Law at Angel's Landing: A Western Story

by Wayne D. Overholser

  It was a sorry situation, I thought. Here was a man I’d known all these years, a man I had thought of as my friend, a man who in a way had helped raise me, as Rip Yager had said, now acting as if he didn’t know me from any of the hundreds of strangers in town.

  After I’d eaten and paid for my dinner, I stopped at the desk. “Remember me, Joe?” I asked. “I’m Mark Girard. I didn’t think you’d forget me after eighteen years.”

  “I ain’t likely to forget you,” he grated. “We did what we thought was right for you as well as the rest of us, and we ain’t getting one damn’ bit of co-operation. We figured to help you stay alive, but a lot of thanks we’re getting for it.”

  “You’ve got all the law and order you want, haven’t you?” I asked. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You didn’t want anarchy, you said. Well, you haven’t got it.”

  He swiped a hand across his face. “You and your god-damned pride. You can’t keep us from having anarchy or some con man from running the camp and you know it. One’s as bad as the other. The real crowd ain’t got here yet. It’ll be hell on high red wheels when it does come. You ain’t figgered that out yet.”

  “I’d keep the lid on all right if I had the proper help,” I shot back. “If I don’t get it, me and Tug will do it by ourselves, not John Wallace, unless he murders us.”

  I wheeled and walked out, too angry to continue the conversation. Sure, I knew I was being stubborn, but the way I saw it I didn’t have any choice. As far as being murdered was concerned, I had no doubt Wallace would try. I had wanted Joe Steele to think about it. Steele and the others could still stop Wallace from coming, but as I pushed through the crowd to the livery stable, I knew they wouldn’t.

  Suddenly I knew what I was going to do. I don’t know why an old truth popped into my mind just then, but the idea that when trouble is coming, you’d best get the jump on it made a lot of sense. I’d be in Durango Friday when Captain John Wallace arrived.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I reached the livery stable, Dutch Henry told me that he’d rented every horse and rig we had and I ought to buy a dozen more horses. I’d better take advantage of the business before I had any competition, he said, but I told him I didn’t have the capital to go in that deep. I was going to Durango on Friday, though, and I’d bring back two more horses.

  He gave me a sharp glance, then said: “John Wallace gets into Durango on Friday, don’t he?”

  “So you’ve heard,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s all over town. Rip Yager wanted folks to know, I guess.”

  “I’ve had my will made today,” I said. “As soon as Tug gets back, I want you two to go with me to witness it.”

  “Now wait a minute . . .” he began, then stopped and took a long breath. “Who the hell knows what’ll happen when that bastard gets here? There’s an old Dutch proverb that says a man should always step on the head of a snake before the snake gets his teeth into a man’s hide. I guess that’s the way you figure it.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Tug will have to stay here on Friday, I reckon,” he said. “There’s got to be at least one lawman in town, so maybe I ought to go with you to Durango to help fetch them horses back.”

  “No, I’ll manage,” I said, “but thanks for offering to help.”

  “I’m a fair hand with a gun,” he said.

  “Maybe later,” I said. “I don’t expect to settle anything in Durango, but I want to lay the cards out face up so he can see them.”

  He nodded. “Good idea. If you need me later, just holler. I was a deputy once, you know, before I caught the gold fever. It was a long time ago.”

  I didn’t know, but it made me feel good that an old man like Dutch Henry would offer to help. Nobody else had except Carruthers.

  I spent the afternoon in the jail office getting caught up with some paperwork, then returned to the stable to wait for Tug. When he arrived a few minutes later, I told the boy to take care of Tug’s horse and then asked Tug to go with Dutch Henry and me to sign the will.

  He didn’t ask any questions just then, but walked with us to Carruthers’s office. The lawyer had the will ready. We signed, I paid him, and we left.

  “Come over to the jail office,” I said. “I’ve got some things I want to go over with you.”

  Tug still didn’t say anything until we settled down, then he asked: “What’s all this about a will, Mark? Ain’t you feeling good?”

  “A little puny,” I said.

