It was mid-morning by then and the cigarette papers in the half-breed’s shirt pocket—sodden during the stormy river crossing, had dried out. And he separated one from the pack as he watched the activity, before recalling he had failed in his mission to buy tobacco at Fallon. His thin lips curled back to form a curse.
‘Miss Lassiter!’ This from a Bar-M hand who came running down the alley between the saloon and the store.
‘Dad? Is he...?’
‘He’s still alive, Miss. But I don’t know for how long.’
‘We have a doctor with us.’
Men helped her down from the buggy and along the alley.
‘Where’s C.B.? And John Groves? French?’
‘There was some shooting, brother.’
Angel North added: ‘They didn’t die for nothin’.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘His Son is to be born again. You know that, brother.’
The voices had become faint, the words difficult to hear above the crunch of footfalls in the snow. Then the stable door was dragged open.
‘Dad! Oh, dad!’
The door was closed and a strange, eerie silence settled over the ghost town. Black smoke curled up from the stack on the stable roof. The horse in the shafts of the buggy and those hitched to the rail outside the store ignored the only human presence on the street. The gelding under him waited patiently for a command.
Edge watched the eastern ridge of the valley, at the point where the trail from Fallon snaked over it. The thread like, glinting blue eyes under the hooded lids saw nothing move up there on the snow. And for a long time he heard nothing.
Then the door of the livery stable opened and footfalls crunched across the yard and along the alley.
The two Bar-M hands stepped out on to the street first. They were followed by Craig, Bassett and Smith. Then came Karnes and his deputies. It was obvious that all the men were concerned with what was occurring back in the stable.
All of them wore deeply set frowns and were silent—in a group but strangely detached from each other. They glanced disinterestedly at Edge when Owen Craig said:
‘Hi, son. You come back then?’
‘West was the way I was headed when all this started,’ the half-breed replied flatly, aware of the emptiness of the words.
‘Cole Lassiter just died.’
Edge nodded. ‘So the girl got what she wanted.’
‘Better than that, even. He managed to nod that it was all right with him for her to marry Redeker. Priest is doin’ the ceremony now.’
After a glance at Edge, Craig had joined the others in peering down the alley toward the livery stable door.
The half-breed continued to watch the trail over the ridge. ‘Didn’t they want witnesses, feller?’
‘Ain’t that, son. Touch and go which comes first. The couple bein’ married or the baby arrivin’. Wouldn’t be right for all of us to be there for the baby bein’ born.’
He took out his pipe and clamped the stem between his teeth, to suck at the emptiness of the bowl.
‘Right for them to be around, I guess,’ Edge said.
The others seemed not to be aware of the talk. But their attention was suddenly captured when Craig followed the direction of the half-breed’s nod and gasped: ‘Holy cow! They what they look like?’
Everyone stared up to the crest of the high ground in the east and saw the trio of riders who had halted there. Even though they were no more than dark silhouettes against the sun-bright sky, their exotic garb of strangely shaped hats and flowing robes could be recognized by the men who had seen them before.
‘The Three Kings from the Orient!’ Karnes confirmed huskily.
‘They’re headin’ south!’ This from the deputy named Frank as the men on the ridge wheeled their mounts.
The sheepmen stared disconsolately at the departing riders, then anxiously at Edge.
‘They oughta be here,’ Smith groaned. ‘Couldn’t you go—’
‘Looking for a feller called Silas Martin,’ the half-breed answered absently as he gazed pensively after the trio of Japanese. ‘Guess the river trail was blocked.’
All attention was abruptly drawn again to the stable out back of the saloon as the door was flung open and running footfalls sounded.
‘It’s started!’ O’Keefe exclaimed, his fleshy face bright crimson with excitement as he reached the buggy and began to delve beneath the blanket on the footboard. ‘The baby’s coming! It won’t be easy for her! She’ll have to be cut!’ His features were abruptly contorted by a frown of almost painful anguish. ‘What happened to Tatum’s bag?’
The hard silence which followed his cry as he flung the blanket to the snow was ended by a shuddering moan from Maria Lassiter. Then a shrill scream.
Edge pushed a hand into the long hair at the nape of his neck. He drew the razor from the pouch and closed the blade into the handle before he called: ‘Here, priest. Be a change for it to give life instead of taking it. I want it back right after.’ He tossed the closed razor and O’Keefe caught it instinctively in his pudgy hands. ‘Don’t come back without it, feller.’
