Jurisdiction

by Ralph Cotton

  “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” said Fuller. He stepped over to the ledge of the broken window, then out onto the boardwalk, glass crunching beneath his boots. On the street a man wobbled back and forth on his knees, an arm across his stomach and a pistol smoking in his hand. Fuller reached down, twisted the pistol from his hand and lifted him to his feet. “All right, men, this has gone far enough. It’s not each other you need to be mad at . . . it’s that Ranger.” His finger pointed toward the jail. “He’s got that kid in there and won’t even let us talk to him. No wonder everybody’s getting testy. Authority is being taken away from you in your own town!” He looked back and forth at his possemen, who had been fighting with the townsmen. “You boys get back and settle down. The Ranger caused all this. Let’s quit fighting among ourselves and get to the real source of the trouble.”

  “Now you’re talking, Fuller.” At first Fuller thought it was someone calling out in support, until he turned and saw Sam Burrack step down into the street and walk forward, the big pistol in his hand, cocked and ready, hanging down his thigh. “I am the source of your trouble. I think it’s time we settled up between us.” As Sam spoke, Yates and Andrews stepped out of the sheriff’s office with their shotguns raised and ready. Behind them came Selectman Collins carrying a pistol in one hand and a rifle in the other. He moved away from Yates and Andrews until the three of them held the street covered from twenty yards away.

  Fuller stood silent for a moment. He had planned on the Ranger breaking the fight up. Now that Sam hadn’t fallen for doing things his way, Fuller was grasping at straws. “You wouldn’t have lifted a finger if these men killed one another out here! You wouldn’t have given a damn, would you, Ranger?”

  “Not particularly,” said Sam. He motioned the townsmen to one side, out of his line of fire. Fuller’s posse stood their ground. Fuller spread a smug grin.

  “You’re outnumbered, Ranger, with or without those three backing you, and with or without the rest of these townsmen backing me.”

  “I’ve been outnumbered before,” said Sam. “It’s not going to mean anything to you, though, once the lead flies. If these men want to die over me killing you . . . I reckon it’ll be up to them.”

  A couple of the possemen wavered and moved an inch. But Fuller called out, stopping them. “Stand fast, men, he’s bluffing.”

  Beside Fuller, Red Booker looked uncertain. The Ranger said to him, “What about it, Booker, am I bluffing?”

  When Red Booker only bit his lip without replying, the Ranger said, “I called your colonel down fair and square . . . just him and me.” Sam jerked his head toward Collins, Yates and Andrews twenty yards behind him. “They’ll stay out so long as it’s fair. Won’t you, men?” he called out over his shoulder.

  “So long as everything stays jake,” said Carl Yates.

  Sam saw the hesitancy in Colonel Fuller’s eyes and played on it quickly, saying to Red Booker, “Is this the man you’re going to follow, one that turns down a fight? Has to back himself with a whole posse, to settle with one man?”

  “Don’t try turning my own men against me, Ranger,” said Fuller. “I gave you a chance to cooperate with me. Now we’re all going to take you down. Then I’m going to question that kid, my way. He’ll tell me what happened out there when they stole those horses . . . he’ll tell me where that Injun is hiding, too.”

  “Then draw your pistol and fire,” said the Ranger in a resolved voice.

  “What?” Colonel Fuller looked surprised.

  “There’s nothing more to talk about, Fuller,” said Sam. “So let’s get to it.”

  Fuller batted his eyes in disbelief, starting to see Sam was not bluffing, and that these long odds didn’t bother the Ranger at all. “Holster your pistol first, Ranger. I’m no fool. Let’s keep this fair and square.”

  “You’ve got a posse backing you, and you’re talking about fair and square?” said Sam. He shook his head, raising the big pistol slowly. “This is the best you get today, Fuller—”

  “Wait! This isn’t the way to conduct a gunfight!” Fuller took a step back, his hand curling around the butt of his pistol, yet making no attempt to draw it. He saw the Ranger had already gotten the drop on him. “I’m not ready yet!” Fuller blurted out, looking baffled.

  Sam kept his big pistol cocked and leveled on Fuller’s belly from twelve feet away as he spoke to Red Booker and the rest of the possemen. “Did you boys hear that? He’s not ready. What about the rest of you?” His words were directed at Red Booker although his eyes never left Fuller’s face. “Booker, what about you? Are you ready, since your boss seems to be running a little behind?”

