At this threat Delight gave an odd little squeak, and Pel swung toward her. She'd followed him, and instead of remaining under cover like he'd told her, she stood framed in the office doorway. He could see the back of the room over her shoulder, and through the alley side window he saw Happy Monroe sighting his pistol on a point between her shoulder blades. His gut clenched and without thinking, he knocked her out of the way. His rifle snapped into position, his finger already pulling the trigger. He was turning back to face Diggett before Happy even finished dropping.
Monroe, white flag dangling from the sight of his rifle, had a bead on Pel's exposed back.
But Delight, from where she lay prone in all the dirt and broken glass was shooting, too. She fired the .44 past his legs, close enough he felt the whip of the bullet. And before Pel could do a thing, Diggett, wearing a shocked expression, clutched at the geyser of blood erupting from his throat. Which didn't do him a particle of good. The outlaw thudded backward onto the sidewalk.
Delight gave a great whooping cry and turned her head.
Then it was over, except for the horses loping toward them down Endurance's hard-packed main street, their riders shouting like wild Indians. Slow as sap running from a sundered tree limb, Pel's legs collapsed under him until he landed on his knees beside his wife.
Fear that she was dead melted his backbone, but then her head lifted and she reached for him with her arms wide open.
Chapter 19
* * *
Pel avoided shooting the man riding at the head of a column of men by a hair, and that was thanks to Delight pulling down his arm and saying, "No. That's Mr. Sorenson, Pel, come to help."
The riders drew up in a choking cloud of dust, which, when it settled, allowed Pel to see his deputy trotting to keep up with the horses, on foot at Sorenson's side. Moon's health appeared perfectly fine, except he wasn't wearing any boots and had a hole in the toe of his sock.
"Glad to see you folks are still alive," he said.
"And you," Pel replied.
Their eyes met.
A snarling grin turned Sorenson's face fierce. Apparently the dead bodies and signs of warfare showing in the street pleased him. He took a second glance at Diggett Monroe's crumpled body. "That Monroe?"
"Yup," Moon answered him.
Sorenson spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt beside Monroe's outstretched hand. "Where's the brother? I'll take him."
Pel bent down and made a show of helping Delight to her feet, although, in truth, it was more her helping him. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
"Happy's a goner, too," he said. "I've taken care of him."
He took a deal of satisfaction is seeing how the announcement struck them. "But," he added, "as consolation, I can deputize you and you can go after the rest of his gang. They're hightailing it."
From out back of the mercantile, the sound of men and horses getting in the way of each other could be heard.
Sorenson's hard face lit up. "Like rats trying to escape a burning building. Oughta be fun."
"Then consider yourself deputized." Pel was plain too tired to go into the whole rigmarole of oaths and badges and such.
"You want them dead or alive, Sheriff?" Sorenson asked, holding his horse on a tight rein.
"Alive if possible." Pel stared at the rancher. "The leaders are dead. The rest are mostly hangers-on. A few years in jail will straighten them out."
He was glad to see the strictures put on Sorenson didn't dampen the man's enthusiasm. Almost before he'd finished speaking, Sorenson gave a signal and his men spread out, spurring toward the commotion behind the mercantile. They disappeared into the dark and presently a few scattered war cries and a crackling of shots rang out, the noise soon dwindling as the outlaws, Sorenson hot on their trail, put some distance between themselves and the town of Endurance.
A hearty noise rose up from outside Schmidt's Mercantile as the mister and missus appeared, telling their story to other residents brave enough to come out of hiding.
"On me his gun vas held," Mrs. Schmidt announced, her voice soaring over all others. "Und so Herr Schmidt shot him, he did."
"Well done," Mayor Green was saying. "Guess we showed those outlaws what a determined town can do."
Deputy Tuck Moon, being afoot, perforce refrained from joining the deputized party. He climbed onto the boardwalk to examine Diggett's body before coming forward to shake Pel's hand. "Sorenson'll be disappointed when it sinks in," he said.
Pel, his head abuzz and feeling like he was about to fall down, made no sense of his deputy's comment. "Disappointed?"
"The Monroes both have prices on their heads. As a pair and individually," Tuck said. "They was wanted for a bank robbery over on the Oregon coast, for one thing. Bragged loud about that one. They grabbed the payroll of one of the big logging companies. That reward alone would keep most folks in clover for a couple years.
"There's another offered by the Great Northern Railroad. Diggett and Happy, they pulled a stick-up over in Montana and blew a train locomotive almost to kingdom come. Used too much dynamite. The GNR'll be tickled to get that one off the books."
Delight gazed wide-eyed at Tuck. "And none of their gang turned on them? You mean there's honor among thieves?"
Tuck grinned. "Doubt there's any honor involved, ma'am. Fear, more like."
Pel finally figured out what Moon was trying to tell them. He was a little slow, he guessed, due to his extreme weakness. Nevertheless, a grin slanted across his face. "In other words, Delight and me, we're the ones who're eligible to claim the rewards."
