Ralph Compton Blood on the Gallows

by Joseph A. West

  For a moment Reese was taken aback and all five men seemed frozen in a single moment of time. It was Ben Carney who shattered it. Angry and belligerent, he snarled, ‘‘Decker, shoot that damn uppity parson right off his horse.’’

  Reese nodded. And went for his gun.

  Later, try as he might, McBride could not put it together. Everything happened so fast, like a lightning flash, his brain did not have time to process every movement.

  He remembered Reese grinning, reaching for his gun. In his mind’s eye he saw Remorse’s arms cross his chest and the bucking Remingtons blazing. Then, through a gray haze of gun smoke three sprawled bodies lay on the ground.

  The Red Rock Kid tried to rise, pushing himself up with one hand, his gun in the other. Remorse fired twice, once from each hand, and the man’s head exploded.

  From the end of an echoing tunnel he heard Remorse say, ‘‘Dang me, but I knew I shot Steve too high the first time.’’

  McBride hadn’t even drawn his Colt. He’d had no time. Now he watched Remorse reload his guns before he swung out of the saddle. The man stepped to the bodies and folded their arms across their chests. He kneeled among them, his hat off, head bowed in prayer, white hair streaming in the wind like a tattered banner fluttering over the fallen. His eyes were shut and his lips moved as he said prayers for the dead in a cadenced whisper.

  After ten minutes Remorse rose to his feet, replaced his hat and his eyes lifted to McBride. ‘‘Care to say a few words, John?’’

  ‘‘You’ve said it all,’’ McBride answered. ‘‘I have nothing to add.’’

  ‘‘Then so be it. We will do what we came to do and let our horses graze for a spell.’’ Remorse smiled with the enthusiasm of a small boy. ‘‘John, there’s a fire by the creek bank. Smell the coffee and bacon? We can take time to eat before we ride on, huh?’’

  McBride nodded. But he’d lost whatever appetite he’d had.

  A short while from now he and the Reverend Saul Remorse would ride into Rest and Be Thankful. But, with a strange sense of dread, McBride knew the preacher did not intend to offer its morally frail citizens the hope of heaven. He would bring them only a guarantee of hell.

  Chapter 21

  McBride and Remorse stood by the outlaws’ fire and drank coffee from the tin cups of the dead men while Sammy chased tiny white moths around their feet. Remorse seemed like a man completely at ease with himself and his conscience.

  ‘‘Will we bury your dead?’’ McBride asked.

  Remorse shook his head. ‘‘There are bounties on all three of those men. We’ll take them into town. Thad Harlan will pay.’’

  ‘‘Then that’s what you are, a bounty-hunting preacher?’’

  ‘‘No, not quite. But bounties do pay my traveling expenses from time to time. I visit my wife’s grave in Boston quite frequently and cities are expensive places.’’

  ‘‘Where did you learn to shoot like you do?’’

  ‘‘John, you don’t learn to shoot like I do. A man is born with gun skill. It’s the way his brain connects with his hands and he either has it or he doesn’t. Some men seek to acquire it, but few, if any, are fast enough and sure enough to become named men. Then there’s the matter of courage, to have the guts to stand and fight while other men, just as fast with a gun, are trying to kill you. Unlike gun skill, a man can learn courage, just as a child is taught to speak. And that’s all to the good.’’

  McBride gave an awkward little smile. ‘‘Saul, I’m a named man and I’m pretty much scared all the time. As for gun skill, the fight was all over before I even started my draw.’’

  ‘‘Ah, but you stood your ground and didn’t run away.’’ Remorse slapped McBride on the shoulder. ‘‘That took courage. Good for you, John, because the Lord surely hates a coward.’’ He motioned with his cup toward the three bodies, admiration in his eyes. ‘‘They were top-notch, you know, Reese and the other two. Very sudden with the revolver and steady in the fight.’’

  ‘‘Were you worried, Saul?’’ McBride asked, his normal smile returning.

  The man shook his head. ‘‘Not in the least. They didn’t even come close.’’

  McBride helped Remorse load the bodies onto two horses. The lame grulla they unsaddled and let loose.

  The sun was at its highest point in the sky when they rode into Rest and Be Thankful. The dusty Main Street and warped, ashen buildings were hammered by heat and there was not a living soul in sight. In the glare of daylight the town was depressing, revealing its ugly flaws like the face of a girl working the line who has just removed the last of her paint as the merciless dawn drives through her window like a lance.

  Remorse led the way as they rode past the jail, the only sound in the street the creak of saddle leather. Reese and the Red Rock Kid were draped over the back of the same horse, their hanging heads nodding as if they were holding a conversation in the land of the dead.

  ‘‘Marshal’s office just ahead,’’ Remorse said, turning in the saddle. He had removed his coat but was still wearing his clergyman’s collar.

  ‘‘I see it,’’ McBride answered. Someone was watching him. He felt the crawl of their eyes.

