The Marshal of Whitburg

by E. R. Slade

  But eventually they made it and Lon got down and led the horse off into some thickets to the side of the trail and hobbled him. Then, rifle in hand, he found a good spot to hide beside the trail and settled down to contemplate the vagaries of fate and to wait.

  He hadn’t long to do so. Inside of twenty minutes, here came a rider from below. And it was, as he had hoped, Everson. He could just make him out by starlight.

  Everson went past and Lon listened. In a few moments, Everson stopped, evidently doing some listening of his own. Then he went left off the trail, judging by the sounds.

  Lon got the doctor’s horse and followed for a distance, then stopped again to listen.

  Quiet. Had Everson heard him? Was he now waiting in ambush?

  He held still and waited. Minutes went by. Then, startlingly near, he heard the voice of one of the road agents. “It ain’t anything but the wind,” the man said dismissively.

  “He got loose somehow,” Everson said. “He could be up here.”

  “Ain’t likely. Up that trail? He don’t even have a horse. We got it. I say, light a fire and let’s get this divided up.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Everson said. “He’s not as stupid as he looks. I think I’m going to check things out first.”

  Lon had slipped down from his mount by now, rifle in hand. He held the horse with the other. Everson rode past not ten feet away, but Lon and his horse were in a thicket and Everson never saw them. After he’d ridden along his back trail thirty yards or so and returned to the others, he dismounted and the three of them went about lighting a small fire in among some rocks.

  With it going, Lon could see them all quite clearly. They put on a coffeepot and got the sacks off Blacky, who stood head down in a way Lon knew meant he wasn’t happy. It was as well the wind, what there was, came from Blacky’s direction rather than the other way, or the horse would likely start nickering and try to come to him. Some horses were just horses, but with others there was an attachment.

  They piled coins in neat stacks on a flat place on one of the rocks making up the rough fireplace.

  They divided three ways, going round and round the group, each getting a set amount of each type of valuable until it was gone. When they came to the watch and fob and the woman’s jewelry they haggled a while, trying to decide who got what.

  Lon waited until Everson’s share had been put in his black saddlebags and hung on his horse. Then he drew a bead on the scar-faced road agent, pulled in and let out a long, even breath, and shouted, “Hands up or I shoot!”

  Everything happened at once. Hands flew to weapons. Everson’s horse shied, Blacky’s ears perked up and if he hadn’t been tied he’d have come to Lon.

  The scar-faced bandit drew and fired so fast he actually beat Lon to it. The lead went wild, though, and Lon drove a bullet into the man’s midsection slamming him back so he sat hard on the ground, bending over holding his wound with both hands.

  The other bandit was filling the air with lead, but since he didn’t know where to put it Lon remained unhit. He fired his second bullet into this man, knocking him into the fire, which blew out a shower of sparks and smoke and lit his clothes, and he yelled and rolled over and over on the ground trying to put it out.

  Everson had mounted his horse and now swung around to ride away. Lon took careful aim and fired, but Everson was a fast-moving target and Lon missed him. He fired again, hit Everson in the arm, fired again, missed.

  Then Everson was out of sight in the darkness. The road agents lay unmoving. Lon darted across to Blacky, who was still saddled and even had Warner’s rifle hanging from the saddle, and set off after the sound of Everson’s retreating horse.

  Every couple of minutes he stopped to listen. Everson was still heading west along the side of the hill. Either he was just running in any old direction or there was a hide-out ahead somewhere. If he got barricaded in things would get a lot harder. Lon urged Blacky into a gallop.

  They came out on open mountainside, all stony and barren. Overhead, stars by the millions put on a spectacular show in the clear mountain air. Out on the broad slope a horse and rider bobbed dimly. Lon drove after.

  Blacky was fast. Even after all the hard use he’d had this day, he could still put on an impressive burst of speed. And he never had much liked eating some other horse’s dust. They gained on Everson steadily. As they came near, Everson started taking quick glances over his shoulder. His right arm hung useless. His gun hand. Maybe finally things were going the right way.

