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

About breathing anyway. And there were plenty of things in the wilds that could do them in.
    Rumor had it some young Cheyennes or Arapahos were on the warpath. Fred couldn’t recollect which. A few outlaw gangs plagued the territory too. And then there were grizzlies and buffalo and cougars and wolves, to say nothing of rattlers, which loved the hot weather.
    Sweetwater wasn’t three hours behind them, and Fred missed his office more than anything.
    Unconsciously Fred placed his hand on his Smith & Wesson. Not that it would do him much good, as poor a shot as he was. A Winchester jutted from his saddle scabbard, but he wasn’t much better with that. Guns never interested him much, not even when he was young. Whenever his friends wanted to go hunting, he’d always made excuses to bow out.
    Fred’s interest in the law didn’t stem from any childish hankering for gunplay.
    He liked helping folks, was all. Being a lawman was one of the few jobs he could do that let him lend a helping hand when an occasion called for it. He wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor, and was squeamish about blood besides. And as he’d told the kid, his poor memory would make him a poor pastor.
    Fred almost wished he was back East somewhere, where being a lawman was easier. There weren’t any hostiles to worry about, and few outlaws. Gangs like the James brothers and the Youngers were few and far between. A lawman could live out his days without ever having to resort to violence. Fred liked that. He’d tried his best to do the same and until the kid showed up, had succeeded.
    It was Tyree who called a halt when the sun perched on the western horizon, blazing the sky with vivid streaks.
    Fred stripped his bay and gathered wood for the fire. Tyree got it going using a fire steel and flint like what the old trappers used. And it was Tyree who filled the coffeepot and put coffee on to brew.
    â€œWhat do you plan to eat?” Fred asked. It had occurred to him that they hadn’t brought a packhorse. He had some grub in a saddlebag, but it wouldn’t last the whole trip.
    â€œTonight it will be beans,” Tyree said. “Tomorrow may- be I’ll shoot a rabbit or somethin’ else.”
    â€œBeans will do,” Fred said, although he wasn’t all that fond of them. He had a cousin who could eat beans three meals a day for the rest of his life. Fred couldn’t think of any food he liked that much. Well, except whiskey. But whiskey wasn’t really a food.
    McCarthy hadn’t said a word since they left Sweetwater. He sat at the fire as he’d sat his horse, miserable as could be.
    It upset Fred just looking at him. “How about you?” he said to draw McCarthy out of himself. “You ready for some beans?”
    â€œHe better be because that’s what we’re havin’,” Tyreesaid. He had a can of Brick Oven Baked Beans and was prying at it with an opener.
    â€œYou must be awful hungry,” Fred said to McCarthy. The man hadn’t eaten a thing at the jail.
    McCarthy just sat there.
    â€œPay him no mind,” Tyree said, working the opener. “I’ve seen this before. Some of them when they’re caught stop eatin’ and talkin’ and pretty near everything else.”
    â€œThey give up on life,” Fred said.
    â€œIt’s their own fault. I wouldn’t be after them if they hadn’t done somethin’ stupid like your friend here.”
    â€œHaven’t you ever done anything stupid?” Fred asked. “I know I have.”
    â€œI can’t think of anything, no.”
    â€œHow about shootin’ that chestnut? I wouldn’t call that an act of brilliance,” Fred remarked.
    â€œIt was an accident. Accidents ain’t stupid. They just happen.” Tyree bent the lid and sniffed the beans. “What are some of the stupid things you’ve done?”
    â€œLetting Crittendon talk me into this was the