Boswell's Luck Read online

  “Think you’re up to it, Rat?” Becky asked as she led the way to her father’s waiting buggy.

  “I got no talent for the steps,” Rat grumbled, recalling his Kansas misfortunes. “But I’m willin’ to try.”

  “I’ll show you the steps,” she assured him. “And you can’t be any worse a dancer than Buzz. I spent half the last dance with him, you know. We’ve got a shortage o’ unmarried men in the town o’ Thayerville.”

  He grinned and promised his best efforts. But when the time came, Rat Hadley proved a failure. He had trouble leading Becky and watching her show him the steps at the same time. Twice they tangled badly, and once they wound up in a heap surrounded by a crowd of laughing neighbors.

  “Busby, give you sister a break from this young tanglefoot, will you? the sheriff finally said as he pulled Rat aside.

  “And me?” Rat asked

  “Walk along with me, would you, son?” Cathcart asked. “Billy Bedford’s brought word trouble’s brewin’ down the street. Got my deputy off to Weatherford just now. I wouldn’t mind some company.”

  Rat nodded his understanding and accompanied the sheriff outside.

  “Ain’t been diggin’ many posts lately, I don’t suppose,” Billy Bedford said as he handed Rat a shotgun.

  “Nope,” Rat answered with a grin. “Guess nowadays you’ve turned to other trades, too.”

  “Washin’ glasses at the Lucky Lady,” the boy explained as the sheriff started down the dusty street. “Got a fight buildin’ tonight. Mr. Hull sent me for help.”

  “You found it,” Cathcart declared. “Best you stand clear now, Billy. Leave it to us.”

  They were still a hundred yards short of the saloon when a pair of pistol shots punctured the night. There was a shout, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Sheriff Cathcart raced forward, and Rat stumbled along as well as he could. By the time the two of them reached the Lucky Lady, peace had already been restored.

  “Anybody know him?” the sheriff asked as he knelt beside a the prone figure of a middle-aged man.

  “Called himself Duncan,” Eli Hull explained from behind the bar. “From Tennessee, I think.”

  “North o’ there, I’d judge,” Billy added. “Talked more like a Yank, and he told me he had a boy up Cincinnati ways.”

  “Was a fair fight, Sheriff,” Mitchell Morris declared.

  The sound of Mitch’s voice pried Rat’s eyes off the corpse stretched out on the floor. The fingers of the dead man’s right hand even now gripped the handle of a Remington revolver. Mitch had slung a small pocket Colt on the gaming table alongside a pile of coins and bank notes.

  “He’s right,” Hull agreed. “Other fellow’s been jabberin’ ’bout bein’ cheated half the night. Twice invited Mitch here outside. Then he finally drew out a gun.”

  “Wasn’t anything else I could do,” Mitch testified.

  “You others figure it so?” Cathcart asked a pair of shaken cardplayers.

  “Was like he said,” a bearded cowboy declared.

  “Lucky the boy had that hideout gun,” a younger wrangler added. “Been shot dead.”

  “This Ohio fellow didn’t know you had a pistol, eh?” the sheriff asked. Mitch shook his head, and the lawman frowned. “Was you cheatin’, boy?”

  “Don’t need to,” Mitch explained. “I got luck.”

  “You sure had it this night,” Cathcart declared. “Seems you were ready enough with that pistol. He fire first?”

  “If he had, Mitch’d be dead,” Hull answered.

  “You wouldn’t have me wait to take a bullet first, would you?” Mitch asked. “I was only defendin’ myself.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s how folks’ll see it anyway,” Cathcart grumbled. “I don’t take to gamblers, Mitch, especially when they keep pistols ready. I won’t charge you this time. But you keep your gun holstered in Thayerville. I’ll not have killin’ in my town!”

  “I was only …” Mitch argued.

  “You heard me, son!” the sheriff barked. “Now get along out o’ here. We got a body to see tended.”

  “We were playin’ stud,” Mitch complained.

  “You done your playin’ this night,” Cathcart announced. “Close down the bar, too, Eli. Been ’nough excitement.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rat Hadley didn’t speak to Mitch that night. No, Rat could think of nothing to say to his old friend. They had shared that violent afternoon on the Cimarron River and so many other bitter times. This new killing, though, was a foreign, unshared thing.

  “Looks like you’re not the only fellow ’round who can fill graves!” Mitch boasted the following afternoon. “Got me a man, too.”