  I am going to nail you, Lon thought. You are through.

  Everson reached around with his left hand—dropping his reins to do it—as Lon came within a few yards. He managed to get the pistol and tried to aim it at Lon.

  The pistol jumped once, twice, and then Lon shot it out of his hand.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Lon rode into town, people came into the street to watch the procession. Behind Lon came Everson belly-down over his horse, then the road agents belly-down over their horses, then the doctor’s horse with sacks and saddlebags of plunder hanging from the saddle, along with the extra rifle.

  He drew rein in front of the doctor’s office and climbed stiffly down. It was past midday and the sun was hot. He wiped his neck with his bandanna.

  The doctor stepped out and surveyed the carnage. His eyes were sad, his mouth corners drooped.

  Then he looked at Lon and for the first time Lon had seen, he smiled. And it was a smile with fire in it.

  “I knew you were a likely fellow,” he said.

  The scar-faced bandit was in a bad way and not conscious. The other was groggy and full of groans but he wasn’t really that dangerously wounded. The doctor took charge of them. Everson’s right arm was in a crude splint of Lon’s devising and his left hand was wrapped in a piece of his shirt sleeve, but he was otherwise his old self, once off his horse and allowed onto his feet.

  “Somebody go get Vern,” Everson said to the onlookers.

  Vern didn’t have to be gotten from very far. He was hovering around uncertainly at the back edge of the crowd.

  “There you are, Vern,” Everson said. “You’d best tell the councilors what’s happened, and get some men with guns. This fellow Pike interrupted just as I was in the act of arresting those road agents. Shot us all up.”

  “Just as you were dividing the loot, you mean,” Lon said. “Go ahead and get the councilors, Vern. We’re going to straighten things out right now.”

  By the time the last of the councilors arrived quite a crowd had gathered. Lon had sent a man to take the horses to the livery, but had had Everson’s saddlebags and the two sacks left on the doctor’s step, beside which he now stood.

  Tuft had come first, but stayed on the outer edge of the crowd asking people questions. The other councilors were in a group near him, listening. Now here came young Wescott with Zinnia on his arm, although it looked like this was more her idea than his since he was not in a hurry, eyeing the whole situation warily, especially Lon holding a gun.

  Tuft came pushing through the crowd to confront Lon.

  “Is it true you brought in the road agents?” he demanded. It was not a friendly question, but Lon thought the huffiness of it might be as much bluster as anything else.

  “Half dead,” Everson pointed out. “Even shot me. If there are any men in this crowd, it’s time to take the gun away from Pike. He’s a thief and maybe a killer, too.”

  “You incompetent idiot,” Tuft said irascibly. “I’ll handle this. Now, Pike, put that damned gun away and tell us what you’re up to now.”

  “I’ll put the gun away when I’m ready to,” Lon said shortly, which brought lightning flickering from Tuft’s eyes—to be met with a hard glitter of purpose in Lon’s. “Your guards got themselves shot dead. Know who did it? Everson here.”

  “Now wait just a minute,” Everson turned on him angrily.

  “I was there, remember?” Lon said to him. “Ask the gentleman who was aboard the stagecoach
what happened,” he said to Tuft and the crowd.

  The man himself spoke up from the rear, with his wife leaning on his arm. “He jumped aboard from his horse and saved our lives,” he said.

  Tuft turned to look at him, the dark look suddenly gone. “You’re sure it was this man, Will? I know you said it was, but ...”

  “See these saddlebags?” Lon said. “Everson’s share of the loot is in them. The rest is in those two sacks. The road agents are in the doctor’s office getting patched up. Tuft, do you have a list of what you sent in that strongbox?”

  “I do,” he said, looking disoriented.

  “Get it and read it out to the crowd.”

  “I don’t need the manifest,” he said. “I can tell you what was in there. Five thousand in gold and silver, plus another six in bearer bonds.”

  “That’s what’s in the sacks and the saddlebags, all right,” Everson said easily. “Like I said, I was in the act of arresting those road agents when Pike here started shooting from the dark.”

