* * *
* * *
The noise drew Palmer out of his office on the run. They were the first shots he had heard since arriving in Integrity. He saw several men running past his office, didn’t know if they were running toward the shooting, or away from it, until he heard another shot. He fell into step behind them.
Dust was being kicked up in the street as a group of men on horseback was riding away. At first Palmer thought it was a bank robbery, but then he realized the activity had not taken place at the bank, but at the mercantile store.
There was a crowd just outside the door. He pushed his way through and entered. There were already some people inside.
“Out of the way, move away!” he yelled. “What’s going on?”
People stepped aside and Palmer approached the front counter. A man was sprawled across it, blood pooling beneath his body. All around him the store was a shambles, as if a violent fight had taken place.
“It’s Henderson,” somebody said, “the owner.”
“They shot ’im!” another yelled.
Palmer leaned over the body, moved it just enough to determine that the man was dead, having been shot several times. Then he heard a moan from behind the counter. He leaned over and saw Belle Henderson lying on the floor, bleeding but alive.
“Somebody get the doctor!” he yelled. “Now!”
One man separated himself from the group and ran out of the store.
Palmer hurried around the counter and knelt down next to Belle.
“Belle? Can you hear me?”
She was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. At the sound of his voice, her eyes flickered.
“Abraham?” she said.
“Take it easy.”
He saw the blood pulsing from a wound near her abdomen. He looked around, spotted a towel, wadded it up, and pressed it to the wound to try to stop the bleeding.
“You’re going to be all right,” he told her. “You’re going to be fine.”
“It . . . it hurts,” she said. “Where-where’s Ken?”
“Don’t worry about Ken,” Palmer said. “Just hang on. The doc’s coming.”
She reached out her hand and he took it. Her grip was very tight.
“That’s it,” he said. “Just keep squeezing my hand.” He looked up. “Where’s the damn doctor?”
“Here!” someone yelled, and then he appeared. “Excuse me, pardon me. Marshal, please move!”
Palmer knew the doctor’s name was Stack, but he had not had an opportunity to meet him before this.
He released Belle’s hand and withdrew from behind the counter so the doctor could get in.
“Who saw what happened?” he called out. “Anyone?”
“Marshal!” somebody called. Others moved aside so the spokesman could step forward. He was a young man, probably not yet twenty.
“I didn’t see what happened, but I heard the shots and then saw four men come running out,” he said. “There was a fifth man outside holding all their horses.”
It sounded like a setup for a bank robbery, only the mercantile store was nowhere near the bank.
“Did you know any of the men?” Palmer asked.
“No, sir, never saw ’em before.”
“All right, put the word out,” Palmer said. “I need a posse. Any volunteers can meet me out front with their horses. Go!”
“Yessir!”
“And go to the livery stable and tell Lionel to saddle my horse and bring it over.”
“Yessir!”
The young man turned and left.
“Marshal,” Doc Stack said, “get these people out of here. And I’ll need two men to carry Mrs. Henderson to my office.”
“You heard him,” Palmer said. “Everybody out, except you and you.” He pointed at two men. Then he turned to the doctor. “Is she going to make it?”
“I don’t know. You slowed the bleeding with that towel, but I have to move her to my surgery and get that bullet out. Excuse me.”
He instructed the two men on how to carry the injured woman, and they left the store, heading for his office. But before going the doctor turned and spoke to Palmer again.
“You’d better have somebody take Mr. Henderson over to the undertaker.”
“Right. You heard him.” He pointed at two of the remaining stragglers. “You and you, carry him over there.”
Palmer knew he had two choices: ride out immediately with a posse to track the gunmen, or wait and see if Belle could tell him anything helpful about them. Actually, the decision was being made for him before he even came out. The crowd had dispersed; his horse was there, standing alone. There were no volunteers for a posse.
Except one.
Steve Atlee was waiting, holding his horse’s reins.
“I’m ready, Marshal,” he said.
“This is it?” Palmer asked.
“You ain’t gonna get nobody else in this town to volunteer,” Atlee told him.
“We’ve got at least five men to track, Atlee,” Palmer said.
“You and me, we can handle ’em,” Atlee said.
Palmer stood there, unclear about his next move. Should they mount up and ride after the men? The longer he waited to make a decision, the farther away they would get. He had been on the other side of a posse many times. He knew that sometimes they began the chase immediately. Other times it took a while to assemble enough men, and then they tracked rather than chased.
“Atlee, I’ve got to check on Belle—Mrs. Henderson,” Palmer said. “I want to see if she can tell us what happened or who those men were. While I do that, you go and look for more volunteers.”
“You ain’t gonna get any, Marshal.”
“Go talk to Wade at the Palomino,” Palmer said. “See if he’ll come and if he can suggest anybody. Meet me at the doc’s office.”
“Well, okay, but—”
“Just do it!” Palmer snapped. “I’m deputizing you.”
“All right!” Atlee said, almost with glee.
