Anatomy of a Lawman

by J. R. Roberts

  “I’ll use my own,” Clint said.

  Clint stepped up to the line, drew his gun, and fanned six shots at least as quickly as Dillon had. The gunsmith walked to the target.

  “Six hits,” he said, “All killing.”

  “Any bull’s-eyes?” Commons asked.

  “Bull’s-eyes aren’t important,” Clint said, reloading. “Just hit a man where you can put him down.”

  “Any bull’s-eyes?” Commons asked.

  Dillon turned to face all the shooters, a look of awe on his face.

  “Six.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  The target shattered.

  Wilkes smiled.

  “I’m gonna have to make more targets,” Dillon said.

  Clint had made them all shoot for most of the afternoon, in shifts. He’d wanted them to continue to shoot until they were all hitting at least four killing shots out of six.

  Now the rest of them were gone, but Wilkes had stayed to continue to shoot with the shotgun. He was enjoying himself.

  “Come on,” Wilkes said, “set up some more.”

  “You’re shatterin’ them every time, Wilkes,” Dillon said. “I think you’ve got it down. Like I said, I have to make more targets.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Wilkes said. “Thanks.”

  “You better make sure you always have a pocket full of shells. In fact, come with me.”

  The two men left the range and went back into Dillon’s shop. Dillon went behind his counter, rooted around, and came out with a bandolier.

  “Wear this across your chest,” Dillon said.

  He handed the belt to Wilkes, who put it on.

  “No shells,” the big man said.

  “We’ll take care of that, too.”

  He took a box out from behind the counter and began filling the loops in the bandolier.

  “There,” he said. “How’s that feel?”

  “Feels real fine,” Wilkes said. “Thanks. How much for it?”

  “Nothin’,” Dillon said.

  “Why?” Wilkes asked. “Nothin’s for free.”

  “This is,” Dillon said. “After all, we’ll probably be shootin’ side by side. I don’t want you comin’ up empty.”

  “Sure.”

  “And I also figure right next to you is the safest place for me to be when you start blastin’ away.”

  “Okay,” Wilkes said. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow to shoot some more.”

  “Sure,” Dillon said. “Why not? Practice makes perfect, right?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Wilkes said, still not sure what to make of Dillon. “Thanks a lot.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Wilkes walked into the sheriff’s office with his new rig on.

  “Well,” Commons said, “look at you.”

  Clint looked up from his desk.

  “Very good, Wilkes,” he said. “Looks good on you.”

  “I’ve got to go and relieve Buck,” Commons said. “I’ll see you both later.”

  Clint nodded. Wilkes walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “I got a question for you,” Wilkes said to Clint after Commons was gone.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Dillon gave this to me.”

  “So?”

  “The belt, and the shells,” Wilkes said. “Gave them to me for free.”

  “And?”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  “Maybe he thought you needed them.”

  “Nobody gives away nothin’ for free,” Wilkes said. “He’s up to somethin’.”

  “He’s not up to anything, Wilkes,” Clint said.

  “But . . . he just gave it to me.”

  “Sometimes people do that.”

  “Not anybody I ever knew,” Wilkes said.

  “Well, don’t get used to it,” Clint said. “It does happen, but not very often.”

  “I don’t understand it.”

  “Don’t try,” Clint said. “How are you doing with the shotgun?”

  “Dillon says I’m doin’ pretty good.”

  “As long as you hit something every time you pull the trigger,” Clint said, “we’ll be fine. Don’t you have to relieve Minnesota?”

  “Yeah,” Wilkes said. He finished the coffee and put the mug down. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Keep the shotgun with you at all times, Wilkes,” Clint said as the big man walked to the door. “Don’t ever put it down. I want it to become part of you.”

  “Fine,” Wilkes said, adjusting the bandolier. “I’ll even sleep with this thing on.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Clint said.

  Wilkes shook his, turned, and left.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Frank Graves looked over his gang—his brothers, his cousins, extra members. They were all in the saloon, having been called there by him. There were no other customers in the place.

  “Where’s Del?” he asked Dudley.

  “He’s comin’.”

  Frank looked at the rest. Five brothers, eight cousins, and five other men, including Sammy Holt. Nineteen men altogether. Twenty when Del arrived.

  “We’re gonna ride tomorrow,” he said. “I want everybody well rested, fully outfitted.”

  “Where are we goin’?” Cousin Arlo asked.

  “Guardian.”

  “Weren’t you there already?” Cousin Hasty asked.

  “That’s where you were shot,” one of the other men said.

  “We’re goin’ back,” Frank said. “The bank owes us money, and the town owes us even more. We’re gonna rob it, and burn it down.”

  “What about the law?” his brother Clell asked.

  “Dudley and me killed him,” Frank said.

  “They’ll have another one by now,” his brother Hap said.

  “It don’t matter,” Frank said. “We’ll kill him, too. Now get out. Stay sober tonight, and get some rest.”

  The brothers, cousins, and men began to disperse.

  “And stay out of the whorehouse!” he shouted. “I’m talkin’ to you, Sammy.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sammy said.

