by A. T. Butler
The scene Jacob was now leaving could have been the perfect opportunity to take down the sheriff—but it was too fast. Too soon. He hadn’t had the proper time to collect all the pieces he needed. He’d just have to try again.
The day was beginning to warm as he walked away from the crowd, reading the signs above each storefront. He pulled out the biscuits and jerky Mrs. Finch had given him and gnawed while he looked. Jacob had one last piece of the puzzle to fit in before making a new attempt to subdue and capture the outlaw. He had a nagging suspicion, and only one person could help alleviate it.
He found the undertaker’s office a block away from the jail. The sign above the door read Charles & Son Undertakers, and when Jacob walked in he found the older Mr. Charles working bent over his desk.
“Pardon me. I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Jacob said, taking his hat in hand.
“Nonsense. Come in, come in,” the older man said, standing to greet Jacob. He was slightly hunched over, as though the weight of all the deaths he had overseen remained on his shoulders. His white mustache was neatly trimmed and his spectacles clean and clear. “I’m Eugene Charles. What can I do for you, young man? Can I offer you coffee?” He looked toward the doorway behind Jacob. “You don’t seem to have a body in tow.”
“No, sir. Not yet, at least.”
“Not yet?” Mr. Charles frowned. “Death is nothing to be flippant about, young man. But I’m forgetting myself—I don’t believe we’ve met. You’re new to San Adrian, are you not?”
“I am, Mr. Charles. Just here for a couple days, God willing. And I’m sorry—I don’t mean to be flippant. I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What did you say your name was?”
“Payne. Jacob Payne.” He sat in the wooden chair across the desk from Eugene and placed his hat on his knee.
“Ah, yes,” the older man said, relaxing back into his chair. “I’ve heard of you.”
This surprised Jacob. “You have?”
“Oh, yes. Ed Baker is one of my good friends, and we talked just last night. He told me you were looking for Sheriff Horne, so I thought it’d only be a matter of time before you ended up in my office.”
“Oh?”
“Glad to see you’re here alive, if I could speak honestly. I thought it might be possible you’d get here on a slab instead, the way you’re going after the sheriff.”
“Well, to be honest, sir, I still might. Again, not to be flippant about death. But Sheriff Horne is a dangerous character, and I seem to be making him mad.”
He chuckled. “I bet you are.”
“In fact, if I might be so bold, sir . . . you might think about looking in on your friend Mr. Baker later today. I just witnessed him being beaten and upbraided in the middle of the street by Sheriff Horne himself.”
Mr. Charles frowned. “Right in the street, you say? Well. That’s no way to treat a grown man, let alone a prominent citizen of the town the sheriff has sworn to protect. I’ll talk to Ed about it. You said you wanted to ask me something?”
“Yes, sir. I was wondering if I could trouble you about something that’s been bothering me. I understand you might not want to get involved, so I can do my best to leave your name out of it.”
Eugene smiled grimly. “Just be out with it, young man.”
“Well, Deputy Brady and Mrs. Winthrop told me about how Sheriff Winthrop died. I was wondering if you had seen the body, and if you could confirm it was a snakebite that killed him.”
Eugene looked at Jacob, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What makes you ask that?”
“Just a hunch. Seems like quite a coincidence if it happened the way Horne is telling it. I would think a man like Winthrop, a man who’s lived out here in the desert for years, would have more caution and know how to avoid the snakes.”
Eugene nodded. “That’s true. Well, Mr. Payne, I can tell you this much.”
Jacob sat forward, leaning on his elbows.
“Sheriff Winthrop did indeed suffer a snakebite. Based on my examination, it did seem to be from a rattler, but I can’t be completely positive.”
“All right, then. Thank you—”
“But that’s not all.”
Jacob abruptly shut his mouth to listen.
“The snakebite appeared to have happened after the man was already dead.”
“What?” It felt as if a stone had dropped into the pit of Jacob’s stomach. This was as bad as he suspected. “How can you be sure?”
