Easy Pickin's

by Marcus Galloway

  “I can tell you he didn’t take a thing,” Byron said. Beside him, Whiteoak stood like he was posing for an inauguration painting.

  The sheriff nodded. “Well then, seeing as how you’re so willing to stand beside the good professor here, why don’t I start my search with this house?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The lawmen were thorough, but did their best not to make a mess. Even so, there was still a good amount of straightening up to do once they’d gone. It was several hours after Sheriff Willis’s departure that the lawman returned. He was alone.

  It was Lyssa who answered the door this time and she wasn’t any happier than the last time she’d seen him. “What is it, Sheriff?” she asked. “Did you think of one more place in my home that you wanted to stick your nose?”

  “No, ma’am. I just thought you might come down to my office when you get a chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Nothing official, I swear. More like a request.”

  Exasperated by the whole affair, she said, “Just leave. I’ll stop by when I can.”

  “Honestly, it’s nothing to do with any suspicions I might have regarding that robbery at Halstead’s office.”

  “So I’m not one of your suspects?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve lived here for years. We see each other every Sunday at church and suddenly you want to call me ma’am?”

  “Feeling a might guilty, I suppose,” Willis admitted. “You’ve got to know, Lyssa, that I didn’t think I’d find anything to link you to those outlaws.”

  “Then why did you turn my house upside down?”

  Although he and his deputy were as careful as possible when looking through the Keag home, Willis wasn’t about to plead his case by questioning her choice of words. “You know how serious we take robbers in this town. We’re a small community and if we don’t protect ourselves, there’s a whole mess of wicked men who’ll be happy to ride in and take what we’ve got.”

  “Sounds like an awful lot of trouble to guard a courier’s pouch,” she scoffed. “Whatever is happening around here, my brother would never take part in it,” Lyssa insisted.

  Willis held up his hands as if to staunch the flow of pleas to come. “Not your brother, but the men that hired him. There also might be something suspicious about that professor fella that came to town. Seems mighty strange that he latched onto ol’ Byron so quickly.”

  “So far, that part of it seems like a coincidence.”

  “Well I don’t care much for coincidences. Frankly, I’m surprised you’d put up with the likes of that dandy.”

  “He seems . . . earnest.”

  “Earnest is one thing,” Willis pointed out. “Honest is another.”

  “Believe me. I know.”

  Sensing he was no longer in her bad graces, the lawman let out a breath. “Well, since he’s won you over like he has, it’s no wonder he asked to see you.”

  “So,” Lyssa said as she walked to the back of the sheriff’s office, “what happened this time?”

  Henry Whiteoak tried to play the part of a hapless fawn, but the fact that he was locked in a cell at the back of that office made the task especially difficult. He leaned against the bars, held on with both hands and showed her a crooked smile. “Would you believe I was a victim of circumstance?”

  “No.”

  “How about an unfortunate recipient of a bad run of luck?”

  Standing directly in front of the closet-sized cage built into the back corner of the office, Lyssa crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side while frowning disapprovingly. “How’s that different than the first answer you gave?”

  “Creative wording?”

  “I don’t have time for this,” she grumbled while turning to walk away.

  Whiteoak lowered his head which caused his brow to bump against the bars. “I might have said a few things to the sheriff that I shouldn’t have,” he admitted.

  Having already turned her back to the cell, Lyssa stopped. “Go on.”

  “He was searching my wagon and found a few things.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “He found some guns and a small supply of dynamite.”

  Lyssa spun around to look at him. Dropping her voice to a harsh whisper, she asked, “What on earth would you be doing with those sorts of things?”

  “I have many varied interests and travel to many varied places.”

  “Please, Henry. Don’t talk to me like I’m another one of your customers. Speak plainly.”

  “I’m being perfectly honest with you, Lyssa. My entire life is in that wagon. It’s my place of business as well as my home. I do travel quite often and sometimes find the need to defend myself. I stash weapons so I can better deal with robbers who may get the drop on me.”

  “And the dynamite?”

  “I forgot that was in there.”

  She scowled at him even harder until Whiteoak buckled.

  “Maybe I knew it was there,” he said, “but I didn’t think they’d find it. The only reason I have it at all is because I occasionally deal with miners and they need explosives. Selling to them provides a good amount of income. I didn’t tell the sheriff about it because I feared he might confiscate it. In my defense, I was correct on that last part.”

  “He sure as hell was,” Sheriff Willis announced from behind his desk on the other side of the room.

  Turning to face the lawman, Lyssa asked, “Is having dynamite against the law?”

  “Nope,” Willis replied while turning over the newspaper that had been waiting for him on his desk.

  “Is it against the law to carry weapons to use to defend yourself when riding alone?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Then putting this man in a jail cell seems to be unfounded, wouldn’t you say?”

  After taking a moment to peruse the newspaper in front of him, Willis said, “Why don’t you ask him about what he told me when I asked him to unlock the other compartments in his wagon? The hidden compartments.”

  “I did unlock them, Sheriff,” Whiteoak said.

