“Believe me, miss, I know his kind,” the drummer said. “He’s the kind that takes the law into his own hands. He’s got the power of the rope behind him, an’ he’s gonna run things his way, come hell or high water.”
“Young man,” the teacher’s aunt said, “you’ll forgive an old woman for speaking out like this, but I don’t think you have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Why, what do you mean, madam?” the drummer asked.
“In the first place,” the old lady said, “if he’s the judge, he has every right to take the law into his own hands. That’s what he is paid to do. And in the second place, if there really is evil and perdition in this country, then perhaps a little stern application of the law is just what’s needed. I for one am glad for a judge like this man Barnstall.”
“What do you think of it, sir?” the teacher asked, smiling prettily at Barnstall.
Barnstall cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know if I ought to comment, ma’am,” he said. “I’m afraid I’d be a little prejudiced.”
“Why so?” the drummer asked.
“Because, sir,” Barnstall said, fixing the drummer with a steely gaze, “I am Judge Samuel Parkhurst Barnstall.”
The drummer, who had just lit a cigar, bit it in two. The old lady had a very difficult time swallowing a laugh.
Deputy Jim Early was waiting for the judge when he stepped down from the coach at its stop in front of the Galena Hotel.
“Any news?” Barnstall asked.
“A wire from Jasper. They’ve caught Tom Gerner, have him in jail there.”
“What about the other three?”
“They got away,” Jim said.
“Damn. I would’ve sworn Marshal Remington would have them back by now. I was counting on it.”
“Don’t worry, Judge. There aren’t three better men in the country for the job you’ve sent them out to do. They’ll bring ’em back, all right; you can make book on that.”
“Are they still in Jasper?”
“I doubt it. The wire said that Ned and McKirk were going by train to Tahlequah. Beck was going to follow on horseback. They figured to catch the other three in between.”
“I suppose that’s as good a way as any,” Barnstall said. He ran his hand through his hair. “I want those bastards, Jim. I want them standing before my bench so I can look straight into their eyes and damn their souls to eternal hell.”
“It’ll happen, Judge. Believe me, it’ll happen.”
“Where’s the boy?”
Jim smiled. “You mean our new law officer? Like as not he’s with Hammer or Norling. He’s got it in his mind he’s gonna be one of your deputies. He’s got a badge and a gun—”
“A gun? The boy’s only ten years old.”
Jim chuckled, ‘it’s not anything he can get hurt with. It’s an old Slocum thirty-two revolver. The kind they used to sell on the back pages of Harper's Weekly. It won’t work now—hell, they damn near didn’t work when they were new.”
Jedediah came running around the corner then. When he saw the judge he stopped running and approached with as much dignity as he could manage.
“Did Deputy Early tell you? I’m going to be a deputy too.”
“I’m sure you’ll make a fine one,” Barnstall said. The boy’s face clouded over. “The only thing, who ever heard of a deputy in St. Louis? That’s where I’ll be when I go to live with Aunt Louise.”
“Why, boy, St. Louis has more policemen than all the law officers in the rest of the state,” Jim told him.
The boy’s face brightened. “Really? Hey, maybe I’ll be a policeman instead of a deputy.”
“You’ll be a good one, I’m sure,” Judge Barnstall said, rubbing the boy’s hair.
“And the first thing I’m going to do is testify against the men that...that...” The brave facade nearly slipped away as Jedediah recalled what he had witnessed. Tears slid from his eyes, and he took a deep breath.
“I know it’s going to be hard, Jedediah,” Barnstall said quietly. “But you can do it.”
“No, sir,” Jedediah said defiantly. “It ain’t gonna be hard at all. I’m goin’ to testify; then I’m goin’ to stand right out here and watch ’em hang. Ever’one of ’em. I just wish I was big enough to bring ’em in for you.”
“Son, we’ve got people who can bring them in,” Barnstall said. “But we’ve only got one man who can testify against them.”
“You mean me, don’t you?” Jedediah said. His face lit up in a broad smile. “When you said one man, you were talkin’ about me.”
“Yes, sir, I guess I was,” Barnstall said. “You had to grow up quick, but I reckon you’re a man now.”
