Webb's Posse (21 page)

“No,” said Webb, turning toward him. “I mean it. I had no right getting these men to follow us out here—”

“They came because they wanted to come, Webb,” said Summers. “Now turn it loose. We're just getting started.” He hefted the feed sack up slightly, enough to draw Webb's and the men's attention to the weight of it.

Abner Webb stared blankly at the sack for a second,
unsure what Summers meant. But then he saw the long drop of dark blood drip from the bottom of the sack, and he recoiled at the sight of it. His eyes went to the bloody knife handle sticking up from Will Summers' belt. “My God in heaven, no,” Webb gasped. His voice sounded shaky and ill as he took a step back. “Don't tell me you've done something like that.”

“It's done, all right,” said Summers. “I brought along that feed sack for this very reason. I'm not about to haul their stinking carcasses all over the desert when all we need is enough to get identification for the bounty money.” He dropped the sack on the ground with a thud. “These two rode with Doc Murdock. One said his name was Andy Merkel. He claimed he wasn't worth anything, but I brought him along anyway, in case he's lying. I recognized the other one. He's Duckbill Grear. He's worth a thousand dollars, dead or alive.” Summers looked around, studying the faces of the men.

Abner Webb also studied their faces, seeing the cold-edged resolve in the tired, wary eyes. Campbell Hayes stood up and stepped over near the feed bag. He reached out with his foot and rolled one of the heads back and forth slightly. “I don't know about the rest of yas, but this makes me feel a little better. I'll feel better yet when it's Moses' and Goose's heads in that bag. I know we missed some back there, but it can't be helped. I reckon the buzzards and coyotes get their bounty.”

Cherokee Rhodes made a dark chuckling sound as he looked down at the outline of the two heads. “I knew both those boys. There ain't a better ending for either one of them, far as I'm concerned.” He looked at Will Summers. “But if Doc Murdock and his hair
lifters have thrown in with the Peltrys, it's going to make this job a little tougher. If anybody truly wants to go home, this is the best time to do it.”

Abner Webb avoided the eyes of the men and looked off into the distance. “I got a little carried away there, but I'm all right now.” He turned to Summers and nodded down at Bobby Dewitt on the ground. Dewitt had been watching through fading eyes, his hands grasping the bloody exit wound in his stomach. “Bobby here just told us he's the one tipped off the Peltrys.”

Will Summers looked surprised, but only for a second. “That's too bad, Bobby,” he said, stooping down beside the wounded cowboy as he spoke. He lifted the range pistol from Bobby's holster and looked it over. “I thought a lot of you.”

“I'm sorry I let you down,” Bobby said in a trembling voice.

“So am I,” Summers whispered. He opened the range pistol, dropped the cartridges out into his palm, stuck one back in the cylinder and snapped it shut. “In light of that, you wouldn't expect us to wait here while you die, would you?” He laid the pistol on Bobby Dewitt's chest.

“Wait a minute,” said Abner Webb. “That's Bobby lying there, not some stranger. Surely we can give him a few minutes—”

“It could take hours,” said Summers, cutting Webb off. “When he tipped off the Peltrys, he became responsible for everything that's happened since.” He looked back down at Bobby Dewitt. “Does leaving you a gun with one bullet seem fair enough to you?”

“I ain't complaining,” Bobby said, his voice weaker now.

“The Peltrys know we're on their tails, Deputy,” Summers said to Webb. “We've got to press them
hard now.” He turned to the others. “I hope nobody here is too shocked or outraged by all of this killing. It's exactly what we came here to do.”

“Damn it,” said Abner Webb. He swung around and grabbed a canteen from Hargrove's hands and pitched it down by Bobby Dewitt's side. “At least leave a dying man some water.” He turned and stomped away toward the horses.

“I'll go talk to him,” said Sherman Dahl, rising up slowly and cradling his rifle in his arms.

