The Black Horse Westerns

by Abe Dancer

  ‘I’ve got another seven votes,’ Barney Dale proclaimed, rocking from foot to foot outside the mayor’s office in his eagerness to get paid for today’s work.

  ‘That makes twenty-one,’ Walter Fenton said, smiling encouragingly. ‘You sure have become an asset to Nixon’s campaign.’

  ‘I’m trying to be. And for a dollar a name, I’ll find you another fifty come next week.’

  ‘And, of course, you’ll tell me the names of anyone who is sure to vote for Sherman Donner.’ Walter winked. ‘Perhaps they might be persuaded to change their minds.’

  Barney had already guessed that that might be Walter’s attitude towards securing votes. But he’d already put that worry from his mind and instead was concentrating his thoughts on that carpetbag full of money.

  ‘Perhaps they might,’ he said. He turned to go, but Walter slapped a hand on his shoulder halting him, then beckoned for him to follow him into the mayor’s office.

  ‘Come,’ Walter said. ‘It’s time you met the man for whom you’re campaigning so diligently.’

  Barney always avoided meeting important people, but he accepted that sometimes the price of easy money was to let his face become recognized.

  The inside of the office was as grand as he’d expected. Over the wide and ornate desk behind which Nixon sat there was a large window that provided an elevated view down White Ridge’s main thoroughfare. Nixon looked up and on seeing his visitor was Walter he registered his disappointment with a sneer.

  ‘Get out,’ he muttered. ‘I’m expecting Sherman.’

  To date Barney had been honest and noted only the names of people who had said they intended to vote for Nixon. But for a dollar a name, each time he’d received a different answer he’d been tempted to record the name nevertheless.

  One look at the cold-eyed mayor, then another at the other man in the room, the stocky Deputy Carter, who was exuding quiet menace from beside the slightly open door to the adjoining office, convinced him that he should resist temptation.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ Walter said with a pronounced gulp. ‘This is Barney Dale, one of your new employees. He’s gathered more votes today than I’ve secured in the last week.’

  Nixon narrowed his eyes as he appraised Barney.

  ‘Nobody gathers a vote until it’s cast. I hope you are paying him on that basis.’

  Walter nodded, confirming Barney’s worst fear that payment wouldn’t be forthcoming today.

  ‘Although,’ Barney said, stepping forward, ‘I would welcome a small advance – for my hard work so far.’

  ‘Many people would welcome that.’ Nixon flashed a smile that didn’t change the coldness in his eyes. ‘But rest assured that I never forget a friend.’

  Nixon’s emphasis, backed up by his casual glance at Deputy Carter, suggested the opposite was also true, so Barney decided this was a good time to be quiet and let Walter do all the talking.

  ‘And Barney,’ Walter said, simpering, ‘might be useful in many ways. He’s one of the men you released from jail this morning and he’s proved himself to be a model citizen.’

  ‘I am pleased. What was his crime?’

  ‘He’s a thief.’

  ‘Was,’ Barney added, and put on what he hoped was an honest smile.

  Nixon stared hard at him, so Barney filled in the ensuing silence by murmuring his thanks, but the arrival of Sherman Donner saved him from further scrutiny.

  ‘I’ve come as you asked,’ Sherman said, ignoring Barney and Walter as he paced up to the desk. ‘What do you want?’

  Nixon raised a hand, signifying he would answer that question shortly, then turned to Deputy Carter.

  ‘See that we’re not disturbed,’ he said. He didn’t deign to look at Barney or Walter again.

  Out in the corridor Barney strained his hearing to listen to the conversation that started up, hoping he might learn something to his advantage, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  The three men set off for the stairs at the end of the corridor, but halfway down the corridor Walter came to a sudden halt. He patted his pockets. Then, with a mumbled comment to Carter, he retraced his steps.

  The deputy cast a bemused look at him, but when Walter slipped into the office beside the mayor’s office, he grunted to himself then followed. Like Nixon, Carter ignored Barney and when he’d headed into the office, Barney found himself alone in the corridor.

