by Ralph Cotton
“So you came here to steal a horse and make your getaway,” Dahl said, finishing his story for him.
Billy looked at the doctor, who stood stroking the dapple’s muzzle, still trying to calm the horse down. “I’m sorry I tried to steal your horse, but I didn’t know what else to do.” He turned back to Dahl. “You won’t turn me in, will you, mister? I swear I didn’t kill the newsman. But they will for sure hang me for it if they get their hands on me.”
Dahl looked him up and down, realizing he was no older than some of the students he’d taught to read and write not so long ago. He pictured the young man standing with an open book in his hands, reading aloud to the class.
“If you broke the law, it’s up to the law to bring you to justice,” Dahl said. He looked off toward the dirt street where the glow of a single lantern flickered in the grainy morning light. “But I’m not turning you over to the law in Kindred . . . not unless I see that there is some real law in Kindred.”
Billy let out a breath of relief, steadying himself with the doctor’s hand on his forearm.
“Mister, I want to tell you everything I heard while I was lying on the floor of that cell,” he said. “Then you be the judge as to whether or not there’s any real law there.”
Dr. Washburn, Sara and Dahl all listened intently while Billy told them what he’d heard. When he’d finished, he stood looking from one face to the other, waiting for a reaction.
Dahl looked at the doctor and said quietly, “I expect now is the time for you to take the womenfolk and go.”
“I’m not going, Sherman,” said Sara. “I’m staying here, with you.”
Washburn saw the look on Dahl’s face and knew this was no place for Sara to be if Dahl turned loose against Kern and his gunmen.
“Sara, for the next few days that woman is going to need the kind of looking-after that only another woman can give,” he said.
“Sherman . . . ?” Sara said, turning her eyes to Dahl.
“Go with the doctor, Sara,” Dahl said quietly. When he turned his eyes to her, she saw a coldness there that she had not seen before. “I don’t want you here,” he said. Offering nothing more on the matter, he turned and walked away in the grainy morning light.
Sara looked to Dr. Washburn for help, for advice, for something. But the doctor only shook his head slightly.
“Stay away from him for now, Sara,” he said. “This is not the time for talking.”
Chapter 17
Out in front of the marshal’s office, Kern faced the crowd of angry and unarmed townsmen. Behind Kern stood the five deputies, each of them holding either a shotgun or a rifle. When the marshal told the townsmen that the young man had gotten away, a roar of curses erupted. Ax handles and pitchforks waved in the grainy morning-light air.
“How in the hell could he possibly get away?” Dan Marlowe asked above the roar of the crowd. “You’ve got five armed deputies!”
“Listen to me, Marlowe, and all the rest of you,” Kern said. “The little bastard got away from us. That’s all I can tell you. He’s as dangerous as a rattlesnake. Look what he did to me!” He tilted his chin up for the townsmen to see.
“If that skinny kid did all that to you, Marshal Kern,” Shaggs the barber called out, “I’m not sure we should give up our guns and rely on you and your deputies for security.” He was one of the few who still had a shotgun in his possession. He held it at port arms.
“That’s a terrible thing to say, barber,” Jason Catlo said, stepping forward beside Kern.
“Easy, Jason,” Kern cautioned him in a whisper. “We still don’t have everybody’s guns yet.”
“Shut up, Kern,” said Jason. “Now that I’m in charge, I’ll show you how to handle these rubes. He stepped toward the barber with a swagger in his walk.
“I don’t want no trouble, Deputy,” Shaggs said, sounding nervous despite the ancient muzzle-loading shotgun in his hand.
“Of course you don’t,” Jason said with his winning smile. “That’s why you’re going to hand me over that gun and keep you mouth shut.”
“Don’t hand it over, Albert!” said Dan Marlowe. “Once it’s gone you’ll never get it back.”
Jason ignored Marlowe and stared at Shaggs with his hands out for the shotgun. “You know you’re breaking the gun law, and you’ve seen what happened to folks who do that. Now give me the gun.”