“Let him be, Dahl,” said Summers. “He knows what I said is right. That's why he's upset by it. Killing is never what a man imagines it will be like.” His eyes went across the men's faces, then he added in a lowered tone, “Thank God for that.”

Moses and Goose Peltry led the riders back into the Diablo Espinazo clearing at a hard gallop, the horses' pounding hooves raising a cloud of dust and sending the goats and their owners in every direction. The goatherders could tell by the look on the Peltrys' faces that things had not gone as expected. Goose Peltry slid down from his horse before it came to a complete stop. Moses circled his horse near the well in the center of the clearing. His men grouped up around him. A few feet away, Doc Murdock reined in and slid down from his saddle, his band of scalp hunters bunching up by his side. Murdock gazed back along the dusty trail, searching for any sign of Duckbill Grear or Andy Merkel.

“You're wasting your time looking for them two boys, Murdock,” said Moses Peltry, giving Murdock a cold stare. “If they were still alive, they'd already been here by now. Looks like you mighta got them both killed.”

Murdock gave him a curious look.

“That's right; I don't miss a thing goes on around me. I knew you sent them back the minute you did it,” said Moses. “You just had to show me that your men could pull it off, didn't ya? Well, they're both dead now. Maybe next time you'll listen a little closer
to what I've got to say.” He wrapped both hands around his long beard and stared at Murdock.

“It was the right thing to do at the time,” said Doc Murdock defiantly. “If those two men only took out a few of the posse, it was worth doing it. It'll make the rest of that bunch think twice before coming after us. If you hadn't left anybody alive the other day, they wouldn't be trailing us to begin with. Now that we had the posse dead in our sights, we should've stayed and finished them off.”

“Hell, I just wanted to see how we worked together, Murdock,” said Moses. “As far as getting the posse off our trail, we're old hands at that, Goose and me.” He gestured with a toss of his head toward Goose Peltry. “Brother Goose is getting ready to show you a dandy way of doing that without wasting any ammunition on them.” He nodded toward his brother, who came riding his horse over to them. Goose had a short rope in his hand. At the other end of it, an old goatherder wobbled along barefoot in the dirt. The old man's face had already turned blue from the rope circling his neck. His hands were tied behind his back. “You watch close now, Doc,” Moses chuckled. “This works most every time.”

“Dupre's bringing one more just like this one.” Goose chuckled, swinging the old man forward toward the center of the clearing at Moses' feet. “If two ain't enough, we'll grab some more. It's like snatching chickens for a Sunday dinner.”

A few yards behind Goose came Monk Dupre on his horse, leading an old woman on a rope in the same manner. “This one offered me her goat money to leave him alone,” said Dupre. “Can you imagine her thinking I could be bought off like some common thug?” He slung the old woman forward. “Get over
there, you old hag. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, trying to bribe an honest, upright man like me!” Dupre shouted. The woman landed in a puff of dust, sobbing and praying.

“What are you getting ready to do, Moses?” Murdock asked.

“Like I told you, Doc, I'm going to get that posse off our tails before we move down into Old Mex. These two are going to deliver a little message for us. Aren't you, old woman?”

“Por favor, tiene misericordia! No nos mate!”
the old woman pleaded.

“Ain't that pitiful?” said Moses to Doc Murdock. “She's begging me not to kill her and the old man.” Moses laughed, reaching out with his boot toe and raising her chin up to face him. “Kill you? Now, what ever gave you a notion like that?”

“This ain't going to make that posse think twice about staying on our trail,” said Doc Murdock. “If anything, this will make them more determined.”

“Either way, this'll tell what kind of men they are. Then we'll know how best to handle them,” said Moses Peltry. He looked down at the woman's terrified face and gave her a flat grin. “Ain't that right, old woman?”

“Por favor, por favor!”
Her frightened eyes flashed to Doc Murdock then back to Moses Peltry. “Do not let him scalp us!” she begged.

