Gun Law

by Ralph Cotton

  “Take it easy, hell!” said the barber, Albert Shaggs. Excitement caused his voice to tremble. “This dirty little bastard killed Ed Dandly! Stole his gun and has been on a rampage.”

  “But we stopped him!” said Walter Stevens. “Caught him in my mercantile!” He stepped forward and raised the hickory ax handle above the frightened young man.

  “I said take it easy, Stevens,” Kern said. He stepped in and grabbed the ax handle before the mercantile man could swing it again.

  “I’m sorry, Marshal,” said Stevens, “but look at my doors.” He swung an arm toward the front of his store where the door had been pried open. Scraps of splintered and broken wood lay strewn on the boardwalk.

  “I understand,” said Kern. “Did you say he killed Ed Dandly?” He stepped over and stamped a boot down on the young man to hold him in place.

  “He sure did, Marshal,” said Shaggs the barber. “He stabbed him in the heart. Dandly’s sitting dead at his desk right now, a knife in his chest.”

  “I didn’t kill nobody,” the young man said.

  “Shut up,” said Kern.

  “Say, this is the young man who was supposed to lead old Virgil home,” said John Admore, getting a better look at the young man in the flicker of torch and lantern light.

  “My God, you’re right, John!” said Stevens. “Now I wonder what he was up to with poor old Virgil.”

  The young man hung his head and refused to look at anyone.

  “I found this on him,” said Shaggs. He jerked the small pepperbox derringer from his pocket and held it out to the marshal.

  “It’s Dandly’s, Marshal,” said Stevens. “He always kept it in his desk. His initials are carved in the handle.”

  “I know he meant to turn it in, Marshal,” said Shaggs. “He just never got the chance to.”

  Kern examined the small pistol in the flicker of dim light and saw E.D. crudely carved into the gun’s thin bone handle.

  “I’ll be damned . . . ,” he murmured, carefully keeping his face from betraying his private thoughts. “Poor Ed Dandly is dead, then. . . .”

  “Yep, but thank goodness we’ve caught the rascal who killed him,” said Stevens.

  “Yes, thank goodness for that,” said Kern. He stooped and dragged the young man to his feet. As soon as the man got his footing, Kern gave his rifle barrel a vicious swing and struck him hard in the heel of his right foot. The young man cried out and almost fell, but Kern caught him and held him up.

  “I did that to save your life, boy,” he said. “I know how a young fellow like yourself is prone to making a run for it. That busted heel will keep you from getting shot trying to get away.”

  The young man whimpered in pain.

  “That’s real considerate of you, Marshal,” Jason Catlo said with a sly grin. “Want me to toss him in a cell?”

  “A cell?” said Albert Shaggs. “What for? He needs to be hung from a rafter, tonight! I’m talking about right this minute!”

  “I bet you thought I was talking to you, didn’t you, barber?” Jason Catlo said with a short, friendly grin. He stepped over in front of Shaggs, patted his shoulder and left his hand lying there.

  “Well, I—No, that is,” Shaggs said, remembering how quickly the blacksmith had gotten himself in trouble with this same deputy. “I—I won’t say nothing else,” he said meekly.

  “Now, that’s good of you,” Jason said. He turned back to Kern and said, “What do you say, Marshal? The jail?”

  “Yes, take him there, Deputy,” Kern said. Considering the matter quickly, he realized that the best thing that could happen would be for the townsmen to hang the young man. Once they’d hanged this hardcase thief, there’d be no second-guessing about who had killed Ed Dandly.

  “Let’s go, murderer,” Jason said, giving the limping young man a shove toward the marshal’s office. He left Kern behind to finish questioning the group of townsmen who’d gathered.

  “I—I didn’t kill nobody,” the young man said to Jason Catlo as he limped along. “I swear, he was stabbed in the heart when I got there.”

  “Do I look like I care, boy?” Jason said, shoving him again. “I ought to shoot your sack off for making me get up from my warm blanket.”

  “The sheriff was there,” the young man said. “I had to wait for him to leave before I could go inside to rob the man! The sheriff’s the one who killed him—he has to be. He was the only one there!”

  “You’re lying to me, boy,” Jason said with a short chuckle.

