Ralph Compton Blood Duel

“Why? She is never nice to me.” Sally Worth was in her fifties. The wear and tear of her profession was evident in her stringy brown hair streaked with gray and her many wrinkles. Her body was still shapely, though, if a bit thick through the middle, and she still sashayed with the best of them, swinging her hips fit to throw them out with every step she took. Scratching under her armpit, she yawned and commented, “That’s quite the mess you’ve got in there. Why didn’t you give a holler? The only excitement this lice trap has ever had and I missed it.”

“It happened sort of fast,” Win said.

Chester avoided looking at Sally as he remarked, “It was terrible. Not fit for a woman to see.”

“I am not squeamish,” Sally said. “I’ve seen it before, more times than I can count. When you have worked in saloons all your life, you see it all.”

The batwings creaked and in came Adolphina. “Who were those four men again, Chester?” She was not upset; she was not disturbed in any way.

Chester related all he knew about them, which was not much, then all he knew about their killer.

Sally Worth listened with her arms folded across her bosom, and when he was done, she said, “Jeeter Frost made his name in Texas. He was a ranch hand on the Bar T. A friend of his owned it, by the name of Tyler. A squabble started over water rights. There was a lot of shooting and burning and pretty near twenty men died. Tyler was murdered, ambushed one night by five of his enemies. Frost hunted them down and shot them dead.”

“How is it you know all that?” Winifred asked her.

“I was in Texas at the time, in San Antonio. It was all anybody talked about.”

Adolphina was gnawing her lower lip, a habit of hers when she was deep in thought. “So this Frost fellow is famous?”

“Not famous famous, like Wild Bill Hickok was, or like John Wesley Hardin,” Win said. “Famous in a small way. One penny dreadful and a lot of bar talk.”

“Still, people have heard of him.” Adolphina’s dark eyes, which were more close set than was common, bored into her husband’s. “You need to call a meeting of the town council, Chester.”

“I do? Why?”

“Use your head. The sheriff will come. Others, too. The curious. Maybe friends and acquaintances of the deceased.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Chester said, brightening. “Why, some of them might even buy something in our store.” He turned to the liverymen, who had been quietly listening. “Placido. Arturo. Would one of you Mexicans ride to Anderson’s and tell the Swede I am calling an emergency meeting of the town council in an hour and he must be here?”

“Sí, senor,” Placido said. He had his sombrero in his hand as a token of respect for the presence of the senoritas.

“Do you understand what has happened?” Chester struggled to think of the right word. “Do you comprende?”

“I speak excellent English, senor. Remember?” Placido said.

It was true, and it rankled Chester that a Mexican spoke it even better than he did. “Those priests taught you good, didn’t they?”

“They taught us very well, indeed, senor,” Placido said. He was always polite to everyone. Always a pleasant smile and a pleasant manner, and much more talkative than Arturo.

“Then off you go,” Chester said. He noticed the Giorgios were drifting in the direction of their cottage and hollered, “Minimi, you have to be at the meeting, too.”

“Me, signore? But the consiglio, it is you and Mr. Curry and Mr. Anderson. I am not a member.”

“You are today,” Chester said. “We have a decision to make that will affect everyone, so you might as well sit in.”

“As you wish. You are the alcade,” Minimi said, but he did not sound particularly happy about the invitation. His wife said something in Italian and he replied and she cast a worried look at Chester.

“What was that about, I wonder?”

Adolphina shrugged. “Who can tell with foreigners? That’s the problem with our town. Too many foreigners.” She lumbered from under the overhang. “I will go freshen up and sweep the place out.”

Chester grunted. The council meetings were held in their store. Originally, the town council met in the saloon, which proved convenient when their throats became dry from excess talking. But when Adolphina started attending, they had to switch to somewhere respectable.

Sally Worth yawned. “Well, if all the excitement is over, I guess I will go back up and finish my nap.”

“You can sleep with dead men below you?” Win asked.

“Hell, I’ve slept with all kinds of men under me, and over me, too.” Sally grinned. “Smelly men, ugly men, stupid men, toothless men. Dead is an improvement.”

“The things that come out of your mouth,” Chester said.

Sally winked at him. “I never hear you object to the things that go into it. But then, you have cause not to, don’t you?”

Chester glanced sharply at the retreating bulk of his wife, a red tinge creeping from his neckline to his hairline. “Keep your voice down. She might hear you.”

“Not from there,” Sally said. “You worry too much.”