Letter Of The Law

by C. J. Crigger

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  Tuck, lethargic after a nap broken by uneasy dreams, clomped along the section of board sidewalk in front of the Garnet County Merchant's Bank, his footsteps echoing with a hollow thud. By the clock outside the bank, it was near onto eleven o'clock at night. Light shone through the windows of the Bucket of Sudz and O'Hanlon's saloon, as well as one in a corner room on the hotel's second story. Tuck figured a traveler was finding one of those thin mattresses too hard. Otherwise, nothing stirred except a lone tomcat, silent on the hunt.

  Tuck's senses sharpened. Maybe it was too quiet. A glance showed Sheridan's stable undisturbed and peaceful. Same with Schmidt's Mercantile and the butcher shop. Even so, his shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow.

  He couldn't put a name to what stopped him in mid-stride. Was there a flicker of movement beyond the bank's window, more imagined than seen? Could've been his own reflection, he told himself, even as he dismissed the idea. After a moment, he moved on as if he'd seen nothing.

  The boardwalk was an amenity meant for bank customers, and it ended just beyond the corner of the building. Tuck stepped off into silent dirt and the acrid smelling weeds growing in the alley between the bank and hardware store. Running now, he broke out into the service yard behind the row of buildings. Two horses were tethered to the bank's small back stoop. Their ears pricked at sight of him.

  Tuck raised the short-barreled shotgun snugged under his arm and cocked it. Then, walking as soft-footed as the prowling tomcat, he crossed the yard, ending up outside the rear door of the bank. He found the wood splintered, the lock and latch broken. The door hung a couple inches ajar, enough so whoever was in there could make a fast get away, but not so much as to flap in the breeze.

  He smiled with grim humor. Wouldn't be anybody going anywhere, without first asking his by-your-leave. He leaned against the outside doorjamb, waiting for the owners of those horses, his plan to take them by surprise as they left the building.

  He hadn't much time to kill. He'd no more than gotten comfortably settled than he heard whispers from inside.

  "Stick your head out and see if we're clear," a man said.

  "Me? Why don't you?" The next man was louder as they came nearer. The gurgle of a tilted jug accompanied his question.

  "You're a lazy bugger, ain't ya?" said the first.

  "Lazy? Hell, no. I just don't want my head blowed off."

  "There ain't nobody out there," the first scoffed.

  "Then why bother lookin'?"

  Tuck inched over, bringing up his shotgun, but whichever man opened the door, he jerked it wide enough to see out, but not far enough to spot him.

  "Yeah, yeah. I'm doin' it. Don't push me." Then, "Don't see nobody. And gimme a snort of that red-eye. I'm the one been doing all the work."

  The bottle gurgled again, and Tuck felt himself relaxing. He was going to enjoy this. Nothing too difficult about nabbing two half-drunk bank robbers.

  A couple seconds later, when he stepped out to confront the pair and startled the bank robber with the bottle into throwing it at him, it flashed through his mind he hadn't taken being splashed in the face with whiskey into account.

  "Hold on there." Tuck stepped back and swept the rotgut away with the back of his hand, wincing with the burn of raw alcohol on his unhealed knuckles. His eyes stung; his vision blurred.

  "It's the law," one of the men howled. "Run." With what looked like a pillowcase he'd probably stolen off some housewife's clothesline clasped in his hand, he churned off into the dark alley, leaving his partner to engage Tuck in combat.

  At least it started out that way.

  Tuck wanted none of it. He flipped up his shotgun and aimed in the general direction of the combative thief's belly, easy enough to see in the dark with the man wearing a white dress shirt. The thief could see the shotgun, too. He reached for the pistol he'd been carrying in the waistband of his trousers.

  "I can't hardly miss," Tuck said. "Not from this distance."

  The robber stopped in his tracks, took about one second to think the situation over, saw reason and stuck his hands above his head. "Don't shoot, Sheriff."

  Tuck gestured him to the side. "You," he shouted at the other man who, weighted down by the bulky pillowcase, was attempting to mount one of the horses. The animal, under severe aggravation caused by the man digging his toe in its ribs every time he tried to drag himself into the saddle, kept dancing out from under him.

