by Ralph Cotton
In the throng of townsmen, Sherman Dahl turned to Virgil Wilkes and said in a quiet voice, “Are you sure you want to miss all the drinking business while you’re off riding with the posse? Who will tend bar for you?”
“A time like this,” said Virgil, “I’ll have to rely on every man keeping tabs on what he drinks and leaving the money for it in the cigar box under the bar.”
“I understand,” said Dahl. “But as honest as these men are, with money in short supply right now…I’d say you’re taking quite a chance. I’d be happy to ride in your place.”
“Oh?” said Virgil. “Why the change of mind? A while ago you turned it down, said you had a school to build here.”
“I know,” Dahl replied. “But the fact is, I won’t be building anything here without the funds to build with. If I ride with this posse, I’ll see to it we take the cost of our new school out of the Peltrys’ hides.”
“That’s powerful talk for a schoolmaster,” said Wilkes. He looked Sherman Dahl up and down. He started to laugh, yet something about the look in Dahl’s eyes advised against it.
“They burnt down the children’s school,” said Dahl. “In my book that makes them nothing but vermin…cowards and low trash. Let me ride in your place, Mr. Wilkes, sir. I implore you.”
Virgil Wilkes looked around and scratched his head, a bit embarrassed. “Well,” he grinned, blushing, “I never had anybody implore me before, unless they did it while I weren’t looking and I never found out. If it means that much to you, schoolmaster, you go right on ahead. I’ll stay here and tend business. I was just going to show my support.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Sherman Dahl, grasping Wilkes’ hand firmly and shaking it. While the two had talked between themselves, Webb had continued pitching Summers’ plan to the townsmen. Summers listened as he walked up behind the crowd from the livery barn.
“How do we know he ain’t lying about twelve or fourteen thousand dollars?” Ned Trent asked, keeping the wet rag to his nose.
Before Webb could answer, Will Summers called out “You don’t know it” as he parted his way through the crowd, the feed sack slung over his shoulder. Trent spun around at the sound of Summers’ voice then backstepped as Summers came past him to the front of the crowd and stepped up onto the boardwalk. “And you’d be damned fools to take my word for it.”
Abner Webb whispered close to Summers’ ear, “It sure took you long enough getting back here.”
Summers smiled, set the sack of feed down at his feet, took the wanted posters from inside his shirt and fanned them for the townsmen to see. “But right here is the proof…for anybody who wants to check it out. I went through these flyers. It’s not twelve or fourteen thousand like I said earlier. Counting the five thousand apiece for Goose and Moses Peltry, the whole bunch is worth a total of twenty-seven thousand, five hundred dollars, on their feet or slung over their saddles.”
Abner Webb stared at Summers, doubting he had gone through all those posters and added up the total.
“Can we see them?” a voice asked from among the men.
“Be my guest,” said Summers. He waved the handful of papers back and forth. “Anybody wants to, feel free to figure it all up yourself.” Without hesitation, he quickly stuffed the posters back inside his shirt, then said before anybody could step forward to look at them, “But I want to remind all of you: The longer we waste time here, the farther away these skunks are going to be.”
Wild Joe Duvall stood at the front of the crowd, his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. A wide handlebar mustache mantled his lip; a roll of beer fat drooped over his belt buckle. “This is all moving a mite too fast is what I think. Hadn’t we oughta wait and see what the sheriff wants us to do? He might want us to contact the army…turn this over to them.”
Will Summers saw a few heads nod in agreement. He spoke quickly, taking control. “Gentlemen, I can safely guarantee you this: Once Sheriff Hastings comes to, you don’t want to face him and tell him you had a chance to catch up to the Peltry Gang but didn’t do it!”
“But still, there’s the army.” Wild Joe Duvall shrugged. “Why not let them take the Peltrys on? We’re scrounging around for horses and guns, but the army has plenty of both.”
“Hear that, men?” said Will Summers. “Wild Joe Duvall wants to turn this thing over to the army. Well, yes, you can do that sure enough. But you be sure and tell the army to bring some hammers, some roofing tin and nails, so they can rebuild these places for you.” He locked his gaze onto Wild Joe Duvall. “Is that what you really want? Do you want the army to wipe your noses for you? How will you face each other afterward?”
