by Unknown
Not knowing how fast the stranger was with a gun, Adam had already decided to take him first. His gun was just coming up when Adam shot him.
Talley was fast . . . but too fast for his own good. He neglected to take the minuscule of a second that might have made the difference between living and dying—although no one would ever know. His bullet splintered wood less than a dozen feet from where Adam was standing. But Adam's shot hit the target.
The first time he had strapped on a gun, his father had told him, "Regardless how fast you draw, always make the first shot count because you may never get another."
Adam wasn't going to need another.
Luther fell against the side of the building and his gun went off at his feet. His shoulder against the wall, his knees buckled and he fell against the boarded walkway.
For a moment, Adam stood very still. He was keenly aware of the acrid smell of gun smoke. There was a faint sound of a dog barking, then he became conscious of voices, gradually becoming louder and louder.
Numbly—although everyone gathering around considered his actions cool and detached —he thumbed cartridges back into his Colt and walked toward Talley. Even though the man had killed his friend, and had apparently been hired to kill him, he found it reassuring that he actually felt a pang of regret that two men had just died by his hand. He had always vowed if or when he became complacent about taking a human life, that was the time to consider hanging up his guns. He was aware of voices buzzing but he tried to ignore them.
"Did you see how fast he drew?"
"Yeah, but that other man was faster."
"Yep, I guess he is. That's why he's dead and the deputy is still standing! Pay me the two dollars you owe me."
"I never thought we'd see a gunfight on the streets of Doughtery! What's the world coming to?"
Ignoring them, Adam was stopped by the undertaker. Licking the pencil point, then holding it over a writing pad, he asked in a dry, monotone voice, "Marshal Cahill, what do you want me to do with the bodies? I have some lovely satin lined boxes that were just built last night. Since there are two bodies involved, I can offer you a better price. Or, if you prefer, I do carry the standard ..."
Adam curtly told him. "If they have it on them, take five dollars from their personal effects for your charges. If it buys a satin-lined box, fine; if not, bury them in a plain pine box. However, if they don't have the money on them, you will have to submit a bill to me and I will forward it to the marshal's main office in Fort Smith."
Disappointment swept over the man's face as he angrily crammed the writing pad into his coat pocket. "What do you want me to do with their personal effects? Usually, I take care of such details . . ."
Adam had a hunch this particular undertaker was as crooked as a fence nail. It required little imagination to think how he took care of such details. "I will have to confiscate any personal items as soon as they're removed from their bodies.'’ He gestured toward Talley. "This man was involved in several bank robberies and anything of value he has—except personal property, which will be forwarded to next of kin —will go toward the losses the banks suffered. I don't know the other man's identity, I'll let you know for your records as soon as I learn it. But anything of value he owns will be held by the marshal's office. If unclaimed after a certain length of time, it will be seized by the state." Adam gave him a withering glare. "Now that we have that settled, I'd appreciate it if you would have their bodies removed from the street so I can attend to some other pressing business."
Whenever there was a shooting that involved loss of life, a report had to be filed as quickly as possible with the main office. Adam wanted to get it out of the way so he could devote his time to other matters. He was very curious who had hired these men to kill him, and hoped there would be something in their personal effects that would lend a clue. Since they had failed, would the man or men responsible try again? Probably. He doubted if they would give up so easily.
One thing was certain. This job was getting too much for one man to handle. Suddenly, he was extremely grateful that the other deputies were due to arrive that day. He did not mind admitting he needed their help.
Chapter 23
Tired and hungry, Adam propped his elbows on the table, gave the waitress his order and requested hot coffee before his meal. He took a deep breath then settled back in the chair to wait. He found it difficult to believe so much had happened that morning and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet.
After the shoot-out with Luther Talley and the other man, he had broken up three fights, received four complaints of disturbing the peace —which soon proved to be of no serious consequence — stopped a runaway horse, chased away three children watching the grisly procedures taking place through the window of the funeral parlor, and arrested one man who had gotten drunk and begun shooting out store windows. Luckily, no one had been injured. Considering the fact he had not gotten much sleep in the past few nights and not eaten since the previous day, he was also exhausted and his patience had just about been stretched to its limit.
Not able to think of any other plausible reason for all of the petty annoyances, Adam finally decided the entire population of Doughtery must have been affected by the recent change of the moon. He knew there were many people who were superstitious about things such as planting and harvesting crops, weaning babies, putting hens on the nest to set —almost everything imaginable — during different phases of the moon, and on days like this he was inclined to agree with them.
A small boy, his face ashen, his eyes so wide they looked about ready to pop out of his head, burst through the restaurant door, slid to a stop, then ran to Adam the moment he spied him. "Deputy! Deputy! Two men just got off the train and they sent me to fetch you! They said to tell you that they're waiting at the depot for you . . . and you had better come packing a gun! Are you going to shoot 'em, Deputy? Huh? Are you? Like you shot those men this morning?" He smacked his fist against his open hand. "Boy howdy, if I had me a gun, I’d help you, I wouldn't hide and watch like I did before!"