“No,” said Shaggs, “Marlowe is right. How do we know we’ll ever get these guns back if we need them or if we want to leave town? You lawmen let a murderer escape from you. How will we ever be able to trust—”
Jason cut him short, snatching the shotgun from his hands. “There, now you’re complying with the law,” he said. “You want it back?” He snapped the shotgun butt out, delivering a sharp blow into Shaggs’ face. “There, you’ve got it back.” He stepped forward and stood over the downed barber, who lay in the dirt cupping his bloody nose.
“Want it again?” he asked, drawing the shotgun back as if to deliver another blow.
“No, please!” Shaggs said.
The townsmen stood stunned for a moment. Just as Jason appeared ready to jam the gun butt down into Shaggs’ face again, the sound of a rifle cocking caused him to freeze and look up.
“Is that repeater pointed at me, pilgrim?” Jason asked, shifting his eyes up to where Dahl sat atop his big dun, his Winchester in his right hand leveled down at Jason’s head. Amidst all the commotion, he had walked the dun in between the townsmen without being noticed in the grainy dawn light.
Dahl just stared at Jason Catlow without offering a reply.
Getting no answer unnerved Jason a little. He started to turn the shotgun toward Dahl, but something in the mounted gunman’s demeanor warned him not to. He noted the thick look of Dahl’s corduroy riding duster, how the long coat was buttoned at the collar.
“Marshal, what’s the deal here?” Jason asked warily, keeping his eyes on Dahl as he spoke.
Kern cut in, saying, “I told you not to come into my town armed, Dahl. You’re breaking the law.” He paused for a moment, then said to Jason Catlow and the others, “This is Sherman Dahl. He’s the man who wears the bullet-stopping vest.”
Dahl kept his eyes on Jason Catlo.
“What are you doing here, Fighting Man?” Kern asked in a sarcastic tone.
Fighting Man . . . ? The townsmen stood staring in rapt silence.
“They call him the Teacher,” whispered Stevens the mercantile owner. “I’ve heard of him.”
“I came here to report a murder and a rape, if you’re all through beating up your local citizens,” Dahl said quietly.
“A murder and a rape? In my town?” Kern said, speaking loud enough to make sure the townsmen heard him. “You must be out of your mind. With our new gun law, that sort of thing won’t be happening here ever again.”
The townsmen gave each other skeptical looks. Dahl still had his rifle aimed at Jason Catlo, but was careful to keep the rest of the deputies in his peripheral vision.
“Not only did it happen here in Kindred, Marshal,” he said. “It was your deputies who did it.”
“Hey, hold on just a damn minute,” said Tribold Cooper. He and Denton Bender looked genuinely surprised. Philbert and Buck the Mule Jennings tried their best to be equally stunned by the news. But Dahl saw through them.
“You’re making a damn strong accusation, mister,” Jason said, still looking up the bore of the cocked rifle at a man who so far refused to say a word to him. Something about Dahl ignoring him had him more than just a little unsettled.
“Who are you saying this murder and raped happened to, Dahl?” Kern asked, needing to prove his concern to the townsmen.
“A couple by the name of Charles and Celia Knox,” said Dahl. “Your deputies killed Charles Knox. They tried to kill his wife, Celia, but they failed.”
He stared at Jason, his hand steady on the cocked rifle. “After they raped her, one of them shot her in the back. But she managed to make it here, to t
he doctor’s.” He gestured a nod and said poker-faced, “She’s at the widow’s shack recuperating right now.”
“He’s lying,” Philbert said, not wanting to get too bold, while Dahl aimed the cocked Winchester at his brother’s face. He and Buck the Mule looked over in the direction of the widow’s shack.
“As soon as she’s able, I’ll bring her over here, Marshal,” Dahl said. “She said she’ll identify the men who did it.”
“Marshal, what’s this man saying?” Walter Stevens demanded.
“You’ve heard everything I’ve heard, storekeeper,” Kern said. He nodded toward Dahl and said, “If something like that happened in my town, I’d want to hear about it now. I’ll crucify the men who done it.”
Dahl ignored the marshal. He looked at the shotgun in Jason Catlo’s hand and said, “Put it in the dirt.”
Something about Dahl’s tone of voice caused Catlo to do as he was told.