“There was no blood around the bite wound. The poor man had likely already bled out from a bullet to the gut.”
“A bullet to the gut? That’s a lot of blood . . . how is it no one else saw the gut wound?”
“Hard to say, but I would guess that Horne—excuse me, Sheriff Horne—put Sheriff Winthrop’s vest and jacket back on the corpse after the wound occurred.”
“That’s despicable.”
Mr. Charles nodded. “How he managed that, I can’t say. We can’t be sure about the sequence of events unless Sheriff Horne tells us himself. Putting the clothes back on after the fact would have hid the blood from anyone giving the body a cursory look and would not have been discovered until my son took over management of the corpse.”
Jacob leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. Just hearing about a man using the law as a cover to get away with murder made him incredibly angry. Angry as a man who was loyal to the law. Angry on behalf of Maggie and Timothy and what they had lost. Angry on behalf of all the citizens of San Adrian, like Ed Baker.
“Did you tell anyone else what you found?”
Eugene shook his head. “My son knows, of course, but he’s discreet. Who would I tell? The new sheriff or one of his thugs? No, I kept that information to myself. Winthrop was already dead, and I thought it best to not make waves with the new man in charge.”
“If I am able to capture Sheriff Winthrop and bring him to justice, would you be willing to testify against him?”
“If he’s captured? If he’s brought to trial, then yes. I will tell all that I know. But as long as he is running this town, I trust you’ll keep this information to yourself.”
“Why tell me, if I may ask? You’re not worried about me revealing it?”
“The way I see it, Mr. Payne, if you’re going after this man, you are at even bigger risk than I am. It can’t possibly do you any good to reveal this information unless you’re absolutely sure it will be to your success.”
Jacob nodded and stood to say good-bye. “Very true, Mr. Charles. I take it you’ve worked with a lot of lawmen in your life.”
The older man smiled. “They come and go, and yet I’m still here. Good luck to you, young man.”
With that confirmed, Jacob knew it was time. He had all the pieces he needed lined up to kill or capture Jeremiah Blanchard.
Chapter Nine
When he left the undertaker’s, it was almost one o’clock. The morning had gone by quickly, but he had to trust that enough time had passed for what Jacob was planning. He had an appointment—the last domino that needed to fall before he could capture Jeremiah without difficulty from the rest of the town. It would be a risk, but it was the only way Jacob knew to get close to the sheriff; otherwise, there would always be a deputy in the way.
The undertaker’s office was near the jail, but Jacob walked right past it without even a glance. He was looking for another target—the stretch of main street out front of the livery. It would be almost as far away as he could get from the jail and still be in San Adrian.
As he approached, he counted four or five people standing outside the door, including Sheriff Horne’s loyal deputies. Jacob scanned the crowd quickly, grateful that Maggie wasn’t there to see what was about to happen. She knew about this step; perhaps she was avoiding the scene on purpose. That was just fine, Jacob thought.
As Jacob closed the final yards before the crowd, he steeled himself. What he was about to do would not be pleasant, but it would
be necessary. A common trait of the job.
“You,” he bellowed. “You think you can spread stories about me and I won’t find out?”
The waiting crowd all turned to see who was yelling. Most of them backed up when they saw Jacob bearing down on them with all his six-plus feet of muscle. Only Deputy Brady held his ground, defiantly raising his chin and answering in the affirmative—just as they’d practiced.
“You’re the one telling tales on me?”
“That’s right, Payne. I— I did,” Timothy said as he stood up straighter and squared his shoulders. “What are you going to do about it?”
He must have dug deep for his bravado. Anyone could see Jacob was at least twice his body weight, nearly all of it in muscle. The bounty hunter loomed over the kid. He kept his hands off his gun but took his coat off and threw it in the dust to give himself greater range of movement. He rolled his sleeves up as Timothy backed up a couple steps.
Jacob shoved Timothy off the boardwalk and into the dusty street. The kid stumbled, backing up several long steps into the road. A man riding past had to swerve his horse out of the way, and shouted at Timothy as he did.
