Boone's Lick (6 page)

“Both,” Sheriff Baldy said. “Hush up, Seth.”

The Tebbits, if that was who they were, didn't offer to move out of the path, when we came close.

“Hello, Newt—hello, Percy,” the sheriff said. “It's strange to come upon you this early. I suppose you spent the night in the road.”

“You're on the move early yourself, Sheriff,” the one called Newt remarked. “Going worming, are you?”

“We're on official business,” the sheriff replied. “It don't do to lie abed when there's official business to be conducted.”

“We want to join the posse,” the one called Percy informed him.

“There's no need, we're fully staffed,” the sheriff said.

Both Tebbits gave ugly snorts at that reply.

“Two Yankees and two boys and you, that's all I see,” Newt Tebbit said. “That's not enough.”

“They've got our sister Nancy,” Percy Tebbit said. “We fear that dern Ronnie Miller may have led her astray.”

“You wouldn't deny two brothers the chance to rescue their sister from a swamp of sin, would you?” Newt Tebbit asked.

It was clear that the Tebbits had managed to put Sheriff Baldy on the spot. He looked at Mr. Hickok and he looked at Uncle Seth, but both of them were just waiting politely, with faraway looks in their eyes. If either of them had even noticed the Tebbits they gave no sign.

I believe the sheriff decided there was no way around taking the two men, not unless he wanted to provoke a gunfight before we even got to the main battle.

“If that's the situation, of course you can come,” he said. “But I've no money to pay you for your time. How are you fixed for ammunition?”

“We've got enough cartridges, I guess,” Newt Tebbit said. “You needn't be concerned about the pay. We'll see what we can pick up once we rout the killers.”

“Fall in, then,” the sheriff said.

P
RETTY
soon the mist burned off completely and we rode on to Stumptown through as pretty a morning as you'd want. It was the sort of warm bright day that usually put Uncle Seth in a high good humor. Sometimes he whistled on such days, or even sang a ditty or two—“Buffalo Gals,” or something he'd learned on the river. At the very least he might tease G.T. by making up riddles that G.T. couldn't possibly guess the answer to.

This morning, though, the fine sunshine seemed to have no effect on him. He was lost in thought again; and Mr. Hickok was no jollier than Uncle Seth. Maybe that was because they knew we were headed for a dangerous fight. But then bear hunting was a dangerous proceeding and bear hunting
had never dampened Uncle Seth's spirits, that I could remember.

Stumptown was not a large community—in fact, so far as being a town went, it only had two buildings, a store and a church. When we got in sight of it we stopped on a little ridge to look it over. There were a few crab apple trees on the ridge, with several crab apples scattered on the ground nearby.

“A bear has been picking over those crab apples,” Uncle Seth observed.

Nobody had any answer to that.

There was no sign of life in Stumptown. I saw a rooster, walking around on the porch of the store, but that was it.

“It's just a mile to the Millers',” Sheriff Baldy said. “They live south of the village.”

We all started to move down the ridge toward the two buildings, but the Tebbit brothers didn't move with us. Just the way they sat on their horses looking at us made me uneasy—I have no explanation for the feeling. The Tebbits didn't seem friendly—not even to one another.

“What's wrong, boys?” the sheriff asked, when he saw that the Tebbit brothers hadn't moved off the ridge.

“We'd best give that town a wide berth—be a perfect place for an ambush,” Newt Tebbit said. “There's some brushy thickets off to the east. I say we slip around that way.”

“Why wouldn't a brushy thicket be just as good a place for an ambush as a little two-building town?” Uncle Seth asked.

“I second the question,” Mr. Hickok said.

“I agree with my brother,” Percy Tebbit said. “A swing to the east would be the safe way to go.”

“Who lives in Stumptown, besides Old Lady Mobley?” Sheriff Baldy asked.

“Nobody—just Old Lady Mobley—but that don't mean the Miller gang couldn't slip in and hide in the church,” Newt Tebbit argued.

“I didn't send them no telegram, informing them of our arrival,” the sheriff said. “They have no reason to hide in the church—or anywhere else.”

“News gets around,” Percy Tebbit said.

“This palaver is a waste of time—remember that I don't work on Fridays,” Mr. Hickok said.

He turned his horse, and so did Uncle Seth. The two of them rode up on the Tebbits, who held their ground.

