Lawless Trail by Ralph Cotton

mind.”
    â€œWhy, you
son of a bitch
! That’s it!
I’m killing him!
” Bugs shouted. He leaped at the doctor’s throat with both hands out, fingers spread like talons. Wes caught him in midair. The doctor stood rigid, staring.
    â€œNo, Bugs!” Wes shouted, holding the young gunman back while trying to stop laughing. “He didn’t lie to us. We took it wrong. Settle down before we crack your head. We can’t have this.”
    Rubens stepped over with his Colt out, the butt raised for a hard swipe if Wes gave him the word.
    Seeing the big gun butt looming, Bugs calmed down. He wiped a hand over his mouth and breathed deep.
    â€œAll right, I’m done with it,” he said. But he still stared hard and cold at the doctor.
    Wes turned Bugs loose, holding up a warning finger toward him. Then he faced the doctor.
    â€œDoctor, I hope you’re not thinking that my brother might end up being one of your research cadavers,” he said, the laughter gone, a grim look on his face.
    â€œI’m not thinking it,” the doctor said. “But that’s exactly the sort of attitude I’d have to contend with if knowledge of my research were made public.”
    The others looked at him with blank expressions.
    â€œI understand,” Wes said, easing back as the doctor walked away down the hall toward the room where Ty lay sleeping.
    Rubens walked over and handed Wes the bottle of rye. Wes took a drink and passed it to Bugs. The two outlaws watched as Bugs took a long deep drink of rye and let out a whiskey hiss. He sloshed the rye around in the bottle, ready for another swig.
    â€œFeeling better, Bugs?” Wes asked.
    â€œYeah, a hell of a lot,” Bugs replied, raising the bottle halfway to his mouth.
    Wes and Rubens looked him up and down.
    â€œWhat?” Bugs asked, seeing something was on their minds.
    â€œTwo-handed
Parcheesi
?” Wes asked.
    The rye was calming him, and instead of flying off angry, Bugs just chuffed grudgingly, then took another swig and finally laughed with them.
    â€œWhat the hell else could I say?” he offered.
    Before either man could answer, the rear door creaked open and the three looked down the hallway, guns out and cocked as a black silhouette stepped in through the rear door.
    â€œIt’s me, Carter,” said Claypool in a lowered voice. “This would be an easy place to rob.”
    The three relaxed, their guns lowered as Claypool walked down the hallway to them. Seeing the bottle, he held out a hand.
    â€œI’ll have a shot, unless this is a private party,” he said, taking the bottle. “I saw nobody standing guard out back, I heard you laughing, I eased on in. What’s so funny?” he asked.
    â€œYou had to be here and see it,” Wes said.
    â€œI saw it from an alley across the street,” said Claypool. “I come looking from one end of town to the next for the doctor’s house. I saw Bugs out there with his hands in the air. Lucky I didn’t start shooting.” He took a drink and passed the bottle to Bugs.
    â€œFor a minute there I wish you had,” Bugs said.
    â€œHow’s the trail?” Wes asked.
    â€œNot good,” said Claypool. “That’s why I’m here. The posse went on just like we thought they would. But we’ve got a lawman on us.” He paused, then added, “Fatch Hardaway is riding with him.”
    â€œHardaway? Damn him!” Rubens cursed.
    â€œDid you recognize the lawman?” Wes asked.
    â€œRanger Burrack, out of Nogales, unless I’m mistaken,” said Claypool. “I recognized him in a lantern light—mostly I recognized his sombrero.” He looked at Wes closely. “How’s Ty coming along?” he asked.
    â€œLet’s go see for ourselves,” said Wes, turning to the hallway. “The doctor says with any luck we can leave come morning.”
    â€œI make the Ranger and Hardaway