Bullets Don't Argue Page 6

  “All right, all right,” Possum exclaimed. “You win, Pitt. You’re sure as hell holdin’ all the cards. I’ll get you the money, but we’re gonna have to ride a-ways to get to the place we buried it.” His only hope was to lead Pitt away from there and give Emma a chance to get to Perley.

  The smirk on Pitt’s face expanded to form a wide grin, testament to the pleasure he enjoyed at their expense. “You know somethin’, Possum? I ain’t knowed you very long, but it was long enough to know you ain’t the best liar in the territory. I’ll tell you what, why don’t the three of us go have a look in that wagon back there in the trees? See if maybe you forgot you kept that money with you.” He motioned with his pistol for them to get on their feet. “We’ll just leave that rifle right where it is. You ain’t gonna need it for nothin’.” With no other choice, Possum and Emma got up. Trembling visibly, Emma struggled to her feet, taking a worried glance at her baby sleeping on a bundled-up quilt near the fire. Noticing her concern, Pitt said, “Don’t worry about your young’un. If he starts cryin’, I know a good way to shut him up.” Horrified, she dutifully fell in step behind Possum as Pitt marched them to the wagon.

  * * *

  Feeling the chill of the soft breeze that swept over the river, Perley climbed out of the water, wondering if he had anticipated summer a little too soon. “I wish I had a towel,” he muttered to himself, now thinking that it might take longer than he had thought for the sun to warm him and dry his wet underwear. With a whole afternoon to kill, he was in no particular hurry, so he picked a spot on the grassy bank that would be right to lie on his back and absorb the sunlight. It was then that he heard the gunshot. Just having settled back, he bolted upright. There was no mistaking it, the shot had come from the direction of their camp! “Oh, shit!” he muttered, thinking they had been attacked, and he had no time to spare. So he pulled his boots on and strapped his gun belt on as he ran toward the grove of oak trees and the wagon near the other side of it. Entering the thick stand of trees, he moved as quickly as he could manage, dodging small trees and the limbs of larger ones. As soon as he could get a glimpse of the wagon parked in the trees, he stopped running and moved more carefully, slowly getting closer until he stopped abruptly when he suddenly saw them near the rear of the wagon. He immediately dropped to one knee.

  He was relieved to see Possum and Emma alive, and the gunshot he heard had not been for either of them. He had to wonder then if the shot had in no way been a threat to them. Maybe Possum shot at a snake or something. While he watched, Emma crawled up into the wagon and started pulling things out, passing them to Possum, who took them and put them on the ground. What in the world . . . ? he wondered, then realized what he was watching when Jack Pitt stepped around the end of the wagon, a six-gun in his hand, trained on them. He’s robbing them! Well, we’ll see about that, he thought and moved carefully through the trees until in a position behind the robber.

  “You can drop that weapon on the ground!” Perley ordered. Pitt froze, but failed to drop his pistol. “I ain’t gonna tell you again,” Perley warned.

  “All right,” Pitt called out. “I’m droppin’ it. Don’t shoot.” He bent forward, extending the .44 as if about to drop it on the ground, but instead, he suddenly spun around and sent a shot snapping through the leaves a foot or so beside Perley. In almost the same instant, he dropped to his knees when a slug from Perley’s .44 slammed into his chest. Roaring out in rage, Pitt remained on his knees until he slowly crumpled to the ground.

  “He didn’t give me any choice!” Perley exclaimed, almost as if it was an apology, as he walked up to stand over the body.

  “No, he didn’t,” Possum replied at once, “and I ain’t never been so glad to see somebody in my whole life.”

  “I gave him a chance to surrender,” Perley insisted.

  “He didn’t deserve a chance,” Possum said. “Killin’ is the best thing to happen to that varmint.”

  “You know him?” Perley asked.

  “I know him,” Possum declared. “Jack Pitt, the meanest gunslinger I ever saw. He’s the low-down dirty dog that shot Emma’s husband.”

  “I thought you said your husband was shot by a bank robber he was chasin’ with a sheriff’s posse,” Perley said, looking at Emma, who had still not recovered from her fright.

