Bullets Don't Die Read Free

man’s smile. “I can’t argue with that, Marshal. Or is it Sheriff ?”
    “No, you were right the first time. It’s Marshal. Marshal Jared Tate, from Copperhead Springs.”
    The name of the town was vaguely familiar to The Kid. He recalled seeing it on a map of Kansas pinned to the wall of an eatery in Dodge City. He’d examined it briefly while he was having his meal. Other than that, he’d never heard of the place.
    As he remembered the map, Copperhead Springs was a good distance west of where he was. “I certainly appreciate the help, Marshal, but I’m curious. If you’re a town marshal, what are you doing out here this far from your bailiwick?”
    “Oh, I’m on my way back there, don’t worry,” Tate said. “I’ve been over to Fort Hays, delivering a prisoner to the army. Picked up a particularly vicious deserter called Brick Cantrell, and they were mighty glad to get him back.” The lawman didn’t lose his friendly smile or his mild tone, but a slight edge of steel crept into his voice as he went on. “No offense, son, but you know who I am and what I’m doing here, and I don’t know a thing about you except that I killed a man to save your life.”
    “Sorry, Marshal. I should have introduced myself. My name’s Morgan.” The Kid paused. He had a reputation as a gunfighter, and a lot of badge-toters had begun to look at him suspiciously, as they had been doing with his father for decades. Still, he wanted to be honest with this man who had helped him. “Some people call me Kid Morgan.”
    If the name meant anything to Marshal Jared Tate, he gave no sign of it. He just nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morgan. Now that we’ve been properly introduced, you mind telling me why those hombres were trying to kill you?”
    “They wanted to steal my horses. They’d already ridden one of their mounts to death, and the others weren’t far from it.”
    “They must’ve been in a mighty big hurry. Any idea why?”
    The Kid shook his head. “No, but if I had to guess, I’d say they were on the run from the law.”
    “I agree with you. When I heard all that shooting, I figured I ought to take a look. Careful-like, you understand, because I didn’t know what I’d be getting into. So I slipped along the creek for a ways. When I saw the odds were two against one, and those two telling my lawman’s instincts that they were no good, I knew I needed to give you a hand. The way that fella with the rifle tried to bushwhack you just confirmed it.”
    “That was a good shot you made,” The Kid said.
    Tate shrugged, but The Kid could tell he was pleased to hear that.
    “My eyes may be getting old, but they’re still pretty sharp. Whereabouts are you headed, Mr. Morgan?”
    The sudden question took The Kid a little by surprise, but he answered honestly. “No place in particular. I thought I might see if I could find a riding job on one of the ranches in this end of the state.”
    “Why don’t you come along to Copperhead Springs with me?” Tate suggested. “I know just about everybody who has a spread around there. I’m sure it won’t be hard to find one who needs a good hand.”
    That was another lucky break for The Kid. From what he could remember from that map, he estimated it was another couple days’ ride to the settlement, and he wouldn’t mind having some company. Tate obviously felt the same way.
    “All right. I appreciate that, Marshal. I was planning to make camp along this creek tonight, if you’d care to share my coffee and bacon and beans.”
    “That sounds like a good idea to me.” Tate paused. “We might want to move a little farther upstream before we settle down for the night, though. I never cared much for sharing a campground with dead folks.”

Chapter 3
    The Kid might have been tempted to leave the dead hardcases where they had fallen—there were enough coyotes and other scavengers around to take care of them—but Marshal Tate seemed to assume they were going to bury