Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Another wagon featured several men and women in tight, spangled costumes waving to the crowd, and Flint knew they had to be the acrobats—aerialists, Asa Parker had called them. Flint wondered where Parker was this morning. He hadn’t seen the man since the aftermath of the fire the day before.

  A fresh surge of cries issued from the impressed spectators as they saw the trick riders coming down the street. There were two men and a woman, the men riding abreast on magnificent horses and the woman standing on the shoulders of the men.

  "That don't look so hard," Cully muttered beside Flint as the trick riders passed by.

  "I reckon you'd like to give it a try," Flint said.

  "I just might," Cully replied confidently. "I was riding before I could walk, Marshal."

  Angus reached across Flint and plucked Cully's sleeve. "Why dinna ye try a hand at tha' instead, laddie?" he asked as he pointed to the next attraction.

  It was a barred wagon with two huge striped cats inside. Riding on top of the wagon was a handsome blond man in gold tights and a spangled jacket. Cully stared at the big cats and said, "Those are the funniest-looking mountain lions I ever did see."

  Rose laughed. "They're tigers, Cully. Bengal tigers from the country of India. Impressive, aren't they?"

  Cully nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am, they are."

  There were two more of the barred wagons, these containing lions, which Rose explained came from Africa. It was obvious from the animated look on her face and the sound of her voice that she was enjoying herself. She was actually seeing things that until now she had seen only in books.

  Flint nudged Cully. "What about them? Think you could ride one of those?"

  He pointed at a pair of massive gray elephants. Small, dark-skinned men rode on the back of each animal. With their wrinkled skin, huge flapping ears, writhing snouts, and long curved tusks, the elephants provoked shouts of amazement as they plodded along Texas Street.

  Cully swallowed as he regarded the elephants. "Reckon I can ride anything with four legs," he said bravely.

  "Dinna be daft, man!" Angus exclaimed. "Them beasts would step on ye till there was naught left!"

  Slapping the railing, Cully suddenly pointed. "There she is! There's the gal I've been waiting for!"

  Riding a beautifully groomed, prancing horse, the young woman whose likeness adorned the posters rode past, wearing a buckskin dress glittering with fancy beadwork and a cream-colored Stetson atop her long chestnut hair. The smile she turned toward the spectators was dazzling. Around her hips was a shell belt supporting two holstered Colts, their ivory grips sparkling in the sunlight. In her hands she carried a presentation model Winchester, known as an Old Yellowboy.

  For a moment she seemed to be smiling directly at Cully, and he let out a whoop of excitement.

  "You still want to go with me when I ride out to talk to Houser later?" Flint asked dryly.

  "Just try to stop me!" Cully shot back.

  Flint grinned and shook his head.

  There were more wagons being driven by roustabouts, and then came the sideshow performers, some of them walking, some on horseback. There were midgets and giants and a bearded lady that made Cully and Angus gawk. One man seemed to swallow a long sharp sword, another breathed flame like a dragon of legend. While one of the performers carried a long snake draped around his neck, another seemed to be completely covered with tattoos. And accompanying the members of the sideshow were more clowns, one of them riding a horse.

  Flint glanced across the street. The faces of the schoolchildren were wreathed in big smiles, and their eyes were wide. Several were almost bouncing up and down on the boardwalk in their excitement. This was obviously a high point in their young lives.

  Emery Thornbury reached out and yanked one boy away from the railing when the youngster began leaning forward. He spoke sharply, his voice rising over the excited babble of the crowd as he told the children to stand still and behave themselves. His scolding seemed to have no effect.

  The clown on horseback suddenly spotted the children and swerved his horse toward them. He reached into the pocket of his brightly checkered coat and pulled out a handful of penny candies. With a big grin on his face, he called, "Here you go, kiddies!" He began tossing the candy, one piece at a time, toward the children.

  Shouting in their enthusiasm, the youngsters grabbed for the treats, and there was instant pandemonium on the boardwalk as they vied with one another for the candy. It was good-natured chaos, however.

  Thornbury didn’t see it that way, and he yelled, "Here now! Children, stop that! Stop it, I say!" The words fell on deaf ears.

