Law at Angel's Landing: A Western Story

by Wayne D. Overholser

  Wallace was speechless. He sat there, staring at me for what must have been a full minute. I used that minute to get a good look at him, and I guess one fact struck me harder than anything else. Captain John Wallace did not have horns and a tail. He was a man, no more and no less. Here I was, chills chasing each other up and down my spine as I sat a few feet from a man who had been in my thoughts for days, a man who had terrorized me and had certainly terrorized Ben Scully and Maggie Martin.

  The simple truth was that there wasn’t very much about Wallace that was different from me or anyone else. He was a handsome man, deeply tanned, with a strong chin and a full-lipped mouth. He had brown hair with just a touch of gray at the temples.

  The only feature that set him apart from anyone else was his eyes. They scared me. I had never seen eyes like them. I have heard it said that a man’s eyes are the windows of his soul, and, if it was true, I’d have to say that John Wallace had no soul.

  The eyes were the lightest of blue, so light that they seemed nearly colorless. More than that, they held no expression whatever. They might have been the eyes of a dead fish, and I could believe that he was capable of killing a man without feeling a shred of remorse.

  As this thought came to me, I had a strong urge to get up and leave the dining room. I hoped I didn’t show that temptation on my face, although I knew my breath had quickened and I had a feeling I was almost panting.

  “Well, I’ll be god damned,” Wallace said softly. “I will tell you something, Girard. I have no intention of shooting you. Not here anyhow. What happens in Angel’s Landing is another matter.”

  “Perhaps you are thinking that it will wait till we are in Angel’s Landing,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. I’m asking you not to come to Angel’s Landing.”

  “I’ll have to say no to that request,” he shot back. “I have a contract with four men including Rip Yager, who, I understand, is the unofficial mayor of the town.”

  “No more than anyone else,” I said. “It just happens that he is the oldest settler and in the past, when Angel’s Landing was practically dead, he liked to call himself mayor the same way that some of the rest of us called ourselves the town fathers. That doesn’t apply now. The camp has changed.”

  “I understand that,” Wallace said. “That’s why I’ve been hired.”

  “There’s no need for you to come,” I said. “Yager talks about lawlessness and riff-raff. There is neither. The town is not incorporated. The only unit of government below the state is the county. I’m the sheriff of that county. I have handled and I will continue to handle all problems of law and order. You will have no authority to act as a law officer. You will therefore be outside the law, and, if you create any problems, I’ll arrest you.”

  He looked at his wife and laughed. “Ain’t this the damnedest thing, Garnet? Yes, sir, it purely is.”

  She laughed, too, a little nervously, I thought. I glanced at her, realizing she was not as young as I had first thought. She said: “Yes, John. It certainly is.”

  I brought my eyes back to Wallace’s face immediately, but I had observed that she was a blonde, her hair more gold than yellow, and that her eyes were bright blue. She had a red-lipped mouth and trim, firm breasts that were lifting and dropping rapidly, and she was breathing fast. I wondered if she was as scared as I was.

  “I don’t need any of your damned authority to come to Angel’s Landing,” Wallace said evenly. “I make my own laws in a camp like that, and it’s pretty plain to see that you’ve got a good thing going or you wouldn’t try to keep me out. I think, Girard, that the melon is big enough for us to split.”

  I knew what he meant, all right, but I let it go because I didn’t want to get sidetracked or to force the issue. I said: “Listen and you listen damn’ good because I want every card turned face up on the table. You will not receive one nickel of pay from the sheriff’s office. You will be denied the use of the county jail. I will see to it personally that you don’t bleed the town white as you have other places where you have served as marshal. The only pay you’ll get will be what Yager, Steele, Doc Jenner, and Bailey give you, and that will not be enough to satisfy a man of your appetite.”

  He had been astonished at first, I guess, or maybe stunned, but I could see now that his temper was boiling. Not from his eyes, which were as expressionless as ever, but from the rosy glow of his cheeks and the twitch at the corners of his mouth.