“Yeah, Joe,” a voice called out. “What’s wrong with you? You act about half scared!”
“That’s a damn lie,” Wild Joe Duvall raved, looking back and forth for the owner of the voice. “Anybody calling me a coward better be ready to step out on the street! You men all know me! There ain’t a wilder, bolder fighting sonsabitch alive than me when I take a notion!”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Summers, starting to clap his hands. “Let’s all hear it for Wild Joe Duvall—he’s riding with us! Now, who else is going?”
“Wait a minute,” Wild Joe said, looking worried. “I got lots to do around my house. I can see sky through the holes in the roof!” But his words were drowned out by the crowd.
“That’s my pa!” shouted Eddie Duvall. “Whoop the living hell out of them, Pa! Show everybody how it’s done!”
Wild Joe’s face reddened. At the sound of his son’s cheering, he relented. Raising a hand to the crowd, Wild Joe offered a brave grin and shouted, “All right! What the hell are we waiting for? Let’s get after ’em!”
“You heard him,” said Summers above the crowd. “Everybody who’s going, get one of these horses. Get over to the livery barn and grab yourselves a saddle while they last. We’re pulling out of here in ten minutes flat, no ifs or buts about it!”
As the men scrambled, picking through the two strings of horses hitched at the rail, Abner Webb leaned close to Will Summers and said, “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but damned if we ain’t got ourselves a posse. Think there’s any chance we might run down the Peltry Gang before they even get down in the territory?”
“It’s possible,” said Summers, “but I wouldn’t count on it. To tell you the truth, it might be better if we don’t.”
“Why’s that?” Webb asked.
“Look at this bunch of knotheads,” said Summers. “Don’t you think it’d be better to get a few miles behind them first? Let them have time to work all this out in their minds before they get to a point where they might have to drop the hammer on a man?”
“Yeah, come to think of it.” Abner Webb’s smile of confidence faded as he considered it, watching all the men except Sherman Dahl scurry away toward the livery barn. Sherman Dahl took his time, picked out a strong deep-chested bay and stooped down to inspect its forelegs. “I reckon it might be better to let them ride off some steam first at that.”
“Yes, it would,” said Summers. “Meanwhile, don’t worry about catching up to the Peltrys. They’re in no big hurry yet. They’ll hit a few places twixt here and the territory. That’s why they cut the telegraph lines…. They want to buy enough time to do some more raiding.”
Webb gave Summers a look. “You sure seem to know an awful lot about how these kind of people think, Will.”
“Do I?” said Summers. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Chapter 5
Will Summers stood waiting for Abner Webb on the boardwalk outside the sheriff’s office. On the street, ten of the townsmen sat atop their horses, restless and tense, ready to get under way. At the head of the riders sat Sherman Dahl, calm and collected, his hands lying crossed on his saddle horn. Around his left shoulder he carried a leather possibles bag with a rolled-up blanket tied to the top of it. Next to Sherman Dahl sat Bobby Dewitt, restless but keeping himself in check, fidgeting with a four-foot length of lariat.
&
nbsp; As Will Summers watched the group of mounted men, he saw a bottle of rye rise up in a long swig then go to a pair of reaching hands. He shook his head and murmured, “No respect, Deputy,” as if Abner Webb were beside him. In fact, Abner Webb was still inside the sheriff’s office.
When Webb finally stepped out of the office and closed and locked the door behind him, Summers looked him up and down. “Are we ever getting out of here?”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Webb growled. “I had to leave a letter for the sheriff, let him know what we’re up to.”
“I think it’s a sure bet the doctor or somebody would’ve told him,” said Summers.
“I know,” Webb responded. “I just wanted to tell him myself. Now I’m ready to ride.” He looked around at the stoic faces of the townsfolk standing along both sides of the street. “I’ll feel better getting out on the trail for a while…let these people get all their gossip out of their system.”