  “Sure,” Rat muttered. “Wasn’t a thing I warmed to, though. Found no pleasure in it. Only pain.”

  “’Well, they shot you.”

  “Oh, it’s more’n that, Mitch. Arms heal. Ain’t been many nights I ain’t seen that Curly Bob in my dreams. Cain’t but barely recall what he looked like, but he’s there just the same, a shadowy face grinnin’ and shootin’ me dead.”

  “Laugh at him, Rat! You got him ’fore he had his chance.”

  “Sure, I did. But I’m not sure it was a fair bargain I made. And now to hear you brag on it! Takes a hard heart to be a killer, I’d say.”

  “You just admitted to killin’ a man yourself,” Mitch complained.

  “Sure, I did,” Rat admitted. “But it wasn’t in my mind. I didn’t have much choice, what with Pop and all those passengers. Shoot, the Gardiner boy was right there! I kilt an outlaw, too, Mitch, and a wanted one at that. Still, if I could do it again I’m not sure … “

  “Sure you are,” Mitch argued. “And so would I. It was your job, Rat, just like it was mine to shoot that Ohio fellow.”

  “Yer job?” Rat cried.

  “Gamblin’s come to be my trade, Rat. I know my way around the games just fine, have for a long time. That’s not enough to get a man along in years, though. He’s got to know all the odds, scratch himself an edge. Sometimes that means sittin’ on one side o’ the table or another. Once in a while it means shavin’ a card or two. But mostly you got to read the other fellow. And if you see him reachin’ for a pistol, you best know it ahead o’ time so you can be ready.”

  “Still, I’m not altogether sure I could pull a gun and shoot a man down like that,” Rat mumbled. “Not up close so I could see his eyes and all.”

  “Maybe not, Rat. But then you always could stomach sour words better’n most men.”

  “More practice at it, I suppose.”

  “Me, when a man hints at me cheatin’, my dander rises. Angry, I shoot a little quicker.”

  “Guess that’s natural,” Rat said gloomily. “Still, I never figured the two o’ us’d be known in Thayerville for killin’ other men.”

  “That’s about the only common ground we got these days, though. Folks don’t eye my shootin’ quite the same as yours.”

  I dorit myself, Rat told himself. The hard look in Mitch’s eyes reflected an understanding of his friend’s feelings. But then the two of them had few secrets.

  “Enough ’bout that,” Mitch said, managing a grin. “Tell me what brought you over last night. With the sheriff, I mean.”

  “Guess I was handy,” Rat explained. “Little Billy Bedford come along to the barn dance and said trouble was brewin’. The sheriff asked me to come along, Henning Lewis bein’ out o’ town and all.”

  “Talk ’round town’s that you been stayin’ with him. Passin’ time with Becky.”

  “She did a fair job o’ tendin’ me when I was laid up, Mitch. Ain’t altogether bad lookin’, you know.”

  “You had an eye for her ever since she was twelve.”

  “Never knew you to pass a chance for some female company,” Rat said, blushing slightly. “Nor begrudge a friend some o’ the same.”

  “You come a fair piece from Dodge City, Rat.”

  “No,” Rat argued. “Just got myself home finally. Becky an
d me, we’re comfortable.”

  “That all?” Mitch asked. “Don’t sound too excitin’.”

  “Ain’t you seen enough excitement o’ late? Me, the dull ole things suit me just fine. Sunset walks and a kiss or two, talkin’ ’bout dreams or ridin’ out to the river.”

  “We used to do those things, Rat.”

  “Sure, but it’s different tellin’ Becky. I believe we could share some o’ those dreams, Becky and me. She wants to.”

  “Plannin’ on marryin’ her, Rat?”

  “Maybe. If the job with the Western holds out awhile and the market for horses gets some better. I got five-hundred dollars reward money for ole Curly Bob Clark, you know. And I put by some cash from cuttin’ posts. Figure to buy myself some acres and run horses.”

  “Bet it’ll work, Rat,” Mitch said confidently. “Luck’s been smilin’ on you lately.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t mind at all. How’s she treatin’ you, Mitch?”

  “Keepin’ me alive,” Mitch answered. He then shuffled his feet and gazed off in the distance. Rat guesses the good cards were harder to come by these days.

  “Mitch, you know I could use a partner if I got that ranch.”

