‘Two years,’ Edge said.
‘What?’
‘You and your sister have been tracking him for the best part of two years?’
A grim-faced nod. ‘Yeah. At first we travelled together, but then we realised we could cover more ground by splittin’ up. And what with me doin’ my magic shows and bein’ a dentist, and Abbie workin’ as a . . . dancer, we could afford to keep ourselves while we moved about.’
There were people on the street again. Both men and women. Attired in mourning and shuffling slowly across the intersection and on to First. People who for the most part wore expressions of grief and misery, but some spared brief baleful looks for the law office and the Four Aces as they headed towards the church.
‘How many one-eyed men you turned up, Willard?’ Edge asked.
‘Billings is the third,’ the youngster answered, suddenly disillusioned. ‘Abbie’s found four I know about. Maybe more, but she don’t have to telegraph or write me every time she thinks she may have found Pa’s killer. On account she knows what he looks like. What with the war and all, lots of men got wounded and–’
‘Your sister and you ain’t never far apart: her being able to get a stage to Freedom this soon?’
‘We was lucky this time, Mr Edge. I was pullin’ teeth up in Tonopath when I heard about the one-eyed man who operated the hotel here in Freedom. And Abbie happened to be workin’ a saloon down in Lathrop Wells. I gave a miner down on his luck twenty-five dollars to ride to Lathrop and tell Abbie to meet me here. There was a telegraph from her when I arrived last night. Sayin’ she’d be on the mornin’ stage. And I got a feelin’ that this time we got the right man.’
The bell in the church steeple began to toll the death knell. And the mourners who were late for the funeral of Huey Gould hurried to get to the graveyard. Somebody in the Four Aces shouted drunkenly and the piano player began to thump out the up-tempo melody of ‘Down Yonder’. The group of businessmen who had adjourned to the Sheepman did not leave the saloon to see the former sheriff of their town put into the ground.
‘At the wrong time, kid.’
The boy licked his lips as he listened to the church bell tolling in competition with the piano music and glanced out across the deserted, brightly sunlit street to where Leech continued to stand in the doorway of the law office.
‘That’s what I need your advice about, Mr Edge,’ he said nervously. ‘If Billin’s is the man who killed my Pa, he’s the only one I want to see dead. Though I’m willin’ to kill anybody who tries to stop me. But I don’t want no innocent folks to suffer. And I ain’t gonna do it sneaky, though. I ain’t gonna shoot him in the back nor nothin’ like that. On account of that would make me no better than he is. I want it to be face to face and man to man. With him knowin’ why he’s get-tin’ it and who it is that’s makin’ him pay.’
Edge drank the last of the coffee.
‘If you was me in this town today, what would you do?’ the youngster pressed.
‘I’d wait for the stage to reach town–’
‘I mean, if Abbie says Billin’s is the man,’ Cayton cut in impatiently.
Edge nodded. ‘Then I’d just walk up to the feller – get real close if I shot a gun as badly as you after two years of practice – and I’d kill him.’
‘I’ve only been shootin’ a couple of months. Before that I was too fired up about findin’ the man who killed Pa to think about how I’d get my revenge.’
‘No difference, kid. All you asked was what I’d do if I was you. Told you.’
‘But I ain’t never seen Billin’s with a gun. And Leech and the other men that have sided with him – they might start blastin’ at me soon as I’d killed Billin’s. Which could maybe start the whole town to ... everyone shootin’ at everyone else.’
‘Seems I misunderstood you, kid,’ Edge said with a sigh as he leaned down, picked up his gear and got to his feet. ‘Figured you wanted to get even with somebody in your past. I’ve done that. More than once. So figure I’m qualified to give advice on it. Never have much of a hand at planning for the future.’
He went only as far as the rocker out on the sidewalk, where he settled down with his gear on the boarding beside him, the saddle placed so that the stock of the Winchester jutting from the boot was close at hand.
Across the street, Leech glowered at him and then withdrew into the deep shade of the law office.
