The Dark Sunrise

by Terrence McCauley

  Jerry had made his choice when he walked into the saloon. He was willing to live with it or die for it, whatever happened. But however it went, he would be taking Rigg with him. “You can add resisting arrest to the charge. Now get up.”

  Rigg laughed and soon every man in The Ruby laughed with him.

  Rigg may have been laughing, but his eyes were not. “I suppose now is where you threaten to kill me. ‘Straight up or over the saddle. Makes no difference to me.’ That’s Mackey’s favorite saying, isn’t it? What’s yours?”

  Jerry held the Colt steady. “Last chance, Rigg.”

  Jerry heard someone behind him yell, “That’s enough! Everyone lowers their weapons right now or my boys start cutting loose on the whole lot of you.”

  He recognized the voice as belonging to Chief Steve Edison. He heard several Winchesters being cocked and figured he must have brought some of his officers with him.

  Jerry heard all of the men in the saloon began uncocking their pistols as they lowered them.

  Only Halstead and Rigg were left aiming at each other.

  Rigg called out, “How good of you to join us, Chief Edison. I hope your presence will prevent a rather nasty turn of events.”

  “I told everyone to lower their guns, Rigg,” Edison said. “That means you.”

  “As soon as the deputy here lowers his.”

  “He’s the law,” Edison said. “You’re not. Put it away.”

  Rigg slid the Colt back into his shoulder harness and slowly moved his hand away. “Let there be peace.”

  Jerry heard Edison shove people out of the way to clear a path to him. When he got close, he spoke directly into Halstead’s ear.

  “Put it away, Jerry. We’ve got bigger problems now.”

  Jerry kept the Colt on Rigg. “The bastard shot at Pappy, Ed. There’s no way we just let that go.”

  “No one’s letting anything go,” Edison whispered. “But now ain’t the time. None of us will make it out of here alive if you don’t put it away. We’ll get him later. He’s not going anywhere.”

  Rigg brought two fingers to his right brow and saluted the chief. “Now I know why Mr. Edison was selected as chief of police. He a smart man, Jerry. One to whom you should listen. You’ll live longer if you do.”

  Jerry still did not lower the Colt.

  “Damn it, Halstead.” Edison struggled to maintain a whisper. “The town’s pulling itself apart right now, and I need every able-bodied man I’ve got to keep order. This isn’t over. It’s just over for now.”

  Jerry gritted his teeth. “Is the mayor alive?”

  “He’s fine,” Edison told him. “Got some scrapes in the panic, but he’s alive. He’s waiting for us in his office right now. Let’s go.”

  Reluctantly, Jerry slid the Colt back in its holster as quickly as he had drawn it. He lowered the Winchester, too.

  Rigg crossed his legs and smirked. “I admire your choice in pistols, Deputy. The Thunderer has always been a particular favorite of mine.”

  “You won’t have the chance to look at it as long next time.”

  Jerry let Edison lead him as he backed out of the saloon.

  CHAPTER 21

  The chaos on Lee Street had quieted down some, except for a large crowd that had gathered in front of The Ruby when word spread about Halstead’s standoff with Rigg and the Hancock boys.

  Edison’s men cleared a path through the spectators to let Halstead and the chief pass. When they had gotten well clear of the crowd, Edison asked, “You mind telling me what you were aiming to do back there besides almost getting yourself killed?”

  “Rigg took a shot at Pappy,” Jerry said as they threaded their way through the thinning crowd on Lee Street. “He was up in the turret of the Municipal Building with a Sharps. The same damned Sharps that’s hanging over the bar back there.”

  “Are you sure?” Edison asked as he struggled to keep up with him. “Are you sure it was Rigg?”

  That was the problem. Jerry knew it was him, knew it in his bones, but he could not swear to it. “The gunman had wavy blond hair, just like Rigg. I followed a man with wavy blond hair from the building through the crowd, but I lost him in front of The Ruby.” He realized he had not seen him actually enter the saloon, but it was close enough to the truth. “Then I see Rigg sitting there, winded and sweating. He says he was there the whole time, but he’s lying. He said he was drinking, but his table didn’t have a glass on it.”

