Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  One of the cowboys, a tall, wide-shouldered, sandy-haired young man with rough-hewn features, jabbed a blunt finger at the poster and asked, "How'd you like to go bareback ridin' with this one, boys?"

  "Damn right, Cooper," one of his companions replied. "As long as it was her back that was bare!"

  The crude witticism provoked another howl of laughter from the third man. The one called Cooper started to say something else but stopped when he noticed the man putting up the posters.

  "Look at that feller," Cooper said, slapping one of his companions on the shoulder and pointing to the stranger. "Right spry for a cripple, ain't he?"

  If the man heard the harsh words, he gave no sign of it. He continued with his work, ignoring the cowboys.

  Flint started down the block toward the three drunken men. It was time for them to move along. Also, he wanted to have a word with the stranger.

  Cooper crumpled the poster in his hand and tossed it into the street. Then with a mischievous leer on his face, he swung around and started after the stranger, his two cohorts following right behind.

  "Hey, mister!" Cooper called to the man. "Wait up a minute!"

  The stranger stopped and turned toward the cowboys, an expression of polite interest on his handsome, clean-shaven face. He was a fairly young man, in his early thirties perhaps, with dark curly hair under the derby. He nodded and said, "Good morning, gents. What can I do for you?"

  Cooper pointed at the poster the man had just nailed up. "We was just lookin' at your signs about the circus," he said.

  "Yeah," one of the other cowboys chimed in. "The way you scamper along, we was wonderin' if you're one of the trained monkeys."

  The slight smile remained on the stranger's face, but his eyes blazed with anger. Flint, still several yards away down the boardwalk, stopped abruptly, wanting to hear the man's response and see how he handled himself.

  Controlling his anger and smiling even more broadly, the stranger replied, "No, sir, those apes can do tricks that would put my efforts to shame. Why, all of our animals are so talented and well trained that you won't believe your eyes when you see them. You boys will be attending the circus, won't you?"

  "I don't rightly know," Cooper said, put off guard by the stranger's friendly attitude.

  "Well, you should. I promise you you've never seen anything like it before. Wild animals, trick riders, acrobats—you name it, and Professor Horace Houser has got it." He slapped the thigh of his bad leg and grinned. "Used to be an acrobat myself, I did, until I got this bum leg. Tell you what, fellas." Still smiling, he reached inside his coat and pulled out several slips of paper. "I'll give you these complimentary passes if you'll tell all your friends about the circus. You just tell them Asa Parker said they should come and have the time of their lives."

  Cooper stared at the passes in the man's extended hand for a moment, and then his mouth twisted in a sneer. He slapped the free tickets aside. "You think you can brush us off like that, mister?" he said roughly. "Hell, if we're botherin' you, just say so."

  Waiting in the doorway of a store, Flint decided it was time to put a stop to this. Several bystanders had paused to watch, and soon a crowd would gather.

  But as Flint silently took a step forward, his eyes locked with Asa Parker's, and he saw the man's head shake no, almost imperceptibly, as if to motion him away. Flint halted. There was some quality about the man that made Flint hesitate to interfere against his wishes. Somehow, the stranger gave the impression that he had things under control.

  When Parker made no reply to Cooper's gibe, one of the other cowboys sprang forward. "We don't want to bother you, mister," he said with a cackle. "We're helpful fellers, ain't we?" He snatched the handful of posters away from Parker. "Hell, we can't let a poor cripple work so hard. Come on, boys, we'll put these posters up!"

  Parker's tight control finally began to slip away. He reached out and tried to grasp the sheaf of advertisements. "Give me those," he said sharply.

  The cowboy put a hand against Parker's chest and shoved. "I told you we'd help," he growled. He tossed the posters toward the third man, who made no effort to catch them. They fell to the boardwalk, scattering.

  Seeing that the breeze threatened to blow several of the posters away, Parker lunged toward them, reaching down to recover them. But as he did so, Cooper thrust out a booted foot, tripping him, and Parker pitched forward. He caught himself before sprawling on the boardwalk, however, quickly recovering his balance. Anger was plain on his face as he spun around, the posters forgotten now.