  “You know I’m no good with animals,” Mitch said, shaking his head and turning away. “Horses mostly stomp on my feet or toss me in cactus. ’Sides, Becky’ II be your partner.”

  “You sure yer all right, Mitch?”

  “Just as fine as I ever hoped to be,” Mitch boasted. Instantly he revived his old grin, and the Morris charm seemed to flow as freely as Lucky Lady beer. “Not worryin’ over me, I hope.”

  “No, you always do fine, don’t you, Mitch?”

  “Always,” Mitch announced. “Every single time.”

  Rat wasn’t reassured, though. That next week when he wasn’t guarding the freight office, Rat accompanied Lem Cathcart around Thayerville.

  “Ain’t so different from ridin’ guard on the stagecoach,” Rat observed after a time. “Just got to have sharp eyes. That way you can see the trouble comin’.”

  “That’s half o’ it,” Cathcart confided. “The rest is knowin’ what to do when you spy the problem.”

  “Like Mitch said he did t’ other night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Said that fellow was edgin’ closer and closer to drawin’ his pistol. That let Mitch get ready.”

  “That’s not at all what I mean,” the sheriff objected. “You know, Rat, I’ve been a peace officer a few years now. More’n you’ve been alive. In all that time I’ve shot three men. Only two of ’em died.”

  “I already kilt two myself,” Rat mumbled.

  “First time I caught a man holdin’ a shotgun on a bank teller in Jacksboro. If I’d called to him, he might’ve shot a dozen people. So I shot him twice. In the back. He never had a prayer.”

  “Was breakin’ the law,” Rat said, nodding. “Guess he didn’t earn a chance.”

  “That’s a truth, Rat,” Cathcart delcared. “And if I’d risked my life when I didn’t have to, I’d been the biggest kind of a fool.”

  “And the other one?”

  “Just a boy,” the lawman said, shaking his head sadly. “Drunk. Just back from makin’ a cattle drive, and he had too much money in his pockets. Took to sprayin’ the street with bullets, and I shot him.”

  “You had to protect folks.”

  “Found out he’d emptied his guns, Rat. If I’d talked to him some, I might’ve brought him in peaceful. It’s a hard call sometimes, and I never altogether get that boy out o’ my thoughts. Still, he broke the law. Was his choice to shoot up my town. I’m smarter now. I separate the drinkers from their guns early on, and I run the wild ones clear o’ Thayerville.”

  “Got to be more to it.”

  “Is. I don’t give ’em too big a piece o’ myself for a target, and when I do have to shoot, I hit what I aim at.”

  “Me, too,” Rat said with a sigh. “That’s how I kilt Curly Bob. Just instinct more’n anything.”

  “And the first one?”

  “Blind luck. Fellow charged up a hill at us, and I emptied my pistol at him and his friends. When the smoke cleared, he was dead. The whole time I was scared out o’ my boots.”

  “Scared last time, too?”

  “Yessir. But there were folks to protect, and wasn’t nobody else to do it.”

  “That’s the way it is for lawmen, son. Oh, killin’ comes easy to some, but most find it hard. More so after they do it once or twice. But you always have good people dependin’ on you, women and children and old people who can’t do for themselves. So you find it’s up to you.”

  Their conversation was cut short by the sound of glass shattering at the Lucky Lady.

  “Sheriff!” Billy Bedford screamed as he raced out the swinging doors a step ahead of a flying chair.

  “Lord, it’s Hull’s place again,” Cathcart grumbled. “Come lend a hand, Rat. Trouble’s at hand.”

  Rat nodded. And though he didn’t have a shotgun this time, he was ready to do as ordered.

  Sheriff Cathcart reached the saloon first. Rat arrived a moment later.

  “It’s that big fellow with the beard,” Billy shouted, pointing to a giant of a man pressing a smaller figure’s head against the hard wooden floor.

  “Deal seconds to me, will you?” The giant hollered.

  “Stop it!” Eli Hull pleaded. “You’re tearin’ up the place!”

  “Place merits it,” the big man replied. “I come to town for a fair game and find cheats here instead.”

  “I never saw any cheatin’!” a slim cowboy claimed. “Honest, mister, we play here all the time.”

  “I seen it!” a sandy-hair stranger decked out like a Ft. Worth banker exclaimed. “That boy’s got slick fingers ’round the bottom o’ yon deck.”

