The feeling was cemented when Sheriff Birdsall winked at the astonished man standing open-mouthed in front of him and said, "Think you've made a wise choice, Mrs. Birdsall.
* * * *
As it happened, nobody had gotten around to selling Ripper yet. Fond of the sometimes intractable animal, a master at bloating up his belly when it came time to saddle up, Tuck owned up to the relief he felt. In fact, when pointed in the right direction, he found his Roman-nosed sorrel out back of the sheriff's office munching good timothy hay alongside Birdsall's black mare. The pair of them, he noted, were becoming fat as Christmas gooses on account of Mrs. Birdsall overfeeding them something awful.
"I had your horse moved over here to save stabling charges," she said to him a little anxiously. "I hope you don't mind."
"Mind? No, ma'am." Tuck suffered an inner flinch at adding yet another kindness onto the bill he owed her and Sheriff Birdsall. "'Preciate it. I'll take over cleaning out this barn, Mrs. Birdsall. Don't you worry about it no more."
Delight's smile of relief indicated he'd done the right thing. It was a start.
Later, using his thumb to polish the badge hanging heavy on his chest, Tuck determined to repay all his debt as soon as possible. Sheriff Birdsall had said he needed someone to uphold the law in Garnet County, and by gum, he'd picked Ole Tucker Moon as that man. Tuck admitted to knowing a little something about the subject of lawbreakers. He ought, having broken the rules often enough his own self. Had a notion working the other side might not be as simple as it sounded.
Evening found him downstairs seated behind the sheriff's desk cleaning his shotgun. He'd found it, along with three dollars and a couple dimes, the sale papers on Ole Ripper, and a couple bitty keepsakes tied up in his spare handkerchief stowed away in a cabinet in the office. In view of his new situation, he felt embarrassed by the paucity of his possessions. If this job held, he'd have to buy himself a new shirt or two.
That was for tomorrow. At eight o'clock, he set out on a circuit of Endurance's main street just as he'd seen Birdsall do every night before the shooting. For the most part, the town was quiet. The only businesses still showing lights were the saloons and one at the back of the blacksmith shop and livery stable, where shadowy figures moved. The horses Sheridan kept to rent out milled restlessly around the corral as if a cougar stalked among them.
Eyes narrowing, Tuck strode toward the stable to see what he could see.
Nothing good because, as he neared the back corner, he found the light, small, like from a lantern to begin with, was growing. Fire, the scourge of all wood-built towns and hay-filled barns. Holding his shotgun in both hands across his body at the ready, Tuck ran, his hoarse bellow riding the quiet night in hope of rousing a passerby. "Fire! Fire at the livery."
One thing, it sure enough spoiled a quiet approach.
Rounding the end of the barn, he took in several things all at once. First, the burly feller scrambling aboard what Tuck assumed was one of the livery horses, its saddle pulling halfway over its side as the heavy man stuck a foot in the stirrup. Second, a knocked-over barn lantern lying on its side, coal-oil spilled into a heap of straw bedding material. Flames licked at the bone dry straw, sparks already leaping into the sky. Third, the body of a man sprawled on the ground, stirring a little and groaning. Sheridan, the blacksmith, had been struck low by a man whose arm was raised to bash his head yet again.
"Halt," Tuck roared and, without waiting to see if his order was obeyed, charged forward lifting his shotgun as he went, pointing, and firing. The assailant stopped, falling back with a cry before whirling and running into the dark, bent over and limping. At the edge of his vision, Tuck saw the man on the horse stop, reach down, and pull the feller on foot up behind him.
No time to chase them, Tuck decided. Better they get away than the town burn. He figured Mrs. Sheriff would have something to say if that happened.
He raced past Sheridan and kicked the lantern out of the way. A pitch fork was stuck in the straw pile, so he exchanged his shotgun for the implement and started tossing straw out into the bare yard. Eyes and throat burning from the acrid smoke, he soon became aware of a bell clanging close by. None too soon, a couple other men joined him, plying scoop shovels.
In minutes the fire died, sparks winking out amongst wispy, blackened ash. Several breathless men leaned on their tools' handles, nodded at each other over the shared successful labor, and wiped sweat from their eyes. His shirt, Tuck noticed, was in ruins now, with bitty holes burned through where sparks had landed.
