Where the Bullets Fly

by Terrence McCauley

  But those days were long gone and the hopes and dreams of those mornings past gone with them. He hadn’t thought much about the future since returning to Dover Station. And he didn’t like how Frazer Rice reminded him of how long ago that had been.

  Maybe it was his lack of sleep or the worries about Darabont on his mind, but he decided to make his point. “You’re a blunt man, aren’t you, Mr. Rice?”

  “Don’t have much tolerance for a man who’ll use twenty words when five will do. Men like your Mayor Mason.”

  “Good, because I’ve lost count of all the men who came here with a flourish and wagonload full of promises that they’d make everyone rich. All we ever got out of it was hot air and hard feelings. I don’t mind talk, so long as that’s all it is.”

  “I spent most of last night hearing the stories about the broken promises and the broken hearts, sheriff. I’m normally more of a doer than a talker.”

  “That’s good because I’d hate to see you build up everyone’s hopes by making a lot of grand announcements, only to up and disappear like a fart in the wind. I’ve lived here most of my life when I wasn’t in the army. I can remember back to after the war when my old man and his friends built this town out of nothing more than a skinner outpost in the middle of nowhere. The people who live here do their best for as long as they can until they can’t do it anymore. They take loss hard here, and there are some disappointments people just can’t come back from. It’s my job to protect them. Not just from drunks and men with guns, but people who’d harm them in other ways. So if you’re just here to speculate and decide if this is a good investment, keep it to yourself. Because if you build up their hopes and knock them down later, I’m going to have to sweep a lot of drunks off the streets. A lot of bodies of men who kill themselves over the disappointment, too. I won’t be happy if that happens.” He looked at Rice. “And you won’t be happy, either.”

  Rice blew into his hands as he looked out again at the vast land that raced away from the station toward the mountains. The hillsides around the town were becoming clearer in the strengthening sunlight. “That’s quite a speech for a quiet man. Guess what they say about still waters running deep is true.”

  “Wouldn’t know about that,” Mackey said. “Just looking out for my town.”

  Rice smiled as he blew on his hands some more. “You’re a hard man, Sheriff Mackey.”

  Mackey stifled a cough. “Stubborn, too.”

  Chapter 11

  Later that morning, long after the sun had risen much higher over the ridgeline, Mackey and Billy watched a stranger ride toward the jailhouse from the south.

  Mackey had long since resumed his place in the rocking chair on the jailhouse porch by then. Billy was on the bench, enjoying his morning coffee and cigarette. Mackey found something peaceful about the way Billy did things, even everyday things like brewing coffee and building a cigarette. Everything was done with an easy purpose and motion day in and day out. Nothing about Billy ever felt sudden, but as if he had planned it out long ago. Billy moved with the slow confidence of a man who didn’t care who might be watching or if anyone was.

  Billy nodded toward the approaching stranger from the south. “Rider coming.”

  Mackey stifled another cough. The effort hurt a little less than it had the day before. “I see that.”

  He hoped Billy hadn’t heard him cough but knew better. Billy said, “You were over at the station this morning, weren’t you?”

  Mackey kept rocking. He saw no reason to deny it. “Needed to be alone for awhile. I go there sometimes when I need to think.”

  “I know. How long you been up?”

  Mackey winced at the rebuke he knew would follow. “Since I woke you to tell you about Darabont last night.”

  “Hell, Aaron. On a cold morning like this? Thought you was going back home to bed where you belong.”

  “I tried that,” Mackey admitted, “but when I got there, Mary was sore about Darabont coming by the house. Said I’d brought danger to her front door, then started laying into me again about being a sheriff.”

  Mackey knew Billy could have said a lot. He may have even wanted to. That’s why he was glad his deputy just sipped his coffee instead. “That woman sure does have a flair for the dramatic. Should’ve been on the stage.”

  Mackey saw no point in denying that, either.

