Redemption, Kansas

by James Reasoner

  Bill shrugged. “I heal fast. Comes from spending most of my time working outside, I expect.”

  “You do seem to have something of an iron constitution,” said Eden. “But there’s still no need for you to worry about getting a job.” She made a point of not looking at him. “After all, you’ll be leaving soon, won’t you?”

  “I’m starting to wonder about that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, it looks like Hob’s not coming back to get me. Something must’ve happened to him.”

  It occurred to him that he ought to head for Dodge City himself and try to find out why Hob and the rest of the crew hadn’t returned to Redemption after selling the herd. A cold lump of fear suddenly formed in Bill’s belly. Maybe those rustlers had jumped them again, only this time the raiders had succeeded in wiping out the crew and stealing the herd.

  He might have to take Marshal Porter up on that offer of a grubstake, he thought, but instead of heading south toward Texas, he would ride north to Dodge City.

  Not yet, though. He was better, but he wasn’t up to a long horseback ride this soon. Give it another week, he decided. If Hob hadn’t shown up by then, Bill would head north.

  Until then, the least he could do was help out a little around here. He went behind the counter and grabbed a broom leaning in the corner.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” asked Eden.

  “The place could use being swept out,” Bill replied, “and so could the porch. Thought I’d give you a hand and take care of the chore.”

  “You mean you want to work here?”

  “Not for wages. So, I can’t start paying back what I already owe. But at least I can work for my room and board the rest of the time I’m here.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  Bill placed his cane on the counter and gripped the broom instead. “I know it’s not. It’s just something I want to do.”

  Eden gave an exasperated sigh as he started sweeping, but she didn’t try to talk him out of it anymore.

  Monroe came in a few minutes later from some errand and frowned in surprise when he saw Bill sweeping. He didn’t say anything, though, just went behind the counter, hung up his hat, and put on his apron. He told Eden, “You can go start supper now. I’ll watch the store.”

  The mercantile wasn’t busy. When Bill finished sweeping, he put the broom up and asked Monroe, “Any other chores need doing around here?”

  “Did I hire you and forget that I’d done it?” asked Monroe.

  Bill smiled. “No, sir, just consider me a volunteer. I like to earn my keep, so I thought I’d start helping out as long as I’m here.” He shook his head ruefully. “I tried to get a real job so I could earn some wages and start paying you back, but it seems nobody’s hiring in Redemption these days.”

  “I’m not surprised. Nobody can afford to hire extra help.”

  “That’s what they kept tellin’ me. It’s surprising, too, because from the looks of it, most of the businesses here in town are pretty successful.”

  “Things aren’t always what they appear to be,” said Monroe.

  “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out. Redemption looks like a friendly little town, but everybody acts a little spooky, like a trail herd that’s bedded down for the night when there are thunderstorms around. It doesn’t take much to set ’em off.” Bill shrugged. “I guess it’s because of those killings.”

  “Wouldn’t it spook you, knowing there was a backshooter around?”

  “It would,” Bill admitted. “It does. I hadn’t really thought about it until now, but there’s been a shooting about every two weeks, hasn’t there?”

  “And it’s been two weeks since Abner Williams was killed.” Monroe tugged worriedly at his beard. “Yeah, that’s been on my mind.”

  “Maybe there won’t be any more. Maybe that was the last one.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Monroe didn’t sound convinced, though.

  A couple of customers came in, then a couple more. Since the store had gotten a little busy, Bill decided to go ahead and ask one of the men if he could help him.

  “You work here now?” the man asked.

  “Just sort of part-time,” Bill explained. “Something I can get for you?”

  “Well, yeah. I came in for a box of .44-40s.”

  Bill got the cartridges from the shelf and set the box in front of the customer. “How much for a box of .44-40s, Mr. Monroe?”

  “Two dollars,” Monroe replied without looking around from the bag of beans he was weighing.

  “That’ll be two dollars,” Bill told the customer, even though the man must have heard Monroe’s answer as plainly as he did.