Sheridan, unsteady on his feet due, no doubt, to the goose egg dripping blood down his face, lurched over to shake Tuck's hand.
"Mister," he said, "you was just in time. If that feller'd whomped my noggin once more, he'd a done me in for certain. Thanks. Thanks for saving my barn and my life."
Tuck hoped they all thought his red face was due to the heat and his exertions. He sure didn't deserve Sheridan's thanks. "'Fraid they made off with one of your horses."
Sheridan gazed toward the corral like he was counting. "Least it wasn't two. And you pumped a little lead into one of 'em. Got a trail of blood over there."
Tuck shook his head. "Too far away to do much damage. Just peppered him a little. Don't suppose you know who these fellers was?"
Glumly, Sheridan frowned. "Some of Diggett Monroe's men. Seen 'em hanging around the Bucket of Sudz. Think they was drunk." He touched his goose egg. "Probably a good thing or they might've killed me." He brightened. "Maybe you can track 'em, come morning, and get my horse back.
Tuck had to agree. "Figured on it. Not much anybody can do tonight."
Sheridan peered at him more closely. "You're the new deputy Birdsall hired, ain't you?"
"Reckon so."
A new, heavily accented voice rose over the firefighter's low murmurs. "For them fire arsons, you vatch. Fire in Sheridan's barn, tonight. Fire in mein store last veek. Robbers, voman killers, fire starters. Catch them, hang them. Ja?"
"That's the thing, Schmidt," an unidentified man said. "Gotta catch 'em first."
"Vell, vere ist Sheriff Birdsall ven he ist needed? Vere is law and order?"
"Here now, don't go stirring folks up, Wilhelm." Tuck recognized Mayor Green's voice. "You all know the sheriff was shot in the line of duty. Give him a chance. Got a deputy hired, and I'd say he did a fine job here tonight. We'll get by until Birdsall's on his feet."
Tuck figured this is when he oughta step forward and say something to reassure the understandably nervous town folk but, damn, words failed him. He wasn't no speechmaker.
Sheridan pushed past him, ready now to regale the crowd with a chronicle of events. Tuck noticed a pencil pusher writing down the blacksmith's words. Be in the next issue of the newspaper, he expected.
"Vere ist Herr Herschel?" Schmidt was complaining. "Here he should be."
"You know Herschel always avoids anything looks like work," Sheridan said. "Got the new deputy to thank for saving my barn and running those fellers off. Schmidt, you..."
Relieved to escape the limelight, Tuck stepped into the dark and resumed his solitary patrol of Endurance's main street.
* * * *
With the aim of speaking face-to-face with Diggett Monroe and discouraging his intentions if he could, Tuck rolled out of bed the next morning and donned his ragged shirt with the badge pinned to it. Next, tiptoeing from the empty jail so as not to awaken the Birdsalls, he retrieved Ripper from the barn behind the office and led the horse along the alley to the street. There, the first man he met was Mayor Green, evidently on his way to open the butcher shop since his white canvas apron was fresh and unstained. Green was deep in conversation with the loud-mouthed German from the fire last night. They stood outside the sheriff's office looking serious as gravediggers.
Tuck tipped his hat, meaning to be on his way to Garnet City, but Green flagged him down before he had a chance to mount.
"Good morning, Deputy Moon," Green said, his eyebrows waggling in a fr
iendly seeming way. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance under these calmer circumstances. This here gentleman is Wilhelm Schmidt. He runs the mercantile."
Just as if Tuck hadn't been in the mercantile buying carrots (Ole Ripper was mighty fond of carrots) two or three times since he'd hit town, Schmidt pumped his hand and said, "Pleased to meet you I am."
"Guess you're setting out after those horse thieves," Green said. "Glad to see you're Johnny-on-the-spot. Mrs. Birdsall went on and on about you yesterday. Extolling your virtues, so to speak. She says Birdsall gives you a high recommend, and that the reason you were in jail was a momentary trans...transgression." Stumbling a little over the word, Green batted at a horsefly. "Convinced me you're the man for the job. Says you'll know just how to talk to these yahoos that've been tearing up the town."
Tuck hoped she knew what she was talking about because it was the first he'd heard of these...what had Green called them...virtues? "Got some slight acquaintance with their kind," he replied. "Long as I'm out that way, figured I'd drop in and try to talk some sense into Monroe and the rest of those fellers. Don't want to arrest them..."
