by Ralph Cotton
“Sorry, ma’am,” Baines said flatly. He laid Julie down gently on the sofa, her lower half still wrapped in the blanket.
“I should say so,” the woman went on as she bent over Julie, brushing her hair from her face with a wince. “I get fifty cents for the room. Any nursing care I do is just me doing what the Lord requires of us.” She gave Baines a sharp sidelong glance. “You’re Meredith, the man-killer, aren’t you?”
“Man-killer is not a name I prefer,” Baines said, denoting her critical tone. “But that is what some call me.”
“I remember you riding in here a couple years back, bowed over your saddle, bleeding like a stuck hog. Doc Addison saved your life.”
“That is true, ma’am,” said Baines, watching her draw back the blanket carefully from around Julie’s waist. He took off his hat, held it at his side and ran his fingers back through his long hair.
“Stop calling me ma’am,” she said, again with the sharp tone. “My name is Constance Whirly.” Her words stopped in a short gasp as she saw the dark purple bruises, the cuts and whelps on Julie’s ribs, stomach and lower abdomen. “My God! Who did this to her?”
“She won’t say much about it,” Baines said softly. “But I expect it was night riders. She said they wore hoods. They killed her father, a hired hand and a young boy.”
“Oh my goodness, no,” said Constance. “This must be Colonel Wilder’s daughter! I heard about her from the livery man. Then Colonel Wilder and Shepherd Watson are both dead?”
Baines nodded. “That’s what I make of it,” he said. “She wasn’t in any condition to do a lot of talking about it, even if she wanted to.”
Constance Whirly gave him a look.
“Stop right there,” said Baines, seeing her mind race with possibilities. “I’m only doing what I figured I should do . . . no different than yourself.”
“He—he saved me,” Julie said in a faint voice.
Constance turned to her, seeing her try to rise up onto her forearms. “There now, child, you lie still,” she said to Julie, pressing her gently back down. “Don’t be moving around; I’m afraid you’ve got some broken ribs here.” She grimaced, looking at Julie’s flattened broken nose, and added, “I wish to God I could get my hands on the animals who did this to you!”
“They’re gone . . .” Julie murmured, seeming to not want to even think about it, let alone talk about it. She lay back flat, trying to let her pain subside. She closed her swollen eyes.
Turning to Baines, Constance said in an angry voice, “I hope you’re going to get the animals who did this to her.”
“No,” said Baines. He took her by the arm and guided her away from Julie’s hearing before saying under his breath, “I believe she’s afraid to do or say anything. She’s lucky to be alive. Maybe that’s all she gets for now.” He lowered his face and gazed at her over the top edge of his sunshades. “Maybe that will be all she gets period. She said she’s headed back east.”
“And let this terrible thing go unpunished?” said Constance in disbelief. “If she doesn’t report this to the army, I will!”
“I’m sure she’ll report everything to the army,” said Baines. “But let’s allow her all the room she needs to do things her way.” He stared at her again from above his sunshades. “Don’t forget, the men who did this come from around these parts. They saw her, but she didn’t see them.”
“And they made threats,” said Constance Whirly, understanding the matter more clearly.
“That’s my speculation,” said Baines. As if dismissing the matter, he drew a pocket watch from his black vest, checked it and said, “Who is the livery owner in this town?”
Constance gave him a quick stare. “Why do you want to know?” she snapped. “Were you headed this way anyway? Do you have business here?”
“I do,” said Baines, plain and simply, with no offer of apology.
“Then, you are badly mistaken this time,” Constance remarked. “Our livery man is Davis Beldon. He’s as fine and decent a man as I’ve ever known.” She tilted her chin upward in the livery owner’s defense. “He’s never harmed a living soul. Can you make such a claim for yourself?”
“I make no claims, ma’am,” said Baines. As he spoke he reached inside his black brush-scarred riding duster, took out a stiff wanted poster and unfolded it in his gloved hands. “I do what I’m paid to do. In this case my employer is the government. Is this the man you know as Davis Beldon?” He turned the poster and put it into her anxious hands.
