Ralph Compton Whiskey River (30 page)

“Empty wagons?” said Bowdre. “What in hell for?”

“He hated Wolf Estrello,” Liz said, “and hoped to cripple him. But Estrello's bunch turned it around, crippling us. We lost eleven men, including Frank.”

“How many men does Estrello have?”

“I don't know exactly,” said Liz. “Frank said more than thirty. We had nineteen.”

“I have twenty-two including what's left of Frank's bunch. They're clamorin' to go after that whiskey.”

“Be careful if you do,” Liz said. “Besides the teamsters, there were more than twenty outriders, every one with a Winchester.”

“I'm obliged for what you've told me,” Bowdre said. “If we can pull this off, there'll be something nice in it for you.”

Liz laughed. “You're my kind of man, Bowdre. You do something nice for me, and I'll go on doing nice things for you.”

“I've made up my mind,” Sim Bowdre told his band of outlaws. We're going to take all that whiskey off Wolf Estrello's hands and sell it ourselves. We'll ride at first light. Does anybody object to that plan?”

“No,” they shouted in a single voice.

“I got a question,” said Will Macklin, once a Frank Barton rider. “Are we goin' in, all of us shootin' and raisin' hell, or do you have a plan that won't get us all shot dead?”

“Before anybody pulls a gun, I'll have a plan,” said Bowdre.

Wolf Estrello pushed the men and animals to the limit. They were still a hundred and fifty miles from the Washita.

“You're pushing too hard, Wolf,” said Wilder. “The men can take it, but look at the horses and mules. They're gaunt, and these twelve-hour days is gettin' to 'em.”

“Mind your own damn business, Wilder,” Estrello said. “I'm still bossin' this outfit.”

But Wilder's warning proved almost prophetic. Two mules came up lame and had to be replaced with horses. Worse, the eight Indian mounts they had captured were not broken to harness, and Estrello gave up on them. Instead, he used the saddle horses belonging to Carl and Lee.

“Somebody's going to pay,” Lee said, “if I find whip marks or any other signs of mistreatment.”

“Count me in on that,” said Carl. “When I throwed in with this outfit, there wasn't nothin' said about my horse pulling a wagon with a bunch of damn lop-eared mules.”

“Then keep your eyes well ahead of your teams, lookin' for trouble spots,” Estrello said. “Some of these damn delays can be avoided.”

“A man can't see beyond the lead team of a six-mule hitch,” Todd said. “He's just got to take his chances. I'm gettin' a mite tired of the teamsters gettin' the blame when a mule stumbles or a wheel breaks. You've got a heavier load on these wagons than ever before. I think it's time you considered that.”

“The loads ain't too heavy,” said Estrello. “Just teamsters who are too careless, or just don't give a damn.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Vernon said. “If you think that poorly of us, you might just decide not to pay us at the end of this run.”

“Once we reach the Washita and settle with the Indians, you'll get everything that's comin' to you,” said Estrello.

“I'm obliged for the warning,” Todd said.

“Yeah,” said Vernon, “we're obliged.”

Liz was already awake when Sim Bowdre sat up in bed and rolled and lighted a cigarette.

“You distracted me some last night,” Bowdre said, “and I didn't get around to telling you I've decided to go after Estrello's wagons. I figure them renegade Indians will buy from me as quick as they will from Estrello. Such a haul will take us plumb out of the outlaw business, I figure.”

“Watch your step,” said Liz, “or you may get put out of the outlaw business in a way you're not counting on. Some of those men with Estrello are carrying two Colts, with the extra loaded cylinder in their pockets. They shot Frank's outfit all to hell, without one of them taking the time to reload.”
⁴

“Hell, I wasn't born yesterday,” Bowdre said. “I don't aim to ride headlong into them. We'll get far enough ahead to set up an ambush.”

“He's got outriders who do nothing except watch for trouble,” said Liz. “They're all armed with Winchesters, which they used until they were close enough for their Colts. And then they started cuttin' us down.”

Bowdre laughed. “How many did you shoot?”