He saw Green scowl at this, and added quickly, "Takes too much to keep 'em until we figure out where they're wanted and somebody comes to fetch them. My intention is to talk 'em into leaving the county." More accurately, he figured convincing them better pickings lay down the road was his only chance of success.
Green nodded as though Tuck had just revealed the truth of the century. "Hadn't thought of that. Makes sense. Well, good luck, deputy. Keep a watchful eye out. Don't know how many of those fellers might be back-shooters, but the one that shot Birdsall is still on the loose. I figure that badge makes you a target, too."
Schmidt's head bobbed in agreement. "Und mein frau, too, iss shot. Owlhoots!"
Buoyed by their good wishes, Tuck tipped his hat again and swung aboard Ripper. "I'll keep my eye peeled."
Eight o'clock on a hot summer morning found them several miles outside of Endurance, clomping west along a trail cut through a timbered hillside toward the old town of Garnet City. The sun beat down from overhead, and birds warbled along the trail. Tuck was enjoying the ride, even if he didn't much care for the destination.
Garnet City was almost a ghost town--would've been already if it hadn't been for Diggett Monroe and his hooligans moving in and taking over Ma Brady's rooming house. Rooming house being a kind of loose translation for her place. Outlaws' den came closer to the truth. Brothel fit, as well.
Tuck had stayed a night there once. He didn't figure it'd be any loss when the place either closed or burned down. It was the last business left after folks gave up on finding gold in Garnet Gulch.
Tuck snorted to himself and shook his head. What possessed any of them folks to think they'd find gold in a place called Garnet Gulch, anyway? Garnets were those jewelry gewgaws ladies thought so highly of if he recollected right. But then, he'd always had trouble figuring what motivated folks, and this was one of those times. The gulch was the ass end of nowhere and always had been, but it had suited a man on the run like Diggett Monroe. Had for a while, anyway, out there where nobody bothered him. Now it looked like Diggett had changed his mind. Word was he intended on moving up in the world, his ambition focused on all of Garnet County, with Endurance as his headquarters.
When Tuck had ridden through Garnet City a few weeks ago, he hadn't been tempted to ever go back. Couple of nights there had been more than enough for him. Looked like Monroe didn't think much of the place either, since he planned on abandoning it. Yet here Tuck was, trying to think of an argument that would persuade Diggett Monroe to leave Endurance alone, and crossing his fingers he'd return to town alive.
Tuck clucked to Ripper as they ambled along, both, if the horse's pricked ears were anything to go by, enjoying the sun on their shoulders after days of confinement. The air smelled of earth and pine needles. Insects hummed contentedly in the brush nearby. He didn't know about the horse, but he was a little sleepy having gotten up with the sun.
A sound like the roll of a stone beneath a clumsy foot brought Tuck awake in a hurry, warning him he had company. The stumble was accompanied by the unmistakable snick of a cartridge being levered into the firing chamber of a rifle. Ole Ripper tossed his head and stopped dead of his own accord in the middle of the road. Fool horse.
Tuck's hand started toward his hip, then, as he remembered, stilled.
A man chuckled and stepped from behind an outhouse-sized boulder into the trail in front of Tuck. He recognized Happy Monroe, Diggett's brother and right-hand man. The rattle of brush told Tuck there was another in the woods behind him. Dang. He didn't like that there were two, but maybe he should be glad it was only two.
"Howdy there, Tuck Moon," Happy said, sounding more cheerful than Tuck had ever heard him. "How you be? Last I heard you was in jail."
Tuck nodded like they were friends well-met on the street. "Served my time, and they turned me loose."
Tuck thought Monroe grinned, although it was hard to tell. The man's face was set in a perpetual smile, courtesy of a scar drawing the right side of his face upward. A leftover from an old knife fight, or so Tuck had heard. One thing certain, the smile wasn't necessarily an indication of his mood. They called him Happy because he wasn't very often--happy, that is.
"You're just the feller I was hoping to see," Tuck said. Partway true, although if he had his druthers, Monroe would've been alone.
"Yeah? How's that?"