  Still hoping he might overhear something of interest he followed them back down the corridor. Unfortunately, they had left the office door open, ensuring he couldn’t get close enough to the door to the mayor’s office to listen without risking being seen.

  He put on a wide smile in case he was seen, his excuse for his actions already on his lips. Then he glanced inside, but what he saw in there made all thoughts of listening in on Nixon’s private conversation flee from his mind.

  Deputy Carter had placed the carpetbag he’d seen yesterday on a desk and Walter was rummaging inside. From the way the sides of the bag bulged, Barney reckoned the bag was just as full of wads of bills as it had been during his brief glimpse of its contents yesterday.

  He darted back a pace from the door, his fingers itching with anticipation and his mind working quickly. A dollar a name for a week was profitable work, but he hadn’t been given a cent yet and the possibility of getting his hands on that bag had become a more tempting proposition.

  A quick survey of the corridor confirmed there were no other doors, only the flight of stairs at the end. There were no hiding-places here, except for one….

  Barney crossed his fingers and calmly walked past the open doorway without looking in. He carried on to stand beside Nixon’s door. When the two men emerged they only had to look his way to see him, but Barney put his hopes in them not doing that.

  Presently nearing footsteps sounded within the room and Walter and Carter emerged. Walter had lowered his head while fingering through the wad of bills he’d claimed from the bag and the deputy walked looking straight ahead with stiff-backed authority.

  Barney gulped involuntarily, the sound feeling as if it were loud enough to alert them, but they carried on down the corridor to the stairs. Their pace was slow, making Barney’s heart hammer, but they disappeared from view without looking back.

  Still, Barney continued to be cautious and tiptoed to the top of the stairs. When he looked down them he saw a truncated view of Walter’s form passing through the door to head outside. Carter stayed in the corridor, guarding the door against unwanted visitors. This meant Barney would have to find a way past him after he’d stolen the carpetbag, but that was a problem to be solved later.

  Barney hurried back to the office. A quick search of the desk revealed that the large bottom drawer was locked, but a blunt letter-opener that he found on the desk made quick work of the lock. Then he prised open the drawer to reveal the bulging bag.

  A low whistle escaped his lips when he opened the bag, which made him remember that the door to the adjoining mayor’s office was open. He looked up and was thankful to find that through the gap he couldn’t see anyone and could hear only Nixon and Sherman talking in low tones.

  He rummaged through the wads of bills, his practised eye calculating that there were several thousand dollars inside, which made the risk he was taking well worth it. He removed the bag, quietly closed the drawer, then scurried to the door to the corridor, but just as he was about to leave, Nixon’s raised voice cut through the silence.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Barney froze, devising then rejecting several explanations to excuse his actions, but then he realized that the voice had come from some distance away. With hope in his heart he turned and was relieved to find he was alone in the office. Nixon had been speaking to Sherman.

  ‘I’m doing what I have to do to win this election,’ Sherman replied, his voice also raised, ‘for the good of all the people of White Ridge.’

  Nixon snorted. ‘That’s what Ronald Malone said, but he ain�
�t around no more.’

  Barney was minded to leave while Nixon was otherwise engaged. But as he didn’t have a plan to escape from the building and he was still curious as to what Nixon and Sherman were discussing, he headed to the door.

  He stood beside it and peered through the thin crack between the door and the jamb, moving from side to side until he was able to see the two men. Nixon was still sitting behind his desk and Sherman was standing before the desk, gesticulating angrily.

  ‘I came here to reach an understanding, not to hear more threats.’ Sherman slammed a fist on the desk. ‘You’ve said nothing that’ll persuade me not to stand against you.’

  Nixon leaned over the desk. ‘Then try this – you won’t win. You’re risking your life unnecessarily.’

