by Rob Hill
‘Dunmore was found killed out at Snake’s Creek.’ Hartford spoke quietly so McGreggor had to lean forward to catch what he was saying.
‘Pops Wardell was fishing out there and found his body in the reeds.’
‘So what?’ McGreggor stared at him.
‘Where were you Friday afternoon?’
‘Damnit to hell, boy.’ McGreggor jumped up as if Hartford had touched him with a branding iron. ‘I’ve taken the time to explain everything and you still don’t get how things are. You started out a sodbuster’s son and that’s what you’ll always be.’
Hartford didn’t flinch.
‘Answer my question, Mr McGreggor.’
The fast drumming of hoofbeats sounded at the far end of the street. A lone rider approached at the gallop, a cloud of trail dust exploding behind him. The sheriff stepped down off his porch and shaded his eyes against the sun.
The rider jerked his horse to a standstill outside the saloon, leapt down from the saddle and threw the reins over the hitching rail. The sheriff shouted something and hobbled painfully across the street to try to catch up with him but he was too slow. The rider took the porch steps two at a time.
‘Not now, Sheriff,’ he shouted. ‘I got to see Mary May.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The sheriff pulled himself awkwardly up the saloon steps, his breath shortened to gasps of pain. His left hand grabbed the rail, his right clutched his .45. Hartford pushed in front of him and burst through the saloon doors. Inside, Boone had seized Mary May by the arm. Horrified townsfolk pressed themselves back against the walls. Chairs clattered over. Glasses smashed. On their feet, Logan and the boys from McGreggor’s ranch eyed the distance to their gun belts hanging by the door. Pearl stood behind the bar holding her twelve-gauge just out of sight. Boone’s gun was in his hand. He threatened the crowd with wide sweeping gestures and shouted about no one trying to stop him.
‘You’re coming with me.’ He started to frogmarch Mary May towards the door. ‘They’re saying things about me. I got to talk to you.’
‘Got to put your gun away, Boone.’ Hartford stood square in the doorway, his Colt still in its holster. His words weren’t loud or angry, not a command just a flat statement of fact.
Boone hesitated, seemed to recognize his brother for the first time, seemed to wonder what he was doing there. He glanced round the room and noticed the faces of McGreggor’s hands, Pearl, Pops and Greely, the townsfolk, people he had known all his life. He was centre stage.
‘I ain’t going to marry you, Boone.’ Mary May’s voice cut through the commotion.
Boone turned to her, shock turned to relief in his face.
‘That’s what I came to tell you. Me and you married don’t make sense at all. I just ain’t the settling down type, Mary May.’
Still holding Mary May by the arm, he waved his gun at the men blocking the door.
‘Now get the hell out of the way.’
‘Can’t do that, Boone.’ It was the sheriff’s voice. ‘Just put your gun down.’
Colour drained from Boone’s face. It was the same old sheriff who he delighted in running rings round as a kid, who hauled him home whenever he helped himself to candy from the store or broke someone’s window with his catapult or put a frog in a girl’s hair. It was as if he was ten years old again; it was almost funny. He looked round the room expecting people to see how funny this was. Everyone stared, poker faces set against him, just like when he got in trouble all those years ago. And he was always in trouble. The silence pressed on his ears. Why didn’t anyone say anything? He waved his gun again. He was on his own like he always was. Mary May cried out as he tightened his grip on her arm.
‘Out of my way.’ He heard his own words echo inside his head. He clamped his fist tight, afraid Mary May was going to slip away like an eel. What was she struggling for? Hadn’t he come here to do the right thing? To tell her face-to-face that he was too wild, too free to settle down. How could he be expected to waste his life breaking his back day after day on some miserable plot of dirt? Of course he was right, just look what had happened to his pa.
That was the moment Boone realized that the sheriff was holding a gun. The old fool. He had his .45 in his hand and the hammer was pulled back. No one else had drawn a gun. Hartford was right in front of him, he wasn’t holding a gun. McGreggor was there, he was empty handed. It was only Sheriff Milton who still had it in for him, just like when he was a kid. The sheriff should be pleased he was here. He had come to do the right thing by Mary May in front of everyone, in front of the whole town. And this was the thanks the sheriff gave him. He hated him probably. And why? No reason for it.