  The man slid a pair of silver dollars across the counter, picked up the box of cartridges, and left. Bill put the coins in the cash drawer, as he had seen Perry Monroe do on countless occasions.

  That was his first sale as a mercantile clerk. It wasn’t too bad, he told himself. Of course, he would go plumb loco if he had do things like that all day, every day, for years and years to come. It was fine for some people—Monroe seemed to like running the store and dealing with the customers—but Bill wasn’t made that way.

  He carried a bolt of cloth to the counter for a lady, tucking it under his left arm since he used the cane with his right hand. He would have thought the cane would go on the same side as his bad leg, but he’d discovered through trial and error that it actually worked better the other way by taking some of the weight off his bad leg as he walked.

  When he was through with that, he sold a bag of sugar to another customer and helped yet another pick out a shovel from the ones Monroe had hanging from hooks on one wall. Bill stayed busy enough that the time went by faster than he thought it would.

  By supper time, though, business had slacked off, and the store was soon empty again except for Bill and Monroe. The storekeeper said, “Eden ought to be back pretty soon with a tray of food for you.” He ran his fingers through his beard and frowned in thought. “You know, it doesn’t really make sense for her to have to fix a tray for you and carry it over here every evening. Now that you can get around better, you could just walk over to the house with me after I close up and eat there.”

  “Join you folks for supper, you mean?” The invitation took Bill by surprise. He still got the feeling Monroe didn’t like him all that much. Likely the man would always feel some resentment toward him because he was a Texan. But Monroe wasn’t being downright hostile anymore, either. Bill smiled and said, “Sure, I’d like that.”

  “We’ll start tomorrow, then. Might as well come over for breakfast in the morning, too. I’ll tell Eden to expect you.”

  “All right. I’m much obliged.”

  “You’ve been on your feet a lot today. Look a mite tired. Why don’t you go sit down? When Eden gets here with the food, I’ll tell her you’re in the storeroom.”

  “My leg does ache a little. It’ll feel good to get off of it for a while.”

  Bill went to the storeroom and sat down on the cot. He kept a handful of lucifers on the crate next to the lamp and used one of them to light it. A book lay there, too, with a marker in it. Eden had found it for him. It was called Ivanhoe and was about knights and such in England, and while it was slow going in places, there were a lot of sword fights, too, and Bill liked those parts. He pulled the Peacemaker from the waistband of his jeans, set the gun on the makeshift table next to the lamp, then picked up the book to read a little while he waited for Eden to get there with his supper.

  After a few minutes he heard somebody come into the store and lifted his head, thinking the newcomer was Eden. But then he heard a man’s voice talking to Monroe and figured it was just a late customer. Bill went back to his book.

  He looked up again when he heard Monroe say angrily, “I won’t do it. I can’t do it. You’re asking too much!”

  The other man’s voice was low enough Bill couldn’t make out the words, but it had a menacing edge to it tha
t came through loud and clear. Bill set the book aside and stood up, grasping his cane and using it to help him make his way to the partially open door of the storeroom. Whoever was out there couldn’t see him, but now he could hear the man clearly enough to identify him.

  “You better think long and hard about what you’re doin’, Monroe,” said Zach Norris. “You know how much good law enforcement is worth.”

  “I know how much so-called law enforcement costs,” snapped Monroe. “I’m not sure it’s the same thing.”

  “Well now, that’s just a downright rude thing to say. You know how many times I’ve risked my life for you, old man? You got money in the bank, don’t you? You might’ve lost every penny of it if I hadn’t shot it out with those robbers. And what about those trail herds? They’d have pounded this town into the dust if the marshal and me hadn’t stopped ’em.”

  “I know. Everybody knows. And we’re grateful to you. That’s why we’ve gone along with these . . . these extra levies of yours, even though it’s not right. You get your wages from the town, Norris. We shouldn’t have to pay you protection money on top of it!”

