EDGE: The Final Shot (Edge series Book 16)

by George G. Gilman

  ‘Sheriff!’ one of the Devine brothers yelled as all three horses were halted behind the stage, facing the law office. ‘We come for the runt who dishonored Melody!’

  ‘Send him out here and he’s the only one gets hurt,’ the second brother shouted in the same tone, inviting no argument.

  Edge set the chair to rocking harder and its motion caused the sidewalk planking to creak. The brothers turned in their saddles, dropping right hands to drape over their holstered Adams revolvers. The woman turned, too, but she wore no gun. Just a tight-fitting leather tunic and pants that showed off the strength and sexuality of her body and limbs. A low groaning sound began to come from the law office.

  ‘Evening,’ Edge said, and pushed his hat on to the top of his head.

  The men glowered at him. Melody appraised him critically and he knew that she was one of the women who liked his looks.

  ‘Where’s Harman?’ From the brother on the left.

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘How?’ From the one on the right. ‘He get Andrews?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You got any interest in him?’ Melody asked.

  ‘Ain’t worth it.’

  The woman smiled, showing a lot of perfectly matched, very white teeth. She had big grey eyes and the light of pleasure that entered them added to her basic beauty. ‘Go and bring him out here, Lon,’ she said.

  The brother on the left slid smoothly from his saddle, hitched his horse to the rail and trod heavily across the sidewalk. Jeff Andrews’ groans rose to a wail. The other brother dismounted and Melody unhooked a lariat from her saddle-horn.

  ‘No, please don’t!’ Andrews shrieked.

  The second brother hitched his horse and accepted the coil of rope. Everyone out on the square could sense many eyes watching from behind the surrounding windows.

  ‘God have mercy!’ Andrews screamed as a barred door was crashed open. ‘Please, I didn’t do any—’

  A powerful fist smashed into flesh but there was no sound of a body falling. Footfalls hit the law office floor and then Lon Devine appeared in the doorway, the inert form of the accused rapist folded over his shoulder.

  ‘Tie him to the stage wheel, Clayton,’ Melody ordered. ‘Then wake him up.’

  Then she backed up her horse into the centre of the square and watched as her bidding was done. Her brothers sat the unconscious Andrews on the ground and Lon held him hard against the hub while Clayton took out a Bowie knife to cut three lengths from the lariat, then used them to lash the prisoner’s arms and neck to wheel spokes. Satisfied with the progress so far, Melody stood in the stirrups and raked her gaze around the square. The clock on the front of the courthouse chimed the hour of six.

  ‘You all know what that boy did to me!’ she shouted. ‘I was as helpless as he is now.’

  Edge glanced at the batswings and saw several wan faces looking out over the top of the doors. ‘That the way it happened?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Harman found her tied and gagged.’

  Lon went back into the law office and Melody raked the square with her eyes again.

  ‘She egged him on ever since she hired him,’ someone whispered to Edge.

  ‘He stands trial, all he gets is a prison sentence!’ Melody shouted to her mostly unseen audience as Lon re-appeared, toting a bucket which slopped water over its brim. But there was still more than enough to shock Andrews into awareness when the contents were hurled into his face. ‘And that’s not enough!’ the woman went on at the top of her voice. ‘He had his satisfaction and now I demand mine.’

  Since Edge was the only possible objector in clear view, she fixed her gaze on him.

  ‘I don’t want any interference!’ she challenged.

  Edge parted his lips in a cold grin. ‘Look what’s happening to the last guy who gave you any,’ he replied.

  Melody seated her well-sculptured rump back in the saddle and turned to look at the stage. Andrews, an ugly purple swelling on the side of his jaw, got the glaze out of his eyes and saw his predicament in sharp focus. He gaped his mouth wide to vent a scream.

  ‘Geld him!’ Melody commanded.

  A series of gasps hissed from the saloon entrance. Andrews’ scream was trapped in his terror-constricted throat. A woman in one of the stores emitted a choked cry. Clayton Devine went into a squat beside the helpless prisoner and stabbed the knife down the front of his pants, honed edge against the denim. He moved his hand outwards and downwards. Andrews wore nothing under his pants and, as the material parted from waistband to crotch, his hirsute genitals were exposed.

