The Good the Bad and the Ugly

He took off at a gallop, arms flapping.

The hunter unbarred the corral gate and drove the penned horses out. A few well-aimed rocks sent them stampeding out into the bleak desert. He grinned faintly and led his own mount into a gap between buildings, dismounted and ground-reined the animal. He took his rifle from its scabbard and moved up to a point where he could see the street.

The trial was in its final stage. Tuco, mounted on his horse, his hands tied behind him, was the centre of the mob’s attention. A gaunt man in a black hat, obviously the judge, stood on a barrel, facing him. The sheriff held the bridle of Tuco’s horse.

The judge held up his hands to quiet the crowd.

“All right, you’ve heard all the crimes this no-good bastard’s committed. What’s your verdict—guilty or not guilty? And don’t no more than twelve of you answer. The law says a jury can’t have no more than twelve men and we got to keep this trial legal.”

A score of voices bellowed, “Guilty—hang the son—”

“So be it,” the judge shouted above the uproar. “Let justice be done.”

Tuco slumped in his saddle, dazed and silent as the sheriff led the horse to an ancient cottonwood. A noose dangled from a lower limb. A gaunt man wearing a deputy’s badge rolled up another barrel and climbed on it to fit the noose over Tuco’s head. The bandit began to whimper wordlessly while tears rolled down his swarthy cheeks. The watching hunter chuckled softly and cocked his rifle.

The judge unfolded a long sheet of paper and perched steel-rimmed spectacles on his nose. “This here dee-fendant, previously wanted in fourteen counties of this Territory, has been found guilty of the crimes of murder, armed robbery of individuals, banks and post offices, the theft of sacred objects, arson of a Territorial prison, perjury, bigamy, desertion of family, incitement to prostitution, kidnapping, extortion, receiving stolen goods, passing counterfeit money, using marked cards and loaded dice, assault and battery against individuals, justices of the peat county, district and Territorial officials. Have you any last word, you skunk?”

Tuco turned his head as far as the taut rope would permit.

“You left out rustling cattle.”

The judge reddened. He waved his arms violently for silence.

“Uphold the dignity of this here court, dammit.” He peered at his paper. “Therefore, accordin’ to the powers vested in us, we sentence the accused here before us, Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez, to hang by the neck until dead, and may God have mercy on his soul—if any. Sheriff, proceed with your duty.”

The sheriff raised his whip. At its stinging lash the horse would lunge from under Tuco, leaving him to dance at the end of the rope.

The hunter in the alley settled his left hand on the wall and rested the rifle across his ann. He sighted carefully.

The crack of the sheriff’s whip was lost in the thunder of the shot. The rope parted with a twang a foot above Tuco’s head as the horse lunged forward, scattering the yelling crowd. The animal pounded down the street and out of town at a dead run before anyone could recover his wits and open fire on the bandit crouched over its neck.

The hunter ran to his own mount and set off, following the dwindling dust cloud of the bandit’s horse. He rode at a leisurely gallop, unworried at the possibility of pursuit. It would take the sheriff and his pow at least the rest of the day to find and round up their own horses on foot.

At sundown they sat in a rendezvous, high in the mountains, dividing the stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Here’s five for you and one, two, three, four, five for me. Another five for you and the rest for me makes it even shares.”

Tuco pressed the banknotes to his cheek.

“You know, friend, for the first time in my life I could get to like a bounty-hunter.”

“Your price should go up to at least three thousand after this stunt. We’d better skip a couple of counties and hit a sheriff who hasn’t had time to hear about it yet. Our game’ll get too risky when the news gets around.”

“The world—” Tuco chuckled—is divided in two. Some wear ropes around their necks and others cut them down.” He rubbed his throat gingerly. “But do not forget, señor, that the neck inside the rope is mine. You speak of risk—but it is I who take that risk. You do nothing but shoot and ride away. That is why the next time I want a bigger share.”

The hunter fixed Tuco with a cold, unwinking stare while he took out a stubby cigarro and struck a match. He took a long time about firing his smoke.

At last he said softly, “Raising your share means lowering mine, friend, and that could have unpleasant results. It could make me nervous and spoil my alto. I’m sure you would find that most uncomfortable, friend.”

Tuco’s eyes narrowed.

“Let me give you one warning. If you were to miss the rope you’d better be sure not to miss my head. I might still beat the noose. And any man who thinks to double-cross Tuco Ramirez and leave him alive understands nothing about Tuco—nothing at all.”

CHAPTER 5