  Thornbury's narrow features contorted in anger as he saw the last vestiges of his control slipping away. The obstinate little beasts were making a mockery of him, aided by that idiotically grinning clown.

  "You there!" he shouted at the performer. "Stop that this instant! Stop it!"

  The clown kept grinning and tossing candy, ignoring Thornbury every bit as much as the children did.

  Furious, Thornbury pushed a couple of his students aside and stepped off the boardwalk into the street. In his hand was a willow switch, which he had cut that very morning as a replacement for the one Cully had destroyed. Shuddering with rage, he raised the switch and started toward the clown.

  "I said stop it!"

  The howl of anger from Thornbury made the clown glance at him. Seeing the man approaching with the switch upraised, the clown jerked back on the reins in surprise. The horse he was riding, high-strung to start with, reacted instantly, spooking, and rearing up on its hind legs.

  Thornbury stopped in his tracks as he saw the iron-shod hooves lashing out at him. He tried to step backward, but his feet became tangled, and he lost his balance. As Thornbury sat down hard in the dust of the street, the rearing horse looming over him, a screech of fear tore from his throat.

  Flint, hearing the frightened yell, glanced over in time to see the clown desperately trying to control his nervous mount. Someone was lying in the street, and Flint recognized him as Emery Thornbury. Shouting, "Come on!" to Cully, Flint vaulted the hitch rail and raced across the street, dodging a couple of scurrying midgets in ten-gallon hats on the way.

  Thornbury finally regained his wits enough to use his hands and feet to push himself backward toward the boardwalk. The clown reined in tightly and tried to calm the horse by speaking to it in a soothing voice. Several of the children shouted in fear as they saw their teacher in danger of being trampled, and a couple of the townsmen nearby jumped off the boardwalk and hurried to help.

  When the men reached Thornbury, each of them grabbed an arm and jerked him to his feet. He backpedaled frantically until he reached the boardwalk, where he tripped and sat down again. By this time, the clown's horse had stopped rearing, although it still sidled back and forth nervously. The crowd, which had fallen silent as it realized Thornbury's danger, now relaxed, and laughter began to sweep through the bystanders. Despite the potential seriousness of the situation, Thornbury had looked pretty ludicrous.

  Flint pushed through to Thornbury's side. He took the teacher's arm and helped him to his feet. "Are you all right, Mr. Thornbury?" Flint asked.

  The teacher, shaking from a combination of fear, anger, and outraged dignity, pointed a quivering finger at the clown, who had finally calmed his mount. "That man tried to kill me!" Thornbury charged.

  From the back of the horse, the clown responded, "Hey, it was an accident, mister. You started it by coming at me and waving that switch around."

  Realizing that he still held the switch in his hand, Thornbury raised it again and took a step toward the clown, but Flint stopped him with a firm hand on his arm.

  "Just hold on, Mr. Thornbury," the marshal cautioned. "We don't want to start the trouble all over again."

  "That horse is a menace!" Thornbury said. "And so is that...that creature riding him! I demand that you arrest that man, Marshal, and I want the horse shot! I'd do it myself if I had my gun!"

>   A chorus of protests came from the schoolchildren, and the clown said grimly, "Nobody's shooting this horse, mister. It was your own fault he nearly stepped on you."

  "My fault!" Thornbury's eyes popped with amazement. "I was simply trying to control my students, who, I might add, were being worked into a frenzy by your irresponsible behavior, you lout!" The teacher swung toward Flint. "Marshal, are you going to act on my complaint or not?"

  "Just take it easy, Mr. Thornbury," Flint said, trying to calm the situation. "There doesn't seem to be any harm done, so why don't we just let the circus get on with its parade so that folks can enjoy themselves?"

  "What?" Thornbury's voice was shrill. He took a deep breath and visibly controlled himself. "You're not going to arrest that man or have his horse shot, are you, Marshal?"

  Flint shook his head. "No, Mr. Thornbury, I'm not."

  "I see." Thornbury glanced at Cully, who was standing nearby, grinning. "I was going to have a talk with you about the behavior of your deputy, Mr. Flint, but I see now that would have done no good, either. You ruffians are all alike. You have no respect for a man of learning!"