Tuck nodded. "That's about it."
"Seeing you're so well informed, Moon, just how much money are we talking about?"
"'Round about fifteen hundred. Maybe a bit more." Tuck Moon removed his hat and dusted off the seat of his britches. "I had time to look through the new wanted posters this morning, Sheriff. Curious, you know."
Pel, although he nodded, suspected it might've been a little more curiosity about his deputy's own standing than the Monroes that triggered Moon's research, but whatever problems he'd had in the past, they were even now.
Without warning, Pel's legs gave out on him. If it hadn't been for his arm still wrapped around Delight's shoulders he would've fallen. As it was, she struggled to hold him upright.
"You're exhausted," she cried, although in truth, the shadows around her eyes and in the hollows of her cheeks said she wasn't in much better shape. "Mr. Moon, please help me get him upstairs. He's done in."
"Surprised he's held up this long." Moon leapt to do Mrs. Sheriff's bidding.
Amused, Pel grinned at the way Delight wrapped the deputy around her little finger. He wasn't blind to the way Moon looked at his wife, but beyond the desire, he'd also seen the respect. He couldn't fault Moon for admiring Delight. And yet she remained oblivious.
He had no doubt that whatever Delight asked, Moon would bust his gut trying to get it done. Remove dead bodies, sweep glass, mop blood, give the townsfolk--except for a select few conspicuous by their absence during the fight and only now coming out of their hiding places--what for.
And he'd even look after her husband for her.
The newspaperman, Jones, creeping warily toward them, notepad in hand, seemed to be the only Endurance citizen courageous enough to show Pel his face.
"Sheriff," Jones called when he was still some distance away, "let me be the first to offer my congratulations. Nobody thought you'd beat the Monroe gang. How about an interview giving the latest report? I'll put out a special edition."
Pel chuckled, swaying where he stood as Moon caught hold of him. "Talk to Deputy Moon, Jones. He'll tell you what you need to know."
But Moon shook his head. "Ain't got time right now. Gotta get the sheriff to bed. Then I gotta find my boots."
Jones was persistent. "I'll go with you. There must be a story about how you came to be barefoot."
Pel was laughing as Moon and Delight boosted him up the stairs.
&
nbsp; * * * *
The sound of men talking in the other room formed a comfortable background as Delight Birdsall, retired from her gun-toting duties as Mrs. Sheriff, bustled around her clean, cheerful kitchen. After shoving another stick of wood into the stove, she stirred the pot simmering at the back where the heat was less. The menu for tonight's supper consisted of campfire beans and corn on the cob fresh out of the garden.
It was the end of the month and the Birdsall bank account ran a little short. Pel's medical bills had about wiped out their savings. The budget didn't run to beef steak and chocolate cake, what with all the prisoners she'd been feeding the past couple of weeks. And they ate what she and Pel ate.
However, the reward money due for removing the Monroe brothers from the wanted list was being wired to their Endurance bank this Monday. With it, the debt for their land would be cleared. Happiness bubbled inside her.
Tomorrow, the prisoners, one of whom was Boomer Herschel, caught along with the others trying to escape that awful night, were leaving for the state capital under the guard of a few good men. She'd be very glad when she was no longer sleeping under the same roof as that bunch of killers, especially Schoefield.
By now Pel, truly on his way to full recovery, had relegated her to the background of law enforcement. Her job, once more, consisted of cooking for the prisoners in the Garnet County jail. Personal contact with them she left to her husband and his deputy. Her feelings weren't a bit hurt.
"Supper's ready," she said, calling her husband and Deputy Tuck Moon to the table. But they had no more than sat down than she saw the strained atmosphere between them. Her attention sharpened. What had happened? Half an hour ago they'd been on the best of terms, drinking coffee, smoking cigars, and discussing the job.
Without letting on she noticed, she ladled out beans and handed around hot boiled corn. There were plenty of biscuits. She passed them, along with a pot of whipped honey butter.
The silence, except for the sound of cutlery on crockery and chewing, became uncomfortable. Finally, she'd had enough.
"Is something wrong?" She caught Pel's eye.
Pelham set down his fork. "Why do you think..."
Annoyance shot through her. There he went again, acting as if she were a fragile flower in need of a sun shade. Hadn't he learned anything over the last few weeks?
She put up her hand to stop him. "Aren't the state authorities coming for the prisoners after all? Or have they decided not to pay the reward money?"
Pel glowered, but not at her. At Deputy Tucker Moon. "Yeah. The prisoners are going and the money is coming. The only thing wrong is this bullheaded dunce you hired a while back. I've never seen a more stubborn feller in my life."
"Ah." Enlightened, Delight set her knife and fork across her empty plate and joined her husband in glaring at the hapless Tuck Moon. "You mean he won't take his third of the reward money."
"Ma'am," Tuck said, but Pel overrode whatever he meant to say.
"Says he won't, but he'll take it."
