Scalpers by Ralph Cotton Read Free Book Online Page A

Fox?”
    â€œI seen him,” said a veteran scalper, Emilio Siebaugh. “He left here with the idiot, Ozzie. They had whores under their arms.”
    â€œAnd bottles of rye in their hands,” a scalper named Early Doss put in. Doss was another scalper who’d been with Erskine Cord when Pridemore took over the bounty contract, after hearing the Ranger had shot Cord dead.
    Pridemore nodded and looked around at his drunken scalpers. They were a hardened and dangerous crew, as were all mercenaries he’d ever met. Now that he’d collected the bounty on the Apache scalps, he knew that once these men had their money in hand, they might very well start drifting away, back across the desert floor. He didn’t want to let that happen. He needed to keep them busy, keep them banded together. He looked back at Early Doss.
    â€œGive Fox and the idiot time enough to get theirbeans baked, then go find them. We’ve got business in the morning that requires clear heads and steady hands.” He grinned slyly.
    â€œYeah? What’s that, Bigfoot?” Siebaugh asked.
    Pridemore looked around again, this time noting that there were only three drinkers in the tent who were not members of his group. He drew a long, heavy Walker Colt that he called Ol’ Dan Webster from his waist and aimed it at the three. “You plugs beat a path out of here. Nobody likes having you near their whiskey.”
    Two of the men gave him a stunned look, but offered no argument. They turned away from their half-finished shots and beers and hurried out of the tent into the driving rain. But the third man, an older man with a tangled unruly beard, only stood staring back at Pridemore.
    â€œAre you wanting to die, or just one of them fools who likes getting real close to it before backing away?” Pridemore thumbed back the Walker’s hammer and pointed the gun at the man’s head.
    â€œHadn’t gave it no thought,” the man said quietly, calmly. “I’m looking for work—thought we might palaver about it some.”
    Pridemore began feeling the weight of the heavy outstretched Colt right away. But he kept it leveled.
    â€œHear that, men?” said Pridemore. “He wants to palaver with me about a job.”
    Siebaugh stepped forward, looking the stranger up and down, scrutinizing him closely.
    â€œBigfoot, I know this old man,” he said. “He’sDeacon Sickles, from Alabama. He cut scalps when most of us were still swinging from a teat.”
    Pridemore let the Walker down, tiring from its weight.
    â€œAre you, now . . . ?” he said to the old man. “I’ve heard of you too. I heard you not only cut scalp, you’re known to take face and all.”
    â€œI have done that some,” the old man said. “It’s mostly a novelty item . . . for foreign dignitaries and the like.”
    â€œAnd you’re seeking employment?” said Pridemore. He laid the Walker on the bar, leaving it cocked. Bertha and Diamond Jim watched closely.
    â€œIndeed I am,” said Sickles.
    Pridemore raised a finger and smiled at the old scalper.
    â€œGive us just a minute here, Deacon Sickles,” he said. “I’m sure we’ve got room for a man like you.” He picked the Walker up and let it hang in his hand as he turned away from the bar. He looked back at Sickles over his shoulder as he crossed the muddy floor. “Face and all, huh?”
    â€œThat is correct, Mr. Pridemore,” Sickles said.
    â€œJust call me Bigfoot,” Pridemore said pleasantly. “Everybody does.” He stopped at the faro table, grabbed Diamond Jim by his face, raised the Walker and shot him through the heart. Blood splattered around the fresh bullet hole in the side of the tent. Rain blew in immediately.
    Behind the bar, Bertha Buttons started to reach down for her shotguns.
    â€œHuh-uh, Bertha,” said Pridemore, swinging around and