Comet
Dime Novel
(Note: if you want to know what happened to Pete, check out this story: http://geocities.com/johnpyperferguson/blaster.html)
"Good day to you, Mrs. County!"
"Good day to you, Mr. Farrakhan," Kate County said as she stepped out on the porch. "I'm so glad you stopped. My sewing scissors are in desperate need of sharpening. Daniel, get Mr. Farrakhan's horses some water."
"Thank you kindly, ma'am." The tinker watched the youngest County grab a bucket from the edge of the porch and head towards the pump.
Kate disappeared inside the house for a moment, then returned with her scissors and several kitchen knives. Her adopted daughter, Birdie, tagged along behind, carrying a cooking pot.
"We've much for you to do today, Mr. Farrakhan," Kate smiled, handing the tinker the sewing scissors.
"Do you still make wedding dresses?" Mr. Farrakhan asked.
"Oh, yes," Kate replied. "I always get quite a few orders every spring for June weddings. I've done so much cutting in the last few weeks that I've dulled the scissors."
"Aunt Kate," Birdie said, looking over the tinker's wares. "Look at this." She held up a small pamphlet. "It's Uncle Brisco and Uncle Bowler."
"I almost forgot about that," the tinker said as he pulled his whetstone from the wagon. "I saw that and thought you'd be interested in it."
Kate took the pamphlet from Birdie and read the cover: The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. "Brisco talks about these," she laughed. "But I must confess that I've never actually seen one. May I buy it from you?"
"Take it with my compliments, Mrs. County," Mr. Farrakhan said. "You always have work for me, and you always offer to water my horses. Not many people do that."
"Why, thank you, sir," Kate beamed. She nudged Birdie. "We should read this after dinner tonight." Birdie giggled, knowing what Brisco thought of the dime novels written about him.
Brisco County, Jr. rode home earlier than normal that afternoon. It was such a nice spring day that he couldn't sit on the porch of the jail another minute. He wanted to be home with his family. As he entered the barnyard, he found his three sons tossing a baseball back and forth, discussing their favorite players.
"Hi, Dad!" Daniel called. "Can CJ play ball?"
Brisco's horse rumbled. "Let me get his saddle off first, okay?" He steered the horse to the corral fence, dismounted, and pulled off the tack. CJ trotted eagerly towards the boys. Brisco followed after he'd put the saddle in the barn.
"You wanna play third base, Dad?" James asked as he swung a short length of board that served as a baseball bat. "CJ can be the outfield."
"Okay." Brisco was pleased that his boys asked him to play, although their discussions about baseball players seemed like Greek to him. Hell, even CJ plays better than I do, he thought.
"County steps up to the plate," James kept up a running commentary as he swung the bat to warm up. "He eyes the pitcher, and waits for the pitch he wants." Daniel nodded, then wound up and threw the ball. James swung hard and missed the ball completely.
"Stee-rike!" Will jeered from his position at first base. "County needs to keep his eye on the ball."
They played for over an hour, Brisco finally calling a halt when he heard the cows bellowing in the meadow down by the river. "You boys better get Mueller's cows milked." James tossed the ball to Daniel, who went to the barn to feed the horses. CJ trotted behind him. Will and James walked down to the meadow to herd the cows home.
Brisco shook his head as he watched them go; he'd been doing a lot of that lately. His kids were growing up far too fast for his liking. James would be on his way to Harvard in the fall. Will had shot up in height the past year and could now look Brisco in the eye. Daniel, at ten years of age, was tall and stocky for his age. Brisco often wondered what his own father had thought, coming home for a visit and finding his son older and taller.
Brisco entered the house and followed the sound of Kate and Birdie's voices. He found them in Kate's sewing room. Birdie was wearing a wedding gown as Kate pinned up the hem. The sight of Birdie in the dress brought an unexpected lump to Brisco's throat. She, too, had grown the past year. Her face was aglow as she giggled with Kate about something. She looked up as Brisco entered the room and grinned.
"Isn't this beautiful?" Birdie asked. "It's for Mary Gregory."
"You look like a princess," Brisco replied. Kate stood and, pulling the pins from her mouth, gave him a kiss. "Have you seen Birdie?" Brisco asked her. "Little red-headed tomboy?"
"Oh, Uncle Brisco!" Birdie blushed furiously.
