by Anthology
“That man is a murderer and a thief.” The office door banged shut behind her as Simone entered the room. She jabbed her finger at Peregrine. “I don’t know how you escaped the Judge, Long, but you shouldn’t’ve come back to Bonesteel. Sheriff, you need to arrest him and take him back to Judge’s Hollow.”
Sheriff Wolfberg straightened, pulled off his hat, and gestured with it. “Now hold on, Simone. I’m not going to condemn a man on your word alone. There’s something called due process. And there’s more to this story than what you’re saying.”
Isabeau was staring at her sister. “What are you saying, Simone?”
“I’m saying he killed Dom. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to hear about it. I thought I could keep it quiet. But he’s got some nerve coming back here.” She kicked a chair and it careened across the floor and into a table. “I knew I shoulda shot you when I had the chance, Long. You son of a bitch!”
Isabeau stared at her sister then put her hands on her hips and said, “Damn your hot head, Simone. Peregrine had nothing to do with Dom’s death.”
Sheriff Wolfberg said, “Can you prove that, Isabeau?” He looked at Simone and added, “And can you prove that he did?”
“I can.” Simone stuck her hand in her jacket pocket, pulled out a piece of crumpled paper, and handed it to the Sheriff. “This is the bill of sale that Peregrine presented as proof that he bought a little blue roan from Darla Sanchez yesterday.”
The Sheriff nodded. “I can read. This looks legitimate.”
“Matikai says that ain’t Darla’s mark. The certificate is a fake.”
Peregrine shook his head. “I told you and your vigilantes down on the trail, I didn’t buy the pony from Darla. Dom sold her to me. That’s your brother’s mark as Darla’s representative.”
Sheriff Wolfberg scratched his beard. “Well, until I can pull Darla’s records and compare this mark to others that Dom may have made, I can’t say with certainty that you’re not a suspect in Darla’s and Dom’s murders, Peregrine.” He looked at Isabeau again and added, “Unless you have some evidence to support his claim?”
She shook her head. “I just know he wouldn’t do that, Wolf.”
Peregrine downed another shot of Dragonfire. His aches were easing with each small glass. “What about the Judge? She exonerated me. That dragon crawled into my mind, read my thoughts, and let me go as an innocent man.”
“I don’t know much about that beast, and I’d sure like to keep it that way.” Wolfberg turned back to Peregrine. “I’m no fan of vigilante justice, but in this case, it seems to have given credit to your claims, since you faced the Judge and she let you go. Which is why I’m not locking you in a jail cell tonight. But I’m a lawman, and the law states that I need hard evidence to clear you, Peregrine. A dragon in your head isn’t evidence. But this is.” He folded the bill of sale and slipped it into his pocket. “Provided this mark matches Dom’s signature in Darla’s files, you’ll remain free.” He nodded at Isabeau. “You gonna help him with those injuries, Deputy?”
“I am, Sheriff.”
Simone began to protest, but Sheriff Wolfberg cut her off. “Drop it, Simone. You had your chance and you best look to your own affairs. You and your accomplices could face attempted murder charges if Peregrine’s claim of innocence stands.”
Simone cursed and stomped from the Sheriff’s office. Pausing at the door, she snarled, “I don’t know how you escaped the Judge, Long, but you won’t escape justice for good. I promise you that.” The door banged behind her.
The Sheriff stood and looked down at Peregrine. “Son, you best go heal and keep out of my way while I investigate this matter. I don’t want to hear about more folks being served up to a hungry dragon.” He pulled a small, leather-bound notebook from his pocket and a pencil. “Give me the names of your assailants.” He jotted something in the book and added, “I already got Simone down.”
Peregrine wanted to curse. The Judge wanted a body and she didn’t care whose. He wouldn’t be safe until he brought a villain to Judge’s Hollow. And he was a dead man walking in Bonesteel—there were half a dozen suspects who’d rather see him strung up for the Judge than end up in that Hollow themselves. And the townsfolk would look the other way if sacrificing Peregrine meant keeping their own hides from catching fire.
Peregrine downed another shot then said, “Matikai, Bobby and Beauregard Mack, Mitchell Fishman, and Pico Connelly.”