Palmer grabbed his horse’s reins and walked the animal over to Doc Stack’s office.
There were people gathered out front when he got there.
“You people go home,” he said. “If any of you men want to join the posse, get your horse and meet me back here. Now go!”
He could tell from their faces, none of them was going to volunteer.
He tied his horse off and went inside. One man was standing there, apparently worried. He looked like a faded fifty-five or so and was wearing a white apron.
“Who are you?” Palmer asked.
“My name’s Ralph Waters,” he said. “The Hendersons are our friends. My wife is in there helpin’ the doc. Is Ken dead, Marshal?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Damn it.”
“Did you see or hear anything?”
“No,” Waters said. “We have the hardware store down the street. We heard the shots and came runnin’ out just in time to see the men ride off.”
“Recognize any of them?”
“No, not a one.”
“Did you see their faces?”
“One or two.”
“Could you point them out if you saw them again?”
“Gee, I don’t know. . . .”
“How is she?” Palmer asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “My wife, Reba, sometimes acts as a nurse for the doc, so we came over to see if we could help.”
“I’m sure Belle—Mrs. Henderson will appreciate that,” Palmer said.
“Are you gettin’ a posse together, Marshal?”
“I’m trying, but so far with no success.”
“Well, I’ll go,” Waters said. “I ain’t a good rider, and the only shootin’ I done is huntin’ rabbits, but—”
&nbs
p; “Relax, Mr. Waters,” Palmer said. “I’ll be needing more experienced men than you.” And younger and fitter, he added to himself.
“Right, right,” the man said.
The doctor came out of his surgery. He had a long white apron on, and it was covered with fresh blood.
“Good, you’re here,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Is she all right, Doc?” Palmer asked. “Is she going to make it?”
“It’s still touch and go,” the sawbones said. “I got the bullet out. That’s half the battle. The other half is up to her. Now, don’t make her talk long. I need her to rest.”
“Right . . .”
Palmer entered the room, saw Belle lying on an examination table with a fiftyish woman sitting next to her, holding her hand.
“The marshal’s here, Belle,” the woman said, and moved out of the way. She touched Palmer’s arm as she went by, as if trying to soothe him.
Palmer walked to the table. Belle looked pale and small. He took her hand.
“I’m here, Belle.”
For a moment he thought she was unconscious, but then her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him and held his hand tight.
“One of them . . .” she said. “One of them called another one . . . Teach.”
“Teach?” Palmer said. “Was that his name?”
She wet her lips and said, “He got—got real angry and . . . and hit the other man in the face. His mouth . . . was bloody.”
One man was called Teach, and another had a bloody mouth.
“Can you tell me anything else, Belle?” he asked. “Did you know who they were?”
“One man . . . one man had been in the store before . . . talkin’ to Ken. I asked him . . . asked him what . . . what it was about and Ken . . . Ken told me to . . . to mind my business.”
“So your husband knew these men,” Palmer said. “Was he doing some kind of business with them? Belle?”
Her eyes closed and her grip weakened.
“That’s it,” Doc said, coming up behind him. “She needs to rest. You get out and do your job. Leave me to do mine.”
“Right,” Palmer said. “Right you are, Doc.”
On his way out he stopped to look at the Waters couple.
“You folks keep helping,” he said.
“We will, Marshal,” the woman said. “You get those bastards!”
“I plan to, Mrs. Waters,” Palmer said. “I plan to.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Palmer came out of the doctor’s office he found Atlee waiting with Wade, the bartender from the Palomino. Both men were mounted and holding rifles.
“Nobody else?” he asked.
“This is the best you’re gonna get, Abe,” Wade said to him.
Palmer mounted his gelding.
“I appreciate this, Wade,” he said.
“Hey, I like both Ken and Belle,” Wade said. “Is she all right?”
“Doc got the bullet out. The rest is up to her.”
“She tell you anythin’?” Atlee asked.
“A little bit,” Palmer said. “I’ll fill you in on the way. Let’s not let them get too far ahead of us.”
“I grabbed some coffee and beef jerky, just in case we’re out there overnight,” Wade said.
“Good man,” Palmer said. He should have thought of that himself. “Let’s go. There’re five of them, so their trail shouldn’t be too hard to follow. By the way,” he added to Wade, “you’re deputized, too.”
* * *
* * *
The main road into Integrity had a lot of tracks made by horses and wagon wheels. They had to wait until they got outside of town to pick out the tracks they wanted.
“Five horses riding together,” Palmer said from one knee. He stood up and mounted his horse.
“How good are you at reading sign?” Wade asked.
“Good enough to follow these killers,” Palmer assured him.
“What about you, Steve?” Wade asked.
“Just enough to know they’re ridin’ hell-bent for leather.”
“Do we have any idea what they were doin’ in town?” Wade asked. “Were they robbin’ the store, or were they there specifically to kill Ken, for some reason?”
