Law at Angel's Landing: A Western Story

by Wayne D. Overholser

  I shook my head. “Rip chewed my head off last night for shooting a man. He’s afraid he’ll lose his business after it gets around that the sheriff shoots his customers.”

  “Hell, if you hadn’t . . .” Tug began, and then stopped. “After this we can let ’em tear his place down. That fellow you shot, Ten-Sleep Morgan, you know anything about him?”

  “No. Just another miner who doesn’t like law officers, I guess.”

  “No he ain’t,” Tug said. “That’s the point. He wanted to be taken for a miner, I reckon, and maybe he has been working somewhere up in the cañon, but, according to one of the men we jailed last night, he really works for Ben Scully.”

  “Scully?” I had to think a moment, and then I remembered he was the gambler and saloonkeeper who had put up a big tent at the south end of Main Street. He’d had a bar going last night along with several poker tables and some other games, but his place hadn’t been fully staffed. He had promised that in another week it would be.

  I began adding things up. I said: “I guess it wasn’t just a case of this Ten-Sleep Morgan hating lawmen. He was trying to bust us up the first week Scully was in town . . . then Scully would have the camp to himself.”

  “That’s the way I figured it,” Tug said. “Well, I’ll be sloping out of here.”

  “You don’t have to come back until Monday night,” I said.

  “Thanks. I can sure use the extra time at home.”

  I unlocked the two small cells and told Redbeard and Baldy to be on their way. “You might see Rip Yager before you leave town,” I said. “You busted several of his tables and chairs last night. I don’t know if he’ll hand you a bill for them or not.”

  They were hurting from the head cracking we’d given them, along with hangovers, but they weren’t hurting so much they forgot to threaten me. “We’ll be back,” Redbeard said, “and we’ll finish you and that smart aleck deputy of yours.”

  “Ben Scully ain’t done with you, neither,” Baldy said. “Ten-Sleep won’t be getting around much and Ben needs him.”

  “Git,” I said. “You raise hell again and I’ll jail you till Judge Manders has his next session of court.”

  I walked back to my house, about as worried as I’d ever been in my life. It was my guess that the whole row in Yager’s Bar had been staged, that Redbeard and Baldy both worked for Scully. It was hard enough to handle a town running over with miners who were looking for trouble; it was twice as tough to buck a man like Scully who wanted to discredit the law. I didn’t know a thing about Ben Scully, but it was a good guess that he wanted a wide-open camp, and that was the one thing I didn’t aim to have.

  Abbie had breakfast ready when I reached the house. She sat down across from me and sipped a cup of coffee while I ate. She said: “When are you going to irrigate the garden, Mark? It’s awfully dry.”

  “This afternoon,” I said. “I’ve got to see a man when I get done with breakfast, but I’ll take care of it as soon as I get back.”

  “I’ve been afraid you’d forget your promise,” she said. “It doesn’t take long for the ground to dry out when we get a hot spell like this. Everything’s up and looking good.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said, “unless there’s a riot or an act of God.”

  “We had that when the storm hit,” she said.

  I looked at her, suddenly seeing her in a different light than I had before. She was an uncommonly pretty woman. Funny I’d never noticed it before. I had always considered her plain, but now she was wearing a frilly, pink-and-white-checked dress, she had curled her hair, and her cheeks were pink. She must have used some rouge, I thought, and that was about the last thing I expected of her, but it did wonders for her.

  “You’re very pretty this morning, Abbie,” I said.

  She blushed and looked down at her cup of coffee. She said: “Mark, that’s the first time you ever said that.”

  “I guess I’ve taken you for granted,” I said, “but I won’t from now on.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Mark. No woman likes to be taken for granted.”

  All of a sudden I saw the light. I said: “I guess that was what you meant when you told me that if I didn’t know why you couldn’t marry me, you couldn’t tell me.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “That’s exactly right. A woman wants to know that the man she’s marrying loves her and considers her important. That’s where your father made his mistake. I’m sure he loved your mother, but not enough to make her the most important part of his life. Chasing the rainbow was more important to him than she was.”