Her tense face turned slack in relief as her eyes went over the face on the poster. “No . . . thank God,” she whispered. “This isn’t Mr. Beldon. This is the man who works for him. His name is Virgil Tolan.”
“No,” said Baines, “he’s a cold-bloodied killer by the name of Tom Heilly. He’s been on the run for the past two years for sabotage of a Union armament shipment and killing two civilians and three soldiers in the process.” Baines studied her eyes for a moment, then said quietly, “If you judge me, at least judge me against the kind of men I’m hunting.”
“I am not judging you, sir,” Constance said firmly, folding her arms across her bosom. “Take your leave whilst I look after this poor child.”
“I will take my leave,” said Baines. “I’ll go about my business . . . and I’ll come back to check on the woman afterward.”
“I understand,” said Constance. “But what makes you so cocksure you’ll be coming back, if this man is the killer you say he is?”
“I always come back,” Baines said flatly, turning to the door.
Inside the livery barn, Davis Beldon stood in the cover of large wooden grain bin and watched the front door swing open slowly. He saw the dark silhouette of Baines Meredith in his long riding duster fill the incoming slice of sunlight. A long Dance Brothers pistol hung down in Baines’ right hand. Before Baines’ eyes could have possibly adjusted to the darkness, Beldon felt a cold chill go up his spine when he heard the man-killer call out, “Tom Heilly. This is Baines Meredith. I’ve come to hold you accountable for the murders of—”
“He’s not here!” Davis Beldon cried out from behind the wooden grain bin and stood at its edge.
“I’m—I’m the owner. I’m Davis Beldon. We saw you ride in. Tolan—that is, Tom Heilly, told me you would be coming here for him. He lit out of town, probably headed west. There’s no telling how far he’s got by now.”
Baines waited almost a full minute before calling out in a calm flat tone, “Step out more, so I can see your face.”
Davis Beldon stepped out sideways, but it was only one short, grudging step, in spite of having the whole center of the straw-covered floor to stand in. He held his shaky hands up over his head. “Mister, I don’t know what he’s done, but he’s been a good hand since the day I hired him.”
“You’re lying, barn-keeper,” Baines said flatly. “Oh no! It’s the truth,” said Beldon, his brows rising at Baines’ accusation. “He kept this place collected, kept the stalls mucked!”
“I mean about him heading out of town,” Baines said, cutting him off.
Davis Beldon swallowed a hard knot in his throat and replied, “Listen, Mr. Meredith. I don’t want no trouble here.”
“Then quit trying to throw me off, Mister,” Baines said in a demanding tone. “Where’s Heilly?”
“I don’t know, Mister,” said Beldon. “And I don’t know what he’s done or who he might or might not have killed. But I believe he’s a good man. And I believe a good man deserves a second chance.”
“I see,” said Baines Meredith as if having come to an understanding about the livery owner. Seeing Beldon’s arm lower an inch and lean slightly toward the hidden corner of the grain bin, the man-killer raised the big pistol from his side and fired a single shot through Beldon’s heart.
Beldon hit the straw-covered floor flat on his back, dead, his right boot toe jerking in reflex for only a second before it fell limp to the side. Baines slid a searching glance back and forth in the da
rkness as he punched out the spent round, replaced it and walked forward, the big Dance Brothers’ back at his side.
Around the edge of the grain bin, he picked up a sawed-off ten gauge shotgun, cocked it and laid it out on the middle of the floor near Beldon’s dead hand. He stepped back away from the body and stood on the same spot where he’d stood moments earlier, while outside, boots and voices hurried toward the sound of the gunshot.
“Stupid move,” Baines murmured to the body on the barn floor.
In a moment, he stood to the side when three townsmen stepped through the door and looked all around warily.
“My God! He’s killed ole Davis!” one of the townsmen said. He started to step forward to the body, but then stopped and gave Baines Meredith a suspicious look. “You’re the man-killer? Baines Meredith?” he asked.
Baines only nodded.
“Davis pulled this scattergun on you?” another townsman asked.