  Sherman uttered a brief laugh. ‘You’re wrong. Despite the intimidation and the bribes, or maybe because of them, the tide is turning against you. Before, three candidates split your opposing vote. Now that you’ve frightened off Ronald Malone and Chester Heart, that opposition is unifying behind one man – me.’

  ‘Nobody but you will speak out against me again.’

  ‘I know you persuaded Jim McGuire to be quiet.’ Sherman leaned forward. ‘Luckily for me.’

  The smile that had been emerging on Nixon’s face at the mention of McGuire’s name died.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you made a big mistake when you threatened a man like Jim McGuire. Before he was being only mildly effective, saying you shouldn’t be mayor, but now I have his personal support and his financial backing.’

  Nixon waved his arms, his face reddening.

  ‘Don’t trust the word of that … that….’

  ‘That former gunslinger, were you going to say?’ Sherman smiled. ‘He’s told me about his past and it doesn’t concern me. I’ve agreed that when I become mayor I’ll free Billy Jameson. Then I’ll appoint a proper lawman who will find out what really happened to Orson Brown.’

  Sherman turned away, leaving Nixon glaring at his back, his face darkening by the moment. Then with a great roar Nixon leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair, and launched himself over the desk. His hands came up, clawlike, to wrap themselves around Sherman’s neck from behind, his momentum making both men crash to the floor.

  His attack was so sudden it made Barney dart back from his observation point. He glanced at the open door to the corridor, thinking that he’d now seen and heard enough as, from within the main office, the sounds of struggling came to him. Voices were being raised. Furniture toppled. A pained scream tore out, quickly cut off.

  This last noise made Barney put his eye to the gap again, to see that Mayor Nixon had pinned Sherman Donner to the floor. He was sitting on his chest with his hands wrapped around his throat while forcing down on his neck so strongly that his own eyes were popping and the cords stood out on his neck. Sherman battered Nixon’s arms weakly but he couldn’t force them away.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs, then down the corridor as the scream alerted Carter. The deputy would be sure to see Barney as he passed the door, so Barney had no choice but to hurl himself to the floor and roll into hiding behind the desk, where he tucked himself up underneath.

  The door to the mayor’s office slammed open.

  ‘What the—?’ Carter shouted.

  ‘Damn varmint wouldn’t listen to sense,’ Nixon said, his voice emerging in short gasping bursts.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Shuffling sounded. ‘Sure is.’

  ‘This ain’t good.’

  Nixon coughed then uttered a long sigh.

  ‘Your talent for understatement usually amuses me, but not today. To lose two candidates was unfortunate, but to lose a third….’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Get me out of here without anyone seeing me, then find an excuse for all this.’

  Under the desk in the other office, Barney punched the air with delight, figuring he could escape in the confusion, but then he let his hand open when Carter replied:

  ‘I’ll fetch the bag. I reckon the money will provide all the excuses you’ll need.’

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘And so,’ Mayor Nixon announced to the crowd gathered outside the mayor’s office, ‘it gives me no pleasure to declare that this week’s elections will not be the triumph for democracy we had hoped to enjoy.’

  On the podium Nixon lowered his head, the action causing a ripple through the crowd as everyone followed his lead. At the back of the crowd Jim McGuire kept his head raised, looking for anyone who might not look as disturbed by the afternoon’s events as everyone else was.

  Jim had yet to hear the full story of what had happened, but he’d gathered that Walter Fenton had returned to the mayor’s office to find Sherman Donner’s dead body lying inside. There was also a problem concerning missing money, which might explain the reason for his murder. Not that Jim had any faith that the inept Sheriff Price would be able to work it out.

  So he considered Nixon, then the bumbling lawman, then the other men on the podium, most being Nixon’s hired guns.

  But no matter how much he wanted to believe that the responsibility for Sherman’s death lay with these men, he couldn’t believe Nixon would be so brazen as to have him killed in his own office. Nixon didn’t work in such an open way.