  “That’s right,” I said, “but you’ve got to understand that there will be times when I’ll have to pay more attention to other things than to you.”

  “Of course,” she said quickly. “I realize that your duties as sheriff may take most of your time for a while, but I know now how you feel about me. That was what held me back. I just didn’t know.”

  I kept my mouth shut. The truth was I didn’t know what to say, and I certainly had no idea what I’d done or said that had proved to her how I felt about her, but I was damned if I was going to ask. I was stupid enough about women, without letting her know just how stupid I actually was.

  She didn’t say anything else until I finished my breakfast. She sat staring at her empty coffee cup. I don’t know if she sensed what I was thinking or not, but presently she said: “It isn’t so much what a man says to a woman that counts . . . it’s what he does. When we had the storm, you showed me how you felt. If you’d tried to . . . well, I mean, there is a correct time for everything.”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’s right.”

  I knew what she meant, of course, and I likewise knew she was making something out of my actions that hadn’t been there, but I wasn’t going to hurt her by setting her right.

  Sometimes I wondered about my feelings for her. Perhaps I had sort of fallen into this situation, knowing her as long as I had and feeling comfortable with her. Actually I wasn’t sure that I could recognize love if I fell into it. All I knew was that I liked Abbie, and I was sure we could have a good life together. That wasn’t enough for her, and maybe it wouldn’t have been enough for any woman.

  If I married her, I was going to have to fool her, something my father had never been willing to do for my mother. He’d had a crazy, stiff-necked pride that I didn’t have, so I could, I thought, marry her and make her happy.

  Then I remembered Ben Scully and I got a little scared. He’d been in situations like this before, and he knew how to handle them, and, having no morals, he could and would do anything he needed to do to accomplish his goal. I guess I’m like most people—guilty of putting off things I don’t want to do or am afraid to do, so I put off seeing Scully.

  I rose. I said: “I guess I’ll do the irrigating first and see the man later.”

  She rose, too, and came around the table to me. She put her arms around me and kissed me, and then tipped her head back and looked at me. She said: “Something’s worrying you, Mark. Tell me about it.”

  I decided to tell her what had happened last night and what I was going to do, then I said: “I need to think about it a little more. I haven’t made up my mind what to say to him.”

  She began to tremble. “Mark, let’s get married right away. I’d never forgive myself if we put it off too long.”

  I didn’t agree. I couldn’t bring myself to marry her now and run the risk of getting killed and leaving her pregnant. Still, I didn’t want to argue with her, so I said: “We won’t put it off very long, Abbie. I promise.”

  I spent most of the afternoon irrigating the garden, using more time than I needed to. I got tired and hot, and then I got mad, just plain, down right sore all the way to my boot heels. He’d set me up, aiming to kill me or cripple me for life. I’d be a fool to let him get away with it. I knew then what I was going to say and do. I went into the house, washed up, changed my shirt, and headed for Scully’s saloon.

  Chapter Ten />
  When I first went into Ben Scully’s tent, I thought it was empty. After I’d taken a couple of steps, I stopped to give my eyes time to adjust to the gloom after being out in the bright sunshine, and then I saw a bartender standing behind the rough pine bar.

  Beyond the bartender near the rear of the tent, Ben Scully was sitting at a desk working on his books. Ten-Sleep Morgan sat a few feet from him, his bandaged foot resting on a chair in front of him, a pair of crutches propped against the chair.

  I felt a strong temptation to turn around and walk out and leave it up to Scully to make the next move. If I’d waited about half a minute, I’d have given in to that temptation. I was that scared, so I knew I couldn’t wait. I headed straight for Scully’s desk, thinking that, if I let him make the next move, I’d be dead.

  Morgan watched me come up, an amused expression on his ugly face. Scully pointedly ignored me until I stopped beside his desk, then he looked up, smiled, and said: “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  He was a handsome son-of-a-bitch. About forty, I judged, tall and slender, with a carefully trimmed dark mustache and long, equally dark sideburns. He wore a black Prince Albert coat, white silk shirt, and string tie.

