Bullets for a Ballot

by Nik Morton

  Cash crossed the floor and grasped the judge by his shoulders. "Then, go to her."

  Nodding, the judge said, "Yes, yes, I must."

  Cash picked up his two statements from the sideboard. "Don't get these burned. They might be useful."

  Judge McPiece glanced at them. "These are very powerful arguments against Nolan. You've clearly a way of extracting information, Marshal."

  "They divulged all that without duress, I assure you."

  "And Wexler?"

  "He was too stubborn for his own good. But his words were genuine enough."

  "Yes." The judge clasped the papers to his chest. "I'll keep these safe, be assured. But what will you do?"

  "I've a good mind to go out to the Jacobson ranch and mete out my own form of rough justice," Cash said, grimly.

  The judge warned, "If you kill off too many folk, there'll be none left to make the vote worthwhile. Fear's spreading in the town. I can smell it. A lot of people are already thinking, better the devil you know ..."

  Cash smiled. "I'm one devil they don't know. And I guarantee some of them are bound for hell."

  * * *

  "I think I can do this," she said on the first day. "But I still need your help, boys."

  "I ain't been called a boy in a long while, Ma'am," Miles said.

  For the next few days, the routine was unvaried. Either Cash or Miles accompanied Esther into town while the other stayed at the ranch house with Danny. Esther glad-handed several voters and gave her speeches without hindrance.

  She seemed to get considerable support and little heckling. Many townsfolk agreed with her view that Mayor Nolan employed too many dirty tricks. The fire at the judge's house—and his wife's death—seemed to strengthen their resolve, rather than weaken it.

  Today, it was Miles' duty turn with her and he wondered if this was the way of things in the future. Word had it the territory wouldn't be long in joining the Union as a full-fledged state. Maybe, he thought, the way of the ballot would remove the way of the gun.

  Mrs. Tolliver pointed down the alley adjacent to the saloon. "My husband's dearest wish was to serve this town and its people, to finally be rid of graft and favoritism. And he was gunned down by two men who were in the pay of the present mayor, Brett Nolan!"

  There were gasps and exclamations of disbelief.

  Miles watched her work the crowd. She seemed determined, fearless.

  "Judge McPiece has proof, signed statements from the murderers of my husband!"

  "Out with Mayor Nolan!" chanted a couple of women.

  In a few seconds, the words were taken up by others. "Throw out the mayor. Mrs. Tolliver for mayor!"

  She smiled and waved.

  Several gunshots sounded in succession.

  Miles felt the stabbing pain in the back of his shoulder as he spun round and landed on one knee. As he reached for his Colt, he saw Mrs. Tolliver drop to her knees, a hand clutching her left forearm. Blood trickled through her fingers.

  The people in the crowd scattered in all directions, some shrieking, others wailing. At least two had also been shot.

  Leaflets canvassing a vote for Mrs. Tolliver for mayor scattered like confetti, a few even splattered with blood.

  -EIGHT-

  Stewed Vegetables

  "Marshal," Danny said, shielding his eyes from the sun, "someone's riding hard. I reckon they're in a hurry!"

  Cash chambered a shell and stood in the shade of the veranda, waiting.

  A minute or so later, Deputy Zeke McCain reined in by the porch. "Marshal, your friend Marshal Miles and Mrs. Tolliver have been shot! The sheriff said to come right away!"

  "Ma!" wailed Danny, running down the steps and standing beside Zeke. "Is she all right?"

  Zeke nodded. "Yes, it's only a flesh wound."

  "And Marshal Miles?" Cash asked.

  "Shot in the back, I heard."

  "Danny," Cash said, "you stay here and watch the ranch house. I'll go into town with Zeke. Maybe I can find who bushwhacked your ma and Miles." He whistled for his horse, as he'd kept Paint saddled—just in case he was needed in a hurry—and let him graze in the shade behind the barn.

  As he mounted, Cash said, "Don't let any Jacobson men anywhere near your home. Shoot to scare them off."

  "Right, Marshal."

  "I'll be back with your ma as soon as I can." He reined Paint around and rode off with Zeke.

