Damn Loot!. Mario Micolucci

a booted heel on his foot and tried to escape, but to no avail. The man's grip was firm. The only thing he got out of it was a curse, but it bought his father the one distracted moment he needed bash the man’s head in with a rock. The boy was skilled at knot-tying, and the false knot was his specialty.

      “Did you kill him?”

      “He look alive to you?” The ill-fated man’s eye was dangling from its socket.

      "You could’ve just knocked him out. After all, he did just save our hides.”

      “Well, since you’re so grateful to him, it’ll be you who’ll go warn his buddies since he won’t be able to. In these parts not many folks know who I am, but that don’t mean there’s nobody can identify me.” If the Rangers could take out the outlaws, it would eliminate the threat.

      1 This side of the law.

      Damn it, his old man could have gone a little easier on him!

      Before sending him off to approach the Rangers, poor Finn’s father had practically beaten him to a pulp in order to make his appearance more effective and believable. He probably didn’t intend to go so hard on him, but just as appetite increases the more one eats, so the oaf grew a liking to pummeling the boy.

      The general idea wasn’t bad at all. While many Rangers were corrupt and opportunistic, it was still hard to find one who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to run to the aid of a poor, helpless boy who had been beaten senseless by outlaws. In the end, they were still just jackasses with a hero complex. Weasel struggled with the idea that adults could be so ignorant. He wasn’t necessarily surprised by the naivety as much as he was surprised by the fact that they had survived for so many years in spite of it.

      He arrived, winded and wheezing at Cactus Cross camp, but it was no act; he really was in bad shape. He fell forward and raised a hand, pleading for help, then unceremoniously face-planted into the dirt.

      There were eight men. Right away one of them lifted him up and poured some water in his mouth to revive him.

      “Hey, kiddo, what happened to you?” The man was massive and ungracious, but it was easy to see that he was trying to be gentle with him. Bingo! Here was the first aspiring hero.

      He slowly opened his eyes and pretended to not be able to focus properly on his surroundings, then gave a couple of coughs and began to babble unintelligibly.

      “Come on, kid! Take another sip and talk slowly. Do you, or do you not, want us to help you?”

      “They’re gonna kill everybody! Maw! Paw!” He said, rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

      “Who’s gonna kill everybody? Where?”

      “They lit the barn on fire! Gunslingers, on horseback. They shot to kill! They lined us all up in front of Joe’s old saloon. I cried and they beat me!” He had to pretend to be recovering from the shock by slowly coming to his senses and giving sensible information.

      "Damn, son! Speak up, now! You’re safe here, we’re the Law. Can you at least tell us where you came from?"

      "From Little Pit, Sir!" He pulled himself together and breathed from his nose. "I was on the ground in terrible pain. Sean tried to shoot those bad guys from his attic and I went and hid in the saloon’s crawlspace. Then I crawled out the other side and ran off into the desert."

      “Much better! Now try to give me some more information about them, boy. It’s important! Any detail you can give us will help. For starters, did you hear them say any names?”

      “There was a guy they called Lane. He was the meanest; he beat up lots of people. He’s the one who did this to me.”

      “Lane, you say? Very good, boy!” In return for his story, he got a tender pat on the head that made his stomach turn. “Hey! You guys hear? I think the kid may have found “the Butcher” Sadlann. Seems like Cardigan was right all along. Let’s go!”

      "Well why didn’t Cardigan come and tell us, then?" Objected a blond man who had been dozing near the campfire using a saddle as a pillow. He didn’t seem to want to inconvenience himself too much by getting up.

      "They could’ve taken him out. Or worse, they might’ve taken him prisoner to interrogate him. Admit it, you’re flunking out because Sadlann gives you the willies!" He antagonized the blond man.

      “Hey, watch your mouth! I’d break your face if I didn’t have to get up to do it. I fully intend to get another couple hours of sleep. Besides, geezer, yesterday we busted our asses to follow the trail and now you expect me to saddle up again before dawn. Loyalty is all fine and good, but for the beans the government gives us, I ain’t in no hurry.”

      “Pull yourself together, Rick. Get your ass up! We ain’t got time to waste!” He insisted.

      “Who the hell do you think you are to boss me around? Piss off!” The man turned away to go back to sleep.

      "Come on! You’re gonna abandon us as soon as we get a chance to catch those bandits?"

      "As soon as we get a chance to get shot by those bandits, more like."

      "Gregory’s right, now is not the time to dawdle." The new voice which chimed in was one of authority.

      “Yes, Captain! But since we’re not altogether certain how this bust is gonna go down, shouldn’t one of us first report to the nearest command? As a precautionary measure, I mean. Maybe while I’m at it, I can take this poor boy to the El Paso infirmary. Is it, or is it not, our duty to ensure the safety of the people?” said the blond.

      "You don't have to tell me the process, and it damn sure ain’t up to you to decide who’s going to report to command. Your laziness borders on desertion. Anyway, if you care so much, by all means, coffee boiler, do as you like. Just bear in mind that this skulduggery is gonna cost you three weeks of salary, not counting the annulment of your rights to the bounty for those criminals.” The captain scribbled two lines on a piece of paper, crumpled it, and threw it at the man on the ground. "Deputy Richard Keen, hereby enclosed are your sanctions."

      "Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion, James? Three weeks! All right, you've convinced me. I’ll get up and come with you.” He sat up.

      “That’s Captain Bluemann to you! Sorry, but it’s too late to change your mind. That was an order, not a suggestion. You will report back and so help me, if you don’t hand over those sanctions, I’ll write up a report that sends you straight to the gallows! I've had enough of you, good for nothing!” The man was purple.

      “You commanders sure don’t hesitate, do you? Scribble down two lines on a piece of paper and a poor Ranger loses several tens of dollars in salary. All this, after days of hard work!” Rick complained.

      “Quit your bellyaching and remember what I said! Men, rattle your hocks and get going! The law calls!” The captain mounted his horse, spurred him on and ventured off into the desert followed by the others.

      "Scalawags!" The blond man spat, passing a hand over his face. He got up very slowly, despite having a strong physique. He yawned, had a good stretch, and with a sudden leap, was on top of Weasel.

      "So brat, spit it out!" He threatened, grabbing him by his unruly hair as though he were yanking a yucca plant out of the squalid earth.

      "But Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about!" Finn made his voice tremble.

      "Look here, little shit! You can pull the wool over the eyes of that windbag James or that nitwit Greg, but not me. First off, there’s no way you could’ve made it this far. Second, there ain’t a chance in hell those outlaws would’ve missed a little whelp like you right under their noses. Finally, I know how Lane Sadlaan works. He’s refined, a perfectionist. I would almost say he’s a master of pain. His victims are not simply beaten, but meticulously mutilated,” he said, his tone held a note of esteem.

      "Didn’t you hear the officer?" contested Finn.