A Town Called Fury

by William W. Johnstone

  The four Slash D cowboys who had been with Kerby emerged from the saloon. One of them went to the hitch rack, untied his horse, swung up into the saddle, and raced out of town at a gallop. Jason had no doubts about where the man was going—he was headed for the Slash D to tell Ezra Dixon what had happened to his segundo.

  Two of the remaining men followed Cyrus Valentine’s wagon down the street, while the fourth man angled toward Jason. His face was still flushed with anger.

  “Did you lock up that murderin’ gunslinger?” he demanded as he stalked up to Jason.

  “He’s in the marshal’s office,” Jason replied as he jerked his head toward the building. “So are the others.”

  “But I’ll bet they ain’t behind bars, are they?”

  “We don’t have any bars on the cells,” Jason said again. “But they’re not locked up, no. Kerby drew first. There’s no getting around that.”

  “What’re you gonna do?” the cowboy asked with a sneer. “Fine that bastard five dollars for firin’ off a gun in town and let him go?”

  Jason hated to admit it, even to himself, but that was about all he could do legally. He said, “You just let me and the mayor and the town council take care of that. That’s how things are going to be handled in this town. We’ll do everything the law allows.”

  The cowboy just glared and shook his head. “You must come from back East or somewhere, mister. If you’d lived out here on the frontier for very long, you’d know that law ain’t always the same thing as justice.”

  Jason was beginning to understand that. He didn’t like it, but it was becoming clearer and clearer to him.

  “We’ll just see what happens once the boss and the rest of the crew get here,” the cowboy went on. “Then you’ll see some justice.”

  “I told you, there won’t be any lynchings in my town.”

  The cowboy just smirked at him, and the expression was as annoying on his face as it was on Bill Rye’s.

  “Why don’t you move along?” Jason suggested.

  “Public street, ain’t it?”

  Jason was forced to admit that it was.

  “Then I reckon I’ll just wait right here until the boss gets to town,” the man said.

  Jason knew what the Slash D hand was doing. He was keeping an eye on the marshal’s office to make sure that Rye and the other hired guns didn’t leave before Dixon arrived. Jason was sure that if the gunslingers left the office and started for their horses, the cowboy would summon his friends from the undertaking parlor, and then there would be a gun battle right here on Fury’s main street. Jason couldn’t allow that.

  “Suit yourself,” he told the man, then turned on his heel and went back into the office.

  Ward was watching through the window. As Jason closed the door, the deputy asked, “What’s goin’ on out there, Jason? Why’s that fella from the Slash D just standin’ there?”

  Before Jason could answer, Rye said, “I can tell you that, Deputy. He’s watching to make sure we don’t get away.”

  Ward looked concerned, especially when Jason nodded. “Rye’s right. One of them rode hell-for-leather out of town. I’m sure he’s headed for the Slash D. The other two are down at the undertaker’s, but that’s not far enough away. They’ll come running if there’s trouble.”

  “Let us go, Marshal,” Rye suggested. “Those three cowboys are no match for us. Your new undertaker will be mighty pleased with the amount of work he’s getting.”

  “Stay right there, damn it,” Jason snapped. “I’ll figure out something.”

  At the moment, though, he had no idea what it was going to be.

  A few minutes later, footsteps sounded just outside the office. Jason put his hand on the butt of his Colt and Ward tightened his grip on the rifle in his hands. A knock sounded on the door, and Saul Cohen’s voice called, “It’s your friends, Jason. Let us in.”

  Trying not to sigh in relief, Jason went to the door and swung it open. Saul stood there along with Salmon, Nordstrom, and the other members of the town council. Wash Keough was with the group as well. Each one of the men carried either a rifle or a shotgun.

  “We’ve heard what’s going on,” Saul said, “and we’ve come to help.”

  Jason felt a surge of gratitude toward these men, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t accept what they were offering.

  “I appreciate it, Saul, but you fellas need to go back to your homes and businesses. Taking care of trouble like this is my job, not yours.”

  “And mine,” Ward added.