Dahl backed his dun up a step and said, “The next time you hear me cock a hammer will be the last time you hear me cock a hammer.”
The marshal, the deputies and the townsmen all stood watching as Dahl turned the dun around and rode away in the lingering swirl of grainy silver light.
“What the hell was that all about?” Dan Marlowe asked Kern.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it, you bet your shaving mug,” said Kern. “Meanwhile,” he said, turning his gaze to the rest of the townsmen, “you need to all go home and get ready for work. My deputies and I have to get started catching Ed Dandly’s killer.”
In the crowded buggy, Dr. Washburn and Sara sat with Celia Knox lying back on the seat between them. Billy Nichols limped along beside the slow-moving buggy, a hand resting on the side rail to steady himself.
As the buggy turned onto a trail leading toward the shelter of surrounding hills, Washburn stopped for a moment and looked back on Kindred in the shadowy light.
“As soon as we get ourselves out of sight, I’ll trade you my seat for a while,” he said to Billy. “Long enough to rest that bad foot of yours.”
“Obliged, Doctor,” said Billy. “But I’m doing all right here. I’ll walk as far as I have to, so long as it gets me away from this place.”
“Kindred’s not a bad town, young man,” Dr. Washburn said. “The folks there are no different from folks everywhere. You can’t blame them for getting upset, thinking you killed one of their own.”
“I don’t blame them, Doctor,” said Billy, “but I don’t want to hang for something I didn’t do either.” He paused for a moment and then lowered his head and said, “Although, I have to admit, if I hadn’t gone to the man’s office with ill intent, I wouldn’t have gotten caught up in all this to begin with.”
“It’s good that you see that,” the old doctor said quietly.
“I not only see it, Doctor,” Billy said, “I’m feeling terrible over it. I went there to rob that man. I was carrying a club. Who can say I wouldn’t have killed him had he tried to put up a fight?”
Sara sat listening quietly, Celia half cradled in her arms as the horse pulled the buggy slowly onward.
“Be thankful that things didn’t happen that way, young man,” said the doctor. “And be thankful that you’ve got enough of a conscience to feel bad about it.”
“Oh, I’ve got a conscience, Doctor,” Billy said, “and believe me, it’s bothering me something fierce.” He looked back toward Kindred as the buggy ambled on toward the hill trails. “First I think how bad it would be to hang for something I’m innocent of doing. But then I think how much worse it would be for my immortal soul if I hung for something I was guilty of.”
“It’s not often I hear a man as young as you concerned about his immortal soul,” the doctor said. “I see somewhere along the way, you received some good upbringing.”
“Yes, sir, Doctor, I did,” said Billy. “I was raised by Christian Illinois folks for a while after my parents died. They taught me right from wrong.” He looked back again toward Kindred.
“What is it you’re thinking, Billy?” Dr. Washburn asked, seeing the troubled look on his face.
“Nothing,” Billy said. He turned back toward the trail ahead of them and limped on.
But less than an hour later, Sara glanced down alongside the wagon and noticed that Billy Nichols was nowhere to be seen.
“Yep, he’s gone, Sara,” the doctor said, not appearing surprised as he guided the buggy along the rocky trail.
“This doesn’t seem like something an innocent man would do, running off like that,” she said.
“It depends on what he’s innocent of,” the doctor said, turning to her. “Depends on what he’s running from and what he’s running to.”
The townsmen that had gathered on the main dirt street of Kindred had returned to their homes and businesses to start the day, and the commotion of the early morning had finally ceased. Kern sat inside the marshal’s office beside his four deputies, grappling with his recent loss of control. In spite of the fact that Jason Catlo had pistol-whipped Kern and taken over the operation for the most part, the marshal still had a stake in the game.
“Murder and rape . . . ?” Kern said flatly to Jason Catlo.
“Don’t go making a big thing out of it,” Jason said with a shrug. “We met the couple on the trail coming here. Things got a little out of hand.”
“Jesus . . .” Kern shook his head.
Philbert chuckled and put an arm up around Kern’s shoulder. “Don’t you wish you asked for letters of reference? ʺ
“I’ll know better next time,” Kern said, staring at him.