  The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. “He’s lying, Ed. He’s lying, and I let him go.”

  “The Ruby’s a Hancock saloon, and they answer to Grant,” Edison reminded him. “Every man in there’s a Hancock man, and there’s no way they would’ve let you walk out of there with Rigg. No way.”

  But Jerry had not walked into The Ruby expecting to arrest the rifleman. He expected to kill him for trying to kill Pappy. Edison may have been convinced Jerry would have died, but Jerry had been in spots like that before. The Ruby as crowded as it was, he could have shot Rigg and taken down twenty of them before he had to resort to using his bowie. He would have gotten hurt, maybe even shot, but he had figured he had a better-than-even chance to make it out of there alive in the confusion once the shooting started in such a packed room. And even if he did not, at least Rigg would be dead.

  But Rigg was alive. Probably buying rounds for the house and laughing about how he got Mackey’s deputy to back down. How Edison had saved him and how half-breeds just did not have enough sand for a fight.

  “I could’ve taken him, Ed.”

  “Well you’re not taking him today,” Edison told him. “In fact, I’m the one who’s taking you. To the Municipal Building. Right now.”

  Jerry stopped walking, ignoring the people who bumped into him.

  Edison stopped, too. He was careful to keep his hand away from his pistols and keep his Winchester at his side.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Jerry said. “You taking me in for something, Chief?”

  “Of course not,” Edison said. “It’s just that the town elders want to talk to you about what happened is all.”

  Jerry started walking again and Edison fell in alongside him. The townspeople had calmed down considerably since the shots rang out and were eager to move out of the way of the lawmen, who appeared to be in a hurry.

  “Which elders?” Jerry asked.

  “The new mayor for one,” Edison told him. “Doc Ridley and Mr. Bishop for another.”

  “Bishop’s not an elder,” Jerry said. “He sits behind a desk and makes money.”

  “He runs the company that runs the town,” Edison answered. “Guess that makes him the eldest elder we’ve got, even over old Pappy.”

  But Jerry had been led into a room with powerful men after another dustup and had not breathed free air for three years afterward. He did not like the feeling that was beginning to creep into his bones. “When do they want to see me?”

  “Immediately if not sooner,” Edison said. “Those were Mr. Bishop’s exact words.”

  “He giving you orders now?”

  “The mayor agreed. Stands to reason they’d want to talk to you,” the chief explained, “seeing as how your shot started the whole thing off.”

  Jerry started to argue but the words died in his throat. He supposed he had shot first, otherwise Pappy would be dead. “But I wasn’t the only one who got off a shot, Ed. Rigg shot, too.”

  Edison’s silence made the feeling creeping into his bones turn into a full-on ache. “You did hear the Sharps go off, didn’t you?”

  Edison’s frown told Jerry all he needed to know. “Let’s talk about it up in the mayor’s office. It’ll be better for everyone if we have the same conversation once. Better for everyone.”

  When they got closer to the Municipal Building, Jerry stopped at the alley leading back to the old jailhouse. He wanted to point out the spot in the mud where his feet had landed when he had jumped down the stairs. He wanted to point out where the gu
nman’s feet had landed, too.

  But all traces had been pounded out by the feet of fleeing citizens.

  He needed time. “I’m not going up there, Ed. Not now and not like this.”

  The chief closed his eyes and lowered his head. “They’re up there waiting on us. Let’s just get this over with.”

  But Jerry had no intention of going anywhere. Not just yet. “I need some time to work something through. An hour at most. Tell them I’m shook up. Tell them anything. Just give me an hour. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Edison looked at his men, who had formed a loose circle around them. They looked like they were keeping the townspeople away, but Jerry wondered if they were not also keeping him from leaving, too.

  Which was why he decided to try a little humility. “Don’t make me say please, Ed. I’ve had to eat dirt once in public today. Don’t make me eat it from you, too.”

  Edison said, “You’ve got your hour. But I’ll feel better about it if you let some of my boys hang around you to watch your back. I’m gonna have to insist on that.”

