“What the devil is going on out there, Luther?”
“Darned if I know,” he answered before he shouted to Bill Jefferies, the town barber who was running past. “Bill, what’s happening? Does it have to do with those shots before?”
“A fight! A couple of strangers are mixing it up with some of Dalton’s boys and get this … one of them is a woman!” Jefferies shouted over his shoulder as he raced towards the brawl. Wordlessly the two men looked at each other and fell in line behind the swelling crowd.
At the far end of the main street bracketed by two Ponderosa pines on the plot of land that had once been a church, stood the two-story town hall. Outside a pair of men labored putting together a scaffolding that would allow the raising of a grand clock and its clockworks into position fronting a newly erected belfry atop the building. The men gave a curious glance at the multitude surging towards the commotion down the street but kept working. Inside, however, it was a different story.
On the second floor in what Mayor Danforth Dalton liked to call his "parlor," the cunning official had left his place on one of the plush, red velvet settees and joined a fat, balding man at the window, who was patting his head with damp handkerchief as he strained to peer over his glasses and through the scaffolding to see what was transpiring down the street. They made a mismatched pair as the tall but fit Dalton stepped up next to him running his fingers through his wheat-colored hair, his pale blue eyes scanning for the source of the commotion. "What in the blue blazes is going on down the street, Victor?" Dalton asked as he plucked a cigar from his pocket and lit it to life.
"At this distance, I wouldn't swear to it on a stack of Bibles mind you, but it looks like a couple of our boys are mixing it up with someone."
This news halted the cigar midway up to his mouth. Resistance was dwindling to almost nothing since he had pinned the citizenry of Dalton’s Creek under his thumb. Who would be bold enough to be challenging his men? Finding out now took priority over his planned afternoon of sorting through the pictures that lay sprawled on a coffee table in front of the sofa. He had intended to select the best ones that represented Dalton’s Creek. A representative of his partner was due to arrive soon, and he wanted to send the photographs back with the envoy. Selecting them would have to wait. He gestured to his companion, Judge Crocker, to follow, and the two men made their way toward the stairwell.
CHAPTER 8
Riker watched as his foe made one last attempt to take him down. Unsteady on his feet, the man's swing at him missed by a country mile but no so for his own blow. Balling his right fist up so tight a sensation of pain ran through him, Riker let it fly striking the man's jaw so forcefully that another of his rotten teeth snapped off and shot out of his mouth even as he toppled backward into a horse trough. The roar of resulting laughter and cheers surprised the lawman. So intent was he on the fight he hadn't even noticed the crowd of people gathering around to watch. Turning around, he saw McKenna grinning broadly with her foot planted squarely on the ass of his fallen opponent's sidekick.
He flashed her a two-fingered salute to let her know how many teeth the man had lost even as his bedraggled foe fought to lift himself out of the trough but exhausted from the fight he collapsed back into it. Riker was having none of it.
"Get the hell out of that and get busy. You owe that woman over there-" he paused as he gazed at her by the edge of the crowd ringing them. He hadn't had a chance to appreciate the blue-eyed woman's beauty before, but now he did. She was short for sure, but she was well put together in all the right places and a mane of golden hair tumbled to her shoulders. Pulling his attention back to Bryant, he finished, "you owe her another sign, so you best get busy making one."
The scowling look on the man's face as he sat in the trough suddenly morphed into a smug expression as his attention turned towards two men that emerged from the crowd that had parted to let them pass. Riker straightened up and turned his gaze away from the ground to face the pair that marched up to him. One look at the arrogance plastered across their faces told him this was going to end badly either for him and McKenna or for them. Which way remained to be seen.
“See here! What’s the meaning of this!” demanded the taller man in the jet-black suit that sported a dapper looking red tie between its lapels.