  “But there are only two of you,” Saul argued. “God knows how many men Dixon will bring to town with him.”

  “However many, we’ll deal with them,” Jason insisted. “Dixon will back down quickly enough when he realizes that I won’t stand for any lawlessness.”

  Rye laughed, and the other gunslingers chuckled.

  Jason spun toward them, his anger getting the better of him for a second. “You don’t seem to understand what you’re looking at here, Rye,” he said. “Dixon may have twenty or thirty men with him. If he doesn’t want to be stopped, I can’t stop him. None of us can.”

  “Twenty or thirty cowhands don’t amount to much,” Rye said. “Even the toughest of them won’t be as good with a gun as all of us are. If there’s any shootin’, Dixon will die first, and when half a dozen more of them have gone down with our lead in them, the rest will quit. You just wait and see.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  Rye shrugged. “Then I reckon we’ll die, but that won’t matter to Dixon, because he’ll be in hell before us. And it’s not like all four of us haven’t gambled our lives before now.”

  Jason knew the gunman was right. The Slash D crew might be a tough, salty bunch, but they were no match for professional killers. Rye probably hadn’t had in mind provoking a showdown quite so soon when he killed Kerby, but now that it was shaping up that way, the hired guns would try to turn that to their advantage. Matt MacDonald hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting Dixon dead; according to everything Matt had said, he just wanted Dixon to leave him alone.

  But Dixon’s death would put an abrupt end to any potential range war, wouldn’t it?

  A memory suddenly entered Jason’s mind, the mental image of Will Dixon. Her father’s death might not end things at all. Will had seemed capable of picking up the gauntlet and continuing the war herself, if the men from the Slash D would follow her. And Jason had a feeling that they would.

  He had a feeling too that the bloodshed had just started.

  The sudden pounding of hoofbeats in the street outside made Jason’s head jerk up. A lot of riders came down the street and stopped in front of the marshal’s office. Ward heard them too, and muttered, “Can’t be the Slash D. Ain’t been time for them to get here.”

  But it was indeed Ezra Dixon’s gravelly voice that bellowed, “Marshal! You in there with them damn killers? Come on out! I’m here to see justice done!”

  Chapter 15

  “At least that settles the question of whether or not we’ll be leaving you and Ward here on your own, Jason,” Saul said with a faint smile. “We’re part of this now.”

  Jason had no choice but to agree with that. He nodded and said, “Be ready for trouble, but nobody starts shooting unless and until I do.”

  “You’re the marshal,” Salmon said.

  That’s right, he was, Jason thought, and it was times like this when he told himself he should have lit that shuck for California when he had the chance!

  But something would have drawn him back here to Fury no matter what he tried to do, he sensed. His destiny and that of this settlement seemed to be inextricably bound up together.

  He started to draw his gun, then decided not to. No point in forcing Dixon to a confrontation any sooner than necessary. Jason took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out of the office, forcing his face to remain set in calm lines.

  Ezra Dixon sat there on a long-legged, rawboned roan horse, leanin
g forward with an outraged expression on his flushed, hatchetlike face. Jason was expecting that, but he was a little surprised to see Will mounted beside her father on the black stallion he had seen her breaking that day on the Slash D. She rode astride like a man, of course—Jason couldn’t imagine her riding any other way—and wore denim trousers and a denim jacket over a homespun shirt. The neck strap of her flat-crowned brown hat was taut under her chin. Her dark hair hung down her back in a long braid.

  And like her father, she wore a holstered revolver and seemed itching to use it.

  Unlike Dixon, though, tears shone in Will’s eyes. They were the only feminine touch about her at the moment.

  Jason didn’t see the cowboy who had gone galloping out of the settlement after the shootout between Rye and Kerby, but half-a-dozen other Slash D hands were with Dixon and Will. They must have been on their way to town when they ran into the messenger bearing news of Kerby’s death. Dixon had probably sent that cowboy galloping on to the ranch to fetch reinforcements.

  Dixon jerked his head in a grim nod and said, “Marshal.” He was holding his temper in check with a visible effort.

