We want you to go,” the banker demanded.

“No.”

“Damn it, you pigheaded—”

“Be careful,” Asa said before Falk said something worse. “You don’t want to go too far.”

“Or what? You’ll blow my head off like you did that puncher’s?”

“He was a rustler and a kiler and you know it.” Asa didn’t have time for a lot of talk, so he got to what mattered by saying to Tandy, “Have everyone along Main Street light their lamps as usual.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“But no lights at the bank or the millinery,” Asa amended.

“People are scared,” Tandy said. “They’re hiding in their homes. They don’t want lights to draw attention to them.”

“I need the edge.”

“And what if we don’t?” Falk asked. “Will you give in and leave?”

“Get it through your head I’m staying. I run now, and I won’t ever be asked to tame a town again. And Knox and his hellions will take that ‘bloodbath,’ as you call it, out on all of you.”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll help you by having the lights turned on,” Falk said.

“If you don’t and I live, the first thing I’ll do is come find you.”

“Was that a threat?”

“No,” Asa said. “A promise.”

George Tandy broke in with, “Let’s be mature about this, shall we?”

“The lights,” Asa said. “As quickly as you can have it done.”

Tandy gazed up and down Main and reluctantly nodded. “Very well. I’ll see to it personally.” He was about to turn when his eyes narrowed and he bent toward Asa. “What are those things you’re wearing under your slicker?”

“Bandoleers,” Asa said.

“Good Lord. They must hold fifty shells or better.”

“Fifty is right,” Asa said. More were in his pockets. Every pocket.

“That might not be enough,” the banker said, sounding as if he hoped it wasn’t.

“I’ll save one for you if those lights aren’t on.”

Falk turned on his heel and stomped off muttering to himself.

“You shouldn’t antagonize him like that,” Tandy said.

“It’s good for a man to be reminded he’s not God now and then.”

“That applies to you, too.”

“If I were God, my wife would still be alive,” Asa said. It came out before he could stop it.

“I heard about her. I’m sorry.”

Of all of them, Asa liked this one the most. “The lights, George.”

“Right away. I only wish you’d reconsider. Next to Ed Sykes, I was most responsible for sending for you. I wouldn’t want your death on my conscience.”

“Be sure to tell the folks who live along Main to stay away from their front windows,” Asa instructed him. “Better yet, have them move to the back of their houses.” Bystanders were notorious for taking stray lead.

Tandy surprised Asa by holding out his hand. “Since you refuse to listen to reason, I wish you the best.”

Asa shook, and lowered his voice. “If something should happen to me, see to it that my son and my daughter make it out safe.”

“I have children of my own,” Tandy said. “I couldn’t do what you do and involve them in something like this.”

“The lights,” Asa said again.

“Certainly.” Tandy hurried off.

Asa hoped there was time. He gazed at the stars and thought of Mary. “Maybe I’ll get to join you at last.” It wasn’t in his nature, though, to just let it happen. She’d clung to life for as long as she could, and he was the same. “Damn me, anyhow,” he said.

M
y own little army.

That was how Bull Cumberland thought of the twelve men at his back as he galloped the last mile to town. Sure, they were Weldon Knox’s men, but he was Knox’s right hand—Knox’s lieutenant, some might say—and that made them his little army.

Bull was the one who always gave them their orders. Bull was the one who rustled with them, robbed stages with them, killed with them. Some days, he wondered why they needed Weldon Knox at all.

The answer was obvious. Knox had something Bull didn’t have, not to any excess, anyway. Weldon Knox had brains. Knox was as clever as a fox and always knew the right thing to do to keep them from ending up behind bars or at the hemp end of a strangulation jig.

Bull didn’t mind so much that he had to do as Knox told him. After years of riding the high-lines, of sleeping countless nights on the hard ground and eating countless meals of nothing but beans and coffee, it was nice to have a roof over his head, a bunk of his own to bed down in, and three squares a day if he wanted them.