  The two of them sat quietly; watching the stranger approach the town. Mackey didn’t think he was one of Darabont’s men. Darabont probably never went anywhere alone. He preferred a pack. This man rode alone and made no effort to conceal his approach.

  Mackey kept rocking as he watched the man approach. “Mr. Rice happened by while I was over at the station. Says he’s got big plans for this town. Says the place smells like promise and opportunity.”

  Billy drank his coffee. “All I smell is stale beer from the Tin Horn when the wind blows right.”

  Mackey kept rocking. “I think he’s a serious man.”

  Billy set his cup down. “All rich men are serious about money. And scared when it comes to pulling it out of their pocket.” He finished his cigarette and flicked the dead butt into the muddy thoroughfare of Front Street. “You know Darabont went by Cy Wallach’s and took his dead friends away.”

  Mackey nodded as he suppressed another coughing spell. His lungs ached, but not as much as before. “He said he was going to do that when he left my place last night.”

  “But you don’t think that’s the end of it, do you?”

  “I’d be lying if I said Darabont didn’t have me worried some.”

  “Worried is one thing,” Billy said. “Afraid is something else.”

  “Yes it is. If we were still in uniform, I would’ve killed that son of a bitch last night out of pure efficiency.”

  “But we’re not in uniform anymore,” Billy reminded him. “We haven’t been for some time. There’s a difference between what soldiers can do on patrol and what sheriffs can do in the confines of a town setting. Killing Darabont would’ve forced Mayor Mason to do something foolish. Darabont knew that. I’m glad you didn’t give him the chance, but I don’t like Darabont knowing how far to push you.”

  “Neither do I.” Mackey rested his coffee mug on the arm of his rocker. “Got a feeling I’m going to resent letting that bastard live.”

  “We’ll handle it if we have to.”

  Mackey nodded. “Always have in the past.”

  “Always will, too.” Billy stirred his lungs and spat into the street. He nodded toward the distant rider. “Wonder what the hell he wants.”

  Mackey watched the growing dust cloud trailing behind the rider. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  * * *

  As the rider reached Front Street, Mackey could see he was a large man on a big sorrel. Neither man nor mount was built for speed but for power instead. A pack mule weighed down with supplies was on a lead line trotting right behind him.

  The stranger’s long blond hair flowed out from beneath a black, wide-brimmed hat. The hat itself had a silver band with turquoise stones in it. His moustache and beard were as blond as the rest of him and just as well groomed. His duster was black, which made it easier to see the gold star pinned to his chest.

  Mackey had never seen the big man before, but judging by the size and shape of the star, knew he was a deputy United States Marshal. What Mackey didn’t know was why a federal marshal would be in Dover Station without sending a telegram announcing his arrival.

  “Quite the dandy,” Mackey said to his deputy.

  Billy looked the man over. “Seems awfully impressed with himself. Probably lick himself all over if he could manage it.”

  Mackey sipped the last of his coffee and rocked slowly as he watched the rider turn onto Front Street.

  Mackey hadn’t noticed Pappy had come out of his general store across the street until his father let out a long, loud whistle at the approaching rider. “Well, well, well. Will you look at the lovely vision that’s come
to call upon us this morning?”

  The marshal eyed Pappy as he swung down from the saddle and hitched his horse to the post in front of the jail. “Been called a lot of things, old timer, but a vision ain’t never been one of them.”

  Pappy spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he struck a match and fired up his pipe. “There’s a first time for everything, young man, because I believe I just did.”

  Mackey set his mug on the porch floor and stood to greet the visitor who’d stepped up onto the jailhouse boardwalk. Mackey’s legs were stronger than he’d expected them to be. The man was a few inches taller than Mackey, putting him at well over six feet tall. He was wider and heavier, too, which must’ve put him at over two hundred pounds. All the long, blond hair made the man look even bigger than he already was.

  “You the sheriff around here?” the big man asked.

