EDGE: Montana Melodrama

by George G. Gilman

  Doc Hunter hurriedly tried placate. "He's ner­vous, Mr. Edge."

  "Scared to death, I'd say," the half-breed an­swered evenly as he came up alongside the Ridgeville doctor. "And he's got plenty of com­pany. No sweat about what he said, which is ev­ery man to his trade. I agree with that."

  "What precisely is your trade?" Hunter asked.

  Up close to the man and with no need to be concerned with the horse or wary lest somebody get the drop on him, Edge could see he was un­der as much strain as the rest. When Hunter be­came aware of this scrutiny, he made an effort to feign composure.

  "I supply whatever the market needs when I need to make money, feller. Provided the work doesn't go against my grain."

  "The fact that you are back in Ridgeville means you are still in need of money, Mr. Edge?"

  "That's right."

  "They killed James before you get to the pass? If you got there?"

  "I got there, Doc. And they only thought they killed JJ."

  Hunter snapped his head around and looked at Edge. There was a glimmer of hope in his weary and frightened eyes. "He's still alive?"

  "No."

  The hope died and the man looked even more exhausted and afraid in its wake. "But I thought' you said…?"

  "He hung on long enough to tell me about the situation between Ridgeville people and the hard men at the pass … and how it all got started."

  "It interested you?"

  "No."

  They emerged from the trees and entered the yard behind the livery stable. Two men whom Edge recognized as storekeepers were crouched in the cover of a dilapidated buckboard with only one wheel, keeping watch on of Indian Bluff. "What happened, Doc?" one of them called.

  "Hey, ain't that guy that . . . ?" asked the other. Neither ventured to expose more than his head above the overturned wagon.

  "Fred Caxton was shot dead and Mr. Edge killed the two who did it. So you people take ex­tra care now. It could mean they intend to try to surround us."

  “Jesus.”

  "Why did we ever start this?"

  Both lookouts ducked out of sight, but pushed their rifle barrels into view and aimed up at the skyline of the bluff.

  Edge and Hunter were vulnerable to a bullet from the bluff and had been so since they left the group guarding the south stretch of the creek. But they felt safe again when they reached the street and headed for the stable.

  "So why did you listen to old JJ if you weren't interested?" Hunter asked when they inside.

  The livery looked much as it had when Edge left it, except that a few more horses were gone. While Hunter led the mare into a stall, Edge re­mained on the threshold, lowered his gear to the floor, and gazed out across the street to the forest. He saw no one. But the half-breed could sense many pairs of eyes watching him as he stopped to unfasten one of his saddlebags. And delved for fresh tobacco and papers, having already discov­ered that the makings he kept in his shirt pocket had been reduced to a soggy mess by the ducking in the creek. Then he rolled a cigarette, conscious of the enmity that was directed at him from several quarters.

  "He didn't want to die alone and he stayed a talker to the end," Edge replied after he had struck a match and lit the cigarette. "What time limit, who set it, and when does it run out?"

  Hunter came out of the stall after checking the mare over more carefully than he'd done at the creek and halted beside the smoking half-breed on the threshold. "Craig Campbell has given us until noon to accede to his demands, Mr. Edge," the doctor replied, wiping his bloodstained hands on a piece of rag. "Which are to lay down our arms and hand over his woman to him."

  "Or else?"

  "He has a large force of men with him and they will attack Ridgeville. Raze it to the ground and kill every last one of us."

  "And if you do as he wants?"

  "The town will not be touched. And nobody in it will be harmed. Provided they make no objection to the Campbell bunch moving into Ridgeville."

  "Moving in for what, Doc?"

  "For good, Mr. Edge. Permanently; to turn this town into a much more comfortable version of the old fort at Cloud Pass. For every criminal and outlaw who is able to pay the price the Campbells demand." Hunter sighed and shook his head in misery. "A situation which Sheriff Bolt always said he was afraid might arise. But which nobody ever took seriously. I need to get some instruments and medication from my office, Mr. Edge. Should I stop by the saloon on my way and tell Mr. Linn you are with us?"

