by Ralph Cotton
“You son of a—!”
The man’s words stopped short as Sam snatched the rifle by the front stock and swung the barrel upward, cracking him in his forehead, then jerking the rifle from his hands. “Better let me keep this for a while before your shoot your foot off,” Sam said. The man collapsed against the stair banister and slid to the floor, a long red welt popping up between his eyes and his hairline. He tried to speak but could only mouth the words, gasping like a fish out of water.
“You can thank me later,” said Sam. “Right now you need to get a handful of snow against that forehead.”
Once outside, Sam stepped over to where Tinnie and Billy Odle stood waiting for him. Sam noted that townsmen on the boardwalk across the street were eying Billy Odle. At the front of the townsmen stood Asa Dahl with his thumbs hooked in his vest behind the open lapels of his heavy winter coat. A black cigar tipped upward between his teeth.
“You’ve acquired yourself a new rifle, I see,” Tinnie said to Sam, leaning on the hickory cane for support.
“Yep,” Sam replied. Looking over toward the townsmen as he spoke, he raised his voice for their benefit and said, “There’s no need in letting this thing get out of control. This young man is innocent. Now whatever you’re thinking . . . put it out of your heads before this thing turns ugly.”
On the opposite boardwalk, Asa Dahl and the men watched Sam, Tinnie and Billy Odle walk away toward the jail. To the men behind him, Asa Dahl said, “Don’t worry, that Ranger can’t stay forever. Once he’s out of here we’ll take care of everything ourselves.”
“What about Selectman Collins?” asked one of the men. “He’s the one supposed to be the law here, temporarily at least.”
“Yeah . . . well, if he’s with us, fine. If he’s not, we’ll still see to it that whore and her kid are run out of here.”
Massey, the old mule skinner, said to Asa Dahl with a drunken laugh, “Damn, Asa, I never seen you so sour on anybody. What did that woman ever do to you, anyway?”
“She’s a stupid whore and she plain offends me,” said Asa Dahl. “I hate her something awful.”
“But you run whores, Asa,” said Massey. “What’s so different about her?” He pointed across the street at Tinnie walking along with Billy Odle and the ranger. “Look, Tinnie’s one of your girls, and she’s helping Hattie.”
“Tinnie’s a fool! She’s on her own from now on,” said Asa Dahl. “As soon as she shows up at the saloon, she’s fired!” Rage turned Asa Dahl’s face beet red. Veins stood out on his forehead.
“Lord, Asa! I’ve never seen you in such a shape! What the hell’s wrong with you?” Massey’s eyes widened, looking at Asa Dahl.
“I don’t know!” Asa Dahl snapped. “What the hell’s it matter to you? A person doesn’t always need a reason to hate somebody! Look at her. She’s a lousy whore, her husband’s a lousy convict, her son’s a . . . a . . .” He hesitated, running out of words for a second. “Well, hell, you can see what he is!” He swung himself around to face Massey. “Tell you what, mule skinner . . . if you don’t think like the rest of us, maybe you’re not a part of us! Maybe you better keep to yourself and we’ll all do the same.”
Ash Dahl’s words seemed to have a sobering effect on Massey, and his expression turned serious. “Now, wait, Asa . . . I was just funning mostly. You know that whatever all of you boys say goes, it always has.”
“That’s good to hear, Massey,” said Dahl, “because we were starting to get worried about you, the way you were talking. Like maybe you didn’t agree or something.”
Massey swallowed and stepped back, looking up at the man beside him. “Damn, I didn’t mean no harm.”
“We know that Massey, so keep your mouth shut,” said Pete Chaney, the town barber. He turned to Asa Dahl and said, “Where is Collins on all this? He’s supposed to be our sheriff now. Seems like once the blacksmith and his helper got back and said they found Renfro with his throat cut that bad, Collins has just decided to let the matter drop . . . says the kid couldn’t have been capable of doing such a thing.”
“I know what he said, Pete.” Asa Dahl looked around at the others. “But he said that just because the Ranger said it. I don’t agree with either one of them. Collins might be the law here, but when the law doesn’t do like the majority wants, it’s time to do away with the law, the way I see it.” He took the cigar from his mouth and lifted his chin to a proud height. “And we are the majority here! Am I right? Take away the whores, the riffraff, the ones that don’t count . . . that leaves us in charge, doesn’t it?”