  “Sure. But what did you tell me when I asked the first time?”

  “I told you there was no legal precedent for you to put me through such a degrading experience.”

  “And when I asked the next few times?”

  “I . . . forget.”

  “He told me to go to hell, Miss Keag,” the lawman said. “And he told my deputy to do some things to himself before joining me there.”

  Turning to look at the cage, Lyssa asked. “Is that true?”

  “Well, not in those exact words,” Whiteoak replied.

  “And,” Willis continued, “when I informed the good professor that I was acting within my responsibilities as sheriff, he decided to try and stand between me and my task.”

  “For God’s sake, Henry,” Lyssa sighed.

  “Oh, I’m not through,” Willis said. “My deputy stepped in to lend a hand and the two of them got into a shoving match.”

  “Which that young man started,” Whiteoak was quick to say.

  “Punches were thrown.”

  “I believe he threw the first one,” Whiteoak chimed in. “That thug in a badge even tried to draw his gun on me!”

  “He told you to settle down before things got worse,” the sheriff said. “We both did. Why don’t you tell this nice lady what you did when my deputy’s hand touched the gun which, by the way, he never drew?”

  Whiteoak sighed, held on to the bars and once again tapped his forehead against the rounded iron. “I relieved him of his weapon.”

  “He plucked the gun from its holster and tossed it like a hot potato,” Willis said. “Damndest thing I ever saw. Damn quick too. The least any man should expect after a display like that is to spend some time in a cell to cool his heels.”

  “On that, I agree,” Lyssa said in an icy tone.

  “Nobody was hurt,” Whiteoak explained. “I wasn’t being partic
ularly violent. I was just defending myself and standing up for my rights as a citizen of this great country.”

  “You were being an asshole,” Willis snapped back as he slammed the newspaper down onto his desk.

  “I wasn’t the only one!”

  “Avery is cooling his heels also, but not in a cell.”

  “A travesty of justice if there ever was one.”

  Standing up, the sheriff asked, “You really want to keep spouting off?”

  Whiteoak choked back the words he obviously wanted to say and instead replied, “No, sir.”

  “That’s better. Now if you behave yourself for a little while longer and prove you can be trusted, I’ll open that door. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got rounds to make. Miss Keag, a word?”

  Lyssa walked over to the sheriff while shaking her head. “I sincerely apologize about this,” she said softly. “While he is difficult to be around, the professor has been a genuine help to my brother and I do think he has the best intentions.”

  The door came open with a squeak as the sheriff pulled it with one hand while using his other to place his hat upon his head. “I know he ain’t a bad man,” the lawman said in a faint grumble of a voice. “But he’s a menace to this town.”

  “Isn’t that a bit harsh?” Lyssa asked in a voice that matched the lawman’s.

  “Fine, then. He’s a pain in my ass and I imagine several others’ as well.”

  Lyssa couldn’t deny that. She couldn’t even keep herself from nodding her agreement. “If that’s all it took to be locked away,” she said, “then I doubt there’d be many free men left in this world.”

  “You got that right,” Willis said good-naturedly. His smile barely got a chance to become attached to his face before it was wiped away by the crack of a few gunshots in the distance.

  “What’s that?” Lyssa asked as she tried to get a look past him and out the door.

  Unshaken by the noise, the sheriff let out a tired sigh. “Never fails. Whenever I barely get any sleep, the drunks come out of the woodwork and decide to get rowdy. Now’s about the time when the saloons are clearing out the all-nighters. I’ll go and see how many of them need an escort out of town.”

  “And what about him?” she asked while nodding back toward the cell.

  “He can sit and stew for a while longer.” After a stern look from Lyssa, the lawman sighed and marched to the back of the office while snatching a ring of keys from his desk. He unlocked the cell and was on his way back to the front door before the hinges had a chance to squeal. “Any more trouble from you, Whiteoak,” he announced without looking back, “any more smart-ass comments to me or my deputy and you’ll be back in there.”

  “Yes, sir!” Whiteoak said happily while strutting outside the cell.

  “And you won’t be getting out after another couple hours, neither!” the sheriff warned before slamming the door shut.

  “Once again, fine lady, I am in your debt,” Whiteoak said to Lyssa.

  She shook her head and was surprised when he placed his hands upon her cheeks to give her another kiss. It was a gentle meeting of their lips that lasted for about a second. When it was over, the professor retreated and crossed the office to a locked cabinet.

  “What are you doing?” she asked while placing her fingertips upon her lips.

  Whiteoak tested the cabinet, found it to be locked and went over to retrieve the keys from the lawman’s desk. “My property is in here and I’m reclaiming it.”

  “No, I meant before.” Her voice was breezy and slightly dazed. As much as she tried to sound upset by the surprise show of affection, Lyssa couldn’t muster the necessary ire. And before she could think of anything else to say about the kiss, she was distracted by more gunshots. “What was that?” she asked while snapping her eyes to the closest window.

  “Whatever it was, it’s more than some drunks firing at the clouds.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  Stepping behind him as Whiteoak gazed out a window, Lyssa raised up her tiptoes so she could get a better look. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I do.”

