by Ralph Cotton
Constance Melton hurried forward from the rest of the children and threw herself between Dahl and the mounted gunman, her long, gangly arms thrown out as if to prevent Goose Peltry from getting past her. “You leave him alone,” she screamed. “He hasn’t done anything to you…. Get away and mind your own business!”
The other children backed away as Goose Peltry stepped his horse closer, but Constance Melton appeared to have taken an unyielding stand. Moses Peltry chuckled under his breath, then called out to Goose. “Come on, brother Goose, before you get your eyeballs scratched out. We got lots of ground to cover before dark.”
Goose scowled and started to say something to his brother. “But—”
Frank Spragg cut in with a shrill, mocking voice. “Yeah, you leave him alone! He hasn’t done anything to you…. Mind your own business!”
The men laughed. Goose Peltry stopped his horse and turned to Frank Spragg, grinning. “Frank, that voice was a might too shrill to be a put-on. We’re going to check you out one of these days, make sure you’re all there.” He jerked his horse away from Sherman Dahl and Constance Melton and shouted to the wagon driver. “Get that rig rolling! Who the hell said for you to stop anyway?”
On the ground, Sherman Dahl looked up at Goose Peltry, seeing the cocked pistol level down at him. Still he kept his hands to his mouth, taking only a split second to push Constance Melton away, making sure she was out of danger should a shot come blasting out of the pistol barrel.
“Bang!” Goose Peltry shouted. Then he cackled aloud, let the hammer down on his pistol and holstered it as he spun his horse and rode away with the others.
Sherman Dahl drew the children up close around him. They huddled in silence, watching until the riders fell from sight below the roll of the land. Then Dahl stood up, dusting himself off and looking anxiously toward the black smoke in the sky.
“My pa must not have been in town,” said Eddie Duvall, giving Sherman Dahl a look of veiled contempt. “He wouldn’t have let something like this happen.”
“Be quiet, Eddie,” said Dahl. He looked around at the other children and said, “Everybody listen to me.” He gestured a hand toward the drifting, billowing smoke. “We have to go see what we can do to help the town…but we must be careful and not get ourselves injured. Stick close together.” As he spoke, he adjusted his vest and brushed dust from it. Joel Stevens caught a glimpse of the pistol butt sticking up from Dahl’s belt. His eyes grew large as he pointed at it. “Look! Mr. Dahl is carrying a gun!”
“Quiet, Joel,” said the schoolmaster. But the children all stared in awe, seeing the imprint of the pistol clearly now that it had been pointed out to them.
“A lot of good it did,” said Eddie Duvall. “You could have done something, but you didn’t even try! You just stood there and let them bully you, Mr. Dahl. You let them burn down our schoolhouse!”
“Children, that was a bad situation, and I did what I had to do. This is not the time to stop and explain it to you,” Sherman Dahl responded. “The schoolhouse is gone.” His eyes went to the twisting, spinning rise of flames and black smoke that only moments ago had been the Rileyville’s first school, a structure that he, the townsmen and even the children themselves had built less than two years ago. As his eyes turned to it, he and the children saw the front wall collapse inward across rows of burning desks.
In the dirt twenty yards away, a shaggy brown housecat whose job it had been to keep down the rodent population sat staring as both her home and her livelihood disappeared before her eyes. “There’s nothing we can do here,” Sherman Dahl said gently to the children. “Let’s hurry into town and help put out the other fires. At least we’ll be doing something.…”
Chapter 3
In their haste, the Peltry Gang had not done their best work starting the fires. They had hurriedly set the fires at three random locations with no regard to the direction of the wind or to the structure of the buildings. Then the gang had left town quickly, without giving the fires adequate time to completely destroy the three large buildings. In spite of the overwhelming black cloud adrift above Rileyville, the fires were soon reduced to steam beneath the relentless efforts of the bucket brigade.
Abner Webb stood exhausted, his shirtsleeves rolled above his elbows, his face smeared with black soot. Beside him, Will Summers batted his wet hat against his wet trouser leg. Then he rolled the hat brim between both hands and put it on. “Looks like Rileyville has cheated the odds once again,” he said. “This is a tough town to kill.”
