Eight Hours to Die

by William W. Johnstone

  “The law is harsh, Edgar,” Dav said. “That’s why it’s the law. If it was easy, if there were no consequences, then nobody would bother to obey it, would they?”

  “Those were the men who were involved in the brawl in the Buzzard’s Nest last night?”

  Dav took a step farther into the office.

  “That was no common brawl,” he snapped. “That was a deliberate attempt to ambush my men and injure them, maybe even kill them. Spivey and the others planned the whole thing, knowing that they would be breaking the law. I won’t tolerate that. I can’t tolerate that, not if I want to continue enforcing the law as it should be done.”

  “To your benefit, you mean.”

  “If it benefits me, it benefits the town in the long run, right? Because I protect the town.”

  Lord help us all, Wellman thought, because it sounded like Dav really believed the insanity he was spouting.

  Dav came closer to the desk and went on, “The problem is, Chico’s just not big enough for me, Edgar. I can do more. I can bring the law to the entire territory. New Mexico needs a man like me, a man who’s not afraid to do what needs to be done to put things right.”

  Wellman looked down at the papers on his desk.

  “You alluded to that in that editorial you gave me to rewrite,” he said. “Are you saying that you have aspirations for higher office, Sheriff?”

  “Would it be such a bad thing if I did?” Dav asked with a smile.

  It would be utterly disastrous . . . but of course Wellman didn’t dare say that. Instead he said, “It’s an interesting idea.” That ought to be vague enough to keep him out of trouble, he told himself.

  “I can’t do it all by myself, though,” Dav said. “I need help, Edgar. I need a voice to rally the people behind me.”

  The people of Chico would never rally behind him, Wellman thought. Not after the bloody spectacle they had witnessed today. They all knew Samuel Dav for what he really was.

  A madman.

  But . . . The thought stirred in Wellman’s mind. Chico was a small town. People in other parts of the territory might hear rumors about the whippings, but as long as they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, they would harbor doubts. And where doubts existed, a skillful editorialist and reporter could work his way in and magnify those doubts. For the most part, people believed whatever someone they considered smarter than themselves told them to believe.

  And most people believed that journalists were smarter than they were.

  “You want me to build you up, spread the word about what a dynamic, effective law enforcement officer you are,” Wellman said.

  Dav pointed a finger at him and said, “Now you’re getting the idea. I need a reputation, and a clever newspaperman can help me spread that reputation.”

  “Of course,” Wellman mused as he leaned back in his chair. Even though he was still horrified by what he had seen, his thoughts were falling back into the familiar cunning patterns. “A front page story in the Star, to go along with the editorial, could be very effective. Not so much for local readers, mind you—”

  “But if you could get those papers into the hands of readers in Santa Fe and Albuquerque and all the other towns in the territory . . .”

  “The fame of Samuel Dav would spread quickly,” Wellman agreed.

  Dav slapped a hand down on the desk, the report making Wellman jump a little.

  “Now you’re talking, Edgar! People love a man who comes out of nowhere to change things, to give them hope.”

  “But if they know the truth—”

  “The truth is what we tell them it is,” Dav cut in. “People want to believe. Tell them you’ll keep them safe, tell them you’ll take care of them, and they’ll fall all over themselves to believe you.”

  Wellman knew the sheriff was right. He had seen too much of humanity not to be cynical about it. Manipulating people was the easiest thing in the world. Just tell them what they want to hear, and the biggest lie in the world would become the truth in their minds.

  “How about it, Edgar?” Dav went on. “You and I together, we could run this whole territory. All you’ve got to do is throw in with me. Not out of fear, mind you. But because I need a newspaperman like you.”

  And now Dav was telling him what he wanted to hear, Wellman thought. The bad part about it was . . . it was working.

  Wellman stood up and nodded.

  “I’m with you, Sheriff,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After the flurry of action that had accompanied John Henry’s arrival in Chico, things actually settled down for a couple of days. The town was peaceful. Maybe because everybody was too scared to be any other way right now, but still . . . peaceful.

  Then the first edition of the Chico Star to be printed in a couple of months hit the streets.

  John Henry was sitting at the counter in Abernathy’s Café when one of the townsmen came in holding a folded newspaper. He slapped it down and said to the counter man, “Did you ever see the likes of that, Harley?”

  “What is that, the newspaper?” Harley asked. “I didn’t think it was bein’ published anymore.”

  “First edition in a while, but Wellman says it’s back to stay.” The townsman stabbed a finger down on the paper. “Look what else he says.”

  The newspaper was turned so that it was upside-down to John Henry, but he didn’t have any trouble reading that way. At the top of the page was a boxed editorial, and the headline on it read SHERIFF STANDS UP FOR LAW AND ORDER.

  “Hell, that’s—”

  The counter man stopped short in whatever he’d been about to say. Probably something like “loco” or “crazy,” John Henry thought as the man glanced toward him nervously. As long as he had a deputy’s badge pinned to his shirt, nobody in Chico was going to talk too freely around him.

  He held out a hand and asked, “Can I take a look at that?”