“Maybe you Catlos and your idiot friend here think this is funny,” Tribold Cooper chimed in, “but Bender and I have a lot on the line. We’re not laughing.” He held a hand resting on his gun butt.
“What’d you call me?” said Jennings with a dark glower on his face.
“Easy, Buck the Mule,” said Philbert, raising a hand toward the crooked-necked gunman. “Cooper, we can fix this Dahl fellow’s clock any time we take a notion to. You heard him, the woman’s just over at the edge of town. We can walk over, kill the woman and him too while we’re there.”
“Didn’t you hear the townsman say who this Dahl fellow is?” Bender questioned. “He’s the one they call the Teacher.”
“Uhhh, the Teacher!” Philbert said with widened mocking eyes. “All right, I admit, that does scare the hell out of me.” He paused for a moment and grinned. “But I can’t get too rattled over a man who wears a bullet-stopping vest—”
Jason cut in. “He told us the woman is alive and waiting to identify us so we’d come to kill her. He wants a fight. You have to admire that quality in the man.” He looked at Philbert, then at Jennings, waiting for a response.
“So we’ll go kill him and be done with it?” Philbert asked, shrugging again.
“Yep, we will,” said Jason.
“Even though the Knox woman might not even be alive?” Philbert asked. “She looked awfully dead when we saw her.”
“What are you talking about?” Jason shot him a look. “When did you see her?” he asked.
“Buck the Mule and I saw her on a gurney at the doctor’s office,” Philbert said.
“And you never mentioned it?” asked Jason.
“We would have,” said Philbert, “but we haven’t had a chance. There’s been so much going on here.”
“Damn it,” said Jason.
“The doctor had already dropped a sheet over her face and pronounced her dead,” said Philbert. “We didn’t figure it was worth worrying about.”
“Hold it, what’s this?” Bender said, looking out the dusty front window. As sunlight wreathed the horizon, four riders nudged their horses along the dirt street toward the marshal’s office.
“That’s Harry Whitesides and his cousins,” said Kern. He almost let out a breath of relief.
“Yeah?” said Jason. “Who’s the fourth man?”
“Beats me,” said Kern. �
�Whoever it is, I’m betting he hasn’t raped and murdered anybody on his way here.” He gave Philbert a scorching look.
All five gunmen crowded near the window, looking out at the approaching men.
“If the woman is alive, we’re still going to go kill her, aren’t we?” Jennings asked Jason Catlo, excitement in his voice.
“Hold your socks, Buck the Mule,” Jason said. “We’ll kill her and the Teacher soon enough. Let’s get this payroll deal taken care of first.”
PART 3
Chapter 18
Councilman Lyndon Matheson stood before a group of troubled townsmen who had gathered privately in the Great Western Bank and Trust building.
“Gentlemen,” said Matheson, “I think we’ve seen enough out of our new marshal and these thugs he calls his deputies. I propose we set into motion the proper procedure for repealing this law by whatever democratic means—”
“Stop all the jawing,” said Fannin, cutting the councilman off. “You said so yourself that it would be a long and complicated process getting this law stricken off the books.”
“Meanwhile, Kern and his bullies will continue to ride roughshod over us. They do whatever suits them. We can’t stop them,” said Shaggs.
“Gentlemen,” said Matheson, “we must follow the rule of law. Yes, the law is slow-moving and ofttimes highly suspect and questionable. But let’s remind ourselves that we are not uncivilized creatures of the—”
“Shut the hell up!” shouted Stevens. “That’s the same kind of oily politician talk that got the gun law voted in to begin with.”
“It’s the voice of prudence and reason,” Matheson persisted. “And I’m proud to say that I adhere to it.”
“It’s the voice of soft soap and bullshit!” said Fannin. “I wish you’d choke on it.”
“Gentlemen, please!” said Stevens. “Fighting among ourselves isn’t going to help. We all believe in the law. But the law is not infallible. This time it was wrong. We voted in a bad law—we’ve just witnessed firsthand how rotten the law can be if we the people don’t have the guts or the guns to keep it working for us instead of against us!”
