Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Flint headed straight for the large tent. Ramsey knew that something was happening, because he thrust aside the tent flap and strode into the sunlight. His hands rested lightly on his hips, only inches from the gun and knife he wore, and an arrogant grin beamed on his bearded face. For a fleeting moment, however, Flint sensed shock flash in the big man's eyes. Ramsey had probably thought that sending two men after the marshal would do the job.

  Flint stopped a few feet in front of Ramsey and pulled the other horse up. Grasping the dead man's collar, he yanked the body from the saddle and let it slide heavily to the ground.

  "I figured you must have lost this, Ramsey," Flint said icily.

  The bearded man seemed to quiver with rage, telling Flint that the dead man was indeed one of Ramsey's crew. But after a moment Ramsey took a deep breath and said, "I never saw this man before in my life, Marshal."

  "You're willing to swear to that?"

  "Of course, I am. He's a total stranger."

  "And your men have never seen him, either." Flint's words were a statement, not a question.

  "Reckon not. Did any of them speak up when you brought him in?"

  Flint shook his head.

  "Well, there you are, then. My men believe in speaking their minds. They'd have let you know if they knew this man."

  Flint didn’t believe that. Ramsey was clearly in charge, and his men would follow his lead. That was one of the things keeping Flint alive right now. Ramsey had yet to make a move against him, so his men were biding their time.

  "I don't like ambushes, Ramsey," Flint said. "You'd better bury this man. You'll have another one coming in soon who'll be carrying some lead. You might want to tend to him, too."

  "We'll be glad to bury this stranger, Marshal. It's our Christian duty, after all. And we always help anybody who shows up at our campfire in trouble."

  Flint wanted to shove the arrogant words down Ramsey's throat. He was sick and tired of this game. Not saying anything more, he turned and rode out of the camp.

  He had a feeling that this time he would reach Abilene without any trouble. Ramsey had tried to get rid of him once today and failed. The man struck Flint as the type who would wait and carefully plan his next move. One thing was sure—Ramsey wouldn’t let what Flint had done go unavenged.

  The marshal knew the showdown with G. W. Ramsey was inevitable. Given everything that had happened since Ramsey and his men had arrived, that showdown couldn’t come soon enough for Lucas Flint.

  12

  Joshua Markham wearily shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the back of a pew. The Wednesday-evening service had ended an hour earlier, and he was alone in the darkened church. He had extinguished all but one lamp, which burned near the pulpit.

  He had delivered a short, hopeful sermon that evening, preaching the importance of understanding and compassion for one's fellow man despite his differences. The parishioners had complimented Joshua on the sermon, but he feared that no matter how many times he preached those ideas, the town would never fully accept the Georgia settlers. No longer newcomers, the farmers were still greeted coolly whenever they came to Abilene. Now a new group of night riders was inflaming the hostility.

  Cully had told him about Marshal Flint's visit to G. W. Ramsey's camp the day before. Joshua wasn’t surprised that the gang leader had arrogantly denied his crimes; too many men refused responsibility for their actions.

  The situation preyed on Joshua's mind as he swept out the sanctuary following the service. Boys from the orphanage often helped with such chores, but tonight Joshua wanted to be alone to think.

  He sank heavily into a pew and sighed. A rational man, he prided himself on being able to find a solution to almost any problem, but wrestling with this for weeks had produced nothing but frustration.

  The creaking of the church door startled Joshua. He turned to peer into the shadows at the back of the sanctuary and called, "Who's there?"

  "Preacher?" said an unfamiliar man's voice. "That you?"

  "I'm Joshua Markham, the pastor of this church. Can I help you?" As the stranger edged tentatively into the church, Joshua could see that he wore overalls and clutched a battered hat.

  "Name's Zeb Fontenot, Preacher. I come in from Copeland's place."

  Joshua stood up. "Of course, I remember you now," he said, although the man looked only vaguely familiar. "How are you, Zeb?"

  "Reckon I'm all right," Fontenot replied. "Didn't come about myself, though. I...I come to find some help for my brother, Max."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "Them fellers in the masks, they come to our place tonight." Fontenot's voice began to break. "They hauled Max out of the soddy and beat the hell outta him, Preacher! P-pardon my talk, but I got to have some help for him."

