Mundy's Law

by Monty McCord

  “You’re a friend of Joe’s?” Sullivan said.

  “Somethin’ like that,” the stranger said. “He gonna die?”

  “He could.”

  After a long moment, the stranger spoke again in a slightly different tone. “You give your life for that man?”

  “Well, ah, I do whatever I can to help him . . .” Sullivan said.

  “Good answer for a question I didn’t ask. Would you give your life for him if you had to?”

  “Ah, sure . . . sure I would,” Sullivan said, his commitment growing stronger as he talked.

  “Good. He dies, you might have to.” The stranger turned around and walked out.

  “Evil incarnate, if I’ve ever seen it,” Evans said. He gripped his Bible with both hands.

  “Sheriff,” Siegler said.

  Harvey Martin walked out of the store to return to the hotel, leaving his brother, Jarvis, and Siegler.

  “Gentlemen,” Canfield said, and took off his hat. “It is with a heavy heart I come today. I’m told that Clyde shot someone. And that’s why he was killed. Would you tell me what happened?”

  The town board members looked at each other, trying to digest the sheriff’s contrite disposition and wondered how to respond.

  “I was there when he drew his last breath, Wick,” Jarvis said. “He ambushed Adam Carr in a dark alley. Why do you think he done that?”

  “Budd, that’s what I’d like to know.”

  Jarvis said, “His name wasn’t Clyde Davey, either. It was Herm Tillmer. Said so just before dyin’.”

  “The hell you say?”

  “It’s true, Sheriff. He asked Marshal Mundy to notify his mother in Falls City of his passing,” Siegler said.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t know Clyde, or Herm, like I thought I did.” Canfield looked at the floor and slowly shook his head.

  “That said, Sheriff, why do you think he shot Adam, in what we can reasonably assume was also an attempt on Marshal Mundy’s life?” Siegler said.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea, Byron. I was aware of no bad blood between them. In fact, I was hoping someone here could enlighten me.”

  “Well, that’s not likely,” Harold said.

  “I went to Clyde’s room, before coming here, to try and find a name of a relative I could notify. I found a gun and pair of spurs and some other things that I know belonged to Bob Carlson, the fellow that was found dead here,” Canfield said. “With what you’ve told me, it appears that he may have been the one who killed Carlson. Why he would do it, I just don’t know.”

  “Carlson, being the one you accused Mundy of killin’, that the one?” Jarvis said. Canfield met Jarvis’s cold stare for a moment, slowly shook his head, and looked at the floor. “All I can figure.”

  “Well, it’s pointless to continue this speculation,” Siegler said. “We have another matter that requires your immediate attention, Sheriff.There’s a man in town who’s come from Kansas aiming to kill Marshal Mundy. He’s a wanted man. Name’s Lute Kinney. Joe has the flyer in his office.”

  For a fraction of a second, a spark of glee seemed to arise in Canfield’s eyes. A flash and it was gone.

  “Why’s he want to kill the marshal?”

  “He was hired to kill him for a vendetta, resulting from Mundy’s job in Kansas,” Jarvis said. “Will you arrest him?”

  “Yeah . . . sure. Of course. Judge expects me to move these two prisoners now that they’re sentenced. But I’ll check around before I take them back with me,” Canfield said. “What’s he look like?”

  Jarvis described Kinney, and Sheriff Canfield left to start his search.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sarah and Doc Sullivan sat at the table and drank coffee. They could hear Pastor Evans reading softly to Joe from his Bible.

  “And the Lord will take away from thee all sickness . . .”

  Sullivan got up and walked over to the examination table and gently slid Adam back toward the middle. Adam looked up at Doc, his eyes hazy. “How’s Joe?”

  “His temperature has started to fall. It’s still high, but better than it was. As soon as the Thorbergs come for their son, we’ll move you to his bed.You’ll be in with Joe.” Adam nodded slowly.

  Sullivan returned to the table, opened a whiskey bottle, and added some to his coffee.

  “. . . forget not all his benefits, who healeth all thy diseases.”

  Sullivan glanced at Pastor Evans in the patient room.

  “Think it helps?” Sarah asked.