“I can answer that, Mayor,” Bryant said as he fought his way back to his feet and stepped out of the horse trough, a move that set off another yet far more subdued wave of snickering from the assembled crowd. “Me and Spencer was attempting to discourage the Reverend from holding another one of his rabble-rousing meetings when this stranger and that dove with him butted in!”
McKenna removed her foot from the fat man who was beginning to stir underneath it and joined her brother at his side. For a fleeting second, a warm feeling surged through Riker. Through thick and thin, they always stuck together. McKenna was not only his only blood family left in this world, but she was his partner and best friend rolled into one. They would always have each other's back.
“And who might you interlopers be?” the man Bryant had addressed as the mayor demanded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McKenna give him a quick glance ready to follow his lead. Whenever going into an unknown situation like this, Riker needed to access whether to quickly identify himself as a Military Marshal or keep that fact hidden and to see how things would play out.
“Well, if it matters, I’m Nash Riker and this is my sister McKenna. We’re on our way to Pine Bluff, looking to do a little prospecting and are just passing through,” Riker said choosing to shield their true profession for now.
"Your identity matters to Judge Crocker here," the mayor said, nodding at the sweaty older man who stood next to him, his arms folded across his chest, three days of stubble on his chin. If he knew his sister, she was no doubt thinking the same thing. This man was the sorriest looking judge they'd ever encountered.
“He’s got all the facts and is about to do his duty. What’s your verdict, Judge?”
“Verdict? I haven’t even been charged with anything!” Riker snapped as McKenna defiantly jutted out her chin and challenged them as well. “This isn’t even a courtroom. It’s the main street of town.”
The judge cleared his throat and waggled his index finger at them, “You listen up you two. We don’t need a geography lesson to know where we’re standing, and I don’t need any courtroom to administer justice. On the charge of creating a disturbance and interfering in the actions of Peace Officers, I’m fining you the grand sum of one hundred dollars!”
A murmur of anger swept through the crowd even as Riker and McKenna exchanged a glance over the audacity of the situation. Riker tipped back his hat and whistled. “A hundred dollars? Even if I had it, I wouldn’t pay one red cent of it to someone making a mockery of the law like you are!” Riker’s indignance seemed to roll right off the man who stroked his chin as he glared at him through two eyes, as dark as night. “Silence or I’ll raise it to two hundred, and you best consider yourself lucky I don’t fine your sister as well based on how Mr. Spencer there is looking!”
Dalton laid his hand on the shoulder of the judge and addressed the Rikers with an oily smile. "Folks, I'm Mayor Danforth Dalton, and I hate to see strangers get off on the wrong foot in my town. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. On my recommendation, the judge will be lenient with you. I'm willing to allow the court to attach your saddle, horse, and possessions to satisfy the claim."
Riker looped his thumbs in his gun belt and stared at the mayor, marveling at the audacity of such a shakedown attempt. His eyes then traveled to the woman again who was looking on, her face a mask of complete distress, and finally, he looked at the bullet-riddled sign, railing against mob rule. The shakedown underway now was clearly only a symptom of a much larger disease that had swept over this High Sierra township. It was always at times like these that he thought back to his old friend and what he would say. He could almost hear Lincoln now.
“Son, if a man's got a malady an
d he's suffering, and he's got a snake oil salesman whispering in his ear that for a dirty cheap price he'll sell you an elixir that's going to take that pain away in two shakes of a lamb's tail. But at the same time in the other ear, he's got himself a doc that says for a high price he can cure you of the disease for good, but you're going to have to become a debtor to him, what's a man going to do? Well, I'll tell you, he's going to take the debt, he's going to pay the high price but, in the end, he's going to be cured. Sure, he's going to have to live with the pain longer, but if he goes with the snake oil salesman he might get instant relief, but that pain is going to come back as sure as the sun rises in the east."
Riker and McKenna had handily bested Bryant and Spencer, but that was just a temporary cure for the townspeople. Clearly Dalton and his lackey the judge was the disease. He could attempt to end this right now by displaying his credentials or he could continue to play along with this thing and find out how Dalton had such sway over this town.