O’Keefe nodded, whirled, and raced back along the alley.
‘What the hell happened to the doc’s—?’ a deputy started.
‘Lost back at the river, probably,’ the sheriff suggested dully as the stable door was closed again, muting the harsh sounds of the pregnant woman’s labor. ‘We had to get off that ferry pretty damn fast.’
The subject was immediately forgotten as the weary eyes of men who had been without sleep for a long time returned to peer at the east ridge. But the trio of riders had gone from sight.
‘They was supposed to bring gifts,’ Bassett growled.
‘Frig the heathen bastards!’ the deputy named Frank snarled. ‘We don’t need ’em. I got my gold watch I can give the baby. Sheriff?’
Karnes delved into a pants pocket and brought out some loose change. ‘I didn’t count on takin’ no trip today. I just got a dollar, Frank. In cents.’
‘That’ll be okay. Anyone else?’
The other two deputies, the trio of sheepmen and the two Bar-M hands shook their heads.
‘Nothin’ it’d be fittin’ to give a new born baby,’ Smith said miserably.
They all looked up at the mounted Edge. ‘I ain’t never found need to carry any myrrh,’ he told them.
Every face showed a scowl, which was then snatched off the fatigued, bristled features by the familiar sound of the stable door being opened.
The priest came down the alley: slowly this time, head bowed. When he reached the street and looked up he showed a face wreathed with an expression of awe.
‘He will be reborn very soon, brothers,’ he whispered. ‘Let us pray.’
As he dropped to his knees and brought his hands together at his chin, he realized he was carrying the razor. He held it out and Edge rode up close to him to reach down and take it.
‘Obliged,’ the half-breed said as the other men on the street sank to their knees and assumed attitudes of prayer.
‘Your help is greatly appreciated, sir,’ O’Keefe said, with a sincerity of tone and expression which for the first time caused him to sound and look like a genuine priest.
Edge nodded and pulled the blade from the handle before he replaced the razor in the pouch. It was still warm, probably from boiling water rather than the girl’s flesh.
Then he heeled the horse forward, turning to ride across the street and between the two houses at the start of the south west trail. Behind him, O’Keefe spoke softly and reverently. Far to his left, there was movement again on the eastern rim of the valley. Not riders this time. People on foot trudging through the snow. Many more than three of them. The citizens of Fallon nearing the end of their long walk from the Wind River.
Edge ignored them and found this easy to do. It was not so simple to detach himself from what was happening in the stable. To do that he had to think determinedly materialistic thoughts about an unknow
n man named Silas Martin. To concentrate on the three Japanese who were looking for him. And to consider how he might capitalize on their search.
He rode slowly, not conscious of any reluctance to leave the ghost town behind. Aware only that he had to make a great effort to confine his thoughts to what lay ahead.
It was a quarter of a mile south when something in the snow caught his attention and he reined the gelding to a halt. He swung down from the saddle as he recognized the warped and rotting timber of a town marker board, half buried in the snow. As he used a booted foot to clear the flakes away from the faded lettering, he glanced up the slope.
The people from Fallon had reached the ghost town and were moving silently along the street.
He looked down at the town marker and read: WELCOME TO BETH. His vision was suddenly blurred by the threat of tears. Of grief for a long dead wife? A vivid mental image of a woman’s face with maggots crawling out over the lips flashed through his mind. Of regret that she had not survived long enough to bear a child?
He shook his head violently, making a physical effort to clear his mind of other haunting images. A tear spilled from each cracked open eye and coursed down the dark, lined, cold-pinched, bristled flesh of his face.
The plaintive first cry of a new born baby floated down the slope from the ghost town which was now crowded with a waiting throng.
‘Jesus Christ!’ a man roared. A moment of utter silence.
The voice of Joseph Redeker announced: ‘It’s a girl! Thank God it’s a girl!’
Edge swept his foot to the side to reveal the entire marker board: WELCOME TO BETHEL.
A bedlam of hysterical shouting and screaming exploded from the town: the body of sound rushing down the snow-cloaked valley. As he swung astride the gelding again, Edge could distinguish no single word. But the tone of the massed voices was of depthless rage.