  Melody had her back to Edge and he saw her become rigid with excitement. Andrews began to tremble. Tears started to merge with the runnels of water on his starkly white face and his breathing was suddenly short and fast. This pained gasping was all that disturbed the pregnant silence which gripped the town. Until Andrews’ terror took control of his bodily functions and he urinated. Then the boy began to scream as he strained against his bonds. Lon Devine slid a black buck-skin glove on to his right hand and knelt down on the opposite side of the victim to his brother. The boy emptied his bladder and Lon, using his gloved hand, delicately lifted the obstructing length of flesh out of the way.

  Andrews, his eyes seeming on the point of bulging from their sockets, started in ecstatic horror at the knife in Clayton’s hand.

  ‘Stop it, in God’s name!’ the man on the courthouse roof shrieked.

  The knife descended.

  ‘Two grand!’ the mayor croaked.

  The brothers hooked a heel over each of Andrews’ legs, holding them apart. The knife dug into flesh. The victim’s scream reached for the highest note and snapped. Blood spurted, then flowed as the knife was jerked to the side.

  Edge had rocked back the chair as Gerstenberg blurted out the words. It tipped forward and the half-breed lunged erect, snatching the rifle from the boot and pumping the action. The Devine brothers heard the unmistakable clicking and scraping of metal against metal. The tin star fell off Edge’s lap and landed right-side-up on the square. The brothers stared at Edge. Their sister whirled in the saddle and looked at the man, the fallen star and then back at the man.

  The excitement on her beautiful face died, was replaced for an instant by rage, then triumph took over her features. ‘You’re too late to help him!’ she shouted gleefully.

  Edge had the Winchester leveled at the woman, aimed from the shoulder. But his slitted, glinting eyes flicked constantly between Lon and Clayton. ‘Matter of priorities, lady,’ he drawled. ‘Self-help is what’s important.’

  Andrews was slumped back into silent unconsciousness. The blood, streaked with traces of white, continued to ooze from the mutilated flesh at the base of his stomach, darkening the stain on the sun-baked ground in the vee of his splayed legs.

  ‘Arrest them sheriff!’ Gerstenberg demanded from the saloon doorway. ‘That boy’s got to have medical treatment.’

  ‘We already give him the treatment,’ Lon Devine said wryly, eyes fixed on his brother’s knife work.

  ‘He was sure doctored,’ Edge growled.

  ‘You really are the new sheriff?’ Melody said incredulously. ‘Lot slower than Harman ever was.’

  ‘Matter of shyness, lady.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re shy?’

  Edge spat across his forearm. ‘Not me, lady. The mayor was shy: five hundred bucks.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘HEY, Hal, turn the holy guy loose and get on over here!’ Forrest yelled.

  Hedges was already mounted on a big grey stallion fitted with a saddle and leather bridle and reins. The Sergeant claimed a second saddled animal and barked the order across the meadow towards the timber as he swung astride the bay. Rhett had picked himself a fully-knitted mount and Seward beat Bell and Scott to the fourth one. The men cursed at having to ride bare backed, as the Corporal broke from the wood and began to run towards the corral.

  Then a rifle shot exploded in the night and Bell’s profanity be
came strident as the bullet cracked past his ear,

  ‘Sweet Jesus!’ Rhett moaned, and thudded his heels into the flanks of his horse.

  The nervous thoroughbred reared and then lunged forward, galloping across the corral. The New Englander yelled in terror, but his cavalry training penetrated his emotions and he timed the leap over the fencing perfectly.

  ‘Good old Bob!’ Seward muttered, ducking low on his horse and swinging his head around as a volley of shots followed the opening report. ‘Always ready for a jump.’