  “To watch my back?” Jerry asked. “Or watch me?”

  “Same difference.” He ordered two of his men to stay with the deputy to keep him safe, before he walked toward the Municipal Building. “One hour, Jerry. Not a second longer.” He touched Halstead’s arm. “Now I’m the one saying please.”

  Jerry began walking back to the old jailhouse. Edison’s men followed.

  * * *

  Jerry sat alone behind Mackey’s desk, drinking coffee that had gone cold hours ago. He had brewed the pot according to Billy’s instructions and, although it was not as good as his uncle’s brew, it was still a better pot than he normally made.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, Jerry Halstead felt alone. More alone than he had felt in prison. More alone than he had felt in all of the days he had spent by himself on the trail after he had been released.

  He found himself wishing Mackey and Billy were there. Young Sandborne, too. He imagined things would be much different if they were.

  But they were in Helena, and he was sitting at a desk that was not his in a town that was not his. Outside, one faction wanted him dead, and the rest despised him for what they believed him to be. Half-breed was only a name to pin on him for what he really was. A stranger. An outsider. Federal badge or no, he was not one of them, and they were lining up against him.

  Edison had only heard one shot, and they thought it was his. They thought he panicked and caused a riot.

  He had found himself in the same situation three years before in a boomtown called El Paso. The railroad had just come to town, drawing men looking to make their fortune quickly any way they could. Men like young Jeremiah Halstead.

  But instead of his fortune, he found himself wearing a tin star as Town Marshal Roy Halbeck’s deputy. The marshal’s office got a piece of every business in El Paso and, although Jerry knew he would never be rich as a lawman, he was making more money than he had ever dreamed a half-Mexican, half-Anglo boy could.

  It was not long before factions began springing up in town, and Halbeck had found himself on the wrong side. A group of businessmen had hired a gunman to kill Halbeck and, after several tries, they succeeded.

  The town council was up in arms over the cold-blooded murder and immediately promoted young Halstead to town marshal. They gave him a single mandate: Kill the man who had gunned down Halbeck. Jerry had planned to do that anyway, but having the support of the town made it a bit easier.

  Or so he had mistakenly believed.

  He did not have any trouble finding Big Dave Farley at the ranch of his employers. After it was over, six men laid dead in the Texas dust with Marshal Halstead the only survivor.

  The town elders and the newspapers were quick to praise him for avenging their fallen hero. But the rancher had plenty of friends in town, and despite the assurances of the council, Jerry was arrested by the county sheriff and convicted of six counts of murder. He was supposed to serve twenty-five years but was released after three. The reasons were murky, even to Halstead.

  Now, Jerry Halstead found himself with another star pinned to his chest and another room full of powerful men looking to speak with him about something he had done to defend a town. Montana might be a long way from Texas, but powerful men were the same everywhere. They became powerful by using men and throwing them away. Men like Jerry Halstead.

  He finished his cup of cold coffee and set it on Mackey’s desk. He stood up and drew the bowie knife from the back of his belt as he walked toward the jailhouse door.

  He had placed his faith in powerful men once before. He would be damned before he made that same mistake again.

  He threw open the jailhouse door and stepped outside, determined to make his own luck or die trying. The same way he had always made his luck. On his own terms.

  The two officers Edison had watching him shifted uneasily when they saw him walk out of the jailhouse with the big knife in his hand but did not approach him. He was not coming for them.

  He was walking toward the ruined grandstand instead.

  CHAPTER 22

  Less than an hour later, Jerry Halstead sat next to Chief Edison in the deep leather chairs of the mayor’s office of the Municipal Building.

  Pappy Mackey sat behind the big desk with an enormous painting of Dover Station above his head. His top hat and sash were nowhere in sight, and he stroked his beard while Mr. Bishop ranted.

  “A mess,” the businessman said as he paced back and forth in front of the window overlooking Front Street. “An absolute, unmitigated disaster. An embarrassment that has set this town back at least ten years.”