Then he saw a flurry of movement between the two houses where the south west trail began. And he laid a hand on the stock of his booted Winchester as angry people filled the gap. But they advanced only as far as the rear of the houses, there to divide into two groups.
The screams and shouts continued at a constant volume. But amid the shrillness there was now a sound of lower pitch—a regular, thud, thud, thud, thud. Like powerful hammer blows.
Edge watched the frantic crowds impassively, unable to recognize individuals through the dazzle of reflected light of the noon sun striking the snow.
Then a rider appeared between the houses. And was allowed to head down the trail unhindered.
The half-breed gripped the Winchester again and maintained his hold on the rifle even after he recognized the rider as Joe Redeker. As the youngster rode up to the half-breed and reined his mount to a halt, the citizens of Fallon fell silent and moved into a single group again: in the gap at the start of the trail. And Edge was able to see how they had expunged their rage.
It had been hammer blows he heard amid the raised voices, driving nails through the hands and feet of O’Keefe and Angel North. For the priest and the one time Virginia City whore had been crucified—spread-eagled against the rear walls of the houses. The blood from their wounds showed clearly. Their heads were hung forward, chins resting on their chests. If they were conscious and venting their agony, the sounds were not loud enough to reach Edge.
‘It’s for the killin’ of the ferryman and his family,’ Redeker supplied grimly after a grimacing glance over his shoulder. ‘Somebody said it would be a fittin’ way for them to die.’
‘Just through the hands and feet?’ Edge asked. ‘Nowhere else?’
‘No. They’ll be a long time dyin’. Some of the folks liked that. I come to tell you thanks, Mr. Edge. For yesterday. And for helpin’ to get Maria to her Pa before he died. Best you don’t come back. Them people back there know you did some of the shootin’ at the Doniphan house.’
‘Obliged, kid,’ the half-breed said, and drew the Winchester from the boot. ‘But I can do what I have to do from here.’
Redeker vented a gasp of shock as Edge pumped the action of the rifle, thudded the stock to his shoulder and squeezed off a shot. Then pumped, raked the barrel to the side and fired again.
The hanging forms of Angel North and O’Keefe each jerked once and became inert.
An angry roar exploded from the crowd.
The drifting gun smoke disintegrated and its acrid taint was neutralized by the ice cold air.
The crowd stirred into movement, then became still again. Perhaps sick of killing. Or maybe realizing that the half-breed was too far away to be caught.
Redeker cleared his throat. They were crazy, but they believed some kinda miracle was goin’ to happen here today. So did a lot of Fallon folks. I think maybe it not happenin’ made them people even more mad than the killin’ at the Doniphan house. I’m glad you ended their sufferin’, Mr. Edge.’
‘So am I, kid,’ the half-breed answered evenly as he slid the rifle back into the boot and made to wheel his horse.
‘For a while there, they had me believin’ it,’ Redeker said huskily. Then he showed a wan, exhausted grin of relief. ‘But I should’ve known. It was the first time for both of us. Maria and me. With each other or anyone else. It was over before we knew it, almost. But I know I was inside her when it happened for me. And she bled like she was supposed to. So I knew it was no immaculate conception, Mr. Edge.’
‘No sweat, kid,’ the half-breed drawled as he tugged on the reins to turn the gelding south. ‘You’ll both improve with practice.’
Other titles in the EDGE series from Lobo Publications
#1 The Loner
#2 Ten Grand
#3 Apache Death
#4 Killer’s Breed
#5 Blood On Silver
#6 The Blue, The Grey And The Red
#7 California Kill
#8 Seven Out Of Hell
#9 Bloody Summer
#10 Vengeance Is Black
#11 Sioux Uprising
#12 The Biggest Bounty
#13 A Town Called Hate
#14 Blood Run
#15 The Big Gold
#16 The Final Shot
#17 The Final Shot
#18 Ten Tombstones To Texas
#19 Ashes And Dust
#20 Sullivan’s Law
#21 Rhapsody In Red
#22 Slaughter Road
#23 Echoes Of War
#24 The Day Democracy Died
#25 The Violence Trail
#26 Savage Dawn
#27 Death Drive
#28 Eve of Evil
And More to Come…
EDGE: Eve of Evil (Edge series Book 28) Page 14