  Booker seemed disgusted at Colonel Fuller. “Jesus, Colonel, you let him just walk up and get the drop on you.”

  “I—I didn’t know.” Fuller was dumbfounded.

  “You’re supposed to know,” said Booker in a harsh tone. He looked at the Ranger and slowly raised his hands chest-high in a show of peace. He glanced at Collins, then at the two blacksmiths, then back to Sam Burrack. “This is your show, Ranger. All me and the boys want to do is get out of here. We’d have been gone long before now if it hadn’t been for him.”

  “That’s what I figured,” said Sam. He let his pistol barrel lower an inch.

  “But, what about the Injun?” asked Fuller, still not ready to give up whatever might be left of his authority. “The boy knows where he’s—”

  “Aw, hell, Colonel,” Booker snapped. “All that boy ever meant to you was a way to get at the Ranger! Well . . . we see how that turned out.” He looked around at the men and asked, “Any of you see any reason to stick around here?”

  The men stood back and let down their guard, their hands falling away from their pistols. Now that Fuller appeared to be crushed without the Ranger even firing a shot, the townsmen shook their heads and mumbled under their breath and began to disperse.

  “Looks like you win, Ranger,” said Red Booker, treating Fuller as if he were no longer there. “We’ll be clearing out as soon as we get our horses and our prisoner.”

  “Bootlip’s not going with you. I talked it over with Collins,” Sam lied. “Hubbler Wells is going to hold him for trial when the circuit judge comes through.”

  “Whoa, wait a damn minute, Ranger,” said Booker. “Now you’re meddling with our bounty money. We won’t stand for that.”

  “Hubbler Wells has a right to hold him,” said Sam. “He admitted he came here to rob the bank. If the town wants him, they’ve got him.” Again Sam called out over his shoulder, this time to Selectman Collins. “Ain’t that right, Sheriff?”

  “That’s correct, Ranger Burrack,” said Collins, having heard nothing of the sort until this moment.

  “But we’re the ones who caught him,” Red Booker said, thumping himself on the chest. Behind him, the possemen began to spread out.

  “Makes no difference, he’s staying here, Booker,” said Sam. “You can collect your reward after the town gets through with him. But not before.”

  “This ain’t right, Ranger,” Booker said, relenting under Sam’s cold stare and dead-steady pistol barrel.

  “Call it a penalty for overstaying your welcome.” The Ranger turned slowly back and forth, facing the rest of the men. “Collins and I will both sign an affidavit saying you caught him. If the Midwest Bankers’ Association needs any more proof, they can contact me in Arizona.”

  “And I’ve got your word?” Booker asked.

  “You’ve got it,” said Sam.

  Colonel Fuller tried cutting in, saying, “You can’t trust this sneaking son of—”

  “Shut up, Fuller!” Red Booker cut him off. “If we’d left here when we should have, Bootlip Thomas would be going with us. I’ll take the Ranger’s word. He’ll see to it we get paid. If we don’t, it’s coming out of your part, for keeping us here.”

  “You’ll take his word?” Fuller rebuked him. “Don’t start getting the idea that you’re running things now, Booker. Don’t forget who th
e bankers hired to run this job! I brought this posse together!”

  “Midwest Bankers’ Association will pay whoever brings in the meat,” said Red Booker. “Now keep running your mouth and see if we don’t cut you out altogether.” As Red Booker spoke, three of the possemen closed in quietly behind Fuller, anticipating his next move.

  “Why you backstabbing bastard!” Fuller bellowed. His hand snatched at the pistol on his hip, but before he could raise it, the men behind him grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground.

  Red Booker saw one of the men take Fuller’s pistol away from him, then another man booted Fuller in his ribs, causing him to roll into a ball on the cold ground. “That’s enough, let him up,” said Booker, stepping in and shoving the men to one side. He lifted Fuller to his feet, then turned to Sam as Fuller staggered in place. “All right, Ranger, we’re settled up. Go on about your business. We’ll do the same.”