  Flint's mouth was tight as he tried to control his own temper. "Sorry you feel that way, Mr. Thornbury." He turned to the clown and jerked a thumb down the street. "You'd best get on with the rest of the parade, mister."

  The clown nodded. "Thanks, Marshal." He urged the horse into a trot to catch up with the other clowns.

  Flint and Cully left Thornbury standing on the boardwalk with his students. The teacher glared after them as he brushed off his clothes.

  Flint glanced at Cully as they crossed the street through an opening in the parade. "Why was Thornbury going to have a talk with me about you?" he asked.

  "Aw, hell, I just stopped him from whaling the tar out of young Patrick Hammond yesterday. It didn't amount to anything, Marshal."

  "Well, you'd best steer clear of him for a while."

  They rejoined Rose and Angus on the boardwalk, and Flint quickly answered their questions about what had occurred across the street. "Was Mr. Thornbury all right?" Rose asked.

  "Nothing hurt but his pride," Flint replied. "Unfortunately, in his case that's a pretty big injury."

  They turned their attention back to the remainder of the parade, which was now winding down. More ranks of exotic animals came by. Flint recognized the camels, having seen them during the Army's ill-fated experiment with camels as cavalry mounts. Several zebras and some small apes—dressed in clothes as if they were human—strode by, and then a final group of clowns brought up the rear, along with several plain wagons piled high with supplies. The sound of the band had long since faded.

  "Looks like that's it," Cully said, straightening from the railing. "Are we going to head out to their camp now, Marshal?" He sounded eager to get started.

  "Let's let them get settled in a little first," Flint replied. "Don't worry, Cully. You'll get to see that sharpshooting gal soon enough."

  Cully grinned. "When it comes to a pretty girl, Marshal, it's never soon enough."

  6

  Flint and Cully ate lunch at the café, then saddled their horses and rode down Texas Street toward the western edge of town. Riding through the oldest section of Abilene, they passed the old saloon where Daddy Jones had sold prairie dogs to travelers, and the former Bratton Hotel, which despite its name had been just a six-room log cabin. As they crossed the Kansas Pacific railroad tracks, Flint told Cully of the famous observation made by an early visitor who claimed that Abilene was nothing but a muddy trail and half-dozen miserable hovels.

  "No longer, marshal." Cully laughed. "This town has grown since then and so has our job. You know how much work we have."

  As they rode past the last buildings to the edge of the prairie, the circus's camp stood less than a quarter of a mile away in sharp relief against the clear spring sky. In less than two hours the performers and roustabouts had worked wonders. The brightly painted wagons were arranged in a rough half-circle. Several small tents had been erected. All the horses grazed in a makeshift corral; elephants and camels were tethered to stout stakes driven in the ground. Bizarre, thought Cully, looking at the elephants standing in the Kansas plain, as he and Flint rode past them into the camp.

  People were hurrying everywhere. It was controlled chaos as the roustabouts and performers unloaded the wagons. In the center of a large open space, the canvas of the big top was being unrolled. The sound of sledgehammers pounding stakes into the hard earth filled the air. Elephants trumpeted, lions and tigers growled, and men shouted constantly.

  Cully sat in his saddle and took in the confusion for a long moment, then said, "Incredible that they each know what they're doing!"

  "Looks like most of them have been at it for a long time," Flint replied. "Come on, let's see if we can find the head man."

  Flint walked his horse past a low ring being laid out by the trick riders. Cully followed behind him. Scanning the camp, Flint spotted the wagon that had led the parade and started toward it.

  The man in the top hat and bright red coat stood beside the wagon, his hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on his booted heels. He surveyed the activity with a look of satisfaction on his face. That expression changed to curiosity as he spotted Flint and Cully riding through the bustle toward him. When the lawmen reined in, the man stepped forward to greet them.

  Flint swung down from the saddle. "Professor Houser?" he asked.

  "Professor Horace Houser, Marshal, owner of Professor Horace Houser's Traveling Circus and Extravaganza, at your service. What can I do for you, sir?" He had a deep, rich voice that contained a trace of an English accent.