Kate pulled Brisco's watch from his vest pocket and opened it. "Tell you later," he murmured at her questioning look.
"Out," she said, pushing him towards the door. "Birdie's got to finish her chores and I've got to start supper. Tell the boys to go and get Wald's cows."
"They've already gone," Brisco said, pulling the door shut behind him and heading for the porch.
"Here," Kate said minutes later, handing him a bowl of potatoes and a paring knife. "Make yourself useful. Why are you home early?"
"It's too nice a day to work, so I'm playing hooky." Brisco didn't dare admit it while any of the kids were around; he was adamant about them going to school. Brisco figured that for all the late nights he'd spent dragging drunks to jail, he deserved a half-day off once and a while.
Kate giggled suddenly. Brisco looked up to see the boys bringing the cows up from the meadow. James and Will each rode a cow, their long legs dangling almost to the ground.
"I swear," Kate said, amused. "I watch them do that every day, and it still makes me laugh."
Birdie rushed up to the porch, laundry basket on her hip. She set the basket inside the door. "I'm going to go help them."
"Why's she helping?" Brisco asked suspiciously as he watched Birdie give her arm to James, who hoisted her up behind him. "She doesn't even like cows."
"She has a book she wants to read to us this evening," Kate replied, pulling the dime novel from her apron pocket.
Brisco swore and grabbed for the pamphlet. "Give me that!"
"No," Kate grinned as she held it out of his reach. "You'll just use it for kindling."
"That's exactly what I plant to do with it. Where'd you find it, anyway?"
"The tinker stopped by today. He'd found it somewhere. Birdie wants to read it after dinner."
Brisco swore again, knowing that if Birdie had her heart set on reading the book, he couldn't stop her. It just wasn't fair sometimes.
"So what's so bad about these books anyway?" Kate asked.
"There's not a shred of truth in any of them." Brisco sighed. "I suppose if the author had written the truth, I probably wouldn't mind as much. We used to meet people that had no business coming out West, thinking people like Bowler and me would save them when they got into trouble."
"I have an idea," Kate said. "Why don't you let Birdie read a chapter, and then you tell us what really happened?"
"I could do that."
"Brisco County, Jr. and his faithful companion, Lord Bowler, rode into Segundo, following a lead on a bank robber named Tully Patterson," Birdie read.
"I don't want to hear any of you kids call Bowler my 'faithful companion' when he's around," Brisco warned. "Bowler'd probably pick you up by the scruff of the neck and shake you."
"In Segundo, they talked to the sheriff," Birdie continued. "But found that Patterson was long gone."
"We didn't find out from the sheriff," Brisco shook his head in denial. "We found out from the gravedigger in the cemetery."
Bowler and Brisco were on the outskirts of Segundo when the road took them past the cemetery. A man was busy digging a grave; he stood and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "Morning," he said, seeing the two bounty hunters.
"Morning," Brisco said, pulling Comet to a stop. He looked at the body lying in the back of the gravedigger's wagon. There was no coffin, so he asked, "Did you have a hanging?"
"No sir," the gravedigger replied. "A bank robbery."
"Bank robbery?" Brisco looked at Bowler in puzzlement. He could see the town not paying for a coffin for a criminal, but for the victim of a bank robbery? "What happened?"
"This here fella and another fella robbed the bank yesterday," the gravedigger explained. "When they run out to their horses, the one robber shot this one in the back and took off with all the money." He shook his head in amazement. "Jus' doesn't make sense."
"Only if you're greedy," Brisco said.
"Rodriquez Santana," Bowler said, almost to himself. Brisco turned in the saddle to look at his friend.
"If I ain't mistaken," Bowler said, indicating the body with a jerk of his head. "That's Rodriquez Santana. He is, uh, was a pretty good safe cracker."
"At least I gotta name to go on the marker now," the gravedigger said. "I'm obliged."
"The sheriff of Segundo told Brisco and Bowler that the surviving bank robber fled in the direction of Miller's Creek." Birdie flipped the page. "The bounty hunters decided to go that way and see if anyone had seen Tully Patterson."
"Ever been to Miller's Creek?" Brisco asked.
"Huh-uh," his friend grunted. "You?"
"Once when I was a teenager, working for my dad." Brisco replied. "Hmmm. They had a pretty big strike there about twenty years ago. I wonder if there's still money there."
