Redemption, Kansas

by James Reasoner

  “—Tomorrow, Doc,” Benjy heard one of the men say to the other.

  That made Benjy curious enough to glance up. Redemption didn’t have a doctor. Maybe one of the fellas was a sawbones and was planning to move here. That would be good. A town needed a doctor.

  Neither of these hombres really looked like a medical man, though. They both wore range clothes, and the one addressed as Doc had long, fair hair under his hat and a beard that jutted out from his jaw. He muttered something in reply to his companion. Benjy caught the word “wedding.”

  Why, they were talking about Bill and Eden’s wedding, Benjy realized. No surprise there. A lot of folks in town were talking about it. Everybody liked Eden and her pa, and even though Bill Harvey hadn’t been in town all that long, most people liked him, too, and thought he was doing a good job as marshal. The Methodist Church would be packed tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock when the two of them got hitched. Benjy even intended to be there himself, although he would just slip in the back after the ceremony got started and try to see to it that nobody noticed him. He didn’t want to embarrass his friend Bill.

  “—Whole bunch,” said the first man, and Benjy wondered, A whole bunch of what?

  And then the fella who might be a sawbones but didn’t look like one laughed and said something else, and Benjy would have sworn he heard a familiar name.

  Norris.

  Benjy jerked the broom as a memory bulled its way into his mind. He didn’t want to remember how Zach Norris had tormented him, but he couldn’t help it. The deputy had always picked at him, jabbing him with cruel insults about how he was a worthless old drunk who ought to be taken out and shot.

  “You’re wastin’ perfectly good air somebody else could be breathin’, Benjy,” Norris had said, and laughed at his own wit. He had called Benjy all sorts of ugly names, and late one night, while Benjy was out back of the saloon emptying the spittoons, Norris had come out of the shadows and grabbed him and started hitting him. Benjy had begged him to stop, but Norris wouldn’t listen. Benjy fell down and Norris kicked him, again and again, and then the deputy had dumped one of the spittoons on him. It was what a pathetic old bum like him deserved, Norris had said.

  Benjy thought maybe somewhere in the middle of all that, Norris had called him “Pa,” like Norris had mistaken him for his pa or was at least taking out his hatred for his pa on him, but Benjy couldn’t be sure about that. His memory wasn’t what it once was.

  But he remembered how bad he’d hurt after that beating, and the thought made him flinch and jerk the broom, and the man called Doc suddenly swung toward him, grabbed the front of his shirt, and hauled him up on his toes.

  “You tryin’ to sweep dirt on my boots, you sorry ol’ son of a bitch?” the long-haired man demanded.

  Benjy didn’t think a real doctor would talk like that. “No, I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I swear, I’m sorry, mister. I didn’t m-mean to.”

  “Aw, leave the drunk alone, Doc,” said the other man, and there was no doubt about the name now. Benjy heard it loud and clear, but it still didn’t make any sense, because the man didn’t look like any doctor he’d ever seen. The other man went on, “He don’t even know what he’s doin’.”

  “No, I guess not,” growled Doc. He pulled Benjy closer and glared down into his face. “Your brain’s so pickled in booze you don’t know a damned thing, do you, old man?”

  “Nothin’, not a damned thing, I don’t know a damned thing,” Benjy babbled as he tried to control his terror. He struggled not to piss himself.

  Doc gave him a hard shove that sent him staggering against the wall. Benjy dropped the broom, and the handle of it got tangled up with his feet. He fell, sprawling on the saloon’s porch.

  Both men laughed. “Come on,” Doc said. He and his companion stepped down and went to the hitch rail where their horses were tied. Before swinging up into the saddle, Doc paused and said, “Hey. Rumpot.”

  Benjy lifted his head and looked up at the man, afraid not to. His rheumy eyes blinked rapidly.

  “If I see you again tomorrow, you better run the other way,” Doc said as he pointed a finger at Benjy. “Because the next time I lay eyes on you, I’m gonna kill you. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

  Benjy gulped and managed to move his head up and down in a shaky nod.