  Danny stood, pacing the porch for about ten minutes. Then he strode over to the well and ladled some water out of the bucket. Luke warm, but it helped slake his thirst. It was damned hot.

  Barely twenty minutes after Cash Laramie left, Danny noticed a small dust cloud approaching from the west. That sure wasn't the direction of the Jacobson spread. He narrowed his eyes and watched.

  Two riders crested a nearby rise and rode on down to the entrance. "Hello, anyone there?" a woman called.

  Danny stepped down from the porch and waved the Greener above his head. "Yo, I'm here—who is that?"

  "It's Mrs. Nolan—come to talk to you and the marshal!" she shouted.

  He was about to say that the marshal wasn't here, but thought better of it. Best to find out what the mayor's wife wanted first. "Come in, Mrs. Nolan, and give your horses a drink—I'm sure they'll welcome it."

  "Thanks!" she called and spurred her horse ahead of the other man.

  When she reached the horse trough to his right, she stepped down and led the animal to the water. She wore a split riding skirt, a green cotton shirt and a black hat. Her black leather boots were tooled with some kind of silvery filigree. She walked up to him and removed her gloves, held out her hand.

  He shook—a light, quite soft hand—softer than Ma's. Close up, she was very attractive. He caught a whiff of some scent, sweet smelling, the kind of stuff Ma put on if there was a special event to attend.

  Mrs. Nolan smiled. "Is the marshal here?"

  "Not right now. What do you want, Ma'am?"

  Her brow creased in concern as she said, "I just heard your mother was shot."

  "Yeah, I know. Bad news travels fast."

  The man moved his horse closer, next to Mrs. Nolan's.

  "Well, son," she said, "I think things have gone too far. I'm fearful that my husband might get hurt as well. There are too many hotheads out there right now."

  The man astride his mount nodded.

  She went on, "I was hoping you or the marshal could speak to my husband and persuade him to step down."

  Danny lowered the Greener. "I can't see the mayor listening to me, Ma'am."

  "I think he will," she said, "if I stand with you."

  He grinned. This was too good an opportunity to miss. If they could talk to the mayor and convince him he didn't have the backing of the townsfolk, maybe Mr. Nolan would step down. "All right. Where is he—your husband?"

  "Out at the Sullivan place."

  "Yeah, I remember. You bought them out, didn't you?"

  She nodded.

  "Okay, I'll come with you."

  "Good. I was hoping you would."

  "I'll just get saddled up."

  "We can wait, son." She smiled at him. "What's your name, again?"

  "Daniel, Ma'am. Danny."

  "Well, Danny, I think we'll make a good team." She took his hand again and shook it. Her eyes seemed only for him.

  He flushed and reluctantly let go of her hand. "Yes, Ma'am. I won't be long."

  * * *

  When Cash rode in, Sheriff Hain seemed to have covered everything. The shooter—there'd definitely only been the one—had fired on the group, rather than at anyone in particular. "He was on horseback, waiting," said Hain. "Down that same damned alley, in the shadows. He just let rip and then rode out the other end of the alley, left town before anyone had a chance to realize what was happening."

  "Send anyone after him?" Cash asked.

  "Sure, I sent Burt. He may be young, but he's good."

  "Okay. I'll be over at the doc's if you have any news."

&
nbsp; "Sure, Marshal. Don't worry, we'll get the bastard, whoever he is!"

  Cash turned on his heel and strode toward the doctor's surgery and home. On his way, he wondered about the sheriff. Hain seemed genuinely surprised and annoyed about the shooting. Maybe it had nothing to do with the mayor? Unless the sheriff wasn't in on it ...

  The doctor's office closely resembled the field hospitals he'd heard about. There were four townsmen sitting or lying around, while the nurse moved from one to the other, bandaging as she went. Cash spotted Miles, who lay on his front on a bloodstained table.

  Miles waved and grimaced. "At least it was my left shoulder—shouldn't affect my gun-hand one bit."

  "What happened?"

  "Ambush—straight after Mrs. T told the crowd the mayor had paid for her husband to be murdered."

  Cash glanced around. "Where is she?"

  Miles shrugged and nodded at a door at the side of the room. It was labeled Private. "Probably in the back—I heard another woman was shot, too. Nothing serious. I suppose they're keeping us separate."