"You mean in the bank? You don't think Patterson'll rob two banks in two days?" Bowler argued.
"I was looking at a map that the sheriff back there in Segundo had on his wall," his friend explained. "If Patterson robbed the banks in Medea, Gold Valley, and Segundo, then it seems like he's heading north. Wouldn't hurt to check out Miller's Creek."
"What I don't understand is why he kills his accomplices," Bowler said. "Sure, he gets all the money, but you'd think he'd at least let them live until he'd robbed all the banks he planned to rob."
"I don't know either, Bowler," Brisco replied. "It's not like you can find a safe cracker just anywhere."
"All I know is that if Patterson keeps this up, we'll be out of a job," Bowler grumbled, thinking of all that revenue he'd miss.
Miller's Creek, once a bustling gold town, was now a dying village perched on the banks of the river. The bounty hunters stopped to talk to the sheriff, but were told that the bank had closed years ago. No one had seen Tully Patterson.
"Well, now what do we do?" Bowler grumbled.
Brisco shrugged. "Might as well go north."
The sun had been broiling all day, so when they stopped for the night near the river, Brisco decided to take a swim.
"C'mon in Bowler," he called. "It feels great."
"No way," his partner growled. Bowler plopped down on the riverbank, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. "You know I cain't swim."
"You don't have to get in over your head," Brisco cajoled. He'd learned to swim as a kid; it was hard for him to understand Bowler's reticence about water. Brisco pointed downstream. "Even the horses are in the water."
"No," Bowler repeated firmly.
"What are you?" Brisco jeered. "Chicken?" He cupped his hand and splashed water in Bowler's direction.
His friend calmly pulled his shotgun from its holster and aimed at a snag about five feet behind Brisco. Brisco took a deep breath and dove beneath the water. The explosion brought him sputtering to the surface, ears ringing.
"What in the hell did you do that for?" Brisco demanded.
But Bowler was on his feet, staring at a spot further out in the river. Brisco turned to look. A body floated beside the submerged log, its clothing caught by the snag.
"You got to see a drowned body?" Daniel asked eagerly. "What'd it look like?"
"It wasn't pretty," Brisco saw Kate shudder at the thought. Daniel was always asking questions about how people died and how they looked in death. At first, Brisco thought it was ghoulish fascination, but then he realized that if Daniel was going to be a doctor, he couldn't afford to be squeamish.
"We're lucky," Bowler commented once they got the body on the riverbank. "He hasn't been in the water long. Leastways, he's still got a face." The man was stocky, of medium height, and looked to be about thirty. Brisco checked the corpse's pockets, even though he was pretty certain that any identification would have been sucked out by the river. He was surprised to find the man's pocket watch.
"Hey," he said. "Look at this. This means it probably wasn't a robbery." Brisco popped open the watch. "'To my darling son Alby'," he read the inscription inside.
"Alby?" Bowler suddenly became interested. "Anything else?"
"No."
"Hmmm," Bowler rubbed his chin. "There was fella named Alby. Alby…." Brisco knew from the look on Bowler's face that his friend was picturing the faces on wanted posters. "Ah-hah!" Bowler snapped his fingers. "Alby Simpson. If I remember correctly, he was a pretty good hand at explosives. He's wanted for," Bowler gave his friend a pointed look. "Robbin' banks."
"Well," Brisco said, turning the corpse onto its side. "He's been shot in the back. I'd say he's been working with Tully Patterson." He stroked his chin. "The question is: where?"
"The current's running south," Bowler commented. "So Simpson was probably dumped upriver. I say we keep goin' north. "I bet we find another bank's been robbed."
"Brisco and Bowler hoisted the watery corpse onto Comet the next morning," Birdie read. "And they headed north."
Brisco burst out laughing. "Comet didn't want to have anything to do with that corpse."
"Comet!" Brisco said in exasperation. "Hold still!" He and Bowler had tried several times to hoist the body onto Comet. The chestnut would hold perfectly still until they lifted the corpse, then he would move out of the way.
"He's dead! He can't hurt you!" Brisco tried to explain. Comet grunted and moved farther off. "Comet!" Brisco finally lost his temper. "Get over here and stand still, dammit!" Comet swished his tail angrily, but refused to comply.
"You're a coward," Brisco shouted. "Under that chestnut hide you've got a yellow streak a mile wide."