Willard Clayton jingled some coins on to the table and then emerged from the restaurant. For a moment, he hesitated and seemed ready to continue with the subject. But only grimaced and vented a low grunt of frustration before he stepped down from the sidewalk and walked purposefully across the intersection to mount the steps and enter the Four Aces. He was not this morning wearing the gunbelt with the Tranter in the belly holster.
Enthusiastic bellows of greeting filled the bar room as the batwings swung closed behind the youngster.
‘If he follows your advice, he will most surely die, señor,’ Ramon said sadly as he came to a halt on the threshold of his restaurant.
‘Doing what he wants to do, feller,’ Edge answered flatly. ‘Best way to go.’
‘To live is better,’ the Mexican said, pulling closed the door of his restaurant and turning a key in the lock.
‘You weren’t listening hard enough, Ramon,’ the half-breed drawled, as the black-clad townspeople began to return from the burial. ‘The kid was talking of death.’
‘To an expert. It is a subject with which you are most familiar, señor.’
‘I been close to it a few times,’ Edge allowed wryly.
‘We are all close to it now, I think. I must tell the men meeting in the saloon of what the boy plans to do.’
‘Are you not open today, Señor Alvarez?’ the grey-haired Widow Emmons called as she approached the Mexican’s premises, a basket in her hand. I must have some bread.’
‘Later, señora,’ he replied as he set off to cross the street ‘There is other, more pressing business I must attend to first.’
The woman halted and fanned a hand in front of her sweat-beaded face. Then gave a snort of disgust when she saw the Mexican push through the batwing doors of the Sheepman.
‘Drunkards and cowards all!’ she said bitterly, and shared her scorn among the sombrely dressed men who had attended the funeral. ‘We lost the only man worthy of the name when Huey Gould was shot down!’
Some of the men pretended not to hear her taunt and hurried away. Others who were ready to take issue with the woman were urged by their wives to quicken their pace.
Martha Emmons shook her head and looked at the half-breed who sat totally at ease in the rocker. ‘And to think that last night I was tryin’ to win your sympathy for these spineless sonsofbitches and their yellow womenfolk!’
‘Sheep raisers and storekeepers, ma’am,’ Edge said flatly. ‘Family men most of them. Or old men. If any of them were fighters once, the easy years you told me about have softened them.’
‘What?’ she blurted, her round and pale face becoming spread again with an expression of bitter scorn. But she had heard what he said. ‘So they had some easy years? All the more reason, they oughta be ready to fight to keep things the way they were! Why, if I were a man...’
She let the sentence hang unfinished in the hot, bright air and her whole being bristled with the anger and frustration as she turned to glare at the facade of the Four Aces.
‘You wouldn’t have anything to get off your chest and it would be a whole new ball game, ma’am,’ Edge said into the pause she had left.
She returned her attention to him, the set of her features unchanged. ‘And Art told me you accused Huey Gould of bein’ all smart mouth, mister!’
‘He had an interest in this town. I don’t.’
A sigh blew the froth off her anger. ‘How much would it cost me to buy your interest, Mr Edge?’ she asked.
Edge rasped the back of his brown-skinned hand over the bristles on his jaw. ‘Billings tried a thousand,
ma’am. But the way it turned out the sheriff died for no charge. Could be you’ll get what you want for nothing.’
She was intrigued and perplexed. But another man spoke before the half-breed could respond to Martha Emmons’s quizzical look.
‘Hey, Billings! Billings, can you hear me?’
The raucous words were shouted by the broad-shouldered, fleshy-faced, bald-headed Jonas Cochran. Who stood on the sidewalk in front of the saloon’s batwing doors. He was unarmed.
Not so Randy Leech, who stepped across the threshold of the law office with a Winchester held two-handed with the hammer back.
All the mourners had left the street by now and, as the noise from the Four Aces subsided and then stilled, the Widow Emmons scuttled up on to the sidewalk to stand beside Edge.
‘You got somethin’ to say?’ the curly-headed Leech snarled.
‘Not to you, you murderin’ bastard!’
Leech made to bring his rifle to the aim, his features forming into a murderous glower.