“You’re not too much of a man to eat a licorice whip with me, are you?” Jim asked. “I was down to the store while ago, saw they’d put out a fresh jar.”
“I...I reckon I could eat one with you,” Jedediah said, trying to keep the smile off his face.
Judge Barnstall watched Jim Early and his young cousin walk down to the store; then he crossed the street to the courthouse and went upstairs to his office. Because of his trip to Springfield, he had no cases to try until tomorrow. Now would be a good time for a quiet brandy.
A few moments later, Barnstall held the snifter under his nose and thought about the territorial jurisdiction he had established and the deputies Ned Remington had gathered to ride for him.
In addition to Ned, Tom Beck, John Angus McKirk, and Jim Early, there were others, just as deadly and just as effective. Men like Frank Shaw, a man with so many bullet holes in him he seemed damn near immortal to those who went up against him. Bucky Kermit was a true loner who went into the Nations as though born there. He always got his man...dead or alive. There were Jedediah’s two friends, Kurt Hammer, a German who had shortened his name from Hammerschmidt, and Dan Norling, a Swede, from somewhere, Ned had even found a Negro, a man named Jimson Weede, who claimed to be descended from African royalty. No one could look the powerful black man in the face and tell him otherwise. The last man Ned had collected to ride for him was Faro, a man with no past and a single name. No one knew anything about Faro and no one wanted to try and find out.
Barnstall was new, but he had assembled a law-enforcement team that would stamp his name on the entire territory. He knew they would roam wherever they had to go, tame towns, settle scores, hunt down criminals. They were men who lived by the gun and for the gun. The Colt was their God, and the Henry rifle their long suit in the deadliest game of all.
Samuel Parkhurst Barnstall would always be the man behind them. When his deputies served one of his warrants Barnstall wanted the fugitive’s blood to turn chill. And the fugitives he most wanted now were the ones who had murdered his uncle and his uncle’s family.
“This is one thing I’ll have to learn, I guess,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to learn patience. Jim’s right. Ned will bring them in.”
The sound of a pistol shot rolled down the mountainside, picked up resonance, then echoed back from the neighboring mountains. A young man holding a smoking pistol turned and looked at his audience of four with a smile on his face. He had just broken a tossed whiskey bottle with his marksmanship.
“I’d like to see any of you do that,” he said.
“Yeah, Jack, that was pretty good,” one of the others, a man named Brewster, agreed. “But breakin’ bottles ain’t the same thing as standin’ up to someone. Like the fella in the Bucket of Blood yesterday.”
“They’s a difference between bein’ brave an’ bein’ a fool,” Jack Kimmons said. “They was at least two of ’em in the saloon. Who knows how many others they was? Don’t you worry none. If I ever get a chance to go up agin that marshal face to face, just him an’ me, I’ll kill him.”
One of the other men guffawed. “You’re just mad ’cause that purty little girl in town won’t have nothin’ to do with you.”
Jack pulled his gun and rested the barrel on the upper lip of the man who was laughing.
“Well, now, Athens,” he said, slowly cocking his gun. The cylinder turned with a metallic click. “Maybe we’ll just see what kind of luck you have with girls when you ain’t got no nose.”
Brewster raised his arm and a small pistol popped into his hand from its concealed position up his sleeve. He put the small gun to Jack’s temple.
“Now put your gun away, Jack,” Brewster said quietly.
Jack laughed. “Haw! Whatta you think you’re goin’ to do to me with that little pepperbox?”
“Put a little bullet in your little brain,” Brewster answered.
Jack held his pistol on Athens for a moment longer. “I could kill him before you pulled the trigger,” he warned.
“I don’t care all that much about him anyway,” Brewster said. “But if you drop that hammer on him, I’m going to kill you.”
“Back off, both of you,” one of the others said. “Jack, how do you think your brother’s gonna feel if he gets here and finds out we been killin’ each other off? You think he’s gonna let us go on that bank job with him and the others?”
Jack waited a moment longer, then eased the hammer down on his gun. “Sure,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it anyway.”
Athens let out a sigh of relief, then wiped the sweat off his forehead. He smiled nervously.