No, Bull didn’t miss the owlhoot trail. He did miss not being able to bust people up as often as he used to. He missed bucking them out in gore on a whim. Nowadays, he only ever killed when he had to.

Holding back was a nuisance. But as Knox liked to say, why draw tin stars when he didn’t really have to?

Bull thought of the Town Tamer and smiled. He wouldn’t have to hold back with him. They were going to shoot Asa Delaware to ribbons.

Lights appeared in the distance, and Bull slowed his sorrel to a walk. Jake Bass promptly came up on one side and Crusty on the other.

“Can’t wait to do him,” Jake Bass said, expressing Bull’s own sentiments.

“He has to pay for Old Tom and Tyree,” Crusty said.

They were a quarter mile out when Jake Bass remarked, “That’s peculiar.”

Bull didn’t like Bass much. Jake was quick on the shoot, but he was also quick with his temper and that made for a troublesome combination. But Jake did have good instincts about other things, so Bull asked, “What is?”

“The lights.”

Bull looked and couldn’t see anything strange about them. “The town always has lights at night.”

“Only on Main Street?”

Bull drew rein. Damned if Jake Bass wasn’t right. Main was lit from end to end except for a space in the middle. None of the other streets showed a lick of light anywhere.

“Say, that is strange,” Crusty chimed in. “What do you reckon it means?”

Bull wasn’t about to admit he didn’t know. “Ride ahead and find out.”

“Me?” Crusty said.

“Take Charley and Slim.”

“And if we see Asa Delaware? Do we put windows in his noggin or save him for you?”

Bull would like to do in the Town Tamer personally, but he replied, “Bed him down permanent if you have to, but otherwise go careful.”

“We’ll be careful as hell.”

Jake Bass chuckled. “Scared of that old breed, are you?”

“A bona fide”—Crusty pronounced it “bona fidee”—“man killer ain’t to be taken lightly.”

“Hell,” Jake said. “He bleeds like everyone else.”

“So do we,” Crusty said.

“Get goin’,” Bull commanded. Shifting in the saddle, he called out to the rest, “Dismount if you want. We’ll be waitin’ here a spell.”

“Hell,” Jake Bass said, swinging down. “I say we ride on in and do it.”

“You buckin’ me, Jake?”

“Not ever,” Jake instantly replied. “But you know me. I ain’t much for twiddlin’ my thumbs when killin’ needs to be done.”

“That’s why Knox relies on me more than he relies on you.”

“You ever hear me squawk about that? I agree you’ve got more sense than me. I try to rein myself in, but I can’t help bein’ me.”

Some of the others were climbing down, but Bull stayed on the sorrel. He could sit a saddle forever. His brother used to josh that he had an iron ass. Then a lawman went and put a slug through his brother’s brain.

Bull stopped thinking about his brother. It always upset him, and he needed a clear head. This Town Tamer, Delaware, was supposed to be living hell and not apt to go down easy.

Time passed, and Jake Bass said out of the blue, “What I’d like to know is why us.”

“Us who? The Circle K?”

Jake nodded. “Why did Delaware come here when there’s towns that need tamin’ a lot worse than Ludlow?”

“Someone sent for him.” Bull stated the obvious. “The town council, most likely. That’s how it’s usually done.”

“When we’re done with the half-breed, we should pay each of them a visit.”

“You know,” Bull said. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Jake suddenly stiffened and stared toward town. “Do you hear that?”

“I ain’t deaf.”

The quiet of the night had been shattered by pistol shots and the unmistakable blasts of a shotgun. There were several more shots and the shotgun blasted a second time and after a bit once more.

“What are we waitin’ for?”

Bull raised his reins. “Back on your critters, boys. Crusty is in trouble.”

“Do we ride in with guns blazin’?” Jake Bass eagerly asked.

“We ride in with our guns out,” Bull said, “and blaze away the moment we set eyes on Asa Delaware.”

“Let the fun commence,” Jake Bass said, and whooped for bloodthirsty joy.