  Glancing down, I saw a huge diamond ring on his right hand, which he had placed palm down on the desk top.

  I had the impression that Ben Scully was a perfect example of the inscrutable gambler. His light blue eyes told me nothing. He didn’t even appear amused, as Morgan did. The smile was fastened on his lips, a forced smile, as if he was a little bored and was simply waiting for me to get the hell out of there so he could get on with his bookkeeping. Somehow he contrived to give the impression that he controlled his destiny and the destiny of the entire camp, a total arrogance I had never seen before in any man.

  Then I thought about how it had been in Yager’s Bar, how this bastard had set the scene for my murder, and a crazy kind of pinwheeling explosion burst across my mind. Afterward, I was never sure how or why it happened because I was not a man to give way to sudden flashes of temper. All I’m sure of is that I never gave a thought to the consequences.

  I reached out with my right foot, hooked the toe of my boot under Ten-Sleep Morgan’s chair and yanked it out from under him. He spilled to the ground in a sprawling fall and must have landed on his wounded foot because he let out a howl of pain you could have heard in the other end of town.

  Scully swore and jerked a drawer of his desk open, but he never got his hand on his gun. I grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet and hit him on the jaw. It was a hell of a good punch that started below my waist and connected perfectly. He threw his hands up and fell full length on his back and lay motionless.

  I pulled my gun and wheeled on the bartender just as he was bringing a sawed-off shotgun out from behind the bar. I said: “Go ahead, mister. I feel like killing somebody and it might as well be you. I’ll work up to Scully.”

  He glared at me, his mouth dropping open, spit running down his chin, then he swiped a sleeve across his face and carefully set the shotgun on the bar.

  I said: “Well now, you figure you want to live a while?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I ain’t fixing to die for Ben Scully today.”

  “Good,” I said. “Now fetch a bucket of water and see if you can bring Scully back to life.”

  He picked up a bucket, walked to Scully, and emptied it on the man’s head, then strode back to the bar. I turned so that my back was to the wall of the tent near the rear opening. From where I stood I could watch all three men. Morgan was sitting up, his gaze on me. He was absolutely furious, but he carefully refrained from making any hostile move.

  “You ain’t satisfied to shoot my foot off,” he said in an outraged tone. “You’ve got to dump me on the same damned foot.”

  “It’s not my fault if you fall on the wrong foot,” I said, “but I’m wondering what I’d have fallen on if you’d made your play good last night.”

  Scully was sitting up, making gurgling sounds and swiping at his face. The front of his shirt and coat were soaking wet, but I had a feeling, when I looked at him, that there was a trace of admiration in his eyes.

  “I figured you were making a peaceful call, Sheriff,” Scully said. “Otherwise, we’d have been ready for you. Would you mind telling me why we’re getting acquainted this way?”

  “You’re an ignorant man, Scully,” I said, “so I guess I’ll have to educate you with a little information. You set up me and my deputy in Yager’s Bar last night, aiming to kill us or bust us up so bad that we wouldn’t have any fight left in us and that we’d leave it up to you to run the camp any way you want to. Now I’ll explain the situation. You try it again and you’re leaving Angel’s Landing, bag and baggage.”

  He didn’t deny my accusation. He got up, a hand feeling carefully of his jaw, and sat down at his desk. “All right,” he said. “It won’t happen again. Not from me, anyhow. I’m aiming to make a big investment in this camp. I’ll put up a good building that will contain a fine saloon and gambling layout. I’ll have girls and music and the best liquor in Angel’s Landing. You need that kind of place, so don’t run me out of camp.”

  He paused, his eyes narrowing, then added: “For a clodhopper sheriff who don’t know nothing about enforcing the law, you cut quite a swath. You don’t care whether you make any enemies or not.”

  “I’d rather have enemies I know about than step into the kind of trap I almost stepped into last night,” I said. “Now have I made myself clear?”

  “Very clear, Sheriff,” Scully said.