  On the podium Nixon raised his head and the first person he looked at was Jim. For several seconds they exchanged eye contact, then Nixon coughed, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

  ‘Sundown approaches,’ he said, looking at the large orange ball of the sun, bleeding its last rays down the length of the road. ‘Unless anyone declares his intention to stand within the next few minutes, I will regrettably accept that my appointment is to be uncontested. But the first act of my new term will be to task Sheriff Price with finding my opponent’s killer. In fact, such is my determination, I will post a two-thousand-dollar reward from my own pocket.’

  This declaration gathered a ripple of approval, after which Nixon folded his arms and looked at the setting sun, waiting to see if anyone would stand against him.

  Nobody moved. But then again it wasn’t likely that anyone would. The only other potential candidates were Ronald Malone, who had left town in a hurry yesterday, and Chester Heart, who was in the saloon, where he’d been in residence ever since Nixon and his hired guns had talked to him.

  As the sun slowly set Jim’s neck warmed and his heart beat faster with the recollection that he had enjoyed speaking publicly yesterday. In his former life his work had been solitary and often secret, but if he was to make his new life in White Ridge work, for both himself and Billy, remaining in the background might not be possible. So although he didn’t know whether Nixon had been behind his rival’s murder, he was sure of one thing: he couldn’t allow this to go on.

  He raised a hand. He was at the back of the crowd and so his movement caught the attention only of the men on the podium. He moved to wend his way to the front, but before he’d taken a single step a solid object was thrust into the small of his back.

  He hadn’t realized that someone had been standing behind him. He had just started to turn when Mitch Hyde’s gruff voice muttered in his ear.

  ‘Stay,’ he said. ‘Nixon’s got plans for you and they don’t involve you standing against him.’

  Jim stood straight. ‘Killing me after Sherman’s demise won’t look good for Nixon.’

  ‘You’re wrong. It won’t look good for you when we tell everyone you killed Sherman.’ Hyde dug in his gun for added emphasis. ‘With your past, who’ll not believe us?’

  Jim noted that this intervention had perhaps helped to confirm what he suspected had happened to Sherman, but he had to accept that he was the only one who knew this, for now. So he gave a rueful nod and raised his hands slightly, confirming he wouldn’t try to reach the podium.

  Hyde kept the gun pressed against his back, in case he should be tempted to make a sudden declaration, as the red
sheen playing over the tops of the buildings faded. Slowly the last sliver of the sun closed to nothing on the horizon.

  Jim had to admit this was one battle he couldn’t win, so he started to turn his mind to how he would prove Nixon was behind Sherman’s killing.

  For his part, Nixon watched him, his interest making several people turn to look at Jim. Nixon looked away, then flinched. He stared intently over the heads of the crowd, his reaction making others turn.

  Jim looked over his shoulder to see that a man was striding purposefully towards the podium from the stables. He was rangy, black-clad but trail-dirty, his hat pulled down low, letting Jim see only his firm and clean-shaven jaw. He parted the people before him like a stick drawn through water until he stood before Nixon.

  ‘I,’ he said with a firm and authoritative voice and a glance at the last spark of the fading sun, ‘will stand against you.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you before,’ Nixon said. ‘Only the townsfolk of White Ridge can stand for mayor.’

  ‘I know.’ The man stood with his feet planted wide apart as around him people murmured to each other, everyone broadly saying the same thing: that they’d never seen this man before.

  ‘Then if you claim to be from around these parts, who are you?’

  The man turned on the spot to look around the gathered people, his gaze seeming to rest on Jim for longer than was necessary, before he turned back to Nixon. He reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope, which he held up to Nixon.

  ‘Read this,’ he said.

  Nixon reached down. He held the envelope at arm’s length, then flicked it open and withdrew a single sheet of paper. With an embarrassed cough, he looped spectacles around his ears and began reading.

  His right eye twitched and he darted his head up to look at Jim, then coughed again and replaced the paper before handing the envelope back to the man.

  ‘It would appear that everything is in order and we are to have a contested election, after all.’ He coughed. ‘So, what name would you like to appear on the ballot papers?’