  When all the men had left, Dudley came over to Frank’s table with two beers, and sat down.

  “How’s the leg?” Dudley asked.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Hurts?”

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “But it’s fine. What about our horses?”

  “I saw to them,” Dudley said. “They’re ready to go.”

  “Del’s, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” Frank said, “I want you, Clell, and Hap to find Del and bring him here.”

  “Frank,” Dudley said, “Del will be ready. He’ll be fine.”

  “I want to make sure,” Frank said. “If we’re gonna do this, we need Del.”

  “If we’d had Del with us the first time, we wouldn’t be doin’ this now,” Dudley said.

  “I know,” Frank said. “I know.”

  Minnesota drew and fired at the target, Dillon watching from the side.

  “How’d I do?” he asked.

  “I can see from here,” Dillon said. “Five killing shots.”

  “And the sixth?”

  “Still a hit,” Dillon said. “You’re where Clint wants you to be.”

  “I’m not where I wanna be, though,” Minnesota said, reloading.

  He holstered the gun and turned to face Dillon.

  “I need to fire faster.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Can you teach me to fan a gun?”

  “Sure,” Ned Dillon said, “if we had months, maybe years.”

  “Years?”

  “It takes a long time.”

  Minnesota turned to face the targets again.

  “What’s the problem?” Dillon asked.

  “I gotta get better.”

  “You’re good, kid,” Dillon said. “I can tell you that.”

  “But I need to be better!”

  “Do what Clint says,” Dillon suggested. “S
low down, be more accurate.”

  “He just doesn’t want anybody to be as good as him,” Minnesota grumbled.

  “Look, son—”

  “I ain’t your son,” Minnesota said. “Go on, old man. Go back to work. I don’t need you.”

  “You’ll run out of targets—”

  “I’m just about done,” Minnesota said.

  Dillon shrugged and left him at the range alone.

  Minnesota turned to the target, drew quickly, and fired six shots. He walked to the target to check the results. Five killing shots, two bull’s-eyes, the sixth shot a hit.

  Damn it!

  He reloaded, considered putting up more targets, then decided against it.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Frank looked up when the batwings opened. Dudley, Clell, and Hap came walking in.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s comin’,” Dudley said. “He’ll be here.”

  Frank shook his head. If he was going to have one brother back his play in a fight, it would be Del, but once the fight was over, all he thought about was women, and gambling, and drinking. Del was the middle brother, after Dudley and Frank, older than Clell and Hap.

  “All right,” Frank said. “Let’s eat. Go in the back and tell Diego to bring out some food.”

  “Okay, Frank,” Dudley said. He turned and jerked his head at his brother Hap.

  Clell Graves went around behind the bar and drew five beers.

  By the time Del Graves showed up, the table was filled with food. He walked in, sat down, and started eating without a word.

  “That’s it?” Frank said.

  “What?” Del asked.

  “You’re just gonna sit there and eat without sayin’ nothin’?”

  Del looked at his brother, grinned, and said, “Hi, Frank.”

  Del looked like a cross between his brothers Dudley and Frank. Not as big as Dudley, built along the lines of Frank, but taller.

  “Where’ve you been all this time?”

  “You know,” Del said, “poker, girls, more of the same. Don’t worry, I’m ready.”

  “Did the boys fill you in?”

  “Yeah, on everythin’,” Del said. “Gonna rob the bank, burn the town, kill the lawmen. I got it. You know, if you’d taken me along the first time, none of this would be necessary.”

  “So I’ve been told already,” Frank said. “Look, the five of us lead this thing. We make all the decisions.”

  “I thought you made all the decisions, Frank?” Dudley asked.

  “For the family,” Frank said.

  “And the cousins aren’t family?” Clell asked.

  “They are, sort of,” Frank said. “They’re cousins, not brothers, like us.”

  “And the rest?” Hap asked.

  “They’re just hired hands,” Frank said.

  “You think they know that?” Dudley asked. “I mean, you think the cousins and the hired hands know their places?”

  “They better,” Frank said.

  “Look,” Dudley asked, “once we get this done, this Guardian thing, what’s next?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. “I ain’t looked past Guardian yet.”

  The other four brothers stopped eating and looked at each other.

  “That’s not like you, Frank,” Clell said.

  “Yeah, you usually plan way ahead,” Hap said.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Del asked.

  “This is all I been thinkin’ about,” Frank said. “Ever since I got shot. Just gettin’ even with that town. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of jobs after this one.”

  “Well,” Dudley said, “let’s just get it done, then. You sure you’re ready to ride, Frank?”

  “I’m ready,” Frank said. “Don’t you worry. I’m ready for this.”

  FORTY

  “You want us to do what?” James Prescott asked.

  “Camp out,” Clint said, “you and Harley.”

  “Where?”

  “North and south of town.”

  “For what?” Harley asked.

  “To keep watch,” Clint said.

  “What if they come from the east or the west?” Buck asked.

  “I don’t think they will,” Clint said. “I don’t think they’re going to sneak up on us. The only roads are north and south, and I think they’re going to want the town to see them coming.”