  Doc laughed. “Oh, hell, you won’t remember. You’re too whiskey-soaked to remember anything. So I guess I’ll just have to shoot you.”

  He mounted up, and still laughing, the two men loped their horses out of town, heading west. Benjy gaped after them.

  There was something important about what he’d heard, he told himself. Something in what the men had said . . . He felt like if he could just remember all of it and put it together in the proper order, along with other things he knew, ought to know, it would all make sense and it was important somehow . . . He lay there, blinking furiously as he struggled to pull his thoughts together.

  “Hell, Benjy, you fall down again?”

  Benjy turned his head and looked up. One of the customers from the saloon had stepped out and seen him lying there on the porch. The man leaned over, took hold of his arm, and helped him to his feet. He picked up the broom and handed it to him.

  “There you go. You better be more careful. You’re liable to hurt yourself if you don’t watch what you’re doin’.”

  “Yeah,” Benjy said. “I got to be more careful.”

  “Well, good night.” The man walked away, leaving Benjy standing there leaning on the broom.

  He had been trying to think of something a moment earlier. At least, that was the way it seemed to him now. But danged if he could remember what it was. His brain was like that. Sometimes things dropped through it like it was a sieve.

  He started sweeping again, whistling a tuneless little melody through his teeth.

  Bill had gone to sleep the night before thinking about the wedding, and he woke up the next morning thinking about the wedding.

  He was getting married today, doggone it. Really and truly. Married.

  He looked at himself in the mirror he had nailed up in the storeroom at the jail and blew out his breath. “Married,” he said. “Hitched. Holy matrimony. If that don’t beat all.”

  He wondered if anybody would come after him if he went down to the stable, saddled his horse, and lit a shuck for Texas.

  Probably not, he decided. The citizens of Redemption would probably just say good riddance. After all, they had known all along he was nothing but a damned fiddle-footed Texan.

  Eden would say good riddance, too, and declare how happy she was she’d gotten shed of him so easily.

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Bill said to himself in the mirror. “She’d likely cry her eyes out.”

  And he could never do that to her.

  Bill knew what Hob would say if he was here: Cold feet, boy, that’s all. Ain’t nothin’ unusual about that. Every fella has doubts ’fore he gets hitched. But if it’s the right woman, he can just put ’em aside. You can do that, son.

  “I can do that,” said Bill as he nodded at his reflection. “I’m getting married today.”

  He cleaned up and went over to the Nilssons’ café for breakfast. The wedding wasn’t until two o’clock. Until then, he was still the marshal of Redemption, not a bridegroom.

  “This is the big day, eh, Marshal?” Helga asked as she poured coffee for him.

  Bill nodded. “Yep. I guess so.”

  “Eden is a wonderful young woman. You will love being married to her.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I expect I will.”

  She glanced over her shoulder through the window over the back counter that opened into the kitchen and said quietly, “Don’t you tell this to that big Swedish oaf back there, but the day I married him was the best day of my life. I wish you all the happiness we’ve had.”

  “I appreciate that, Miz Nilsson. I surely do.”

  The congratulations and well wishes came fast and furious as Bill made
his rounds that morning, along with handshakes and slaps on the back. Everybody in town seemed to be looking forward to the wedding.

  It was funny, mused Bill, but he had never felt this much respect and camaraderie from the folks in Victoria and Hallettsville, down there in Texas. To them he was just a ragtag orphan boy who’d grown up to be a shiftless cowboy. Maybe eventually he would have amounted to something if he had stayed there, but there was an even better chance he wouldn’t.

  But here in Redemption he was already somebody. Folks accepted him, respected him, liked him.

  Funny how he’d had to ride hundreds of miles, all the way to Kansas, and get his leg torn half off by an ornery old brindle steer, just to find himself a home.