  I stepped out through the rear opening of the tent, not holstering my gun until I was back on Main Street. As I walked home, I had an absolutely crazy feeling that Ben Scully and I were going to be friends.

  When Tug Ralston got back Monday evening, I told him about it. He laughed and said: “Clodhopper sheriff, are you? I guess that makes me a clodhopper deputy.”

  I shook my head. “I dunno, Tug. He’s right about one thing. I sure don’t know much about enforcing the law.”

  “Neither do I,” he said, “but you told me I’d make a good deputy. Looks to me like it’s a case of us learning our business. I’ll tell you something else. You’ve got the right instincts for the job, just like a hound dog has got the right instincts for hunting.”

  I was glad to hear Tug say that. I’d had too many doubts about myself ever since I’d left Scully’s tent. I had begun to think that I wasn’t man enough for the job simply because I wasn’t sure I’d handled Scully right.

  My last doubt was dispelled the following morning when Scully came into the livery stable where I was working with Dutch Henry. We’d been busier than the proverbial cat on a tin roof. I’d even hired the boy back that I’d fired a few days before because I didn’t know anyone else I could get. The kid was better than nothing as long as Dutch Henry or I was there to tell him what to do.

  I leaned on the manure fork as Scully picked his way along the runway to where I stood. I kept my right hand close to the butt of my gun because I just wasn’t sure what he was up to. He didn’t have the slightest hint of a smile on his face as he extended his hand.

  “No hard feelings, Sheriff?” Scully asked.

  “Not as long as you behave yourself,” I said as I shook hands with him.

  “I’ll behave myself as far as you’re concerned,” he said. “You convinced me you can hold up your end of things. I didn’t think so before. That was why I wanted you out of the way. I’ve gone through more boom and bust camps than you can count and I’ve learned how to play the game. I won’t make any promises about how I’ll behave as far as my competition is concerned. You see, there’s one ace I insist on holding. I aim to see that the local law is in the hands of a good sheriff or marshal.”

  He was a fastidious man and the smell of horse manure was a little more than he could stand. The expression on his face was one of actual pain and I wondered if he’d throw his boots away after leaving
the stable.

  “You figure I’m your ace?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” he said. “I don’t want to invest my money in a good building and hire the girls and dealers I’ll need if a mob is going to run this camp. That’s why I’m here this morning. No matter how good you and your deputy are, you can’t ramrod a camp as big as this one’s going to be. My men, like Ten-Sleep, will help you if there’s an emergency, but you need at least two more good deputies. I want you to hire them.”

  I shook my head and told him how it was with the county commissioners and that I was paying Tug Ralston out of my own pocket.

  He swore and threw up his hands. “That’s like a couple of jackleg farmers. I know Paul Kerr. He’s a reasonable man.”

  “Sure,” I agreed, “but don’t forget he’s only one man out of three.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’ll take time to incorporate and we don’t have that much time. There is one other thing you can do. The commissioners ought to agree because it will give the county money. They could require every saloon and whorehouse to pay a license fee. One hundred dollars annually would be about right. That would give the county enough to pay the salaries of a dozen deputies.”

  “It’s a good idea,” I said. “I’m going to Durango this afternoon to bring back a new buggy. I’ll stop at Kerr’s ranch and talk to him, but you know what will happen. Those two bastards will use the money for something else.”

  He nodded. “You might be right, but it’s the only thing I can think of.”

  He wheeled and minced his way back down the runway. I figured he’d get a good, long breath of fresh air once he was back on the street.

  I left right after dinner, stopped at Kerr’s place on my way south, and mentioned the license idea. He agreed that it might be the answer and promised he’d write to the other commissioners about it.

  I went on to Durango and got back to Angel’s Landing after dark. One thing was sure—I had to invest in more rigs and horses. Crowds of men were coming in every day, a few with families, but most of them were single men who either went on up Banjo Creek, aiming to stake out claims, or who were looking for work in town. A few actually had money and had come to investigate the business opportunities that were here.