One Man's Law

by J. R. Roberts

  There wasn’t anything but a few lizards and a dead horse in the rocks where Clint had first captured Brewer. The river curved around to another spot nearby, but he could see-the winding flow of water snake off for miles up and downstream.

  There weren’t enough trees to hide a coyote, and the larger hills were too far away for anyone to have gotten to them in the time since Clint had last seen Graham alive. Despite the lack of places to hide, Clint couldn’t find a trace of Brewer. Once that sunk in, there wasn’t anything else left for him to do other than ride back with his tail between his legs.

  He rode back to collect Graham’s body and bring it to town for a proper burial. That didn’t turn out as he’d planned either, since it seemed that Marshal Graham wasn’t as dead as Clint had thought.

  SIX

  “Graham?”

  Even as Clint said the marshal’s name, he didn’t expect to get a response. And even as he saw the marshal shift upon the ground, he couldn’t believe the lawman was actually alive.

  “Can you hear me, Marshal?”

  “Of... course I can hear you,” Graham wheezed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’ve been shot, that’s why.” Seeing the marshal start to sit up so he could examine himself, Clint rushed over to him and held him down with the flat of his hand. “You’d better not move.”

  “Nonsense! I have to...”

  “It’s all over,” Clint said before the lawman tried to explain himself further. “The others took the prisoners back and I’m taking you back.”

  “I feel dizzy. Perhaps I should rest.”

  “No!” Clint quickly took the edge from his voice and spoke in a more conversational tone. “I mean, tell me about the men you signed on for the posse. I need to know if they can be trusted to get the prisoners back to town.”

  Graham’s eyes flapped open and closed a few times as if he were staring into a bright light. Then, after pulling in a few breaths, he started talking.

  Despite the fact that Clint had asked the question, he didn’t pay much attention to the answer. All he hoped for was to keep Graham conscious while he rode back to the old shack and returned with some long pieces of lumber. The marshal’s words were slurred and strained when Clint returned a few minutes later, but Graham didn’t seem to notice he’d been alone for that time.

  “Yeah,” Clint said as if he hadn’t missed a beat in the conversation. “Go on.”

  Graham kept right on talking while Clint put together a rough sled and tied it to the back of the lawman’s horse. It wouldn’t win any prizes for carpentry, but the sled was strong enough to hold a man’s weight. Clint would just have to test it the hard way to see if the contraption would make it back into town.

  “All right,” he said as he got behind the marshal and slipped his arms underneath Graham’s arms. “This might hurt a bit.”

  Judging by the pained groans Graham let out, being moved onto the sled hurt more than a bit. Once the marshal was on the rickety wooden slab, Clint tied him in place and saddled up to get the little parade moving.

  It took them a long time to get to town, but that was only partly because of their slow pace. Every step of the way, Clint looked behind him to see if Graham was still on the sled or if he’d been knocked off due to a bump in the road. Whenever the horses fidgeted, Clint looked again to see if they’d knocked Graham loose.

  Even when the riding was smooth, Clint was still anxiously looking back at Graham to make sure the marshal hadn’t started bleeding even more. When Graham moved, Clint worried that his wounds were being made worse by the erratic movement. When Graham was still, Clint worried that the lawman might have died or was close to doing so.

  By the time he actually caught sight of the town, Clint felt as if he’d been dragged those miles behind a horse without the benefit of a sled. All of that worrying had put him through a wringer. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait much longer before he got some help getting the marshal the rest of the way into town.

  “Where’s everyone else?” one of the posse members shouted as he rode toward Clint.

  Pointing behind him, Clint replied, “Graham’s right behind me. He’s hurt.”

  The man was one of the older members of the posse, and he circled around to get a look at the contraption Clint had put together. “What about the others?” he asked once he got back around to ride next to Eclipse. “Weren’t those others with him?”

  Clint was too tired to sugar-coat anything. “They’re dead. Didn’t the men bring back those prisoners?”

  “Yeah, the jail’s full of them assholes. I just thought since the marshal was alive that some of the others might have pulled through.”

  “I almost left the marshal behind myself. He was close enough to dead to fool anyone. That might have been what saved his life.”

  “Playing possum, huh?” the older man asked with the hint of disdain in his voice.

  Clint locked his eyes on the man and spoke in a tone that was stem enough to cut through stone. “He wasn’t playing anything. He was shot and he was almost killed. He still might die unless we get him to a doctor.”

  The older man nodded and was unable to meet Clint’s gaze. “Bring him into town. I’ll let Doc Salazar know you’re coming and then I’ll come back to lend a hand with Graham.”

  Clint hadn’t stopped moving yet, and he kept plodding toward the nearest cluster of buildings as the other man bolted away. As soon as the man turned onto the first street, his shouts could be heard like a clanging bell in all directions. When he returned, the other man had two more members of the posse with him. They cleared the way for Clint and carried Graham into the doctor’s office in record time.

  Doc Salazar was a tall fellow who looked to be a bit younger than Clint. He had long, thick hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He already had a clean apron on over his dark suit by the time he walked into the little room where Graham was taken.