  Tuft had a saddlebag open, pulled out a handful of gold and silver coins. The crowd tried to jam nearer, everybody wanting a look. Few of them had ever seen this much money in one place before.

  “Pike’s trying to squeak out of a tight spot,” Everson went on. “But the fact is he’s a thief and probably worse.”

  Egbert Wescott had stopped on the back edge of the crowd, with Zinnia still on his arm. He seemed to be trying to encourage her to leave, but she stayed where she was, staring hard at Lon. He couldn’t read her expression and wanted more than anything to know what she was thinking.

  “Are those yours?” Lon asked Tuft.

  Tuft had come up with a fistful of bearer bonds. He examined them carefully.

  “Yes,” he said. “They are.”

  “Take a look in the sacks. In one of them you ought to find the watch and jewelry taken from the people who were on the stage. Everson took his in gold and bearer bonds.”

  The watch and fob, the rings, bracelet and the rest were found and returned to their owners. By now, Zinnia’s eyes were flashing. She dragged Wescott along to the older couple and spoke with them animatedly. Wescott did not look pleased. The older couple did, as though something had finally been happily resolved.

  “We can settle who’s telling the truth here,” Lon said. “Let’s go over to Everson’s house.”

  A murmuring went through the crowd. They were interested.

  “Oh, come now,” Everson said. “Isn’t there at least one man out there willing to stand up to this trickster?”

  “What do you want to go to Everson’s house for?” Tuft demanded.

  “There’s something you need to see,” Lon said in a tone that left no room for argument.

  The crowd surged in the direction of Everson’s place. This was too good a show to miss. Lon prodded Everson with the barrel of his gun, seeing Vern off to one side, his hand hovering close—but not too close—to his gun, his eyes big. Lon hoped he wouldn’t. Vern might be a hero-worshiper but he wasn’t very bright and was in far over his head. Lon didn’t want to have to shoot him.

  Everyone piled up at the door, and with difficulty let Lon and Everson through, followed single file by the councilors, then Vern. And behind them came a determined Zinnia, Wescott now being hauled along by her, very reluctantly.

  The door was, of course, locked. Lon produced the key from his pocket, which created a small ripple of reaction from those who saw it, and the ripples spread out through the crowd.

  “I knew it,” Everson said ferociously. “That key was stolen.”

  “The only way to get it,” Lon said, “was from inside. I got it while looking over your staged break-in. It hangs on a hook inside the door. You like to go in and out the rear, don’t you? You do it as a regular thing. That way nobody will think it strange if they see you go around back leading a horse carrying saddlebags of loot, right?”

  “What kind of nonsense are you talking now, Pike?” But at last Lon thought he detected a slight tinge of fear in Everson’s tone.

  “Let’s go in, shall we?” Lon prodded Everson on in ahead of himself, and the rest followed, all that would fit in the room, with the street now jammed about solid with people. He got a fleeting glimpse of Betty Logan trying to force her way through the crowd outside.

  Lon made everybody keep off the ratty little rug in the middle of the room.

  Everson turned angrily on Tuft. “Are you going to let this just go on?”

  “Move that rug, Everson,” Lon said. “You’ve got one hand left that works well enough for that.”

  “What?” he said.

  “The rug. Move it.”

  “Doesn’t it strike anybody else that this man is not right in the head?” Everson pleaded.

  “I’ll move it.” That was Zinnia pushing through, shaking off Wescott’s preventing hand, pushing by an open-mouthed Vern, and stepping determinedly near Lon.

  “Zinnia!” protested her father, shocked at her forwardness in such a situation.

  She ignored him and squatted down, her dress folding around her on the floor, and took hold of the rug. When she yanked it briskly out of the way, there were gasps from several who were near enough to see the trapdoor. Again ripples went out spreading the news.

  Zinnia stood, stepped back, and looked Lon straight in the eye. He held her gaze, and all he felt for her jammed in his throat.

