Ralph Compton Blood Duel

“If it means that much to you, and because I have a generous nature,” Jeeter said, “I will give you five minutes and only five minutes for twenty dollars.”

“Five minutes isn’t much.”

“It is more than your friend got.”

“And I don’t have twenty dollars. All I have is—” Lafferty shoved a hand in a pocket and happened to gaze down at the former leading light of Kansas journalism. A new gleam came into his eyes and he quickly bent and went through each of Edison Farnsworth’s pockets. “Ah!” he cried, and flourished a wallet. Opening it, he counted aloud, “Ten, twenty, thirty, why, there is over sixty dollars here.” Beaming, he strode toward Frost. “Here you go.” He held out twenty dollars.

Jeeter accepted the bills. “Forty more and you can ask me any questions you want.”

“But you said twenty and I gave you twenty.”

“That was before I knew you had sixty.” A sly grin curled Jeeter’s mouth. “Besides, how much is being somebody worth to you?”

Frank Lafferty laughed. “Point taken. Here. Have it all.” He shoved the wallet at Frost. “But I expect my money’s worth. Five full minutes, and you will answer every question truthfully.”

“As best I can, boy, but my memory ain’t all it should be.”

They went out. Chester and Winifred swapped looks and Chester asked, “What in God’s name just happened?”

“You saw it all the same as me,” Win said. “You were right next to me the whole time.” He swore. “There are four dead men here. Why couldn’t they be dead in your store? Who is going to clean up all this blood and whatnot? I shouldn’t have to. I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“I wouldn’t count on Jeeter Frost volunteering,” Chester Luce said.

“I have half a mind to march outside and demand he do it.”

“Go right ahead,” Chester said, “and there might be five bodies to bury instead of four.”

“Hell in a basket.” Win stepped to the fallen form of Zebulon Blight and started to go through the dead man’s pockets. Suddenly he stiffened and held up a fat poke. He shook it and coins jingled. Loosening the drawstring, he whistled. “Land sakes. There must be thirty dollars.”

Chester went to Barnabas Blight and squatted. He patted each pocket. “Look at this!” The poke he found had twenty-four dollars in it. “Where do you suppose they got all this money?”

“Maybe they sold some stock.”

“Rustled stock is more like it. Or else robbed a bank.”

“No, we would have heard if they did that.”

Win hurried to Temple Blight, Chester at his elbow. The poke was inside Temple’s shirt, above the right hip. Fatter than the others, it contained eighty-six dollars in coins and banknotes.

“What should we do with all this?” Win wondered.

Chester glanced at the batwings. “Fifty-fifty sounds fine to me.” He fondled Temple Blight’s poke, and smiled. “There is more to this killing business than I ever imagined. It is food for thought.”

Chapter 4

Not two hours later Mayor Chester Luce called a special meeting of the Coffin Varnish Town Council. It was the first time the council had met in over six months. He did not have to go to any special effort to get them together; everyone in Coffin Varnish converged on the saloon to find out what the shooting was about. Or nearly everyone. The Swede and his wife, who lived a mile north of town but were considered residents anyway, did not hear the gunshots.

Chester sent one of the Mexicans, as he always called them, to fetch the Swede, as Chester always called him.

The Mexicans had names. One was Placido, the other Arturo. They had shown up one day shortly after the saloon and the general store were built, and for reasons of their own decided to stay. They erected and ran the livery, and lived together in a room at the back. They kept to themselves and were seldom seen. When they were seen they were always together. On several occasions they were observed holding hands, which Chester thought a damned silly custom for grown men, but he always tried to be tolerant of those unfortunate enough not to be born white, and he did not say anything. Little was known about their past. Gossip had it they were from a small village somewhere in the mountains of northern Mexico and had to leave when they got into some kind of trouble.

The source of the gossip was Sally Worth, a dove well past her prime. She lived above the saloon. Rented a room, although the rent was not in the form of money. She was an old friend of Win’s who had appeared out of the dust one day, worn and beat and just looking for a place to stay for a week or so while she pulled herself together. The week became a month and the month became a year and she never left.

Coffin Varnish boasted two other women. One was Chester’s wife, Adolphina. The term most used to describe her was formidable. She was big, a lot bigger than Chester, with big bones and big shoulders and a disposition that Winifred Curry once compared to a grizzly in a bad mood. She was the only female on the town council. She had not been elected to the post. She just came to the meetings and no one dared object.