Ralph Compton Death Along the Cimarron (24 page)

“Same here, Danny,” said Tuck. “I've got no coffee to offer the two of you, but step down all the same. We can talk some.”

“Much obliged, but not today, Tuck,” said Danielle, shooting Eddie Ray a harsh glance as he started to swing down from his saddle. “We're on our way to Cimarron, on business. Just rode over from the trail to see what the shooting's about.” He nodded at Eddie Ray and said, “This is Raymond Moon. I'm riding with him and some other fellows.”

“Oh, I see,” said Tuck, sounding a bit disappointed, looking closely at Eddie Ray. “Well, I'm deputy in Cimarron now, so I suppose we'll be running into one another. Maybe we can a have a drink at Lambert's Tavern.”

Danielle nodded at the badge on his chest. “I was going to ask when you took up a tin star. I have to say I'm little surprised by it. I always figured you for a cattleman and nothing else.”

A sadness seemed to come over Tuck's face. “A lot has happened since we last met, Danny. I look forward to seeing you in town and telling you all about it.”

Danielle backed her mare a step. Thinking about what had happened to Tuck's old friend Stick, she said, “I have some things to tell you too, Tuck. Why don't we make it a point to meet tonight for that drink?”

“Sounds right to me,” said Tuck, noting the faintest urgency in Danny Duggin's expression that he didn't think the other man noticed.

Eddie Ray Moon cut in. “Duggin, the boss ain't going to want you wandering off tonight to talk about old times with your saddle pals.”

Danielle gave him a cold stare. “Go on ahead of me, Eddie. Tell the boss I ran into an old friend of mine. Tell him I'm on my way.”

Eddie Ray started to protest, but seeing Danielle slip a gloved hand down near the handle of the big Colt, he only made a gruff sound under his breath and jerked his horse around toward the thicket.

As he rode off into the dense piñon forest, Tuck said to Danielle, “Don't let me get you into trouble with your boss, Danny. We can meet tonight.”

“Tuck, have you ever seen me worry about getting in trouble with a
boss?”
She didn't give Tuck time to answer. Instead, she said, lowering the range of her voice, “But listen to me. It's a stroke of luck, me running into you. I'm on the trail of some killers. These men I'm riding with are leading me to them. They're outlaws ... they think I'm riding with them to rob a bank.”

“I figured something was up,” said Tuck. “I couldn't see you riding with the likes of that one. I hope your knowing me, a deputy, ain't going to hurt you any.”

“It won't, Tuck,” said Danielle, cutting a glance into the piñon thicket. “Meet me tonight and I'll fill you in on everything.”

“You got it, Danny,” said Tuck. “I'll be there for sure.” He watched the big mare turn a short circle, rearing slightly on its hind legs, then come down and race away into the piñon. After a moment of reflection, Tuck turned and walked back to his horse. He had a feeling that he was about to get real busy. This was all the target practice he'd be doing for a while.

 

In the remote cabin tucked deep inside a woodlands alongside a wide, shallow creek, Ellen looked down at the butcher knife one of the men had left lying on a window ledge beside the woodstove. She gave a quick look at Dirty Joe Turley, who sat at the wooden kitchen table, his back turned to her. Her first impulse upon seeing the knife was to grab it and plunge it into his spine as deep as she could force it to go. But then she glanced out the window and saw that Cherokee Earl and Avery McRoy hadn't even made it out of sight yet. Their horses were still climbing the far side of the creek bank toward the trail leading to Cimarron.
Bide your time,
Ellen's inner voice told her.

On the other side of the creek, Avery McRoy looked back once toward the cabin as their horses stepped up the bank and moved out of sight. “It's none of my business, Boss,” he said to Earl, “but knowing the shape Dirty Joe is in regarding that woman, is it a good idea leaving them alone like that?”

“Far as I'm concerned, Dirty Joe is a dead man soon as we get this bank robbed,” said Cherokee Earl. “It's either leave him or you alone with her, and I need somebody I can trust beside me. That's why I brought you.”

“Then I take it you're through with the woman?” McRoy asked.

“Yeah,” Earl said sourly. “I've been through with her since Braden. She ain't much.... She just looks full of promise is all. Why? You want her? If you do, she's all yours soon as we get back, provided Joe ain't killed her by then.”

