EDGE: The Day Democracy Died

by George G. Gilman

  ‘A while could be long enough get Stanton and his crowd off Democracy’s back, feller.’ She sighed. ‘Then again, maybe you and Conrad’ll get hung and nothin’ won’t be changed. Meek’s headin’ for the meetin’.’

  ‘All the big wheels are over there,’ Power said from the doorway of the room. ‘But I reckon we can count on Sam Flint and Mai Tillson not backing the gent.’

  The Negro still had the shotgun. As he leaned against the doorframe he fed fresh cartridges into the breeches and snapped the weapon closed.

  This feller figures he owes you for savin’ his life, Conrad,’ the whore said, turning her back on the window to watch as Edge stepped from the tub and began to towel himself dry.

  Power gave a dismissing wave of his hand. ‘Ain’t nobody owes nobody nothin’. I guess a man like you got payment in advance from Dan Warren, uh?’

  ‘Guess again, feller.’

  The Negro blinked. Then I don’t get it, mister. Why’d you kill them deputies out at the way station then come into town to rile up the gent?’

  ‘Maybe he’s just a natural born troublemaker, Conrad,’ Fay Reeves suggested flatly. ‘He sure enough kills without turnin’ a hair.’

  Edge had pulled on his red underwear and now sat on the bed to don his pants and shirt. ‘Don’t make it,’ he corrected evenly. ‘Find it or it finds me.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know what’s happenin’ in this town?’ Power asked, startled.

  Edge put on his boots and buckled the gunbelt about his waist. Then he leaned the Winchester against the bed and spread himself out on top of the covers. ‘I figure you’ll tell me, feller. At the drop of a hat.’

  He reached for his hat on one of the chairs and placed it over his face.

  ‘He’s ready to listen,’ the whore said.

  ‘Watch the town hall,’ Power snapped, and stepped across the threshold, swinging the door closed behind him.

  The draught which billowed the blanket at the window was abruptly stopped. But it was still very cold in the room.

  ‘This used to be a nice, smooth runnin’ town, mister,’ the Negro began. ‘More or less owned by Louis Warren, Dan’s old man. I was born and raised here, like most other folk in Democracy today. It was always a good place to live in. Until Louis Warren died of the old age and a few folks started to stir the shit. Frank Snyder did most of the stirrin’. And he found plenty of help to push the bill of goods he was sellin’.

  ‘You listenin’ to me, mister?’

  ‘I owe you,’ Edge muttered into the darkness of his hat. ‘Listening to hear the size of the debt.’

  ‘Have it your way.’

  ‘Usually do, feller.’

  The whore spat. Edge heard the globule of moisture hit the floor, but there was no sound of her shoe spreading the wet.

  ‘Snyder’s the owner of the local dry goods business here in town,’ Power went on. ‘Always has been a fancy talker. Him and Amos Meek, the mortician, Harry Grant and Silas McQuigg who run the livery and blacksmith and Jay Bailey, the barber, they been poker-playin’ buddies from way back. Soon as old Louis Warren kicked the bucket, they didn’t play much poker any more. Had Stanton and Larry Swan to join their group at the corner table in the hotel saloon every night. Swan’s the banker here in Democracy, did I tell you that?’

  ‘You did now.’

  ‘Anyway, it was talk they’d get together for. Snyder did most of it at first. But, pretty soon, they was all havin’ their pieces to say. Exceptin’ for Stanton. He ain’t never been one much for words.’

  ‘Maybe they should have invited you instead of the sheriff,’ Edge said wryly.

  ‘All right, I’m gettin’ to the point, mister,’ Power growled peevishly. ‘Just fillin’ you in on the background. Upshot of all this talkin’ was that Frank Snyder and the others decided to run against the town council at the next election. First time it’s ever been done. Only time before anyone new got on the council was when one of the councilors died.’

  ‘How’d this town get to be called Democracy?’ Edge asked rhetorically.

  There was a roar in the meeting hall across the intersection, muted by walls and distance. Then the group became quiet again.

  ‘Louis Warren called it that when he built it,’ Power answered quickly. ‘First he staked out claim to his range and then he started the town. Left it up to the folks who came how they wanted to run the place. And the folks elected the town council without making no plans to change it. And, like I told you, it ran smooth and nice up until old man Warren died. Folks minded their own business and Stanton had the easiest job in the whole US of A. On account of there was never no trouble here.’