  I told him about Wallace’s coming and that I was going to Durango to see him. Tug sat, staring at the ceiling for a long time, his hands clasped behind his head. Finally he said: “This is one hell of a note and no mistake. I knew old Rip was getting boogery, but I didn’t figure on anything like this.”

  He got up and paced around the room for a while, then said: “Maybe we ought to do what Yager and the others say, just stay out of town and let Wallace take over.”

  “We can’t do that,” I said, more sharply than I’d intended to. “You know what it would mean. I don’t think we can entirely stop him, but we’ve got to let him know we’re here.”

  “Sure, the normal risks that any lawman takes,” he said sourly. “Well, I can see why you want your will made, not being married yet to Abbie, but damn it, Mark, I am married and I’ve got a baby and I can’t afford to get killed.”

  “You knew the risks when you took the star,” I said.

  “Sure, the normal risks that any lawman takes,” he said, “but not the certainty of getting killed. I’ve never seen John Wallace, but I’ve heard the stories about him just like you have.” He sat down in his chair again. “Mark, Yager and the others must have heard the same stories, too, so why did they send for him?”

  I told him what Joe Steele had said about helping me stay alive. I added: “Those men have been like four fathers to me. I didn’t believe Joe when he said that, but maybe it is part of the answer. It’s possible they expect us to back off and let Wallace do the job here, then get rid of Wallace, and you ’n’ me would still be alive and the camp would be curried down so we wouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “Maybe,” he said, as if he didn’t believe a word of it. “I think it’s more likely a proposition of them simply not figuring we can handle the type of toughs who drift into a camp like this and we’ll give the town a bad name and that’ll hurt their businesses.”

  “Well,” I said, “Wallace will keep the lid on, all right. He’ll kill anybody who tries to pry it off.”

  “Where they’re making their big mistake is thinking they can get rid of him,” Tug said.

  I nodded. “The second mistake is thinking he’ll fix it so more business will come to Angel’s Landing. Nobody’s going to invest in a town that’s run by a madman.”

  “It was before my time,” Tug said, “but I guess that Wallace was the right kind of lawman to ramrod a town in the early days. The trouble is he operates just like he used to. Rip and the others are living in the past.”

  “Well, let’s get back to your problem,” I said. “You can resign Saturday as soon as I get back. I’ll pay you for the part of the month you’ve worked.”

  He grinned a little. It wasn’t much of a grin because he wasn’t in a humorous mood. “I’d like to quit, Mark. By God, I’d sure like to, and right now I’m sorry as hell I ever took this damned star, but I ain’t a man who can walk out, neither. I guess I want to show that cussed Doc Jenner that we can be good lawmen as well as good cowboys.”

  “I figure we can,” I said. “I’m not sure how, but I’ve got a hunch Wallace can be handled. That’s the reason I’m going to see him in Durango. I’m not willing to admit I’m dead yet. There’s got to be a way.”

  * * * * *

  I didn’t sleep much that night. I lay there in the darkness staring at the ceiling, a faint ray of moonlight coming in through my bedroom windows. I ran the situation through my mind time after time, and, when the sun came up, I stil
l had no idea how to take care of Wallace.

  If I tried to arrest him after he had killed his first man, and that was something he would probably do Saturday night, he’d call me into the street. If I tried to draw, I’d be dead before my gun was clear of leather.

  It would be stupid to start practicing now and hope to become a fast-draw wizard by Saturday. I was a good shot with a six-shooter, but I had never been fast getting my gun out of the holster and firing. I had watched men who were both fast and accurate. I had tried to imitate them, but I simply did not have the co-ordination or rhythm or whatever it is that goes into making a man fast on the draw.

  When I agreed to run for sheriff, it had never occurred to me that I would have to face a situation that demanded a fast draw. I thought, as Tug had said, that those days were gone, but John Wallace still lived in those days and he would bring them with him to Angel’s Landing.

  I got up, shaved, and ate breakfast, but I didn’t feel as if I had slept any during the night. I supposed I had, but it had been a restless sleep, so I might just as well have stayed up. I stepped out of the house into the hot morning sunshine. I looked at the timbered ridges bordering Banjo Creek and I thought: This is a damned beautiful world. I’m not ready to leave it.