They stepped down from the boardwalk and toward their horses at the hitch rail. Summers took up his reins, swung up onto his saddle, then caught a glimpse of Edmund Daniels leading a big gray horse down the middle of the street toward them. “I wouldn’t go feeling a lot better just yet, Deputy,” he said. “Look what’s coming here.”
“Aw for crying out loud,” Webb said under his breath. “There’s no way in the world I’m allowing him to ride along. I wouldn’t see a minute’s peace knowing he was riding behind me.”
“Then you best straighten things out right now,” Summers said, keeping his voice quiet. “Looks like he’s got in his head he’s going.”
“You’re right, Will. I can’t keep putting it off.” Abner Webb had already taken up the reins from the hitch rail. But now he respun them, then stepped away from his horse and out into the dirt street, facing Edmund Daniels. “All right, Daniels, that’s close enough,” he said. He kept his thumbs hooked in his belt rather than let his hand poise near his pistol. “You’re not going on this posse.”
“I’ve got as much right to go as the next man,” Daniels replied. He looked at the mounted possemen for support. “Isn’t that right, men?”
Ike Stevens looked at Wild Joe Duvall, who in turn looked at Carl Margood. Eyes exchanged glances back and forth until Louis Collingsworth spoke up. “He’s got a horse and a gun. There’s no need turning down an able-bodied man just because there’s dirt between you, Deputy.”
“That’s right,” one voice agreed, followed by others.
“There you are, Deputy,” said Daniels. “The town agrees with me. I’m going.”
“No, you’re not,” said Webb, loosening his gunbelt and letting it fall to the ground. “Not as long as I’m standing on two feet and able to say otherwise.”
“Fair enough,” said Daniels. “I plan on changing all that.” He dropped the reins to the big gray and took a step forward.
“Where did you get a horse anyway?” Webb took the big knife in its sheath from behind his back and pitched it to one side.
“None of your business where I got it. I didn’t sneak up and steal it away from somebody…. It ain’t another man’s horse, you can count on that.” The accusation in his voice was too clear to be missed. He raised the pistol from his belt with two fingers, pitched it to the dirt, unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and began rolling them up.
“All right, Daniels,” said Abner Webb, the two of them coming to a halt with less than four feet between them. “I reckon it’s just as well we do this now and get it over with. Before we start, I want to tell you one thing. I never meant to cause you any—”
Edmund Daniels’ big left fist snapped out into Abner Webb’s jaw so quick even the spectators had no time to see it. Webb’s head jerked back with a sound like raw meat slapped against an iron door. He staggered back a step. Daniels stepped forward. “All right,” said Webb. “I figure I deserved that…so I’m letting you take the first lick. But now we’re even. Now it’s no-holds—”
Daniels’ big left stabbed another hard punch to his jaw. “Lord God!” Will Summers whispered. “Stop talking, Webb,” he said aloud to himself.
“That’s it then, Daniels!” Abner Webb quickly wiped a hand across his already swelling jaw. “Now we’re going to—”
Twice more Abner Webb tried to speak; each time, the big left fist stopped him.
“Lord!” said Will Summers aloud, still speaking to himself. “Why don’t he shut up and fight?”
Abner Webb staggered in place, a trickle of blood running from a gash on his cheekbone. “Well, he’s dead,” Will Summers whispered, seeing Edmund Daniels take his time, letting his guard down, stepping in and grabbing the half-conscious deputy by the front of his shirt.
Edmund Daniels drew back his big right fist for what Summers decided would be a killing blow. But before swinging, Daniels stopped and held Webb out at arm’s length. “Nobody has their way with my wife, Deputy…and lives to talk about it!” He let the big right fist fly. But Webb staggered to one side just in time to feel only the wind of the punch fly past his face. Daniels had put so much power behind the blow that when it missed its mark he flew forward, turning Webb loose and struggling to keep his balance.
To Will Summers’ surprise, Webb saw a chance and took it. His consciousness seemed to revive some; he swung just as Edmund Daniels turned to him, still off balance. Webb’s roundhouse right caught Daniels full on the chin and sent him a full flip backward. He hit the ground with a loud outburst of air. Webb staggered forward. As Daniels rose upward onto his palms, his head still lowered, Webb took a step back, cocked his boot and kicked Daniels full in the face, the force of it flipping Daniels up and backward again.