Jacob jumped down off of the wooden planks to go after Timothy, the dust creating clouds around his feet. “Deputy Brady,” he said. “Only a coward would run now.”
His voice was cold, but he tried to communicate something different to Timothy with his eyes. Jacob realized they should have discussed this part of the plan in a little more detail before now.
“Hey!” one of the deputies yelled.
Jacob shot him a look of loathing, wordlessly daring him to interrupt. He did not.
Timothy recovered his balance. “Stay out of this, Deputy Conroy, Deputy Nelson,” he called to the crowd still standing around the livery. “This is between me and Payne.”
Jacob had reached the kid and used both his wide palms to shove him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Timothy landed hard on his rear, accidentally putting his hand in a stinking pile of manure that had been dropped not long ago. The look of disgust on the deputy’s face came and went in a flash. He didn’t dwell. He shook it off and wiped his hand on his pants.
Jacob wrinkled his nose reflectively. That smell . . . he’d need to be even more diligent about not letting the kid hit him.
Timothy scrambled to his feet and held up his fists in front of him, as though he had the slightest idea how to fight. He bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to dart to the right or left depending on how Jacob came at him.
“Goodness, someone stop them!” a woman cried.
Jacob didn’t bother to see who. The more people that gathered, the better. The more citizens the woman called to the scene to witness what should be about to happen, the more smoothly Jacob’s plan would work.
The look of fear on Timothy’s face almost made Jacob hesitate, but he knew better. This was what had to happen. Timothy was as good as a grown man now, and a deputy of the law would know he was at risk for this. This was what he wanted, too; Jacob had given him plenty of opportunity to back out.
Jacob reeled back and swung, punching Timothy in the jaw and knocking him to the dirt.
“Oh my!” Mrs. Finch exclaimed.
Timothy climbed to his feet and rushed Jacob, putting his shoulder down and running hard at him. When the kid made contact, Jacob had to back up a few steps but managed to hold his ground. He wrapped his arms around the kid and tossed him a few feet away from him.
“You think you can just throw me around?” Timothy cried at him as he regained his balance, his voice cracking. “I’m a deputy! You can’t put your hands on me. Wait till I tell Sheriff Horne.”
Jacob punched Timothy in the nose, wincing at the crack he both felt and heard. Timothy stumbled backward a few paces before losing his footing and landing in the dirt yet again. Blood bloomed from the boy’s nostrils, dripping down over his mouth. He spat a bloody mist to the ground near Jacob’s feet. The boy had yet to knock the bounty hunter down, and Jacob almost felt bad.
“You do that. You call Sheriff Horne. That’s exactly the man I want to see. He should be here protecting his deputy, but where is he? The coward.”
Timothy’s eyes grew wide at Jacob’s declaration. “I don’t— I think maybe—”
“Call him,” Jacob continued, turning to the crowd to address them as well. “We already know Horne isn’t man enough to keep control of this town without resorting to violence. We all saw him attacking an unarmed man earlier.”
“Jacob,” Timothy said softly.
“Stop right there,” a voice said behind the bounty hunter.
But Jacob didn’t stop. He pulled Timothy to his feet, only so he could punch him to the ground again.
“Stop, I say. You are assaulting an officer of the law!” The voice was closer now, but still Jacob didn’t stop.
A crack rang out, crashing through Jacob’s focus and interrupting his attack. After half a second, he realized his left arm hurt. No, it burned. And when he paused in his punching to reach up and touch the spot, his fingers came away wet and red.
He had been shot.
His plan may be unraveling.
Chapter Ten
Jacob was still looking at the blood on his fingers when he heard, “Jacob Payne, you are under arrest for assaulting an officer.”
Deputy Timothy Brady lay in the dirt at Jacob’s feet, wincing as he felt his jaw and checked to make sure all his teeth were still in his head. His nose had bled a bit, staining the front of his shirt, and was quickly swelling up. Jacob hoped he hadn’t hurt him too bad. The kid had a manic gleam of triumph in his eyes—even through the injury, he was enjoying himself.