  “Certainly can’t hurt,” Sullivan said. “So that was the man who wants to kill Joe.”

  Sarah nodded. “What are we going to do if he comes back? He threatened you. Joe’s guns are in the drawer.”

  “Are you a gunman, Sarah?” Sullivan said.

  “I can shoot, a little.”

  “Neither am I.” Sullivan drank down the last of his coffee.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I guess we’ll pray along with Pastor Evans that Joe gets well . . . soon.” Sullivan said. He poured whiskey into his empty cup.

  “Have any left?” Pastor Evans sat down at the table. Sullivan shoved a glass to him and filled it halfway.

  “Did any of that take, Pastor?” Sarah asked.

  “We won’t know until He wants us to.” Evans sipped the whiskey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Is there a problem, Mister Hotelman?” Kinney asked. “Maybe you have a problem with me, is that it?”

  Harold Martin tried not to shake, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just his hands either—it was his whole body. His eyes danced around uncontrollably. He felt glad only that he’d relieved himself before Kinney arrived. There were no other customers. In fact the streets were oddly quiet, especially after the previous night’s celebration.

  “Ah, no. No, sir. No problem, no problem at all.” He tried to look away from the man’s black eyes and expressionless face, but he couldn’t.

  “Why do ya’ keep lookin’ out the window then?” Kinney said slowly. He pointed with his fork to emphasize his point. “Expectin’ someone?”

  “No, no, sir.” Martin started to get up.

  “Sit down! I invited you to sit with me. Not polite to get up like that, is it?”

  “No, sir.” Martin felt like he might faint. Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead, but he was too scared to wipe them off. Although he tried not to, his mind wouldn’t stop wondering if Kinney would kill him after finishing his apple pie. The man was after Joe, not me.That’s right, I have nothing to worry about. He felt strangely peaceful when he remembered that Joe was Kinney’s target, not him. At the same time, he felt ashamed for being relieved about it. He thought he might vomit.

  “So if you don’t mind, I’ll finish my pie,” Kinney said.

  “No, not at all. I hope your meal was satisfactory?” Martin could think of nothing else to say. He didn’t want to beg for his life, on the off chance that Kinney hadn’t thought of killing him in the first place. Where was that damned Canfield anyway? And why wasn’t Harvey back yet? He was beginning to feel abandoned. Alone in the world.

  The waitress returned to the table with a coffeepot. “Would you like anything else, sir?”

  Kinney held out his cup for more coffee. “Think that’ll do it. Thank you, ma’am.”

  She blushed slightly and picked up his dinner plate. Martin tried sending her frantic messages with his eyes, but she didn’t notice. What would she think he wanted, if she had seen him? She didn’t know anything of the danger the man he was seated with represented. It was futile. She went back to the kitchen with the dirty dishes. In a quick glance out of the window, Martin saw Canfield across the street, heading toward the marshal’s office.

  “I should probably get back to work, if you need any—”

  “Shut up! You can do that, can’t you? I’ll tell you when I’m through with your company,” Kinney said. He took a sip from his cup.

  Jarvis poured Gib Hadley and
Byron Siegler each a tumbler of whiskey and refilled his own. The Texan was empty save for three cowhands from out of town and the piano player. The two working girls had given up and gone to their rooms alone.

  “When I saw ’im, he said he couldn’t find hide nor hair of Kinney,” Jarvis said shaking his head. “In a town this size, how damned hard is it to find a man. Especially that one!”

  “Maybe the fearless sheriff holds the notion of a rendezvous with Mister Kinney in a position somewhere less than a priority,” Hadley said.

  “That would be my bet,” Siegler added.

  Jarvis glanced out to the street. “It’s like folks can sense there’s somethin’ wrong. Hardly anyone movin’ about. It’s been dead in here all day.”

  “Same at my place,” Hadley said. He pushed his tumbler around in small circles on the bar.

  “Any news on Joe?” Jarvis asked. Siegler didn’t remember Budd calling him Joe before, only Mundy.