  “No, I’m not lying! I swear I’m not,” the young man pleaded. “You’ve got to believe me! The sheriff killed him.”

  “You know how I know you’re lying?” Jason laughed as he shoved him forward again. “Because that man you’re calling a sheriff is not a sheriff at all. He’s a town marshal.”

  “Hunh . . . ?” The young man gave him a strange puzzled look. “That makes no sense. . . . I don’t understand.”

  Jason, still laughing, shook his head. “I’m just kidding you, boy,” he said. “Don’t you know when you’re being jackpotted?”

  “Deputy, please,” said the young man. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I bet you didn’t rob the hell out of him either, did you?” Jason Catlo grinned.

  “All right, yes, I did rob him. I stole an apple and some stale bread from his desk. I was hungry. Haven’t you ever been hungry?”

  “Oh yes, I have,” said Catlo. “I’m hungry right now. But I can’t eat nothing because I’m busy hauling you off to jail.” He gave the young man a harder shove and watched him limp along the dark dirt street.

  Chapter 15

  Inside the marshal’s office, the other deputies looked the young man up and down as he staggered and stumbled through the door and caught himself on the edge of the desk to keep from falling.

  “Who’s the scarecrow?” Philbert asked.

  “He’s a candidate for a hanging,” said Jason. “He killed the newspaperman.”

  “Is that all?” Tribold Cooper asked Jason, studying the young man’s face closely. “That’s nothing to hang a man over.”

  “Yeah,” said Philbert, “I didn’t think killing a newsman was even a crime, west of the Mississippi.”

  “Yep, it is these days,” said Jason. “But that’s not all he did. He robbed the newsman’s office, burgled the mercantile store. Who knows what else?” he said. He reached out and thumped the young man on his head. “He might have even skinned another man’s chicken, for all I know.”

  “So he’s a thief?” Philbert said in mock shock and horror. “Why didn’t you say so right off?” He stared at the young man and said, “You mean you go around stealing people’s stuff? How dare you!”

  “Yeah,” said Tribold Cooper. He eyed the frightened young man coldly and said, “We all hate a damn thief worse than anything.”

  Bender stepped forward to join the razing. He stood staring coldly at the young man.

  “What the hell’s your name, thief?” he asked with angry contempt.

  “I’m—I’m Billy Nichols,” the young man stammered in reply. “I didn’t kill anybody,” he added quickly. I stole some food. I was hungry—”

  His word stopped short as Tribold Cooper backhanded him sharply across his face.

  “Ohhh! Good shot, Cooper!” Philbert laughed, watching the thin young man fly backward off the corner of the desk into Bender’s waiting arms.

  Bender shoved the young man back into the reach of Cooper, who backhanded him again. This time the young man fell to the floor, blood running freely from his smashed lips.

  Cooper grinned, opening and closing his gloved right hand. The other four deputies stood watching as the young man groveled on the dusty floor.

  “Damn,” said Cooper with a grin of satisfaction, “I could smack this boy around all day long, daylight to dark.”

  “That’s enough for now,” said Jason, reaching down and pulling Billy Nichols to his feet, then leaning him back onto the desk edge. “So, Billy
,” he said, “how do you like the way we treat dirty low-down thieves here in Kindred?”

  Nichols shook his head, trying to steady his senses after the hard backhanding Cooper had given him.

  “I . . . I’m not a thief,” he insisted. “I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten in—”

  “Huh-uh, now, no excuses,” said Philbert. He quickly jammed his fist into Billy Nichols’ thin midsection. Nichols jackknifed at the waist and hung there holding his stomach with both hands, gasping for air. “No man ever has an excuse for stealing,” Philbert concluded.

  “Pay attention here, damn it, boy,” Bender shouted at Billy Nichols. “He’s telling you all of this for your own good.” He grabbed the young man by his hair and yanked his face up toward Philbert.

  “Thank you, Deputy Bender,” said Philbert. He glared into Billy’s eyes. “Thievery is the worst and lowest thing a man can do,” he hissed. Then he looked around at the others and kept himself from grinning at the cruel way they were taunting the helpless young man.

