The Wrong Side of the Law

by Robert J. Randisi

  “Back up,” Palmer said.

  Once again, Dancy pressed his back to the wall. Palmer opened the door, grabbed the basket, put the coffee cup down, and then closed the gate. Dancy came forward and picked up the cup. He held it so he could smell it.

  “Thanks, Marshal.”

  He took it back to the cot, sat, and sipped slowly.

  Palmer made a point of also giving Pike a cup.

  “Thanks, Marshal,” Pike said.

  Palmer took the basket and left the cellblock, saying over his shoulder, “Don’t call me anymore. Go to sleep.” He closed the cellblock door and went back to his desk.

  * * *

  * * *

  He woke the next morning with his head down on his desk and his back aching. He wondered what had awakened him when he heard Dancy shouting from the cellblock.

  “. . . breakfast sometime today? Marshal?”

  “Damn it!” Palmer cursed to himself. “I should just ignore him.”

  Instead, he went to the cellblock door and opened it.

  “Stop shouting.”

  “I’m hungry,” Dancy complained. “I need breakfast.”

  “You’ll get breakfast when I get breakfast,” Palmer said. “Both of you.”

  “I can wait, Marshal,” Pike said.

  “And when will that be?” Dancy asked.

  “When my deputy shows up.”

  “And when’s that supposed to happen?”

  “Any minute now,” Palmer said. “Until then . . . shut up!”

  He started back to his desk, but at that moment, the office door opened and Deputy Steve Atlee entered.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the deputy said.

  “You’re not,” Palmer told him. “You’re right on time.” He grabbed his hat. “I’ll be back with breakfast for the prisoners after I have mine.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be patient,” Atlee said, “and wait.”

  Palmer left.

  * * *

  * * *

  After breakfast Palmer went to his hotel room and slept for two hours, then got up, dressed, strapped on his gun, and stood in front of the mirror with the badge in his hand. He hesitated, put the badge in his shirt pocket, took it out, hesitated, then pinned it on.

  He put on his hat then and left the room. He stopped at a small café and got some food wrapped in brown paper. When he walked back into the office, Atlee looked at him from his desk.

  “He’s been shoutin’ all mornin’,” Atlee said.

  “Give them this.” Palmer tossed the package to Atlee. “They’re sandwiches.”

  Atlee carried it into the cellblock, passed it between the bars.

  “This is it?” Dancy asked.

  “You’d better be happy with that,” Atlee said.

  “Supper’d better be better,” the prisoner said.

  Atlee left the cellblock.

  “You don’t look rested, Marshal,” he said.

  “I got a couple of hours,” Palmer said. “Why don’t you go and make some rounds?”

  “Yessir.”

  As Atlee left, Palmer sat at his desk. He stared and thought. He realized he had enjoyed hunting down Jack Dancy. He realized he liked being a town marshal. He didn’t like being a liar, but he thought the longer he was Marshal Cassidy, the less that would bother him.

  Palmer didn’t like having Jack Dancy in his jail. He was reminded of Ken Henderson, who had another name. And Palmer had decided that was something Belle never needed to know. So the sooner they hanged Dancy, the better. Or he could let the man escape and then shoot him while he did so. But he doubted that was something a dedicated lawman would ever do.

  He wanted to go and see the mayor, but couldn’t do that until Atlee returned. Leaving a convicted murderer alone was definitely not something a dedicated lawman would do.

  * * *

  * * *

  Atlee returned two hours later.

  “I’m going to see the mayor,” Palmer said.

  “Okay. What about supper for the prisoners?”

  “I’ll bring it back with me. Tell Dancy if he starts shouting, he doesn’t get fed.”

  “I will.”

  Palmer went to city hall. The mayor saw him immediately.

  “How’s the prisoner?” the mayor asked.

  “Noisy, demanding, annoying,” Palmer said.

  “What brings you here?”

  “When will he be hanged?”

  “I’ve got carpenters starting on a gallows tomorrow,” Mayor O’Connor said. “A hangman will be here in three days.”

  “So I’ve got to put up with him for three more days.”

  “Unless you want to let him escape and then shoot him in the act.”

  “I thought about that,” Palmer said.

  “And?”

  “It’s not something I’m comfortable with.”

  “So then I guess you’re stuck with him for three more days.”

  “I’ll just keep my eye on the prize,” Palmer said. “You’ll let me know if there’s any change?”

  “I’ll keep you informed.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Mayor.”

  Palmer left the mayor’s office and went to see Belle Henderson.

  * * *

  * * *

  When Palmer knocked on Belle’s door, he was surprised that she opened it herself.

  “Where’s Mrs. Waters?”

  “I sent her back to work,” she said. “Coffee?”

  “I can get it if you want to sit.”

  “No,” she said, “I’ll get it. Sit at the table.”