  "Get away from that horse." Tuck, having relieved the first bank robber of his six-shooter, pushed his prisoner ahead of him. They approached the feller with the horse, the excited animal tossing its head and trying to bite the man. With some success judging by the sound of things, earning it a curse and a sock in the nose.

  At that, the animal jerked loose the reins and took off down the alley at a run, leaving the man standing there, pillowcase dangling from his hand like an afterthought.

  "Throw down your pistol, mister," Tuck said. "And hang onto whatever it is you got hold of there. Reckon you boys better accompany me down to the jail."

  For his third night on a new job, it wasn't a bad haul.

  * * * *

  Morning found Deputy Tuck Moon sleeping with his head pillowed on the office desk. He roused to some loud, unmusical snoring from the prisoners in the cells and Mrs. Birdsall's sheepdog blowing hot breath in his face. Wincing, Tuck sat up, pulled on his boots and settled his hat, then hiked up the stairs to the sheriff's apartment. Not too early, because he didn't want to wake Birdsall if he was asleep. Turned out Birdsall was already in the kitchen eating breakfast and nothing would do but for Tuck to put his feet under the table as well.

  He thought maybe Birdsall was relieved to see him, considering a coolness that palpably hovered in the air between the sheriff and his wife. Looked like Pel hadn't forgiven his missus for ignoring his wishes yesterday, even though she'd probably save Mrs. Thomas's life by doing so.

  "Pull up a chair. There's plenty," Mrs. Sheriff said. A plate appeared in front of him, piled high with feather light flapjacks and thick-cut bacon. For the next few minutes, she was kept busy conveying more and more of the flapjacks from stove to table.

  In between bites, Tuck made his report to the sheriff, stopping often to shovel a forkful of flapjack into his mouth.

  "I don't like it." Birdsall's fork stopped in mid-air, a frown pulling his face as if it were the food that offended him. "A couple of hick bank robbers sure to botch the job? They don't sound the sort of man Diggett Monroe would take into his gang. For one thing, they gave up too easily."

  Tuck had a brief regret for the fear he'd felt, facing them down the way he had. Just a pair of hicks.

  Mrs. Sheriff had her back turned to them, busy watching bubbles rise on the flapjacks until she flipped them over. "That doesn't mean they aren't dangerous, Pelham," she said. "Even if they're not part of his regular crew. Maybe he sent them just to be a nuisance. Or a test, to see if there was any reaction."

  "That's a smart idea, ma'am. I'd say you got the right of it." Tuck mulled it over, grateful to her for saying out loud what he thought. "If we caught 'em, he'd know to be more cautious himself. If we didn't, he might as well push on in."

  Birdsall stuck a chunk of bacon in his mouth, chewed and swallowed, taking time to catch his breath. Eating was a chore for him, Tuck knew, although his missus didn't need to force nourishment on him like she had at first.

  "Or," Birdsall said, "could be they're just a pair of drunks who wandered into town looking for some easy money. It's happened before. Not every would-be hardcase that comes down the pike is connected with Monroe."

  So now they were hardcases. Tuck wasn't about to argue with his benefactor, although in his opinion, Mrs. Birdsall's idea came closer to the mark. Could be the sheriff was just whistlin' in the dark. But a glance at Birdsall's set face told Tuck he didn't believe his own words anyway.

  Mrs. Birdsall finished her cooking and sat down, shifting a slice of b
acon from the platter onto her plate. She had taken only one flapjack, leaving plenty for the prisoners as well as the orphaned sheepdog.

  "It doesn't matter either way, does it?" she asked, poking at that one as if she'd lost her appetite. "If they're no more than inefficient thieves, they're taken care of and we can forget about them. If they're Monroe's men, he'll have guessed we're ready for him. But since they're behind bars, we can still ignore them. Because really, what has changed? We have to prepare for Monroe and he has to prepare for us. The only question is, who will be ready first?"

  Birdsall sighed, his fork tracing a scar on the old wooden kitchen table. "I figure we'd better be the ones in a high state of readiness. Not much else we can do."

  Tuck nodded agreement. "They'll come. Tonight, I expect, seeing it's Friday."