  “You’ve had your say,” he said. “Now I’ll have mine. I don’t need anything from the sheriff’s office. My authority will be given me by the county commissioners. I don’t need your jail. I will, beginning tomorrow evening, ramrod the camp, and I advise you to stay out of my way.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I shall surely kill you. I have made an agreement. I will carry it out to the letter. As for arresting me, mister, that’s the wildest dream I ever heard. Nobody arrests Captain John Wallace. Nobody.”

  And that, I remembered, was exactly what Maggie Martin had said to me. “One more thing,” I said. “I’m going to ask Yager to meet with you and me and the other three in his back room as soon as you show up tomorrow. I want all of them to hear what I’ve just said to you. I don’t think the county commissioners have the legal right to appoint you any kind of a law officer, and I want that on the record.”

  “If you don’t ask Yager for that meeting, I will,” Wallace snapped.

  I stood up, my hands clasped back of my head. I turned, glancing again at Mrs. Wallace, who had an amused half smile on her lips, and left the dining room. As soon as I was out of Wallace’s sight, I lowered my hands, got my bandanna out of my pocket, and wiped my face. My shirt was wet and sticking to my back. I strode out of the hotel into the cooler air of the street and took a long breath.

  I walked west, found a restaurant, and went inside. I ordered a meal, but I couldn’t eat after the food came. It stuck in my throat. I knew I didn’t want to risk seeing Wallace again, not until I was back in Angel’s Landing.

  Maybe he didn’t have horns and a tail, but I was satisfied that he was the genuine, fourteen-carat, murdering son-of-a-bitch that Scully and Maggie had said he was, and that he’d kill me without the slightest provocation if he saw a way to do it without making trouble for himself.

  I did not go back to the hotel to sleep in the room I had rented. Instead, I slept in the livery stable where I had left my horse. I rode out of Durango at dawn with the two animals I had bought.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I reached Angel’s Landing, I went first to the livery stable and turned the two horses I had bought in Durango over to Dutch Henry. He looked at me questioningly. I nodded and said: “Wallace got there. He’ll be here sometime this afternoon.”

  I walked to Abbie’s house from the stable to tell her I was back. She wasn’t there, but a moment later I found her on her knees in the garden back of my house, weeding a row of radishes.

  She wanted to know what had happened, and I told her briefly, adding: “I don’t suppose I did any good. I sure didn’t talk him into not coming, but I guess I didn’t really expect to.”

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to see what he does.”

  Tug Ralston was waiting in the jail office for me. He said: “We had a quiet night here. How was it in Durango?”

  I told him what I’d done. He asked me the same question Abbie had, and I gave him the same answer I’d given her.

  He paced back and forth in front of my desk, pulling on a cigar. He said: “It’s been too damned quiet. I suppose the news that Wallace is coming has scared some of the rowdies out of town.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “There is one thing,” Tug said. “A big man rode into town yesterday, a hell of a big man. He must stand half a foot taller than me, and I’ll bet he weighs two hundred and fifty pounds. No fat on him, neither. He calls hisself Shell. No first name. Just Shell. This morning he rode up Banj
o Creek.”

  I looked at Tug, figuring there was something more. I said: “Well, I guess there’s no crime riding into town whether you’re a big man or a small one.”

  “Maybe not,” Tug said, “except that last night he called on some small places, saloons mostly, telling ’em that they’d be smart to pay ten dollars a week for protection against broken windows, robbery, fire, and so on. Anything you want to name. I guess they all paid except Maggie Martin. She told him to get out. This morning she’s got about ten slashes in the side of her tent. Looks like somebody just ripped the canvas with a knife.”

  “So it’s starting,” I said, “and Wallace isn’t even here yet.”

  “You figure there’s some connection?”

  “Sure there is,” I answered. “It’s my guess that Wallace will promise to stop it, but he’s going to have to be paid.”

  Tug nodded. “We’ll never prove the connection.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “I want you to be with me at Yager’s Bar when Wallace gets here. We’ll see what he says about this man, Shell.”