  “It was him” was all she could say.

  Still confused, Perley looked to Possum for clarification. Before he could speak, they heard a cough from the body on the ground before them. “He ain’t dead yet,” Possum blurted and looked around for his rifle, forgetting that it was back by the fire.

  “Just barely,” Perley said and knelt beside the dying man.

  Pitt was trying to say something. Perley could see that, but his throat was choked up with blood that made his words garbled and difficult to understand. In one last defiant effort, he managed to force a few words out before he surrendered to his fate. “Damn,” Possum swore, relieved, “he’s finally dead.” He looked at Perley. “Could you make out anythin’ he was babblin’?”

  “Something about the bank’s money was all I could make out,” Perley said. “No tellin’ what was goin’ through his mind. A man like that probably has a head full of bad things that he did or were done to him.” He paused for a few moments to try to sort it all out. “So you figure this fellow has been followin’ you and Emma all the way from Kansas?”

  “Looks that way, don’t it?” Possum answered, realizing that it had been a big mistake when he said he knew Jack Pitt, and that he was the man who killed Emma’s husband.

  “But why was he comin’ after you?” Perley still didn’t understand. “Have you got something of his?”

  “Don’t know what it would be,” Possum claimed. He glanced at Emma to see her cringing as the talk progressed. “I think everybody that knew Pitt would tell you he was sick in the head.”

  Perley shrugged, still puzzled by the dead man’s actions. “Well, I reckon he ain’t the first man to catch a case of prairie fever. It was pure tough luck he forced me to shoot him. Maybe he’s better off dead.”

  “I expect you’re right,” Possum said, his spirits lifted considerably. “But I tell you, I was mighty glad you came to the party. Next time, though, it ain’t necessary to dress up for it.”

  It struck him then. In the excitement of the shooting, he had forgotten that he was still in nothing but his underwear. “Oh, hell,” he blurted, totally embarrassed. “Pardon me, Emma, I didn’t think about anything but gettin’ here as fast as I could when I heard that gunshot. I beg your pardon. I’ll just go and get my clothes on.” He turned around and departed into the woods again, realizing how ridiculous he must look with nothing on but his boots and his gun belt. He could hear Possum laughing behind him.

  “Next time don’t forget your hat,” Possum called after him. His spirits lifted considerably, he turned to find Emma visibly shaking, now that the danger was past. “What’s the matter, honey? It’s all over now, thanks to Perley. This ain’t no time to be scared. You’re safe now, we both are, and we’ve still got our money. We don’t have to worry about that sidewinder no more. We oughta be celebratin’ tonight.”

  “I know,” she said. “I reckon you’re right, but I’m still worried.”

  “About what?” Possum asked.

  “Perley,” she said. “Do you think he’s as innocent as he acts? He’s the only one of us that got close enough to Jack Pitt to hear what he said. He mighta told Perley about our money, and Perley just didn’t let on that he did. Jack Pitt is just spiteful enough to tell on us, even when he’s dyin’.”

  It worried Possum to hear her say that. He had a feeling about Perley, now that they had ridden together a few days. Honest as the day is long came to mind, and he truly believed that saying applied to Perley, even after hiding their money from him. “I don’t know,” he answered. “It’s a possibility, I reckon. We’ll sure find out in the next day or two.” He took another look at Jack Pitt’s body, positive now that there was
no spark of life remaining. “Let’s take a look at what Pitt’s carryin’ in his pockets,” he said. “Then I’d best see if I can find his horse. He musta left it on the other side of the clearin’, else we’da seen him come walkin’ up behind us.” A quick search of the body produced approximately five hundred dollars in his vest pocket. “Well, he ain’t spent it all,” Possum said. “I’ll go look for his horse, see what he’s got in his saddlebags.”

  Emma watched him until he walked into the trees on the far side of the clearing and disappeared from her view. She could not feel the same freedom that Possum obviously felt with the demise of Jack Pitt. The stolen bank money weighed heavily upon her, knowing that in spite of her feelings of guilt, she was not willing to give it up. A great deal would depend on Perley’s actions, now that Pitt was dead. At almost the same instant she was thinking about him, Perley rode around the outside of the clump of trees between their camp and the river, just as Possum emerged from the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. He was leading two horses, one of them with a saddle.