"C'mon Brisco," Bowler finally intervened. "We can tie Simpson on the back of Banshee." He gave Comet a pointed look. "Banshee ain't afraid of nothing." Comet didn't turn his head, but both ears went backwards, so Bowler knew the horse heard him.
They lashed the body behind Bowler's saddle and followed the river north. Comet allowed Brisco to ride him. County could feel the tenseness in the chestnut's muscles. He was so angry at the horse that he refused to talk to him, even when Comet grumbled to Banshee about not being appreciated.
The next town north was an industrious town called Clayson's Ford. They stopped at the sheriff's office to dump off Simpson's body. The sheriff, his gun arm in a sling, told them that he'd exchanged gunfire with the bank robbers the previous day as they exited the local bank. He'd been winged by Simpson, but saw the robber get shot by his partner as they rode out of town. Simpson had come off his horse and rolled into the river.
"The current's so strong that I didn't dare ask anyone to go in after him," the sheriff said. "I figured he'd pop up somewhere downstream." The description of the murdering robber matched Tully Patterson.
"He seems to be heading north," Brisco said. "Maybe you ought to wire some of the town sheriffs and ask them to put a guard on their banks."
"I can do that," the lawman said.
"The two bounty hunters rode north and stopped at a town called Welsh Gap," Birdie read. "They talked to the sheriff, whose name was Brinkley, and were told that the bank had not been robbed. At least, not yet."
"As Brisco and Bowler returned to their horses, they saw the villainous gunslinger Pete Hutter walking down the street."
Brisco realized that five faces were turned to him, waiting for his comment. "That part is actually true. Bowler and I found Pete walking into town. He'd lost his horse, most of his boot leather, and worst of all, his gun."
"Lookee there, Brisco," Bowler said, nodding towards the other end of the street. "Ain't that Pete Hutter? He looks like he's lost his best friend."
"D'you suppose Pete ever rode with Patterson?" Brisco asked, watching the gunslinger limp towards the saloon.
"Might have. He's still alive, so maybe not," his partner said pointedly. "No harm in askin'."
As they crossed the street, Pete slumped to sit on the edge of the boardwalk. He pulled off his boots and stuck both feet in the horse trough with a sigh.
"Better not let the sheriff catch you doin' that," Bowler said conversationally as they approached. "Pollutin' the water supply."
Hutter looked up in surprise. Brisco saw fear and annoyance flit across the gunslinger's face before he finally slumped his shoulders in defeat.
"Let the sheriff arrest me," Pete groused. "I'd welcome the chance to get a hot meal, even if it is jail food. Gentlemen, " Hutter sighed. "You are looking at how down far a man can go and still be alive. If one of you would be kind enough to put a bullet in my brain, I'd be much obliged."
"Where's your horse?" Bowler asked.
"And your piece?" Brisco added, noticing that Pete's holster was empty. Pete's love for his gun was unusual. It was rumored that Hutter slept with it next to him like a woman.
"Gone," Pete was despondent. "All gone." He held up his boots for their inspection. "And I'm almost out of boot leather," he added, fingering a hole in one of the soles.
"C'mon," Brisco said, hauling Pete to his feet. "I'll buy you a meal and you can tell us all about it."
Hutter looked warily at the two bounty hunters, uncertain of their intentions. Brisco grinned when Pete finally gave in and hopped around, trying to get his boots back on.
"I thought you didn't like Pete," Kate said.
"It's true that I wanted to put him in jail for breaking John Bly out of the prison train," Brisco replied. "But I always kinda liked Pete. He was pretty weird, but always good for a laugh. And he did save my life, later on." Brisco shook his head and smiled. "That guy had more lives than three cats put together."
As the three men sat at a saloon table, a brisk young man buzzed up to them. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Todd and I'll be your server today. May I suggest one of today's specials? We have a very nice poached bass in a lovely dill sauce, a breast of chicken with a spicy picante marinade, or pork medallions coated with crushed pecans on a bed of wilted greens." Todd looked expectantly at the three men, pencil poised to paper.
Bowler, Brisco and Pete gaped open-mouthed at Todd. Bowler finally blinked and broke the spell.
"Steak," he ordered gruffly. "Rare."
"Uh," Brisco said. "Me too, Todd."
"Me too," said Pete.
Todd gave them a look of disdain then turned on his heel. "I'll see what I can do," he sniffed.
"And beer!" Bowler called after him.
