The Quiet Gun - Edge Series 1 (19 page)

Then there was a murmuring of tentative, low toned talk. Which gradually built in volume as the citizens congregated into a loose knit group on the main street of their town, calling out many questions and supplying infrequent answers. Until the surge of noise was abruptly curtailed when John McCall opened the front door of Cassidy’s Feed and Seed Store, stepped across the threshold and ignored the townspeople to move a half dozen paces to where he could peer into the distant south west.

After a few moments he turned to survey the large crowd gathered a short way up the street from the intersection. Saw their initial relief was starting to be replaced by 121

curiosity and some anger as they looked quizzically at him: the man whose duty it was to right the wrongs that had been done here.

There was some whispered talk, the tone indecisive, when the impassive McCall turned just his head to look toward the store doorway as Edge emerged, carrying the familiar carpetbag and with the bedroll slung over a shoulder. The lawman said: ‘If you want to ride with me, you’ll be engaged in law business, mister. So the sheriff’s office will stake you to the rent of a horse and tack.’

Without waiting for an answer he started off up the street, arms thrust out in front of him, palms upturned and fingers splayed in tacit response to the many questions, voiced and implicit, directed at him.

Everyone accepted without spoken complaint the gesture that signalled this was not the time for explanations. Then a few people turned their puzzled faces toward Edge who had remained where he was after McCall moved away.

But nobody approached him or asked him anything as he peered along the trail into the hills where there was no longer even a trace of a dust cloud in the distance to mark that this was the way the wagon and riders had headed.

McCall reached the law office and after he had gone inside the crowd began to disperse. Many of the people going to attend to those daily chores that would not wait whatever the circumstances surrounding the mundane routine of the lives of these ordinary people living in a country town.

A man already engaged with such chores when Edge entered his premises up near the north end of the street was Ephraim Rider: feeding the dozen horses enstalled in his livery.

The slightly built man with a prominently boned face under a bald head looked even shorter and lighter in weight after his recent experiences as his sunken eyes surveyed his visitor without enthusiasm. But he did offer an unsmiling:

‘Morning to you, mister.’

‘How you doing, feller?’

‘I ain’t doing great, but I’m doing a whole lot better than them poor guys I hear are keeping Deputy Raine and the cardsharp company in Jake Slocum’s place.’

122

‘How much do I owe you?’

‘I saw the marker you left. A dollar a day is my standard rental charge for a horse. Cheaper for longer. How long you plan on keeping the animal for?’

‘I don’t have him anymore.’

Rider nodded knowingly. ‘I saw it was my bay gelding Phil Raine’s widow was riding. At the time I figured she had too much else on her mind so I didn’t discuss business with her.’

‘I’d count him stolen. But the sheriff says borrowed. And since the lady’s engaged in law work, I guess maybe he’ll pay whatever’s due.’

‘I’ll talk to John about it.’

‘When you see Bart Bannerman, he’ll return the bail money you posted for me.’

‘If you say so.’

‘McCall says he’ll stand me for the rent of another horse.’

‘John’s gonna raise another posse?’

‘Right now there’s just him and me. And I guess the Mexican government men will be riding with us. I don’t know about anybody else. Or if McCall will want anybody else.’

‘Right.’

‘So it’s okay for me to have the horse? I’ll need more gear, too. The widow woman took the whole kit and caboodle, except for these blankets.’

Rider nodded several times while Edge was speaking, then waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Yeah, take what you need, mister. If John says he’d do something, he’ll do it. He’s sure gonna be good for a horse and accoutrements. Two times over even. For a reasonable length of time.’

Edge set down the bag and blankets and moved to the nearest stall. He knew from his previous check on the livestock that Rider kept no bad mounts in his stable. But some were just a little better than others.

‘Much obliged.’

‘It’s my trade, renting horses and tack.’

123

‘I’ll try to take better care of your property this time out, feller.’

‘You just do what’s needed to help John McCall do his duty, mister. And, by the way, thanks for getting back the money and the gold watch that card sharp stole off me. Appreciate it.’

‘No sweat.’ Edge went about the chore of getting a chestnut gelding ready to ride. Only now noticed that two familiar animals were missing from the livery. ‘I left a piebald and a grey in here last night?’

‘Animals are out in my corral up the street.’

‘They belonged to Fred Drayton. Same as the wagon I parked out back. Plan to make an offer for the rig and team, to whoever owns them now Drayton’s dead. So if you’d take care of them until I – ‘

‘Be happy to do that for you.’

Edge finished saddling the chestnut and led him to the doorway of the livery. Rider said: ‘Best of luck to you, mister. And John.’

Edge acknowledged the good wishes by tipping his hat, then swung up into the saddle. Began to experience a disconcerting sensation as he started back down the street toward the law office.

The sun was now high enough to be satisfyingly warm, yet he felt a strange chill that reached deep into his bones. And it took several moments to search his mind for an explanation of why this should be.

Dalton Springs had undergone a radical upheaval since he first rode into town. Before, it had been a quiet workaday community peopled by men and women who went about their mundane daily business with few variations in the routine imposed upon them. People who asked little of life except for the health and strength to continue in the tried and tested ways: many surely praying each night that they be allowed to live and die to the dictates of a God who was good and merciful.

Now it was an entirely different kind of town: ravaged by men of violence who had killed decent fellow citizens with no more thought than they would have swatted irritating flies or shot foraging rats.