  ‘You’ve probably seen his lousy paintin’s spread all over town, feller,’ Fay Reeves muttered. ‘All he had to fill his time with.’

  ‘Made an art out of doing nothing, uh?’ the half-breed said.

  ‘Seems like he was just bidin’ his time, waitin’ for somethin’ to happen,’ the Negro supplied. ‘And somethin’ sure happened when Snyder and his buddies put it around that Dan Warren and his wife didn’t have no right to take over where old Louis left off.’ He paused. ‘You sure that Warren didn’t tell you none of this, mister?’

  ‘Was too busy - protecting his good name and staying alive.’

  ‘This feller don’t need tellin’ anythin’ twice, Conrad,’ the whore reminded. ‘I reckon the meetin’ll be over pretty soon.’

  ‘Frig the meetin’,’ Power rasped. ‘Won’t none of them fancy talkers tangle with us. They’ll wait for the gent to bring in guns in place of them that’s dead. That’s what the meetin’s for. That’s the point of it.’

  ‘Taking as long to get to it as you are, feller,’ the half-breed prompted.

  ‘Sure. Sure. All right. Election time was comin’ up. Same as it does every four years. In the past, was always done on a show of hands. Whole town gathered in the square outside the hotel. Old Louis Warren was always around. Asked if folks wanted the same council as before. Everyone put up his hand. Then came into the saloon to drink free - old man Warren pickin’ up the tab. All nice and smooth. But this time, Snyder and his bunch put it around they was goin’, to stand against Lovejoy and the others on the council. And they made lots of promises about what they was goin’ to do when they got elected.’

  ‘That bastard Stanton’s left the meetin’,’ the whore reported from the window. ‘Looks like he’s goin’ … yeah, he’s headed for the telegraph office.’

  ‘Folks laughed in their faces at first,’ Power hurried on. ‘But then they got to thinkin’ and a lot of them reckoned Snyder was makin’ good sense.’

  ‘Everyone’s leavin’,’ Fay Reeves broke in. ‘Yeah, the meetin’s over. All goin’ home, looks like. Tillson and Flint as well. Maybe you ain’t got nobody except this feller, Conrad.’

  ‘Time’ll tell,’ the Negro countered. ‘Anyway, mister, what won folks over was Snyder’s promise to take the Big-B spread away from Dan Warren and sell sections of it to anyone who wanted them - dirt cheap. Larry Swan was gonna put up the cash for loans and give the interest to the town. And the town was gonna use the interest money to build a new school, a canning plant, an infirmary and all things like that.’

  ‘And a new marker naming the town Utopia?’ Edge muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Utopia.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘So forget it. Nobody ever does.’

  ‘Folks liked what Snyder and his bunch were tell in’ them. But they’d had a lot of respect for old man Warren and they didn’t have no reason to want to screw his son. So Snyder changed his ideas around a bit. And he got Swan to back him in offerin’ Dan seventy-five grand for the Big-B.’

  ‘Stanton’s through at the telegraph office,’ Fay Reeves said dully. ‘Goin’ back to his place. Everyone else is already bedded down again, looks like.’

  ‘Told you they wouldn’t do nothin’ tonight,’ Power reminded. ‘Crazy price for God knows how many acres
of the only decent grazin’ and farmin’ land in Carroll County. And Dan told them he wasn’t gonna sell at any price, anyways. Which was when Swan rode stage all the way across to the state capital at Lincoln and checked the records. Found out old man Warren never registered his claim to the Big-B.’

  Power’s voice suddenly took on a strange tone of vehement sadness. ‘And folks that had always believed a man could pay for what was his in sweat and toil figured they could change their mind. Didn’t do nothin’ to help either way. Just stood by and watched while the Snyder bunch took Stanton’s hired guns out to the Big-B and run off Dan and Laura Warren. Then got drunk downstairs. Free. With Frank Snyder pickin’ up the tab this time.’