‘Hold it, Randy!’ the one-eyed man snapped. As he pushed open the batwings of the hotel entrance and stepped out. Flanked by Lee and Travis who each draped a hand over the butt of his holstered revolver.
‘We had a meeting of the town council,’ Cochran called across the intersection to Billings who had adopted an expression and pose of receptiveness. ‘Of them councilmen who ain’t thrown in with you, anyway.’
‘And?’ Billings was smoking, the rings on his fingers sparkling in the sunlight in competition with his watch chain as he raised and lowered his right hand.
‘We don’t want no more killin’ in Freedom!’
‘I think you will have no trouble getting that decision endorsed, Jonas.’
‘Shuddup and listen!’
Billings’s expression hardened and Leech, Lee and Travis all came close to swinging their guns to the aim.
‘We’re doin’ you a friggin’ favour, damnit! And we want it returned. That young guy who does the magic tricks, he’s fixin’ to kill you and–’
‘The hell you say!’ Billings croaked, and snapped his head around to peer into the bar room.
‘I ain’t through yet!’ Cochran yelled as the two men flanking Billings also swung to seek out Willard Clayton. ‘Favour we want is for you to let him outta your place unharmed!’
Billings was not listening. He was rasping low-voiced instructions to Lee and Travis. And even over the distance of the broad intersection, Edge could see the sweat of fear standing out on the profile of the one-eyed man.
Edge drew his Remington and Martha Emmons gasped as she saw the move and heard the hammer click back and the further clicks of the cylinder turning. Then she vented a short laugh. And Billings choked on a sudden surge of greater fear as the gunshot cracked: the bullet kicked up fragments of cement a fraction of an inch from his highly polished left shoe.
By the time all eyes had raked across the dusty street and located Edge, the hammer of the revolver was back again and a fresh shell was in front of it.
‘You missed!’ the stoutly built woman beside the half-breed accused.
‘Nobody move!’ Edge yelled. And unfolded his tall, lean frame from the rocker. The creak of the chair’s ancient timber provided the only sound until Edge spoke again, his tone less urgent. ‘Except the kid. He moves out of there.’
‘Abi, I can take him!’ Randy Leech snarled.
Billings’s lips moved, but no words emerged.
‘Don’t reckon your boss wants to trade his own life for the stranger’s,’ Jonas Cochran said, abruptly almost cheerful in contrast to his former demeanour.
‘Abi, the kid’s runnin’ for the rear door!’ Rose Pride called shrilly.
‘Let him go!’ Billings answered, his voice coming close to the same pitch as that of the woman as he succeeded in un-damming the fear which had closed his throat. Then he managed to tear his single eye away from the muzzle of the levelled Remington and stare into the impassive face of Edge. ‘You? The kid? I don’t understand none of this, Edge!’ The words were no longer shrill, instead his tone was a thick croak.
‘Me neither,’ Martha Emmons growled. Then she caught her breath. ‘The kid...? He was what you meant when you–’
‘Okay, Mr Edge!’ Willard Clayton shouted as he sprinted from the rear of the Four Aces, across First Street and into the cover of a barn on the other side of an alley from Ramon Alvarez’s premises. ‘I’m out!’
‘Tell your men to put away their guns, feller,’ Edge called to Billings.
‘Do like he says!’ the one-eyed man ordered, the worst of his fear past. Then, after Leech and Lee and Travis had grudgingly complied with the command, ‘But I warn you, mister! You got until stage time! If you and that punk kid ain’t headin’ out of town then, I’m declarin’ open season on you!’ As Edge eased the Remington hammer forward and holstered the gun, Billings’s good eye raked across the street to locate Cochran. ‘And you and the rest of them no-account do-gooders been talkin’ up a storm, you’re wastin’ your friggin’ time! I’m runnin’ this town now and I got all the men that matter on my side! And anyone don’t do like we say, there’ll be open season on them too! Like it or leave it! Stay and cause trouble and you’ll wind up like pigeons at a shoot!’