  The other four had already pin-pointed the position from which the attack was coming. The river, with a trail along its bank, ran across the north boundary of the stud farm, then curved towards the south and entered a low-sided gorge. Muzzle flashes streaked the darkness in the mouth of the gorge and then the moving bulk of a group of riders was silhouetted against the moon-silvered surface of the river. They kept up the gunfire as they galloped, and lead smashed splinters off fencing and buildings and spurted divots of earth around the nervously-moving hooves of the stallions.

  ‘You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’ about Rhett, Captain?’ Forrest yelled.

  Hedges was looking at the approaching riders, narrowing the thousand-yard gap with every second. That for once he’s had the right idea,’ he rasped. ‘Let’s move.’

  ‘What about Hal, Frank?’ Scott shouted.

  ‘You don’t give a shit!’ Forrest snarled back.

  ‘I just asked.’

  ‘Ride!’

  Seward had already lunged his mount across the corral. Forrest was hard behind him, then Bell and Scott thudded in their heels. Hedges hesitated only a few moments. In that time, he estimated the strength of the attackers to be about twenty: and saw a small group become detached from the main body and veer away from the farm. His eyes raked ahead of them and he realized they had spotted Hal Douglas. The Corporal was still racing across the meadow in a flat-out sprint. He had no reserve of speed and he wasn’t going to make it. But the men dispatched to intercept him were holding their fire. Those closing on the farm were less sparing with their ammunition. Single shot and repeating rifle fire continued to crack across the corral.

  ‘Captain!’ he heard Douglas scream, and then he saw the Corporal trip and fall headlong to the ground, rifle hurtling from his grasp.

  Hedges had caught hold of the rope bridle of the horse meant for Douglas. Now he released the spare animal and wheeled his own mount, heeling it towards the fence. ‘Can’t say it was good knowing you, Corporal!’ he growled as he sent the big grey into a flying leap out of the corral.

  His men, with Rhett far out ahead, were galloping in full retreat across pastureland bordering the river bank. It was flat, almost featureless country for as far as the eye could see in that direction. But on the north bank of the river the terrain offered a great deal more cover - rolling hills with many stands of timber. The river was the only obstacle: some forty feet wide and slow flowing. Hedges held his mount to a full gallop, still heading east and riding crouched in the saddle. Bullets snapped about him, and he sent no answering fire back towards his pursuers. Retreat was the right course to adopt, for they were a small force surprised by a much larger one. And, in full retreat, it was a futile exercise to waste effort and ammunition trying to pick off the enemy: for, with no opportunity to take aim, luck played too great a part. It was best to try to outrun those at the back, regroup in a stable situation and plan a strategy - to counter-attack or continue the retreat.

  Hedges had come into the war with no formal military training for command. He had been commissioned, first as a lieutenant and then as a captain, because he had displayed basic common sense in every kind of situation. He had made decisions, after careful planning and on the spur of the moment, and followed them. Up until now they had always been the right decisions: and he made this one with the same calm confidence as all the others.

  A glance over his shoulder showed that the large group of riders had reached the stud farm. The obstacle of the buildings and fences slowed their progress. The group who had captured Douglas were still in the meadow behind the farm, securing their prisoner. The main body of men was reduced still further as several leapt from their mounts to check out the house. Half - no more than ten men - swung around the front of the farm to maintain the chase, blasting lead across the pastureland.

  Now Hedges fired for the first time since the route had started. Gripping the powerful stallion with his knees, he pumped the action of the Spencer, aimed the rifle into the air and squeezed the trigger. Then he took up the reins again and angled the horse towards the river. Every man ahead of him, with the exception of the terrified Rhett, snatched a glance over his shoulder at the sound of the single shot - much closer to them than the uneven volleys of fire sounding from the more distant pursuers. They saw the direction in which Hedges was riding and curved their own galloping mounts onto a parallel course. Rhett, clinging so low and tight to his horse he seemed to be as one with the animal, continued to be carried due east across the flat grassland.