  As I walked to my office, I told myself I might be leaving this world in a few days. I still had no idea how I would handle Wallace when the time came. I thought that maybe he wouldn’t be as bad as we had heard, maybe he had changed with the times.

  I remembered the old saw about most of the things we worry about never come to pass. Nothing helped. I had a feeling in my guts that he hadn’t changed, that he was as bad or worse than we had heard, and, if I didn’t stop him, nobody else would.

  When I reached the office, I saw that Tug was still asleep on his cot, so I didn’t bother him. I had forgotten that the Angel’s Landing Weekly Gazette was printed on Monday nights and distributed on Tuesday mornings. The editor and publisher, Alexander Miller, had showed up in camp two weeks ago with his press, had rented a shack about a block down the street from my stable, and then had set out to sell ads in his newspaper.

  The first issue hadn’t won any prizes in journalism. Most of what he had printed was stock stuff that I suppose he had stolen from a Durango paper. He had a few ads and a typical article on the mines in Banjo Cañon, the high-grade ore that Catgut Dolan had showed us, and some hyperbole about the future of Angel’s Landing as a mining and commercial center.

  Someone, and I never did find out who although I suspected Rip Yager, had left the second issue on my desk. It was folded so I couldn’t see the headlines, but when I opened the paper and saw them, they hit me like a blow in the belly.

  CAPTAIN JOHN WALLACE

  TO SERVE AS TOWN MARSHAL

  Below, in smaller print, were three more lines:

  ALL LAWLESS MEN ARE WARNED TO LEAVE TOWN

  THE LAW WILL BE ENFORCED TO THE LETTER

  REIGN OF TERROR WILL BE ENDED

  I glanced at the first paragraph which read: A LOCAL COMMITTEE OF ESTABLISHED BUSINESSMEN HEADED BY RIP YAGER, OWNER OF YAGER’S BAR, INFORMS YOUR EDITOR THAT THE FAMOUS LAWMAN, CAPTAIN JOHN WALLACE, HAS BEEN HIRED TO SERVE THIS COMMUNITY AS MARSHAL. HE WILL ARRIVE SATURDAY NEXT TO ASSUME THE MARSHAL’S POSITION IMMEDIATELY. CAPTAIN WALLACE HAS SERVED WITH DISTINCTION IN SUCH LAWLESS TOWNS AS DODGE CITY, LEADVILLE, AND MILES CITY.

  I slammed out of the office and headed for Miller’s print shop. I didn’t take time to count ten. I was so damned mad I was out of my head. All I could think of was that the Gazette was saying that Angel’s Landing was filled with lawless men, that we were suffering a reign of terror, and therefore it had been necessary to hire Wallace.

  The front door of the print shop was locked. I stepped back and hit it with my shoulder—the flimsy lock broke, the door snapped open, and I lunged inside. No one was around, but I knew that Miller had a kitchen and bedroom in the back, so I rushed on through the maze of paper, press, composing table, and assorted junk to the back room.

  No windows were open and even at this early hour the room was stifling. Miller was asleep. I jerked the blankets off the bed and hauled him to his feet. He was wearing a long flannel nightgown. How he could sleep in a hot room with two blankets over him and wearing a flannel nightgown was beyond me.

  He let out a scared yelp, then I shook him till his teeth rattled. I slammed him back on the bed and shouted at him: “Tell me who the lawless men in town are, Miller! Who is it that’s warned to leave and when hasn’t the law been enforced? What reign of terror have we been having?”

  Alexander Miller was a small and inoffensive man. He lay frozen, his eyes wide, slobber running down his chin. I dropped my right hand to the butt of my gun. When he saw me do that, he screamed: “My God, Sheriff, don’t kill me!”

  “You’re not worth the powder,” I said. “Who told you to publish those lies?”

  “Rip Yager,” he quavered. “He figures that the toughs will leave town as soon as they know Wallace is coming.”

  I wasn’t sure who the toughs were, now that Ben Scully and Ten-Sleep Morgan had left town. I should have expected this. As Dutch Henry had said, Yager wanted everyone to know that Wallace was coming. He hadn’t been satisfied to let the news get around town by word of mouth. It had to be in the newspaper so the outside world would know, too.