  The man who had brought in the paper handed it over without hesitation, saying, “Sure, Deputy, you keep it as long as you want. Just plain keep it. I don’t need it.”

  “Thanks,” John Henry said dryly. He unfolded the paper so that he could take in the whole front page. The editorial was what interested him the most:

  Sheriff Stands Up for Law and Order

  Earlier this week, the citizens of Chico bore witness to a stirring example of law enforcement, as Sheriff Samuel Dav, capably assisted by his deputies, dealt swiftly, efficiently, and fairly with a group of ruffians who brutally attacked several of the sheriff’s men the previous night. In the sort of speedy trial to which our justice system aspires but seldom attains, Judge Jonathan Curwood found the defendants guilty, assessed fines on them for their crimes, and sentenced them as well to a bout of corporal punishment the likes of which would teach them the lesson that crime does not pay. Sheriff Dav, in a gesture of mercy, prevailed upon the judge to lessen that punishment somewhat for some of the conspirators.

  This is yet another demonstration of how the sheriff tempers his devotion to the law with his concern for his fellow man. In the opinion of this newspaper, there is no finer gentleman in the entirety of the territory than Samuel Dav. His conduct in the office of sheriff is a sterling example of his exceptional qualities. Consider how Sheriff Dav and his deputies have dealt with Chico’s lawless elements, suppressing them so that the town’s streets are once more safe and the citizens can walk them without fear.

  Unfortunately for us here in Chico, the fame of such an outstanding lawman has spread quickly, and it seems inevitable that higher duties will soon be calling to Samuel Dav, as a man with his high moral standing will be summoned to the greater good. We can be thankful that we had his services for as long as we did, but we will have to be gracious and let him answer that summons.

  New Mexico Territory needs Samuel Dav.

  John Henry managed not to let out a whistle of admiration at the sheer gall of the editorial. He had a glimmering now of what Dav’s bigger plan was. Dav figured on running for
higher office. Even governor, maybe. This was the first step on that road. John Henry wondered if copies of this newspaper were already being sent out across the territory. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if that were the case.

  The rest of the front page consisted of an announcement that the Star would once again be published on a regular weekly schedule and a couple of local news stories, both of which managed to work in mentions of what a fine, upstanding lawman Samuel Dav was. John Henry carefully kept his face expressionless as he read them.

  When he was finished he folded the paper and set it on the counter again.

  “I’ll leave that there,” he said. “I’m sure other folks will want to read it.”

  “People all over town are reading it already, Deputy,” said the man who had brought the paper into the café. “Wellman practically blanketed the streets with it.”

  That didn’t surprise John Henry. He had a hunch that the editor had printed so many copies at Dav’s order. Obviously, Wellman was working with Dav now, either out of fear or because he had decided it would be to his benefit.

  There were always people who found it easier to go along with evil rather than to fight it.

  John Henry finished his coffee and left the café. As he walked along the street he saw a number of Chico’s citizens reading the newspaper. When he passed they all glanced at him, then looked away quickly, trying to hide what they were feeling. They weren’t very good at it, though.

  Dav might have finally overplayed his hand by causing that editorial to be printed, John Henry thought.

  Because in the eyes of every citizen he passed, outrage smoldered, along with the beginnings of something that might be determination.

  * * *

  Lucinda Hammond was a long time answering the knock on the door, long enough that Edgar Wellman began to worry she wasn’t going to respond to the summons. Finally, though, the door swung open and Lucinda stood there, standing straighter than Wellman had seen her in recent weeks. He wondered for a second what had stiffened her spine, but then he saw the anger in her eyes and the newspaper in her hand and knew the answer to that question.

  “Lucinda,” he said quickly, “I can explain—”

  “Go away, Edgar.” Her voice was flat and hard, like a piece of flint. “I don’t want to talk to you. I’m not interested in your explanations.”

  She stepped back and started to swing the door shut. Wellman said, “But, Lucinda, please! I did it for you.”

  That stopped her, probably because on the surface it was such an outrageous claim. She stared at him for a second, then said, “You aligned yourself with that monster, with the man who murdered my husband right in front of my eyes, and you have the audacity to say that you did it for me?”

  “I did,” Wellman insisted. “If you’ll just hear me out, I’m sure I can make you understand.”

  For a moment she still looked like she was about to slam the door in his face, but then she opened it wider again and said, “I’ll listen to you. But I’m not going to believe you.”

  “Perhaps you will,” Wellman said as he stepped into the foyer and took off his hat. “I was only thinking of you.”

  Lucinda folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. She wore a dark blue dress and her hair was brushed. Wellman thought she looked lovely.

  “I’m not going to ask you into the parlor, and I’m not going to offer you anything to drink,” she said coldly. “If you have anything to say to me, Edgar, I’d advise you to get on with it before I run out of patience. And I warn you, my patience is in very short supply right now.”

  Wellman gestured at the paper she held and asked, “Who brought that to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. One of my friends. I still have a few in this town, you know.”

  “I know, because I’m one of them.”

  She looked like she no longer believed that.