“Not a damn one,” Liz admitted. “When they gunned down Frank, I got the hell away from there. So did the others who lived to talk about it.”

“Well, they're ready to have another go at it, and so are my bunch,” said Bowdre. “I'll be gone for a few days. Wish us luck.”

“I will,” said Liz. “You'll need it.”

After a leisurely breakfast with Liz, Bowdre rode back to his camp on the outskirts of Indian Territory, not far from Fort Smith. His bunch was hunkered around a small fire, drinking coffee from tin cups. Bowdre dismounted, took a tin cup, and poured himself some coffee before he spoke.

“Tomorrow we ride to relieve Wolf Estrello of that load of whiskey. I'm told he's got more than thirty men. Some of them carry two Colts. Probably an extra loaded cylinder, too.”

“Hell, I thought they
all
had two Colts and an extra cylinder,” said French Loe, one of the survivors of the attack that had taken Frank Barton's life. “The lead was comin'so thick and fast, we couldn't get close enough without bein' shot to doll rags.”

“That's what you get, ridin' headlong into' em,” Bowdre said. “We'll have to get well ahead of them and set up a foolproof ambush.”

“You think Estrello ain't sending a scout ahead, looking for Indian sign?” Whit Sumner asked.

“He is, unless he's a damn fool,” said Bowdre. “It'll be our business to lay an ambush without leaving any horse tracks if we have to walk five miles.”

“Then leave me out of it,” Weaver Upton said. “I ain't walkin' no five miles.”

“You ain't sharin' in the loot, either,” said Bowdre. “Damn it, do what you're told, or saddle up and ride.”

“Aw, I was just joshin',” Upton said, trying to cover his mistake with a grin.

“Now,” said Bowdre, “who can drive a six-mule hitch?”

“I can,” Hugh Stems said.

“So can I,” said Hez DeShea.

“Me, too,” Whit Sumner said.

“I can do it,” said Kirk Epps.

“Same here,” Tasby Winters said.

“Same goes for me,” said Wilson Soules.

“It goes for me, too,” Cordell Kazman said.

“I can,” said Blake McSween.

“So can I,” Burly Grimes said.

“Bueno,
” said Bowdre, “that's nine, and I only need eight. Now who wants to ride out today, get well ahead Estrello's outfit, and set up an ambush?”

“I'd like to go,” said Lefty Paschal. “I owe that bunch a dose of what they give us.”

“Not that I don't trust your judgment, Lefty,” Bowdre said, “but I'm sending Upton with you. He's part Comanche. Set the ambush far enough ahead to allow us to get there well before the wagons.”

“How do we know which way they'll be goin', except somewhere in Indian Territory?” Cordell Kazman wondered.

“They've done this before,” said Bowdre, “so there'll be wagon ruts. Anybody got any reason to believe they won't follow the same route this time?”

Nobody spoke. It was all laid out carefully, and the outlaws nodded in satisfaction. But things got complicated when Paschal quietly took a horse after dark and rode into Fort Smith. He headed for the Territorial Saloon and wasn't all that surprised when he found Liz Barton there, working as a house dealer. He winked at her, but she didn't so much as nod in his direction. Paschal got bold and approached the table.

“Liz,” said Paschal, “I want to talk to you in between games.”

“I never saw you in my life, and I have nothing to say to you,” Liz said.

“Well, I say different,” said Paschal. “We had more than a few rolls in the hay. You ain't forgot that, have you?”

Buckshot Orr—carrying his sawed-off namesake—saw trouble coming and headed for Paschal, who made no move toward his Colt.

“You'd better make yourself scarce, pilgrim,” said Orr. “That's Sim Bowdre's woman.”

“I don't see Bowdre's name on her nowhere,” Paschal said. “Anyway, all I want is just to talk to her. Is there any harm in that?”

“I reckon not,” said Orr. “But get on the bad side of Bowdre, and it's your funeral.”

When the poker game ended and the players left the table, Paschal drew back a chair and took a seat.

“What the hell do
you
want?” Liz asked in a deadly low tone.

“Maybe I want my woman back,” said Paschal.

