by Len Levinson
He knew he was in bad shape. People looked at him with expressions of disgust or disapproval and it only made him more defiant. “Fuck yez all!” he muttered. “Yez can all kiss my ass if you don’t like what I’m doin’.”
He approached the front of the Petie Savings Bank, just as Thad Cooper stepped out the door. He turned toward Rawlins and wrinkled his brow as he remembered the night Rawlins had slapped his face and humiliated him in the Acme Saloon.
“Well, look who’s here!” Rawlins roared. “One of the Petie’s foremost liars!”
Cooper looked Rawlins over, and the former sheriff of Petie appeared to be in a state of deep stupefaction, wobbling from side to side, and his handlebar mustaches were frazzled and bent out of shape, making him seem ridiculous. Cooper ordinarily would’ve been afraid of Rawlins, but Rawlins looked harmless now.
“Go home and sleep it off,” Cooper said to him. “You’re drunk.”
Rawlins’s bloodshot eyes widened at the insult. “What did you say to me?”
“I said go home and sleep it off. You’re drunk.”
“You can’t talk to me that way—you goddamned four-flusher!”
Cooper looked at Rawlins contemptuously. Rawlins appeared barely able to stand, and his clothes were dirty and wrinkled. “I and every other citizen in this town are sick of your insults and bad manners,” Cooper said. “Why don’t you just shut up for a change.”
Cooper moved to walk past Rawlins, and Rawlins raised his hands, pushing Cooper’s chest hard, forcing Cooper to take a few steps backward.
“You son of a bitch!” Rawlins said murderously. “Who the hell do you think you’re talkin’ to!”
Cooper smoothed down the front of his shirt. A crowd was forming, and Cooper didn’t want to be humiliated publicly again, particularly by a man who looked as though he was ready to pass out on his feet.
Cooper thrust out his jaw and walked toward Rawlins, who raised his hands to push Cooper as he did last time, but this time Cooper’s reflexes were faster, and he pushed first.
Rawlins went flying backward. He struggled to regain his balance, but somehow his feet wouldn’t obey his orders. He fell off the sidewalk and landed in a pile of horse manure in the street.
The crowd laughed, and Rawlins coughed at the smell of the manure. He looked up and saw the faces of the townspeople creased in mirth. A deep, slow rage came over him. These were the people he’d protected for twenty years, and they were treating him like a buffoon. His heart felt like it was breaking with pain and shame.
He scrambled to his feet. “Cooper!” he shouted.
He focused on the sidewalk and saw Cooper walking away, ignoring him, and that was yet another insult. Rawlins’s brain became icy clear. He couldn’t let somebody treat him that way and get away with it.
He jumped onto the sidewalk and ran after Cooper, who heard him coming and turned around.
Cooper felt as though he had the upper hand now. He thought Rawlins was drunk and stupid, no longer dangerous, a fool and the object of everybody’s scorn.
“What do you want?” Cooper asked.
Rawlins faced him on the sidewalk, ten feet away. “You don’t treat me this way,” he said hoarsely.
“I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated. You’re a loudmouth and a bully, and this town has had enough of you.”
Rawlins smiled. “You’re awful brave today. Cooper. How come you’re so brave all of a sudden?”
“You’re not pushing me around anymore. I’ve had it with you.”
“You have, eh?” Rawlins took a step back and spread his legs apart, holding his right hand loose in the air. “Well, do somethin’ about it.”
Cooper was carrying a Smith & Wesson pistol in a holster underneath his frock coat, and knew how to use it. Under ordinary circumstances, he’d never draw on Rawlins, but now Rawlins was tottering from side to side, and had horse manure all over his pants.
“I couldn’t shoot a drunk in cold blood,” Cooper said.
“You’re gonna have to.”
Cooper looked around and saw the nearby townspeople heading for shelter in the alleys. There was a crowd on the other side of the street.
“Somebody git the sheriff!” a voice shouted.
Rawlins stared at Cooper. “I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch.”
“Rawlins, I don’t think you realize how drunk you are.”