  “Oh, it’s just losin’ hands talkin’,” the cowboy accused.

  “Don’t mean it ain’t so,” the giant bellowed. “Nobody’s as lucky as this one!”

  “Maybe so,” Cathcart said, warily approaching the men. “Let him go though. This is for me to tend.”

  “I seen backwater towns afore,” the big man grumbled. “Leave me to settle this.”

  “I said let him go,” Cathcart demanded. The sheriff pulled a pistol and swung the barrel toward the bearded man’s enormous belly.

  “You cain’t mean to shoot me for settlin’ up with a cheat, Sheriff!”

  “I’ll do just that if you don’t step away from him this instant.”

  The big man released his hold. Then, quick as lightning, the giant produced a knife and started for the sheriff. The lawman rammed the hammer back on his pistol, and the would-be assassin froze.

  “Drop it!” Cathcart yelled.

  Only now did Rat take in the whole scene. His racing heart left him short of breath, and the condition wasn’t improved one bit when he recognized Mitch Morris’s frightened face as the subject of the giant’s attentions. A second later, though, Rat’s mind cleared. The fancy-dressed gambler was fumbling with a valise. Out came a pistol, and the barrel swung toward Sheriff Cathcart.

  “Sheriff, duck!” Rat yelled as he leaped toward the gunman and knocked the pistol aside. The gun fired, blowing a neat hole in the bar. Rat winced as the bigger man wrestled for control of the pistol. With a left arm only half-mended and the rest of him sore and softened by long days of recovery, Rat was no match for his opponent. Soon he was flung aside.

  “Rat!” Mitch shouted as the fancy-dressed gambler pointed his gun down at Rat’s helpless form. Then, from nowhere, Billy Bedford swung a brass spittoon across the gunman’s skull, and the man collapsed in a heap.

  “Try it, please,” Sheriff Cathcart said, turning to the giant who was reaching for his discarded knife. “I’ll send you to hell so fast you’ll swear it was the devil himself drivin’ the coach.”

  The big man backed away and raised his hands in surrender.

  “He your partner?” Cathcart asked, pointing to the well-dressed fig
ure stretched out on the floor.

  “Just met him in Weatherford,” the giant confessed. “Not partners exactly. He said we’d find easy pickin’s here.”

  “Meanin’ you’d call me for cheatin’ and steal the pot,” Mitch accused.

  “Boy, I don’t steal,” the bearded Goliath claimed. “You was playin’ with the deck all right. As to Hawkins there, well, who’s to say what his game was. Close to got himself kilt, though.”

  “Both o’ you,” Mitch claimed as he picked up the knife. “Got a mind to see to it myself.”

  “That’d be a fool’s play,” Cathcart announced. “I’d be the one to do the shootin’, Mitch.”

  “You saw him!” Mitch howled. “And th’ other one’s hurt Rat. Aimed a gun at you, too, Sheriff.”

  “Givin’ me leave to shoot him,” Cathcart explained. “Not you.”

  “Rat?” Mitch called.

  “I’m all right,” Rat grumbled as he got to his feet. “Owe Billy one, though.”

  “Back payment on more’n one service, Rat,” young Bedford remarked. “Truth is, it felt just fine, swingin’ that spittoon. Miss my ax, I suppose.”

  Rat grinned, then helped Sheriff Cathcart revive the fallen gambler. “You got just five minutes to collect your wits and find your horses,” the sheriff barked. “Then I’m haulin’ you to the edge o’ town and sendin’ you on your way. Either o’ you come back, I’ll lock you up a year. Or maybe just shoot you ’tween the eyes. Don’t know I could stand lookin’ at you a year!”

  A crowd had gathered, and they hooted their approval of the threat. The big man muttered to himself, stormed out onto Main Street, threw a leg over a mule, and headed on his way. The other fellow shook his head and moaned. A couple of cowboys tied him atop his horse and sent it headed south.

  “Mitch, I don’t want to see you for a time,” Cathcart then declared. “Find somethin’ else to occupy your time. Cards’ll only bring on misfortune. Or worse. Could’ve been men killed here this day, and I won’t have that. Not in my town.”

  “Yessir,” Mitch said, backing away from the lawman.

  “Too much drinkin’s what it is,” a woman cried. “Knives and guns and whiskey!”

  “No, it’s the cattle market,” Cathcart argued. “Tho many young hotheads with no work to occupy their time.”