Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do by Ralph Compton Read Free Book Online Page A

about noon or so. My horse can use the rest, and I’m tuckered out too.”
    â€œThat’s fine,” Crittendon said. “It gives our marshal plenty of time to get ready.”
    Fred didn’t like the sound of that. “For what?”
    Mayor Crittendon bared his teeth like a cat about to devour a canary. “To go with him, of course.”
    Both Fred and Tyree said, “What?” at the same moment.
    â€œWe want you to go along, Marshal Hitch, to make sure McCarthy gets to Cheyenne to stand trial,” Mayor Crittendon said. “It will show everyone we take our law here in Sweetwater seriously, and that if someone hoodwinks us, we do all in our power to see that justice is served.”
    To Fred it was preposterous. “Cheyenne is over three hundred miles.”
    â€œIt’s not the distance; it’s the message we’ll send tolawbreakers,” Crittendon said. “It’s sure to be mentioned in the newspaper, and you’re fond of newspapers, as I recall.”
    â€œConsarn you, Horace,” Fred said.
    â€œRefuse, and we’ll remove you from office for dereliction of duty.” Crittendon smiled and held out his hand. “And if that’s the case, you might as well give me your badge here and now.”
    Fred was appalled. A journey to Cheyenne was no picnic. The country was rugged, and there were hostiles and outlaws and who knew what else? Without thinking he said, “I haven’t been out of Sweetwater in years.”
    â€œThen the trip will do you good,” Crittendon said, and laughed. “What do you say?”
    What could Fred say except “Son of a bitch”?

Chapter 6
    The wilds south of Sweetwater were as picturesque as they were dangerous. Browned by the heat of summer, the high grass of the valleys rippled in the wind.
    Higher up, ranks of pines and scattered oaks covered ever steeper slopes. Near the summits, firs and aspens were common.
    The region teemed with wildlife. Antelope bounded off in incredible leaps, deer sniffed and bolted. Elk stayed in the deep thickets except in early morning and at dusk, when they came out to graze. In the autumn, when the males were in rut, noisy battles were fought over harems a Turkish sultan would envy.
    Or so Marshal Fred Hitch had heard. He wasn’t keen on the outdoors himself. Give him his office and his flask and he was content. But now here he was, trailing behind Tom McCarthy and Tyree Johnson, on their way to Cheyenne.
    Fred was fit to be tied. He disagreed with the mayor and the council. His going wouldn’t prove a thing. It certainly wouldn’t improve the town’s reputation, no matter what Horace Crittendon claimed.
    Fred suspected there was more to it. Crittendon was as shady a character as the year was long. Fred wouldn’t put it past him to have concocted the feeble reason forhim to go in the hope that he might never make it back. After all, Fred had threatened to go to the newspapers.
    â€œIf I make it back . . . ,” Fred said, and imagined himself pistol-whipping Crittendon. But who was he kidding? “Damn me and my nice nature anyhow.”
    â€œWhat was that?” Tyree called from up ahead.
    â€œI was talkin’ to myself,” Fred admitted.
    â€œI hear tell that old folks do that a lot.”
    Fred pressed his lips together to keep from remarking about kids who were too big for their britches.
    A pair of red hawks wheeled high on the air currents. The male uttered a piercing cry and the female answered.
    Fred rubbed a kink in his neck. He wasn’t one of those who admired animals on general principle. Some folks would look at those hawks and think how grand they were, soaring so nobly in the sky. All he saw were hawks.
    Tom McCarthy sat his saddle like a man going to the gallows. He hadn’t objected when the kid tied his wrists. The man seemed to have given up on life. He didn’t care about anything.
    Fred cared.