Riders From Long Pines by Ralph Cotton Page A

himself.
    â€œYeah?” Mandrin stared at him through his puffy bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know as I’ve ever heard of a man sort of on the run. Most will tell you flat out, they either are, or they ain’t.”
    â€œAre you still toting that badge Delbert Jamison hung on you?”
    â€œNo,” said Mandrin, “the town made me take it off. Said I drank too much. Said I’d get it back if I ever sobered up enough to pin it on without stabbing myself to death. The smug sons a’ bitches.” He coughed. “I told them to kiss my ass.” He coughed again, deeper. “Why’d you ask?”
    Parks looked disappointed. “That’s too bad. I’ve got some business in the works that would’ve made you rich had you still been wearing a deputy badge.”
    â€œWell, I ain’t wearing one,” said Mandrin, “so close that door behind you.” He reached back, took a wadded-up pillow and adjusted it, ready to lie back down. As an afterthought he took the Remington from the nightstand and slipped it roughly under the pillow.
    â€œWe might be able to do some business anyway,” Parks said, giving the matter some thought. “Get up and let’s talk about it.”
    Mandrin rose a little, an aggravated look on his face. “Listen, Buckshot, and don’t take this the wrong way. I have never liked you much. I always thought you’d stab your best friend in the back if it would make you a dollar or two.”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with anything?” Parks asked, not the least bit offended. “Do you want to hear what I’ve got afoot here?” He looked all around the weathered, sun-bleached shack. “Or is this about as far as you ever planned on going in life?”
    â€œDon’t make yourself my judge, Buckshot Parks,” said Mandrin. “I ain’t the one sort of on the run here. I turned to upholding the law just to keep from getting hung by it. But badge on or off, I’ve stolen as much as the next man, over my natural time.” He pushed himself up in the bed, swung his feet over onto the dusty plank floor and let out a breath. “I’m just what you could call ‘off my game’ right now.”
    â€œAnd I’m just the ace who can put you back onto your game. Do you want to hear what I’ve got going on here or not?” Parks asked.
    â€œI might as well, I’m already up,” Mandrin replied.
    Parks gave a crafty smile. “I’ve got two words for you, Fred: Davin Grissin.” He stopped as if he need say no more.
    Mandrin just stared at him. After a dull pause, he said, “So?”
    Parks shook his head slightly. “There’s four cowhands in Red Hill who stole a bunch of Grissin’s money from a stagecoach that I robbed. I was going to offer you a fourth of that money if you still wore your deputy badge, and for helping me kill them and get me that money back. It’s rightfully mine anyway.”
    â€œHold on,” said Mandrin. “They stole money from a stagecoach that you robbed?” He wrinkled his brow trying to understand it.
    â€œI’ll fill you in on everything,” said Parks. “The question is, are you in, or not?”
    â€œA fourth?” Mandrin eyed him again.
    â€œThat was when I thought you still had your deputy badge,” said Parks. “I figured you could pin it on and buffalo them a little. These boys are not outlaws. They’ll do what the law tells them to do.”
    â€œI said I don’t have my deputy badge,” said Mandrin. “But I’ve got a sheriff badge I stole out of a desk once whilst I was delivering a prisoner to Yuma to be hanged.”
    â€œWell, hell, that’s even better,” said Parks. “Let me take a look at it.”
    â€œIn good time,” said Mandrin, not trusting Parks with such a rare treasure. “All we’ve got to do is kill these four