  It was the line about the reign of terror that curried my hide. I said: “Miller, there has been no reign of terror in Angel’s Landing, and you know it. You’ll have a retraction in the next issue or I’ll beat the living hell right out of you.”

  “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “You’ll have it.”

  I walked out then, but I didn’t feel any better. The damage had been done.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I was drinking a cup of coffee in my office and Tug was eating breakfast on Thursday morning when Ben Scully’s man—the one I called Redbeard—walked in. He said: “Howdy.” I nodded at him. He was grinning as if he knew something I didn’t. That irritated me. My nerves had been tight enough all week to serve as fiddle strings.

  “What the hell’s eating on you, mister?” I asked.

  “Well, Sheriff,” he said, “I’m just a messenger. I was to ask you to come to Ben’s tent. There’s somebody who wants to meet you.”

  I wasn’t in any mood to go gallivanting off to meet somebody who could walk over here as well as I could go there, so I said: “He can get over here if he wants to see me.”

  Redbeard shrugged and made a kind of a snickering sound. “It’s up to you, Sheriff, but she sure will be disappointed.” He wheeled and strode out.

  Tug looked up from his plate. “Did he say she?”

  I put my coffee cup down. “That’s what I thought I heard.”

  “Well, you’d better go see who that she is,” Tug said, grinning. “I won’t tell Abbie.”

  I got up. “I will if you don’t,” I said. “I guess I had better go see, now that I’m curious.”

  I left the office, not having the slightest idea who had sent for me. The front of the tent looked just the way it had all week. I walked around to the back and found that one of the small tents had been put back up.

  Stepping inside, I saw a woman sitting at one of the tables. She was dressed in a bright red velvet gown that came clear to the floor when she stood up. She was too fat, but she was a big woman, so the fat wasn’t as evident as it would have been on a smaller one. She wore her hair in curls as a young woman might have done, but it looked out of place on her. She wore too much paint, and she’d put on some perfume that hit me when I was still ten feet from her.

  She smiled as she rose. “You’re Mark Girard, aren’t you? You’re the little boy I fed pie and cake to a long time ago, aren’t you? Only you’re not a little boy any more.” She shook her head as her gaze ran up and down my body. “It’s hard to believe.”

  Maggie Martin! I guess my mouth dropped open from sheer surprise. I don’t think I’d thought of her since befor
e the flood. I certainly hadn’t expected her to show up in Angel’s Landing, and, now that I was actually seeing her, she didn’t look much like the Maggie Martin I remembered.

  She came to me while I stood there as if I had grown roots into the ground. She put her arms around me and just sort of enveloped me. For a moment I thought I was being smothered. About the time I stopped breathing, she backed up and looked at me.

  “Well, Mark, you’ve grown up into a fine, big man,” she said. “I’ve thought about you so often and I’ve wondered what happened to you. I remember how some of my girls kept telling me I’d get all of us into trouble and make your ma mad. Did she ever find out?”

  I shook my head. “She never did.”

  “And now you’re sheriff.” She took my hand and led me to the table where she had been sitting. “Do you want a drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  She sat down and motioned to a chair. Redbeard and Baldy were sitting at another table, both of them grinning as if they were a whole lot smarter than I was. Right then I had a hunch that they were.

  “Now tell me about yourself, Mark,” she said after I sat down. “What have you done and where have you been and what are you going to do?”

  “Oh, I’ve been as far away as Durango,” I said, figuring I might as well make my life experience as ridiculous as possible. I had no idea what she was after, but I was dead sure she was after something or she wouldn’t have sent for me. “I grew up here and took care of my mother till she died. I’m going to be married next week. I own the livery stable. That’s the total of my biography.”

  She kept on smiling, playing the part of a pleasant and easy-going woman. She said: “You haven’t had a very adventurous life, have you?”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t,” I said, “but I liked my life real fine until Catgut Dolan made his strike on Banjo Creek and turned the world upside down.”

  “That’s what he done, all right,” she agreed. “And now you’ve got some problems, haven’t you?”