“That’s correct,” Baines said with resolve.
“But why did he do something like that?” the third asked.
“He was trying to protect a wanted murderer who works for him,” Baines replied, gazing straight and steadily into the man’s eyes.
“Tolan? A murderer?” the first man asked as if in disbelief.
“His name’s not Tolan; it’s Tom Heilly,” Baines said flatly. “And if any of you has seen him, I’m obliged to know his whereabouts.”
“He’s—”
“We haven’t seen him all day,” said the first townsman, giving the other one a hard look before the man could finish what he’d started to say. “I’m afraid we can’t help you, Mr. Meredith.”
Baines gave a slight shrug. “It’s your town. I’ll go from one door to the next if I have to. Heilly is going out of here with me, faceup or facedown.”
“Now, just a minute, Meredith,” the first townsman said, stepping closer. “You can’t ride in here and start pushing folks around!”
“What’s your name, Mister?” Baines asked in a calm but firm tone.
“I’m—I’m Herbert Wright,” the townsman said, giving the other two a look as if seeking their support. “These men are Bill Wilmens and Oscar Bales. We’re all three sort of the acting town board.”
“Then act wisely,” said Baines. “I carry a marshal’s commission from the government. I have every right to arrest this man.”
“That may well be. But you don’t wear a marshal’s badge, and your commission might not amount to a hill of beans once this war is over,” said Herbert Wright.
“But until that time,” said Baines, his thumb sliding easily over the hammer of his Dance Brothers pistol, ready to cock it, “I’ll be about my job, with or without your cooperation.”
Herbert Wright started to protest further, but Oscar Bales stepped in and said in a nervous, worried voice, “All right, he’s hiding in the back room of my barbershop. But I didn’t know he was a wanted killer! I swear I didn’t!”
His eyes went to Davis Beldon’s body on the floor. “I don’t think poor Davis knew it either!”
“Which way to your barbershop?” Baines asked.
Bales pointed a shaky finger off toward the far end of town. “At the striped pole,” he said. “The front door is standing wide open.”
Herbert Wright cut in, saying, “The man came here showing us nothing but honorable intentions. We took him at face value. Does that make us wrong?”
“No,” said Baines, stepping away from the three and turning toward the door. “But hiding him doesn’t make you right either.” Before leaving the barn he warned them, saying, “If you show up in the midst of this, I’ll have to figure you’re taking sides with a wanted man.”
“Meaning what?” Herbert Wright asked indignantly.
“Meaning I’ll kill you if you get in my way,” said Baines.
The three townsmen looked at one another with shocked expressions and scurried out of the barn behind Baines Meredith, then disappeared as he walked purposefully away from the barn along the rutted dirt street. Along the street, other townsfolk saw their three town leaders hurrying away. They too began to duck through shop doors and behind cover, watching the man-killer walk with his eyes focused sharply on Bales’ barbershop.
Chapter 10
From the front window of the boardinghouse, Constance Whirly watched Baines Meredith walk toward the barbershop. She’d also seen the worried look on Bales the barber’s face as he and the other two town board members hurried away, also wearing worried expressions. For reasons she could not explain, she smiled slightly and murmured to herself, “You are one big, long slow-moving cat, aren’t you, Baines Meredith?”
Her faint smile lingered for a moment as she toyed idly with the top button at the throat of her gingham dress. But when Julie’s voice called out to her, she quickly put her smile and her thoughts away.
“Mr. Meredith?” Julie called out in a weak voice from the other room.
“He’s no longer here,” Constance Whirly replied, walking toward the sound of her voice as she touched her hand to her hair as if to make sure it hadn’t somehow gotten out of place. “I’m afraid Mr. Meredith is out in the street this very moment, no doubt prepared to do his killing.”
At the doorway, Constance saw that Julie had gotten up from the sofa and stood facing her, steadying herself with one hand on a lamp table. “Please . . . help me to the window, to see him?” Julie asked.
The two heard Baines’ muffled voice, out on the street, call out to the barbershop, “Tom Heilly! Come out with your hands up.”