  "Hamilton Linn's the top dog in this town?" the half-breed asked, surprised.

  Hunter sighed again. "It has turned out that way, Mr. Edge. He certainly has some organizing ability. And a manner of issuing instructions which people obey and do not ask themselves why until later."

  "Yeah, Doc. You can stop by the saloon and tell him I'm with you." Edge looked up the street to the intersection and shook his head when he saw a familiar figure emerge from the batwinged en­trance of the Lone Pine Saloon. "No need. It looks like he's coming to see me."

  Hunter glanced in the direction the half-breed was looking and then said quickly and nervously, "Perhaps before you agreed to help, Mr. Edge, you should have known about our problem." He paused, fidgeting. When the half-breed did not fill the pause in with a question, Hunter went on, even faster than before. "You see, Craig Camp­bell's woman—Fay Lynch—is dead, Mr. Edge. So there is no alternative to a fight. And few of us have the stomach for it. Not because we are cow­ards or have no pride in ourselves and our town. It's just that we don't think we have a chance of winning against men who make their living with guns."

  "Those who live by the gun shall perish by it!" Hamilton Linn boomed as he strode purposefully across the street. "And where there's a will there's a way, is that not so, Mr. Edge?"

  "Go get what you need to fix up my horse, Doc," Edge told Hunter. Then, to the actor who abruptly looked less confident when the town doc­tor strode off: "You're not surprised to see me, fel­ler?"

  The slightly built man with the unhealthy com­plexion hurried into the stable and sagged against the end of the closest stall. He suddenly seemed on the point of collapse as he mopped his brow, licked his lips, and blurted, "Forget surprised, Edge. I can tell you I've never been more pleased to see anybody in my life before. There's a war going to start out there in a couple of hours and I've been elected commander-in-chief of one side.

  "All I wanted was our money back. I never planned on something like this happening. We're going to get slaughtered and me and my people will be first in line, Edge. We killed Campbell's woman. She tried to get away and we killed her. We didn't mean to. It was an accident. We fired at her to make her stop and she did. But a ricochet hit her.

  "But we thought we'd try to bluff it out. That only Campbell himself or him and his brother would come. But they've brought a whole army, Edge. Maybe as many as fifty and..."

  "I'd figure closer to thirty," Edge cut in. "An some of them women."

  Hamilton Linn blinked several times, as if surprised to be interrupted. Then: "Whatever, Edge, I don't want to be responsible for leading the fight against them when they attack. But I was elected just because I took some of my players after the bank robbers. And that made the people of this town feel bad about doing nothing. You went af­ter them, too. And so did the drunk who runs this place. Dammit, if he had got back here first with that bunch of outlaws on his trail, he'd have been elected."

  The morning had warmed up considerably since the half-breed's ducking in the creek, and his clothes were almost dry on him. But the sweat that Hamilton Linn was having trouble keeping out of his eyes and which was mixed in with the spittle spilling from his quivering lips and trickling down his weak chin was due only in part to the heat in the odoriferous stable.

  "You feeling any better, feller?" Edge asked as the actor mopped frantically at his brow.

  "Better?"

  "For running off at the mouth like a kid scared of the dark who figures talking will make the candle light again."
r />   "Dammit it, man, I'm scared all right. But not of the dark. And I'm nearly exhausted from acting like I'm not to the people hereabouts."

  "You looked to be good at your trade when you came down the street just now, Linn."

  Despite the circumstances, the man who seemed to look older each time Edge saw him en­joyed the compliment. He pulled himself erect, and was less frenetic in mopping at the sweat on his face. "I've been giving the performance of my fife, Mr. Edge. As have all the members of the Linn Players. For I am convinced that should we waver in our commitment to stand up against the Campbell brothers and their men, the people of Ridgeville will submit."

  "And if they do that, you're dead for killing Fay Lynch."

  The actor swallowed hard. "Precisely, Mr. Edge."

  "What have you and your people done beside play brave soldiers?"

