Forty Times a Killer by William W. Johnstone Page A

the hell for, boy?”
    â€œSir, Wes is a friend of mine and I’ve got nothing else to do.” Then I quickly added, “I’m a good trail cook.” That was only partially true, but indeed, I could boil coffee and dredge salt pork in flour and fry it with the best of them.
    It seemed that I amused Stakes. “You got a hoss, boy?”
    I nodded. “Sure do.”
    He said to Smalley, “What do you say, Jim?”
    The man’s answer was to step in front of me and pat me down. “What’s in the poke?”
    â€œMolasses taffy. I like it, but Wes doesn’t.”
    Smalley turned to Stakes. “He’s an idiot.”
    â€œI know, but he’s an idiot who can cook,” Stakes said. “It will take five, maybe six days to reach Waco. Do you want to rustle up the coffee and grub?”
    â€œHell, no.” Smalley thought for a moment, then said, “All right, let the idiot do it.”
    â€œWhat’s your name, boy?” Stakes asked.
    â€œFolks call me Little Bit,” I said.
    â€œAll right, Little Bit, listen up,” Stakes said. “I’m a plain man, bacon and pan bread is what I want, and coffee strong enough to float a silver dollar. You got that?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œGood, then we’ll get along.” Stakes nodded to Dillard. “Let Hardin out, jailer.”
    Before the cell door swung open, Wes smiled at me and winked.
    I knew what that meant.
    He had killing on his mind.
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    I returned to the livery and saddled my horse, then started in on Wes’s mount.
    As I looked around for the blanket, Jas. Glee, prop. stopped me.
    â€œThem lawmen already got a hoss fer John Wesley,” he said. “They requisitioned one of the mustangs you and him brung in.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I said, never having tussled with the word requisitioned before.
    â€œIt means they took it in the name of the law, boy.”
    â€œWes’s saddle is still here.”
    â€œNo matter,” Glee said. “He ain’t going fur.”
    â€œIt’s nigh on two hundred miles to Waco,” I said.
    â€œHe won’t get there.”
    â€œThey mean to kill him?”
    â€œThat’s my guess.”
    â€œBut Stakes promised him a fair trial.”
    â€œWhat E.T. Stakes promises and what E.T. Stakes delivers are seldom one and the same thing, boy.” Glee put his hand on my shoulder, a fatherly gesture no man had ever done to me before. It felt strange.
    â€œListen, boy,” he said. “The Yankees who currently rule the great state of Texas have had enough of John Wesley and his kind—unreconstructed Johnny Rebs that claim the war didn’t end at Appomattox. As far as the government is concerned, a trial would be a waste of time. Better to gun Hardin on the trail and, for the price of a few cents’ worth of powder and ball, tie up everything nicely in a big blue bow.”
    â€œWhat can I do?” I felt scared, lost, like a blind man trying to feel his way out of a burning building.
    â€œHow badly do you want to keep on living?” Glee said.
    I shook my head, bewildered. “What kind of question is that to ask a man?”
    â€œI’ll answer it for you, boy. You ain’t a man, not yet you aren’t. As to the question I asked, if you want to remain above ground, stay here in Longview. If you want to take your chances on getting a bullet in the back, go with John Wesley.”
    â€œI’ll go. He’s my friend.”
    Glee smiled. “You’re learning, boy. That was a man’s answer.”

CHAPTER TEN
A Murderous Plot
    I led my horse back to the jail where John Wesley was already mounted on the mustang; his only saddle a ragged blanket, his legs lashed under the pony’s belly with a rope.
    â€œDillard, sell me a saddle or let me get my own from the livery,” Wes said. “This hoss has a backbone like the thin end of a timber