"So Pete," Brisco said conversationally. "Tell us how you lost your piece."
Hutter looked from one bounty hunter to another. "Y'know," he sneered. "If folks saw me sittin' with you two and makin' pleasant dinner conversation, they'd probably think one of two things. Either I'm rattin' on someone or," Pete shuddered at the thought. "I've decided to go to the good side. I-"
The last part was choked off when a very large fist grabbed him by the throat. "If you don't wanna be seen with us, Hutter," Bowler growled into his face. "Ain't nothin' stoppin' you from walkin' out the door." Bowler nodded to his friend. "Now Brisco offered to buy you a meal," he spat. "Least you could do is be civil."
"Bowler," Brisco warned. "He's turning blue." Pete was gasping now; flailing for a gun that wasn't there.
Bowler let go, slamming the gunslinger back in his chair. "I don't know why you feel sorry for this weasel, Brisco. Me, I'd let him starve to death." He leaned towards Pete again. Hutter, wide-eyed, made note of the nearest exit.
"You sure know how to kick a man when he's down," Pete croaked, rubbing his throat. When Bowler clenched his fist, Pete held up a placating hand. "All right, all right. Jeez. I was riding down the road, minding my own business, when Tully Patterson comes riding up from the south."
Brisco and Bowler suddenly became very interested. "You know Tully Patterson?" Brisco asked.
"Sort of," Hutter replied. "I never worked with him or nuthin'. I spent some time in a jail in Sacramento with him, though, so I knew who he was."
"What happened?" Bowler said.
"Tully says to me, 'Pete, I got some lawmen on my tail that I gotta ditch. Would you mind ridin' off thataway to throw them off my tail?' Well, I thought, I could do that. You never know when you're gonna need a favor in return. But after I turned my horse around, Tully came up alongside and hit me on the head. Knocked me clean off my horse."
"What a bunch of bullshit," Bowler protested. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to let Patterson get close enough to hit you."
"What can I say?" Pete shrugged. "Yesterday, my horoscope said that I'd be swept off my feet." He leaned forward and leered. "Though I kinda hoped it'd be a woman."
"So he knocked you off your horse," Brisco attempted to steer the conversation back on track. He paused as Todd brought their steaks to the table and left in a huff. "Then what?"
"When I woke up, Tully had taken my horse and my piece." Pete appealed to Brisco. "I ain't been without my piece since I was thirteen years old! That's why I asked you outside to kill me." Hutter looked despondent. "I don't wanna live anymore if I cain't get her back."
Brisco and Bowler exchanged a look. Bowler rolled his eyes and started sawing at his steak.
"You'll get her back," Brisco said, wishing now that he'd left Pete where he'd found him. Sneaky, squirrelly Pete Hutter he could deal with; with this Pete he had no clue.
"You ought to let Dad finish telling this story, Birdie," James said. Birdie looked up from the book. "His version is much better."
"No, no," his father chuckled, motioning to Birdie to continue. "I'm nosy enough to wonder what's been written. Keep reading, Birdie."
Birdie reopened the book. "Brisco and Bowler decided to continue north to see if Patterson had added another bank to his list. They were captured by the diabolical genius, Pete Hutter."
Brisco choked on his coffee. "Diabolical genius?" he sputtered. "Pete Hutter? Pete couldn't find his a-"
"Brisco!" Kate admonished.
"Sorry. He couldn't find his, um, rear end with both hands and a map. Diabolical genius, my foot."
"I still don't think you shoulda given Hutter any money," Bowler said later that afternoon as they rode north.
"I kinda felt sorry for Pete," Brisco replied. "And I only gave him enough to get another horse. He can go look for his piece on his own."
"That was the longest meal I have ever had to sit through," his friend groused. "You're never gonna see that money again, Brisco. Ain't no way Hutter will ever pay you back."
"It's not important," Brisco shrugged. "It was worth every penny just to get rid of Pete before he started crying on us. What's wrong?" he asked as Bowler stopped and looked down at the road.
Bowler dismounted and knelt to look at the tracks. "This is weird," he muttered.
"What is?" Brisco asked, leaning over Comet's neck.
"They's riding two on a horse," Bowler frowned in puzzlement. "But they're leadin' another horse, and there's nuthin' wrong with it."