“I've never been your woman, and I'm not now,” Liz replied.

Paschal laughed. “We had us some good times behind old Frank's back. Ain't no reason we can't have some more.”

“You're a damn fool, Lefty Paschal. I know you're part of Bowdre's gang, but here you are, looking for a roll in the hay with me. I'll do one thing for you. If you get out of here and promise not to come back, I won't tell Bowdre you were here.”

“I ain't afraid of Bowdre,” Paschal said.

“That's good,” said Liz. “Here he is now.”

Lefty looked toward the door and his blood ran cold. Sim Bowdre had followed him to town and stood there with his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, near the butt of his Colt. Sensing trouble, Orr brought out his sawed off twelve-gauge.

“I want no trouble in here, gents. If there's blood to be spilled, spill it in the street.”

“I'll meet you in the street, Paschal,” said Bowdre, “unless you're yellow.”

Paschal got to his feet and started toward the door. Liz Barton remained at the table, saying nothing. Bowdre had walked about twenty yards down the dirt street. There was no moon, only the light from distant glittering stars and the lamplight that bled through the saloon windows. Bowdre still stood with his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, just above the butt of his Colt.

“I don't see the need for this,” said Paschal. “Liz has been everybody's woman. She was mine while Frank Barton was still alive, and she'll be somebody else's woman when she's tired of you.”

“Maybe,” Bowdre said, “but she's mine now. Pull iron when you're ready.”

There was no help for it. Paschal drew faster than he ever had in his life, but before his finger could tighten on the trigger, he saw flame burst from the muzzle of Bowdre's Colt. Paschal stumbled backward and sat down in the dusty street. Finally, he lay down flat on his back and didn't move again. Doors of other saloons burst open as men rushed out to see what had happened. Several men had drawn their guns, covering Bowdre.

“Somebody get the sheriff,” a man shouted.

Sheriff Glen Taggart had held the office for many years, and with most of the outlaws holed up in Indian Territory, there had rarely been any trouble in town.

“Anybody witness this shootin'?” Taggart asked.

“I did,” said Orr. “It started in my place, over a woman. I made 'em come out to the street. The dead man went for his gun before the other made a move.”

“What's your name, stranger?” Sheriff Taggart asked, turning to face Bowdre.

“Simmons Bowdre. This varmint come in and challenged my right to a woman that had no interest in him. I invited him out, and he wasn't fast enough. You need anything else from me, Sheriff?”

“I suppose not,” said Sheriff Taggart, “but stick around town for a while. This
hombre
may have a price on his head. If he has, you're entitled to the reward.”

“I'm not anxious to claim blood money,” Bowdre said, “but I'll be in the Territorial Saloon for a while.”

Lefty Paschal's body was carried away, and Sim Bowdre went back into the saloon. It had suddenly all the patrons it could handle, as men discussed the shooting. Some of them were sneaking looks at Liz, who sat alone at the poker table. Bowdre boldly walked over, dragged out a chair, and sat down beside Liz. Those who had been watching her quickly turned their attention elsewhere.

“An interesting situation,” said Bowdre. “Was he before Frank or after Frank?”

“During Frank,” Liz said.

“That ain't sayin' a hell of a lot for your loyalty,” said Bowdre.

“I didn't promise loyalty,” Liz said. “At least, not to you. Besides, I was done with Lefty before I met you. He was here trying to rekindle the fire. I told him to get lost. He was about to do that when you showed up.”

“You're my woman, damn it,” said Bowdre, “and if any more of your old fires flame up, I'll put them out just like I did this one. Let's go back to the hotel for a while.”

Liz got up and started for the door with Bowdre.

“Liz,” Orr shouted. “I need you to deal. We got a full house.”

“Liz will be back in an hour,” said Bowdre. “Until then, deal 'em yourself.”

“Damn it,” Liz said, “you didn't have to tell the whole town where we're going and what we'll be doing.”

Bowdre laughed. “Them that knows me will know what I'm doin', and after this, I don't reckon there'll be any varmints tryin' to move in on you.”