“You’re a damned coward and everybody knows it!”
Cooper’s face flushed with anger. “Who’re you calling a coward!”
“You!”
“You need somebody to teach you a lesson, you old fool.”
“Why don’t you teach it to me, Cooper?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“You’re a weakling and an old woman, like everybody else in this goddamn town. You ain’t got the guts to draw on me.”
“Don’t push me, Rawlins.”
“I’m gonna count to three,” Rawlins said. “One.”
“Now wait a minute!”
“Two.”
Cooper didn’t see any way out of it. He realized he’d have to shoot Rawlins or be shot by him, but didn’t think he could lose. The old ex-sheriff was drunk as the lord.
“Three!”
Cooper reached for his gun and saw to his horror that Rawlins already was drawing a bead on his chest. Rawlins’s pistol fired, and Cooper felt a firestorm in his chest before he had a chance to draw his pistol. He fell back against a post, blood burbling out of his mouth, and Rawlins shot him again. The impact of the bullet sent Cooper spinning around. His hat fell off his head and he dropped to the sidewalk, twitching a few times, and then he became still.
Rawlins dropped his pistol into his holster and walked toward Cooper, kicking him over onto his back. Rawlins felt sober and steady as a rock, just like in the old days.
“Who’s next?” he asked.
He looked around, and the townspeople cowered in the alleys, afraid to come out.
“So you think I’m over the hill, do you?” he asked. “Well, I ain’t finished yet. You think you can laugh at me? Well, go ahead and laugh at me, and see what’ll happen if you do.”
Nobody laughed or said a word. Clyde Akerson came out of the bank, kneeled beside Cooper, and felt his pulse. “He’s dead.”
Rawlins looked at blood spreading over Cooper’s ruffled white shirt. “Sure he’s dead. He drawed on me.”
“His gun’s not even out of his holster.”
“You callin’ me a liar?”
Akerson didn’t answer. He was looking over the hitching rail. Rawlins followed his eyes and saw a lone figure advancing down the center of the street, wearing high-topped black boots with his jeans tucked into them.
Rawlins took off his frock coat and draped it over the hitching rail beside him. Then he stepped down to the street and moved toward the middle of it. He felt sober and clearheaded except for a faint ringing sound in his ears.
John Stone continued to stride toward Rawlins. A boy had run into his office a few minutes ago and told him that Rawlins was going to have it out with Cooper, and then Stone heard two shots. Now he saw Rawlins in front of him, and guessed the worst.
“Morning, Rawlins,” Stone said, stepping closer. “What happened?”
Akerson stood up on the sidewalk. “He shot Thad Cooper in cold blood!”
“It was a fair fight,” Rawlins said. “He drawed on me.”
“You egged him on,” shouted a woman on the sidewalk, “and then you shot him.”
“It’s a lie,” Rawlins said. “Thad Cooper drawed on me.”
“Thad’s gun isn’t even out of its holster,” Akerson told Stone.
“That’s because I beat him to the draw,” Rawlins replied.
Stone looked at Rawlins, and Rawlins looked like he’d been through hell. He’d heard that Rawlins had spent the night drinking at the Paradise and had broken up with Rosie.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you for your gun, Rawlins.”
Rawlins sneered at him. “You must be crazy.”
“You know the law better than I do.” Stone took a step forward and held out his palm. “Hand it over.”
Rawlins took a step backward. “Come and git it.”
“Don’t make this worse than it is, Rawlins.”
“You want my gun, you come and git it.”
Stone looked Rawlins in the eye and continued to move toward him, his left hand outstretched to receive the gun, and Rawlins stepped backward.
“Hand it over,” Stone said.
“Don’t crowd me, Stone.”
“Give me that gun.”
Rawlins stopped and planted his two feet squarely in the middle of the street. “Take another step and I’ll kill you.”
Stone saw the determined gleam in Rawlins’s eyes and came to a halt six feet in front of him. Both men stared at each other.
“The first time I ever laid eyes on you,” Rawlins said, “I knew it’d come to this.”