  * * * * *

  Yager just grunted when I told him I wanted to meet with Wallace and the other three men who had brought him here.

  “Won’t do no good,” he said. “You’ll just kick up some dust. Damn it, Mark, give Wallace a chance.”

  “Oh, he’ll have his chance, all right,” I said, “but I figure to kick up some dust. You heard about a man named Shell?”

  “I heard,” Yager said. “I don’t like it no more’n you do. That’s the first thing Wallace is gonna have to work on.”

  I saw Steele, Doc Jenner, and Bailey, and all of them agreed to be in Yager’s Bar by the middle of the afternoon. I was there ahead of them with Tug. They all strolled in about 3:00, acting casual as if this was a very ordinary occasion.

  Wallace didn’t show up until almost 4:00. I was standing in front of the saloon when I saw him pull up in his buggy at Steele’s hotel. He got out, gave his wife a hand, and carried two big suitcases inside, then drove away to my livery stable.

  I started toward the hotel, hoping to reach Wallace to tell him we were waiting for him, but there was so much traffic on the boardwalk that he got away before I could reach him. I stepped into the lobby and found Mrs. Wallace, waiting beside the suitcases.

  I said: “Remember me, Mark Girard? We met last night.”

  She carried a pink parasol. Now she fiddled with it nervously as she nodded. “I remember you, all right. You put John into one hell of an ugly mood.”

  She glanced toward the door, then lifted the parasol and placed it across her right shoulder as if she didn’t know what to do with it. She was more nervous than ever, her face unsmiling and showing lines of strain that had not been there last night. Again I sensed that she was older than I had first thought and certainly older than she wanted people to think she was.

  “Tell your husband we’re waiting for him in Yager’s Bar,” I said. “It’s down the street half a block or so.”

  “I’ll tell him.” She glanced at the door again, then leaned forward as she moved the parasol from her shoulder, and tapped the tip against the floor. She said in a tone so low I barely heard her: “I’ve got to see you, Sheriff. Alone. Where do you live?”

  I told her, but I didn’t like the smell of it. I said: “Can’t I see you here?”

  “No, no,” she said quickly. “John must not know about it. He’ll be busy most of the night. He won’t come to bed until almost dawn. I’ll be at your place about midnight.”

  I nodded and turned away, still not liking it at all. I sensed a trap, but I figured that as long as I recognized it, I could keep from falling into it. I returned to Yager’s Bar, thinking about Mrs. Wallace. I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow she aimed to deliver me into her husband’s hands.

  There was something about the woman that didn’t add up, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I sensed that Wallace completely dominated her, but I couldn’t tell whether she resented it or not. Maybe he was her meal ticket.

  Some women put up with a hell of a lot just to get their three squares a day and a roof over their heads, but Garnet Wallace wouldn’t have to. She had the looks and figure to choose her own meal ticket. I remembered then that I had not seen a wedding ring on her hand and I wondered if there was some significance to that.

  Wallace got there in another fifteen minutes. The saloon was crowded with miners and cowboys and drummers and the usual hangers-on that any saloon has, but he didn’t waste any time. The instant the batwings slapped shut behind him, he yelled: “Yager! Rip Yager! You in here?”

  “Here!” Yager called. “Right here, Mister Wallace.”

  “Captain Wallace,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Yager said as he held out his hand. “Welcome to Angel’s Landing.”

  Wallace ignored the extended hand. He said: “I believe we’re supposed to have a meeting, or so your cowboy sheriff said. Let’s get at it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Yager said, dropping his hand. “Back here.”

  In that brief exchange I saw two things that amazed me. One was the way Yager simply collapsed and turned into an old man in a matter of seconds. He was shaky and pale, and he seemed to totter uncertainly as he led Wallace across the saloon to the back room. He was scared, I told myself, more scared than he would admit. I had a hunch he’d been sorry for quite a while that he’d sent for Wallace, but his pride had kept him from backing down, and now it was too late.