“Yeah, so it looks,” Webb replied, looking all around. Wooden buckets littered the muddy street. Charred dry goods from the nearly destroyed mercantile store lay in a smoke-streaked pile. A long hose lay serpentine from the front of the smoldering barbershop to the hand pump attached to the edge of an empty water trough. “If I was you, Will, I’d make tracks out of here before these men have time to catch their breath. They’ll start blaming you sure enough.”
“Then I’m glad you ain’t me, Webb,” said Summers. “Leaving would be like admitting I was guilty of something. If I’d done anything wrong, I wouldn’t have come riding back when I saw all the smoke.”
“Suit yourself then,” said Abner Webb. “I’ve got enough to worry about, explaining to the sheriff what I was doing when all this came about.”
“You mean about you and the French woman, Renee Marie Daniels?” Will Summers asked in a lowered voice.
“How’d you know?” Abner Webb asked. “You weren’t even here!”
“I just figured it,” said Will Summers. “Different times I’ve seen the two of you together without you knowing it.”
“You have?” Abner Webb looked crushed by the news.
“Sure have,” said Will Summers. “The fact is, so have a lot of other people. There’s few secrets in a town this size, Deputy; you ought to know that. I only pass through here a few times a year, but I hear everything that’s gone on between. People love to gossip.”
“Jesus,” Abner Webb whispered, stung by the revelation, “you mean there’s others who know about it?” He hooked a thumb in the empty pistol holster on his hip.
“Oh yes,” said Will Summers. Taking note of Webb’s empty holster, Summers took a Colt .45 from the shoulder harness under his left arm and handed it to him. “Here, take this. Ain’t nothing looks more unnatural on a lawman than an empty pistol holster.”
“Much obliged, Will,” Webb said, taking the pistol, checking it and shoving it down into his holster. “It feels off balance too, going around with an empty holster—kept thinking I was walking in a circle.”
“This thing with you and Renee Marie: It’s been going on a while, ain’t it?”
“Well, yes,” said Webb, avoiding Summers’ eyes with an embarrassed expression. “I thought we was pretty careful. But there’s no denying it after today. We both might just as well have been caught in the act and raised up a flagpole. Goose Peltry made it worse, shooting his mouth off and waving Renee Marie’s drawers back and forth.”
“Right in front of Edmund, I reckon?” asked Summers.
“Oh, of course!” said Abner Webb. “The whole town saw them! Lucky for me Edmund wasn’t armed at that moment. He was awfully upset about it.”
“Lucky for you he didn’t get his hands on you,” said Will Summers. “Edmund is an awfully big man, Deputy. I ain’t sure he’d need a gun. I heard he used to fight in the bare-knuckle ring in Chicago. Fought under the name ‘Killer’ Daniels, I heard.” He offered a sympathetic wince. “Why his wife of all people?”
“There’s just something about French women,” said Abner Webb. “I never have been able to control myself around them.”
“Maybe you better learn to,” Will Summers suggested.
“Hell, it wasn’t just her being French, I don’t reckon,” said Webb. “Look around you, Will. Rileyville ain’t exactly blessed with pretty women. Besides, I didn’t go looking to fall for Renee Marie Daniels,” said Webb. “It just happened. It weren’t
neither one of our fault.” Webb looked down in remorse and shook his head. “I wish I could go and talk to her, see if she’s all right…see if I can do something for her.”
“Sounds like you’ve done plenty. Best thing you can do now is keep your nose out of it…unless you and her are serious enough to take up together and run off.”
“She knows I’m not looking for a wife any more than she’s looking for a new husband. We just sparked a deep, passionate desire in one another, is the way she said it. We didn’t mean it to ever go any further. Edmund would never have known, hadn’t been for Goose Peltry.”
“Yep, I can just picture ole Goose,” said Will Summers, keeping himself from smiling, “waving them bloomers back and forth like a flag.”
“Cut it out, Will. It’s no joking matter,” said Abner Webb.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” said Summers. He looked back along the street to where his string of new horses stood tied at a hitch rail. “Miss Renee Marie is a fine, handsome woman…. I can’t blame Edmund if he comes looking for satisfaction one way or the other, guns or knuckles.”