  “Paul,” Pappy said. “It’s been a long day for everyone, and it ain’t even past lunchtime yet. Yellin’ about it won’t make it any better.”

  Bishop turned on him. “There’s a time for whispering, Brendan, and a time for yelling. The Record’s reporters tell me ten people were trampled to death and dozens more were injured. Dozens! If this isn’t a time for yelling, then I don’t know what is.”

  Bishop glared at Jerry, who had decided it was best to look at the painting. He was not accustomed to having people yell at him. He was not fond of it, either. “Well, Deputy Halstead, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Jerry knew Bishop was in no mood for details, so he kept it simple. “I saw a blond-headed man with a Sharps rifle up in the turret of this building. I saw him aiming down at you people on the platform. I shot at him just as he shot at all of you.”

  Bishop seemed to be waiting for more and grew frustrated when more did not come. “That’s it? That’s your answer?”

  Jerry was getting annoyed by his tone. “That’s what started everything, so yeah, that’s my answer.”

  “And what is your answer for the fact that none of Chief Edison’s men found anyone up in the turret, even though they were up there in a matter of seconds?”

  “Not seconds,” Jerry said. “They got here as fast as they could, but the crowd held them up. It took them a minute or two to get in here. It took me even longer to make it through that mess. That’s plenty of time for a gunman to get clear of a building.”

  “Assuming there was any gunman at all,” Bishop sniffed.

  “My boys did find boot prints up there,” Edison said. “I saw them, too, and they looked mighty fresh.”

  Bishop did not look convinced. “You sure they weren’t from your men, Chief? Are you willing to stake your job on that?”

  Edison looked away. “They looked fresh, but I’m no expert. No one is.”

  “That’s just wonderful!” Bishop yelled. “I’ve got dozens of people hurt and killed and all I can get from you is muddy footprints you think are ‘mighty fresh.’”

  Jerry looked at Bishop, meeting his glare. “There was a gunman, mister, or I wouldn’t have fired. I’m not one for cutting loose with a Winchester in crowds unless I have a reason.”

  “Is that so?” Bishop asked.
“Then how do you account for the fact that no one else appears to have seen this gunman you claim was in the turret?” He looked at Edison. “Any of your men see a man with a rifle up there, Chief?”

  Edison shifted uneasily in his seat. “My men were looking at the crowd. We were afraid of the Hancocks trying to take a shot at Pappy. We weren’t paying much attention to the rooftops.”

  Bishop turned on Jerry. “Seems like you’re the only one who saw anyone on that turret, Deputy Halstead.”

  Jerry went back to looking at the painting. “I can’t account for what other people saw or didn’t see. I only know what I saw. A blond man in the turret with a rifle. A Sharps, from the sound of it.”

  “A sound only you seem to have heard, because I only heard one shot,” Bishop said. “From a Winchester. Your Winchester.”

  Jerry’s temper slipped out from under him. “They got a lot of Winchesters back in Manhattan, Mr. Bishop? Because I’m betting they don’t, so I figure you couldn’t tell the difference between a rifle shot and a shotgun blast. Well I do know the difference, and I’m telling you it was a Sharps.”

  Bishop clasped his hands behind him. “I may not be able to tell the difference, Deputy Halstead, but there are plenty of people in town who can. Including Chief Edison here. No one heard two shots. They only heard one. One that came from your rifle. How can you explain that?”

  “Enough,” Pappy said from behind his desk. “If Jerry said he saw a rifleman, then he saw a rifleman. His word is good enough for me.”

  Bishop looked at the mayor. “Brendan, I think you’re allowing your friendship with the deputy’s late father to cloud your judgment here.”

  Pappy stopped stroking his beard. “My friendship with Sim isn’t clouding anything. A man can’t help who his father is, good or bad. My boy would tell you that if he was here. And if he was here, he’d be tellin’ you he knows and trusts Jerry with his life like I trust him with mine. He trusted him enough to leave him here to keep an eye on the Hancocks instead of taking him to Helena with him where he could’ve done more good. If Aaron trusts him, then so do I.”