Moses laughed louder and shoved her away with the toe of his boot. “Did you hear that, Murdock?” he said. “She's begging me not to let you scalp her and her husband. Sounds like your reputation has preceded you.”

“Yeah, I heard her,” said Murdock, frowning down at the old couple in the dirt. “Can't say I
thought much of it either. That's what I get for trying to be kind, I reckon.”

“I always say it never pays,” Moses Peltry said, still staring down at the old woman.

Doc Murdock went on. “I admit there might have been a couple scalps made it across the counting table that weren't exactly Apache.” He turned a flat grin to Moses Peltry. “But hell, I never claimed me and the boys were perfect.” He reached down, entwined his fingers in the old woman's hair and lifted her bowed head. She gasped. “But don't you fret, old crone. You ain't worth a thin
peso
to me—unless I just want to do it for practice.” He turned her hair loose and let her head fall to her chest.

“Don't beg these lousy pigs for nothing, Soledad,” said the old man, rising up to his knees beside her. He reached his tied hands to one side behind his back and clasped her weathered hand in his. “If they're going to kill us, begging won't stop them. Don't give them the satisfaction.”

Moses Peltry looked down at the old man. “Well now, there's some spirit. Do I hear a little Alabama accent there? You're American, ain't you, old goatherder?”

“That's right, I'm an American…southern Alabama born and raised. And we won't beg you for our lives! I've shit a better wad than you on an empty stomach, you rotten bunch of saddle trash!”

On the trail less than two miles from Diablo Espinazo, Webb, Summers and Teasdale reined up for a second at the head of the riders as the distant sound of a pistol barked six times in rapid succession. “I've got a hunch that wasn't target practice,” said Teasdale, heeling his horse forward again. They
rode on in silence until in the distance behind them they heard a single pistol shot, this one coming from where they had left Bobby Dewitt with his range pistol across his lap.

Webb shook his head. “It still doesn't seem right, us leaving Bobby Dewitt to die alone that way, no matter what he did.”

“You heard him call it, Deputy,” said Summers. “Your problem is, you think too much. Sometimes it's best to put things out of your mind. All things considered, we could have done a whole lot worse by him.”

“Seems to me I'm putting too much out of my mind lately,” said Webb. They rode farther in silence. Then he said, “The other day, when I asked if you'd done any killing, and you kept beating around the bush…I thought at the time it was because you were bluffing, not wanting me to know that you'd never really killed anybody.” He looked Summers up and down as he spoke. “But that wasn't it at all, was it?”

“Nope,” said Will Summers without facing him. Sergeant Teasdale remained quiet, listening to the two men as he rode along beside them.

“It's just something you don't like talking about or admitting to, isn't it?” Webb asked.

“That's right, Deputy,” said Summers, staring straight ahead along the trail into Diablo Espinazo. “Killing ain't something I like confessing to. Talking about it just brings it up all over again.”

“I understand that now,” said Abner Webb.

“I bet you do,” said Summers. They rode in silence until they came to another halt, this time less than two hundred yards from the small clearing of a town. When they reined up, Will Summers slipped his rifle from his saddle boot, checked it and laid it across his lap. “What do you think, Sergeant?” he asked.

“I think we need to split up into twos and threes and come in from different directions in case there's a trap waiting for us in there.”

“That sounds good to me. What about you, Deputy?” Summers and Teasdale both looked at Abner Webb for approval.

“Sounds good to me too,” said Webb, drawing his rifle. “I just want to get this thing done as fast as we can and get back to Rileyville.”

Summers and Teasdale gave one another a look. Then Summers sidled his horse closer to Webb. “The deputy and me will swing up onto the slope and ride down,” he said. “Schoolmaster, you, Rhodes and Daniels sit still until you see us coming down, then ride in from here. Sergeant, you and your trooper take Hayes with you and swing around and come in from the other end of town.” He looked around. “Anybody got anything to add?”