124

Dalton Springs was not Tombstone nor Dodge City, San Francisco or any other wide open, far off lawless town they had read about in newspapers. But to most it must feel like one of those places this morning. For what had happened here in such a short time had to have had a shattering effect on them. People who, try as they may to carry on normally, were bound to be heavily burdened by sadness and anger, resentment and hatred, a burning desire for revenge and a bitter frustration that they were not equipped to expunge themselves of these dark emotions by striking back at the evil men of violence who had aroused them. The sense of this emanating from the flanking buildings bathed in early morning sunshine was what caused the strangely chill sensation to fasten a discomforting grip on Edge. And this outside influence from all around him was allied with a nagging suspicion from within his troubled mind.

But he told himself he was being a fool. Even in the past, more times than not it was never more than pure coincidence that violence and death had dogged the trails he rode as an aimless drifter.

He was not some kind of Jonah doomed to unwittingly hex those around him at the will of some evil deity. He had long been through with that crazy way of thinking, damnit!

A small group of men had gathered out front of the law office doorway. But just three saddled horses were hitched to the nearby rail.

As Edge drew close he recognised the towering figure of Bart Bannerman. And also two of the men who had been members of the posse: but this morning there was nothing about the manner of their clothing or the morose expressions of this pair to suggest they were ready and willing to ride with the sheriff again.

Some of the group nodded to Edge and one offered a mumbled greeting. Then the big saloonkeeper, who looked like he had not slept in a long time but otherwise showed no ill effects from his time in the jailhouse, said:

‘Be just you, John and the Mexican government men, Mr Edge. Somebody brought John’s horse in from where he left it last night. Somebody else got Antonio’s and Esteban’s mounts ready.’

Bannerman seemed to be talking to cover some kind of embarrassment. Then another man, just as uneasy as the saloonkeeper, excused:

125

‘John didn’t want nothing from us. Said we’d done our best already. Was enough, he reckoned.’

Bannerman started: ‘The bad time Antonio and Esteban got from the Shannon bunch, they shouldn’t have to ride . . . ‘

Footfalls sounded from beyond the office doorway and attention shifted to there as McCall emerged on to the threshold, the two Mexicans immediately behind him. The sheriff held a Winchester in a double handed grip across his chest, like the rifle was a crowbar.

‘It’s the truth that everybody did his best,’ he said grimly. ‘The plan this time is just to track Shannon and the rest of them. Get them spotted for the army to take care of. Less men on the trail behind them, less chance of us being seen.’

McCall moved toward Edge astride the newly acquired horse and the group of bystanders parted to allow him through. He held out the rifle.

‘Here, just in case it doesn’t work out like I plan and we have a fight on our hands.’

Edge accepted the rifle with a nod and slid it into the forward hung boot. Paid less attention to what he was doing than to the Mexicans who, as Bannerman had implied, could be seen to have suffered a bad time while they were prisoners. Discoloured bruises and cuts just beginning to heal evidenced the beating they had taken to their heads. And the way they moved so gingerly out from the doorway made it obvious their bodies and limbs had taken a large share of the punishment. McCall said curtly: ‘I hear you men have already met, But anyway, this here’s Antonio Sanchez on the right, Esteban Mendoza to the left. This is Edge, who ain’t from around here.’

Sanchez was the younger, English speaking Mexican. Mendoza the higher ranking man. Both raised a hand in token greeting and showed wan smiles that quickly became grimaces as the simple task of unhitching their horses from the rail intensified their discomfort.

McCall scowled and explained for Edge’s benefit: ‘Shannon’s buddies took it in turns to beat up on them. For no better reason than the one Shannon figured he had to kill Phil Raine. They could maybe slow us down some, but I got no other reason to stop them from riding with us if they want to. And they do. We’ll leave as soon as the trail supplies are ready.’

126

He swung up into his saddle and signalled for the watching townsmen to help the injured Mexicans astride their horses. Both showed pained expressions as they mounted but checked any sounds of discomfort that rose into their throats. Then a woman called McCall’s name from across the street as a young boy led a grey away from the front of the general store over there. She was middle aged, raven haired and broadly built and wore a crisply clean white apron over a black dress. The grey gelding, heavily laden but not over burdened with a pair of bulging saddlebags, four canteens and a couple of bulky burlap sacks, was transferred to the charge of McCall. He hitched the lead line to his saddle horn as the freckled, ginger haired boy of twelve or so reported eagerly:

‘Ma says there ought to be enough grub and water to last four men for a week, Sheriff McCall. And Mr Cassidy reckons as how there’s about that much feed for the horses. Or a lot longer if you find good forage on the trail.’

‘I’m obliged, Orin.’

‘Good luck to you and the others, John!’ the boy’s scowling mother yelled. ‘You be sure to see to it that them no good sonsof . . . You see they get what’s coming to them for what they done to my Frank and the others they killed!’

The watching men out front of the law office grunted their agreement and the youngster nodded vigorously.

The two Mexicans offered in unison:
‘Muchas gracias.’

Then McCall tugged on the reins of his mount to turn him and when he spurred him forward the pack horse trotted compliantly behind. Sanchez and Mendoza followed, riding side by side, and Edge brought up the rear.

There were some farewell waves and a smattering of good wishes called from the houses and business premises on either side of the main street. Then the four riders were out on the open trail heading into the hills, the pace easy and each man alone with private reflections, comfortable with the absence of talk.

The train of thought that occupied Edge at the outset was how it had been so long since he was last in this kind of situation: in a group of well armed men tracking a known enemy, aware there was a very real risk he could die violently.