Ride Tall, Hang High Read online

  Chapter EIGHT

  As the six men rode along the trail toward Dodge, Willy Boy kept thinking about Deeds Conover and that terrible night when the man had killed his father, then tried for the son with one more round from the double barreled shotgun.

  Willy Boy had jumped through a window as the bounty man grabbed at his revolver and took four more shots at Willy Boy as he ran screaming and bleeding into the night.

  He had darted through the blackness simply running for his life. It was pure luck that he was alive. He was only 14, so he had run into the fields and got lost in the tall com and the darkness.

  When he heard the man ride away, Willy Boy slipped back to the house and found his pa’s big six-gun and figured out how to load it. Then he shortened the belt so he could hold it up on his slender hips, and strapped it on.

  He hadn’t dared to stay there in the house that night.

  But it was a warm late July evening, so he took two good wool blankets, saddled up his horse and as a last thought, grabbed a rifle and some shells. Before he left, he found the tobacco tin where his pa kept his cash money.

  Small farmers didn’t ever have much money, Willy Boy knew that. In the thin flat tin, he found $13 and some change. He was rich! He packed what traveling food he could find in the kitchen and headed for Texas. He had an uncle there he knew and liked. Maybe he could work on his small ranch.

  He rode then, fearful that the bounty hunter killer would come back. That first night he slept cold and miserable under some brush a mile from the house.

  By the next afternoon when he slipped into the country store at the crossroads, he heard about the bounty hunter in the area looking for a wanted man.

  "Blamed fool shot the wrong man," the store owner, Mr. Jacobs, told a customer as he weighed out a pound of eight penny box nails. "Gunned down Hartley Lambier with a shotgun. Then he took off like hell was hounding him before the sheriff could even get out to the place. Won’t see nothing of Deeds Conover around here for a long spell. "

  The name burned into Willy Boy’s consciousness. Deeds Conover, Deeds Conover, Deeds Conover. He would never forget the name or the look of the long lanky Texas cowboy, the bounty hunter.

  That first day Willy Boy turned west hoping Texas was in that direction. Willy Boy wasn’t sure that was right and was too afraid of everyone to ask directions, since he knew he looked like a kid. He was short even for fourteen, and hadn’t shaved yet, but he’d had to make do most of his life because his Ma died so far back he

  couldn’t even remember what she looked like.

  The first few days he rode and camped out. That’s when he realized he didn’t even have matches. He bought some at a country store and some bread and peanut butter.

  The fourth day he met another kid riding in the same direction. He was about Willy Boy’s age. They camped together and shared their food. The next morning the other boy was gone, with Willy Boy’s tobacco can of money and his father’s rifle. The only reason he didn’t take his six-gun was because it was in Willy Boy’s hand.

  A day later he was hungry and mad at everyone, especially the kid who stole from him. He knew about saloons. From time to time he had helped his father home from one. Now he rode to the next small town, found a saloon and went up the alley behind it. The third man who came out to go to the outhouse teetered and could barely walk.

  Willy Boy helped him, and as he did slipped his hand in the man’s pockets and pulled out his purse and a gold watch. When the drunk came out of the outhouse, Willy Boy was a mile out of town riding for the next place where he could sell the watch. The purse had only four dollars in it, but the watch was gold filled and worth at least ten dollars.

  He got five for it, and whenever he ran out of money, he rolled drunks behind saloons.

  Three days later he arrived in Kansas City. He’d never been to such a big town before. He stayed in a hotel for the first time in his life, paid fifty cents for a room all his own, and left his horse on the street.

  The next morning his horse, saddle and two blankets were all gone, stolen.

  He thought of going to the sheriff, but he didn’t know where to find one. He stood on the street almost ready to cry, but refusing to because he was 14.

  A man came by and stopped and looked at him.

  "Some trouble you’re in, boy?" the man asked. He was tall, wore a dark blue suit and a derby hat. He had a fancy tie around his neck and a shirt with a ruffled front.

  Willy told him about his horse and gear.

  "Well, now, that’s not very neighborly of us big city folks, is it? Where do you live?"

  "In Missouri. "

  "Kansas City is in Missouri. " The man smiled. "Would you like to have an early supper? Why don’t we go into this cafe and have something to eat. I bet you’re hungry. Looks like you could use some good food. "

  "I don’t take charity. " Willy Boy had heard his dad say that a lot of times.

  "Sir, this isn’t charity, it’s one friend doing a good deed for another friend. "

  They had beef stew with carrots, peas, turnips, potatoes, parsnips and big chunks of good beef, slices of sweet bread and all the milk he could drink. When they finished they walked out to the street.

  The man in the dark blue suit and derby hat smiled. "You know, I have a jacket that would just about fit you. I have no use of it and I’ll sell it to you for a dime. Do you have a ten cent piece?"

  Willy Boy nodded. The last drunk he had helped to the outhouse had a twenty dollar gold piece and three singles in his pocket. Willy Boy still had them.

  "Tell you what, let’s go into the hotel and you can look at the jacket, I’m on the fourth floor front. "

  They climbed the stairs and then went to the man’s room. He took off his suit coat and said he needed a small drink after the long climb. He offered Willy Boy a sarsaparilla. He knew that was a drink for kids, so he took it.

  He drank about half of it and then felt woozy and then sleepy. He tried to stay awake by opening his eyes wide, but fell on the bed and slept at once.

  When Willy Boy woke up, the man was gone. His clothes were on the chair so maybe the man was taking a bath in the room down the hall. Hell, this was easier than rolling drunks. He’d best move fast before the man returned.

  Willy Boy felt to see that his gold piece was still in his pocket. Then he picked up the man’s suit pants and took out his wallet. He dumped out the change, two gold coins, five or six bills and stuffed them in his pocket.