“Where the hell are they anyway? I thought they were supposed to get back to Tahlequah last night.”
“Maybe they run into a little trouble,” Brewster said. “That marshal you had the run-in with yesterday come out to the place lookin’ for ’em. If they’re lookin’ for ’em here, they’re most likely lookin’ for ’em all over.”
“Yeah? Well, if they are in trouble we’re gonna have to get them out of it,” Jack said. “Bill said he knew where there was a bank with a lot of money in it, and I aim to get my hands on some.”
“Maybe we ought to go look for ’em,” Brewster suggested.
“We’ll give ’em a few more days,” Athens said.
Chapter 10
Ned Remington and John Angus McKirk began to backtrack from Tahlequah. The area was rugged and thick-wooded, cut eons ago by the mountain springs and rivers. There was a maze of gullies and crevices, small canyons and deep cuts, any one of which could provide the three outlaws with a way to leave the trail.
Had they not been on the trail of desperate and dangerous men, the journey would have been quiet and restful, with its many trees and abundant supply of water. Here and there, though, thick underbrush camouflaged hidden caves and niches, perfect places for outlaws to hide. As a result, there was no relaxing of the vigil as the two lawmen made their way back to rejoin their partner.
“John Angus, I have a feeling we’re going to hear again from that bunch around Tahlequah,” Ned said, speaking not only of Jack Kimmons, but also of Brewster, Athens, and the others they had learned about.
“Aye, Marshal, they’re as scurvy a lot as ye ever hope to find, tha’s for sartin. It would nae surprise me if they try an’ join up with the bla’-guards we’re trailin’.”
“I hope Tom Beck has picked up their trail. We sure have nothin’ to show for our efforts.”
“Aye. Except the notion to be on the lookout for their friends when we do catch ’em,” McKirk added.
Tom Beck spent three days in the same place, resting and trying to recover from the bullet wound in his hip. The first day wasn’t so bad; he had slipped in and out of consciousness most of the day. He got a fever the second day and feared the wound might get infected. On the third day the hip was still so painful that it was difficult to walk or ride, but the fever was gone and the pus was draining. This was the fourth day and, though the wound was sore, he knew now that there was no longer any danger from infection. Tomorrow he would start for Tahlequah to try and cut the outlaws’ trail again, or at least to meet Ned and McKirk.
When Beck went down to the water to clean the wound and apply a new poultice, he saw two riders in the distance. By the way they were sitting their horses he knew right away that it was Ned and McKirk. He pulled his pistol and fired three times, waited a few seconds, then fired three more times. He smiled when he saw them urge their horses toward him.
“You’ve no idea what happened to them after that?” Ned asked after listening to Beck’s story of his early-morning escape.
“No,” Beck answered. “I was going to start after them again tomorrow. I don’t reckon you cut their trail coming back?”
“No. They’ve given us the slip, temporarily.”
“Aye,” McKirk said. “The laddies are makin’ a wide circle, and we’re taggin’ along like sheepdogs.”
“So what do you think, Tom? You’re the bloodhound.”
“Jasper,” Beck said. “I don’t think they believed my story about us killin’ Gerner. They get to town, they’ll hear the news quick enough. They’ll want to break their friend out of jail.”
“Aye, they may at that,” McKirk agreed. “If they think they killed the laddie here, they’ll be thinkin’ they can pull Gerner out of jail with nae trouble.” Ned smiled. “All right, let’s go into town and wait for them. Are you up to riding, Tom Beck?”
“Well, you ain’t gonna leave me here, that’s for damn sure,” Beck said. He stood up and walked around, testing his mobility. “They ain’t nothin’ left but a little soreness. I’ll be just fine. Hell, take one leg away and I can still beat any one of them sons of bitches in a ass-kickin’ contest.”
Ned laughed. “You ask me, I think we ought to put you and Gerner in a closed room...see who comes out. What do you think, John Angus?”
“Aye,” McKirk answered with a barely perceptible smile. “’Twould be somethin’ to see, tha’s for sartin.”