“Ain't we missing a Tebbit?” Uncle Seth asked. “I had in mind that there was three of you Tebbits, not counting your womenfolk.”

“That's right, there's Charlie,” Sheriff Baldy said. “Why didn't Charlie come? Doesn't he want to save his own sister?”

“Charlie had a toothache,” Newt Tebbit said calmly. “He's gone to Boone's Lick to locate a dentist. We expect him to be along once he gets that tooth out.”

I was getting a feeling that something was about to happen, on the ridge. Uncle Seth and Mr. Hickok were walking their horses real slow, toward the Tebbits. Sheriff Baldy was chewing on an unlit
cigar. There was a feeling of waiting. Uncle Seth had told us about the war, when bombs and cannons were always going off. He said there was a certain feeling men got just before a battle that was like no other feeling. “You're waiting, and you don't know what you're waiting for,” he said. “You just know it won't be good, and it might even be death.”

That was how I felt as Uncle Seth and Mr. Hickok closed with the Tebbits. Both Tebbits bared their teeth as Uncle Seth and Mr. Hickok rode toward them. I wondered why they were grinning, although it was more like they were snarling, as a badger snarls, or a ferret.

“I don't know about his tooth, but I suspect Charlie Tebbit's the one hiding in that brushy thicket you mentioned,” Uncle Seth said.

“You are goddamn brash, Seth Cecil,” Newt Tebbit said, but before he could continue his speech Uncle Seth swung his Sharps rifle and knocked the man off his horse.

“I hope it won't be necessary for me to hit you that hard,” Mr. Hickok said to Percy Tebbit. He had slipped a pistol out from under his gray slicker, and was pointing it at Percy. While Percy was staring at Mr. Hickok, trying to decide what to do, Uncle Seth came up on his blind side and whacked him too. Percy Tebbit slid off his horse slowly, like a sack of oats slides off a pile.

“You might have damaged your pistol, if
you'd
slugged him,” Uncle Seth said. “A side arm is not supposed to be used as a hammer.”

Both of the Tebbits were down but neither one of them was out. They were writhing around on the ground, holding their heads. Percy was bleeding profusely, but Newt didn't seem to be cut. Sheriff Baldy rode over and looked down at them.

“Goddamn the luck,” he said. “This is just the sort of complication I wanted to avoid.”

“Yes . . . and Thursday's slipping away,” Mr. Hickok said.

“I hope you brought some handcuffs—it will eliminate the need for tying knots,” Uncle Seth said.

“I did, six pair,” the sheriff said, pulling a tangle of handcuffs out of his saddlebag. “I didn't expect to have to waste any on the Tebbits though.”

“If I were you I'd handcuff them while they're still groggy,” Mr. Hickok advised. “It wouldn't surprise me if they showed some fight.”

The sheriff jumped down and got to it. He had just clicked the cuffs on the two men when both of them began to yell.

“Come, boys! Come, boys!” they yelled, as loud as they could. Then they both staggered up and began to run down the ridge, at which point seven or eight men, all mounted, burst out of one of the thickets east of Stumptown.

“Well, there's your ambush,” Uncle Seth said matter-of-factly. “What do you say, Bill? Should we make a run for the church? The cover is sparse on this hill.”

“I count eight riders,” Mr. Hickok said, getting off his horse. “We are five. That only gives them an
advantage of three. Look at them flail their nags! I doubt that any of them can shoot straight from a running horse, and besides that, those puny horses will give out long before they get here. Let's not disturb ourselves any more than is necessary.”

We all dismounted and watched the ambushers, who were still quite a long distance away. Uncle Seth took the oilcloth off his rifle. He had a little tripod which he sometimes set up for long-distance shooting—he could rest his rifle barrel on it if he needed to take a fine sight.

“Which one am I supposed to shoot?” G.T. asked. Sheriff Baldy and Mr. Hickok were calmly watching the ambushers come. I wasn't calm, myself—I wanted to start shooting right away, but like G.T., I wasn't sure who I was supposed to shoot at.

“Wait, boys—they're out of range,” Uncle Seth said. “I'll shoot a horse or two, and when I do you count to ten before you fire—that goes for you too, G.T.”

“Shoot a horse or two, Seth—it might discourage them,” Mr. Hickok said.