  He sat and watched as she moved about the kitchen, slowly but deftly. He didn’t think she was in much pain, just dealing with the shadow of it. He’d been shot a time or two. It took a while to realize you could move freely.

  She carried two cups to the table and sat across from him. Her hair was pinned behind her head in a bun, and she was still pale, but also still lovely.

  “What brings you here?” she asked.

  “Dancy is going to hang in three days,” he said. “I wanted to tell you that.”

  “I don’t have to attend, do I?” she asked.

  “No, not if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t. I’ll be satisfied to know that it was done.”

  “What’s going to happen with the store?”

  “Our employees are keeping it open while I recover,” she said, “and then I’ll go back. It’s all I have.”

  “I thought— I mean, I was afraid . . .”

  “What?”

  “That you might want to leave town.”

  “No,” she said, “this is my home. The town did nothing to me to make me feel otherwise. In fact, I’ve had visits from several neighbors who are offering to help.”

  “That’s good,” he said.

  “I suppose it is,” she said, “but they weren’t very friendly or helpful while Ken was alive.”

  “Maybe they just didn’t like him.”

  That seemed to surprise her.

  “You might be right about that.”

  “Did he have many friends?” Palmer asked.

  “No. In fact, he didn’t have any. That’s why I was surprised when I saw him with that man with the scar and asked him about it. He said he was just an old friend.”

  “I guess you’ll never know for sure if they were friends.”

  “The man killed him,” she said. “You don’t kill your friends, do you?”

  “Well . . . I don’t.”

  He finished his coffee.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said.

  “And so do I,” she said, standing. “Probably tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked.

  “I
guess I’ll find out,” she said, and walked him to the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The day of the hanging brought people to town from the surrounding area. Palmer had never been able to understand how such a morbid event could become a festive occasion. He had always stayed away from hangings, but that wasn’t possible with this one, since he was bringing the guest of honor.

  The mayor came into Palmer’s office early that morning and said, “The hangman’s here, so we’re all set.”

  “Good. Is it always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “A party.”

  “Don’t they have necktie parties back East?” the mayor asked.

  “Not like this,” Palmer said. “Just walking from my hotel to here, I saw five times as many people as I usually do.”

  “Yes,” the mayor said, “unfortunately, a hanging always brings them out. The hangman will be in to take measurements.”

  “That’s fine.”

  The mayor left. It seemed like moments later a dour-looking man entered and said, “I’m Amos Hardwicke, the hangman.”

  “Ah,” Palmer said, “you’re here for your measurements.”

  “Yes,” the man said, “I’ve already tested the gallows mechanism. I just need to finish up here.”

  Palmer stood up and said, “Then let’s do it.”

  He led the way into the cellblock and called out, “You’ve got a visitor, Dancy.”

  The outlaw looked up from the cot, saw the man with Palmer, and understood.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next time Palmer went into the block, he said, “It’s time, Dancy.”

  The outlaw stood up.

  “Turn around,” Palmer said, and unlocked the door. He entered and applied chains to the killer’s wrists.

  “You know,” Dancy said, “I never thought we’d get here.”

  “What did you expect?” Palmer asked.

  Dancy turned around.

  “I don’t know,” Dancy said. “Maybe I saw somethin’ in you. . . . I thought you’d let me go.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you’re not like any lawman I ever knew,” Dancy said.

  “Well, I’m new to the job,” Palmer said.

  “So then you’ve never done . . . this?” Dancy asked.

  “No,” Palmer said, “this is my first hanging.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Palmer was troubled as he walked Dancy to the gallows. If the killer could see through him, what if other people could, too? Or was it just that he and Dancy had spent so much time on the same side of the law?

  People crowded around the scaffold, but as Palmer and Dancy approached, they spread out and created a path for them. When the two men reached the stairs, the hangman was there waiting. There was also another man with a cleric’s collar, holding a Bible. His name was Father Bennett, and he had tried to see Dancy earlier in the week, but the outlaw had turned him away.

  “What are you doin’ here?” Dancy asked him.

  “I wanted to give you one last chance to make your peace—” the priest began, but Dancy turned away.

  “Get him out of here,” he said to Palmer. “I’ve already made my peace.”

  “Father,” Palmer said, “he doesn’t need you.”

  The priest, a man in his fifties who had devoted more than half his life to God, seemed puzzled.

  “And you, Marshal?”

  “To tell you the truth,” Palmer said, “I don’t need you, either.”

  The priest stared at both men, then turned and walked off.

  The hangman, Hardwicke, went up the steps first, followed by Dancy, and then Palmer. At the top Palmer momentarily felt as if everyone was looking at him, but then he realized it was Dancy they were looking at. He moved Dancy onto the trapdoor, just beneath the noose, and then backed off. The hangman stepped forward and stood in front of Dancy.