  "That's all right," Joshua said. He moved quickly to the man's side and grasped his arm. "Your brother was badly hurt, you said?"

  Fontenot nodded. "Yeah. They all hit him and kicked him...I was afraid to fight back. Lord, I'm so ashamed—"

  "Was anyone else hurt?" Joshua asked.

  The man shook his head. "Just Max. I knew he needed help, and I recollected Ira Powell sayin' that you were his friend. I thought maybe you could..."

  Joshua nodded. "Of course. We'll go find the doctor right now. Do you have your brother with you?"

  "No, sir, I left him out at the farm. I was scared to move him around much, not knowin' how bad he might be busted up inside."

  "That was a good idea." Forgetting his coat in his haste, Joshua steered the man out of the church. Tied to the hitch rail was a mule that Zeb Fontenot must have ridden.

  Joshua, hurrying to the large stable beyond the parsonage, quickly saddled his horse. He knew he ought to tell Sister Lorraine he was leaving, but he didn’t want to take the time. With Fontenot at his side, he rode down Elm Street into the heart of Abilene.

  Luckily, Dr. Rose Keller was in her office, reading a medical journal in the light of a lantern.

  "Hello, Joshua," she said with a smile. She looked a bit tired, but as always, she was neatly-dressed and attractive. Noticing the worried expressions of the minister and the man with him, she frowned. "What's wrong?" she asked.

  Joshua quickly told her of the attack on Max Fontenot's farm and the beating he had received. The minister had barely finished when Rose was on her feet, gathering instruments and slipping them into her black bag.

  "I'll hitch my horse to the buggy," she said as she snapped the bag closed.

  "Let me do that for you, ma'am," Fontenot offered.

  "All right," Rose agreed. "The stable is behind the office."

  Fontenot clapped his hat onto his head and hurried out.

  Rose looked at Joshua and said, "You think it was G. W. Ramsey and his men, don't you? Lucas told me about them."

  "I'm sure it was Ramsey," Joshua said. "I suppose we should notify the marshal, but I hate to take the time when we don't know how badly they hurt Max Fontenot."

  "I'll tell Lucas about it when we return," said Rose as she quickly drew a light shawl around her shoulders. "Let's just get to that farm as fast as possible."

  A bright full moon guided the trio across the prairie to the D Slash C. Zeb Fontenot led the way, with Rose's buggy and Joshua's horse following closely. Less than an hour after leaving town, the three arrived at a small soddy. The lantern light spilling through the doorway had been visible for several miles.

  As Fontenot dismounted, a woman ran from the soddy and clutched his arm. "Oh, Zeb!" she cried. "You were gone so long! I was so scared. Max won't wake up!"

  "I got back as soon as I could, Elsie," Zeb told the nearly hysterical woman. He put an arm around her shoulders and led her into the cabin.

  The words sent a chill through Joshua. Had Max Fontenot died from the beating? Joshua helped Rose climb from the buggy, then followed her closely as she hurried into the soddy.

  Joshua saw the bloody form of a man lying on a rough cot. In one corner huddled four children, three
girls and a little boy, who stared fearfully at the newcomers.

  Swiftly, Rose knelt beside the cot, placed her hand against the injured man's neck, and searched for a pulse. Waiting anxiously, Joshua stood behind her. After a long moment Rose glanced up and said curtly, "He's alive."

  Joshua sighed. Across the room the woman whimpered, and Zeb squeezed her shoulder. "This here's Max's wife Elsie, Preacher. Those kids are their young'uns," he said.

  "I'm sure it'll be all right, Mrs. Fontenot. Dr. Keller is an excellent physician," Joshua said as he moved to the woman's side and patted her shaking shoulder.

  He watched Rose, who was washing away dried blood and inspecting the wounds, and then he studied the patient. The man had been punched and kicked brutally: One arm lay on the cot at a strange angle, his shirt sleeve tattered and bloodstained, and the unmistakable white gleam of a jaggedly broken bone peeked through the torn sleeve. The anger that had been smoldering inside Joshua throughout the long ride to the homestead now threatened to blaze.