  ‘So you needn’t get no sleepless nights about killin’ the deputies, feller,’ the whore muttered. ‘Not that you would, I figure. But they were all nothin’ but fast guns for hire until that bastard Stanton brought them to Democracy and gave them badges.’ Then she vented a short, harsh laugh. ‘Same as you, I guess. Only you ain’t hired and you ain’t got a badge.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, Fay,’ Power said flatly, without rancor. ‘Pay no attention to her, Edge.’

  ‘I’m paying nothing to her, feller,’ the half-breed answered. ‘Which is why she doesn’t like me, I figure.’

  ‘I’m almost through,’ Power hurried on, as the whore scowled and seemed about to snap an angry retort. ‘Dan and Laura moved into the Palace and did their best to stir up folks against the Snyder bunch. But weren’t hardly anybody would listen. On account of most were too busy gettin’ money from the bank and fencin’ off their sections of the Big-B.’

  ‘Who else listened, feller - apart from you and the whore?’

  ‘Count me out, feller!’ Fay Reeves snapped. ‘I told you already, I’m neutral.’

  ‘The schoolteacher, Tillson. And the Reverend Flint,’ the Negro answered, glowering at the sullen-faced woman. ‘They figured the same as the Warrens and me. Snyder and his bunch ain’t in this for nothin’ ’ceptin’ their own good. If they’re let alone to get what they want, won’t be anyone in Democracy and the whole of Carroll County who ain’t in hock to this town for their mortgage. That time comes, the Snyder bunch’ll be rulers of the whole friggin’ roost. And that time’ll be a hell of a lot nearer if Snyder and his crowd win the election day after tomorrow.’

  The black man sighed ruefully. ‘I sure thought you was workin’ for the Warrens when you came to town, mister.’

  ‘Just didn’t want to be wanted, feller - especially by the law. Your mistake. Everyone makes them from time to time.’

  ‘Even you?’ Fay Reeves growled.

  ‘No one’s perfect, lady. Same as no one can take on a whole town if everybody else in it is set on doing what they want to do. No two people. Or even four, if the schoolteacher and the padre are willing to do more than attend meetings.’

  He raised the brim of his hat to look through the cold and moonlit air of the room at Power. The black man was leaning his back against the door, gripping the shotgun tightly in both hands. An angry frown appeared suddenly on the handsome face of the young Negro.

  ‘What the hell you figure the Warrens plan to do, mister?’ he snarled. ‘Just take the money and run? Well, they don’t. I helped them bust into the bank last night. And I was for them takin’ every cent. But they wouldn’t. Just the seventy-five grand they was offered for their place. And they’re gonna use that money to get help.’ The anger drained out of him and disappointment was spread across his face in its place. ‘Man, I really thought you was the first of it. That’s what I told the mayor and Maggie Woodward. And they was all fired up because of what I told them. Same as a lot of other folks’ll be ready to make a stand against the Snyder bunch if they got backin’.’

  ‘Which other folks?’ Edge posed, hiding his face with his hat again.

  ‘Them that ain’t got no interest in claim jumpin’, mister. Storekeepers and merchants. Folks like me who own places here in town. Started them up themselves or took over them when their parents died. They can see - a lot of them - that the Snyder bunch won’t stop at taking the Big-B range. When they got that all sewn up, they’ll start in on property here in Democracy. But they’re too scared to do anythin’ about it right now. Same as the Snyder bunch was too scared before Stanton brought in them gunslingers and deputized them.’

  ‘Same as Conrad’s scared now,’ the whore said lightly.

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ the Negro snarled, and there was viciousness in his tone now.

  ‘What’ll you do if I won’t?’ she countered in the same tone. ‘You and everyone else in this stinkin’ town make me sick to my stomach. All of you talk up a storm, but ain’t none of you make a move until you got some stranger’s muscle to hide behind. And what d’you do when the muscle’s dead or won’t help you no more? Go back to bein’ the yellow jellies you was before the muscle showed up, that’s what!’

  Her heels rapped rapidly against the floor, counter-pointing the rustle of her gown, as she flounced across the room. She wrenched open the door and glared back towards the half-breed stretched out on the bed.

  ‘So maybe you can see why I’m neutral, feller!’ she snapped. ‘Some choice, uh? Lovejoy’s spineless lot or Snyder’s bunch of lily-livered crooks. All of them needin’ somebody else’s strong arm and fast gun to back them. It won’t make no difference who wins the lousy election.’