  Norris’s voice was angry as he said, “You’re actin’ like there’s something wrong with payin’ your peace officers what they’re worth. I’m startin’ to feel insulted, Monroe. You’re a damned fool, old man, if you don’t know a good thing when you see it.”

  “I can’t give you any more,” said Monroe. “I gave you what we agreed on. That’s all.”

  Bill’s heart pounded as he stood there just inside the storeroom, leaning on his cane. Norris must have thought the place was empty except for Monroe, so he had spoken plainly. And what Bill had just overheard went a long way toward explaining a lot of the tension and uneasiness he had witnessed in Redemption. The deputy was forcing the settlement’s business owners to pay him extra so he would “protect” them . . . but the real danger he’d be protecting them from was him.

  As far as Bill was concerned, that made Norris an outlaw, tin star or no tin star.

  Now, from the sound of it, Norris had upped his demand to Perry Monroe. Bill wondered suddenly if the same thing had happened to Abner Williams, and to John Lightner, Walter Tompkins, and the baker named Hendrickson before him.

  He wondered where Zach Norris was on the nights those men had been murdered.

  “Is that your final word on it?” Norris was saying now. “You sure you know what you’re doin’, Monroe?”

  “I’ve given you all I can afford to give you. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re fixin’ to be a whole lot sorrier, old man.”

  Monroe cried, “No!” and Bill heard a rush of footsteps as he shoved the door all the way open. He went through it as fast as he could on his bad leg and got out there in time to see that Norris had gone around behind the counter. The deputy had hold of Monroe’s apron with his left hand, and a gun was in his right.

  He wasn’t about to shoot the storekeeper, though. Instead Norris had raised the heavy revolver and held it poised, ready to strike. He was going to pistol-whip Monroe.

  Unless Bill stopped him.

  Chapter 11

  Bill was on the verge of yelling at Norris and charging him, although he knew a cane was a mighty poor match against a gun. An already-drawn gun, at that.

  But before he could move, a scream came from the front of the store, accompanied by a crash and clatter of dishes. Bill looked in that direction and saw Eden standing just inside the door with a horrified look on her face and the scattered debris of his supper at her feet where she had dropped the tray.

  Norris’s head jerked toward the scream, but his gaze stopped on Bill along the way. His face contorted in a snarl, and he said, “Get out of here, Tex, and take the girl with you.”

  “Leave him alone,” Eden pleaded. “Let my father go.”

  “Get out, I said, or the old man’ll get hurt a lot worse!”

  Bill took a step toward the counter. He lifted the cane and held it in front of him in both hands, ready to strike out with it.

  Instantly, Norris swung the gun toward him. “Keep comin’, cowboy, and you’re a dead man,” he said.

  “Bill, no!” cried Eden. “He’ll kill you.”

  A harsh laugh came from Norris. “Damn right I will.”

  “Let go of Mr. Monroe,” Bill said. “Let go of him, or I’ll fetch the marshal.”

  “No, don’t do that!” said Monroe. His voice was choked with fear. “Harvey, you take Eden, and both of you clear out of here.”

  “Dad, no!” Eden said, and at the same time Bill said, “Sorry, Mr. Monroe, I can’t do that.”

  “Damn it, this is still my store! I’m in charge here, and I say the two of you should get out! I got . . . business to discuss with . . . with Deputy Norris here.”

  A grin spread across Norris’s face, pulling on the scar. “Is that so? We’re talkin’ business now, are we, Monroe?”

  The storekeeper swallowed. “We are.”

  Norris lowered the gun a little and let go of Monroe’s apron. Monroe took a shaky step back and straightened the apron and his shirt.

  Bill began, “Mr. Monroe, I heard—”

  “I don’t care what you heard,” the older man cut in. “What goes on in this store is my business, not yours or anybody else’s. Both of you go on now, and close the door behind you on your way out.”

  “Now you’re talkin’ sense,” said Norris. He smirked at Bill. “You heard the man, Tex. You ain’t wanted here. Run along, and take Miss Monroe with you.”

  Eden’s chin lifted defiantly. “I won’t go.”