  Rose glanced over her shoulder and stated, "I need some help, Joshua."

  During the next few minutes, Joshua repressed his fury and concentrated on assisting Rose. Max Fontenot was unconscious, but the pain he experienced while Rose set his broken arm was strong enough to make him lurch wildly. Joshua had to hold him down.

  Finally, when the arm was set and splinted, the wounds cleaned, and a long gash on Max's forehead stitched, Rose turned wearily to Elsie. "Your husband will probably be all right, Mrs. Fontenot," she said. "He's not unconscious now; he's asleep. That broken arm is his most serious injury, and I believe it will mend normally."

  "Th-thank you, Doctor," Elsie replied. She lifted a thin hand and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  "He must stay in bed for several days, and he won't be able to use that arm for a long time."

  "We'll manage," Zeb said. "I can take care of whatever needs doin'."

  Rose smiled and began explaining to Elsie what she needed to do to help her husband recover. The children clustered around their mother's skirts and smiled shyly at the doctor.

  Zeb caught Joshua's attention. "Can I talk to you outside, Preacher?" he whispered.

  "Of course," Joshua replied softly, and followed the homesteader.

  Outside the earthen cabin in the bright moonlight, Zeb took a deep breath and turned to Joshua. "I was afraid poor ol’ Max was done for," he said. "We owe you and that doc a lot."

  "Rose was the one who helped your brother, Mr. Fontenot."

  "Maybe so, but folks out here know you care. That's more than you can say for most of the people in Abilene."

  Joshua heard the bitterness and frustration in Zeb's voice. He told the farmer, "I believe you'll find more people than you think who are glad you and your friends came here. I know they don't show it—"

  "You see that?" Zeb asked angrily, gesturing at a dark shape on the ground. "You know what it is?"

  Joshua was shocked as he recognized it. "It's a cow!" he exclaimed.

  "That was our milk cow," Zeb said. "Never hurt nobody, never did nothin' but give milk for the kids. But that didn't stop those no-good raiders from shootin' her down for the fun of it." He swept a hand around him to indicate the fields. "They trampled down all the plants in Elsie's vegetable garden and rode through the cornfield. Never saw Elsie and the kids so scared. Somebody's got to do something to stop this sort of thing, Preacher! They've just got to!"

  Joshua nodded bleakly. "I know. All I can tell you, Mr. Fontenot, is that we're trying. With the good Lord's help, we will succeed sooner or later."

  "When? You ask the Lord that for me, will you?" Zeb snapped angrily. Then he winced and shook his head. "Sorry. I got no call to talk to you like that."

  The minister put a hand on his shoulder. "I understand." Suddenly the anger Joshua had repressed all evening crept into his voice. "And I am going to do something. I'm not sure what, but it's time for action."

  "Mr. Fontenot," Rose Keller called, "your sister-in-law wants to talk to you. And I think the children would feel better if you were inside where they could see you. They're very frightened right now."

  "Sure," Zeb replied, and hurried into the soddy.

  Rose stood beside Joshua. "I heard what you were saying to that man," she said. "What did you mean by it being time for action, Joshua?"

  The minister took a deep breath. "The marshal thinks Houston Day hired Ramsey. Day claims to be a Christian. I'm going to go to him as a man of God and appeal to him to put a stop to these raids." The idea had just occurred to Joshua, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to be the only course he could follow.

  "I was afraid you were going to say that. What if it doesn't work, Joshua?"

  Involuntarily, the minister's slender fingers clenched into fists. "Then I'll go to G. W. Ramsey himself."

  Rose put a hand on his arm. "You can't do that, Joshua. It's too dangerous. The only reason Lucas was able to ride into that camp and leave it alive was that they knew he could handle a gun." She smiled warmly at Joshua. "You're a fine pastor for your church, but you're hardly a gunfighter."

  Slowly Joshua opened his hands. Rose was right, and he knew it. His hands were made for holding a Bible, not a Colt. "All right," he said, "but I'm still going to see Houston Day. I'll go tonight if you think you can manage to go back to town alone."