  Remorse turned his handsome to face the office and drew rein. ‘‘Thad Harlan!’’ he yelled. ‘‘Turn out! I’ve brought in dead.’’

  Boot heels thudded on the timber floor inside, the door swung open and Harlan stepped onto the boardwalk. His eyes went from Remorse to McBride, registering first shock and then anger.

  ‘‘You know me, Harlan,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘I’ve come to collect my due.’’

  Harlan looked up and down the empty street, his head moving like a snake on his thin neck; then his cold, basilisk stare settled on McBride. ‘‘This time I’ll hang you for sure,’’ he said. ‘‘Them Meskins who helped you escape are all dead and cursing you in hell.’’

  ‘‘Thad Harlan, pay mind to me!’’ Remorse did not shout, but his voice carried to every corner of town. ‘‘You will have to step over my body with your rope.’’ The preacher was tense, poised, his steel eyes gleaming under the flat brim of his hat. ‘‘Now, pay the legal bounty on these men or die right where you stand. The choice is yours.’’

  Suddenly Harlan looked frightened. ‘‘I know who you are, Reverend. I’ve seen you in nightmares and I’ve always known that one day you would come. But you have no call to threaten me like that. I’ll pay, then you go back to wherever hell it is you come from.’’

  Remorse shook his head. ‘‘Oh no, I have too much outstanding business for that. I’ve adopted John McBride as my ward and I’ve promised to help him deal with those who would do him harm. Thad, my list is long . . . Josephine, father and son, Clare O’Neil, Dora Ryan, late of Denver town, and you.’’ He smiled. ‘‘And every outlaw and killer currently residing in this accursed town.’’

  ‘‘Saul Remorse, even a madman like you can’t kill us all,’’ Harlan said. His mouth was dry, the words rustling like fallen leaves.

  ‘‘A madman, I? Would a madman give you and the others I’ve mentioned a chance to repent and mend your wicked ways? Would a madman even see a chance for redemption in you, Thad? Think about it, you can spend the rest of your life in prayer and do all kinds of good works or die. It’s such a simple choice to make.’’

  ‘‘Too late for me, Reverend. The devil’s already slapped his brand on me.’’

  ‘‘I know, Thad. I can see it smoking on your dirty hide right now.’’

  The wind stirred Remorse’s hair and in the street a dust devil spun like a dervish for a moment, then collapsed in a puff of yellow dust.

  ‘‘All right, when will it be?’’ Harlan asked. ‘‘I want to be ready.’’

  ‘‘Why rush things, Thad? Later, when I’ve made up my mind to it.’’

  ‘‘You’ll give me a show?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Thad. You’ll be standing on your feet and have a gun in your hand.’’

  The marshal touched his tongue to his top lip. ‘‘Maybe I
’ll shade you. I’m the fastest there is around.’’

  ‘‘You won’t even come close, Thad.’’ Remorse relaxed, his smile wide. ‘‘Now, on to more pleasant business, between friends as it were. You see who I brought in with me?’’

  ‘‘I see them, Ben Carney, Steve Pettigrew and Decker Reese. They pulled out of town early this morning.’’

  ‘‘And their bounties, Thad?’’

  ‘‘Carney and Pettigrew, five hundred apiece. Reese, six hundred.’’

  ‘‘Sixteen hundred dollars, a nice, round figure,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘Pay me now, Thad.’’

  Harlan shook his head. ‘‘I can’t do it. I don’t keep that kind of money in my office. A sum like that will have to come from the mayor.’’

  ‘‘Then tell the mayor I expect to be paid within the hour.’’ Without turning his head, Remorse said, ‘‘John, watch my back. Thad is not above shooting a man when his back is turned to him. Are you, Thad?’’

  Harlan looked as if he’d been slapped, but said nothing, his cobra eyes glittering.

  Remorse swung out of the saddle, and one by one tipped the bodies into the dust of the street. He said to Harlan, ‘‘Their horses, saddles and guns are worth something. Who would that buyer be?’’

  ‘‘Try Jed Whipple down at the livery,’’ Harlan said. ‘‘He buys horses and guns, sells them to gents in a hurry who have to leave town on business.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for the advice, Thad,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘We’ll be going now.’’

  He gathered up the reins of the horses and started to pull them away from the marshal’s office, but Harlan’s voice stopped him.

  ‘‘Hey, Reverend! All the talk I’ve heard about you, I expected a man ten foot tall with the devil riding on his shoulder.’’ The lawman grinned under his mustache. ‘‘Up close, you don’t stack up to much. With all that white hair you look kinda like an old school marm lady.’’

  Remorse smiled. ‘‘Ah, Thad, you’re getting your nerve back, aren’t you? Soon you’ll start thinking that you can take me, and then you’ll begin to believe it, like you’re beginning to believe it right now.’’

  ‘‘Maybe I can take you. You don’t know that I can’t.’’

  ‘‘It’s just as I feared, Thaddeus, you’re beyond redemption.’’ Remorse looked around him. ‘‘Where is the undertaker?’’