“Damn right it does,” said a voice in the crowd.
“We’ve been tolerant long enough!” another voice called out from the rear of the crowd.
“Too damn long!” cried a third.
On the street, walking along a shoveled path where piles of snow stood knee-high on either side, Tinnie looked toward the sound of the angry voices, then looked back at Sam walking beside her. She had her free hand resting on his forearm for support, her other hand using the walking cane. “No offense, Sam, but are you going to be able to handle this town once the lid blows off?”
Looking straight ahead, Sam replied, “I’ve got to. What choice do I have?”
“What choice?” Tinnie looked perplexed with him. “You could always leave. The snow’s not that bad, not yet.”
“What about Billy and his ma?” Sam asked, still not facing her.
“Hattie will be all right,” said Tinnie. “They will bluster and snort, but when it comes down to it, they won’t harm a woman, even a whore. Asa Dahl ain’t persuasive enough to pull that off. If he could, he would have already. But Billy’s a different story . . . they really think he’s had something to do with Old Man Renfro’s death. So take him away from here.”
“We’ll see,” said Sam.
Tinnie looked him up and down, then as if a light had come on in her head, she said in a hushed tone of disbelief, “Wait a minute, Sam.” She stopped and let her hand fall from his forearm. “You’re not keeping Billy around here, hoping that Indian shows up for some reason, are you?”
“No,” said the Ranger, “of course not. How can you say such a thing?”
She hesitated for a second, seeming to work it out in her mind before saying, “Sam, I believe you are. Maybe you don’t even realize it yourself. But that’s what you’re doing.”
Sam stopped in the narrow path beside her as Billy Odle walked on a few feet ahead. “That’s crazy talk, Tinnie. I know exactly what I’m doing. When it comes time to go after Willie John, I’ll go after him. But I won’t take up the trail of an outlaw like him over the welfare of folks like Hattie and Billy. That wouldn’t be serving any kind of justice.” He continued walking, saying, “Come on, he’s getting too far ahead of us.”
Tinnie fell silent, glancing back over her shoulder at Asa Dahl and the townsmen. “Maybe you’re right, Sam,” she said under her breath, stepping forward quickly with the help of the cane. “I sure hope to God you are . . .”
Inside the sheriff’s office, Ronald Andrews stood rolling himself a smoke, his shotgun under one arm. When Billy Odle walked in followed by Sam and Tinnie, Andrews looked first at Tinnie and touched his fingertips to his hat brim. “Ma’am,” he said.
Looking around, Sam didn’t see Selectman Collins or Carl Yates, and he asked Andrews about them. Bootlip Thomas stood inside his cell, clinging to the bars, watching the Ranger intently.
“Carl said he had too much work backing up on him over at the forge,” Andrews told Sam, jerking his head in the direction of the blacksmith shop. “Collins and Bell left here a while ago to get some grub—hope they remember to bring some back,” he spread a broad friendly grin. “So for now, I’m all you get.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Sam, stepping over to the empty cell and swinging the door open for Billy Odle. “In you go, young man,” he said.
“I’ve been thinking, Ranger Burrack,” said Billy. “I ain’t being held on any
charge . . . and everybody’s having to go out of their way to accommodate me here. Why don’t I just leave and slip along the alley out of sight?”
“Where to, Billy—that cold shack?” the Ranger asked. “Naw, you’re staying here a little while longer, just until things settle down a bit more.”
“While I was talking to my ma,” Billy said, “she told me we’re leaving here as soon as the weather lifts and a stage makes its way through here. So, don’t worry about us, sir, we’re going to be all right.”
“Where’d she get the money to do that?” asked Tinnie. “She told me she was busted flat.”
Ronald Andrews said in a bashful manner, “Me and Carl are chipping in, getting up enough to pay stage fare to the next stop east, over at Pembro Station.”
“That’s great, Billy,” said Sam. “Once all that happens I’ll be the first one to step back and wish you both the best. But until then, I’m your shadow . . . so get used to it.”