The Sheriff looked up, his eyes sharp. “Pico?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine.” The Sheriff settled his hat on his head. “You stay away from these six, you hear me?”
“I don’t want revenge, I want justice, Sheriff. Are you gonna give me that and spare Bonesteel?”
Sheriff Wolfberg straightened. “Is that some kind of threat?”
“No,” Peregrine rasped. “But the Judge will have her payment. She dismissed the case against me, but she wants the real murderer instead. If I don’t produce one, she’ll be back. And, in her eyes, we’re all guilty.”
Wolfberg rubbed the back of his neck and surveyed his shadowy office. “One day, you say?”
“That’s right. Probably less since it took me half the day to climb up here.”
The Sheriff sat and leaned close, lowering his voice. “All right. Since you say you want to serve justice and spare this community a dragon’s wrath, I’ll trust you. I’m already tied up with these murders; don’t have the time or the men to chase after your attackers. If you’re willing to take the oath, I’m willing to deputize you, Peregrine.” He held up the little notebook. “But your sole task is to find the men on this list and put them in my jail. I want them alive. You understand?”
Peregrine sat back in his chair. A lawman? He’d never considered the job. But this was a chance to bring a killer to justice. Among the group that accused him was a murderer or someone who knew one and was covering for him. Or her. He glanced at Isabeau. Her expression was unreadable, but then she met his gaze and gave the smallest nod.
“Agreed, Sheriff.”
“Good. Go see Doctor Ross then come back to my office and I’ll get you set up. No time to waste.”
***
The sky was rosy-gold with the rising sun when Peregrine and Isabeau emerged from the Sheriff’s office. He wore a scratched and dented tin star on his chest and a new patch over his left eye. He hadn’t lost his sight, yet, but his vision in that eye had tunneled and grown dark.
“Deputy Long. That don’t sound too bad,” Isabeau said as she struck a match off her chaps and lit a cigarillo. “You want one?” She offered her open mother-of-pearl case, but he shook his head and studied her.
She was all opposites and upside down. Not exactly refined with her blue jeans and dusty chaps. And not exactly pretty with a crooked nose and hazel eyes that stuck out a bit. She’d kept a firm hold on her grief over Dom’s death, hadn’t shown a lick of it, though they’d been very close. Isabeau would never let her emotions get in the way of her job.
She took a long drag, and then pinched a little tobacco off the tip of her tongue and spat. “What you staring at me for?”
Peregrine tucked a stray lock of her chestnut-colored hair behind her left ear. “Cause I’m thinking about making you a dishonest woman.”
Deputy Hightower exhaled smoke into his face and barked a laugh. “You’re gonna have to make me honest first.”
Peregrine smiled though it hurt his jaw. Then he sobered. “And stop a dragon.”
“Yep, that too.” She hooked her arm through his and swung him toward the little house she sometimes shared with Simone and Dom. “Listen, about Simone.”
“You don’t need to speak for her.”
“She’s scared of you.”
He snorted. “That makes no sense.”
“Sure it does. She can’t figure you out. You don’t react to her the way the other fellas do and, well, she’s afraid I’ll go off with you.”
Peregrine shrugged. “Then she doesn’t know
you too well, huh?”
Isabeau shrugged, too, and said, “Maybe I’ve changed.”
Instead of answering, Peregrine stopped. Beauregard Mack had come out of the Horseshoe Inn across the dusty street and was gawking at him and Isabeau. The fair-haired dolt rubbed his eyes as if he’d seen a ghost, blinked, and then turned beet red.
“You best stay clear of this,” Peregrine said to Isabeau as he stepped off the wooden walkway and headed across the wide dirt lane.
“Don’t go thinking that I can’t handle an idiot like Beauregard,” she replied as she followed him.
Peregrine announced, “You’re under arrest, Beauregard Mack.”
“Why ain’t you dead?” the chaser asked.
As if in answer there was a thunderous rumble beneath the butte and puffs of red dust rose from the ground. Horses started, whinnied, and snorted. A large flock of speckled starlings took to the sky and dogs started barking.
Beauregard’s eyes widened. “You cheated the Judge?”
“I was acquitted of all charges. Now Sheriff Wolfberg wants to see you about a murder and an attempted lynching.”