“No, Boss, I think I'll pass,” said McRoy. “It's business first with me. We get that bank money, I can buy all the women I'll ever need and be able to run them off come morning so's I don't have to hear them bellyache about anything that doesn't suit them.”

Cherokee Earl grinned. “That's smart thinking on your part, McRoy. Soon as we take this bank, you kill that moon-eyed Dirty Joe—the woman too, for that matter. You and me will be equal partners from now on. How does that suit you?”

“That suits me fine, Boss,” McRoy said, heeling his horse up beside Cherokee Earl's.

Inside the cabin, Ellen took one more look and, not seeing the horses now, felt her hand start to reach for the butcher knife. But just as she did, Joe Turley scooted his chair back from the wooden table, got up, and walked over to her, craning his neck to take a good look out the window toward the trail. “Good, they're gone,” he said, keeping his voice lowered as if they might yet hear him. He reached hungrily for Ellen, his hands grasping her waist and pulling her to him.

“Joe, please, wait a minute!” Ellen said, stalling the inevitable.

“Wait?” Joe said, repeating her, his voice trembling. “You must be kidding! Waiting is all I've been doing. I've got to have you right now!” He forced a deep, wet kiss onto her mouth. His beard stubble assaulted her lips, her chin.

“Please, Joe!” She managed to force him away, if only for a second. “You've got to give me a moment ... to get in the mood.”

“Honey, I'm in the mood,” Joe rasped. He forced her hand down the front of his trousers and pressed himself against her, clawing at the front of her dress until it came open and her breasts stood out pale and quivering. “God, I've never been more in the mood than at this minute,” he whispered lustily.

“Okay, okay then,” Ellen said, giving in, letting his mouth find hers again, allowing his free hand to knead and fondle her breasts. With her left hand down his trousers, she squeezed him firmly down there and heard a long moan come from his throat. Yet, as he pawed and squeezed her and held her pinned to him, Ellen's right hand went around him, reaching the window ledge, searching frantically for the knife handle until she grasped it firmly. She felt him lifting her dress above her hips, felt his belt buckle dig into her flesh. He fumbled with his gun belt buckle, loosened it, and let his Colt fall to the floor. Then he loosened his trouser belt and let his trousers fall also. “Now give it to me,” he moaned.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ellen stabbed the point of the knife sidelong into his neck two inches below his ear with all of her strength. She felt the knife blade go deep, and having done such a thing sickened her. Joe lost his grip. His hands melted away from her and shook violently for a second until realization sank in. He stood staring in disbelief, his eyes wide in terror. Then he raised his left hand, found the handle, and grasped it tight. “I—I thought you wanted me,” he managed to say in a strained voice.

“No! Forgive me, Joe!” Ellen said shakily. For a second, she stood transfixed by fear.

“Damn you!” Joe yanked the blade out of his throat, and a spout of blood pumped long and hard from his severed artery. Ellen came unstuck. She screamed hysterically and scooted back away from him, raising her hands to her face as if to hide the grisly scene from her eyes. Dirty Joe staggered forward, his lifeblood leaving him quickly, his face growing pale white. He stabbed down at her halfheartedly.

“Joe!” Ellen sobbed. “I didn't want to kill you! I had to! God forgive me!” She jumped farther back as he stabbed at her again. This time the knife slipped free from his weak, blood-slick hand and clattered to the floor at her feet. She snatched it up as, falling forward, he lunged at her, his hand grabbing for her. With a long scream, Ellen dropped down into a crouch, drew the knife back, and with all her strength stabbed him again, this time burying the blade up to its hilt in his chest, where the left and right sides of his rib cage came together.

“Ayieee!”
His breath left him in a rattling gust. He stared down at the knife handle again in disbelief. His eyes seemed to say,
My God, you've done it again! You've stabbed me twice!
The stream of blood from his neck splattered down onto the rough plank floor, making a strange sound. He sank to his knees, his mouth gaping, his tongue thick and lolling between his lips. He managed to grip the handle with both bloody hands before he fell face forward.