“But I’m not your keep,” Billy protested, trying not to sound like a child, his thin voice betraying him. “I’m my own man. The law doesn’t make you responsible for me!”
Sam gave him a patient smile. “That depends on which laws you’re talking about, Billy. I’d hate to see a time when older folks don’t take responsibility for the young. That’s not man’s written law, Billy. That’s common decency. So don’t argue with me.”
Billy stepped into the open cell and slumped onto the cot. Ronald Andrews picked up a cup full of steaming cocoa from the warmer on the woodstove and walked over and held it out to Billy. “Here you go, son, drink this.”
Billy looked away, refusing the cup. “I’m not your son. And don’t expect me and Ma to take your charity money, either. I know about all the times you and Carl came calling.”
Ronald Andrews backed away and left the cell. He avoided the Ranger’s gaze and offered the cup to Bootlip Thomas through the bars. “Hell yes, I’ll take it,” said Bootlip. He cradled the hot cup in both hands, sipped it, then said to the Ranger, “What’s the deal on me? Is Collins going to turn me over to Fuller and his bounty dogs and let them hang me, or what?”
“You’re their prisoner, Bootlip,” said the Ranger. “I don’t think he feels like he’s got any choice in the matter.”
“Damn it,” said Bootlip, “I know I’m as guilty as any man who ever spit in the devil’s eye, and I got no right to complain, but I hate to think about my head riding out of here in a flour sack. That’s nothing to show for a whole life on earth, is it?”
“No,” said Sam, “it’s not. But you carved it out to suit yourself. I won’t let Fuller and his boys mistreat you while you’re here, neither will Collins, I don’t reckon. But once they come for you, ready to leave town . . . it’s all between you and them.”
Bootlip sighed, sipped his cocoa, and fell silent, looking down at his stockinged feet.
“Why are Fuller and his men still here?” asked Andrews. “This weather ain’t all that bad headed southwest. That’s the way they said they were headed.”
“I think Fuller’s still here because of me,” said Sam. “I believe he’s got me stuck in his craw. He doesn’t like the idea of me taking down the Ganstons.”
“But he gets the bounty all the same,” said Ronald Andrews.
Tinnie cut in before the Ranger could reply, saying to Andrews as she gave Sam a skeptical look, “There’s more to these kind of men than just the blood money, Ronald. There’s some twisted honor in the hunt . . . pride in the bloodletting. Isn’t that right, Sam?”
The Ranger looked into her eyes. “When you say ‘those kind of men,’ I hope you’re not counting me with the likes of Fuller.”
“No, Sam, I’m not. You’re a lawman . . . whether we agree with you or not, you’re what stands between us and the whirlwind.” Tinnie started to say more, but a loud crash came from the direction of the saloon, causing her, Sam and Ronald Andrews to hurry to the window and look out.
One of the large windows on the front of the saloon was shattered on the boardwalk, its wooden frame hanging loose and swinging back and forth. Hoots and laughter resounded from within the saloon. In the street, Kirby Bell stood up dazed. He staggered in place wiping snow and blood from his forehead as Fuller’s men gathered in the doorway.
“Lord have mercy,” said Andrews. “They’ve thrown Bell through the window!”
Sam stood silent for a moment, then said under his breath, “Looks like they’re starting to come together.”
Chapter 17
Colonel Fuller stood at the bar with Red Booker and Asa Dahl while the rest of the posse and the townsmen spilled onto the street doing battle. “How long should we stand back and let them beat the hell out of one another?” Dahl asked, cutting a glance to the large gaping hole in the front of his saloon where the window used to be. As he spoke, a townsman jumped through the window opening, grabbed a wooden chair by its back and hurried out through the window with it. Dahl shook his head. “I don’t think I can afford this!”
“You can afford it, Dahl,” said Fuller, tipping a shotglass up to his lips, then lowering it to fill it again. “This is what it takes to get the twist out of your stomach over that whore and her boy being here.” He winked with a sly grin. “You don’t really care what it costs, now do you?”
Asa Dahl’s face reddened. “I care about what happens to Hubbler Wells. I want the likes of her and her son out of here!”