Anger immediately swept over Adam at the thought that the little boy's parents would allow him to watch something like that. "Listen to me, young man," he said, his voice stern as he gently yet firmly grasped the boy by his shoulders. "You remember those men and how they died on a dirty sidewalk ... all alone. They died because they had no respect for the law or for other people's property. They thought guns were the answer to all of their boyish dreams. One of these days you will be old enough to pick up a gun . . . and if you decide to shoot at a man, just remember that he will probably shoot back. Then you might be the man dying on a dirty sidewalk. You might be the man buried in a pine box in an unmarked grave on a lonely hillside, with no one to shed a tear for you."
"But . . . but ... I plan on being real fast . . . just like you."
Adam's expression became even more somber. "There is someone out there who is faster than me . . . just like there will be someone who is faster than you. In my case though, I just haven't met him yet. Now, you run on home and think about what I said, think about it very carefully."
When would they ever learn there was a better way to live than by the gun? Adam wondered as the little boy ducked his head and slowly left the restaurant.
He placed his hat on his head, pushed his chair back and walked outside into the bright sunlight.
Already, people had started to cluster into groups. It was as though they smelled the coppery scent of blood in the air, and like so many wild predators, were just waiting eagerly for the kill before they pounced to devour the victim. Adam noticed cynically that there were as many women as men congregated about. Apparently they were as enthusiastic to see blood run as the men. The sight of all their anxious, overly zealous expressions made him hurry his steps. Suddenly, he preferred to face the two gunmen rather than be scrutinized by all of them for a moment longer than necessary.
Stepping up on the sturdy depot plat
form, Adam saw no one lurking about, but he immediately noticed the door to his office standing wide open. Drawing his guns, he cautiously approached the door.
One man was sitting, leaning back in the swivel chair with his feet propped up on Adam's desk, his hat pulled forward partially covering his eyes. The other man was busy building a small fire in the potbellied stove.
The man at the desk pushed his hat back with his fingertip and drawled slowly, "Heard you were needing a couple of deputies in the worst way. Matthew and I decided we might ought to come and bail you out of trouble . . . again. "
"Seth! Matthew!" He grasped their hands in a hardy shake. "You ornery ... I didn't expect you until this afternoon. When that little boy told me two mean, ugly-looking men were waiting for me, I left the restaurant without waiting for my breakfast!"
"Breakfast?" the two men chorused in amused unison.
"At this time of day?" Seth asked, laughing. "What have you been doing, keeping banker's hours? And how come you expected us? The judge didn't tell us we were coming until the last minute."
Adam sighed, pretending exasperation. "I meant, I didn't expect any deputies until this afternoon, and I certainly didn't expect my two younger brothers. And as for having breakfast this time of day, I've been too busy to eat." He grinned to take the sting out of his words. "So, I don't want any smart lip out of either of you!"
Matthew shook the empty coffee pot that had been on the back of the stove. "Now that I have a fire built, do you have anything to go in this?"
"Yeah, there's a bucket of water, it might be a little stale though, and there is a sack of coffee in that bottom desk drawer ... if we can persuade Seth to move." Not giving Seth time to move,
Adam simply shoved his legs out of the way, not meanly or cruelly, but in a jostling manner that indicated the strong affection they all felt for each other. "Matthew, how is Martha doing?"
"Just fine. She sends her best. She also said you could write every now and then ... at least to let us know if you were still alive. "
Seth spoke up, "But he isn't telling you the best part. We should be uncles in another month or two." He noticed the startled but pleased expression on Adam's face. "If you ever picked up your mail when you went to Fort Smith, maybe you would know more about what is happening in the family."
Ignoring his brother's caustic remark, Adam smiled and nodded at Matthew. "Congratulations, you and Martha will make good parents, and I wish you all the best in the world." There was much more he wanted to say, but decided to wait until he could get his kid brother alone. Now that Matthew was about to be a father, maybe he could persuade him to take his and Seth's advice and study law. They had been trying to convince him to do that ever since he and Martha married. Being a deputy was no life for a family man. "Since I seldom pick up my mail, either one of you want to tell me what else has been going on in the family?"
While the coffee brewed, they all sat down and talked. Then as usual whenever they got together, they began reminiscing about their childhood and all of the practical jokes they used to play on each other, and how they always seemed to backfire.
"I still have the scar on my leg from that time I decided to burn you two at the stake," Matthew said, pulling up his pants leg to show them.
Adam laughed, "Yeah, you were a mean little turd and it served you right. But I think we all have scars. For instance, that time Seth bet me I couldn’t rope a longhorn. I showed him I could, but when that old mossy-horned devil started dragging me, it took at least a half of a mile for me to realize I could turn loose of the rope."
"Yeah, and remember when I snuck Papa's gun and I ended up shooting off my big toe." Seth shook his head. "It's a wonder we didn't kill ourselves."
Adam glanced at Matthew, winked, then grinned as he got the cups and poured the coffee. "We always figured you shot your toe off deliberately so you wouldn't have to help dig that water well."
Seth guffawed. "If you think I'm going to admit to anything now, you're both loco. But, if you'll recall, my toe suddenly took a turn for the better as soon as the well was finished."