  "The obvious, Mr. Edge. When we got back to Ridgeville with the woman, the people here real­ized it was inevitable that the Campbells would come. But everybody thought they'd come either alone or with just a few men. And it was agreed with little discussion that we would make a stand. We posted lookouts on three sides of Ridgeville, with small groups of armed men behind them. We ignored the bluff because there is no way into town from up there."

  Standing in the doorway, smoking his cigarette and watching the empty street, Edge saw Doc Hunter reappear at the doorway of his office carry­ing a carpetbag. The tall and distinguished-look­ing man cast many nervous glances over his shoulder—toward the timber-flanked trail west of town—as he came back down Pine Street, trying not to hurry.

  "I ran into the group to the south," Edge said.

  "We heard. The shooting spooked one or two of the other forward contingents and they were alarmed into firing at imaginary attackers."

  "The two fellers who killed Fred Caxton weren't imaginary, Linn," Edge said.

  Hamilton Linn was not aware until now that the shooting to the south of Ridgeville had in­volved anybody other than Edge. And his face clouded with another frown of fear as more beads of sweat oozed out of his unhealthy-colored skin. But the actor heard the footfalls of Hunter out­side and managed to compose himself before the doctor came back into the stable.

  "I didn't enjoy that one little bit," Hunter rasped, doing some sweating of his own.

  "The horse will appreciate it if you can stop your hands shaking before you start digging for the bullets, Doc," Edge said as Hunter went into the stall with the wounded mare.

  "I can take care of my end of the bargain we struck, Edge!" came the response in an even tone, the man's fear already contained as he prepared to undertake a task at which he was expert.

  Once in front of a third party, Hamilton Linn slid easily into the part he had been playing in public since returning to Ridgeville. "If two of the Campbells' men were advancing from the south, we must assume others are attempting to reach town secretly elsewhere?"

  Edge dropped his cigarette and crushed it out under a heel as the mare whinnied softly.

  "You've got that covered, feller," he said, still sur­veying the street with his glinting blue eyes under the hooded lids. "If that's what's happening and they weren't scared off by the shooting, we'll get fair warning of any more plays like that."

  He was still aware of many eyes gazing at him with considerable animosity. If anything, it was stronger now. But not all directed at him, of course. Hamilton Linn was in the livery and he was more responsible for what was happening in this once untroubled town than Edge.

  "When they find out they've lost two men, it could spur them to a vengeance attack, Mr. Edge," Linn suggested evenly, but his small eyes pleaded for help.

  "Not while Craig Campbell still thinks you have his woman."

  "And they all continue to obey the Campbell brothers," Hunter said from the stall.

  "That has been a cause for concern from the very start, Mr. Edge," Linn said. He moved to put his back toward the stall where Hunter was work­ing on the mare. To be sure that the doctor could not see the growing look of fear on his face. "The Campbell brothers entered town under a flag of truce to demand the return of Fay Lynch and to state the alternatives. We asked for time to con­sider and they agreed. But while we and several of the town's leading citizens were meeting in the saloon, we heard from one of our forward look­outs that there had been an argument among the Campbell bunch. And that although the Camp­bell brothers carried the day, there was a good deal of resentment among those who favored attacking Ridgeville and letting Fay Lynch take her chances."

  "Hey, what the hell's goin' on down at JJ's place?” a man roared from the entrance of the Lone Pine Saloon. "Come on up here and let all of us in on it!"

  "Crazy fool!" Hamilton Linn rasped.

  "He's just scared, like all of us," Hunter growled.

  "What did Craig Campbell say when you said he would have his woman back for the money that was taken from the bank?" Edge asked.

  The actor shook his head, confusion added to the anxiety on his face. "That's the reason why so many Ridgeville people don't have their hearts in this, Mr. Edge. Campbell maintains nobody from Cloud Pass was responsible for the raid on the bank. And quite a few people halfway believe him."

  "Far as Campbell knows, he's telling the truth, feller."

  "What!" Linn exclaimed, even his voice now registering his extreme anxiety.

  "You mean . . ." Hunter started to ask from the stall.

  "You hear me down there at the livery?" the man on the threshold of the saloon bellowed, louder than before. And this time Edge recog­nized the voice. It was Phil Fry, the lumberman who had placated Jack Quinn at the sawmill office. Now he was using angry bluster to try to mask fear.