Beauregard’s gaze darted from Peregrine’s face, to the tin star, to his revolver. He licked his lips. “You should be dead. We had the evidence. I didn’t kill no one.”
“You tried to kill me.” Peregrine’s hand dropped toward his hip. “Don’t pull your gun, Beau. I need you alive.” Being one-eyed didn’t stop Peregrine from being a sharpshooter. He had to be; trolls loved the taste of pony and lineman.
But Beauregard’s hand dropped. He got the revolver out of its holster but not cocked before Peregrine’s bullets knocked him off his feet.
The dying man writhed and groaned on the ground, a red bloom spreading across his chest.
Isabeau tried to stop the man’s bleeding, but it was over in minutes. With one last shallow breath, Beauregard Mack’s life ended. She closed his dull, staring eyes as the Sheriff reached the scene.
Wolfberg muttered, “Damned fool. He knew he couldn’t beat you.”
Peregrine nodded. “Yep. Didn’t want to face the Judge.”
Isabeau straightened. “You think he was the murderer?”
“Don’t know. Never will.” Peregrine turned to the Sheriff. “I need to borrow a horse. Gonna ride out to the Circle S and pick up Bobby Mack.”
“All right. But be careful. Word may have spread about your return. You’ve got a target on your back, Deputy Long.”
Isabeau said, “I’ll go with him.”
“No, ma’am. I’ll go with Long to the Circle S, and then we’ll ride out to Pico’s. You get over to Darla’s, pick up any records that can prove Dom’s signature, and arrest Matikai. She’s at the top of my list of suspects; she’d’ve known Dom’s mark.”
“What about Mitchell Fishman?” Peregrine asked.
“We’ll pick him up at Pico’s.” The Sheriff turned to Isabeau. “I expect that your sister will turn herself in. But if she doesn’t, I’ll make the arrest. You don’t need to be involved in that.”
Isabeau nodded and looked away. “I appreciate it, Wolf.”
Peregrine squinted at the sun as it neared zenith. “Time’s getting short.”
***
Pico’s Double L Ranch sat at the base of the Judge’s Spire. He raised the finest silken wool mountain sheep west of the Sklaa River and was one of the few breeders to produce Silver Sheens season after season. Their wool commanded top prices on the open market and had made Pico the richest man in his industry. It was a wealth he’d shared with Bonesteel, offering loans to his competitors and funding town projects with generous repayment terms.
The approach to the Double L took riders through a long, shallow valley and offered an impressive view of the looming spire. A view that, as Peregrine and Sheriff Wolfberg approached, became all the more imposing as another thunderous rumble shook the ground beneath their horses. There was a tremendous whoosh and cracks in the spire glowed orange as a great flare of dragon fire erupted from the top. Both horses snorted and shied, trying to bolt.
Sheriff Wolfberg was cursing beneath his breath. They’d just come from the Circle S where they’d learned that Bobby had met up with Matikai and headed out that morning. “If they aren’t here with Pico, we’ll have a chase on our hands.”
“Yep.” Peregrine tightened his hold on the reins. “Whoa. Easy, girl.”
“Even after we have your lynch mob in custody, we need solid evidence or a confession from the murderer. I’m not keen on feeding an innocent man to that dragon, Long.”
“Agreed, Sheriff. If need be, I’ll negotiate with the Judge for more time.”
The Sheriff nodded toward the buildings as the rancho spread out before them. “Sure hate to see Pico caught up in all this.”
“You and me both.”
Gunfire split the air.
The Sheriff ducked in his saddle and grabbed his thigh.
With a curse, Peregrine leaned low over his horse’s neck, caught Wolfberg’s reins, and spurred the ponies off the trail as more shots were fired. Bullets ricocheted and hit the trees around him.
Burning pain flashed across Peregrine’s left shoulder as they reached a stand of pines. A bullet had grazed him. He pulled the Sheriff from the saddle as he slipped off his own horse. He released the ponies, and they galloped back toward the safety of town.
The Sheriff groaned. His right trouser leg was dark with blood. Peregrine pulled off his belt and fashioned a tourniquet.
Another tremor shook the ground and the trees. It kept shaking them and built to a roar. Peregrine rocked back on his heels and grabbed a tree trunk. He risked a glance at the spire.