  Cooper's open palm thumped against Parker's shoulder, staggering the smaller man. "You want to fight?" he laughed.

  Parker drew back his arm and hurled a fist at the cowboy, catching him on the jaw. Cooper's head snapped around. Parker had moved faster than anyone would have expected, and his punch obviously packed some power. Cooper stepped backward, involuntarily.

  Taking advantage of the stunned surprise that momentarily held Cooper's friends motionless, Parker turned toward them. He grabbed the arm of one man and pivoted, jerking him against his hip and then bending. The cowboy howled in protest as he suddenly found himself flying through the air. When he slammed against the planks of the boardwalk, the impact knocked the air from his lungs.

  The third man had recovered enough to realize that Parker was a bigger threat than he appeared. The cowboy threw himself at the stranger, gripping him in a bear hug.

  Parker countered by going limp and falling forward, causing the cowboy to lose his balance. Both men fell. Parker twisted and somehow landed on top. He drove a knee into his attacker's belly, rolled to the side, slapped a palm against the boardwalk to catch himself, and bounded back onto his feet.

  Watching the fight, Flint could easily believe that Parker had been an acrobat. Despite his bad leg, the stranger was remarkably agile.

  The odds were simply too much, though. By the time Parker regained his feet, Cooper had recovered from the first punch and was waiting. The cowboy's knobby fist lashed out, cracking into Parker's jaw. Parker was knocked backward, only to be caught by the second man, who had just gotten back onto his feet. The man grabbed Parker's arms from behind and launched a kick that thudded into the former acrobat's injured leg. Parker's face contorted in agony.

  "Hold him!" Cooper yelled as he stepped in, drawing back a fist to slam it into Parker's stomach.

  The blow never landed. Flint caught Cooper's shoulder and thrust him to one side. "That's enough!" the lawman rasped. "Break it up!"

  Cooper's face was livid with fury. Not only had Parker dared to hit him, but now someone else was butting in to interrupt his fun. Disregarding the newcomer's identity, Cooper snarled a curse and dropped his hand to the big pistol on his hip. The burly cowboy was fast on the draw, but his gun had just cleared leather when the long barrel of Flint's Colt .44 cracked across his wrist. Cooper yelped in pain as the pistol slipped from his numbed fingers.

  "Take it easy, son," Flint warned as he stepped back slightly and pointed his gun at Cooper's middle.

  Cooper was too enraged to be stopped by Flint's words of caution. Disarmed, he leaped toward Flint and swung.

  Flint moved smoothly to one side and let the wild punch slide by harmlessly. There was going to be no reasoning with Cooper, he saw. But he didn’t want to shoot the young man, either. There’d been a time when he might have, but he had mellowed—a little—since then.

  Dropping his pistol back into its holster, Flint blocked Cooper's next punch and threw one of his own. His fist smacked into Cooper's solar plexus, and then before the cowboy could react, the marshal caught him with a powerful hook that sent him off the edge of the boardwalk and into the street. Dust flew as Cooper landed heavily.

  Flint whirled to face the other two cowboys. One of them was still holding Parker, and the other was climbing shakily onto his feet. Both men now stared at Flint, painfully aware of the badge on his vest as well as the blinding speed of his draw. One of them muttered, “Oh, shoot. It’
s the Rattler.”

  Glancing at Cooper's motionless form sprawled in the street, Flint turned to the other two men and said, "You boys want to move along peacefully, or do we continue this little dance?"

  The one holding Parker suddenly jerked his hands away and stepped back. "Hold on, Marshal," he said quickly. "We was just funnin'. We don't want no trouble."

  Released from the man's grip, Parker sagged against the railing at the edge of the boardwalk and took a deep breath.

  The other cowboy joined his companion in backing away, his hands outstretched to show how harmless he was. "Honest, Marshal, we won't cause no more trouble," he declared.

  Flint glanced toward the crowd of bystanders and grimaced. He never should have let this thing go so far. Parker could have been seriously injured.

  "You two stand still," he barked at the two cowboys. He stepped over to Parker's side and asked the man, "Are you all right?"