  "I'll be fine," Rose assured him. "I've been over the trail quite a few times, and that moon is so bright it's almost like day. But I think you should wait before you go to Day's. I'm sure Lucas or Cully would gladly go there with you."

  Joshua shook his head. "I don't want to wait. I want to go now while the memory of what those men did here is still so vivid."

  Although Rose continued to try, she couldn’t dissuade him, and a few moments later Joshua swung into his saddle and rode toward Day's Rafter D range. He had promised her that he would go to the ranch and then return to town.

  Joshua fervently hoped that by that time he would have taken the first step toward resolving this senseless conflict.

  Houston Day stormed onto the front porch of his ranch house, holding a shotgun. The cattleman squinted into the moonlit yard and called, "Who the hell's out there?"

  "It's Joshua Markham from Abilene, Mr. Day," the minister replied as he reined in.

  "The preacher? Sorry I cussed at you. I heard someone riding up, but I never figured it'd be you, Pastor."

  "Do you mind if I get down, Mr. Day? I've been doing a great deal of riding tonight."

  "Sure, sure." Day opened the door behind him as Joshua dismounted. "Come on inside. Can I get you— No, I don't guess you'd want a drink, would you?"

  Joshua's lips tightened. As a matter of fact, he did want a drink. However, he had put that behind him, and with God giving him strength, he would never allow whiskey to overcome him again.

  "No, thank you," he said politely. He stepped onto the porch. "I think we can talk out here just fine."

  Day frowned at the cool tone in Joshua's voice. "Is something wrong, Pastor?"

  "There certainly is," said Joshua firmly. He took a deep breath. "To put it plainly, Mr. Day, I want you to call off the gunmen you hired to drive those settlers off Doug Copeland's land."

  "You, too?" Day snapped angrily. "You've been talking to that marshal. I told Flint, and now I'll tell you: I didn't bring G. W. Ramsey to Abilene. But as long as he and his men are here, I'm not going to shed any tears over what they do."

  "Even when they kill innocent men?" Joshua shot back.

  "Those sodbusters knew they weren't welcome here. And I'm damned if I understand why you're taking up for them!"

  "They're God's children, just like the rest of us," Joshua replied simply. "They have a right to live their lives undisturbed."

  "Well, so do the ranchers! We've got a right not to have fences and plows and...and..." Day shook his head. "You don't understand, and I don't think you ever will." He pointed a blunt finger at Joshua. "But you're meddling in things
that don't concern you. I won't lift my hand to a preacher, but I'll thank you to get off my land."

  Day's voice had risen in volume, and several of his ranch hands appeared at the bunkhouse door to watch the confrontation.

  Joshua prayed silently that he could keep a tight rein on his temper. He knew he would regret giving in to his impulse to throw a punch at Day. "All right, I'm leaving," he said curtly. "But remember this. You can't run roughshod over this territory forever, Mr. Day. Things change all the time, and you'll have to change with them."

  Houston Day shook his head. "My way's always been good enough."

  Discouraged, Joshua realized any further conversation was pointless. He swung onto his horse and turned the animal around. As he rode away, he ignored the ribald comments coming from the bunkhouse. Futile though this visit had been, he knew he couldn’t live with himself if he hadn’t tried to change Houston Day's mind.

  And now? he thought. Now, as he had promised Rose, he would go back to Abilene. Along the way, with any luck, he would shed the ugly anger that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Lost in thought, he had been riding toward town for fifteen minutes when the sound of approaching hoofbeats startled him. Joshua stopped and tried to determine where the sound was coming from. He turned toward a small rise to the left of the trail just as a rider came over it.

  The stranger, upon seeing the minister, reined in suddenly. As the man's hand slid toward the gun strapped to his hip, a cold dread ran through Joshua. Then the rider, pistol still holstered, urged his horse closer.

  "Good evening," Joshua said, his voice firm.

  The rider stopped a few feet away from Joshua and studied him. "Howdy," he said after a long moment. "You're that preacher from Abilene, aren't you? I just came from there."