  But the man who began to shout from an up­per-story window of Miss Emma's boardinghouse made no attempt to conceal his true feelings.

  "Oh, my God! The Campbells are comin', the Campbells are comin'!"

  "Are they, mister?" Hunter asked huskily and started out of the stall.

  Edge watched the two riders on the trail for a few moments, then said, "It's for real, Doc. But I'd be obliged if you'd keep on with what you're doing with my horse."

  "You hear me!" the man in the boardinghouse yelled. "The Campbells are comin'!"

  Edge said over the buzz of talk that started all over town, "Sure, but it ain't nothing to make a song and dance about."

  Chapter Fourteen

  THEY rode slowly, side by side and perhaps three feet apart, Craig Campbell on the left. The lengths of their shadows revealed the fact that there was still something like an hour to go before the noon deadline was reached. But they rode with revolvers in their holsters and rifles in the boots and without a flag of truce.

  If there was more talk within the buildings of Ridgeville, it did not carry outside. There was just a brief shuffling of feet as the hidden citizens of the town switched their attention from the livery stable to the Campbells—or, more precisely, to the point on Pine Street where the slow-riding broth­ers would first come into their field of vision. Then what would have been utter silence descended upon Ridgeville—had not the sounds of the fast-flowing creek and the clop of hooves disturbed it.

  Until Edge stepped out of the shaded doorway of the livery, stooping to slide the Winchester out of the saddleboot as he did so. And Hamilton Linn rasped, "What are you doing, man?"

  "Same as the doc, feller. Attending to my business." And under his breath he added, "Hope­ful I ain't been in it too long."

  He showed himself just as the Campbell broth­ers rode off the trail and onto the end of Pine Street in front of Harry Bellinger's funeral parlor. Edge was too far away to hear anything that was said, but he saw by the way Craig snapped his head around to look at his brother that Ewan had said something when he caught sight of Edge.

  Then both riders faced front again and contin­ued down the street at the same easy pace as be­fore.

  Edge, carrying the Winchester in a one-handed grip low down at his left side and with his right hand
hanging close to the butt of his holstered Colt, heard fast-moving footfalls behind him. They slowed and from the corner of his eye he saw Hamilton Linn matching pace with him to his left—the actor's hand in the bullet-holed pocket of his duster.

  "There comes a time when the playacting has to stop, Mr. Edge," he murmured out of the side of his nearly rigid mouth. "Life is real, fife is ear­nest."

  "Like death, feller."

  "As Byron said in a vastly different context, Mr. Edge, all tragedies are finished by a death."

  The Campbell brothers reached the point where Pine intersected with Douglas Street and Craig reined to a halt. By watching him carefully, Ewan was able to halt his horse at precisely the same time. Edge and Linn arrived at the opposite side of the intersection a few moments later and came to a stop as the half-breed rasped, "This ain't so much a tragedy as a farce seems to me.

  Matter of who gets caught with their pants down."

  "Who are you?" Craig Campbell demanded. His voice was as devoid of emotion as his face.

  Ewan tried to remain as inscrutable as his brother and Edge, but could not control a low growl when the half-breed answered flatly, "Friend of a feller you killed the other night."

  "I told these people . . ." He waved his right hand to encompass the surrounding buildings and show he knew he was being watched from inside them. ". . . that I know nothin' about the raid on the bank and the killin's."

  "Except what my friend told you, feller."

  Craig was momentarily confused, then sur­prised, then impassive again. "You talkin' about John James, mister?"

  "You got it."

  "Hey, how does he know . . . ?" Ewan Camp­bell started to ask, but dried up when Craig scowled at him.

  "He was up at the pass," Craig said with a nod. "Couple of buddies stickin' together. And you didn't spot him."

  "Hell, nobody ever thought there was more than one guy out—"

  "It wasn't like that," Edge cut in. He looked directly at Ewan when he said, "It wasn't your fault. Same as it wasn't anybody's fault your whole bunch missed the message a feller named Al Falcon left for you."