“We don’t know,” Palmer said. “Belle says she saw one of the men with her husband before. That means Ken knew at least one of them.”
As they started riding again, Wade asked, “Why would anybody wanna kill Ken Henderson? He was a storekeeper.”
“Who knows?” Palmer said.
“And why shoot Belle?”
“Probably because she was a witness,” Palmer said. “Or maybe she got hit by a stray shot.”
“Hey,” Atlee said, “anybody fire shots at these yahoos while they was ridin’ out? Maybe one of them is hurt.”
“I don’t recall any shots once they got mounted and started riding away,” Palmer said. “I think all the shots came from inside the store.”
“This musta been personal,” Wade said. “I mean, why rob a mercantile when you could rob a bank?”
“Maybe the bank was too hard,” Atlee said.
“Are you kidding?” Palmer said. “That place is a cracker box.”
He had decided long ago that the bank would be easy to take, if he decided to hit the outlaw trail again. The only thing wrong with it was that it never had a lot of money in it. Even Franklin Waverly never kept his Bar W payroll there.
On the other hand, Palmer knew when Waverly brought his payroll in by armored wagon to his ranch house. Hitting that would have been worth it. But that didn’t happen this time of the month. No, Wade was probably right. This was personal. The killers had something against Ken Henderson, and they had ridden into town to kill him. Belle just happened to get caught in whatever shenanigans her husband was involved with.
The trail being left by the five horses was taking them southwest, which was a direction Palmer didn’t want to go in. The last thing he wanted to do was leave South Dakota, but these were killers he was tracking. He knew posses to give up chasing bank robbers after a while, but he also knew of those that followed killers into Mexico if they had to.
As the sun got high in the sky at midday, Wade asked, “How far are we gonna trail ’em?”
“As far as it takes,” Palmer said. “This is the first bit of trouble we’ve had since I put the badge on. I’ve got to show that this is not something anybody can get away with in Integrity.”
“What if they cross into Nebraska or Wyoming?” Wade asked. “Or even Montana? You’ve got no jurisdiction in those territories.”
“Murder is murder, Wade,” Palmer said. “If they cross a border, so will I. Neither of you has to come with me.”
“You ain’t gonna track five men alone, Marshal,” Atlee said. “I’m with ya.”
Wade hesitated, and Palmer gave him his out.
“You’ve got a business to run, Wade,” he said. He knew Wade actually owned the Palomino and didn’t just tend bar. “You can head back anytime.”
“We’re not at that point yet, Abe,” Wade said.
“Just so you know,” Palmer said. “I don’t expect you to ignore your business.”
“I appreciate that, Abe,” Wade said.
Atlee grabbed his canteen, but shook it and decided against a drink.
“We’re gonna need some water,” he said. “I think there’s a water hole up ahead.”
“You know this area?” Palmer asked.
“Some,” Atlee said. “That’s why I’m sayin’ I think there’s a water hole up ahead. I woulda known more if they’d gone north.”
“Maybe they stopped for water, too,” Wade said.
“I hope so,” Palmer said. “It’d give me a chance to read their sign while they’re standing still. I want to see their bo
ot prints as well as their hoofprints.”
“They’re gonna have to camp for the night, Marshal,” Atlee said. “If we keep ridin’, we should catch up to ’em.”
Maybe Atlee did have some of the experience he claimed to have.
“At night?” Wade asked. “One of our horses steps in a chuckhole and we’re ruined.”
“We wouldn’t even hafta push,” Atlee went on. “We just need to keep movin’ while they’re standin’ still. If we go slow, we’ll avoid chuckholes.”
Wade looked at Palmer, who said, “He has a point.”
“It’ll be up to you,” Wade said.
“Yeah, it will,” Palmer said.
* * *
* * *
It turned out Atlee was right about the water hole. They were able to water the horses, fill their canteens, and study tracks left by the killers they were trailing.
“Most of these boots have run-down heels,” Palmer said. “Should be easy to identify.”
“I see somethin’ here, Marshal,” Atlee said, crouched down and pointing.
Palmer walked over with Wade behind him.
“What is it?” the bartender asked.
Palmer looked over Atlee’s shoulder.
“Looks like a horse has gone lame,” he said.
“You can tell that from the tracks?” Wade asked.
Palmer pointed.
“The horse is favoring his left front,” he said. “That’s going to slow them down.”
“Or just the rider,” Atlee said, “if they leave him behind.”
“As we go along we should be able to tell if he’s still with them,” Palmer said. “If they leave him and we catch up to him, he can tell us who the rest are. When we have names, we can put the word out.”
“And head back to town?” Wade asked.
“Yes,” Palmer said. “With a prisoner we’d go back to town and get the whole story out of him.”
Atlee looked up.
“We still have a few hours of daylight,” he said.
“He’s right,” Palmer said. “Let’s move.”
* * *
* * *
As it came on dusk, Palmer and Atlee decided that the lame horse had been left behind.
The Wrong Side of the Law Page 10