  Mackey said he was and introduced himself as such. He nodded at Billy, who was already standing. “This is Billy Sunday, my deputy.”

  The big man pulled off a yellow gauntlet. “I’m Walter Underhill, Deputy U.S. Marshal out of Texas.”

  The two men shook hands. He didn’t offer his hand to Billy and Billy didn’t look for it.

  “Montana’s a little out of your jurisdiction, ain’t it, marshal?” Billy asked.

  “Not really.” He tapped the star pinned to his chest. “That’s a federal badge, boy.”

  Billy didn’t miss a beat. “Attached to a federal judge in a federal district over a thousand miles away from here, boy.”

  Mackey moved between the two men. The marshal might be out of his jurisdiction but he was still a federal and a federal could be a big pain in the ass. He already had enough trouble with Darabont lurking around. He didn’t need to add to it. “That’s just Billy’s way of saying he’s curious about what brings you up this far north, Underhill. Quite frankly, so am I.”

  Underhill began pulling off his other gauntlet. “Been chasing a couple of men I understand are from these parts. Go by the name of the Boudreaux brothers. Know of them?”

  “Known of them most of my life,” Mackey said, “but they’ve never given me any trouble. Not enough to draw federal attention, anyway. What are you after them for?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to talk about that inside in private. What I’ve got to say ain’t for everyone to hear.” He thumbed back toward Pappy. “And that old bastard back there is a town gossip if I ever saw one.”

  “Got good hearing, too.” Pappy puffed his pipe as he looked up at Underhill’s back. “He’s telling the truth, Aaron. About being a Texan, I mean. Saw a lot of them in the war. I couldn’t be sure when he first rode in, but I can see it clear as day now that I’ve laid eyes on the back of him.”

  Underhill turned just enough to answer him. “I’m not surprised. The only way a Yankee could ever kill a Texan was to shoot him in the back.”

  Smoke billowed out of Pappy’s pipe. “Had no choice, seeing as how they always headed the other way once the shooting started. Yep, all braggin’ and no sand. A Texan’s just about the lowest form of white man alive in my book.”

  Underhill slapped his gauntlets against his leg as he turned to face Pappy full on. “Old men like you ought to learn to curb their tongue.”

  “Tried it once,” Pappy winked. “Never quite found the knack for it. How about you try to teach me?”

  Mackey opened the door of the jailhouse. “If you two ladies are done carping at each other, maybe we can talk about the Boudreauxs now?”

  Underhill reluctantly broke eye contact with Pappy before he strode into the office. He ducked his head as he went inside, even though he didn’t need to. Mackey and Billy looked at each other before they filed in after him.

  Chapter 12

  “Don’t know why you cut me off,” Underhill said as he sat down. The old wooden chair creaked beneath his bulk. “If you ask me, that old bastard is in dire need of a beating.”

  Mackey went to the stove and poured coffee into three cups. “That may be true, but I’d give that particular old man a wide berth if I were you.”

  Mackey noticed Underhill’s hand tremble as he quickly took the cup of coffee. He tried covering it up by settling back into the chair and stretching his broad shoulders even wider. “I think I could take one mouthy old man. Doubt you’d miss him. World’s full of them.”

  Mackey handed a mug to Billy before taking a seat behind his desk. “Maybe, but I’m kind of partial to that one. He’s my father.”

  Underhill lowered his mug to Mackey’s desk. “That so?”

  Mackey shrugged. “My cross to bear. So, how about you tell me why you’ve come all the way up from Texas looking for the Boudreaux boys.”

  Underhill reached into his pocket and handed him a wanted poster. “It’s all right there and legal. They’re accused of raping a pair of women just outside of Fort Worth, then shot their husbands after.”

  Mackey took a look at the poster. It was a wanted poster from the Fort Worth Sheriff ’s Office offering a thousand dollar reward for the Boudreaux brothers. It said they were wanted for rape, assault, and general mayhem.