Tuck rested his hands on the saddle horn, wondering what to say and wishing Ole Ripper, like his name indicated, had a bit more spunk in him. A restive horse might've made it easier to see who was behind him. Let him know how worried he ought to be. Plenty worried, he figured. Nothing less. Meanwhile, Ripper settled down, lowering his head to bite the head off a wild flower like he'd found the perfect pasture.
"I had a first-class seat to all the lead flying at the jail the other day," Tuck said. "I thought you might tell me what all the fuss was about."
Happy's eyes narrowed, although he never quit smiling. "Shooting?" He glanced at the other man, the one still hidden in the trees. "You heard about any shooting lately, Milt?" he asked, raising his voice.
"Not me," Milt's deep rumble answered.
The tightness in Tuck's belly eased a smidgeon. Could've been a worse man pointing a gun at him. A first-class thug, Milt Wheatly talked big and walked with a swagger, but nineteen times out of twenty, he'd miss whatever he was shooting at.
Tuck chanced a peek over his shoulder.
"Funny," he said, his confidence growing as he turned back to Happy, "seeing I had a good view of the shooter from my cell. It ain't like Luke Filmore to hide his light under a basket."
"Luke Filmore, eh?" Happy pretended to be thinking, not that he was much of an actor. "Never heard of him."
Tuck's belly muscles tightened again. "Well, now, Happy, that's an odd thing seeing you're the one pointed Filmore out to me not three weeks ago at Ma Brady's place in Garnet City."
The rifle in Happy Monroe's arms shifted, the bore pointing more Tuck's way.
"Was I you," Happy said, "I'd forget all about who you met where. My big brother Diggett don't like folks poking around where they don't belong. For instance, that sheriff throwing some of the boys in the hoosegow when all they wanted is a little fun. Made him mad."
"They were drunk, stirring up trouble. Can't blame the sheriff for following the rules. That's his job."
"Yeah? Then he gets what he's got coming to him. Diggett won't let nobody stand in his way. He says anybody ain't for him is a-gin' him. Ain't anybody allowed to set on the sidelines."
"The sidelines of what? What does Diggett want with Endurance, anyhow? Ain't so very much there. Not a lot of money, far as I can tell. Why not head into Wallace or Coeur d'Alene? Spokane, maybe? One of those big towns where there's real money?"
Happy's scarred lip lifted higher. "Diggett does what he wants. Never know. One of them places might be next,
but for now, Endurance has struck his fancy and if you take a hand on the wrong side, same thing as happens to them town people will happen to you."
Tuck figured that was plain enough, even if not what he wanted to hear. He'd best make himself just as clear.
"Well, the thing is, Happy, I ain't sitting on the sidelines. I've taken a job. With Sheriff Birdsall being laid up, somebody has got to keep the law in Endurance. I reckon that somebody is me."
Monroe's laughter roared out.
"A little bird flew by and said you was made deputy. Didn't believe it. Sounds to me like the folks in Endurance have gone pure crazy." Monroe chuckled again, while behind Tuck, Milt Wheatley tittered like a saloon-girl who'd been drinking more than tea. "Don't they know who you are? Hasn't anybody told them about you killing that farmer kid down in South Idaho?"
"I ain't lied about my name," he said.
"I see you ain't got a pistola." Happy made a tching sound. "A deputy, now. A deputy probably needs a six-shooter."
"I didn't come out here to shoot anybody," Tuck said, trying to ease the situation. "I came to talk."
Milt had moved up until he stood only a few feet away, just at the side of Tuck's vision. But if that was the case, Tucked wondered, what--who--was that stirring in the brush a dozen yards out? His belly tightened. Looked like he might have made an error in judgment in trying to discuss matters with Happy Monroe.
Happy shrugged. "Talk to who? What for? What's your aim?"
Tuck's hand crept an inch closer to the sawed-off scatter gun he kept in his saddle holster. "I came to give Diggett a friendly warning," he said. "Best to stop trouble before it gets a head start, I always say. Thought I'd tell him he should stay out of Endurance. He's got Garnet City. Far as I'm concerned, he's welcome to it. Keep his nose clean in Garnet County and he can stay around. Any of his men steps out of line in Endurance, they'll be taken in."
Happy smirked. "Who's gonna make him, eh? Folks in Endurance got an army I don't know about?"
"Won't take an army," Tuck said. "Diggett's the leader of this outfit. Cut him down to size and the whole bunch falls apart. Simple."
Letter Of The Law Page 8