The gunfire had paused the fight. In the lull, the other three deputies rushed to seize Jacob and stop him from attacking Timothy further. Two grabbed each of his massive arms, while the third stabbed him in the back with the barrel of his revolver.
A crowd was fully gathered now. Jacob noticed Mrs. Finch’s hat standing tall like the mast of a ship above the heads of the others, the green and purple feathers glinting in the sun. She had come just as he’d asked her to. He hoped she would be quick enough to understand why. Their shouting and carrying on had drawn many of the other citizens of San Adrian to the crowd as well.
But, as he looked around at the crowd surrounding them, he cringed. Jacob had not intended to get shot. His carefully crafted plan was showing cracks. The whole left side of his body felt heavy as the blood drained from his arm. He made a brief attempt to shake the deputies off, but he didn’t have the strength to fight back against three grown men holding him immobilized.
None of the crowd came to defend him. And why would they? They hadn’t done anything earlier, when the sheriff was beating Ed Baker for no good reason. Why would they lift a finger in protest now, when this stranger had clearly provoked his own attack?
“You have no authority to arrest me,” Jacob said through clenched teeth.
From behind him Deputy Nelson said, “You shut up, Payne. You were caught attacking a deputy. You can’t get away with that.”
“Where’s Blanchard?”
“Who?”
“Your boss. He told you he’s Sheriff Horne, but he’s a murderer by any name. Jeremiah Blanchard.”
“You shut up,” Deputy Conroy said, punching Jacob in the mouth.
Shot, restrained, and now punched, Jacob was feeling his prey slip through his fingers. “Where is he?” he yelled.
The deputy punched him again, and Jacob felt his teeth smash against his lower lip. He spat out a mouthful of blood at the feet of his assaulter.
“Bring him here.”
Jacob tried to glance behind him, where Jeremiah Blanchard stood in the middle of the street, forcing the few riders to either go around him or stop altogether. Jacob had wanted a crowd, and now his target was helping him create one.
Jeremiah waited about twenty feet away, looking gleeful to finally have a reason to attack Jacob. The deputies marched Jacob o
ver to their boss and one of the deputies kicked the back of Jacob’s knee, forcing him to the ground. He stifled a groan as his arm was wrenched at an unnatural angle, the muscle’s movement pushing the bullet deeper inside.
“Jacob Payne,” the man said, smiling. “You are under arrest. What a shame to have such a promising career cut short.”
“You have no authority to arrest me,” Jacob said. “You’re no sheriff. You’re not even named John Horne. You’re a fraud.” He spat blood again, this time on Jeremiah’s feet.
The outlaw jumped back, but blood still speckled the bottom of his pant legs. When he stepped forward again, he launched a kick into Jacob’s ribs.
“Ah, you see, though, I have the power,” he said as Jacob groaned in pain. “I have the deputies. I have the weapon. I am the sheriff of San Adrian, and I am declaring you guilty of assaulting a deputy.”
“Fine,” Jacob said, seeing his chance. “Let’s pretend you can arrest me. Take me to a judge, and we’ll see who is in custody then.”
“Oh, Mr. Payne, perhaps you misheard me. I said that I find you guilty of the charge. Now to just decide on your sentence.”
“Wait—” Timothy started.
“You’re not the law,” Jacob said, cutting the boy off. “You need a judge. You don’t get to decide guilt.”
“No, I think you’re guilty,” Jeremiah said. “In fact, I’m sure of it. There’s no need to bother taking you all the way to a judge in Tucson.”
“You are not the law,” Jacob said again, raising his voice for all to hear.
“I am now. I am the law, and I sentence you to death.”
“What? No!” Timothy yelled.
Jacob struggled against his captors, but his injured arm put him at a disadvantage. He couldn’t overpower three deputies with only one good arm, even if he was on his feet.