“I know,” said Webb. “Don’t think I ain’t already pictured that in my mind. I look for it most any time.”
“At least you’re not going to be caught unaware then,” said Will Summers. “Be thankful for that.”
“Believe me, I am. I won’t be breathing easy until this gets settled between him and me some way or another. I just wish none of this ever happened.”
“When’s the sheriff coming back?” Summers asked.
“Any time now, I would think,” said Abner Webb. “One man dead, another beat to hell, the town looted and burnt—I expect he’ll want to put together a posse first thing. I sent Bobby Dewitt out to round up some horses and guns from the nearby ranches…if they’ve got any to spare.”
“Good luck on that,” said Summers. After a second’s pause, he asked, “Who was it the Peltrys killed here?”
“That was old Roy Krill. He teamstered freight twixt here and Montydale. Poor old man never knew what hit him, I reckon.”
“Never met him.” Summers spit and ran a hand across his mouth.
“Nobody knew much about him,” said Webb. “He was a quiet old fellow, kept to himself. Soon as our lines are back up, I’ll wire Montydale and see if he had any kin there.”
“I don’t envy you riding posse,” said Summers. “All those long hours in the saddle under a blazing sun. Whew!”
“Yeah, I know,” Abner Webb sighed. “I’ll be living in the saddle for quite some time, I reckon.” But then he took a deep breath, finding some good in the prospect. “It might be the best thing for me though: get away from here a while, let things cool between Daniels and me.”
“Good idea. The Peltrys will be headed straight down across the desert badlands then on into Mexico is my guess,” said Summers. “Ever been there?”
“Nope, neither place, but I’ve always wanted to. I’ve heard plenty of talk,” Webb replied.
“Always wanted to?” Summers shook his head, finding the notion absurd. Then he added, “You haven’t missed anything, take my word for it.”
“You’ve been through the desert and Mexico both?” Webb asked, looking Summers up and down.
“More times than I ever wanted to,” Summers remarked.
“Then I reckon we can count on you riding posse with us for the good of the town?”
“Nope,” Summers said flatly. “If there was going to be a posse, you should have been on their tails before their dust settled. It could take weeks now—that’s if you ever catch up to them at all. I’m too busy to turn loose right now, not for free anyway.”
“Oh, you think you ought to get paid for doing something good for this town?” Webb asked.
“You get paid, don’t you?” Summers responded.
“That’s a whole different thing, Will.”
“Okay, forget it.” Summers shrugged. “Let’s just say that Rileyville ain’t really my kind of a town. Never was.”
“Damn, Will, you don’t want none of these men to hear you say something like that. Not after what happened here.”
“Why? My conscience is clear.” He smiled. “Unlike some I could mention.”
“That’s enough, Will. I mean it,” said Webb. “Here they come now.” He nodded toward the gathering of soot-streaked townsmen walking toward them, some of them dropping empty buckets to the ground as they neared. “Sure you don’t want to cut out while you’re able?”
“Yep, I’m sure of it,” said Will Summers. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Just don’t go losing your temper and start talking short to them,” Webb cautioned, his voice dropping quieter as the townsmen neared.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let things go that far,” Summers murmured, keeping an eye on the approaching townsmen.
“You’ve got some tall explaining to do, Will Summers!” said Ned Trent, leading the men with his fists balled stiffly at his sides, his right fist wrapped tightly around a shovel handle. His breath hissed in and out through his clenched teeth. A black smear stretched down his cheek. Fifty yards behind him and his followers, the Trent Mercantile Store lay in a charred, smoldering heap.
“How so?” Will Summers asked calmly, his left thumb hooked in his lapel, his right hand resting on the pistol butt at his hip.
“How so? By God, you know how so!” Ned Trent raved. The rest of the townsmen seethed in their rage. Summers looked past Ned Trent, seeming to ignore him. Among the angry faces, Summers spotted Virgil Wilkes, the bartender; the town blacksmith, Big Miles Michaels; Carl Margood, the livery owner—
“Look at me when I talk to you, Summers!” Ned Trent bellowed. “I lost my store because of you! Theodore Logsdon lost his barbershop! Ike Stevens lost his drugstore!” As Ned Trent ranted, young Joel Stevens slipped in and stood close to his father’s side. Ike Stevens dropped a tired arm across his son’s thin shoulder.