  “Doc says his fever has declined a little. He’s hopeful.” Siegler looked at his friends. Instead of friendliness, orneriness, and levity, he saw uncertainty in their solemn faces. So much of life was uncertain in this part of the world, but this was something that was out of their control. They knew that if they did try to act on it, they would probably lose their lives. That’s why they hired a marshal, wasn’t it? To protect them from the evil in the world . . . and paid him fifty dollars a month to do it. That made Siegler slightly nauseous, and he downed his whiskey in one gulp.

  “If Kinney finds out Joe’s sick in bed, he may decide it’s opportunity knockin’. We should arm ourselves and go down to Doc’s!” Hadley said.

  “Kinney knows he’s there,” Siegler said. He moved his empty tumbler toward Jarvis who refilled it. “Doc says he appeared in the room with them and Joe. Made no sound whatsoever comin’ in or when he left, he said. Like some damn evil spirit or something.” The others stared at Siegler. If he’d looked up from the bar, he would have seen their pale faces. “I guess if he meant to do it there, he would have.”

  “Now, come on, Byron. You’re making ’im sound like some goddamned ghost or something,” Jarvis said. “I seen ’im with my own two eyes.”

  “You’re the only one in this flock has seen him!” Hadley’s eyes were wide. “Why ain’t anybody seen him ramblin’ about town? Answer me that!”

  “Doc and Sarah and Pastor Evans saw him too, Gib.” Siegler’s statement was somewhat less than comforting to them. It quickly became obvious that their next visitor wouldn’t make them feel much better.

  “Where the hell have all you been?” Harold Martin nearly screamed when he crashed through the front doors, causing all three men leaning on the bar to flinch. “You been hiding in here all this time?”

  “Jesus, Harold settle down before ya’ throw a shoe,” Jarvis said. He grabbed a tumbler from a neat pyramid on the bar and filled it for him, while Hadley closed the front doors.

  As Siegler started to tell Jarvis, “He doesn’t drink . . .” Martin downed the entire glass. Coughing and choking, he offered it to Jarvis for a refill.

  “Better let that one settle, Harold. What in hell’s gotten into you?” Hadley said.

  Martin’s hands were shaking so badly, they were amazed he didn’t spill any of his whiskey.

  “He held me against my will.” His eyes jumped to each of the men as he tried to catch his breath. He glanced back at the doors as if someone might be chasing him. “I was in fear for my life!”

  “Harold, slow down and tell us what happened,” Siegler said calmly. “Better give him a little more, Budd.”

  Jarvis nodded and refilled his glass.

  Martin sipped the whiskey this time. “He was there.”

  “Who, Harold?” Hadley asked.

  “That hired killer! Who do you think!” He took a bigger sip this time. “I was at the desk, relieving Harvey . . . and there he was standing right next to me. Like he appeared out of thin air.”

  “You just didn’t notice him come in, Harold. Then what happened?” Siegler asked.

  “He didn’t come in through the door. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. One minute I was alone, and the next I wasn’t!” They looked at each other and tried to act untroubled.

  “Well, then, he must have come in through the back door,” Jarvis said.

  “He invited me, firmly, to sit down with him while he had a meal. And then a piece of pie, and then another cup of coffee!” Martin produced a handkerchief and mopped his face. “After he finished, he said I could go. Before I reached the hallway, I looked back, and he was gone.”

  “He’s not a ghost, Harold, just a bad man,” Siegler said. “Did you tell the sheriff?”

  “When I composed myself a little, I went down to the jail. He was getting the prisoners ready to go. I told him about Kinney being at the hotel. He said, ‘He there now?’ I told him, ‘No, he just left.’ He said he had to get the prisoners to Gracie Flats while he still had some daylight left.”

  “You come here straight from talking to him?” Siegler said.

  “I certainly did. Ran all the way!”

  “That yellow cur. He had only about twenty minutes of daylight left anyway,” Jarvis said.

  “Like I said before, findin’ Kinney wasn’t a priority for ’im,” Hadley said with disgust. “Now we’re all alone with that animal roaming the streets.”

  Kinney stood by the front door and watched Canfield ride by, leading two other horses with handcuffed men aboard. “Looks like the sheriff’s leavin’ town with some prisoners.” He double-checked the front doors to make sure they were locked and walked back to the table where Lucy was sitting. Little light was left in the Palace as the sun went down.