  The mercantile was closed today, he noted as he walked past it. Eden and her father were home, getting ready for the wedding. He hadn’t seen Eden for the past couple of days—Perry Monroe had explained that she thought it would be bad luck—and Bill missed her. He wouldn’t see her until he turned to look down the aisle of the church and watch her walking toward him in her mother’s wedding gown.

  Josiah Hartnett had agreed to stand up with him. One of Eden’s friends from town was doing the same for her. From everything Bill had heard, there was going to be a big crowd on hand for the ceremony. That made him a little nervous. He hoped he wouldn’t mess up somehow and make a fool of himself.

  When he got back to the marshal’s office, he was surprised to find Perry Monroe waiting for him. “What’s wrong?” Bill asked.

  “Wrong? Why should anything be wrong?” Monroe clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I brought your suit. The best we have in the store.”

  He gestured toward the clothes lying on the sofa. “A suit,” Bill said. “You know, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

  “You didn’t think I was going to let you marry my daughter dressed like a cowboy, did you?” Monroe held up a hand. “Not that I have anything against cowboys. You taught me and everybody else in town that they’re not all alike.”

  “I’m much obliged for the suit, Mr. Monroe.”

  “You’re going to have to start calling me Perry sometime, you know.”

  Bill smiled. “Yeah, but I’m not married to your daughter just yet.”

  Monroe laughed and said, “I’ll see you at the church.”

  “I’ll be there,” Bill said with a nod.

  “And leave that here,” added Monroe as he gestured toward the Colt on Bill’s hip. “You won’t need it.”

  Bill frowned. He didn’t expect to need the revolver, either, but it seemed to him that a lawman always ought to have a gun handy, even at his own wedding. Especially a lawman who didn’t have any deputies. It would be different if there were two or three fellas he could depend on to handle any trouble, but there weren’t.

  He skipped lunch. Just couldn’t come up with any appetite. He wasn’t sick or anything, just not hungry. He wound up sitting at the desk and watching the clock on the wall of the marshal’s office. The hands on it moved inexorably toward two o’clock.

  When he thought it was time, he got dressed in the white shirt and dark suit Monroe had brought him. There was a string tie with it, too, and Bill struggled to get it tied properly around his neck. He had never worn a fancy getup like this. He squinted at himself in the mirror and finally was satisfied that it looked all right.

  He came out of the storeroom and paused beside the desk. He had coiled his shell belt and placed it and the holstered gun on the desk. He looked at the Colt now, trying to figure out what he should do. After a long moment, he slipped the revolver from its holster and tucked it behind his belt. When the coat was buttoned, it would cover up the gun.

  He had just finished doing that when the office door opened and Josiah Hartnett came in. He was dressed in his Sunday best, as well, since he’d be standing up in front of everybody at the church just like Bill.

  “Ready to go?” he asked with a grin.

  Bill nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  That brought a laugh from Hartnett. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I never knew a man who didn’t feel like that when he was about to give up his freedom. But let me tell you, it’s worth it.”

  “I hope so,” muttered Bill. He reached for his hat.

  Main Street was crowded with people converging on the Methodist Church at the eastern end of town. Bill frowned at them and said, “It’s like a holiday . . . or a hanging.”

  “Yeah, people show up for anything out of the ordinary. Just about everybody in town will be there. The farmers from hereabouts drove in with their families, and some of the ranch crews from the spreads to the southwest are here as well. There won’t be an empty pew.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better, you know, Mr. Hartnett.”

  “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  The throng of people going into the church parted before them when Hartnett called boisterously, “Here’s the groom!” Cheers went up. Hands reached out to slap Bill on the back as he and Hartnett made their way into the church.

  The young pastor, Jeffrey McKenna, was waiting at the front of the church. He shook hands with Bill and Hartnett. “Are you ready?” he asked Bill.

  Hartnett chortled. “As he’ll ever be!” he answered for Bill. That brought a knowing grin from McKenna.

  “Don’t worry,” said the preacher. “It may not seem like it now, but you’ll survive, I promise you. I’ve never lost a groom yet.”