  Sam stepped inside the sheriff’s office first; Yates, Andrews and Collins came in behind him, looking back at the street as the townsmen and possemen began to drift their separate ways. “Whew,” said Collins, running a trembling hand across his forehead through a cold sheen of sweat. He collapsed back against the closed door. “I never want to go through something like that again!”

  Carl Yates and Ronald Andrews looked a little less shaken, but not much. They stood close to the battered desk and laid their shotguns down atop it. Andrews then went to the window and began keeping watch on the street, making sure everybody did as they said they would. Carl Yates looked at Bootlip Thomas who stood staring through the bars on his cell and said, “Well, outlaw, looks like this is your lucky day.”

  “Huh?” Bootlip looked puzzled.

  “We changed our minds, Bootlip,” said Sam. “Hubbler Wells is going to keep you here for a trial. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Bootlip Thomas let out a long sigh. “Lord, I sure do thank you, Ranger,” he said.

  “Don’t thank me, thank the town sheriff,” said Sam, a trace of a smile on his face. “He’s the one who calls the shots around here, for the time being at least.”

  Collins shook his head with a short nervous chuckle. “You came up with that one out of the blue, Ranger. I wish you’d mentioned it before we got out there,” he said.

  “To be honest,” said Sam, “I didn’t think about it until we were out there.” He looked at Bootlip Thomas. “But that’s okay. Maybe the judge won’t hang him—maybe a few years in prison will cool his heels.”

  Bootlip Thomas nodded, looking down at the floor. “I’ll take it like it comes. But I appreciate you not letting them tote me out of here in a flour sack, Ranger.”

  In the cell next to him, Billy Odle had been standing silent, watching and listening. Finally he said to Sam, “You mean Colonel Fuller’s posse is gone? Just like that?”

  “They’re not gone yet, but they’re leaving, Billy,” said Sam Burrack. “As soon as they’re gone you’re free to go, too.”

  Billy Odle looked lost. “Go where?”

  “Go see about your ma for starters,” said Sam. “The main thing is, you’re free to do what suits you.” Sam didn’t want to hold the boy to any conditions or appear to offer him any lectures, even though he wanted to. Instead, he stepped over to the window beside Ronald Andrews. “Did you put my horse out back like you said?” Sam asked him.

  “Yep, yours and the big gray the Indian was riding,” said Andrews.

  Sam nodded. “Looks like I won’t be needing them now.”

  Chapter 18

  Asa Dahl hurried out the back door of his saloon and came straight to the hotel. Having watched everything from the hotel window, he’d backed away to the counter and stood there with a bitter expression on his face. As Sam walked through the door, Dahl made sure he kept his hand away from the pistol shoved down inside his waist belt. “I want you to know I had nothing to do with that,” Dahl said, as if expecting the Ranger to say something about it.

  Sam looked at him and said as he walked across the floor to the stairs, “I never figured you did, Dahl.” He stopped at the stairs with one hand on the banister. “I don’t have you pegged as a man who does something face to face in broad daylight. I see you more as the kind of snake that might slip out of the shadows and stab a man in the back . . . more than likely while he’s sleeping.”

  Asa Dahl’s face swelled red, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

  Sam stood long enough at the bottom of the stairs to let him know that he had an opportunity to respond. Then, when Dahl lowered his eyes in submission, Sam offered a trace of a wry smile and walked up the stairs. Tinnie met Sam at the door to Hattie Odle’s room and stood in silence for a moment looking at him. Then she threw her arms around him and shook her head against his chest. “Sam, I watched it from the window. I . . . I was so worried.”

  He held her close to him, yet he felt awkward doing so. “Now, now . . . There was nothing to worry about, Tinnie. Collins and the blacksmiths had me covered.” He waited for a second, then held her back from him at arm’s length. “Besides, I’m not used to folks worrying about me . . . it throws me off.”

  He noticed a tear in her eye. She touched a finger to it and collected herself. She seemed surprised by his words. “Well, then, I’m sorry, Sam . . . but I was worried. I still am.”

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. This time it was he who put his arms around her. “It feels good, Tinnie, someone worrying about me, I won’t try to deny it.” A silence passed, then Sam added, gently, “But this isn’t the time or place.”

  “When is?” she whispered,

  “I don’t know.” The silence returned and they stood in an embrace until he finally said near her ear, “How’s Hattie doing?”