  “Mr. Tuft,” Lon said, after trying twice to clear that throat, “perhaps you’d like to open the trapdoor and see what’s below it?”

  Tuft had been looking from him to Zinnia and back again as though about to say something. Now he bent over and lifted the trapdoor.

  “By God, a safe—!” Tuft said, and people crowded up to look.

  ~*~

  Two days later, Lon and Zinnia were having a picnic lunch in the same place they’d had the first one. It was a beautiful day with a breeze and what seemed like the whole world spread out before them.

  “That’s the first time I ever saw Pa apologize to anybody,” Zinnia said. “But he did it graciously, don’t you think?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Would you like me to apologize again?” she asked, coquettishly.

  “There could be people watching,” he warned, pointing at the town.

  She sat closer to him and laughed up into his face.

  “I never knew Pa was a safe cracker!” she said.

  Lon smiled, thinking of how, when Everson steadfastly refused to open the safe, Tuft had had men lug it into the middle of the street and had personally rigged an explosive which blew the door off. He had explained that he’d once been the explosives man in a silver mine.

  “I never knew that silver is mined from safes,” Lon had needled him, and Tuft had found it a great joke.

  “To tell the truth I didn’t know if I’d blow the stuff in that safe all over town,” he said.

  “Tell me again where the hide-out was,” Zinnia said.

  “Around the bulge of the mountain to the west. Everson was headed there. When I went back up to look for it, I only had to go a bit further along from where I’d caught up with him. Lucky there wasn’t much for ground to bury anything in or I’d have been a long time finding that stash. I gather nearly everything stolen from all those holdups which wasn’t in Everson’s safe was up there. It was as well they were greedy and wanted to keep hoarding it up.”

  “I think we are all lucky you came to Whitburg,” Zinnia said.

  “Except for Scott Warner.”

  “But he’s recovering quickly, I understand.”

  “Fortunately.”

  “When we told him how you captured all three of those thieves he said he wasn’t a bit surprised. He said he thought you were the most capable man he’d ever met, and have the most integrity.”

  Lon was silent, amazed.

  “He thinks the world of you, Lon, like a lot of us do.”

  Lon was still silent, trying to credit what she’d said, when she
went on in a different tone.

  “Did you know your friend” (she used the word carefully) “Betty Logan came to see me?”

  “Oh?” he said, startled. He’d been avoiding her since Everson and his accomplices had been jailed, but had felt guilty about it and unsure how to deal with her.

  “Do you care about her very much?” Zinnia asked, even more carefully.

  “She came to tell me some things Billy Thompson told her. The Billy who was Everson’s previous deputy. She was his fiancée, she said.”

  Now Zinnia said, “Oh!” as though startled herself.

  “But she seemed to want to transfer her interest to me. Or at least I got that impression. Maybe I was wrong about that.”

  “I see,” Zinnia said, just a little coolly. “And you’re afraid to see her in case she isn’t interested, after all?”

  He gave her a quick glance, taken aback.

  “Just the opposite. Don’t misunderstand. She’s probably a very nice girl in her way. But it’s you I care about.” He wanted to add, “Can’t you see that?”

  “She seemed to be very interested in you,” Zinnia said noncommittally.

  “I was afraid of that. I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell her she should forget about me, some way that won’t hurt her too much. She’s had a rough time recently.”

  “You won’t have to,” she said. “She came and told me she could see it’s me you’re head-over-heels in love with and that she’s going to leave town on the next stage. She said I was to take good care of you and not let you get away with too much.”

  “She said that?”

  “Well, most of it,” Zinnia said sweetly.

  “Hmm,” he said, thinking. “So the ladies have settled it between themselves, have they?”

  “Of course,” she said brightly. “Don’t we always?”

  “Then,” he said, “I suppose it’s now up to me to settle things with Eggy.”

  “Eggy!” she exclaimed and wrinkled her nose as though she’d just caught a whiff of an unpleasant odor. “There’s absolutely nothing you would ever have to settle with him.”