"Is there going to be a problem, Mister?" Dalton asked, but he didn't wait for an answer as he snapped his fingers. McKenna stiffened as out of the crowd suddenly appeared just over a dozen men, each brandishing Winchesters, all of which had the sun glinting off their barrels as they were leveled at the Rikers.
Well, that made the decision easy, he thought. Few were as good with their guns as he and his sister, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. It looked like his hand was forced to play the charade for a bit longer. In truth, he had nearly decided on that course of action anyway, his curiosity of what Dalton's game in this town had gotten the better of him. It was at that moment, the most unexpected happened.
The woman to whose aid he had come, stepped forward, and she was not alone. An older man was on one side of her and on the other was another man closer to her age. This trio were complete strangers to him, but their similar features spoke volumes that they were unmistakably related.
“That won’t be necessary!” the woman cried out as the younger man with the same golden colored hair stepped forward. He wore a preacher’s black with a white collar. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and turned it over.
“That’s right, my sister! Hear me, friends, these generous strangers only wanted to help me, no help US! I’m contributing ten dollars towards his fine. Who will join me in matching my donation?” he called out to the crowd that still lingered and set them to murmuring amongst themselves.
Next to him, McKenna grinned. As if a tap had been opened, citizenry began to step forward including the older gentleman who could only be the father to the man and woman as well as a burly looking man who was clearly the town's blacksmith based on his worn looking apron flowing down his body. Cries of "I will!" and, "Count me in!" swept through the warm spring air as money began to rain down into the hat the reverend held in his outstretched hand. In no time at all, the cap was full, and the woman deftly scooped it out and counted it in front of the judge and the mayor.
“Here’s your money. I think you … gentlemen … will find it all here,” The woman said as she held it at arm’s length in front of her. Sullenly the judge shuffled forward and took it from her. As soon as he retreated next to Dalton, the mayor snatched it out of his hand and gave it a once over before making it disappear into a breast pocket of his suit.
"So I see, Miss Beckett," Dalton said curtly, and with a wave of his hand, the men with the rifles lowered them. With a jerk of his head towards the town hall, he began to walk away, lighting up another cigar. Crockett followed him as did Bryant and Spencer who led their horses behind them. The men with the rifles dispersed as well, trailing the other men but keeping a wary eye on Riker as they retreated. After he watched the mayor and his entourage vanish into the town hall and the men with the rifles disappear around the back of the building, Riker turned to the faces that surrounded him.
“Folks, I’ve seen a lot of shakedowns in my day, but that was one of the most blatant ones I’ve ever witnessed. I don’t know why you paid that man, but we’ll see that you are repaid in full.”
The older man and the two siblings stepped forward. "That can wait. I want to introduce myself properly, I'm Luther Beckett, this is my son the Reverend Johann Beckett and this little lady is my daughter Callie." Quickly a round of handshakes occurred and ended when McKenna beamed at the reverend.
"Johann, huh? That's a right fine German name if I ever heard one!"
“Thank you, ma’am. My late mother grew up there as a girl before her papa packed the whole family off to America.”
“God bless her,” Luther Beckett said solemnly before regaining an ear to ear smile. “It’s us that should be thanking you. Consider yourselves guests at my ranch until you are rested up!”
Riker said nothing at first as he silently communicated with McKenna with his eyes. Asking to be excused the pair sauntered over to a nearby well. Gripping the rope, that dropped down into its depths, Riker began to pull on it as McKenna leaned against the circular stonework that made up the base of the well.
“I assume we aren’t going to Pine Bluff.”
"Yes and no," he said as the pail emerged. McKenna took down a pair of tin cups that hung on hooks on the wooden framework over the well, wiped them with her sleeve and passed them to her brother. After dipping both into the bucket, Riker passed one back to McKenna as she waited for him to explain.