  Parker straightened and brushed the dust off his gray suit coat. "I'm fine, Marshal," he said. "I appreciate the help." He bent to pick up his derby, which had been knocked off during the scuffle.

  Flint nodded toward the two nervous punchers and asked Parker, "You want to press charges against them and their friend?"

  Parker glanced at the cowboys and then at the watching townspeople. He smiled ruefully. "I don't think so, Marshal," he said in a low-pitched voice.

  "It's not good business for an outsider to come in and have some local boys thrown in jail."

  "You'd be within your rights to file a complaint."

  Parker shook his head. "I think they've learned their lesson. Especially the one you decked."

  Flint grunted. He wasn’t as confident as Parker that Cooper and his friends had learned anything from this experience. "All right," he said. "Whatever you want." He jerked a thumb at where Cooper was lying and spoke to the other two cowboys. "You two get your friend out of here. I don't want to see any of you around until you've had time to cool off. Understand?"

  The two men bobbed their heads. "Yes, sir, Marshal," one of them said. "We surely do."

  While Flint and Parker watched, they stepped down from the boardwalk and hurried to Cooper's recumbent form. Bending over, each one grasped him under an arm and lifted him to his feet. "Come on, Ned," one of the men told him urgently. "We got to get out of here."

  Cooper let out a moan and shook his head, but his friends turned him around and steered him across the street toward a trio of horses that were tied up in front of the Bull's Head. Cooper was moving under his own power by the time they reached the animals, although he was staggering slightly and had to be helped to mount up. Once he was on the back of his horse, Cooper took the lead. As the little group passed Flint and Parker, Cooper glowered at them.

  Parker watched them ride toward the western edge of town, then sighed and turned to Flint. "I'd say that fellow is not the type to forgive and forget."

  "I expect you're right about that," Flint allowed. "I don't know the boy, but I've seen plenty like him. Maybe he'll head back to Texas instead of staying around to even the score."

  Parker grinned. "Well, I have other things to worry about." He gestured toward the scattered circus posters. "For one thing, I have a job to do."

  "I was coming to talk to you about that." Flint began helping Parker gather up the posters. "I think it would be a good idea if you got the owners' permission before you put up these posters on buildings all over town."

  "Of course, Marshal. I'll go back down the street and make sure no one objects to the ones I've already put up."

  Flint grinned at him. "Good idea. But that can wait. Come have a cup of coffee with me first." The lawman extended his hand. "I'm Lucas Flint."

  "Asa Parker." The former acrobat returned the handshake. His grip was as firm as Flint had expected it to be. “What was it that man called you? The Rattler?”

  “Just a nickname,” Flint said. “One I never cottoned to all that much.”

  "Well, I'm glad to meet you, Marshal."

  "Same here." Flint started across the street toward the Red Top Cafe. "Now, tell me all about this circus you've got coming to town."

  Parker grinned as he fell in alongside. "Marshal, I can promise you Abilene has never seen anything like it."

  Flint nodded. That was what he was afraid of.

  "Professor Houser's show is one of the best traveling circuses in the country today," Asa Parker declared as he and Flint crossed the street. "We've played in all the major cities in the East and performed before some of the crowned heads of Europe. Our attractions are truly world famous, Marshal."

  Flint grinned. "And you wouldn't tell me any different, would you?"

  Parker laughed as he stepped lightly up onto the boardwalk. "My job is to promote the circus, Mr. Flint. I like to think that I'm good at it."

  Flint opened the door and stepped back to let Parker precede him into the cafe. The inviting aroma of fresh brewed coffee and baking bread greeted them as they walked into the cheerful, clean dining room. Several tables covered with bright red-checked cloths and set for four were spaced around the room, and a long counter stood a few feet from the right wall. Alice Hammond, the young redheaded waitress, was standing just inside the door. "I saw the fight, Marshal," she said excitedly. "I thought for a second that cowboy was going to shoot you!"

  "I did, too, Alice," Flint replied dryly. "That's why I made sure that he didn't." He took off his hat and dropped it on one of the tables as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "How about bringing us a couple cups of coffee?"