“It doesn’t have to,” Stone replied. “Just hand over your gun, and let the judge decide. If you’re innocent as you say, you’ll go free.”
“I don’t trust the judge or anybody else around here,” Rawlins said. “You’d all love to see me hang, don’t think I don’t know that.”
“You’ll get a fair trial.”
Rawlins laughed. “Ain’t no such thing. People around here don’t know what fair is, and neither do you.”
Stone held out his left hand again. “Give me that gun.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll have to take it from you.”
“Come on.”
Stone hesitated a moment. He knew if he reached for Rawlins’s gun, Rawlins would fight it out.
“You know what I’ve got to do, Buck. You were a lawman yourself.”
“Make yer play,” Rawlins said.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Rawlins. I’m asking for your gun.”
Rawlins tensed, dangled his hand above his holster. “Git ready to meet yer maker, you son of a bitch.”
Stone stepped forward, his left hand raised to accept Rawlins’s gun, and Rawlins’s hand snapped down to his holster. In a motion so quick it was a blur, Stone drew his Colt and fired at point-blank range. The bullet hit Rawlins in the chest, just as Rawlins’s fingers were drawing his gun from its holster. Rawlins pulled the trigger, and his bullet fired into the ground a few feet from Stone.
Rawlins stood limply in the street, smoke trailing out of his gun, a ferocious pain in his lungs. He stared at Stone in front of him, and Stone’s gun still was pointing at him. Rawlins’s mind was fogging quickly. He was aware of Rosie screaming somewhere nearby.
The next thing Rawlins knew he was on his knees in the middle of the street, and Rosie was beside him, trying to hold him steady. Rawlins looked up at Stone, who towered above him, his gun still in his hand.
“Chancellorsville,” Rawlins uttered, and he sagged into Rosie’s arms, his eyes closing, the battle over at last.
Chapter Nine
Buck Rawlins’s body lay in a coffin in front of the altar of the Petie Church of God. The Reverend Vernon Scobie stood a few feet away at the lectern, the light of candles bathing his face in an orange glow as he eulogized the late sheriff of the town. It was evening in Petie, and the sun was setting on the mountains to the west of town.
Before Reverend Scobie, crowded into the pews, were the townspeople in their mourning garb, sitting silently, while in the background the organ was played by Mabel Billings, the portly president of the Ladies Auxiliary of the church.
“He was a man with many faults,” Reverend Scobie continued, “but we shouldn’t let his faults obscure his virtues. He was a brave man, and in the old days, when it wasn’t safe to walk down the main street of our town, he made it safe by virtue of his courage and his gun, let’s not forget that. He was a man other men could look up to and admire.”
Mayor Randlett sat in the front row with Jennifer and the members of the town council, accompanied by their families. Stone sat in the back row close to the door, his hat on his lap, looking at the coffin on the bier. Rosie sat next to him, sobbing into a handkerchief.
Stone could make out Sheriff Rawlins’s waxy profile, still as a statue, lying in ruffled satin, wearing his old frock coat. The town council had voted to let him be buried with his old sheriff’s badge pinned to his lapel.
Stone was depressed. It wasn’t hard to kill people he didn’t know, but he’d known Rawlins and respected him. Rawlins had guts, but he’d gone rotten somewhere along the line, maybe it was too much whiskey.
Stone remembered Rawlins’s last word: Chancellorsville and wondered where that had come from. Had Rawlins fought at Chancellorsville too? Stone asked Rosie if she knew about Rawlins being at Chancellorsville, but she’d told Stone that Rawlins never talked much about the war, and Stone could understand that. He didn’t like to talk about it either, because there was no point to it. The war was over and there were too many bad memories.
“This is the second funeral held in this town in two days,” the Reverend Scobie said, “and let’s face it, the man here in this coffin, Sheriff Buck Rawlins, was responsible for the first funeral, but let’s not forget the example of Jesus, who forgave sinners and offered them salvation. And in the same spirit, I think we should forgive Sheriff Rawlins his sins. We should let God judge him and ask God to have mercy on his soul, just as we implore God to forgive our sins and have mercy on us, for as Jesus said: “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’”
Brad Culhane sat on his horse and looked down at the lights of Petie shining in the night. On both sides of him were his men, pistols in their hands, ready to attack.
