The Bisbee Massacre (13 page)

“I don't think those boys are gonna care if Barney gets convicted or not. As far as they're concerned, he did it. He killed their boss.”

“That's what I figured,” Dodge said.

“So what do we do?” Clint asked. “Just stand guard?”

“That's the job,” Dodge said. “Our job. Me and Charley.”

“Any other deputies?”

“A couple,” Dodge said, “and we can call in the constables.” He looked at Charley. “It's gonna be our job to guard the members of the jury. Take them to and from the hotel during the trial. Make sure they don't talk to anyone.”

“Sounds like you're going to be stretched pretty thin,” Clint said. “What about some of men you use for posse members? Would they help?”

“They'll probably take sides,” Dodge said. “The Riggs outfit, and the Hudson outfit. Or they won't wanna get in the middle.”

“Sounds like you're going to need me.”

Dodge grinned.

“That's what I was hoping you'd say.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Don't know yet,” Dodge said, “but it'll be good to have you around.”

“I'll be here,” Clint said, standing up.

“Where are you going?” Dodge asked.

“Back to my hotel,” Clint said. “I didn't mean I'd actually be
here
, all the time.”

“I get it. See you in the morning.”

“ 'Night, Charley.”

“See ya, Adams.”

Clint left the office, headed for the hotel.

“Whataya think?” Charley asked.

“I think we're gonna have a mess on our hands tryin' to get Riggs tried. I'll talk to Mark Smith in the morning.”

“And what about Bob?”

“Hatch is the boss,” Dodge said, “but we better keep an eye on him.”

“Agreed.”

“I'm gonna go turn in, myself,” Dodge said, getting up. “Hatch'll be back soon.”

“I'll be here,” Charley said.

“I'll talk to some of the boys in the mornin',” Dodge said, “see how many extra we can count on.”

“I don't think anybody not wearin' a badge is gonna want to deal themselves in on this,” Charley said.

“Yeah, well . . .” Dodge said, and left.

Within a few days Riggs was indicted for murder with trial set for the following week, the Honorable Judge Webster Street presiding. Jury selection was set for Monday.

Barney Riggs continued to occupy his cell, having pushed his cot over into one corner. He was usually sitting on it, or curled up into a ball to make a small target of himself.

Dodge, Hatch, and Charley Smith took turns sitting in the office, seeing to Riggs's needs. They fed him, and kept him alive—although keeping him alive didn't seem to be much of a problem. For some reason the Hudson boys had not made a move to break him out and hang him, and ol' man Bannock and his hands had made no move to rescue him. This confused Dodge and Charley Smith, who had read those men totally different.

The day before the jury selection Dodge, Charley Smith, and Clint sat in the office and discussed it. Hatch was out doing his rounds.

“I don't get it,” Charley Smith said. “My read on those Hudson boys was that they'd try to break him out and string him up.”

“Maybe they still will,” Clint said.

“What's takin' them so long?” Charley asked.

“Maybe there's a cool head out there,” Dodge said, “convincing them to let the law handle it for them.”

“What if they don't find him guilty?” Charley asked.

“They will.”

“What if they don't hang him?”

“Then we'll probably have some trouble,” Dodge admitted.

“What about Bannock?” Clint asked. “What's the old man waiting for? I thought he'd try to save his son, by now.”

“Especially since everybody knows we don't have any help,” Charley said. “Nobody in town wants to end up in the middle of a war.”

They had even had two deputies quit on them.

Dodge looked at Clint.

“Maybe they know we have Clint,” he suggested. “Maybe they don't want to face the Gunsmith.”

“The Hudson boys, maybe,” Clint said. “But I don't think that'd stop a father from trying to save his son.”

“Maybe he don't wanna save his son,” Dodge said.

“Why not?” Charley asked.

“The woman?” Clint said. “His son's wife?”

Dodge shrugged.

“If they were sharin' her,” he said, “maybe now he figures he don't have to. Barney's in jail, and Hudson's dead. The old man's got the woman all to hisself.”

Charley carried the coffeepot around and filled their cups for them, then replaced it. He sat back down with his own cup and shook his head.

“I don't know about you boys, but that makes me feel kinda sick to my stomach.”

“I know what you mean,” Clint said.

Bob Hatch came in then, crossed to the coffee put, got about a half a cup out of it.

“You an unofficial deputy now, Adams?” he asked, accusingly.

“I just come in for the coffee, Bob,” Clint said, raising his cup.

Hatch frowned.

“What's the word around town, Bob?” Dodge asked.

“Gonna be lots of folks at the jury selection tomorrow,” Hatch said, “and at the trial. We're gonna have to collect guns at the door.”

“Why?” Dodge asked. “You know somebody's gonna smuggle in a gun or two.”

“Somebody's bound to try somethin', Fred,” Hatch said. “The old man or the Hudson hands. Don't know what they've been waitin' for, but they gotta figure it'll be easier to break him out of court than out of jail.”

“We was just talkin' about that, Bob,” Charley Smith said.

“Well, I don't see how we can allow a courtroom full of guns,” Hatch said.

“Okay, Bob,” Dodge said. “We'll collect guns.”

“Okay,” Hatch said, putting his cup down. “I'll tell the mayor.”

“The mayor?” Dodge asked.

“And the district attorney,” Hatch said. “That's what they wanted.”