  When she didn’t say anything, Wellman knew she was waiting for him to go on, so he said, “Sheriff Dav came to see me the other day, after the . . . after what happened at the well.”

  “After he took a bullwhip to those men and beat them within an inch of their lives, that’s what you mean,” Lucinda snapped.

  “Now to be fair, the sheriff himself only gave lashes to Lou Spivey—”

  He stopped short at the contemptuous look on her face.

  “I know, I know,” Wellman hurried on. “He was responsible for the whole thing. But he came to see me afterward and talked to me about publishing the paper again.”

  “Did he threaten you at gunpoint? Did he say that he was going to kill you unless you printed exactly what he wanted?”

  For a second, Wellman considered lying and telling Lucinda that was what had happened. But he was afraid that she would see right through him. She was an intelligent, discerning woman, and if she caught him in a lie, she would never trust him again. She might not anyway, but he hoped he could talk her into considering the possibility.

  “He didn’t actually threaten me, although he made it quite clear that I would regret it if I didn’t go along with what he wanted. Earlier, even before that happened, he had given me some notes for an editorial he wanted me to write.”

  “The editorial that appeared in today’s paper?” Lucinda asked.

  Wellman nodded.

  “I had no choice, but I wasn’t motivated by fear, Lucinda. I did it because I realized that this was the best way I could help you.”

  “Help me?” she said, her voice trembling slightly from the depth of the emotion she obviously felt. “Help me how? By celebrating the actions of the man who made me a widow?”

  Wellman drew in a deep breath and asked, “May I be blunt?”

  “Please do,” she said, scorn dripping from her tone.

  “Our sheriff has designs on you, Lucinda. He wants you for himself. As your friend, I felt that I ought to do everything in my power to prevent that unacceptable circumstance from ever occurring.”

  She stared at him, clearly surprised by what she had just heard. After several seconds, she said, “You’re throwing your support behind Dav in order to save me from him?”

  “That’s right. He’s an ambitious man, to say the least. He yearns for more power and a higher office.” Wellman shrugged. “What better way to get him out of Chico and out of our lives than to help him get what he wants?”

  It was a logical argument. Wellman had gone over it enough times in his head that he was even starting to believe it a little himself. At the time he had come to his agreement with Dav, he had been motivated by a mixture of fear and his own ambition. But if he had stopped to think about it, he argued, there might have been some concern for Lucinda’s well-being mixed in there, too.

  Time dragged by as Wellman waited for her to respond. Seconds seemed like hours. Finally, Lucinda said, “I don’t know whether to believe you or not, Edgar. Even if you are telling the truth, I wish you hadn’t done this.” She brandished the folded newspaper. “I can take care of myself. I don’t want to do anything to further this scoundrel’s ambitions.”

  “That wasn’t my motive, I assure you. It was secondary to making sure that he leaves you alone.”

  “You should let me worry about myself.”

  He smiled and said, “I would if I could. Unfortunately, I’m powerless in the face of my own friendship for you.”

  He almost said “affection” instead of “friendship.” But that would be going too far, he’d realized at the last second. It was too soon for that.

  He had planted the seed, though, and he would have to be content with that for now. He could tell by looking at Lucinda that she wasn’t as angry as she had been when she came to the door. That was progress.

  “I suppose I can’t fault you for being my friend. I hope you won’t write any more editorials like this, though.”

  “I can’t make any promises,” he said. “I want the sheriff gone from our town, and I’ll do whatever I can to accomplish that.”

  Of course, wh
en Dav went to Santa Fe, Wellman intended to go with him. A journalist who had the ear of the new territorial governor would have no trouble getting a position on one of the newspapers in the capital.

  Lucinda didn’t have to know anything about that until the time came, though, and Wellman still harbored hopes of convincing her to go with him.

  “I can understand wanting Dav gone,” Lucinda said. “I’ve thought about little else these past few weeks. I think our preferred methods of going about it are different, though.”

  “You mean—”

  “I’m mean if it was up to me, I’d blow his evil reptilian brains out.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The air of tension that gripped Chico grew even stronger following the appearance of the newspaper. It was like the feeling when a storm was about to break, that electrically charged potential for devastating violence.

  Several times each day, John Henry caught townspeople looking at him with hate in their eyes and knew that only the threat of the gun on his hip prevented them from taking revenge on him for all the harm that had been done to them, even though he hadn’t taken part in any of it.

  The badge he wore was enough to make him a target, all by itself.

  He was confident that he could catch Dav alone sometime and take the sheriff prisoner. Dav seemed to trust him. He might even be able to nab several of the deputies as well, capturing them one or two at a time and locking them up in the jail without the others knowing.

  It would be well-nigh impossible, though, for him to get all of them that way. And once the others discovered what he was doing, they would storm the jail, which he wouldn’t be able to defend on his own. They would overrun the place and kill him.

  Or he had could grab Dav and make a run for Santa Fe, but that would leave the rest of those gun-wolves loose to do whatever they wanted in Chico. Either that or they would come after him like a pack of real wolves. Neither option appealed to John Henry.