  “I see you found his horses,” Perley said.

  Possum pulled them up short of the fire and proceeded to make a show of searching Pitt’s saddlebags and his packs on the packhorse. “Well, lookee-here,” he sang out when he looked in the saddlebags, “Ol’ Pitt weren’t broke, not by a little.” He held up a roll of banknotes for them to see. “Wonder how much is in this roll?” When he had heard Perley ride into the clearing, he made a hasty decision. Having already found the roll of money, he thought it might serve to quell any suspicions Perley might have, especially if he proposed a three-way split with it. That might explain the dying words of Jack Pitt to Perley’s satisfaction, like maybe that was the money he was babbling about. “I think I’ll count it,” he said and proceeded to do so, somewhat surprised that Perley showed more interest in the coffeepot sitting in the coals of the fire. He kept counting, however, and announced the total when he had finished. “I make it two thousand, seven hundred dollars. That’s a helluva lot of money. We split it up and that’s nine hundred dollars apiece. Ain’t that somethin’?” Actually, Pitt had less than that amount in the saddlebags, Possum had added most of what he found in Pitt’s pockets to make it easier to split three ways. “Whaddaya say, Perley? That’s the only fair thing to do, ain’t it? ’Course, I wouldn’t really have no right to argue if you was to say it oughta all belong to you, since you’re the one who did for ol’ Pitt—and did the world a favor, I might add.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Perley said. “Why don’t you give the money to Emma? From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t wanna go back to Butcher Bottom in the first place. With that money, she wouldn’t have to. Twenty-seven hundred dollars ain’t a big fortune, but it might be enough to get you and your sister’s family a piece of ground of your own.” He didn’t tell them that he didn’t want the money. He didn’t like the idea of getting money for killing somebody. That was an occupation he had no desire for.

  There was no immediate response to his suggestion from either Possum or Emma beyond an exchange of astonished glances between them. Finally, Emma spoke, knowing she had to say something. “That’s mighty generous of you, Perley, but it ain’t right for me to take all of Jack Pitt’s money. I appreciate it that you’d like to help me go someplace else besides Butcher Bottom, but you’ve done your part just gettin’ me here. I’ll be fine, once I can talk to Rachael and Tom.”

  “Well, I reckon that’s up to you,” Perley said, “whatever you decide. But you and Possum can split the money. I don’t need it.” As far as he was concerned, the two of them could do what they pleased with the spoils of his killing. “Now, I expect it would be a little nicer around here if I drag this carcass off and bury it. Have you got a shovel on that wagon?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” Possum answered. “It’s a short-handled shovel, but it’ll dig a hole. You want me to help you?”

  “Nope,” Perley replied. “You can stay here and help Emma.” He tied one end of a rope around Pitt’s ankles and wrapped the other end around his saddle horn. Then he led Buck into the trees to find a spot to dig a grave. He hadn’t walked far from the wagon when he came to a spot between two large oak trees that looked like it would do, so he stopped Buck there and untied his rope. He took a look at Pitt’s huge body, then looked at the short-handled shovel. “On second thought, I think you’ll serve the world better if you feed the buzzards,” he decided and left the body there to rot.

  CHAPTER 5

  “You sure this is what you wanna do?” Possum asked one more time before starting the horses.

  “All the family I’ve got is right here,” Emma replied, her mind made up. She would return to her father’s farm to see the condition of the old house. Once her things were placed there, she would then try to persuade her sister and her husband to join her in searching for a new place. They would look for a place where they could own the land and where their crop yield would not go to the general welfare. She remembered her late father saying that he never should have embraced Simon Butcher’s religious philosophy, complaining that no matter how hard he worked, he would never get to enjoy the fruits of his labor. There were always members of the community who lacked the skill to work the land profitably, so those who could had to provide for those who couldn’t. She and Dan had set out to escape the farm and ever-increasing conflicts between the community of Butcher Botton and the Lazy-S Ranch. She had refused to stay where she would ultimately end up as one of the wives of the Reverend Raymond Butcher. And Dan was not inclined to remain under the strict discipline of his father’s cattle ranch. So now she was determined to save her sister, if she could persuade her to trust her, knowing she had the financial backing she needed, buried in a grove of oak trees by the river.

