by Nik Morton
She closed her hand on the Derringer in her skirt pocket. This wasn't happening! A few seconds ago, they were all set to gun down the damned lawman.
"Murder," Cash Laramie said.
The six hands standing around the marshal's horse murmured to each other. She noticed that a couple of the men hesitantly took a few steps back, away from the lawman.
"You must be mistaken, Marshal," Angelina said, gesturing dismissively with her free hand.
"Who was murdered?" Dutch asked.
"A young boy." Cash Laramie's voice grated, rough. He kept his blue eyes on Angelina, unblinking. "Mrs. Tolliver's son, Danny."
She reached out, a hand on Jacobson's arm. "This is absurd, Lance."
"Why would the marshal lie, Mrs. Nolan?" Jacobson asked, removing her hand.
"I'm not going with you, Marshal," she said. "You killed my Jerry—"
"Your Jerry?" Jacobson queried, his eyes suddenly cold, narrowed.
She stamped her foot on the boards, quick to change the subject. "Can't you see? He's in league with Mrs. Tolliver. They'd do anything to thwart my husband's chances!" She felt blood rise to her face. She was hot, annoyed. Damn Jacobson! "He wants Mrs. Tolliver to win the election by foul means!"
Cash Laramie dismounted. He nodded to the hands clustered round him. They backed off, made way for him. He walked slowly, deliberately toward her.
"You talk a lot of hog-swill, Mrs. Nolan," Cash said. "You tortured and then butchered a defenseless young man to satisfy your demented urges!"
"Urges?" whispered Dutch to one of his men. "What urges?"
"Dunno, but she doesn't seem too happy about what the marshal's saying," the man said. "Not one bit."
Angelina trembled, her eyes switching from Jacobson to the marshal and then to the men. They all watched her. And she couldn't say anything, couldn't get any words past her tightly compressed lips.
Marshal Cash Laramie climbed the steps in front of her.
His eyes were blue, like cold ice, and they cut into her brain.
She pulled out the Derringer and fired.
* * *
Cash cleared leather with lightning speed and fired almost point blank into her face. Standing slightly below her, his aim had been at an awkward angle. The .45 slug tore away her pert nose and her left eye. She jerked backwards, her body's nerves performing a final instruction, pulling the trigger. The .22 Derringer bullet hit the earth at Dutch's feet and he swore.
Angelina Nolan fell back onto the porch boards, two feet away from Jacobson.
Cash turned on the top step, eyed the men. Nobody reached for a weapon.
"Fair, I guess," Jacobson allowed. "At that close range, her gun could've done you real damage, Marshal."
"My thoughts, exactly." Cash holstered his Colt. "I'm sorry about your boy, sir. But he wouldn't listen. He drew on me—I had no choice."
Jacobson nodded. "I know, the barkeep said. Jerry was always a mite headstrong. But that day, something got into him, I'm sure. He wouldn't normally behave like that ..."
"Her words not only condemned her," Cash said "I reckon they explained what got into your Jerry."
Jacobson sighed.
"I'm going back to town now," Cash said. "I'll tell Zeke to free your Matt and the others. I think there's been enough bad blood around here for quite a while." He kicked Mrs. Nolan's feet. "And I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of it could be laid at her door."
"She was a strange one, that's a fact. Anyway, that's decent of you, Marshal."
-EPILOGUE-
Defaced
Cash rode into town to the sound of firecrackers. A small brass band was playing outside the town hall. The doors were open, the vacant polling booths draped with banners and ribbons. Whistles blew, cheers roared. Guess I missed all the fun, he thought as he reined in outside the sheriff's office. He dismounted, draped the reins over the rail and climbed the steps.
Zeke walked out to meet him. "It's all over, Marshal," he said, beaming.
"I take it Mrs. Tolliver won?"
"She sure did!"
At that moment, the banker, Martin Plampin strolled up. "I always said she'd beat Nolan. My money was on her from the outset."
"Your money, not the bank's?" Cash queried.
Plampin's cheeks wobbled. "Of course, Marshal, of course!"
"Where's Mrs. Tolliver?" Cash asked.
Zeke pointed to the Wordsworth Hotel. "They've laid on a special banquet for her."
Unfastening his reins, Cash turned to Zeke. "You'll need to send Mr. Peel on another errand—out to the Jacobson ranch."
Banker Martin Plampin gasped. "Good God, you haven't killed Lance, have you?"
"No." He pulled out a cheroot, lit it. "And, Zeke, let out Matt and his boys and send them along with the undertaker. I won't press charges."
"Sure thing, Marshal." Zeke hurried toward the undertaker's.
Leading his pinto, Cash walked on to the hotel.
The bunting was dust-covered and hung forlorn from the rooftops of several buildings. A couple of posters for Mayor Nolan had been defaced.
At the hotel, he tied the reins to the hitching rail and patted the pinto. "I won't be long. Then we'll get you some rest and grub." Paint nuzzled his hand.
Feeling weary, he slowly climbed up the steps and entered the hotel foyer. He followed the hubbub of voices and went into the restaurant.
Standing amidst a good number of businessmen and worthies on the stage at the far end of the room, Esther raised her arms and acknowledged the cheers from the floor. Behind her stood the forlorn figure of Brett Nolan, his arm in a sling, his free hand cuffed to the wrist of Burt, the second deputy. Ever vigilant, Miles was by her side.
"Thank you, one and all," Esther said. Her mouth offered a smile, but her eyes were somber. She'd worked hard for this day and it should have been one of jubilation. Instead, it was heartbreakingly sad.
"I promise to make this town a better place for all of us." Tears flowed down her cheeks. "Somewhere that favors good honest work. I vow on my son's life, Bear Pines will not shelter the dark force of unreason. We will shine like a beacon of goodness!"
Miles stepped down and walked over to Cash. "How you feeling?"
"I'll do," Cash said.
"Where's Mrs. Nolan?" Miles asked.
Cash said, "The bitch is dead."
†
Author Acknowledgments
Thanks to David for asking. And as ever, grateful thanks to Chuck Tyrell for his editing input.
About the Author
Writing as Ross Morton, Nik has four western novels published: Death at Bethesda Falls, Last Chance Saloon, The $300 Man and Blind Justice at Wedlock. A fifth is due out in April, 2012—Old Guns. Writing as Nik Morton, he is the author of the crime thriller Pain Wears No Mask and two psychic spy Cold War thrillers The Prague Manuscript and The Tehran Transmission, a collection of 21 crime short stories that feature Leon Cazador, Spanish Eye, "a perfect TV vehicle for Antonio Banderas," he says! He's also the author of a modern vigilante crime thriller, A Sudden Vengeance Waits, an anthology in aid of Japanese earthquake/tsunami survivors, When the Flowers are in Bloom, and a vampire horror-crime thriller, Death is Another Life, which he's also written as a screenplay. As Robin Moreton, he's the author of a World War I erotic thriller—Assignment Kilimanjaro. He's the editor of A Fistful of Legends, 21 stories of the Old West. He sold his first story in 1971 and has had many articles and 120 short stories published. Nik is Editor in Chief of Solstice Publishing. He lives in Spain with his wife Jennifer.
Other titles from BEAT to a PULP:
The first in the series:
Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles Vol. I
(available for Kindle)
Manhunter's Mountain
by Wayne D. Dundee
(available for Kindle)
The Guns of Vedauwoo
by Wayne D. Dundee
(available for Kindle)
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