  “Mr. Dixon, I won’t beat around the bush,” Jason said. “I know why you’re here. You’ve heard that Ord Kerby was killed in a gunfight—”

  Dixon’s disdainful snort interrupted him. “You call it a gunfight. I call it plain murder. That fella who killed Ord is one of MacDonald’s hired gunhands. Ord was never no match for a snake-blooded skunk like that.”

  “No, he wasn’t,” Jason agreed. “That’s why he shouldn’t have drawn on Rye.”

  “The bastard didn’t give him no choice!”

  “People always have a choice.”

  Dixon let out another contemptuous snort. “If you believe that, boy, you’re even dumber than I thought you were.”

  Jason felt his face growing warm. He told himself it was from anger, not embarrassment. But he didn’t like the way Will was looking at him, like he was the lowliest worm on the face of the earth.

  Of course, he reminded himself, he didn’t have any reason to give a damn what opinion Will Dixon held of him.

  He decided to be blunt. “What is it you want?” he asked Dixon.

  “You know good and well what I want. If you ain’t gonna see that justice is done, I’ll handle it myself.”

  “By stringing up Rye from one of those cottonwoods beside the creek?”

  Dixon sneered. “That’s what a killer like him deserves.”

  “You ordered your men to kill Matt MacDonald and Ward Wanamaker that day you tried to burn down Matt’s house,” Jason pointed out.

  “That’s different, blast it!” Dixon barked. “They was squattin’ on my range. They had it comin’!”

  “In other words, you’re a law unto yourself.” Jason’s tone was scathing now. “Well, not in this settlement, Dixon! You might as well get used to the idea that there’s real law and order in Fury! And there’ll be no lynch mobs here as long as I’m the marshal!”

  Dixon was breathing so hard with rage that his mustaches fluttered a little. His hand edged toward the butt of his gun. “Then maybe it’s time you ain’t the marshal anymore, you high-an’-mighty little—”

  Whatever he was going to call Jason went unvoiced, because at that moment Salmon Kendall stepped out of the building, leveled the rifle in his hands at Dixon, and said in a loud, clear voice, “The only ones who can remove Jason Fury from the job of marshal are me and the town council. In case you didn’t know it, Mr. Dixon, I’m Salmon Kendall, the mayor of this settlement, and I don’t appreciate you comin’ in here and tryin’ to run roughshod over us.”

  “Nor do I,” Saul added as he emerged from the marshal’s office with his shotgun. He introduced himself. “Saul Cohen, owner of the hardware store over there. I could use your business, Mr. Dixon.” He allowed himself a smile. “That’s why I’d hate to have to shoot you.”

  One by one, the other citizens who had come to the marshal’s office to help Jason stepped out of the building, leaving only Ward Wanamaker inside to watch over Rye and the other gunmen. The citizens’ faces were grim and set with determination. Dixon looked from man to man and finally burst out, “Damn it, can’t you see there’s a girl here? She’s liable to get hurt!”

  “You’re the one who brought her with you,” Jason said.

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m a child,” Will snapped. “My father didn’t bring me here. When we heard what had happened to Ord, I wouldn’t let him leave me behind.”

  “That’s right,” Jason recalled. “You and Kerby were sweet on each other. I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Dixon.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake! Ord Kerby may have had a crush on me, but I wasn’t sweet on him. But he was a friend, and more than that, he rode for the Slash D! That’s all that really matters!”

  Jason knew what she meant. Among men who worked with cattle, loyalty to the boss—riding for the brand—was the most important thing of all. A man’s pride and honor were tied up with how he did that. And the boss—and in this case, the boss’s daughter—returned that loyalty.

  Jason looked at Dixon again and said, “We’ve got a standoff here. Maybe you can get past us and get to Rye and the others, but even if you do, then you’ll have them to deal with. There’s a good chance none of you will make it out of here alive, Dixon . . . including your daughter.” He paused, then said, “I don’t want that. I don’t want anybody else to die. One killing is enough for today.”

  “It ain’t right,” Dixon said. “It just ain’t right.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s the way it is. Turn around and ride out of here. Let the law handle this situation.”