  Cash nodded. "I won't be long. I just want a word with the doctor."

  "Sure. I ain't going anywhere."

  Cash walked over to the door, knocked and opened it.

  The doctor extracted a .22 bullet from a woman's abdomen. A nurse hovered over the woman who was unconscious, only the midriff exposed. "What do you want, Marshal?" the doctor asked gruffly. "You can see, I'm rather busy."

  "I'm looking for Mrs. Tolliver."

  "She isn't here."

  "I heard she caught the stage," the nurse said. "It left not ten minutes after the shooting."

  "Maybe that's the most sensible thing that woman's done," the doctor said. "Quit the town."

  The nurse gave him a withering look but refrained from responding.

  Cash turned to the nurse and whispered, "Where does the stage stop over next?"

  She shrugged. "Can't say I know, Marshal. Try the depot—they'll tell you."

  "Thanks, Ma'am, Doc," he said and left.

  * * *

  At the stage depot, Cash questioned the owner, a wiry bald-headed man. "Did you see Mrs. Tolliver get on the stage?"

  "Sure did. Poor woman," he said. "We sure don't deserve her, I can tell you! No wonder she quit!"

  Cash frowned. He knew her and there was no way she'd up and leave. "Where's the stage headed?"

  "Fort Bridger."

  But that wasn't anywhere near her ranch house. What about Danny? She wouldn't leave without her son. "Did you definitely see her get on the stage?"

  "Sure did. She seemed to have difficulty boarding. A bearded man with a limp and a purple bandana helped her up. She sure didn't look too well. White as a sheet."

  He knew the answer, but had to ask the question anyway. "Was Mrs. Tolliver's son with her?"

  "Nope. Just them two boarded." The man shuffled some papers. "If that shooting had happened maybe an hour or so earlier, I'd have bet a few more might have wanted to catch the stage out of this damned town."

  * * *

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Nolan, but this isn't the way to the Sullivan place," Danny said.

  "No, you're right. I was mistaken. It's your mother who's going there—not you."

  "Pardon?"

  She smiled. "I can see you're confused." She gestured to the taciturn rider alongside them. "Craig, please enlighten him.

  "Sure, Ma'am." Craig Bond whipped out his pistol and slammed the butt on the back of Danny's head.

  The boy slumped in his saddle and Angelina Nolan swiftly reached out a hand and steadied him. She reined in her horse and Danny's stopped too. "Tie him to his saddle for now."

  "You sure this is part of the plan, Ma'am?" Craig asked.

  "Yes, of course. You and Felix will soon get your own back on Mrs. Tolliver—or Traynor, as you knew her."

  "Whatever it takes," Craig said, dismounting. "We've both waited a long time for this."

  "Just so," she said, nodding. She withdrew a Derringer from her skirt pocket and covered the unconscious boy, just in case.

  Once Danny was tethered to his saddle, they set out for the Nolan ranch. It was less than an hour's ride.

  "Where is everybody?" Craig asked, when they arrived.

  "In town, listening to my husband. He needs their numbers to impress the townsfolk, I believe."

  "Okay. Where do you want the boy?"

  She pointed to a raised mound of earth with a door let into it, just on the right of the ranch house. "The root cellar should be ideal, I think."

  They rode over and dismounted. Craig walked with a peculiar gait, toes pointing in. Angelina Nolan produced a key from her skirt pocket, shoved it into the root cellar door's padlock. She opened the door and was met by the smell of dried earth. "Throw him in there—let him stew for a while."

  "Stewed vegetables—can't beat it on a winter's night," Craig said.

  "Very witty." She stood, arms akimbo and watched as Craig sliced the rope binding Danny, unhorsed the boy and literally threw him through the doorway. The boy's body tumbled noisily down the dozen earth and wood stairs and then made a dull thudding noise.

  "Good." She shut the padlock and turned to Craig. "You know what to do—go and welcome his mother."

  As he mounted his horse, he grinned. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time!"

  "Yes, and you can wait a while longer." She raised a hand. "We agreed, remember, nothing is to happen to her until the election's over. She must be missing, not dead." She neglected to add that her husband knew nothing about any of this.