Constance said to Julie with a pointed expression, “Are you sure you want to see him just now?”
“Yes, please,” Julie asked in a strained voice, reaching out a hand to Constance.
From the street they heard another muffled voice, this one calling from inside the barbershop, “I know who you are and why you’re here, Meredith! You’re not taking me back alive!”
“Suit yourself, Heilly,” Baines Meredith replied.
Constance looped Julie’s arm over her shoulder and walked her to the window where the two stood watching as Baines walked cautiously sideways, keeping an eye on the barbershop until he had a good view down a narrow alleyway toward the rear of the whitewashed clapboard building.
“Child, this is going to get ugly very quick,” Constance said to the battered young woman standing beside her. “Are you sure you want to see this?”
“This man saved my life,” Julie murmured in her weakened voice, almost to herself. “I don’t know how I will ever repay him.”
Constance studied her closely, seeing beyond the swollen eyes and the bruises and welts. “I’m sure he’ll think of a way,” she said under her breath, giving a short sigh.
But Julie Wilder appeared not to have heard her. Instead she stared intently out the window until suddenly she gasped at the sound of gunfire erupting from the doorway of the barbershop.
“Oh my, he’s dead!” Constance said in a short painful squeal, at the sight of a bullet slamming into Baines’ chest so hard it gave off a puff of dust and sent him flying backward off his feet. “Oh no, oh no!” She squeezed Julie’s hand hard, Julie squeezing equally hard in return.
From the door of the barbershop, Tom Heilly came running, gun in hand, aimed and cocked, his gun belt and holster hanging over his shoulder. “I told him I wasn’t going back alive!” he called out, sidestepping quickly toward a horse standing at a hitch rail. “Listen up, everybody! This town has been good to me! That’s the way I want to leave things here!” He looked all around as he unhitched the horse. “So don’t nobody try to stop me! I’m going somewhere far away and live out my life in peace. Everybody forget you ever saw me!”
“Oh no, stay down!” said Constance, hearing Heilly talk to the town, yet at the same time seeing Baines Meredith push himself up onto one knee, then stretch upward onto his feet.
“I’ve got—I’ve got to help him!” Julie cried out, trying to pull herself free of Constance’s hand
in hers.
“No, wait, please,” Constance insisted, squeezing harder on Julie’s hand, refusing to let her go. The older woman seemed to have come to a realization, watching Baines walk toward Tom Heilly with his gun still in hand, ready to fire. “I have a feeling Mr. Meredith has all the help he needs.”
On the street, Heilly only then saw Meredith walking toward him, seemingly unharmed by the bullet he’d taken in his chest. “What the fu—?” Heilly’s words stopped short as Baines’ big Dance Brothers bucked high in his hand and sent a loud blast resounding along the silent street.
Baines’ first shot hit him dead center, spinning him backward in a fast circle. Heilly’s gun hand came up, struggling to get off a last shot as a thick ribbon of blood rolled out of his chest and slung around with him. He stared wild-eyed and malevolent, shrieking loudly until the second shot hit him in the center of his thick mustache, sending a spray of blood, pulp, teeth and bone matter out the back of his head and pitching him backward dead on the street.
“Oh, that poor dear man,” Constance exclaimed. She turned loose of Julie’s hand and clasped both of her hands to her bosom.
“You mean Heilly?” Julie asked, standing on her own now but feeling faint from her effort.
“Oh no,” said Constance, catching herself and giving Julie a startled look. “I mean, thank goodness Mr. Meredith is alive . . . but it is a shame Mr. Tolan, or whatever his name is, had to die.”
“It looked certain that Heilly had killed Baines Meredith,” said Julie. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” said Constance, taking on her more rigid, tough attitude. “It seems all men are interested in is either how to kill someone or keep someone from killing them. I’ve washed my hands of the lot of them. If you are wise, you’ll do the same.” She turned Julie from the window and guided her back to the other room to the sofa. As they made their way there, she asked, “You haven’t fallen for this man-killer, I hope?”