  “Better than I am, evidently,” Tinnie sighed. Taking a step back, she turned her face up to him with a tired smile. “Don’t worry, she’s getting better and better. She’s over the opium. Now it’s just a matter of willpower.” She shrugged. “Some people have it, some people don’t. We’ll have to wait and see. What about her boy, now that Fuller and his men are gone? Is he going to be safe around here?”

  “As safe I can make it without staying here from now on, guarding him. He’ll hear some unkind remarks I suppose, after being involved—we’ll just never know how much, unless he tells us. And that ain’t likely.”

  “Think Collins can keep the peace here?” Tinnie asked. “Don’t forget he was on the other side, wanting to prosecute Billy only a couple of days ago.”

  “Collins seems to have taken on a keener sense of right and wrong.” Sam smiled. “Sheriffing does that to a man, if the man has good in him to begin with. I think he’ll keep things in order here until the circuit judge arrives. It’ll be up to the judge whether or not Billy Odle is charged with anything. My guess is, he won’t be.”

  “So Billy and his ma both get another chance,” said Tinnie.

  “Yep,” said Sam.

  “Maybe we ain’t such a bad town after all,” said Tinnie, “most of us, anyway. At least some of us started helping once we saw the problem.”

  “That’s all you can ask of folks, I reckon,” Sam said. “It’s a shame nobody saw it sooner. Maybe if the woman got help sooner, the boy wouldn’t have gone so far for attention. That’s all this was, a scared, lonesome boy wanting somebody to tell him he’s worth something.”

  “Do you think he sees it now, Sam?” Tinnie asked.

  “Some, maybe,” Sam replied. “As much as we can expect of him. It didn’t take him overnight to get cut off from the rest of the world. It’ll take him just as long for him to get connected back to it.”

  “Is he listening to you now, Sam?” Tinnie asked.

  “Not enough,” said Sam. “He’s still impressed by that outlaw, Willie John. As long as he still thinks he’s a part of the outlaw world, it’ll take some doing to ever jerk his head down out of the clouds.”

  “And you, Sam?” she asked. “What will you be doing no
w? The snow’s not too deep to travel, but it is winter out there. Willie John’s gone. He could be headed in any direction. Will he keep till spring?” She offered a suggestive smile.

  “Until spring? I doubt it,” said Sam. He stepped forward, turning, slipping his arm around her waist. “But what’s a week, more or less?”

  “That’s what I say.” Smiling, Tinnie gestured a hand toward a door at the end of the hall. “I took a room all for myself,” she said, “away from the other girls. I hoped you might be staying for a while.”

  Down in an alley off the main street, Willie John watched from around the edge of a shipping crate as Ronald Andrews led the horses back to the livery barn. Willie had slipped in only moments before, long enough to see the last of Fuller’s men file out of town and head southwest. They were still after him, he supposed. Willie allowed himself a slight grim smile. He was still one step ahead of them. He glanced back and forth once more, then hurried in a crouch along the back of the buildings and through the corridors of long drifts of snow, making his way toward the livery barn.

  Ronald Andrews stopped long enough to step inside the mercantile store and purchase a fresh twist of chewing tobacco. He paid for it and bit off a chew as the store owner’s daughter rattled on about all the excitement earlier in the street. Andrews tipped his hat to her, put the tobacco inside his shirt pocket and excused himself. He continued on to the livery barn, leading the horses and working on a jawful of chewing tobacco.

  In the back of the darkened barn, Willie John eased the door closed behind himself and crept into an empty stall, his pistol in his hand, his wound throbbing from all the exertion. He crouched down and waited. In moments, light sliced in across the floor as Ronald Andrews entered and dropped the horses’ reins long enough to turn and close the door. Willie John watched through a crack in the stall planks, seeing Andrews turn and lead the horses past him to the next stall.

  Willie listened to Ronald Andrews unsaddle the Ranger’s horse and hang its bridle outside the stall on a peg. Then as Andrews closed the stall gate and led the dapple-gray to the next empty stall, Willie slipped out of his hiding place and moved in behind the stallion. He hurried along the gray’s side until he could raise the pistol and jam the tip of the barrel into Andrews’s spine. “Stop right here, blacksmith,” he said, his voice like the low hiss of a coiled snake.