They’d arrived in the hills outside Petie earlier in the day, eaten a meal, and decided to attack the town as soon as it got dark.
Now it was dark, and a half moon shone in the sky overhead. The outlaws gazed down at the streets and buildings of Petie, hatred, lust, and greed in their hearts. They wanted to plunder and destroy the town where Deke Casey and his men had been killed, and in the future people would think twice before they started something with the men who’d ridden with Bloody Bill Anderson during the war.
Culhane looked to his left and right, his thick lips creased in a smile, as his horse anxiously pawed the prairie grass beneath its hooves. “There it is, boys,” he said. “We come a long way to be here. Are you all ready?”
The men didn’t say anything. They just sat firmly in their saddles as their horses danced and fidgeted beneath them. Their pistols were loaded and in their hands, ready to fire. They were eager to get moving.
Culhane raised his pistol high in the air. “Follow me!” he hollered. “Charge!”
He jabbed his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and the animal bounded down the hill. His men followed on both sides of him, the hooves of their horses thundering against the prairie, the windstream rushing against their faces.
Culhane crouched low in his saddle, rocking smoothly with the long strides of his horse. The town was only a few hundred yards away, and soon they’d be there, with plenty of blood for everybody. He thought of Deke Casey, his friend and comrade during the war. “This one’s fer you, Deke old boy,” he muttered as he headed toward the main street of Petie.
The congregation was standing, singing a hymn as Mabel Billings pumped the pedals of the organ. Stone knew the words but didn’t sing with the others. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Buck Rawlins was dead in his coffin up there, and Stone had killed him.
Stone searched his soul and wondered if there was any way he could’ve avoided killing Rawlins. Maybe I should’ve just turned around and walked away. But Rawlins had just shot Thad Cooper, and Stone was the deputy. He couldn’t let Rawlins get away with it. It’d all come down to a matter of duty, and Stone was an old soldier: he took his duties seriously.
He thought he heard a distant shot, and perked up his ears. Then he heard another and wondered what
was going on. Members of the congregation looked at one another as they sang; they heard the shots too.
Stone was sitting on the aisle in the last pew. He got up and walked back to the door of the church, opening it up.
The church was at the end of Main Street, and in the dim light at the center of town, he saw a large number of riders galloping about, firing their pistols. Smoke rose from a few of the downtown buildings. As Stone watched the riders, they came together and headed toward the church. A few moments later bullets slammed into the walls of the church.
He closed the doors and dropped to one knee. “Get down, everyone!”
The organ stopped suddenly, and the singing continued hesitantly for a few notes, then everything was silent except for the sound of gunfire outside, and bullets striking the church.
A baby began to cry. Stone moved toward the nearest window and looked outside. The riders charged toward the church, firing their pistols, and it looked like war.
Stone pulled out his two pistols and broke the glass window. He drew back the hammers and took aim at the riders galloping toward the church. Three of them carried lighted torches, and the others fired volleys at the church.
The riders continued their advance, and Stone took aim with both his pistols. The three with torches charged toward the windows, and Stone opened fire. He hit one of them, and one of the others threw his torch.
“That’s for Deke Casey!” the rider yelled.
Stone dodged to the side, and the torch came crashing through the window, landing in the pews among the worshipers. Women shrieked, and everyone ran away. Bullets whizzed over their heads as the flames licked up the pews.
“Smother that fire!” Stone hollered. “You men—take your positions at the windows and start shooting!”
They all stared at him as if he were crazy. Another torch came crashing through a different window, sending glass and flames flying through the air. Women shrieked and children tugged their mothers’ skirts.
Mayor Randlett broke through the crowd, his eyes glazed with horror. “What’s going on out there?” he shouted.
“I don’t know,” Stone replied, “but we’ve got to fight back.”