The animals were spattered with mud and ragged with travel as Newsome, Kimmons, and Flatt rode onto the single street of Deer, Arkansas, and trotted past the line of false-fronted business establishments crowding the splintered wooden walk.
The three men, slumped in their saddles, tired from the false trails they had been leaving, made careful inventory of the buildings: a pool hall, a small restaurant, a leather-goods shop, a church, and a saloon. They pulled up in front of the saloon and went in, moving straight to the back of the room, positioning themselves so they could see everyone who came in.
“What for did we come here?” Flatt asked. “I hate this town. I’ve always hated this town.”
“’Cause they ain’t likely to thank of comin’ down here,” Kimmons answered. “By now they’ve learnt from Gerner that we got us a place over in Tahlequah.”
“If he’s still alive, you mean,” Newsome said. “Don’t forget, that deputy we jumped said he was dead.”
“He mighta just been sayin’ that to throw us off,” Kimmons said. “We gotta figure Gerner has told ’em about our place.”
“Gerner ain’t gonna talk none,” Flatt insisted. “If he’s alive.”
“We need to find out whether he’s dead or not,” Kimmons said. “Let’s split up, move aroun’ town, an’ ask a few questions. We can meet back here in an hour, then decide what to do.”
“All right,” Newsome agreed. He stood up. “But be careful. Remington coulda crossed us up. Him and that red-bearded fella with him could be down here, just layin’ for us.”
One hour later the three outlaws returned to the same table. They had all three learned the same thing, but Flatt was the one who spoke.
“He ain’t dead, he’s in jail in Jasper. He was shot in the leg, but it ain’t bad. We can get him out.”
“Let’s not be so hasty,” Newsome put in.
“Iffen it was you in that jail you’d want us to get you out,” Flatt insisted.
“Ephraim’s right,” Bill Kimmons said. “Besides, if we get Gerner out of jail we can go back to Tahlequah and pick up my brother and his friends, then empty that bank up to Hollister. They ain’t nobody, not even the whole town, could stand up to nine of us. It’ll be like durin’ the war when we rode with Quantrill and ol�
� Bloody Bill. Why, we could take that bank as easy as pie.”
“There ain’t no bank easy as pie,” Newsome said.
“The one at Hollister is. We done shot down the constable there, an’ we kilt one of Barnstall’s deputies besides. They ain’t no one left except Remington and the Scotsman, and we got them wanderin’ aroun’ who knows where, lost as little puppy dogs. They ain’t nobody in this town seen hide nor hair of him.”
Ephraim Flatt laughed. “That’s for sure,” he said. “That’s for dang sure. Come on, Jake, let’s get Gerner out and go get that bank like Kimmons said.”
“We do that, that new hangin’ judge they got up to Galena is gonna send ever’ one of his deputies after us.”
“Let ’im. We’ll have enough money we can get clear outta the territory,” Kimmons said. “We can go anywhere we want. Hell, we can go to California if we want to.”
“Yeah,” Flatt said excitedly. “We can go to California and spend our poke. Hey, Bill, how much money you reckon that bank’s got?”
“I reckon nine or ten thousand dollars, anyway,” Kimmons replied.
“Oooweee. Nine or ten thousand dollars...let’s see, if we brung in them five others”—Flatt held up his hands and counted his fingers— “that’d make nine of us. We’d get...uh...how much would we get?”
“I don’t know, exactly. More’n any of us has ever seen, that’s for sure.”
“We’d get more iffen we didn’t worry ’bout gettin’ Gerner outta jail,” Newsome suggested.
“We gotta get him out,” Flatt said.
“Why do we gotta?”
“You know why. ’Cause he’s my cousin...he’s kin.”
“All right, all right,” Newsome agreed. “If we’re gonna do it, let’s do it and be done with it.”
“It ain’t gonna be hard,” Flatt insisted. “The sheriff they got in Jasper’s an old man. All he ever worries ’bout is drunks.”
“Then you do it,” Newsome suggested.
“Me? Alone?”
“You said yourself they weren’t nothin’ to it,” Newsome taunted. “If that’s right, then just go on in and get ’im out.”
Good Day For A Hangin' (Remington Book 2) Page 9