  ‘‘Down the street a ways, just before you reach the livery.’’

  ‘‘Good. I’m buying you a coffin, Thad, with your name on it. You can go see it later. It will be a nice one, I promise.’’

  ‘‘Maybe it will have my name on it and your body in it, Reverend.’’

  Remorse nodded. ‘‘I’m glad you’re feeling better now, Thad. I’d so dislike killing a man who’d turned yellow on me.’’

  ‘‘We could always decide the thing right here and now,’’ Harlan said. He was stiff, but looked ready to uncoil fast.

  ‘‘Now you grow tiresome, Thad.’’ With his left hand Remorse reached into his shirt pocket and took out the makings. As he built a smoke his eyes lifted to the marshal. ‘‘Why are you in such an all-fired hurry to die?’’ He thumbed a match into flame and lit his cigarette. ‘‘Dying with your face in the dirt with a bullet in your belly and black blood in your mouth is not much fun.’’ He opened his fingers and let the smoking match fall to the ground. ‘‘Come talk to me sometime and I’ll tell you how it feels.’’

  Chapter 22

  McBride stood at the door to the livery stable as Remorse and Jed Whipple dickered inside. He could not shake the feeling of being watched and his hand was never far from the gun in his waistband.

  The early afternoon sun lay heavy as an anvil on the street, and the air was still and thick, the heat oppressive. To the north the Capitan Mountains looked like a low, lilac cloud, half-hidden behind a shimmering haze that made the brush flats dance. A skinny, tan dog nosed around a clump of yellow groundsel growing out from under the boardwalk across the street and Sammy wedged himself between McBride’s feet and watched it, growling softly.

  After a couple of minutes, McBride walked away from the barn and stepped into the street. There! He saw it, a curtain twitching shut on the second floor of the Kip and Kettle Hotel.

  It had to be Dora, a lady he planned to have a serious talk with later. Was Clare with her? If what Remorse had implied was correct, then she was bound to be.

  But what could he do to Clare? It was his word against hers that she’d tried to kill him. Even if he managed to get Harlan to arrest her, and that was highly unlikely, no jury you could assemble in Rest and Be Thankful would convict her. She need only dab her eyes with a scrap of lace handkerchief and say that John McBride attacked her and she’d shot him to defend her virtue.

  The most likely outcome to a trial would be a rope around his own neck.

  Maybe Remorse would come up with a plan to punish the guilty. But the reverend’s solution would likely be to gun down everybody in town, like an avenging angel sent to smite the wicked. There had to be another way.

  McBride recalled the plan he’d made the day he first met Dora Ryan. It wasn’t perfect and might address only part of his problem, but maybe the time to put it into effect was now—

  McBride’s train of thought was interrupted by Remorse calling him from the door of the livery stable. He stepped beside the reverend, who was scowling. ‘‘John, do I have scorch marks on me?’’

  ‘‘Not that I can see.’’

  ‘‘Well, I should,’’ Remorse said, clearly irritated. ‘‘That old man burned me on the horses and guns. I got less than half of what they’re worth.’’

  Whipple cackled from the doorway, then yelled, ‘‘Hey, Reverend, remember that he is richest who is content with the least, for contentment is the wealth of nature.’’

  McBride grinned. ‘‘Did you read that in the Bible, Jed?’’

  ‘‘Nah, I read it in a book on the philosophy of Socrates.’’

  Not for the first time, McBride was amazed by the learning that even the unlikeliest of some western men possessed. But Remorse seemed unimpressed and continued to fume.

  ‘‘We’ve got company,’’ McBride said, nodding in the direction of the street.

  Thad Harlan, riding the Appaloosa he’d taken from the man Clare had shot, swung toward the livery and stopped a few feet from Remorse.

  Still smarting at getting bested by Whipple, Remorse snapped, ‘‘Did you bring my money?’’

  Harlan shook his head. ‘‘You’ll get that from Mr. Josephine. He’s at his bank right now and wants to talk to you both.’’

  ‘‘What about?’’ McBride asked.

  ‘‘How should I know? He doesn’t confide in me.’’

  ‘‘That, I doubt,’’ Remorse said. His eyes pinned Harlan to the blue sky behind him. ‘‘Where is this bank?’’

  ‘‘It’s the Lincoln County Bank and Trust, on the corner past John Sewell’s Hardware Store. You can’t miss it.’’

  ‘‘Go tell your boss we’ll be there,’’ McBride said.

  But Harlan sat his horse, and a sneer twisted his lips. ‘‘How does it feel, McBride, to hide behind another man’s gun?’’

  ‘‘He says it feels just fine,’’ Remorse said quickly. ‘‘Now toddle along, Thad, and do as you were told.’’

  The marshal ignored Remorse and said to McBride, ‘‘One way or another there will be a reckoning between us. There are too many things left undone, half finished. Right now everything is topsy-turvy.’’