Adam nodded complacently then cradled his hands around his coffee cup. "As much as I've enjoyed this, I think it's time we got down to business." Turning to look through the bars at the drunk who had passed out and was snoring in a steady rhythm, Adam, being a naturally cautious man, motioned for them to keep their voices low. "There is quite a bit going on here that you need to know ... in fact, so much I really don't know where to start."
Matthew said, "About the only thing the judge told us was that you had walked into a hornet's nest. So, I suppose you ought to start at the beginning, and if we have any questions we can always ask, right, Seth?"
"Right."
In spite of the seriousness of the situation and the danger involved, Adam smiled at Matthew's phrasing. Blair immediately came to mind. "Well, yes," he drawled slowly, "I suppose you could say I walked into a hornet's nest. Although, I’m still trying to figure out whether I was stung or not."
Adam then started at the beginning, telling them everything that had happened since he began trailing Luther Talley and his gang-everything other than what related to his personal life and his feelings about Blair. For the time being, that was much too private to share, there was still an uncertainty about their relationship. Matthew wouldn't say a word, but Seth would tease him unmercifully if he knew his eldest brother had fallen in love, especially after listening to his many lectures about how women and badges did not mix.
Adam also told them his suspicions: who he thought was behind the trouble and why, whom to watch out for, and the men they could probably trust. He summed it up by telling them about facing Luther Talley in a gunfight, and how he learned someone had put a price on his head, but there had been no clues in either man's personal effects that could lead to the man's identity.
Adam looked at his brothers. "Do either of you have any questions?"
Seth glanced at Matthew then slowly shook his head. "No, I think you fairly well covered everything. I do have a suggestion, though. You look dead on your feet. Why don't you go to the hotel and try to get some sleep. If trouble develops, your reflexes will be too slow if you don't. Me and Matthew can handle anything that might come up."
Adam considered his offer. "I think I will . . . after I get a bite to eat." His eyes narrowed
thoughtfully. "But first, I might have an idea . . . that if we manage it right, it could prove to be very beneficial. Feel free to tell me what you think."
"We're listening."
He glanced around again at the drunk. Satisfied that the man was still asleep, Adam began, "Since neither of you has been in this area before, no one knows you are lawmen, unless someone on the train . . ."
Matthew shook his head. "I seriously doubt if we were recognized. We don't advertize the fact that we are deputies, unless trouble arises or if we feel it's necessary when we reach our destination. So, I think it is safe to assume no one knows we are lawmen. Now, what's your idea?"
"Seth, what do you think about pretending to be just passing through ... or a gambler ... or maybe a gun that could be hired if the price was right?"
"If you're suggesting that I be an inside man, I think it is something we should certainly consider."
Matthew agreed. "I do, too, but it sounds awfully dangerous. Why not let me do it, though? Or, are you still trying to protect your little brother?" He stared at Adam in waiting silence.
"No. Before you start complaining about it being dangerous, just remember what I told you about there being a price on my head. Since you are a deputy, there could be one on your head by nightfall. The reason I suggested Seth is because there is less family resemblance . . . and he is faster and more accurate with a gun than you. Now ... do you have any other objections?" Adam asked a bit too curtly. Brother or not, he wasn't going to have his authority questioned— even if Matthew's protest did have a ring of truth
to it.
"No."
"Since the two of you arrived together, Seth could tell it around town that he was kicked off the train for gambling. When he protested, there was a fight and you arrested him. Seth, I could even give you a receipt to prove you posted your bail—and if you showed it around and perhaps complained a bit too loud, it would make the story more believable," He sighed wearily and rubbed his face. "Of course that cover story just came off the top of my head, and if either of you can come up with something better, be my guest. But I do think the basic idea is a good one."
Seth walked over to the stove and poured himself another cup of coffee. "Adam, I think so, too, and the cover story sounds fine . . ." His voice broke off sharply when a young woman came charging through the door, looking angry enough to spit nails.
Blair placed her hands on her slender hips; her voice was like chips of ice and her eyes even colder. "Adam Cahill, I am so furious I may never speak to you again . . . even if I live to be a white-headed old woman!"
"Blair!" Adam exclaimed, his eyes widening momentarily at her anger. He stood and started toward her. "What are you doing here . . . ?" Then he stopped abruptly and visibly stiffened when Tom Bastrop walked inside, crossed his arms and leaned indolently against the door frame. Tom's mouth was twisted into a leering grin that Adam was positive only he could see.
"After what you did . . . you have the nerve to ask me what I am doing here? Why you, egotistical . . . inconsiderate . . ."
Adam raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "What in the world did I do?"
"It's what you didn't do!" She glared at him with vengeance. "Do you have any idea how Warren and I felt when we heard those gunshots? How long we waited in that hotel room . . . not knowing if you had been gunned down? How each tick of his watch made me think that you were dead! My God, Adam, I was frantic! I tried to get Warren to go find out what happened but he refused to leave us unguarded. But I honestly believe he thought it might have been a ruse to ... "