  Willy Boy quickly left the room. He took the door key that was inside hanging out of the lock. On the outside he locked the door, and threw the key down the hall.

  Back on the street he walked all the way to the other side of town and rented a hotel room. This one cost him a dollar. He had taken almost $30 from the tall, blue- suited man. It had been easy.

  Now he had to buy a horse and a saddle and a bridle. He’d need more money. That night Willy Boy worked a row of saloons. He helped eight men to the outhouse and picked the purses from all eight.

  Back in his hotel room he sorted out the change and bills and gold coins. None of the men had much. From the eight he totaled $43.85. Not a fortune, but enough for a horse and saddle. He would stay there one more day, buy a new jacket and a cowboy hat and another pair of pants. Then he’d work the next street of saloons, and the day after that he’d buy a horse and head on for Texas.

  The bed was soft, his door was locked and a chair stood in front of it so he could tell if anyone tried to get in. He slept better than he had in a week.

  The next day, just as it got dark, Willy Boy put on his old hat and jacket and found another promising string of saloons. He was working his third drunk when the man felt his pickpocketing and whirled, reaching for his gun.

  "Little devil, what you doing, trying to rob me? I ain’t that drunk, boy. We better take you to the sheriff. "

  He had drawn his revolver by then but Willy Boy pulled out the big .44 and shot the man at point blank range before the o
ther weapon came up. The round bored through the man’s heart.

  Willy Boy started to turn when a big fist slammed down on his gunhand, jolting the weapon from his fingers. Strong arms banded round his chest pinning his arms to his sides.

  "Damn, I think we got a killer here," the man said.

  The shot had brought a dozen men into the alley.

  "Somebody go get the sheriff, damn quick!" another voice said. "This kid just killed Harry Limpton, the mayor’s cousin!"

  Two days later the trial was held. A witness had seen it all. He had come out of the saloon just behind Limpton, saw Willy Boy offer to help and the whole thing.

  Willy Boy had a local lawyer. The barrister discovered that when Willy Boy was arrested he had $72.83 on his person that the sheriff was holding for him. The lawyer agreed to defend Willy Boy for $72.00.

  The trial lasted almost an hour. Willy Boy was convicted by a jury of twelve men. They deliberated in the jury box for about five minutes, then gave the judge the unanimous verdict.

  Willy Boy was sentenced to hang three days hence along with two other killers.

  The second night he was in jail he called the guard. His face was blue, he couldn’t breathe. A doctor came quickly and the second the cell door opened, Willy Boy exploded into action grabbing the deputy’s gun. They struggled and he killed the deputy. Without a wasted motion, Willy Boy locked the doctor in his cell. Then he found his six-gun in the office, took a rifle from the gun rack and walked out of the jail’s back door.

  The other two murderers pleaded with him to let them out. He threw them the keys and walked out to the alley. There he stole the deputy’s own horse and rode out of Kansas City as fast as he could. He rode the horse until it went lame. Then he walked to the nearest town, stole another horse and rode again. Now he knew Texas was to the south. That was where he was headed.

  For the next year, Willy Boy worked south into Texas. At every county seat he had a talk with the sheriff. He was hunting for his father who was a bounty hunter named Deeds Conover. Some of the sheriffs had heard of the man. Most who had, didn’t like him, but no one knew where he was right then. He hadn’t been through that area lately.

  Willy Boy kept looking. He moved up from drunks and began to rob general stores. He’d hit the store just at closing time. Lock the front door for the friendly store owner, then buy some shells for his cartridge revolver and promptly hold up the merchant. He’d tie him up and clean out the cash drawer and maybe take a new gun if he fancied one.

  By the time the store owner was found, often late at night by a family member or the next morning by a clerk, Willy Boy was halfway to the next town.

  Willy Boy quickly learned that Fridays and Saturdays were the biggest sales days for the stores, and the best time to rob them. His best haul from a general store was $212. With a clerk earning $35 a month and a cowboy $25 a month, $200 was a lot of cash money. He bought a new horse that time, a beautiful deep reddish sorrel with a nearly white mane and tail.

  His next real trouble came in southern Texas. He heard about Deeds Conover. He had brought in a man to a sheriff near Austin. The sheriff was out of town and had to sign the arrest form and verify that the capture had been made, even though the prisoner had died while trying to escape.

  Willy Boy found out that Deeds Conover was staying at the Roundup Hotel in Austin. When he got there, Conover had checked out. He almost caught him on the trail out to the town of Fairbanks.

  Willy Boy didn’t know if Conover knew someone was tracking him, but he slipped in and out of the sheriffs office in Fairbanks in ten minutes while Willy Boy was having his dinner. That night Willy Boy had too many beers in a saloon to drown his disappointment. He had never drank much before and he went a little crazy.

  Somebody pushed him and he pushed back, the next thing they knew the two men reached for guns. The other man’s weapon hung up in the holster and he couldn’t get it out. Willy Boy shot him in the chest and ran out the door and rode out of town before anyone could stop

  him.

  He’d been running ever since.

  There were some posters out on him by now. One in Texas that he knew about, but he doubted anywhere else. He kept on the trail of Deeds Conover, crossed his tracks three times. Then Conover went to Oak Park, Texas, to grab a wanted bank robber for a $500 payoff.

  This time Willy Boy saw the bastard. Saw him walking down the street while Willy Boy was eating in a cafe. By the time he got out to the Oak Park street the man was gone, and Willy Boy never found him. He got drunk again, shot down someone who objected to his behavior and this time got slugged from behind before he could get away.

  Now he was on the trail of the bounty hunter again, this time with five guns to back him up. Five guns and five men who were growing more loyal and more bound together every day.