  The trail narrowed just before they encountered the first indication they were approaching Butcher Bottom. It was a roughly painted sign that advised all strangers entering the private community that they should check in at Tuck’s Store to state their business. They made their way slowly along the narrow wagon track that followed the east bank of the river and led them by the meetinghouse. Perley rode beside the wagon, leading his packhorse. Possum’s horses and Jack Pitt’s two horses were tied to the tailgate. Beyond the meetinghouse, they came to a small store and a blacksmith shop beside it. Those three structures comprised the settlement of Butcher Bottom. The town appeared to be deserted, save for two women standing outside the door of the meetinghouse, who paused in their cleaning of the steps to stare at the strangers who obviously elected to ignore the sign about checking in.

  Past the store, the blacksmith, Edger Price, put his hammer down and stood there to stare at the three people passing his shop. Like the women at the meetinghouse, he said nothing to the visitors. When they had gone past, Price called to his son, who was working in the back of the shop. “Lemuel, go to the house and tell your mama Emma Wise just rode through town settin’ on a wagon seat, holdin’ a baby.”

  Emma cradled her baby and kept her eyes on the horses pulling her wagon, not wishing to make eye contact with anyone. “Friendly little place, ain’t it?” Possum couldn’t help commenting. “I wonder if I could get that blacksmith to straighten out your axle?”

  “If there was a road around it, I woulda took it,” Emma said, ignoring his question about the axle. “I was kinda hopin’ nobody would recognize me. It won’t be long before everybody knows I’m back.” They were passing fields of young corn now with farms on both sides of the river, and a short distance later, she pointed to a house sitting back from the road, larger than the others they had seen. “That’s Raymond’s house,” she said. “That’s where I was supposed to be goin’ on my sixteenth birthday.”

  “For a birthday party?” Possum asked.

  “Yeah, a birthday party,” Emma replied in disgust, “and after the party there was supposed to be a ceremony makin’ me Raymond’s wife.”

  Her remark surprised Possum. “I thought this feller,
Raymond, already had a wife. What is he, a Mormon?”

  “No, he ain’t no Mormon. Mormon women most likely have a choice on whether they wanna marry a man or not. Raymond’s religion don’t give you no choice. If one of the menfolk wants a girl, he’ll work a deal with her father. ’Course Raymond has to bless it. If Raymond wants you, there ain’t no choice—for you or your father.”

  “I swear . . .” Possum drew out, appalled. He had not been aware of this before.

  “That’s the only reason I ran off with Dan Slocum,” she confided. “I wasn’t sure if I loved him or not, but I knew it would be better than being one of Raymond Butcher’s wives.” She paused, thinking back on their short marriage. Glancing down at the baby in her arms, she said, “He was a good man and I learned to care for him.”

  “I swear, Emma . . .” Possum tried to show compassion, but was at a loss for the proper thing to say. Instead, he asked, “What in hell did you wanna come back here for?”

  “I told you, to save my sister and her two little girls. Rachael’s got to know her daughters ain’t much different from two calves. The men are just raisin’ ’em till they’re old enough to bear children.”

  “What about the feller your sister’s married to?” Possum asked. “Does he think like Raymond does? He might not wanna leave Butcher Bottom. He might be thinkin’ about takin’ on another wife, himself.”

  “I don’t know,” Emma said. “I guess that’s what I’m here to find out.” They sat in silence then for about a quarter of a mile before she said, “Turn onto that trail on the right. That’ll take you to my daddy’s house.” Possum called out to Perley to give him the signal.

  They followed what appeared to be a well-used wagon track up from the river for a few hundred yards before reaching a simple frame house and a small barn, both of which appeared to be in a state of good repair. Expecting to find the place abandoned, Emma exclaimed, “It looks like somebody’s livin’ here.” She looked at Possum as if seeking an explanation. “This is my daddy’s house. This is where I lived.”