  “Jesus,” Salazar said. “What happened?”

  “He’s been shot and I had to carry him a long ways,” Clint replied. “Is there still hope for him?”

  Salazar had been examining Graham’s wrist and neck for a pulse. Shaking his head nervously, he said, “He’s still alive, but I can’t say much more than that. There’s always hope, though.”

  “That’s what I like to hear, Doc,” Clint said. He turned toward the others gathered in the room, held out both arms and walked forward to sweep the rest of the men toward the door. “Come on. Let’s give the doctor some room to work.”

  “Maybe he needs some help,” one of the posse members offered.

  The doctor was cutting away Graham’s shirt to get a look at the wound as a few women hurried around to gather up water, rags and other supplies he would need. “If I need any more help, I’ll ask for it,” Salazar said.

  “You heard the man,” Clint told them. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty to keep us busy considering all those prisoners we rounded up.”

  The men grudgingly headed back to the marshal’s office down the street, leaving Clint behind. He’d only signed on for the posse and didn’t have any plans to stay around much longer after that. In fact, Rick Hartman owed him some money from the last time they’d played cards, and Clint intended on extracting every last cent from his good friend.

  “Mr. Adams?”

  Clint turned around to find a petite redhead with her arms full of clean towels standing just inside the doctor’s office. “That’s me.”

  “Marshal Graham wants to speak with you.”

  Clint hurried back inside and found the marshal wide awake and trying not to look at how Doc Salazar was poking and prodding him with a thin pair of pliers.

  “I need another favor, Adams,” Graham said. Although he tried to sit up, the doctor pushed him right back down again. Graham’s back hit the blood-soaked table with a wet slap.

  “Sure,” Clint said.

  The doctor took the pliers and dug into a hole in the marshal’s side. “Can’t this wait?” he as
ked.

  “This is important,” Graham snarled.

  Shaking his head and continuing his work, Salazar replied, “So is this.” Not a lot of blood came out from where Salazar was digging, but he did have to push past a good amount of meat before the sound of metal scraping against metal could be heard.

  Clint walked around so Graham was forced to look away from the bloody sight. “What is it, Marshal?”

  “Take over for me until I’m back on my feet.” Graham paused as his eyes shot open in pain. “If I get back on my feet.”

  “Why don’t we wait and see how things turn out?”

  “Nobody else is qualified,” Graham said through gritted teeth. “At least find someone to fulfill my duties until—”

  “Stop talking,” Doc Salazar insisted. “Hold still!”

  Before Graham tried to speak again, Clint patted his hand and said, “I’ll do what I can to keep things on track. There’s some good men in that posse who could take over and if not... I’ll keep your chair warm.”

  Graham nodded and laid his head back down. The redhead pushed Clint aside to assist the doctor, so he kept going right out of the office. It seemed Rick Hartman was going to have to wait for a while.

  SEVEN

  ONE MONTH LATER

  The town’s name was Sailsby.

  Oddly enough, Clint didn’t even learn that little fact until after he’d taken on the mantle of the town’s highest ranking lawman. Even though Sailsby was a short ride from Labyrinth, Rick’s Place felt as if it was on the other side of the globe.

  It had taken less than a week for Clint to work his way through the other potential candidates to fill Graham’s boots. Most of the posse members had only signed on for that one ride, and the remaining ones were too scared to sign on again. Two of the men who’d ridden on that posse were paid deputies of Graham’s. Unfortunately, the man who would have been most likely to step up in the marshal’s absence had been put into the ground thanks to Chuck Brewer.

  It was another week after that before Clint agreed to put on the badge that accompanied Graham’s office. Since Sailsby wasn’t exactly swarming with killers and thieves, much of Clint’s time after that had been spent breaking up fights at the two local saloons and sitting behind Graham’s fancy, highly polished oak desk.

  Clint hadn’t gotten around to visiting Labyrinth just yet, but Rick Hartman’s joking tone shone through just fine in the few telegrams that had been sent back and forth.

  The biggest surprise to happen since Clint’s surprise appointment came when Graham sat up and started walking instead of curling up and dying like most folks expected. He wasn’t able to leave his own house, but the marshal could be seen at least once a day sitting on his porch or trying to walk to his fence and back again.

  Clint had visited the marshal several times, but was always called away to attend to some matter or another. Despite the lack of excitement in Sailsby, there were always plenty of minor squabbles to be ironed out, arguments to be settled and rounds to be made. Times like these made Clint long for the freedom of riding where he pleased and answering to no one. Trying to recall the last time he’d taken Eclipse out for more than an hour or two was enough to bring a wistful sigh to Clint’s throat.

  “Good evening, Marshal,” came a smooth voice from the office’s front door.

  Clint snapped himself out of his daydream and sat up straight. Although the woman walking into the office looked vaguely familiar, he couldn’t quite put his finger on why that was. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

  The woman wore a simple dress in a green-and-white checked pattern. A white bonnet was tied under her chin by a frayed blue ribbon. When she loosened the ribbon, she took the bonnet off and let her curly red hair spill down around her shoulders.