  Bill fought down the urge to tug at the tight collar around his neck. “Thanks, Reverend. I guess.”

  Once all the guests had made their way into the church and packed the pews, McKenna slipped a turnip watch from his vest pocket, flipped it open, checked the time, and closed it with a snap as he looked up and nodded to someone in the rear of the church. He motioned for Bill and Hartnett to take their places. A woman began playing the piano over in the corner. Bill swallowed hard as he recognized the familiar notes of that song they always played at weddings, whatever it was called.

  Everybody stood up and turned toward the back of the church. Bill looked that direction, too, and saw two figures appear in the open doorway, silhouetted against the bright afternoon sunlight. Eden and her father walked slowly into the church. Even if Bill hadn’t already been having trouble catching his breath, the sight of Eden would have stolen it from him. She was that beautiful, and suddenly Bill knew all his worries had been for nothing. Everything was going to be all right. Behind Eden and Monroe, one of the townsmen moved to close the church doors . . .

  Only to be knocked back a step as somebody burst through the doors, practically on the heels of Eden and Perry Monroe. Bill stiffened as he recognized the shabby figure of Benjy Cobb, the swamper from the saloon.

  “Outlaws!” howled the swamper. “There’s a whole gang of outlaws headed for town—right now!”

  Chapter 28

  About a mile west of town, Dock Rakestraw reined his horse to a stop and looked over at Zach Norris, who had halted as well.

  “You ready, Zach?” Rakestraw asked with an ugly grin.

  Norris nodded. “More than ready.” His thin, pale face and his sunken eyes testified to the ordeal he had endured as he recuperated from the wounds he’d received at the hands of that damned Texan. He hadn’t completely recovered yet, but he wasn’t willing to wait any longer for his vengeance. Norris went on, “Remember, Harvey’s mine.” His features twisted in a grimace. “I can’t believe those bastards actually made him the marshal.”

  “Yeah, all folks in town can talk about is what a fine young fella he is, and what a nice couple him and the Monroe girl will make.” Rakestraw checked his pocket watch. “The ceremony ought to be gettin’ under way right about now. Nearly the whole town will be there, so it’ll be easy to ride in and pin everybody down. We’ll loot the whole place, then set fire to the church.”

  “After Harvey comes out so I can kill him,” said Norris.

  “Yeah, sure, Zach. That’s what I meant.”


  Truth be told, though, Rakestraw didn’t give a damn one way or the other about Bill Harvey. He wanted Eden Monroe if he could lay his hands on her, but even she wasn’t all that important in the big scheme of things. More than anything else, Rakestraw wanted the pile of loot they were going to take out of Redemption. The bank probably had quite a bit of cash in its safe, and there would be money in the various businesses, too. It would all add up to a nice haul, more than enough to take the gang to the gold fields of Colorado.

  For the past week, one or two members of the gang had been riding into Redemption at night to have a drink in the saloon and get the lay of the land. Last night, Rakestraw and Andy Singer had been there, and when they’d heard all the talk about the wedding, Rakestraw knew today was the right time to strike. It would be easy.

  He turned in the saddle to look at the fifteen hard-bitten men behind him. He had picked out half a dozen of them and given them their orders: surround the Methodist Church and kill anybody who tried to get out. The rest of the gang would spread out through the town, collecting the loot and killing anybody who wasn’t at the wedding.

  “Ready, boys?” he asked. He got several curt nods and mutters of agreement from the other outlaws.

  Rakestraw faced toward Redemption again, which was visible across the mile of open prairie. “Let’s go clean us out a town!” he whooped. He jabbed his spurs into his horse’s flanks and sent the animal thundering toward the settlement at a gallop.

  “Somebody get that crazy old drunk out of here!” Josiah Hartnett ordered as everyone in the church stared in shock at Benjy Cobb, including Eden and her father, who turned around in the aisle to see what the source of the disturbance was.

  Cobb tried to rush past the two of them, but Monroe grabbed his arm and stopped him. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “How dare you interrupt my daughter’s wedding?”