“How far will this rifle shoot?” G.T. asked. “Somebody tell me, quick.”

I didn't blame G.T. for asking the question. I had no idea how far my own rifle would shoot. I had killed two deer with it, and several wild pigs and a wolf, but none of those critters had been very far away, and I think the old wolf must have been sick, otherwise he would never have let me get as close as I did. I couldn't keep a clear focus on the
men who were charging toward us—one minute they looked as big as giants, and the next minute they looked tiny—so tiny I knew I'd be lucky to hit one of them without using up a lot of ammunition. Uncle Seth had given me ten cartridges, and G.T. the same.

Nobody answered G.T. Uncle Seth had set up his tripod, but he hadn't drawn a bead yet. Mr. Hickok and the sheriff were as cool as if they were watching the Fourth of July parade.

“I see Jake Miller, and I believe that's Ronnie just behind him,” the sheriff said. “We might land the whole family in the next few minutes.”

Mr. Hickok was not so optimistic.

“There's no sign of Billy Perkins, though,” he said. “I wouldn't expect him to be as foolish as these men, charging up a hill at five riflemen. It would occur to Billy Perkins that one or two of the riflemen might be competent shots.”

Then Uncle Seth laid his rifle across his little tripod and proved Mr. Hickok's point. Before G.T. and I could get our wits together and start counting, Uncle Seth shot twice and brought down two horses—their riders went sprawling off into the grass.

“Drop one more, why don't you, Seth?” Mr. Hickok suggested. “The loss of one more horse might bring them to their senses.”

“I was wrong, that ain't Jake Miller—it's just his cousin Eli,” Sheriff Baldy said. “They favor one another quite a bit.”

Uncle Seth fired again and a third horse went
down—though just saying it went down would be to put it too mildly. The third horse turned a complete somersault. Its rider flew off about thirty feet, after which he didn't move.

“It's rare to see a horse turn a flip like that,” Uncle Seth observed.

“That was Ronnie Miller's horse,” Sheriff Baldy said. “Ronnie took a hard fall. He ain't moving.”

The two Tebbit brothers, both still handcuffed, stopped about halfway between us and the riders. Then the riders stopped too, all except one, who came on about another fifty yards before it dawned on him that he was no longer part of a group, after which he quickly drew rein.

“That's Charlie Tebbit out in front,” the sheriff said. “I knew that story about the toothache was a damn lie.”

“Do you see anyone you particularly want to shoot, Seth?” Mr. Hickok asked.

“No, not if they're cowed—I've seen too much war to wantonly spill blood,” Uncle Seth said.

“Let's keep our guns cocked,” Mr. Hickok suggested. “They may not be quite cowed.”

I didn't know whether the ambushers were cowed or not, but I was happy they had called off their charge. I had started my count and was up to six when the lead rider pulled rein.

“Stop counting, G.T., we don't need to shoot,” I said. Once G.T. started something, it was hard to get him stopped. I saw his lips moving, so I figured he was still counting—then his rifle clicked, indicating that I had been right.

“Uh-oh, forgot to load,” he said.

“Well, load then, but don't shoot,” I said.

“I'm reasonably pleased with my shooting,” Uncle Seth said. “The tripod is a fine invention.”

The Tebbit brothers weren't pleased with anything, though. The fact that the ambushers had pulled up annoyed them greatly.

“Charlie, come get us!” Newt yelled. “Why'd you stop?”

“Why does he think they stopped?” Mr. Hickok said, amused. He lit one of his thin cigars. “Seth was shooting all their horses—that's why they stopped.”

“It's our play, Baldy—what do you want to do?” Uncle Seth asked.

“I'm not sure,” Sheriff Baldy said.

“Thursday's slipping away,” Mr. Hickok reminded him, though it was still early enough that the morning mist had just burned off.

I
GUESS
from the sheriff's point of view the situation must have looked complicated. The ambushers were sort of milling around, paying no attention at all to Newt and Percy Tebbit, who were still hoping to be rescued. Two of the men who had been spilled off their horses were back on their feet, but they weren't walking too steady. Ronnie Miller, the man whose horse had turned a flip, wasn't moving at all.

“Do you suppose this bunch would agree to be arrested?” the sheriff asked. “It's a passel of people to cram into jail, much less feed.”