  “Yes, you will,” her father said. “Harvey, I’m asking you, as one man to another . . . get my daughter out of here.”

  Bill understood then. Monroe didn’t know what was going to happen here, but whatever it was, he didn’t want Eden to see it.

  Bill knew, as well, that if he tried to interfere with the deputy, Norris would shoot him. It would be different if he had a gun, too, instead of just the cane. He had left the revolver in the storeroom when he had hurried out here. He couldn’t stop Norris with a cane.

  And he probably couldn’t stop him with a Colt, either, Bill realized, but at least it would be closer to a fair fight. Attacking Norris now would be suicide.

  Knowing that didn’t keep Bill’s mouth from filling with a bitter, sour taste as he slowly lowered the cane and said, “I reckon we’d better get out of here, Eden.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked at him. “No! Bill, how can you say that?”

  “Your pa’s the boss, and he told us to leave.”

  “That’s right.” Monroe summoned up a shaky smile. “It’ll be all right, honey. You take Bill on home and give him some supper to replace what you dropped. I’ll be along directly. It won’t take long for Deputy Norris and I to finish our business, will it, Deputy?”

  “Not long at all, now that you’re bein’ reasonable,” drawled Norris.

  The tightly wound tension inside Bill eased just slightly. Norris was more interested in money than anything else, and now that Monroe was talking like he would go along with the increased payoff, Norris might be willing to forego the violence he’d been about to commit.

  That was the chance Bill would be taking, anyway, if he left with Eden.

  But if they stayed, there was no telling what Norris might do. Thinking about that, Bill began edging along the aisle toward Eden. Keeping her safe was his main concern right now.

  Obviously she didn’t feel the same way. “I won’t go,” she warned Bill as he approached. “I’ll start screaming, so everybody in town will hear.”

  Norris shook his head. “Oh, you don’t want to do that, Miss Monroe,” he said. “I can sure tell you, you don’t want to do that.”

  It would be easy enough for Norris to kill all three of them, thought Bill. He could gun them down, duck out the back of the store, and circle around to pretend he had just heard the shots and was coming to investigate. Nobody would know any differ
ent, and even if they did, probably they would be too scared to say anything.

  “Don’t you raise a ruckus,” said Monroe in a voice that trembled slightly. “Please, Eden. I’ll be fine. Just go on home.”

  Bill reached her side, stepping around the dropped food to take hold of her arm. At first he thought she was going to jerk away from him, but then a dull sheen of defeat came over her eyes, and she didn’t struggle.

  “All right,” she said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is,” declared Monroe. “Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah, you got nothin’ to worry about, Miss Monroe,” Norris said smugly. “Your pa will be fine. After all, the law’s here to keep him safe, right?”

  Eden looked mad enough to explode, as well as being scared. She allowed Bill to steer her out the door, although she went grudgingly.

  Once they were on the porch, he looked up and down the street. At this hour, there weren’t many people around. Most folks were at home having supper. A few of the businesses were still open, and of course the saloon down the street still had customers.

  “You head for home,” he told Eden. “I’ll see if I can find the marshal.”

  It was Eden’s turn to clutch his arm. “No,” she said. “That won’t help.”

  “Why not?” asked Bill.

  She shook her head. “Just trust me, it won’t.” She looked fearfully at the closed door and went on, “There’s nothing we can do now except hope that my father will be all right.”

  “Well, I can do more than that, now that you’re out of harm’s way. I’ll get a gun somewhere—”

  Eden’s fingers tightened on his arm until her grip was almost painful. “No,” she said in a soft but intense voice. “No. Norris would kill you, Bill, and I . . . I don’t want that.”

  She was afraid for him, just like he had been afraid for her. Bill couldn’t help but think that meant something, but this was one hell of a way to find out for sure she cared about him.

  There hadn’t been any shots from inside, or any more loud voices, for that matter. “Come on,” Bill said to Eden. “We’ll go to your house, like your father told us, and then I’ll come back here to make sure he’s all right.”