Mary May was screaming now. Something about how he was breaking her arm. Her screams cut into his thoughts like blades, however much he tried to ignore them. Turned out she was just like all the rest of them, the sheriff, his clever brother, his ma’s favourite, who had high-tailed it to Chicago and left him condemned to a sodbuster’s life, all these people who hadn’t got anything better to do than stare at him. He could feel their eyes on him, drilling into him.
Boone shook Mary May hard then to make her shut up, to let him think, but she only screamed louder. Then other people were shouting, all of them maybe. He could see their mouths moving, how twisted their faces were, his brother, McGreggor, the sheriff, all of them. But he couldn’t make out their words. Mary May’s screaming filled his head and so he shook her a third time. Hard. He had to make her stop. Had to. Or he couldn’t think at all. Then he saw the sheriff wave his .45. The old fool. What did he think he was doing? With Mary May’s screams slashing at his brain, Boone raised his gun and fired.
The shot sounded like someone had exploded a dynamite charge. The walls shook. Shouting erupted now, screams, men’s voices, women’s voices. At the same time, Mary May swung herself in front of him, made a grab for his gun with her other hand. She was yelling at him too, crying, he felt her hair brush across his face and smelled the scent of lavender.
Then someone pulled the floor away. He was on his back with Hartford kneeling on his chest. He had let go of Mary May, the sheriff was standing on his wrist and was shouting something about his gun. Hartford drew back his fist and slugged him. He heard his teeth crack, felt lightning strike inside his head. Then he felt his body relax as if he was about to float off somewhere. His limbs were light and loose and voices whirlpooled above him. He wasn’t in the saloon anymore.
Yes he was. People were hauling him to his feet, holding him up while they dragged him across the floor, two of them, Hartford and the sheriff. His legs wouldn’t work properly, his vision misted. In the distance he could hear Mary May crying. They sat him down on a chair. Someone tied his hands behind him. Why? he wondered. He was too weak to move anyway. His head swirled and he tasted blood in his mouth.
As Boone’s head cleared, he heard them arguing about him. The sheriff’s voice was hoarse with anger, Hartford’s stern and cold. Annie was pleading with them and Pearl was saying something about guns in the saloon.
‘Think you can walk in here and take a shot at me?’ the sheriff snarled.
‘Please, Sheriff, please.’ Annie was sobbing, her words catching in her throat. ‘You know what he’s like. He didn’t set out to do that . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
They had sat Boone in the middle of the room where he had stood with Mary May a few minutes before. Everyone was gathered round him, their eyes hard, unforgiving. Over by the bar, Pearl had her arm around Mary May.
‘Mary May’s a brave girl.’ The sheriff regained his sense of dignity. ‘Knocking that gun aside saved my life. Nearly got herself shot in the process.’
Murmurs of agreement echoed in the crowd. Boone tried to catch Mary May’s eye but she wouldn’t look at him. He hung his head.
‘She had the good sense to see there was no future with you too.’ The sheriff couldn’t resist turning the knife. ‘You may think you broke with her, but she told us that was her intention before yo
u turned up.’
Boone looked over towards Mary May again.
‘This day may not have turned out how you all thought,’ the sheriff addressed the crowd. ‘But I had my suspicions and I’ve got a thing or two to say. There’s a matter we’ve all got to face up to, something we’ve all got to deal with. Ordinarily, Credence is a peaceful place. But recently there’s been cattle rustling, a guy busted out of jail and we’ve had a dead man at Snake’s Creek.’
Silence fell on the room. Some of the crowd met the sheriff’s stare, Jake Nudd inspected his boots, Logan stared at the ceiling, even McGreggor shifted uneasily. Hartford got ready to say his piece. He had seen evidence of rustling with his own eyes, whatever excuse McGreggor came up with.
‘You had the wrong man, Sheriff.’ At the back of the room, Jake Nudd got to his feet. His friends hissed at him to sit down but he ignored them. ‘I ain’t no rustler. I’ve worked all the ranches between here and Abilene one time or another. Mr McGreggor paid us to find his steers that had got mixed in with the Dunmore herd, that’s all.’