  “So then why do we need to camp out?” James said. “We’ll see them from the rooftops.”

  “I want to see them earlier,” Clint said. “I want to know which direction they’re coming from so we can get set.”

  “Set?” Buck asked.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Clint said. “Commons has found a store of explosives he can use. We’re going to set up some surprises for the Graves gang, but we need to know what direction they’re coming from. We need maybe half an hour to get ready.”

  “So one of us sees them,” Harley said, “rides back, and tells you?”

  “Right.”

  “You think we’ll see them that soon?” James asked.

  “Twelve to twenty men? Riding together? They should scare up quite a dust storm. You’ll see them.”

  “Okay,” Harley said, “suppose I camp north and James camps south. And they come from the north. I ride in. How does James know what to do?”

  “We’ll set up a signal.”

  “A shot?” Minnesota asked.

  “No, the gang might hear a shot,” Clint said. “Something else.”

  “A smoke signal?” Wilkes asked.

  They all looked at Wilkes. Everyone had all accepted the fact that he never came up with any ideas.

  Until now.

  “That’s good,” Clint said. “They might not see a smoke signal from the other direction.”

  “So when do we start?” James Prescott asked.

  “Today,” Clint said. “Saddle up, boys. Take some water and beef jerky, because you’ll be making cold camps.”

  “No coffee?” Harley asked.

  “Make a small fire at night if you have to, make some coffee. But during the day the smoke from the fire will be seen.”

  “Okay,” James said.

  The Prescotts left the office.

  “Won’t the smell of coffee be a telltale at night?” Commons asked.

  “I think the gang will ride during the day, camp at night,” Clint said. “The smell of their own camp will keep them from smelling someone else’s. Besides, I don’t think is going to take much longer.”

  “You think they’re comin’ soon?” Wilkes asked.

  “Real soon,” Clint said.

  “Why?” Commons asked.

  “Because this is when I’d do it,” Clint said, “as soon as the leg wound heals. You boys just need to stick to your schedules, and split the time the Prescotts would have been on watch.”

  “And when are we supposed to sleep?” Minnesota asked.

  “I told you,” Clint said. “This is going to happen soon. Sleep’s the least of our worries.”

  “Then how about you splittin’ the watch time with us?” Commons asked.

  “Fine,” Clint said. “I’ll take some of the Prescotts’ hours.”

  “I’m gonna go do some shootin’ at the range,” Minnesota said.

  “Don’t forget to relieve me!” Wilkes said.

  “I’ll be there,” Minnesota promised.

  The men cleared out of the office, leaving Clint alone. He’d gotten a telegram from Doc Foster earlier in the day. Harper was getting some movement and feeling back in his legs, but he was a long way from being recovered. Clint figured to have all of this cleared up well before Harper got back.

  If he was right, the Graves gang was on their way and would get there in a day or two. By the time they arrived, he hoped to have a hot reception set up for them, with the help of Commons.

  He and his men had noticed the way the townspeople were avoiding them. When they saw them coming, they stepped aside, not out of fear of them, but out
of fear that they might be too close when the shooting started. The others were starting to be bothered by this, especially the Prescotts. They were from the town, and didn’t like the way their neighbors and friends were treating them. Maybe Dillon was feeling the same way. He wondered if they’d even stay in Guardian when this was all over.

  If there was any town left.

  FORTY-ONE

  The Graves gang made camp halfway to Guardian.

  “Set up a watch,” Frank said to Dudley.

  “What for? Nobody’s after us. It’s us who are the ones after—”

  “Just do it, Dudley,” Frank said. “We don’t want any surprises.”

  “Okay.”

  “Use the men, not the cousins.”

  “Okay.”

  Frank walked to the fire, where Del was drinking coffee. Away from a town, on the trail, Del was a different man. Quiet, moody, but effective.

  Frank poured himself some coffee.

  “Be there tomorrow,” he said.

  “Good,” Del said. “I want to get this over with and move on.”

  “You got plans?” Frank asked.

  “Shit no,” Del said. “You make the plans, Frank. We all know that. I just want you to have a clear mind so you can make us some new ones. We need to make some money, you know.”

  “I know that, Del.”

  “This thing in Guardian, this is for your pride. You’re mad because they ruined your bank robbery and shot you in the leg. Well, you shot the lawman, didn’t you? But you can’t let it go.”

  “Now’s not the time for this argument, Del,” Frank said. “If you had somethin’ to say, you shoulda said it sooner, but you weren’t around, were you?”

  Del was eating his beans with a spoon, and now he pointed the utensil at his brother.

  “I’m backin’ your play, Frank,” he said. “We all are. But if this backfires, I think we’ll have to take a long look at who should be runnin’ this outfit.”

  “Fine,” Frank said. “You want to challenge my leadership? Go ahead.”

  “You guys wanna keep it down?” Dudley asked. “Ya don’t want the rest of ’em hearin’ you argue.”

  Frank stretched out his leg and rubbed it. Riding for the first time had made it stiffen up, but he was damned if he’d complain out loud. He picked up his plate of beans and started to eat.