  Mackey read the poster again, then looked back at Billy. Billy couldn’t read, but didn’t need to in order to recognize their likenesses drawn on the paper. “Don’t look nothing like the Boudreauxs who live here, Underhill.”

  “Still, it’s them I’m after.” Underhill drank his coffee. “You going to help or not?”

  Mackey asked, “Let me see the warrant.”

  “Don’t have one.”

  Billy spoke before Mackey did. “You mean to tell me a federal marshal rode all the way up here from Texas without an actual warrant in his pocket?”

  Underhill pointed at the poster. “My warrant’s right there in black and white.” He tapped the star on his chest. “And here, stamped in gold.”

  Mackey handed the wanted poster back to Underhill. “Paper and gold don’t make it legal. We all know that.”

  Underhill grew very still. “You calling me a liar, Mackey?”

  “No. I’m saying things don’t add up like they should. Every marshal we’ve ever had up here had a warrant with them or had one wired in advance. You just ride in here and expect me to hand over two men I’ve known my whole life to a total stranger on charges that are hard to believe.”

  Underhill looked at Billy, then at Mackey. “So that’s how it is. They’re your friends and you’re sticking up for them. Locals sticking up for locals.”

  “No. I’m saying these boys might get a little loud and a little drunk sometimes, but neither of them ever forced a lady to do anything.”

  “Here, maybe,” Underhill said, “but boys on the trail have a tendency to act up in ways they wouldn’t while at home.”

  “If you told me they killed men in a bar fight, I’d be apt to agree with you. But I have a tough time believing they raped anyone. They’re two mighty fine-looking boys, marshal, way better than their pictures on your wanted poster show. Dark hair, good skin, even got most of their teeth. Charming as hell, too. They even speak fluent French. They’ve never had cause to rape a woman because they get more than their fair share of attention from the ladies wherever they go.”

  Billy added, “Hell, half the whores in town don’t even charge them full price on account of them being prettier than they are.”

  “Don’t know about whores,” Underhill said. “Don’t care how pretty these boys are supposed to be, either. All I know is that they’re charged with raping two women and killing their husbands and it’s my job to bring them back to stand trial.”

  “Without a warrant,” Mackey said.

  Underhill’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll get the judge to wire a warrant to you if it’ll make you feel any better.”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute,” Mackey said. “Tell me about these husbands you’re so hell-bent on avenging. “Where’d the killings take place?”

  When Underhill’s eyes flickered, Mackey realized the mar
shal didn’t know as much as he should have. “What difference does it make? They’re dead just the same.”

  “Makes all the difference in the world,” Mackey said. “If these two men walked in while the boys were having a go at their wives, they could’ve shot at them and lost.”

  “Which means the boys were defending themselves,” Billy added.

  “And if they got killed elsewhere,” Mackey went on, “like on the trail, then these men might’ve stalked the Boudreauxs after they left town and gotten killed for their trouble. They’re skilled hunters and they’re not apt to letting someone try to ambush them.”

  Underhill looked at Mackey, then at Billy. Mackey noticed the bags under the marshal’s bloodshot eyes. When put together with the shaking hand, he figured Underhill was either hung-over or a drunk. It didn’t tell him much, but it told him something.

  “I see what this is.” Underhill began to stand up. “Sounds to me like you two are covering up for your friends.”

  “Sounds to me like you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Mackey said.

  The big man got up and walked toward the door. “These two won’t be the first men I’ve brought in alone and they won’t be my last. Just tell me where I can find them and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’ll be going with you.” Mackey stood up and adjusted the Colt a bit closer to his left hip. “You go out to their place on your own, I’ll be bringing you back here across your saddle.”

  Underhill stood up to his full height again. “I already told you these two ain’t the first hardcases I’ve brought in.”

  “They’re crack shots, Underhill. They learned how to shoot squirrels before they could walk. Either of them could put a bullet through your eye before you even knew they were there.”