‘Without letting Mr Dunmore in on this little arrangement.’ The sheriff’s sarcasm made Nudd shift his weight from foot to foot. ‘You were being paid to work on the Lazy D at the time, weren’t you Jake?’
Everyone turned to stare at Jake. From the murmur of agreement, the sheriff judged the weight of opinion was behind him.
‘Seems to me like you deserved a night in jail.’
Nudd inspected his boots again. He had polished them that morning expecting to attend a wedding party where everything would be forgiven and forgotten. Instead, here he was, on the spot.
‘On top of that, the minute my back’s turned your friends bust you out. Seems to me you all owe me a night in the lock-up.’
People were openly nodding agreement; it was clear the crowd was on the sheriff’s side. Logan and the others pulled Jake Nudd down into his seat again and told him to shut his trap.
‘Anyhow, I’ll deal with you later,’ the sheriff glared at them. ‘That ain’t the only rustling we’ve got going on.’
‘You all know I’m a Pinkerton Agent.’ Hartford took his cue.
‘Sheriff’s right. Mr Dunmore contacted our Chicago office to ask for help to track down rustlers. We had a wire this morning. The agent up in Abilene has uncovered a rustling operation which means steers are being moved north. We’re waiting for more details. In the mean time my instructions are to place Boone Hartford under arrest.’
There were gasps from the crowd, whispers about brother arresting brother. Somewhere at the back of everyone, Annie sobbed. Boone lifted his head and stared, he looked defeated.
‘Never had a construction job in Dallas, did you Boone?’ Sheriff Milton said grimly. ‘All that time you were away, you were arranging the drive north for longhorns cut from McGreggor’s and the Lazy D herds. Probably other ranches as well.’
Boone didn’t protest. He held the sheriff’s gaze for a moment and then his eyes slid away.
The sheriff tucked his thumbs into his belt and prepared to move on. The set of his jaw said that he had figured things out and was about to do his job dispensing justice, come what may. Pain in his knees, which ordinarily would have prevented him from standing for so long, didn’t seem to trouble him at all.
‘Now we’re getting on to the killing of Mr Charles Dunmore,’ the sheriff announced. ‘Pearl, why don’t you take Miss Dunmore out on to the porch while I go through this?’
‘No.’ Mary May stood up, angry and determined in spite of her tears.
‘I’m staying, Sheriff. You go right ahead and say what you’re going to say.’
‘Dunmore wasn’t a popular man.’ The sheriff avoided looking in Mary May’s direction and pressed ahead. ‘I heard complaints about him all over. Even you, Pops.’ The sheriff turned his gaze to where Pops Wardell sat in the corner. His head was nodding and he looked as if he was just about to doze off.
‘Me?’ Pops was suddenly wide awake and trying to figure out whether or not he was being accused of something. ‘All I said was he threw me out of Snake’s Creek.’ Then it dawned on him that that was the exact spot where Dunmore’s body had been found. ‘Now just a minute, Sheriff, I’ve been fishing up there for years. Everyone knows that.’
‘All right, Pops, no one’s accusing you,’ the sheriff assured him and shifted attention to Greely. ‘I’ve heard you speak against him, Bill.’
‘Only said he never left me a tip, that’s all.’ Greely hadn’t expected to be dragged into this. ‘What are you saying, Sheriff?’
The sheriff swung his gaze across the room to where Jake Nudd was trying to hide behind Logan and Clyde Shorter.
‘Logan, what about you? Ever say you wanted Dunmore dead?’
‘I just meant Dunmore accused us of stealing his beeves.’ Logan pulled at the kerchief knotted at his throat.
‘Dunmore complained to me, fired you and got your friend Jake tossed in jail,’ the sheriff pressed him.
‘They weren’t his beeves; they were Mr McGreggor’s.’ Logan was on the back foot. A raspberry-coloured blush crept up his neck. ‘Look, Sheriff, I never would have. . . .’
‘And you, Clyde. Ever want Dunmore out of the way?’ The sheriff turned to Clyde Shorter.
Shorter looked like a hooked fish. His eyes bulged and his mouth moved but no words came out.