“Ha,” Fuller scoffed. “No you don’t, not really. Once she’s gone, you’ll have to go looking for somebody else to look down on.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel,” Asa Dahl fumed. He looked toward the sound of a fistfight in the snow-piled street. Then said to change the subject, “Maybe we better break it up now.”
“I’ll tell you when it’s time we break it up,” said Fuller. “You had your chance to whip this bunch into a frenzy, but you failed. Relax. Sit back and let an expert do it.”
“I don’t get it,” said Dahl, looking from Colonel Fuller to Red Booker for some explanation.
“Don’t act innocent with us, Dahl,” said Fuller. “You’ve been trying your damndest to work up a mob. But you didn’t have the know-how or the guts.”
“What the colonel is saying, Dahl,” Red Booker cut in, getting a nod of permission from Fuller, “is you didn’t know how to pop the cork and get the blood flowing.” He jerked his head toward the fighting in the street. “A few minutes of busting one another’s head, and they’ll be lathered up enough you can lead them to do most anything.” Red Booker and Colonel Fuller looked at one another and laughed.
In the jail, Sam Burrack finished checking his pistol and slipped it back into his holster. Moments earlier, Selectman Collins had returned with food from the restaurant. Now he stood behind the Ranger and watched the men brawling in the street. His voice sounded shaky as he said, “I suppose it’s actually my job to get out there and stop this . . . I am the acting sheriff.”
“Huh-uh,” said Sam. “That’s exactly what Fuller wants you to do. He figured on you getting out there in the midst of this, and me coming to back your play.”
“Fuller?” Collins looked confused. “I thought Asa Dahl is behind all this.”
“Asa Dahl is still dancing,” said Sam, “but now it’s Fuller who’s playing the tune. Fuller knows how to make a mob work itself into a frenzy. He’d love to see you and me go out there first and break this up. Then he could step out and say his piece, tell us how wrong we are, demand we turn Billy Odle over to him. But we won’t do it. Not until he gets out there first. We’re not playing it his way.”
“But, the fighting will only get worse, the longer it goes on,” said Collins. “We can’t let them kill each other.”
“Fuller won’t let it happen,” said Sam. “Hold tight a little longer, you’ll see what I mean.”
Sam turned to face Collins, seeing behind him Billy Odle in one cell and Bootlip Thomas in the other, each of them watching him intently. At t
he battered desk stood Carl Yates and Ronald Andrews, also wearing expressions of concern. “What kind of fresh riding stock have you got at the livery barn, in case I have to get the boy out of town?” he asked Yates.
“Don’t worry,” said Yates, “I’ll slip out the back door and fix you up something. Your horse and another one will be ready when you are.” He nodded toward Ronald Andrews as he continued talking to Sam. “The two of us ain’t quitting on you, Ranger. Say the word, we’ll help you bust this thing up and throw Fuller in jail for a spell.”
“Much obliged,” said Sam. “But Fuller being in jail won’t solve this. The problem here is this town has neglected what’s important for a long time. It hasn’t cared for its people. It’s been run by a sheriff who was owned by businessmen.” His eyes cut across to Collins, whose eyes turned down in shame. “Now the sheriff is gone, and the businessmen are turned against one another,” Sam added. “So the whole town is like a dog running in a circle snapping at its own tail.”
“We’re changing all that, Ranger,” said Yates. “Just tell us what you want.”
Outside a pistol shot resounded. Collins said, “For God sakes, Ranger, they’re starting to kill one another! I’ve got to do something!”
“Stay where you’re at, Collins. Don’t play into Fuller’s hands,” said Sam.
Inside the saloon, Fuller, Booker and Asa Dahl turned toward the sound of the pistol crack out in the street. They hurried to the broken window and looked out. The men in the street who had pulled apart at the sound of the shot now stood facing one another, ready to resume their brawl. Fuller’s eyes shifted to the jail. “I must’ve misjudged him . . . he ain’t coming. What kind of lawman stands back and lets something like this go on?”
“I don’t know,” said Asa Dahl, “but we can’t let this get any more out of hand.”