  “What is it? Tell me!”

  Pointing to a small cluster of people across the street, he asked, “See that?”

  “Yes. They’re a few people I know walking down the street.”

  “They’re moving quickly and look like they’re in a rush to find someplace safe. You should do the same.” As soon as those people ducked into the closest doorway, he added, “See? That means there’s trouble and it seems the trouble is in the vicinity of the bank.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Having just emerged from the sheriff’s office, Whiteoak slipped on his shoulder holster and checked the .38. Without looking at the woman trailing behind him, he said, “I thought I told you to stay put.”

  “Even if you did, I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Then follow the example of your fellow townspeople and find some shelter.”

  “They’re not trying to find shelter.”

  “Then go with one of them to keep them company,” he snapped. “Frankly, I don’t care where you go, just get away from here!”

  As soon as those words were out of his mouth, Whiteoak knew they would have the opposite effect than what he’d intended. His hastily formed theory proved correct when Lyssa planted her feet on the boardwalk and her hands upon her hips. “Don’t talk to me like that,” she said through gritted teeth.

  The next series of shots came from the part of town that Whiteoak had deemed the business district. It was in the general vicinity of the office that had been robbed after Byron’s visit, but it was also the location of the ripest apple in town for any robber to pluck. Whiteoak hurried in that direction.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she hollered while dashing to catch up to him.

  “I think the bank is being robbed,” he said.

  “Nobody would be stupid enough to try that!”

  “Nobody ever accused outlaws of being overly intelligent. They do tend to be fairly decent shots, so it might be best for you to find somewhere else to be right now. Somewhere safe.”

  “I agree,” she said, much to Whiteoak’s surprise. Lyssa took him by the hand and dragged him a few steps toward one of the buildings where other locals had ducked in for shelter. “Let’s both get off the street. It’s about to get bad out here.”

  “I realize that,” he said while pulling his hand free. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Why do you insist on making this so difficult?”

  “Fine. You want to get shot? Go right ahead. See if I care.”

  As she stormed toward it, the door was opened for her by a wrinkled old man who stared past her at the flustered professor. After a few whispered words between him and Lyssa, the old man shut the door and worked the latches that would lock it.

  Whiteoak moved down the street. “Good,” he grumbled under his breath. “Her heart’s in the right place, but her brain simply isn’t. That’s the problem with headstrong women. Especially the pretty ones. They get so used to leading men by the nose that they start thinking they know what’s good for everyone all around.”

  Having made it to the corner, he was able to see a portrait of chaos drawn in the near distance with smears of gun smoke drifting through the air churned by the movement of desperate men. At the far end of the street, the bank’s shattered windows and flung-open doors made it look like an egg that had been cracked by the men scattered in front of it. There were six men in all, only three of which Whiteoak recognized.

  The blond gunman with the scars on his face who’d led the attack in the alley was there. Whiteoak assumed he was Jesse Nash. Although Nash had the reins the last time he and the professor had crossed paths, he wasn’t in control of anything anymore.

  The second face to strike a chord with Whiteoak sat atop Cord’s thickly muscled neck. Like most big men, Cord was accustomed to being at the top of the pecking order
or at least somewhere in that general vicinity. Normally, that would give him an air of confidence. In this situation, however, it didn’t serve him so well. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, gripping a pair of saddlebags that had been thrown over a shoulder with one hand and hefting the weight of a .45 pistol in the other.

  Two of the remaining men wore bandannas covering most of their faces. One had it pulled up over his nose to create a mask and the other was simply disheveled in general and the slip of material was skewed across his chin. That one was Shawn, the man who’d brought the Sharps rifle to the fight in the alley during Whiteoak’s late-night stroll. The fifth man stood perched on the edge of the boardwalk in front of the bank carrying a shotgun. His face was etched into a defiant visage that looked around for a target.

  “Lay down your guns and put your hands up!” Sheriff Willis called out.

  Until then, Whiteoak hadn’t been able to see the lawman. Tracing the voice back to its source, he picked out Willis and his deputy. The former stood with his back pressed against the corner of a building directly across from the bank while the latter lay on the dusty ground mostly concealed in shadow behind a water trough.

  Nash stood in the doorway of the bank. Leaning to one side, he grabbed hold of a petrified woman dressed in a simple gray dress with her hair tied in a bun. Obviously several years older than Nash, the woman seemed to age a few more years as Nash cinched an arm around her scrawny neck from behind.

  “You men toss your guns!” Nash demanded as he held a pistol to his hostage’s temple. “Or this one here will get blown to hell.”

  “You already got caught in a robbery,” Willis said. “Don’t add murder to it.”

  “If this bitch dies it’ll be your fault!”

  “If she dies, you’ll hang for it,” the sheriff replied. “You got my word on that.”

  “And you already got my word that I’ll kill her,” Nash said. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Whiteoak took a few steps down the street after turning the corner, but was stopped by tension that hung so thick in the air it formed a solid wall in front of him.

  The street had become quiet.