  Alice nodded and went behind the counter to pour the coffee. There were several other customers in the establishment, all of whom had evidently watched the fracas through the windows, for they called out words of congratulations to Flint. The marshal, wishing so much wouldn’t be made of a simple fight, nodded in acknowledgment.

  Eagerly, Alice brought the two steaming cups of coffee to the table where Flint and Parker were seated.

  "Is there anything else I can get you, Marshal?" Alice asked as she placed the coffee on the table.

  Flint shook his head. "Not for me. How about you, Mr. Parker? Some breakfast?"

  "Thanks, but I already ate on the trail," Parker replied, gazing at Alice in frank appreciation. Her pale-skinned, green-eyed loveliness was just blossoming into a mature beauty. He smiled warmly and then continued. "I like to make an early start."

  Blushing, Alice smiled and went back to the counter. Parker watched her go.

  "Pretty girl," he said with a nod.

  "And a nice one," Flint said protectively. He didn’t want Parker, who was no doubt used to a different type of woman, to get any wrong ideas about Alice. She had arrived in Abilene at the same time as Flint, traveling with her younger brother and over a dozen other orphans who were now living in a makeshift orphanage at the Calvary Methodist Church. The youngsters were under the combined care of the Reverend Joshua Markham, the pastor of the church, and Sister Lorraine, the Dominican nun who had brought them to Abilene.

  Parker smiled and sipped the hot coffee. "Now, Marshal, what else would you like to know about the circus?"

  "For one thing, when will it be here?"

  "The wagons will roll in tomorrow morning, and as usual we'll be putting on a gala parade to celebrate the circus's arrival. If, of course, that's all right with you. We try to abide by all local laws and ordinances in the towns we visit."

  Flint frowned slightly. "A parade, eh? That ought to get the town all excited."

  "We like to give the folks a good sample of what they'll be seeing if they purchase a ticket," Parker said with a smile.

  "All right," Flint said after considering for a moment. "I don't want to deny the town a chance for some excitement. Our people are good, hard-working citizens who deserve some entertainment whenever they can get it."

  "Precisely. That's our mission in life, Marshal, to bring joy and excitement to the common man."

  Parker's voice was sincere, Flint decided.
He was curious about Parker's former occupation, however, and although the marshal didn’t want to call up any bad memories for the man, he decided to indulge his curiosity a bit. "You said you used to be an acrobat," he commented, leaving it up to Parker whether or not to reply.

  "An aerialist, actually," Parker said. "I worked on the trapeze and the high wire." He paused. "Have you ever been to a circus, Marshal?"

  Flint shook his head. "I lived back East for a while, though, and saw plenty of advertising posters for them, like the ones you've got there." He gestured at the stack of sheets that Parker had placed on the table.

  "Then you've seen pictures of the trapeze artists. That's what I did, and I don't mind saying, I was damned good at it." For the first time, the eager salesman's confidence flagged. His bright eyes clouded in a faraway look. "I was one of the best, Marshal...until the accident."

  Flint said nothing.

  "I was quite a daring young man," Parker finally said with a grin. "Always eager to try some new stunt that hadn't been attempted before. I learned my craft from some of the best aerialists in Europe, and I suppose I wanted to top them. One night I tried one too many somersaults in midair and came up short of my catcher." He shrugged. "It was a long way to the ground. I was mighty lucky just to break my leg in three places—luckier still that it healed up enough for me to get around."

  "You were with this Houser's circus then?" Flint asked.

  Parker nodded. "I've been with Horace for a long time. When I was able to walk again, he offered me the job I've got now. I travel a day or two ahead of the circus and put up posters, trying to drum up plenty of interest in the show. It's not a bad life."

  Flint shook his head and said, "I would have thought that after what happened, you wouldn't want to be around the circus."

  "Ah, but there's where you're wrong, Marshal," Parker said. "You can't understand because the circus isn't in your blood. Once you've traveled with a show, smelled the sawdust, heard the delighted roar of the crowd... Well, it's just not something you can leave behind."

  Flint nodded. Although he didn’t understand circus life and its appeal, he knew from his own experience how a man's chosen profession seemed to follow him around, tugging on him.