Free Shotgun Charlie by Ralph Compton Page B

Could be you’re going on a trip, Charlie boy? Alone and in the middle of the night?”
    â€œCould be. At any rate, it ain’t none of your business.” With that Charlie glanced once more at Nub, bade him a silent farewell with a look and a nod, and began scissoring his big legs on the trail southward, the direction they’d come from two days before. The town Haskell had told them of had turned out to be Bakersfield, and it lay to the north half a dozen miles. Charlie had no intention of heading there.
    That would only result in him bumping into Pap and the boys once again, probably on the trail. Considering all that Pap had said to him earlier in the night, there was no way he was ever going to annoy that old man again.
    From behind him, Charlie heard footsteps, knew that Haskell was up to something. The footsteps increased, gained on him. With sudden speed, Charlie bent low, feinted to the right, pivoting on his left foot. He tossed his gear to the ground and set his stance, but of Haskell there was no sign.
    He swung back to the right . . . nothing. Then felt a cold, hard ring of steel dimple into his left cheekbone.
    â€œDon’t move no more, Charlie boy. Else I’ll be forced to squeeze on this trigger and that’s a promise.”
    â€œWhat do you want from me, Haskell?” Charlie’s breath came in shallow stutters. He’d had guns pulled on him before, but never had one pressed tight to his face like this. He didn’t like the feeling.
    â€œNot so much what I want, Charlie boy, as it is a question of what it is I need. And I need you to stick around, not let those other goobers see you rabbiting off into the night right before our big day. Else they might get to thinking that you knew something they didn’t, something about how it could all go wrong. You got me, Charlie boy?”
    â€œYou saying it is going to go wrong, Haskell?” Sweat stippled Charlie’s round face, but he asked the question because he wanted to know the answer. He also wanted to buy himself time to think how he might get away from this crazy man. If what Haskell had said about not wanting the others to know he was leaving was true, it probably meant that Haskell wouldn’t shoot him and risk waking the others.
    But how sure was he? Did he feel confident enough to risk a mistake? “You ain’t about to shoot me, Haskell.” The question was bold enough, but Charlie hated the way his voice quaked, like that of a scared child.
    â€œSmart lad, Charlie boy. You’re one right smart laddie. But I do have me a right sharp skinning knife too, now, don’t I? You seen it. I know you have. And what’s more, what if I was to tell you that it was right handy, right close by, in fact?”
    Charlie swallowed, made a sound that showed fear. He hated that. Hated this man, knife and gun or no.
    Haskell continued. “I heard everything you and the old man said tonight.”
    Charlie’s face fell. He could do nothing to suppress his surprise.
    â€œOh yes, Charlie boy. You and Pap were yammering on and on and I heard it all. Not that it did me much good, but it did let me know that even if the old man hates you I don’t. In fact, I could use you in a key position come the morning, Charlie boy. What do you say?”
    Everything Grady Haskell had whispered low to him set Charlie’s teeth together tight once again. Haskell had a way of doing that to a body, he reckoned. But no matter the man’s demands, Charlie knew with a man like Haskell it would be one foul deed piled on another. And before long that would only lead to one thing. Quick death by bullet or rope.
    Much as it pained him to think about it, he expected bad things were going to happen to Pap and the boys, and sooner rather than later. Might be something in that, some connection like a stuck thread, between how Pap had treated him and what Haskell had said, but Charlie would think on it