‘What about you, Jake?’ The sheriff turned to where Jake Nudd was hunched down behind his friends, hoping the sheriff would forget about him. ‘You were the one who spent the night in a cell. What kind of a grudge did you hold against Dunmore?’
Over by the bar, Mary May sobbed bitterly. Pearl tightened her arm round her shoulder and drew her close. People began to doubt that she was right to stay behind. The poor girl had just lost her father and to hear him talked about like this must be agonising. Sympathy for her was palpable.
‘Mary May, now I’ve got something to ask you.’ The sheriff’s voice was gentle, understanding. ‘You know I didn’t intend you to hear all that. Just remember that every small town has its resentments, it’s part of the woodwork.’
Mary May dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Everyone knows you had a falling out with your pa, Mary May.’ The sheriff quietened his voice until it was barely above a whisper. ‘And when you’re young, things get out of hand. You were running around with Boone like some kind of wildness had gotten into you. We all saw it. No secret that your pa had no time for Boone. You defied him to his face, Mary May.’ The sheriff paused.
Mary May had stopped crying now. White-faced, she pulled away from Pearl, sat up upright and let the sheriff lecture her. Horrified, people began to wonder which way the sheriff’s questions were heading. They stared at Mary May. Beneath her tears and display of grief, was this wilful girl capable of turning on her own kin?
In the saloon, silence fell. Mary May stared at the sheriff, hurt and anger in her face, her eyes as hard as bullets. The memory of all the times she had been criticised, lectured, reprimanded, punished by her father was in her now. She was hearing again all his harsh words which had cut her so deeply and which he had assured her over and over were for her own good. The sheriff was standing in front of her, accusing her just like her pa used to do. It was as if her father had returned from the grave.
‘Did you follow your pa out to Snake’s Creek two days ago?’ The sheriff’s voice was still gentle and his gaze was fixed on her. ‘Did you shoot him, Mary May?’
The question hung in the air. The townspeople looked from one to the other. Had they heard right? Pops turned to Bill Greely, Pearl looked to Hartford, Logan and Shorter were open-mouthed. They all stared at Mary May’s wan, tearstained face. They saw how she sat straight-backed and looked the sheriff in the eye. They saw her expression of hurt and defiance and how her hands twisted her handkerchief until it was rope. Could Mary May have killed her own father?
‘I did it.’
It was Boone’s voice. He turned to Mary May
for a second and his look contained a message. Everyone saw it but only she understood what it was. Then he turned and faced the sheriff. His hair was untidy, his face was bruised and there was blood on his lip.
‘I shot Dunmore out at Snake’s Creek.’
A breeze must have picked up somewhere, sand sifted in under the saloon door, and dust motes spun in the lines of sunlight. Silence weighed down on the room. No one moved. No one spoke.
Aware that everyone was watching him, Boone lifted his head to meet the sheriff’s gaze. He had been the focus of the town’s attention often enough, but never like this. He had always been in the wrong, caught out, accused of something. As his notoriety grew, people shunned him and kept away. No one liked him, he knew it. He told himself that he was too big for this small town. He was made for a hard-riding, daredevil life, excitement and fun. If that meant he came into conflict with his pa, with the sheriff, with his neighbours, well, that was part of it. No one was going to hold him down.
Then Boone found Mary May. The quiet, awkward girl he had known as a kid had turned into this beautiful young woman. Like him, she felt stifled by her pa and the dull routine of daily life. Like him, she wanted a taste of freedom. She would sneak out of her house to go on midnight rides with him; she would disobey her pa and meet him down by the Blue River where they would talk until sundown. She encouraged him to quit the farm for no other reason than that she knew it was what he wanted.
As far as Boone was concerned, there was no one else like Mary May. So one day, which happened to be a day she had argued with her pa worse than usual, he asked her to marry him. Amidst laughter and disbelief at her own daring, she said yes.
Boone looked up. There was old Sheriff Milton hissing at Mary May like a snake, standing there accusing Mary May in the same soft-voiced, whispering way he used to accuse him of stealing candy from the store when he was a kid. Boone used to wish the sheriff would yell at him, show that he was angry. It made his blood boil so badly, he used to shout out not caring who knew that he was guilty. No matter. Right now, he was taking the fall for his girl in front of everybody. What could he do that was better than that?