Brisco knew better than to argue with his friend's diagnosis. Bowler was always right when it came to reading tracks. His friend stiffened suddenly and raised his hands. As Brisco reached for his gun, a voice behind him said, "I wouldn't do that, Mr. County."
Brisco slowly raised his hands and looked over his shoulder. Tully Patterson held a shotgun pointed at his back. The bank robber was tall and lanky, his salt and pepper hair hanging down his back in a single braid.
Bowler came around the horses, seething with anger. Pete Hutter jabbed him in the back with his pistol. Brisco carefully slid off Comet and joined his friend.
"Comet," he murmured as he passed the chestnut's head. "You and Banshee get the hell out of here." Comet neighed to Banshee, and the two horses tore off towards the trees.
"Hey!" Hutter yelled. He narrowly missed being knocked over by the big chestnut, but he kept his pistol jammed in Bowler's ribs. Brisco had hoped there'd be enough of a distraction for Bowler to subdue Pete, but when Tully poked him between the shoulder blades with the shotgun, Brisco knew his friend wouldn't try anything. Brisco and Bowler exchanged worried looks.
Hutter and Patterson marched them down to the railroad tracks, where a large boulder rested on the rails. On one side was a sloppy rendering of the trees and sky.
"What happened, Pete?" Brisco said conversationally. "Couldn't find a scenic painter?"
"Local 561 of the Brotherhood of Scenic Painters is on strike," Pete sneered in disgust. "So I had to paint it myself." The stringy gunfighter drew himself up proudly. "I think I missed my calling," he said. "I coulda been a great painter."
"Looks like a six-year-old done it," Bowler murmured. Brisco had to stifle a laugh.
"I call this my 'blue period'," Hutter went on, oblivious. "I tried to capture the play of light and shadow, the ebb and flow of nature's rhythms, man's struggle with the elements, the cosmic oneness of the universe, and---"
"Pete," Patterson interrupted. "The train?" He raised his eyebrows in question.
Hutter paused mid-speech. Then he jabbed Bowler in the ribs with his piece. "You two get over here against this rock." As Bowler and Brisco moved to comply, Pete complained to his partner. "Y'know, Tully? No body appreciates a great artist."
"Let me wring your scrawny neck, Hutter," Bowler growled. "Everyone knows artists ain't appreciated until after they're dead."
"Critics," Pete spat as he tied Brisco and Bowler to the rock.
"You tricked us," Brisco suddenly realized. Hutter paused as he wrapped the rope around the boulder. "You hadn't lost your horse or your piece. You were just trying to get us out of the way so you two could rob the bank."
"An award-caliber performance," Pete preened. "Actor, painter, gunslinger. You know, County, I'm getting to be a real ray-nay-sonce kinda guy."
Oh, brother, thought Brisco, rolling his eyes.
"Sorry we can't stick around for the fun," Patterson said. "But we got a bank in Welsh Gap to rob."
"Yeah," Pete smirked. "Aaa-deee-oos, campadres."
Brisco let Patterson get out of earshot, then warned, "Watch your back, Pete."
Hutter spun, then stomped back to the boulder. "What did you say?" he demanded, nose to nose with the bounty hunter.
"I said," Brisco repeated patiently. "Watch your back."
Pete frowned. "Why the hell would you care?"
Brisco shrugged, which wasn't easy, considering that he was tied to a rock. "I'm gonna die in a few minutes, so I might as well get in all the good points with the Almighty as I can." He nodded at Patterson's retreating figure. "Your friend there has robbed four banks already. Twice he's shot his accomplices in the back and took all the money for himself."
Pete narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Why should I believe you?"
"Believe me or not," Brisco said evenly. "You've been warned." Pete hesitated, then spun to catch up with his partner.
"Hey, Hutter!" Bowler called after him. "See you in Hell later." Pete scowled as he mounted his horse and cranked its head towards Welsh Gap.
After Hutter rode off after his partner, Brisco whistled for Comet. The chestnut came out of the trees, Banshee at his heels. "Can you cut the ropes by pawing at them?"
Comet muttered something. Bowler saw his friend's face fall and asked anxiously, "What?"
"He wants us to apologize to him for calling him yellow," Brisco replied.
"I ain't gonna---," Bowler broke off when he heard a train whistle in the distance. "I'm sorry, Comet. You the biggest, baddest horse I know."
"Yeah," Brisco agreed. "Bad guys tremble at the sound of your name. I'm sorry too, Comet."