“You’re still going to Pine Bluff, Mickey. The dispatches need to be filed to Washington, and now we need to pick up our pay more than ever. I need to see these folks are recompensed for that so-called fine.”
She sipped for a minute, and still holding the cup by her mouth, before she looked over at him with raised eyebrows, "Meanwhile, you're going to stick around here and see just what the hell is going on." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact.
With a jerk of his head signaling he wanted them to walk, they left the well. About dead center of the main street on the opposite side in a space that might typically take up three buildings was a large wooden corral teaming with horses. Riker idly noticed the sign over the entrance to the corral proclaiming it Dalton's Horse Trades before he put his back to the fence and leaned against it, McKenna doing likewise. He remained silent nursing his water, looking down the street at two yelping dogs that came into view as they ran down the street. One was chasing the other, the aggressor nipping at the heels of the other. Just past the pen, the pursued canine made a sharp turn into a wide alleyway hoping to make its escape. To no avail, the other dog followed it in and they both vanished from view. With the distraction over, he turned and looked down at his sister, who also had been watching the chase.
“You know the charter, formulated by Mr. Lincoln himself, Military Marshals at Large out to stamp out injustices both great and small and keep law and order. This town appears to be in the grip of its own petty little dictator, but he’s got armed men backing him up. I think that qualifies as great.”
Smiling, she laid her free hand on his arm, "You know he always wanted you just to call him Abraham, and you always struggled with that. But I agree, this town needs some help. Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"
He chuckled, “I’d always want you to stay, Mickey, but you do need to get to Pine Bluff. Duty calls for you to report in and as said, we need the money to give back. I’ll be fine.”
Their playfulness evaporated as she squeezed his hand. "You'd better be. Just watch your back, Nash, just watch your back." He nodded at her and her face took on the glow of a dozen candles. "Don't let yourself get too distracted by the pretty little Miss Callie Beckett."
"And look who is talking. Being around you my whole life, do you think I didn't see you making doe eyes at the good Reverend Beckett when you were admiring his name?" A gentle laugher flowed between the siblings as they finished their water and prepared to go their separate ways.
***
In his upstairs parlor, Dalton had just handed Crockett a glass of brandy as they reclined on the velvet sofa. He had offered none to Bryant an
d Spencer who stood nursing their various wounds in silence behind them. Instead, he was staring down at the jumble of photos on the coffee table. He liked to call them "Brady's" after the famous Civil War photographer even though they were taken by an equally talented young man he had hired out of Sacramento to come to Dalton's Creek for the job. His free hand began to sift through the images, to those watching it might have appeared random, but that was far from the case. In his mind, an idea was jelling into place. He swiveled his head to the portly judge next to him and spoke.
“Tell me something, Judge Crockett; do you recall every one of those citizens who dropped money into the preacher’s hat?”
"Sure do, Dan. Besides the Becketts, there was Crewson the blacksmith, Kyle Packard the butcher, Neil Fennimore of the Circle W, and a bunch more."
Speaking for the first time after he stopped probing the gaps in his teeth with his tongue, an angry Bryant gripped the back of the settee. "All them rabble-rousers will probably be at that meeting tonight. Let me gather the men and we'll cancel it by force at the door and no stranger is gonna stop us."
Dalton motioned for his lackeys to come around to the front of the couch where he could see them. He looked up at them as the men shifted nervously on their feet.
“Now why would we cancel it?”
“Sir, my pappy see he liked his history. Used to tell us kids stories about the past. He done liked talkin’ about the Romans especially. Told the story about how one man rose up and led a rebellion … Spartacus. All it takes is one man to stir up trouble and others will follow. That’s been the case right up until these here modern times. Remember it was only a score a years ago that darkie Nat Turner led those slaves on a rampage and closer still was that John Brown fellow hoping to start a rebellion by liberating the arsenal at Harper’s Ferry.”
Six-Guns Or Surrender (Lincoln's Lawman Book 1) Page 6