  The second thing was the huge star that Wallace wore on his vest. It was at least twice the size of the star I carried. There was no sense in having one of that size, but he did have it, and it was big and shiny. Sterling silver, I thought, to glitter the way it did. No one would ever call it a tin star. It was a symbol of the kind of lawman Wallace pretended to be, of course, and I had a hunch it was effective.

  I said to Tug in a low tone: “Keep your hands away from your gun.”

  He nodded, understanding. We followed Doc Jenner into the back room. The others were ahead of us. Yager closed the door. Before he could say a word, Wallace said brusquely: “Your cowboy sheriff called this meeting. If he hadn’t, I would have. I wanted to know who you are. Let’s hear your names.”

  Doc Jenner, Steele, and Bailey introduced themselves. Wallace made no effort to shake hands and he pointedly ignored Tug who stood beside me.

  “You understand . . .” Yager began.

  Wallace held up his hand. “I’ll do the talking, Yager. You sent for me to keep law and order in this camp and I propose to do exactly that. Your cowboy sheriff tells me I will receive no salary from the county, so I expect the people of this camp to raise the money to pay me, and that starts with you men who sent for me.

  “Your cowboy sheriff also tells me I will be refused the use of the county jail. Gentlemen, that is no hardship. I won’t need a jail. I will warn a man once, and then I’ll kill him if he continues breaking the law. If a man starts to draw on me, I will kill him. It doesn’t take much of that to make a camp shape up. Now just stay out of my way.” He strode to the door.

  I said: “Wallace . . .”

  He wheeled to face me. His eyes seemed paler than ever. He said: “Captain Wallace.”

  “Wallace,” I said, “you are not living in the Eighteen Seventies. You start killing men like you’re talking about and you’ll see the county jail from the inside.”

  He stared at me, his eyes narrowing, his right hand close to the butt of his gun. I was holding the buckle of my belt tightly with both hands, and I was very careful not to make a move of any kind.

  “Step outside, Sheriff,” he said. “We’ll settle right now who is going to be the law in this town.”

  “No,” I said. “It would be suicide.”

  “You’re right about that,” he said, “but it leaves you a coward, and no man who is known as a coward can enforce the law. You will be out of town or dead within forty-eight hours. That is a promise.”

  He lef
t the room. None of us said a word until he had threaded his way through the crowd in the saloon and disappeared into the street. Then Joe Steele said softly: “I’ll be damned.”

  “I’ll be god-damned,” Joe Steele said. “I guess the stories are true about that bastard.”

  Rip Yager sat down and wiped his face with his bandanna. He said: “You were right, Mark. What do we do now?”

  No one answered.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I could think of a number of adjectives that would fit John Wallace. At best he was a madman to have talked the way he did about not needing the county jail because he would warn a man once about breaking the law, and, if he did it again, he would kill him. I had never heard anyone talk that casually about taking a human life, and it proved to me at least that he was a mad-dog killer and should be treated accordingly.

  Now Wallace was searching for a man he could kill. I was as sure of that as I had ever been sure of anything in my life, but I had no idea how to stop him. I think the same thought was in the mind of every man in Yager’s back room.

  Doc Jenner was the only man to put it into words. He said: “Mark, I’m sorry. We should have listened to you. I guess I was as responsible as anyone for bringing Wallace here. This is the moment of truth and there’s no way to dodge it.

  “I saw a chance to make a lot of money out of the lots I bought years ago when they were dirt cheap, and I panicked because I was afraid someone like Soapy Smith would get control of the town and no one would want to invest here. Now we’ve got someone worse than Soapy Smith. As long as he’s here, no one will want to invest.”

  “I don’t see what you want us to do,” Tug said sourly. “If we try to arrest him, he’ll simply pull his gun faster and kill us.”

  “Can’t you tackle him from both sides at the same time?” Bailey asked.

  “Which one of us do you pick to die?” I demanded. “It might be both of us. From what I hear, he’s fast enough to take both of us. Anyhow, whichever one of us told him he was being arrested would be dead.”