The chestnut neighed, and County began to smile. "He says he'll do it," he translated for Bowler. "But he wants a bushel of green apples."
"Hell, I'll buy him a tree if he wants."
"Be careful," Brisco warned. "Comet'll hold you to that."
Comet moved around to the side of the boulder and began to paw at the ropes. The train whistle sounded again. "Hurry Comet," Brisco urged. He and Bowler tried to wriggle loose.
"How close did the train get before you got loose?" Will asked. He looked around at his siblings. "Well, Dad obviously got loose in time or we wouldn't be here."
Brisco shuddered. "Too close for comfort."
The train rounded the bend and shrilled its whistle. Brisco could hear the brakes seize as the engineer spotted the boulder but he knew it would take at least a half mile for the train to stop. That meant he and Bowler were about a quarter of a mile out of luck.
"Comet," he urged between clenched teeth.
The chestnut whirled and struck the rock with both back feet. The rope snapped.
"GO!" Brisco shouted as he and Bowler threw off the rope. They followed Comet into the trees alongside the tracks. The locomotive skidded into the boulder, shattering it into thousands of pieces. The bounty hunters ducked as chips sailed past them.
After the train picked up speed and continued down the tracks, the two friends looked at each other in amazement. "You're bleedin'," Bowler said, pointing to Brisco's cheek. His friend swiped at the graze.
"Comet," Brisco said. "You and Banshee okay?" Both horses murmured assent. "You three feel like kicking some butt?"
"Yeah," Bowler said grimly. "Let's do it." The bounty hunters swung onto their horses and headed for Welsh Gap.
Birdie dropped the book in her lap. "Why'd Pete and Tully go back to the bank in Welsh Gap? I thought Tully was heading north."
Her adopted father sighed. "Pete Hutter might not have been the brightest light, but he was smarter than Tully. He pointed out to Patterson that going south would break the pattern he'd established. The folks in Welsh Gap thought that they were safe, so they'd taken the guard off the bank."
"Uh-oh," Brisco murmured as they spotted bodies lying in the street in front of the bank. "This doesn't look good."
The Sheriff Brinkley nodded to them as they rode up. He had a rifle trained on Tully Patterson, who was down on the ground, both hands pressed to a gash on his forehead. "I have to thank you two for the warning," the sheriff said. "Ever since you told me about Patterson's bank robbing spree, I've been keeping an eye on the bank. The bank manager told me that I shouldn't worry, that Tully here was long gone. And surprise, surprise. Look who showed up."
As Brisco and Bowler dismounted, County recognized the second body. "Oh no," he breathed, dropping Comet's reins and stepping towards the motionless body. "Pete." Hutter was sprawled face first in the dirt, a gaping hole in his back. As Brisco knelt beside Pete and examined the wound, he realized that it didn't look quite right. Where was the blood? He touched the hole and jerked his hand back. The wound felt metallic.
"Is he really dead this time?" Bowler demanded as he leaned over his friend. Hutter had seemingly risen from the dead more times than the two bounty hunters could count.
"I don't know," Brisco replied. He was about to lift Pete's shirt for a better look when the gunslinger murmured something and rolled over. Brisco was so surprised that he fell back and collided with Bowler's legs. His friend steadied him with a hand to his shoulder.
"Whaaa?" Hutter rolled onto his back. Then he snapped upright. "Son of a bitch, that hurts!" he cried. He yanked the tails of his shirt loose and pulled a cast iron skillet out from under his clothes.
"I don't believe it," Bowler said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He actually took your advice, Brisco."
Hutter looked wildly about him. When he saw the two bounty hunters, he visibly blanched. "If you two are here," he gulped. "Oh, no..."
"Hello, Pete," Brisco couldn't resist. "Welcome to Hell," he said solemnly. He surreptitiously elbowed Bowler to play along.
The stringy gunslinger looked around in amazement. "I thought Hell'd be different. Where's the fire and brimstone?"
"We're jus' the welcoming committee," Bowler growled, hauling Hutter to his feet. "The fire and brimstone's right this way." Brisco grabbed Pete's other arm.
Hutter looked back and forth at the two bounty hunters. "Why are you two here?" he demanded suspiciously.
"What can I say, Pete?" Brisco shrugged. "We didn't make the cut either." The bounty hunters marched Pete over to the jail. Sheriff Brinkley and a burly villager hauled Tully Patterson to his feet and followed.