  Mrs. Birdsall cocked an eyebrow in question.

  "Monroe's lucky day," Tuck said, "or so he tells his men. Liston seemed pretty sure when he warned me to get out."

  "Glad you stayed," the sheriff said, then added, "Damn, I wish we had some help we could count on. I'd deputize about anybody with an honest face about now. "

  He wasn't the only one. Tuck would've welcomed the devil himself, long as he was on their side.

  * * * *

  Pel was not one for carrying a grudge, especially when the object of his displeasure was his wife. By noon he'd gotten over his aggravation with her perceived carelessness and even figured out it wasn't her disregard of his concern that had brought on the coolness between them. No. Call his anger what it really was--bone-chilling fear.

  But now, his temper having cooled once, it flared again as they tiptoed on the edge of disagreement. For all his wife was a quiet woman, she could be every bit as bullheaded as her dad had been. Not that you'd think it to look at her as she sat in the rocker beside him, the little cat on her lap. Until you saw she was acting like she couldn't hear a word he said.

  "I am not leaving." Her mouth set in a straight line. "Not Endurance, not my home, and not you."

  It was as if she'd stuffed her ears with cork and put on blinders, all of which irked Pel enough to want to take a switch to her. Would've, too, if she'd been a child instead of a full-grown woman and his wife. She plain wasn't listening to a word he said.

  "Damn it, woman!" His abused lungs choked so he could hardly talk, the infirmity making him almost as angry with himself as he was with her. His argument would've had more clout, he figured, if he hadn't had to stop for breath every time he got to the crux of what he wanted to say. "Why won't you do as I ask? I can't have you in the middle of a gunfight."

  "I know you don't want me here." She smiled down at the cat in her lap. "But the fact is, you need more help and it looks like I may be it."

  "I do need more help," he agreed. "But I need someone handy with a gun. Not a certain little body who'll only cause me more worry. I'm your husband, Delight. You'll do as I say."

  She looked at him, eyes narrowed, and shook her head.

  "Do you remember that rancher?" she asked, leaning forward. She'd obviously put her mind to work on the problem, at the same time proving his premise she hadn't been listening to him. "A Mr. Ned Sorenson? He's the one who brought in the dead horse thief and claimed the bounty a few days back."

  Pel nodded, recalling the man, although the other memory was vague. He hadn't been at his best at the time.

  Excitement quickened Delight's words. "From what he said then, he fancies himself in the role of bounty hunter. Why not call on him to help? He seemed tough enough, and you can make his efforts legal."

  Pel gawked at her in wonder, then grinned, willing to let the other problem slide for the moment. "How'd I get lucky enough to find such a smart wife? You're right. Sorenson's everything you say he is, tough and able. Tell Moon to hustle out and talk to him. His ranch isn't far. Tell Moon he can take my horse if he wants. Think she's got a better turn of speed than that old nag of his."

  Delight jumped up, dislodging the tabby, and went to relay his instructions to the deputy, who never, Pel noticed, had a problem accepting her role of go-between. A whoop sounded as the suggestion met with Moon's favor. Footsteps thudded, and the back door slammed, telling Pel the deputy was making his way to the barn with all speed.

  But time, Pel thought after the first rush of hope, was an element he could do nothing about. It might take Sorenson a while to reach Endurance even if he decided to help. Who knows? Moon might not be able to find him soon enough, or talk him into taking such a dangerous position if he did. They weren't out of the woods, by any means. Tonight was the greatest danger.

  "Please, honey," he urged Delight when she came back to announce all was in hand. "At least go stay with Mary Fanlon tonight. She's a tough old bird and won't mind your company." He wished he could get up and pace instead of lying in his bed feeling like a clot of thick mush. "I'm not saying get out of town. I expect it's too late anyhow. Just get away from here and leave this place to Moon and me. A few men may be willing to stand with us. They're scared, but they know if Monroe takes over, they'll lose everything they've built here."

  His speech had no discernable effect on her that he could tell.

  Delight smiled her singularly sweet smile. "Save your breath, Pel. What if Monroe's men broke in--not that it'll ever happen--and I wasn't here? They might take a notion to tear this town apart looking for me. Mary hardly deserves the kind of treatment she'd get from them."