  “Better listen up, lad,” said Cooper. “This is the bitter gospel truth you’re hearing. You know what they always say, ‘If it wasn’t for thieves, hell would be half empty.’ ” He finished his words with another hard slap across Nichols’ face.

  Bender grabbed Nichols to keep him from falling. Even Buck the Mule got involved, in spite of his crooked neck and broken collarbone. Without warning he raised a big boot and slammed it into the young man’s unsuspecting back.

  “Jesus, Buck the Mule!” said Philbert, jumping aside as Billy stiffened upright instantly, then crumbled to the floor. “I felt that one myself,” he chuckled.

  “If I was ever prone to being a no-account, low-down, underhanded thief, God forbid,” Jason Catlo said, “I believe that kick alone would have cured me of it.”

  Philbert stooped and pulled the young man to his feet and leaned him back against the desk.

  “What about it, Billy?” he asked him mockingly. “Do you think you might want to give up these sinful ways of yours and get on the right path in life?”

  “Pl-please don’t hit me,” the half-conscious young man said.

  “Don’t hit you?” Philbert said in mock surprise. He turned to the others. “Hear that? Now he’s accusing us of hitting him . . . and all of us servants of the law, just trying to show him the error of his ways.”

  “You should be ashamed, boy,” said Bender.

  “You ain’t seen any hitting yet,” said Cooper, adjusting his black leather glove up tighter onto his wrist. “I’m just starting to get warmed up.”

  “Whoo-ee,” said Philbert, wincing as the back of Cooper’s hand lashed out again. “I would not want to be a thief around this bunch if I was you, boy. With a little time I believe they could save your soul.”

  As the men stood laughing, looking down at Billy Nichols, who lay gasping for breath on the dirty floor, the front door opened and they all turned to face Marshal Kern.

  Kern stared down at Nichols’ bloody face for a moment.

  “He tried to escape,” said Buck the Mule, standing with his sore neck cocked, almost touching his hikedup shoulder.

  “I can see that,” said the marshal. He looked up with the trace of a grin. “Some young men never learn ‘til it’s too late.”

  “We tried to tell him the errors of his ways,” said Bender. “Tribold wore a glove out on him.”

  “Didn’t help, huh?” said Kern, joining in on the merciless taunting.

  “Not a lick,” said Philbert. He stooped and once again raised the young man to his feet.

  “They’re wanting to hang him,” Kern said, looking Nichols in the face.

  “Are we going to let them do it?” Bender asked.

  “Lynch my prisoner? Hunh-uh,” said Kern, shaking his head. He turned toward the young man, moving closer to him. “Don’t you worry, boy. They’ll have to kill every one of us before they drop a loop around your neck. There’s not a man here who wouldn’t give his life to save yours. Is that right, Deputies?”

  “Damn right it’s right,” said Philbert. “We’re lawmen. We stand up for the law, no matter what.”

  “You do believe that, don’t you, boy?” Kern said.

  Nichols didn’t know what to make of the question. He stared in disbelief for a moment, seeing the hard faces staring back at him.

  “I—I suppose so . . . ?” the battered young man finally said with a lost and fearful look.

  Kern smiled and said, “In that case, it’s best that they go ahead and hang you, boy. You’re too damn stupid to live, let alone be a thief.”

  The men all laughed as Philbert nodded at Jennings, who grabbed Nichols by his shoulder and dragged him back toward the row of cells in the rear of the building. The big dirty gunman pushed the young man into the back room, shoved him into a cell and slammed the iron door. Nichols fell to the dirty cell floor and lay there.

  “You better get some rest,” Jennings said in a hushed voice. “When you wake up, I’m going to beat you some more.”

  Back in the office, Jason gave Kern a look and nodded toward the front door.

  “Let’s talk,” he said. “Brother Phil, we’re not going to want to be disturbed for a few minutes.”

  “Got you,” Philbert said.

  Kern gave Bender and Cooper a nod to let them know everything was all right.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said to Jason, turning toward the front door.

  The two walked outside in the predawn purple light. A block away they saw the torches and lanterns move back and forth as the townsmen milled and congregated, too excited to return to their homes. Around the corner of the building, Jason and Kern stopped and looked back and forth, making sure they were alone.