  And, for a while, he was the safest man in the Union unit. For he remained a fast-moving dark shadow against the darkness of the land, broadening the gap between himself and the enemy. Hedges, then Forrest, Seward, Scott and Bell plunged their mounts into the river. The change of direction had enabled the pursuers to draw closer. Then they were clearly defined targets - black against the moon-silvered backdrop of the river. And slow-moving as the horses lost their footing on the silted bed and had to swim.

  Hedges was still separated from his men by more than sixty feet but made no attempt to close with them. For as long as they were crossing the river they were exposed to the fire of the horsemen behind them and every trooper in the water took the shortest course to the cover on the far bank -a straight line.

  There was a brief interruption in the gunfire as the enemy slowed from the headlong gallop and awaited an order: whether to plunge into the water and give chase or to halt and send a concentrated fusillade towards the escapers.

  The Union men were a quarter of the way across as their pursuers began to rein in their mounts. Hedges swung around in the saddle and drew his Colt: sent three rapid shots backwards for effect. Seward followed his example. Forrest used his rifle. One man on the bank screamed and pitched from the saddle of his skidding horse. With no stirrups or saddles, Scott and Bell could do no more than cling to their horses and curse the animals into greater speed.

  An order was finally bellowed at the men on the bank and they leapt from their saddles as the horses halted. The Union men looked back yet again and at last glimpsed who their pursuers were. In the direct moonlight, and the glow refracted from the surface of the river, they were able to make out the glinting buttons, badges of rank and unmistakable shape of the men’s headgear.

  ‘Friggin’ Johnnie Rebs!’ Seward snarled, and snapped off three more fast shots to empty his Colt.

  ‘Hit the water!’ Hedges yelled, kicked free of his stirrups and dived out of the saddle. He kept hold of the Spencer and the reins. His clothing and the weight of the spare ammunition in his pockets tried to drag him under. But, as an ordered fusillade of shots sent bullets snagging and hissing into the water around him, he lashed out with his feet. The horse hauled him along and his pumping legs helped to fight the drag.

  Downriver, the others sought the insubstantial cover of the water and the more solid protection of their mounts. Much further away, Rhett become aware of how muted the gunfire now was and chanced a look back. Relief came close to exhilaration as he saw he was no longer being pursued. All the activity save his own terror-inspired retreat was now centered at least a half-mile away. The bright moonlight clearly showed the group on the bank sending a hail of deadly fire towards the men and horses struggling across the river.

  Then the New Englander commanded his own horse into a sharp turn, heading him for the river. His relief had been short-lived as a new fear gripped him. He was safe, but for how long? He was alone in Rebel te
rritory and if he escaped the present danger, a fresh one could threaten at any moment.

  His horse splashed into the water and he took a tighter grip with hands, feet and knees as the stallion launched into a frantic swim.

  He didn’t know how many of the Union men would reach the safety of the opposite bank. In different circumstances he would be glad to see them all die, for without exception he had a deep hatred of them. But war, especially with the enemy close at hand, made them his allies.

  So, when his mount waded ashore on the north bank of the river, he wrenched on the reins and slammed in his heels to send the animal racing back along the shore line.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, some of you bastards stay alive,’ he muttered, drawing his Colt and firing wildly while he was still far out of range.

  Scott’s horse took a bullet in the hindquarters and reared up out of the water. Then a second slug smashed through a bulging eye to find the brain. A fore hoof came down hard on the head of Bell’s mount, stunning the animal. Both troopers were forced to release their holds on the rope reins as the horses rolled. The men lashed frantically at the water with their arms and legs, letting go of the Spencers as they struggled against drowning.

  First Forrest, then Seward fought their horses on to a different course. With bullets cracking over their heads and hissing into the water, they yelled to the swimming men, who kicked around and fastened grips on the offered saddles.

  Hedges’ mount was creased across the side of the neck. The wound had the effect of driving the animal into a faster swim. Then his pumping hooves plunged into the silt of the shallows and the Captain found himself being dragged along the river bed as the horse lashed and splashed up the bank. His one-handed grip on the reins stayed firm and abruptly he was out of the water, being hauled across a narrow, shingle beach. When brush began to snag at his clothes, he opened the hand.