"No, I won't." Tuck spoke up, stubborn conviction written all over him. "I didn't rid this county of the Monroes. You folks did. You're the ones earned the bounty, not me."
"Nonsense, Mr. Moon." Delight tried sweet reason. "You were an equal partner in defeating the Monroe gang and equally deserving of a share."
"No, ma'am. I sure ain't gonna take any money for my part in the doings. I hardly even got shot at, down the road where I was." Tuck's face turned a brick red. "My fine idea about going outside after them about got you killed, for which I'm very sorry. I never meant to put you in worse danger." He shot a look at Pel. "Either of you."
Like light breaking over a mountain at dawn, it occurred to Delight that the deputy was just a little bit sweet on her, old married woman that she was. A glance at Pel told her he was way ahead of her. He'd already known Tuck Moon's feelings. Heat burned beneath her skin. And yet, Tuck's admission gave her just the opening she was looking for.
Her eyes met Pelham's across the table. She waited for his nod, then said, "If you won't take the cash, Mr. Moon, my husband has another proposition for you. I'll think you'll find it interesting."
* * * *
Tuck had it in mind to tell the Birdsalls he was leaving Endurance soon. A story to account for this yen to travel shouldn't be too hard to concoct. He'd been a drifter when he came here; why not carry on a few more miles down the road? Maybe the next town he landed in would be different. Because one thing sure, he couldn't stay in Endurance, working for a man whose wife he wanted for himself. Seeing her every day, and her just as sweet and devoted to her husband as could be. Envy nudged him. No. He couldn't do it.
"Ma'am," he said, "I'm moving on. I appreciate the chance you folks gave me, letting me make a new start here, but I've got the wanderlust in my feet. Me and Ole Ripper both. Time we found a new pasture."
It was a long speech for him, and he found himself floundering. Sounded like a fool, he did. He felt his face heating up and, in desperation, he looked away from Mrs. Sheriff's blue eyes and met her husband's steady hazel ones. Pel, he thought, might've appeared a little sympathetic.
"Maybe," Tuck continued, "you wouldn't mind writing out a recommend for me, Pel. If you think I deserve one. Might help the next man take a chance on hiring me."
He heard his own words with a sense of wonder. A month ago he'd been mired down so far he thought he'd never make it up, but listen to him now. With the help of these good people, he'd made it out of the muck and he was never going down again. The bottom of a bottle held no more allure. He touched the pistol riding his hip. And a gun could sometimes be used for good.
Pel folded his hands around his coffee cup and shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear you want to leave here, Moon. Thing is, my missus and I, we've been kind of counting on you."
Tuck blinked. "Counting on me?"
Mrs. Sheriff's soft voice took over. "Yes, Mr. Moon. You see, Pel's and my circumstances have come together to make us independent. As you know, our ranch in the valley is right on the verge of profitability and with our share of the reward money, we don't have to worry about finances for a couple years. Pel can quit sheriffing and we can finally live in our own home."
Pel had another nail to pound. "We wouldn't feel right, though, me quitting my job before the election in a couple of months. Especially without a good man to take over. Mrs. Birdsall and I, we talked about it and came to a decision. I'm not running again. With you in charge, though, I could quit with a free conscience. I'd be leaving Garnet County and Endurance in good hands."
Tuck's head whirled. "Me?"
"Well, of course you, Mr. Moon," Delight said, lemony and sharp. "Who else could we trust?"
* * * *
Pel, watching Moon's reaction, thought he knew how the other man felt. Neither of them was saying so, but it was Delight who'd given Moon his chance. Who'd seen something in the drifter other people missed. And she'd been dead on.
She'd seen something in him, too, when she followed her old dad's recommendation and married him after Tom was killed. Seen something more when she refused to let him die because he knew he'd never have made it without her.
That was his wife, all right. His Delight. With him in every way, matching him step for step.
"We'll be out of your hair, Tuck," he said. "I doubt you'll see us more than a half-dozen times a year. We won't be around every day to remind you."
He could've been talking about the job, but he wasn't.
Tuck Moon chewed on that for a minute before sucking in a long breath. "Well then," he said. "I expect I could handle that."
C. K. Crigger
C. K. Crigger was born and raised on a farm in North Idaho--on the Coeur d' Alene Indian Reservation. Her folks grew wheat, barley, oats, peas and lentils, and raised about sixty Black Angus beef a year. C. K. and her sister used to herd those cattle, via horseback, keeping them in the draws and out of the fields.
These early years formed the background for her love of
western stories, writing, and western traditions of farming, ranching and the yen for wide-open spaces. She likes writing of free-spirited people who break from their standard roles. Although most of her published books are fantasy/historical/adventure/love story, the locales are real places. The last four books she has completed are westerns set in the Inland Northwest with a historical background. Next on the agenda is a historical suspense, with an eye to a series, and a straight historical novel placed in the opening days of white settlers on the Coeur d'Alene Indian Reservation.
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Letter Of The Law Page 21