"You mean to tell me that Hell looks just like Earth?" Pete was still suspicious.
"Yeah," Bowler replied, grinning at Brisco behind Hutter's back. "'Cept we all get stuck doin' jus one thing for the rest of eternity."
"Like what?" Pete twisted in their grip, wide-eyed.
"Bowler and I have to spend eternity chasin' bad guys and never catching them," Brisco explained.
"You fellas got any idea what's in store for me?" Pete asked nervously.
Brisco and Bowler marched Hutter up the steps and into the jail. Bowler opened a cell door. As he shoved Pete inside, Brisco relieved Hutter of his piece. Pete spun and tried to grab for the gun, but got the cell door slammed in his face.
"Sorry, Pete," Brisco said in mock sympathy. "You have to spend eternity in there while this," he held up Pete's piece with two fingers. "Has to stay right here." Brisco set the pistol on the edge of the sheriff's desk, just out of Hutter's reach.
"Noooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!" The sound reverberated throughout the town of Welsh Gap. "My piece!"
"The end." Birdie closed the booklet.
"What happened to Pete?" Daniel asked.
"Oh, he broke out of jail about a week later," his father replied. "After he figured out that he wasn't really in Hell." Brisco pulled out his watch and looked at it. "Bedtime, folks."
Brisco walked to the barn to check on the horses for the night while the rest of the County clan filed into the house. He returned five minutes later to find Kate washing the dishes. Brisco pulled a towel from the rock and helped her dry.
"I thought it was Birdie and Daniel's turn to do this," he said.
"I let them out of it this evening so we could get to the story. Kate looked sideways at him. "That dime novel wasn't that bad," she chided. "You survived it."
"Yeah," Brisco gave a self-conscious laugh. "I guess I did. And I admit it was fun."
"Did you ever run into Pete Hutter again?"
"Oh sure," Brisco replied. "Several times over the next couple of years." He frowned. "Then Pete disappeared. Bowler and I have wondered for years what'd happened to him. He'd survived seemingly fatal wounds so many times that I have trouble believing that he could actually be dead."
"You know, Bowler," Brisco said thoughtfully as they rode out of Welsh Gap. "Pete might have something. There ought to be a way to make a metal plate to wear to deflect bullets."
Bowler rolled his eyes. "How hot is it right now?" he demanded.
"I dunno," his friend replied. "Ninety-two degrees? Ninety-four?" Both men were stripped down to their shirts and had their sleeves rolled up.
"Would you wanna wear a big ole' piece of metal on your chest in this heat?" Bowler argued.
"Oh," Brisco said, pulling his sweaty shirt away from his chest. "You got a point. But the Spanish conquistadors wore them," he reasoned.
"And you realize how fast they ditched them after guns was invented?" Bowler said. "Ain't nothin' they can invent in the future," he sneered. "That's gonna stop a bullet from going through your chest."
"Ned Zed had that armored suit," his friend suggested.
"I'm tired of arguing with you, Brisco," Bowler growled. "Tell you what. Next town we come to with a good blacksmith, I'm gonna spend my hard-earned bounty money and have him build you an armored suit." Bowler couldn't understand horses like Brisco could, but he could have sworn that Comet was snickering.
Brisco frowned at his horse. Comet was snickering. "What are you laughing about?" he demanded. Comet neighed. "'This I gotta see'," he translated for Bowler.
"I'm with you there, Comet," Bowler agreed. "It'd be worth it just to see you try and get your foot in the stirrup with that armored suit, Brisco. I know jus' about the time you did, Comet'd take off and leave you sittin' on your ass," he chuckled.
"Jeez," Brisco said. "Everyone's a critic."
"So how long you think it's gonna take Pete to realize that he's not in Hell?" Bowler asked.
"A day or so," his friend replied. They'd left Welsh Gap with the sound of Hutter's agonized cries ringing in their ears. "The sheriff will probably enlighten Pete just to shut him up. I don't think he could hold out until Pete yells himself hoarse. I expect Pete'll break himself out of jail anyway." Brisco laughed, "He's got a great incentive to get his piece back."
"Damn," Bowler said. "I get tired of catching him, only to see him get loose again."
"It's part of the job, Bowler," Brisco said amicably. "Part of the job."