He headed for the door.

“And Charley?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Make a fresh pot of coffee, and try to leave some for the boss, huh?”

“Sure, boss,” Charley said.

Linda Riggs didn't understand it. The old man seemed to have more stamina than Barney or Hudson ever did. He had her on all fours now, and was taking her from behind, rutting and snorting like a bull. It seemed to go on forever, and then finally he bellowed and emptied his seed into her. He flopped down on the bed next to her, trying to catch his breath. Her plan to fuck him into a heart attack didn't seem to be working, although he was pretty red in the face.

She turned over, cleaned herself with the edge of the sheet, then stood up, holding a shirt between her legs.

“When are we gonna rescue Barney, Pa?” she asked.

“I told you,” he said, breathlessly, “we gotta wait for the right time.”

“What about the Hudson hands?” she asked. “Sooner or later they're gonna try to kill 'im.”

“Not until after the trial.”

“How do you know that?”

“I've been talkin' to somebody.”

“Who?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Don't you worry, girl. You just go and see about supper. You sure help a man build up an appetite.”

She decided to cook him a feast. Maybe she could get him to choke to death.

 

The hands were just sitting around in the barn at the Hudson spread. Their boss had lived alone, and now that he was dead they had no idea what was going to happen to their jobs.

“He got any relatives, maybe back East?” one of them asked.

“Don't know.”

They all looked at Sam Turner.

“Sam, you're the foreman,” somebody said.

“That's right, foreman,” Sam said. “That didn't mean me and the boss was friends, because we wasn't. So I don't have no idea who owns the ranch now, and I don't know what's gonna happen to our jobs.”

“Maybe I can help?”

They all looked up at the man who had just entered the barn.

“What's on your mind, Shaunessy?” Sam Turner asked.

The foreman of the Grand Central Mine shrugged and said, “Just thought I might be able to help.”

The next morning jury selections began. The public was allowed to attend, for the jury would be culled from their numbers.

At the door Fred Dodge and Bob Hatch collected guns from people who entered. A board had been erected with nails hammered into it, and each gun belt or gun was hung on a nail that had a number beneath it. The gun's owner was given a slip of paper with a corresponding number. They could collect their weapon on the way out.

Dodge and Hatch were wearing their guns, so they'd be able to enforce the rule.

Clint sat in a corner of the courtroom. Dodge convinced Hatch to let him keep his gun, in case they needed his help.

When asked for his gun one man pointed at Clint and asked, “Why does he get to keep his? He ain't wearin' no badge.”

“That's Clint Adams, the Gunsmith,” Fred Dodge said. “You wanna go and ask him for his gun?”

The man scowled, handed over his gun and sat down.

Once the courtroom was full Dodge took up a position in front of all the guns, stood with his hands clasped in front of him.

D.A. Mark A. Smith got to his feet when the bailiff shouted, “All rise. Court is in session, the Honorable Judge Webster Street presiding.”

Judge Street, his thirtieth year on the bench, entered and sat in his chair behind the bench. He looked around, banged his gavel unnecessarily. It was a habit with him. Ever since his first day on the bench, he loved banging his gavel.

Clint watched with interest as the lawyers began interviewing potential jurors. Somehow, Bannock Riggs had gotten a very experienced lawyer to represent Barney. Dodge told him that the Riggs family had been in court so often they knew the system, and ol' Bannock knew how to use it.

They interviewed men young and old, mostly ones who lived in or around town. Halfway through the day they had eight of their twelve. The proceedings looked to be boring Judge Webster Street, who several times seemed to be dozing.

When they broke for lunch, Dodge and Hatch had to return guns to men, then collect them again after lunch. However, it wasn't as time consuming after because many of the attendees from the morning session did not return.

Jury selection went into a second day, pretty much a repeat of the first, but the lawyers were working quickly and efficiently and by the end of day two they had their twelve jurors, and two alternates.

Fred Dodge was named as Guard for the Person of the Court. This meant he had to be with the jury wherever they went. He'd have to take them to lunch, make sure they didn't talk to anyone, and then take them to the hotel after the days in court, once again making sure they discussed the case with no one.

But that wouldn't happen until the trial started, and that wasn't scheduled until the following week.

 

After the jury was selected Clint found himself in the Crystal Palace having a beer with Fred Dodge and Charley Smith. Hatch was in his office, keeping an eye on Barney Riggs.

“Are we more trusting of Hatch, all of a sudden?” Clint asked, looking at the other two men.

“With the jury picked and the trial date set I don't think Bob is gonna do anythin' that would bring attention to him,” Dodge said. “I mean, if he had any intentions of doin' . . . somethin'.”

Clint shrugged, sipped his beer.

“Clint, I'd like to ask you to help Charley collect the guns when the trial starts,” Dodge said, then.

“Sure, but don't you have to clear that with Sheriff Hatch?” Clint asked.

“Don't worry,” Dodge said. “He'll go along with it.”

“I got rounds,” Charley said, putting his empty mug down. “See you boys, later.”

“If I don't see you, Charley,” Clint said, “I'll meet you in front of the courthouse in the morning.”

“Gotcha.”

Charley left.

“I don't get it, Fred,” Clint said. “Why don't you just run for sheriff next election?”

“You know why, Clint,” Dodge said. “I wouldn't be able to give the job the time it deserves.”