  “Do you have any last words?” he asked.

  Dancy seemed to think a moment, then shrugged, and said, “I guess not.”

  “Do you want the hood?” Hardwicke asked.

  “Why not?”

  The hangman put a black hood over Dancy’s head and then fitted the noose around his neck. He then stepped back, put his hand on the lever that controlled the trapdoor, and sprang it.

  * * *

  * * *

  Later, Palmer was sitting in his office, replaying the hanging in his mind. Some of the people had actually applauded as Dancy’s body fell through the trapdoor and the rope snapped his neck. Palmer thought there were those who were disappointed that Dancy hadn’t danced at the end of the rope. Instead, he died instantly and simply dangled there.

  The crowd finally began to break up when the undertaker cut the body down. There was nothing else to see. But as Palmer walked away, the few who were left patted him on the back as he went by.

  He was not happy with the morning’s events.

  The door opened and Deputy Atlee came in.

  “That was somethin’,” he said.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you walk to the gallows with us,” Palmer said.

  “Don’t be,” Atlee said. “You looked miserable, and you still do. I don’t think I missed anythin’ from back in the crowd.”

  “You didn’t, believe me,” Palmer said.

  “Was that your first?”

  “Yes,” Palmer said, “and I hope it was my last.”

  “Well, I have to tell you, it was a first for this town,” Atlee said, “so maybe it will be your last.”

  “I guess I can hope so,” Palmer said.

  “You just did your job, you know,” Atlee said.

  “I know,” Palmer said, “and now I’m going to do it some more. I’ll make my rounds.”

  “I’ll watch the office.”

  “We don’t have any prisoners,” Palmer pointed out.

  “We still have Pike,” Atlee said.

  “Not for long,” Palmer said. “He testified against Dancy, so the judge said I can let him go.”

  “And when are you gonna do that?”

  “Now.”

  Palmer took the keys back to the cellblock and unlocked Pike’s cell.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Pike asked.

  “You can go,” Palmer told him.

  “Who says?”

  “The judge. He was impressed that you testified against Dancy.”

  They walked out of the cellblock, and Palmer gave him back his gun.

  “Thanks, Marshal,” Pike said.

  “Take my advice and leave town,” Palmer said.

  “As soon as I can saddle my horse.”

  Pike left the office.

  “Now we have no prisoners,” Palmer said to Atlee.

  “That’s okay,” Atlee said. “I like sittin’ around the office. It gives me time to shine my badge.”

  “And you do keep it very shiny,” Palmer admitted with a smile.

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you for givin’ it to me,” Atlee said.

  “Well, you stepped up when nobody else would. You earned it. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I just realized there’s somebody else I never thanked,” Palmer said. “I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Palmer entered the Palomino Saloon and approached the bar.

  “Beer, Marshal?” Wade asked.

  “Sure.”

  “I heard the hangin’ went well,” Wade said, setting the beer on the bar.

  “I suppose it did, but hey,” Palmer said, “I never thanked you for volunteering and riding out with me and Steve Atlee after that gang.”

 
“That’s okay, Marshal,” Wade said. “It gave me a chance to take some time out from behind this bar. You know, stretch my legs.”

  “Well,” Palmer said, “I wanted to say thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Wade said. “Well, not anytime, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. Thanks for the beer.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Palmer made his rounds of the town, which appeared to be getting back to normal after the hanging. If anything, the execution seemed to cement Palmer’s place in town. People were greeting him openly with smiles and respect. He might not have liked the hanging and might not have wanted to ever be involved with another one, but the result of this first one was more than he could have hoped for.

  By the time he was finished with his rounds, he was feeling better about being Marshal Abe Cassidy. The town was finally accepting him, he had a deputy, and truth be told, he had a woman he was interested in. It would take a while for Belle to get over her husband’s death, but he was willing to wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Four months later . . .

  Lieutenant Dan Hendricks reined in his horse and waited for his scout to reach him.

  “Are they there?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, they are,” Bob Eagle said.

  “How many?” Hendricks asked.

  “It looks like a dozen young braves, as well as some older ones, some squaws, and captives.”

  “Captives?”

  Bob Eagle nodded.

  “Whites.”

  Lieutenant Hendricks was leading a company of the 7th Cavalry out of Fort Meade in pursuit of a party of Sioux Indians who had been attacking white settlers and travelers over the past six to eight months. Bob Eagle was one of the Crow scouts, called “wolves” by the Army.

  Lieutenant Hendricks turned in his saddle and looked behind him at his sergeant and company of twenty men.

  “Do we have enough men to engage them, Bob?” he asked the scout.

  “I believe so, Lieutenant.”

  “How many captives do they have?”

  “It looks like five or six, all white, some boys, some girls.”