“You’re out of your mind, Trent,” Summers remarked in an even tone. “I’m sorry you people lost your stores. I’m sorry the town got looted. But, folks, don’t blame me.”
“I am blaming you!” said Ned Trent, poking his finger close to Will Summers’ face. “If it hadn’t been for your damned horses, they would have just taken what they came for and rode on!”
“You’re a fool, Trent,” said Summers. “And you better back off a step before you get in deeper than you want to.” Still, Summers didn’t raise his voice. Abner Webb stood watching, not wanting to say any more than he had to, knowing he too was on thin ice with the townsfolk.
“You don’t scare me, Summers,” said Trent with contempt. “You and your big gun and your big, tall hat!”
“My hat?” Summers looked bemused. “What the hell does my hat have to do—?”
“You know what I mean,” shouted Trent, cutting him off. “Don’t think we haven’t all seen how you look down on the rest of us like you’re some kind of big sporting man! Highfalutin horse trader!”
“That’s enough out of you,” Summers hissed, his hand slowly raising the pistol from its holster.
“Oh! I see,” said Trent, throwing a hand to his waist in a gesture of superiority. “Are you threatening me, Summers? What are you going to do, shoot me? I reckon it’s easy enough to do, knowing my guns have all been stolen!” He tossed a glance over his shoulder to the rest of the men. “There, you see? He gets brave now that there’s no one here but honest, hardworking—” His words stopped short as he turned his eyes back to Will Summers just in time to catch the full impact of Summers’ pistol barrel across the bridge of his nose.
“Aw, damn it, Will!” said Abner Webb, stepping toward Ned Trent and faying to catch him as he fell. Blood flew from Trent’s nose as he collapsed to the ground.
The townsmen started to surge toward Summers. Summers cocked his pistol and leveled it at them. “I didn’t shoot him, but that don’t mean I won’t shoot you!” His words were directed at everyone. The townsmen stopped sho
rt and shied back a step.
“You can’t shoot the whole town, Summers,” said Louis Collingsworth, a cattle buyer and land speculator.
“You might be right about the whole town, Collingsworth,” Summers replied, sidestepping backward along the hitch rail as he spoke. He felt his way along his horse’s side and jerked the broken sawed-off shotgun from beneath his bedroll. Holding it by the short stub of the stock, he cocked it. “But I can knock some fair-sized chunks of meat off with this.”
“That’s my shotgun, Will!” Virgil Wilkes said, outraged by the condition of the sawed-off.
“Sorry, Virgil,” said Summers. “It couldn’t be helped.” His eyes went back to Louis Collingsworth. “You ready to be the first to drop? If you are, just say so…. I’ll take it from there.”
“Hold it, Will!” Abner Webb shouted, stuck between the townsmen and the menacing shotgun and pistol in Summers’ hands. “Damn it, you said you wouldn’t let things go this far!” He cast a quick glance through the crowd, searching for Edmund Daniels. Not seeing Daniels caused him to cast a quicker look over his shoulder as he spoke.
“I said I wouldn’t fly off and lose my temper,” Will Summers said, correcting him. “So far, I haven’t. I’m just accommodating the crowd.” He looked back at Louis Collingsworth. “What about it, Louis?”
From behind the townsmen, Sherman Dahl’s voice rose above the tense silence. “Lower the guns, Mr. Summers. We all see that you mean business.”
“Oh?” Will Summers stared in the direction of Dahl’s voice as the schoolteacher stepped forward, parting the crowd. “And what are you bringing to this little gathering, Mr. Schoolmaster?”
Sherman Dahl’s voice was as calm as Summers’ as he slowly opened his coat and drew the right side back out of the way. The butt of the big army Colt stood leaning a bit toward his right hand. His right hand was thin and pale, but dead steady. “I’m bringing nothing, sir, unless I have to,” said Dahl. “I’m just asking you to lower those weapons before somebody gets hurt. There’s children here…. Let’s show some civility.”