  “The law!” Dixon scoffed. “You ain’t gonna do anything to that killer!”

  “Kerby drew first. I hate to be stubborn about it, but those are the plain, simple facts of the matter.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ plain and simple about this.” Dixon chewed on his mustache for a moment, then gave an abrupt nod. “All right,” he said. “If that’s the way it is, then I reckon I know what to do.”

  Jason waited, and when Dixon didn’t say anything else, he blurted out, “What?”

  The rancher narrowed his eyes and said, “Since it’s all right with the law for MacDonald to hire himself some killers, I figure it’ll be all right for me to do the same thing.”

  Jason felt his heart start to pound a little faster. “You don’t want to do that,” he warned. “It’ll just make things worse.”

  “No, I’ll make sure it’s done all legal-like.” Dixon’s laugh was cold as ice. “The fellas I hire won’t draw first. That’s all you care about, ain’t it, Marshal?”

  “This town doesn’t need any more gunslingers—”

  “Well, it’s gonna get ’em! MacDonald wants a real war, I’ll give him a real war, by God!”

  And with that, Dixon wheeled his horse and put the spurs to the roan, sending it leaping ahead in a gallop. He rode out of town with his men following him, dust billowing up from the pounding hooves of their mounts.

  The only one left behind was Will. She stayed where she was, glaring at a dumbfounded Jason. After a moment she said, “You don’t realize what a big mistake you’ve made by protecting those killers, Marshal. I had talked my father into leaving MacDonald alone for the time being. I told him he should wait a while until we had a chance to see how things were going to play out.” She shook her head and went on bitterly. “Well, we’ve seen, all right.”

  “Why would you do that?” Jason asked her. “Why would you get him to lay off MacDonald?”

  “Because I didn’t want to see him get hurt. I didn’t want any of our men hurt. I wasn’t sure MacDonald was worth it. But he’s raised the stakes now, Marshal, and there won’t be any turning back. When my pa says there’ll be war, he means it.”

  Jason didn’t doubt that. But he still thought there might be some way to avoid mass bloodshed, if only he had more time to think of something....

>   “Miss Dixon—” he began.

  Will just shook her head, jerked her horse around, and heeled the big black into a run. She galloped out of town, trailing her father and the hands from the Slash D.

  Jason stared after her, and into the silence Saul said, “Well, that could have gone better, I suppose. But it could have gone worse too. At least nobody else is dead.”

  “Yet,” Jason said. He turned and started toward the door of the marshal’s office. Seeing the look on his face, Saul, Salmon, and the other men got out of his way.

  Rye still straddled the chair. Dupree, Potter, and Sloan stood nearby, their stances casual. Jason stared hard at Rye and said, tight-lipped, “One-hundred-dollar fine for discharging a firearm in town.”

  “Kind of steep, ain’t it?” Rye asked with a grin.

  “The marshal sets the fines,” Salmon said, swinging the barrel of his rifle meaningfully in Rye’s direction, “and the town council backs him up on that. Ain’t that right, boys?”

  “Correct, Mr. Mayor,” Saul said.

  Rye shrugged, never losing his grin. “Sure, whatever you say.” He took five twenty-dollar gold pieces from his pocket and made a neat stack of them on Jason’s desk. “There you go, Marshal. Now I want a receipt saying that I paid in full.”

  Fighting to keep his hands from shaking in anger, Jason wrote out the paper and handed it to Rye. “There. There’s your damn receipt.”

  Rye tucked it in his pocket and said mockingly, “Seems like I’m being a good citizen about this, Marshal. I’m not sure why you’re mad at me.”

  “Stay out of Fury,” Jason snapped. He looked at the other gunnies. “All of you. You’re not welcome in this settlement.”

  “You can’t do that,” Three-Finger Jack Dupree said with a frown. “We got a right—”

  “And the owners of every business in town have a right to refuse your trade,” Saul said. “I can assure you, that’s exactly what they’ll do. So you see, there’s no reason for you to visit this settlement.”