  "Who said anything about killing her—yet?"

  She was strangely aroused at the implication. While she was pleased she'd stumbled on this pair—Bond and Penny—and employed them with alacrity, she didn't particularly like Penny. And while Bond seemed too sure of himself, yet he held a fascination for her. She suspected that he might be a man of similar appetites to hers. The scar over his left eyebrow seemed to redden whenever he talked about violence. And that observation warmed her. Yet for now, she had to ensure that Mrs. Tolliver was unharmed until after the election—otherwise, Brett would lose. Brett's earlier attempts at getting rid of the Tolliver woman had been misguided and stupid. Sometimes, most times, Brett showed no subtlety. She smiled.

  "You won't be long, I assume?" Craig said, turning his horse round.

  "No, I have a few loose ends to tie up, then I'll join you both."

  Craig fingered his hat brim at her and rode off.

  She waited till the man was a speck on the horizon, then thrust the key in the padlock and opened the door. She pawed around on the right of the entrance and located an oil lamp. She lit it and adjusted the flame. The cellar smelled of damp earth and a variety of vegetables. The light illuminated the dark walls as she descended the wood treads laid out on earth steps.

  The root cellar was quite large and allowed her to stand upright. Over on the right was a bed, complete with mattress. She and Jerry had enjoyed several earthy moments on there. She smiled for a fleeting instant then her heart felt pierced with agony. Those days of pleasure were gone, for good. Jerry was dead.

  She found the boy slumped at the base of the steps. He supported himself on one elbow while he fingered his head. His eyes screwed up at the light of the lantern. "Where am I?" he queried, his voice weak and a little fearful.

  She smiled. Maybe there was still pleasure to be had down here, after all. "You're in heaven, boy."

  "Heaven?"

  She bent down and grasped his arm and shoulder. "Here, let me help you to this bed."

  As she led him across the earthen floor, he said, "It's dark and smells odd—what happened?"

  It wouldn't take him long for his memory to return. "Just rest, you've had an awful accident," she soothed. "Here, lie down."

  When he was lying on the grubby mattress, she deftly produced rope and gently secured one of Danny's wrists to the bedpost. She was fastening the other before he realized what was happening.


  "What are you doing? Mrs. Nolan, is it?"

  She stepped back and smiled. "Yes, it is. It seems your memory's coming back."

  He nodded, alarm in his eyes. He attempted to pull his arms free, but she'd tied his wrists tightly. He kicked and writhed, but he couldn't get off the bed.

  She grabbed a pillow and covered his face with it. Danny frantically struggled, shaking and shoving, bucking against her. She felt quite aroused as he fought for breath, for life.

  As he grew less agitated, she raised the pillow. He was still breathing.

  Now, she removed his boots and tied his ankles to the base of the bedstead. He was spread-eagled and helpless.

  She drew the knife from her belt.

  -NINE-

  Bad Penny

  When Cash stepped out of the stage depot, he heard the mayor haranguing the people. "Mrs. Tolliver hasn't the backbone to be mayor!" he said. He laughed and pointed at the end of the town's main street. "She caught the stage and hightailed it, instead of fighting for her beliefs!"

  But a handful of hecklers accused him of having done away with her.

  "You're playing dirty, Nolan!"

  "We all know you play with a marked deck!"

  "If your people have hurt her, you'll be sorry!"

  Nolan raised both hands, as if to show that he wasn't carrying any weapons or a marked pack of cards. "I must say, I'm mighty miffed at this false accusation!"

  Cash suspected that Nolan was a good actor—he had to be to manipulate the townspeople for so long. But he didn't seem to be acting now. He realized that Nolan didn't need to do away with Esther. All he had to do was hold her somewhere until the voting was over. When she eventually turned up, he'd plead complete innocence and blame someone, anyone else.

  Leaving Nolan to get a well-deserved drubbing from several voters, Cash crossed the road. At that moment, Burt the deputy rode in.

  Cash stopped outside the sheriff's office. "Any luck, Burt?"

  Burt shook his head. "Sorry, Marshal, but the bastard covered his tracks well."