The Judge erupted from the upper cavern in a blaze of smoke and fire. Embers trailed her as she took wing, soared over the butte, and then banked to come up the valley.
She roared, a screaming tornado that made Peregrine clap his hands over his ears and raised the hairs on his arms. And then she shot straight up the length of the Judge’s Spire and came to rest upon the top, her tail and body twining about the stone. She spouted a great gush of fire then glared down upon the Double L and Peregrine.
Was she looking at him?
As if reading his mind from afar, the Judge’s voice slithered into Peregrine’s head: “Tick-tock, Peregrine Long. I’m hungry.”
“I’m busy being shot at right now, Judge,” Peregrine muttered.
“Oh? If they hit their target, our agreement will be fulfilled.”
“Already grazed my shoulder. You want a taste?”
Her amusement lightened his mood, and he chuckled.
“Who’re you talking to?” The Sheriff was staring at Peregrine, his voice sharpened by pain as he worked the tourniquet around his shattered thigh.
Peregrine jerked his head toward the spire. “The Judge. She’s watching us.”
The Sheriff squinted. “Sam Hill take me, I forgot how big she is.”
Another shot and wood splintered off a tree beside Peregrine.
Wolfberg asked, “Who’s shooting?”
“Can’t tell.” Peregrine risked peering around the trunk. He was rewarded with a volley of gunfire and a glimpse of movement near a wall of straw bales between the barracks and the bright blue shearing shed. “Best I can tell it’s coming from the hay by the shed.”
Peregrine surveyed their spot. “I think there’s enough cover from the trees to get me from here to those boulders.” He jerked his chin toward a rocky outcropping that jutted up among trees closer to the main house. “From there I can draw a bead on the shooter.”
“I’ll do what I can to cover you, but you’d best move fast. Not sure how long I can stay upright.”
“I move fast when properly motivated, Sheriff.”
There was the clack of two guns being cocked. “How’s this for motivation, Long?”
Peregrine turned slowly, his hands up.
Pico had gotten the jump on them.
With one revolver pointing at Peregrine and the
other trained on the Sheriff, Peregrine’s former boss said, “Shame that everyone’s gonna hear how you double-crossed the Wolf and tried to pin it on me, you one-eyed bastard.”
Wolfberg growled, “Pico, put your guns down. No one’s gonna believe that cock-and-bull story.”
“Sure they will when there’s no one around to dispute it.”
Peregrine watched Pico’s eyes and said, “Isabeau already has.”
Pico snorted. “And Simone’s disputed her. That leaves my word, and I’m the most upstanding citizen in Bonesteel.”
Sheriff Wolfberg pulled his gun.
Peregrine lunged to the side.
Pico fired.
The Sheriff pitched backward, a gaping hole in his chest.
Pico turned toward Peregrine, both guns aimed at him. His gaze strayed past Peregrine for a moment. “’Bout time you showed up.”
The snap of twigs announced another person coming up behind Peregrine. Then a shotgun barrel appeared over his bleeding shoulder, but it was trained on Pico.
The rancher froze.
“Hands up, Pico, and drop those guns.” Simone nudged Peregrine with her elbow, but her gaze was locked on the armed man. “Move your keister, Long.”
Simone stood behind Peregrine but was siding with him. It was the first time ever that Peregrine had been happy to see her.
Pico raised his hands and snarled, “What the devil are you doing, Simone? He murdered Dom!”
Peregrine took Pico’s revolvers, and Simone replied, “Like you just murdered Sheriff Wolfberg? That was cold-blooded and too easy for you, Pico. And now I’ve doubts about Peregrine’s guilt.”
“Time’s up,” the Judge whispered.
Peregrine looked up.
With another thunderous roar, the dragon launched from her spire. Simone jerked around and aimed her gun at the beast as the Judge folded her wings and plummeted down the length of the stone column. She flattened out her dive at the last moment and streaked up the valley with great sweeps of her iridescent wings.
The wind from her passage knocked them off their feet. Branches were sheared from the treetops and crashed down around them.
Peregrine tasted blood and dirt as he hit the ground. His eye patch was dislodged. He blinked and stared around him, squinting his left eye in the sudden sunlight. What the devil had happened to his vision? He shook his head, disoriented. He could see perfectly with the left eye. How was that possible?