  Flint extended his hand. As Houser shook it, the marshal said, "I'm Lucas Flint, Abilene's marshal, and this is my deputy, Cully Markham."

  Houser shook hands with Cully as well and said, "Very pleased to meet you, Marshal. You, too, Deputy."

  "We thought we'd better ride out and have a little talk with you, Professor Houser," Flint said. "I'm sure none of us want any problems during your visit."

  Suspicion narrowed Houser's eyes. "This isn't about that incident during the parade, is it? My clown has informed me that the citizen was at fault in the matter. We've had trouble with people like that before. I assure you, Marshal, this circus won’t be a party to extortion. I won't give the man a penny."

  Flint held up both hands. "Hold on a minute, Professor. I know the man who was involved pretty well, and I'm not blaming your performer at all. It was just an unfortunate incident, and no charges have been filed."

  "Well, all right then." Houser sounded mollified. "If you're not here about that, what can I do for you?"

  "I meant what I said about not wanting trouble," Flint told him bluntly. "Everybody in Abilene is happy to see you, but I'll be expecting you to keep your people in line while you're here."

  Houser laughed, a short barking sound that contained little genuine humor. "Are you aware, Marshal," he asked, "that whenever there is trouble involving a circus, it is invariably the local citizens who cause the problem? I've been traveling with circuses all over Europe and America for the last twenty years, and I know what I'm talking about, sir."

  "I'm sure you do," Flint agreed. "I don't doubt that you're right, either. All I'm asking is that you do your part. You see that your folks behave themselves, and I'll see to the people of Abilene. Deal?"

  Houser studied him for a moment, then nodded abruptly. "As you say. Now, are there any local ordinances you'd particularly like to see enforced during our stay? Anything not designed to take money out of our pockets unfairly, that is?"

  Flint grinned at the ringmaster. "You have run up against some crooked lawmen in your time, haven't you? Things aren't like that here, Professor, I can assure you. You just mind your business, and we won't have any trouble."

  While Flint and Houser were talking, Cully's gaze wandered around the bustling camp. So far, he hadn’t spotted the buckskin-clad woman who had so captivat
ed him during the parade, but a sudden outbreak of shots gave him a clue as to where she was.

  Cully's hand jerked instinctively toward his gun as he heard the rattle of six-guns going off. Flint also tensed.

  "Relax, both of you," Houser said easily as he noted their reactions. "That cacophony of gunshots is only our Miss Richardson practicing."

  "You're sure of that?" Flint asked.

  "Quite sure. You're welcome to look for yourself, however."

  Quickly, Cully said, "I'll check it out, Marshal."

  "Go ahead," Flint told his deputy. "Just be careful. Don't get yourself shot."

  "No chance of that," Cully said confidently. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he strode toward the edge of the camp, toward the sound of the gunfire. Flint tried not to grin at the solemn expression on Cully's face and the serious tone in his voice. Just a lawman doing his duty, that was the impression Cully was trying to convey. The fact that the duty in question involved an attractive female had nothing to do with it, he seemed to be saying.

  The shooting had slacked off somewhat as Cully neared its source, the blasts coming more slowly and deliberately now.

  "Watch where you're going," a harsh voice called from his left, and he had to stop to allow one of the roustabouts to lead a camel past him. Cully frowned as the ugly animal gave him a wall-eyed stare.

  Cully made his way through the crowd and came to a large open area near the edge of the camp. The female trick shooter stood with a pair of pistols in her hands, her face a mask of concentration. She had pushed back her hat so that it hung on her shoulders by a thong around her neck, leaving her head uncovered. The midday sunshine struck red highlights in the thick chestnut hair.

  As Cully watched, she slid the ivory-handled Colts back in their holsters, then nodded to a small man standing about thirty feet away. On second glance, Cully saw that he wasn’t just small; he was, in fact, one of the midgets who had been dressed as a clown during the parade. Now he was wearing a plain white shirt and brown pants, and the greasepaint had been removed to reveal a broad, friendly face underneath a thatch of blond hair.