  “Oh,” Clint said as he got up to walk over to her. “You’re Doc Salazar’s nurse?”

  “More like his maid, but yes,” she replied with a little grin.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I stopped by to say hello. You look awfully sad.”

  “Does the doctor have a tonic for that?” Clint asked.

  She held her bonnet in both hands and waited for Clint to walk over to her. Once he was close enough, she reached out to straighten his shirt collar. “Maybe not a tonic, but I can think of a few ways to help you smile.”

  “Really?”

  “I sure can,” she said while nodding and taking a step back. “And I’ll tell you about them on one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am. My name is Leah.”

  Extending his hand, Clint said, “I’ll agree to that condition only if you don’t call me Marshal. My name’s Clint.”

  “But you are the marshal.”

  “As long as Graham is still alive, I’m just holding things together for a bit. Is he still alive?”

  Leah giggled and rolled her eyes. “You know he is. You were by to see him yesterday.”

  “There you go.”

  “Fine ... Clint.”

  With that, Clint wrapped his arm around Leah’s and escorted her out of the office. He then shut the door and locked it.

  “I didn’t mean to take you away from your duties,” she said.

  “Nobody seems to have any trouble finding me when someone breaks a window or insults someone’s wife,” Clint grumbled. “Besides, my duties for today were finished about five hours ago. The rest has been waiting around for a pretty redhead to give me a way to cure my intolerable sadness.”

  “You don’t look so sad anymore.”

  “Exactly. Shall we go?”

  EIGHT

  Even though Clint was renting a room at the Pearl Saloon, he hadn’t had much of an opportunity to enjoy the place. Mostly, he stayed there because that was the most troublesome spot in town and it cut down on the brawls to have him right there for all to see. Being in the Pearl as a customer definitely had its advantages as well.

  “Here you go, Marshal,” the bartender said as he set down two plates of piping hot beef and potatoes in front of Clint and Leah.

  “Are there any of those rolls left?” Clint asked.

  The barkeep nodded and clasped his hands together. “I’ll go check, and if there ain’t, I’ll toss some into the stove for ya!”

  After the scraggly man hurried away, Leah let out another amused giggle. “You didn’t seem to mind him calling you Marshal.”

  “And I also don’t mind the fact that he won’t charge me for my food.”

  “Isn’t that a little strange coming from a man who doesn’t even want to be treated special?”

  “I don’t want you to treat me special,” Clint said. “He, on the other hand, is getting a live-in bodyguard, peacekeeper and conversation piece all rolled into one. I highly doubt a few free meals and some drinks are going to sour him too much on that deal.”

  “What about your room?” Leah asked.

  “Not a room. A suite.”

  Picking up her knife and fork, Leah raised her eyebrows and cut off a piece of steak. “And I suppose that’s free as well?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I think I’m getting a fair rate, but I’ve got a bill coming to me. How’s your steak?”

  Leah chewed and nodded, but winced before replying, “It’s a bit overdone.”

  Clint nodded as well as he hacked off some of his own steak and started gnawing on it. “Now do you feel bad about not being charged?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “There is a hell of a show later tonight,” Clint said. “I know because it keeps me up until well past one or two in the morning sometimes. I’d complain, but I don’t think there’s a better room in here.”

  “There’s two hotels and some boardinghouses you could go to. I’m sure they’d be quieter.”

  “Nah. Everyone knows where to find me here, and if there is any trouble, odds are I’d just have to come back here anyway.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got everything figured out.�
�

  “Sure. Now all I need to do is figure a way to get back to my normal life.”

  The bartender came back to the table with his shirt un-tucked and stretched out to hold three rolls, which he practically threw at Clint and Leah. “Here you go. I warmed ’em up for ya.”

  Clint managed to catch one of the rolls before it sailed past his head. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Now, I’ve got some men that have been drinking all night long and they might be trouble. Think you could pay ’em a visit before you leave?”

  “Sure.”

  The bartender smiled and gave Clint an awkward salute. “Thanks a lot, Marshal. You enjoy them steaks.”

  Once the bartender was back behind the long, warped bar, Clint leaned forward and asked, “You think the royal treatment would stop if he realized he’s just asking me to do my job?”

  “Why risk all this?” Leah replied as she motioned toward the overcooked steak and roll that she’d had to pick up off the floor.

  Clint couldn’t help but laugh, and Leah had no problem joining him. “Good point,” he said. “If you saw my deluxe suite, you’d want this job for yourself.”

  After her laughter faded a bit, Leah took another bite of her steak. It took her a while to chew the tough meat and swallow, but when she did she asked, “Why did you accept this job?”

  Clint cocked his head to one side as if he didn’t even understand the question. “What was that?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, but you’ve been here month and you could have left at any time. Surely, you must know that someone would have stepped up to take the job if you left them with no other choice. Even if they didn’t,” she added with a shrug, “this town is so quiet that it wouldn’t matter.”

  “And here I thought I was appreciated around here.”

  “You know you are,” Leah replied. “Stop giving me that look.”

  Dropping the hurt expression he’d forced onto his face, Clint said, “I’ve got my reasons.”

  “And what are those?”