“That’s more like it,” Summers said under his breath, showing a faint smile. “I was beginning to wonder what kind of man you are. Now finish him off and let’s get going.”
Abner Webb staggered toward Edmund Daniels as if having heard Summers’ instructions. Edmund, in spite of being dazed by the hard kick to his face, shook his bloody head and rose up on shaky legs. He raised his guard and advanced on Webb, swinging one blow after the other as Webb walked backward to keep them from connecting. “Don’t back away, Webb, you coward,” Daniels said in a low growl. “I’m going to take you apart!”
“Damn it, Webb,” Summers said to himself, watching. “You had him. Now you’ve let him up.”
A solid punch caught Abner Webb in the face, snapping his head back. Before he regained his footing, another punch shot in and walked him backward to the boardwalk. He stopped when his back met a wooden support post. The post creaked with his weight against it. Webb slumped there and tried to clear his throbbing head.
“Stand up and fight!” Daniels shouted, not about to stop. He came forward, throwing a hard right. But Abner Webb rolled away from the post just in time. From his saddle, Will Summers heard the sickening thud as Daniels’ powerful fist slammed into the wooden post so hard it dislodged the post from the boardwalk. Daniels shrieked in pain and grabbed his wounded hand. Webb saw what had happened and took advantage. As Daniels staggered in place, Webb lurched forward and caught him a hard clip on the jaw. Daniels stumbled onto the boardwalk and tried to steady himself on the loose post.
“Look out!” Summers shouted, seeing the pole come free, Daniels’ big arm wrapped around it, ripping it from the wooden porch overhang.
Abner Webb barely jumped back in time. Then a thick pine beam fell free and landed with a hard thud on Edmund Daniels’ head. Daniels fell from the boardwalk facedown into the dirt street, still hugging the post. Behind him, with no support to hold it in place, the rest of the boardwalk overhang crashed down in a cloud of dust and a spray of pine splinters.
“Good Lord,” Summers said in a hushed whisper, staring at the high puff of dust where Abner Webb stood weaving back and forth, his fists still balled at his sides. Townsmen hurried forward as Will Summers slid down from his saddle and hurried over to Abner Webb. “All of you stay back!” Summers demanded. “He don’t need your help.”
“I…don’t?” said Webb in a thick voice, falling to his knees. His face was bloody and battered, already swelling and turning the color of bruised fruit.
“That’s right, you don’t,” said Summers, coming to a halt and spreading his arms to keep the rest of the men from assisting Webb to his feet. “Listen to me, Deputy,” Summers whispered just between them. “You just won a lot of respect for yourself, knocking this big ape out.”
“I…knocked him…out?” Webb asked, barely keeping from falling on his face.
“Well, it took half the porch ceiling falling on him, but he’s out cold any way you look at it.” Summers shot a quick glance at the townsmen closing in. “You’ll make a wide gain for yourself if you get up off your knees on your own. The fact is, it’s something we really could use if you’re going to lead these men.”
“All…right then,” Webb groaned, pushing up from the ground. Summers stood back three feet, making no attempt to help him.
“That’s the way, Deputy,” Summers whispered. “You’re doing fine.” He watched Webb wobble back and forth, pressing a hand to a swollen cut on his jaw. “Now drag Daniels to his feet and throw him up on his saddle.”
“Do…what?” Webb’s breath heaved in his chest. He gave Summers an incredulous look through swollen, bloodshot eyes. “I just…fought to make him stay here.”
“I know, but it’s different now that you won. Now you’ve got to let him ride with us!”
Webb gave an exhausted shrug. “That makes…no sense at all.”
“It will once you’ve thought it through,” Summers whispered. “Do like I’m telling you.”
Webb looked down at Daniels’ broad back. “I can’t…lift that big son of a—”
“You’ve got to, Deputy,” Summers insisted, still in a whisper between them. “Think what it’ll do for you in the town’s eyes.”