“God forgive me, God forgive me, God forgive me!” Ellen stood wild-eyed, her hands clasped to her ears. Around her, the small cabin appeared to have been painted with blood by the hand of a blind mad-man. She stood stone-still for a moment, then looked around as if to see who might be watching as she drew the open front her dress closed, hiding her blood-splattered breasts. Another deathlike moment passed before she began to tremble uncontrollably. Then she sank weeping to her knees, curled up in a ball like a small child, and lay quietly amid the carnage.

Whether she'd slept or not she didn't know. But when she stood up, it was growing dark outside and an evening chill had moved into the cabin. She took a good look at the body of Joe Turley lying in the same spot where she remembered it being. Then she looked once again around the bloody cabin, pushed her hair back out of her eyes, and busily set about preparing herself for the trail.

The first thing she did was to step over to Joe Turley's gun belt, which was lying on the floor in a drying puddle of thick black blood. She lifted his pistol, checked it, picked up a cloth from the table, wiped blood from the gun handle, and carried it with her as she lit a lantern and rummaged through the cabin for a coat and some better clothes for the trail.

When she'd gathered a pair of trousers, a wool shirt, and some long underwear, she stepped out of her dirty, bloodstained dress and, standing naked in the dim circle of light, dipped a bandanna into a water bucket and washed herself free of the many spots and smears of dried blood. Finishing, she dressed quickly, still holding the pistol as if it were her personal talisman. Stepping around Joe Turley's body, she picked up his hat, looked it over, saw that it had only a few small blood spots, and put it on her head. Her red hair flowed beneath the hat brim.

Where was she going? “Anywhere but here,” she murmured aloud to herself, taking a last glance around the grisly scene in the cabin. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she knew better than to go toward Cimarron and risk running into Earl and McRoy, that much she knew for certain. She was free now ... and she intended to stay that way. Besides, she'd seen what Cherokee Earl and his men had done to the last towns they'd ridden through. She wasn't about to pin her faith in a small-town sheriff, a deputy or two, and a handful of townsmen. Once she got onto the trail, she was heading in the opposite direction from Cherokee Earl. She'd overheard Earl and the others talk about the trail they'd been on winding downward and southwest to Taos. That was good enough for her.

Beside the door stood Joe Turley's Winchester repeating rifle. On a peg hung a bullet belt full of ammunition for the Winchester. She knew very little about rifles, but she reminded herself that she would never find a better time to learn. For one last time she looked over at Joe Turley's body and whispered, “I really am sorry I had to kill you, Joe. But it was life or death for me.” Then she picked up the rifle, swung the bullet over her shoulder, and walked out the door.

No sooner had Danielle and Eddie Ray Moon caught up to Buck Hite and the others than Eddie Ray began spilling his guts about Danny Duggin being friends with a lawman. When he'd finished, the men had all come to a halt and drawn their horses into a half-circle around Danielle and her mare. “Just how good of friends were you and this deputy, Danny?” asked Buck.

“We were the best of friends, Buck,” Danielle replied. “But Eddie Ray has left out two important facts. First of all, it was a long time ago.... And second of all, Tuck Carlyle was not a lawman then. He was a drover.” Danielle's eyes went across each man's face in turn. “Now, if anybody has a problem with this, we can work it out a lot of different ways right here and now.” Her hand poised close to the pistol butt, making no effort to hide her meaning.

Buck Hite noted that while she'd addressed all four of them, everything about her—her voice, her shadowed face, her gun hand—appeared to be focused toward him. Buck turned his face slowly to Eddie Ray Moon. “You didn't mention all that, did you, Eddie Ray? Reckon it must've slipped your mind?” He spoke low and even, but there was a threat in his voice that caused Eddie Ray to shrink back a bit.

“All right, listen to me,” Eddie Ray said, raising a hand, his voice sounding a little anxious. “I knew this fellow was new at being a lawman—he said so himself. I also figured it had been a while since they'd seen one another, the way they talked about it. But, Buck, Duggin here was talking about getting together with this man later on ... catching up on old times, they was saying.” Now Eddie Ray turned an accusing gaze on Danielle.

“Is that true, Duggin?” asked Buck Hite. “You plan on riding with us and at the same time being good friends with the law?”