  Lord knows she spoke from firsthand experience, with the bruise on her cheekbone, the scabs on her soft lips as proof. Pelham conceded as much.

  "But the thing is," he repeated, "they won't know where you are. You'll be safe. Believe it or not, Moon and I can defend this place without your help."

  The trouble being she didn't believe that argument, and he wasn't any too sure he did either.

  "If you were well, you could defend this town, me, and the whole county all by yourself," Delight said, smiling into his eyes. "But, Pel, you're not well. What if Mr. Moon were to be wounded? Could you help him, weak as you are? No. As for you, you don't have a drop of blood to spare. You haven't rebuilt what you lost ten days ago. I'm staying."

  Leave it to a woman to have the last word.

  * * * *

  Tuck Moon was on his way back to town, his mission of drafting Ned Sorenson and his crew as temporary deputies successfully completed. He'd caught the rancher just before Sorenson rode out of the dusty ranch yard, a couple cow dogs chasing at his horse's heels.

  "Hell, yes," Sorenson had said after Tuck stated his mission. Glee was writ large across his craggy face. "My men"--a cock of his head indicated four riders lined up behind him, every one looking tough as old boots and packing a well-oiled revolver--"they're all for it, too. Ain't you, boys?"

  A couple looked at each other as though still undecided, but the general consensus seemed to be that they'd do whatever their boss said.

  "Reward money aplenty to be had. These boys picked the wrong California companies to rob. Lotta reward money coming outta California." Tuck's assurance of payment settled any indecision on those two riders' parts. They nodded right along with their compadres.

  "We'll be along early this evening," Sorenson said, settling deeper in his saddle. "I got this branding to finish afore I go anywhere."

  "Sheriff Birdsall will be mighty relieved." Tuck shook Sorenson's hand. "And so'm I. Monroe's got most of the town folk buffaloed right now. Between setting fires and the murder of the pharmacist, they're scared. They ain't used to needin' guns to protect themselves."

  "Damn fools," Sorenson said, but he looked pleased just the same. "Reckon I'd best get back to work then. My wife Minnie'd be glad to scare you up a cup of coffee and a piece of pie if you got the time."

  Tuck wouldn't have minded the pie and coffee, but something kept pushing at him, saying he didn't have a quarter hour to spare. Nerves poking him, he guessed.

  Halfway back to Endurance, light flashing off a shiny object where there shouldn't ought t
o be a shiny object prodded Tuck Moon into sitting straighter in the saddle. A touch on the reins halted Birdsall's black mare.

  The flash of light, for which he couldn't see any logical cause, indicated his sense of dread was working overtime. What did the light mean, situated as it was at the best place for an ambush along this stretch of road? Having experienced one nasty surprise already since taking up this job, he figured an investigation was in order before he rode into something he couldn't handle.

  At the first twist in the road, he guided the mare into some trees and tied her to a limb. Taking his shotgun from the saddle scabbard, he went forward on foot. Easing along so he didn't scare any birds into taking flight or rustle the overgrown bushes, he crept up to where he'd seen the flash. At that he damned near walked into two horses tied up out of sight of the road, just like he'd tied his. One of the horses lifted its head, about to nicker a greeting.

  "Quiet," he whispered, his hand over its nose, and in a moment it relaxed. Moving on, he duck-walked down a little gully until the road came into sight. A metallic clatter helped him spot the man hunkered behind some bushes fiddling with his rifle. His back was turned to Tuck and he was looking down the trail. Try as he might, Tuck couldn't see the other, until a harsh whisper from across the road broke the silence.

  "See him, Bull? He ought to 'ave got here by now."

  "Shut your trap," Bull replied in a low voice. "He'll show."

  The other feller poked his head around a cluster of boulders and stared into the distance. "Then where'd he get to? We seen him on the trail ten minutes ago."

  Tuck sucked in his gut. "Right here, boys," he said, cocking the shotgun as he stood up. His voice sounded loud in the hot, still air. Bull whirled to face him. "Drop your weapons," Tuck added.