  ‘Yeah, I see,’ Edge drawled wryly. ‘You being what you are.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ Fay Reeves demanded. Edge raised his hat, just high enough to display his teeth, gleaming in a moonlit grin. ‘A whore don’t care who gets in.’

  Chapter Six

  Conrad Power asked one question, his tone anxious. He received an affirmative reply that sent him out of the room with a smile, only a few moments after Fay Reeves had left. Edge got under the bed covers then and slept. It was a sound sleep which, as the whore had predicted, was untroubled by pangs of conscience about the men he had killed.

  Perhaps none of them would have killed the half-breed, but all had threatened his freedom of movement: which did not amount to the same thing, but came close. The fact that they were doing their duty as lawmen was immaterial. Thus, by the same token, it made no difference to Edge’s attitude that they were not peace officers by vocation or profession: instead were gunslingers imported to Democracy and given badges to handle a specific situation.

  None of these thoughts ran through his sleeping mind. Throughout the night and the lightening early hours which heralded the dawning of a new day, Edge rested undisturbed. He did not sleep deeply - never had done since the first days of the shooting war when he had learned that a split-second delay in coming awake could make the difference between life and death. He slept like a wild animal, restocking his physical energy and replenishing whatever the previous day had drained from his mental faculties. While, all the time, his mind was held just below the level of awareness and his muscular reflexes remained in a state of readiness.

  The least hint of danger would spring him awake: his right hand was poised to reach for Winchester, Colt or razor.

  Reflected sunlight roused him, glinting yellow as it was bounced off glass across the intersection and directed into the room through the unbroken window. As he rose from the bed and crossed to take down the blanket from the shattered window, the town clock chimed six times.

  The air he breathed in was as chill as it had been the night before. But the smoke which tainted its freshness came from wood fires rather than exploded bullets. It rose from a host of chimneys, pointing up at a cloudless, light blue sky like so many solid black fingers. It was allowed to rise very high through the stillness before air currents disintegrated it.

  He leaned far out of the window then, to survey the town. Democracy was awake, but the many cooking and heating fires were the sole signs that it was stirring. In this early morning, it looked like the kind of nice, easy-to-live-in town which the Negro had said it used to be. A to
wn of substantially built houses and business premises with no fancy trimmings. It was sited on a high plain of mostly lush grass country. Far to the west the horizon was marked by a line of jagged peaks. In the other directions Edge could see from the window - the east and the north from where he had come - there were just gently rolling hills stretching into seeming infinity, featured here and there by rock outcrops, bluffs, water courses and stands of timber.

  Among these natural formations on the vast landscape, fashioned over hundreds, thousands and even millions of years, were the much more recent man-made scars that were the reasons for trouble in Democracy. The fence poles, some already strung with wire, the parked wagons loaded with timber and the half-built shacks that showed the Big-B range was well advanced towards the reformation Snyder had promised.

  Much closer to where the half-breed stood at the hotel window, reflecting coolly on his actions of the night before, were the canvas banners spanning the broad streets. They were painted garishly with slogans exhorting the local citizens to vote for the platform which had scored a victory before attaining office. FRANK (AND HONEST) SNYDER does not make idle promises! Vote MEEK for a better life. HARRY GRANT and SILAS McQUIGG make horse sense. You can bank on LARRY SWAN. JAY BAILEY can cut taxes as well as hair!

  As the ice blue eyes, narrowed against the strengthening sunlight, scanned the banners - failing to spot any counter-claims on behalf of the present town councilors - he saw a movement on the east section of the cross street. The door of Grant’s Livery Stable was swung wide and he recognized the warmly-clad figure of Fay Reeves as the whore led a big, strong-looking black stallion on to the street. She mounted hurriedly, her knees banging against bulging saddlebags. About to heel the animal forward, she hesitated, and looked fearfully around. She spotted Edge at the broken window and it took her a long time to force a smile to her face, which this morning was cleaned of paint and looked haggard and old. Then she raised a hand in farewell and slammed her heels against the stallion’s flanks to lunge the animal into a fast gallop, heading east. The hooves of the horse sounded loud on the frost-hardened mud of the street.