  “I’ll fire a lamp if you want,” Lucy said.

  “If I want, I’ll tell you.”

  “Who are you? My name’s Lucy.” She could tell he was staring at her. After a few moments of silence, she continued. “What is it ya’ want here anyway?” she asked.

  The punch rebroke her nose before she saw it coming. “Ahh!” She screamed and grabbed her face. She could feel the warm blood running into her mouth. She reached for a cleaning rag and held it against her nose.

  “Didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled.

  “Why ain’t this place open?”

  Lucy gagged and coughed on swallowed blood before answering. “Smiley, he runs the place, he’s in jail.”

  “What’d he do?” Kinney asked.

  “I heard he hit Marshal Mundy with a chair rung.”

  “You know Joe Mundy?” Kinney asked after several minutes of silence.

  “Sure. Most everybody does. He’s the marshal.” She continued wiping the blood from her nose.

  “For how long?”

  “Maybe two months,” Lucy said. She squinted her eyes, trying to tell which way he was looking.

  “He kill anyone here?”

  “Sure did. Right upstairs here.”

  “Why?” Kinney asked.

  “Why’d he kill ’im? Ah, ’cuz a fella was tryin’ to beat me to death, that’s why.”

  “Knight in shining armor, is he?”

  “Sure is in my eyes,” Lucy said.

  “The way you stumble around, you’re not an idiot?”

  “I am not!” Lucy said with disgust. “Was that animal that beat me.”

  “Mundy have any deputies?”

  “Adam Carr helps him out with the jail, but he got shot up last night,” Lucy said. “I hope he’s okay.”

  “Must have been the other one I saw at the Doc’s,” Kinney said. “Your knight in shining armor is down with a sickness.”

  “I didn’t know,” Lucy said. “Hope he gets better.”

  “Believe he’ll be around town in the morning.” Lucy didn’t like the way that sounded.

  “Beds upstairs?” Kinney asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the stairs. “Let’s go. Gotta’ be up early.”

 
CHAPTER THIRTY

  It was seven o’clock Sunday morning. The regular morning coffee gathering at the North Star was complete when Harold Martin walked in. Small flakes of snow fell, and wind pushed at the windows.

  “About time, Harold, we almost give up on ya’,” Hadley said. Martin sat down at the table and nodded when Hadley served his coffee.

  “You don’t look so good, Harold,” Jarvis said.

  “I feel dizzy, and somewhat sick to my stomach, and my head hurts.” Martin’s hands still shook, his eyes still busy.

  The others chuckled. “A little hair of the dog?” Hadley held up a whiskey bottle.

  Harold put his hand against his mouth, closed his eyes, and swallowed. He waved Hadley off with the other hand.

  “We were asking if anyone has seen Kinney since we talked last night,” Siegler said.

  Harold shook his head and sipped his coffee, trying not to look at Hadley.

  “Maybe he became tedious with all the waitin’ ’round and went home,” Hadley said hopefully.

  Jarvis shook his head slowly. “Don’t think, after he took this long to get here, clear from southern Kansas, that he got bored and went home.”

  Siegler said, “Budd’s right. He’s around, still bent on doing what he came to do. And be five hundred dollars richer afterwards.”

  “Damn cold in here, Gib,” Martin said.

  Hadley glanced over at the heating stove. “It’s stoked as much as it’ll hold. Hell, I feel the heat from here.”

  A front door rattled open, and all four men flinched. Martin spilled some of his coffee on the table. The first two paying customers of the day walked in. They were strangers, cowhands from out of town.

  “Got any hot coffee?” the older one said. The two sat down at the table next to theirs.

  “Sure do. Welcome, gentlemen,” Hadley said. He sat two cups down and filled them up. “Where you boys from?”

  “Over near Ericson, the XO-Bar ranch. Been trackin’ some strays but come up empty-handed,” the old cowboy said. His dark-colored chaps had many holes and tears. “We see you got a telegraph wire headin’ this way from Willow Springs and Bur-well.”