by Arch Gallen
*Madman from Morale, Western Settler Saga VI
Sign of Petra’s passage then were unmistakable leading Pike easily to a weathered log cabin tucked high in a canyon, the sweaty horse stabled behind. Ducking from tree to rock, Adam worked in close, finally spotting the killer through a smudged window before silently approaching the door, toeing it open gun in hand and ordering his surrender. Spinning, alarm etched across his face, Demitri dropped a hand to his revolver, bringing it free as Pike fired, crushing the man backwards against a wall before slowly sliding to a final seat. It was then Adam saw someone near a rear door dash in then freeze. Not knowing who the boy was, Pike pivoted, aiming his pistol.
“Best you set down that rifle you’re holding, son.” he’d ordered, taking in the slender build and gaunt face staring at him. With dark rings under his eyes and thin, sandy hair, the youngster didn’t look more than twelve or so but the Winchester in his hand cared none for age when triggers are pulled. Seeing the boy hesitate, Pike did not, firing a shot that ricocheted off the rifle butt, knocking it to the floor.
Eyes wide, he stared, hatred flaming as he stammered, “You killed Pa!”
Ruefully, Adam replied, “Sorry you had to see this, son, but your pa killed a man while robbing a bank then pulled on me during the arrest.” Gesturing toward a battered table, he added, “Have a seat so we can finish up.”
The youngster glared, unmoving until Adam waggled his gun, saying “That’s not a request but an order on authority of a US Marshal. Not doing will only bring more trouble than you already have.”
Holstering his weapon as the boy stumbled to a seat, hands over his face dampened by tears he refused to show, Adam felt lashes of sympathy ripping him. Taking a stance across the table, he asked softly, “What’s your name?” hearing a nearly inaudible voice squeak, “Anton.”
Exhaling, Pike glanced around but saw no place obvious that concealed the bank bags, so leaned over the rough surface. Talking quiet, he explained, “Anton, helping bury your Pa is only right but before any is done, it’s needful you tell me where the money is stashed.”
Face flushed, Anton looked up. “You rot in hell, Marshal.” he commanded through reddened eyes, his cheeks damp.
Straightening, Adam cocked his head. “Understand this, Anton. Is the easy way for you to tell or the hard way for me to take a sledge hammer to your home until I find it. Nothing else gets done until I have that stolen money back.”
The sniffling youngster tossed a look at the fireplace then back to Pike. Following the glance, Adam stepped over, keeping Anton firmly in the corner of his eye, easily spotting Demitri’s hiding place. Squatting, he yanked the stone out, removing from behind it three bags of cash and set them on the table. Brow furrowed, Pike read names stenciled there, recalling news of each theft before taking a short rope from the corner and binding the sacks at the neck into one bundle.
“If you’re wishful, Anton, I mind none helping bury your pa” Adam offered, his voice low, “then see you safely to the nearest town.”
Anton’s lips separated and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Get out of my house. You ain’t burying and you ain’t helping. Get out.” he hissed.
Taken aback, Pike studied the boy for a moment, deciding little more could be done but felt a need to try. “Anton, leaving you here alone sits with me poorly. I understand your thinking, but let me bring you to some kin or folks willing to help.”
Snarling, Petra spread his hands on the table, leaning forward as if to leap across, savage hatred contorting his youthful features. “Get out.” he scowled, veins in his neck pulsing, “Get out now.”
Adam nodded then, digging deep in his pocket, withdrew all the cash money he carried, setting a twenty dollar gold coin on the table by Anton’s hand.
“Will pay for the rope I’m using.” he advised, not wanting to appear as giving a gift, “Use it for any supply you’ll be needful having or else as seems suitable.”
Sweeping his arm over the table, Anton sent the coin flying, Pike hearing it bounce twice before settling in a distant corner. “What’s suitable, Marshal, is finding you when fixed to.” he sputtered angrily before raising his head, eyes piercing Pike. “And will” the boy promised, “when it’s time, Marshal.”
Shrugging slightly, Adam walked backwards to the door. “Son, best you stay seated until I head out lest some moving causes me to think you’re of a mind to retrieve your pa’s gun.” he recommended, edging out the door then dropping into a trot to his horse, canvas sack over his shoulder. Leaving a pistol loaded was less than sensible but the youngster had few enough tools as things stood that taking one so useful struck Pike unfair beyond his ability to act on.
Mounting, Adam took one last look back, feeling remorse seeing Anton still in his chair, hands covering his face. Death bothered him little, being part of nature’s ordered way and shooting those who murdered innocents disturbed him less than none. This one, however, bringing that youngster to be left alone alongside his Pa’s body not yet cold, sat poorly on his conscience.
Sighing, nudging his horse to a trot, he returned down canyon, reaching the scene of Demitri’s last robbery after a couple cold days riding where he returned cash stolen and arranged for transfer to other banks money taken from them. A pleased bank president attempted to award Pike the proffered bounty, agreeing after some protest to present it to the widow instead, Adam hoping at least one fatherless family might benefit from senseless killing without ever knowing that it had.