  “The boy says you killed the newsman, Marshal,” Jason Catlo said in a guarded tone.

  “Oh yeah?” said Kern with a slight smile that didn’t quite hide the tense impact of Catlo’s words. “Well, I wonder whose ass he’s trying to save.”

  “Don’t try playing me and my brother, Philbert, for fools, Kern,” Jason warned, standing face-to-face. “All the wrath you’ve seen me bring down on others can easily fall right onto you.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Catlo,” said Kern. “I’ve been straight with you, your brother and that crooked-necked lunatic you travel with. As far as killing Ed Dandly goes, once they hang this young jake for it, the matter is done and over with.”

  “I don’t give a damn about a dead newsman,” said Catlo. “What I’m thinking about is how you’ve told me and my brother that you’re in this thing for the long ride. But as I look around, I see some of Kindred’s main men disappearing or turning up dead. It makes me think you’ve got some fast, shorter ride in mind . . . only you ain’t exactly sharing it with Philbert and me.”

  “It’s just like I’m telling you,” said Kern. “Once the guns are in our hands, we’re going to—”

  “You’re starting to make me cross now, Marshal,” Jason said, cutting him off. Kern felt the tip of a gun barrel in his belly. He heard the click of a hammer.

  “All right, take it easy,” said Kern, ready to give in. “I had this deal all set up for Ned Carver, Cordell Garrant, Curtis Hicks and me. But that damned gunman rode in and killed them.”

  “What about Cooper and Bender?” Jason asked.

  “Carver and Cordell said to bring them here,” Kern replied. “They said we needed two more men to rob this town good and proper.”

  “So, the long ride idea was just you shining everybody on. What you wanted to do in the first place was rob this town in one big raid and get out of here,” Jason said.

  “All right,” Kern admitted, “that is what I had in mind. I had Hicks kill the new mayor and get him out of our way. We were all set to do it when this Dahl fellow rode in and upset everything.”

  “The newsman?” Jason asked, the gun barrel still in Kern’s belly, but less forcefully now. “This Nichols kid is right, you killed him?”

  “Yes, I killed him,
so what?” said Kern. He shrugged. “The son of a bitch wouldn’t give an inch. What good is the news if it’s not the news you want to hear, eh?” He managed a slight grin even with the gun in his ribs.

  Jason lowered the gun and uncocked it.

  “Anyway, there you have it,” said Kern. “This gun law is the best thing could ever happen for people like us. I figured I’d never get a chance like this again. I—I guess I might’ve got a little too excited.”

  “I suppose you did,” Philbert said with empathy. He patted Kern on his shoulder. “That’s understandable, a situation like this. . . .” He gave Kern a patient grin.

  “Yeah . . . ?” Kern stared at him.

  “Well, you’ve come clean and told me everything, right?” Jason asked, actually kneading the marshal’s shoulder a little as he spoke.

  “Oh yeah, that’s everything,” said Kern. “And I have to say, I feel better getting it all off my chest.”

  “I bet you do,” said Jason, still smiling. He brought his pistol up, flipped it around into his palm and struck Kern solidly on his cheek with the butt.

  “Oh, Jesus . . . ,” Kern groaned, and fell back against the building. Jason caught him by his shirtfront and jostled him to keep him from passing out.

  “I know that hurt,” Jason said. “I know because that’s the same way a lawman named Earp once smacked me in Ellsworth.” He still smiled.

  Kern was only half conscious from the blow, but he instinctively grabbed for his gun. To his surprise, his fingers found his holster empty.

  “That was your gun I smacked you with, Marshal,” said Jason. “See what a fix you’re in here? That’s the way I felt that night in Ellsworth.”

  Kern only stared at him, blood running down his face from the split welt on his throbbing cheekbone.

  “Now, we’re going to start all over again,” said Jason Catlo. “This time you’re going to tell me everything that’s going on here, and don’t leave nothing out.” He jostled the stunned gunman again to keep him awake.

  “I . . . will,” Kern said in a strained voice.

  “That’s good,” said Jason, turning Kern loose and patting his shoulder again. “I’m going to smack you again every once in a while just to keep you on the right track.”