He spun around and pushed hard through the batwings. The grim-faced Lee and Travis moved after him more slowly, backstepping into the Four Aces with their eyes fixed upon Edge and their hands draped over their gun butts.
‘Pigeons hell!’ Martha Emmons growled as she surveyed the empty streets of Freedom with a cold-eyed glare and heard the murmur of anxious voices from the Sheepman after Cochran had re-entered the saloon. ‘Doves more like. All they want is peace and quiet.’
‘Whichever, I guess they understood the word from Billings,’ the half-breed replied as he lowered himself into the comfortable rocker again. ‘Coup.’
Chapter Eight
‘Gee, thanks a million, Mr Edge,’ Willard Clayton called from the doorway of the stage-line depot. ‘You saved my life.’
‘Makes us even, kid,’ the half-breed replied as a new sound vibrated in the hot morning air. Reaching town from the south - the rattle and hoofbeats of the approaching stage. More than an hour ahead of schedule. Heard over a distance because there were no loud competing sounds from the hotel and the saloon and the houses: just a constant low murmur of urgent talk.
‘I never–’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Edge cut in on the youngster’s puzzled response. ‘Because you didn’t practise enough. You were a lousy shot last night and you haven’t had the time to improve.’
Clayton stepped out on to the sidewalk, the tension in his features being displaced by a broad grin as he heard the sound of the stage running in off the open trail and on to First Street. He was now wearing his gunbelt with the belly holster.
‘Hey, it’s early.’ His expression clouded. ‘I sure hope Abbie didn’t miss it.’
‘What’s goin’ on here?’ Martha Emmons demanded. ‘What’s your quarrel with Billin’s, son? Why’d those spineless bastards over at the Sheepman warn that one-eyed sonofabitch about you?’
‘What’s maybe between me and Billin’s is personal, lady,’ Clayton said, his face clouding with a frown again as he shifted his gaze away from where the stage would show on the intersection and looked hard at Edge. ‘How did Cochran know about it, sir?’
‘The Mexican, kid. He heard what you told me and he was worried about you. Don’t know how Cochran and the others feel about you. But I figure most of them were scared about you missing another shot and innocent people getting gunned down by men who know their business.’
The sounds from the stage became less frenetic as the driver slowed his team for the final run up along First Street and across the intersection.
‘My, my, my,’ a man with a reedy voice announced as he came out of the stage-line office, staring down at a silver-cased watch in his palm. ‘It ain’t never been this early before.’
His build and features were a match for his voice. He was short and skinny and had a narrow face which was emphasised by the over-sized eye-glasses he wore. He was about fifty and looked like a man who might wither away to nothing if he stayed too long in the sun. Unlike everyone else who watched the stage come to a dust-raising halt at the side of the street, he showed not the least sign of having been affected by the morning’s events in Freedom.
The arrival of the stage, presaging as it did its eventual departure and the reaching of the truce deadline set by Billings, attracted the tense attention of everyone else who was in a position to watch. Covertly or from out in the open. While the depot clerk was solely concerned with his job.
‘Mornin’ Bart!’ he called to the bearded driver through the stirred up dust. ‘You been tryin’ to set some kinda record? I sure hope you didn’t give the passengers too rough a ride.’
‘It’s the most hair-raising trip I’ve ever taken, Jake!’ a man said, pushing open the door and stepping down on to the sidewalk. A broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, square-faced man of middle years who coughed on some dust and smudged some more across his forehead as he mopped at his sweat with a kerchief.
Jake looked worried. ‘Sorry, Mr Hayes, but–’
The town vet waved a hand and grinned. As he turned to help a second passenger down from the stage. ‘Who could refuse such a lovely young lady anything, though,’ he said. ‘It would have been much more pleasant for me if the journey had taken twice as long.’
The veteran driver of the stage spat over the street side of his seat and started to hand down baggage to the clerk. ‘She said double fare if I’d clip an hour off the run, Jake,’ he growled. ‘Mr Hayes, he said he didn’t mind. And the company, they don’t have to know about the extra, do they?’
EDGE: The Frightened Gun (Edge series Book 32) Page 8