The Law of a Fast Gun (10 page)

Robert Griffin nodded. “All right,” he said. “If you say so.”

By now the crowd that had gathered was breaking up to return to their own homes. As it worked out, only Hawke and Gideon remained on the scene.

“I have to confess, Parson, I didn’t expect to see you out here,” Hawke said.

“Why not? I was awake,” Gideon said. “And with all the shooting, it seemed likely that some of our people might have been hurt, or killed. I thought someone might need me.”

“You’re a good man,” Hawke said. “Most of the town stayed inside.” He paused for a minute, then added, “Not that I blame them. By the way, how do you know about such things as maneuvering, column integrity, diversions, and the like?”

Gideon smiled. “I wasn’t born wearing a parson’s cloth, Mr. Hawke. I could ask you how a man who plays piano in a saloon could perform Joseph Haydn’s Mass in G so beautifully.”

Chuckling, Hawke nodded. “Touché, Parson,” he said. “I guess the truth is that, although we just present a part of ourselves at any given time, we are all the sum of our parts. I imagine that more than a few of us have pasts that are drastically different from what we show.”

“How true, Mr. Hawke, how true,” Gideon said. “Well, I suppose I’d better be getting back. I’m sure Tamara is worried.”

Hawke watched the preacher walk back up the street toward the parsonage, which was located at the far end of the street just beside the church. That left him alone with the corpse of the man he had shot.

“No need to stand watch over him, Mr. Hawke. He’s not going anywhere,” Schermerhorn said, returning and leading a pack mule. “But as long as you’re here, will you help me put him up on the mule?”

“Of course,” Hawke said.

The two men put the body, belly down, on the mule, and then, as Schermerhorn led the animal toward Robert Griffin’s mortuary, Hawke returned to the Hog Lot.

When Hawke stepped inside the saloon, he saw Harder standing in front of the piano, examining it by the light of a lantern.

“Hawke, maybe you had better come over here and take a look at this thing,” Harder suggested.

Responding to Harder’s invitation, Hawke went to the piano. It was full of bullet holes, and there were wires hanging from the soundboard and keys that were completely shot away.

“Damn,” he said.

“Looks like our nighttime visitors aren’t music lovers,” Harder said.

“So it would appear,” Hawke said.

“Can you fix it?” Harder asked.

Hawke shook his head. “John, I don’t think Mr. Steinway himself could fix this thing.”

“Too bad,” Harder said. He sighed. “So, what kind of job do you want now?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I hired you to be a piano player, but I no longer have a piano. You could help Bob Gary out, I suppose, by tending bar and sweeping floors. I couldn’t pay you anything but room and board.”

“No,” Hawke said. “Thanks for the offer but I don’t think
I would care to do that. I’ll find some other place to play the piano.”

“There’s not another piano in town, except the one at the church.”

Hawke chuckled. “That sort of limits my choices, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“That is a good piano, though,” Hawke said. “An exceptionally good piano. I was surprised to see that a church in a town this size could afford a piano like that.”

“Oh, the church didn’t buy that piano. The parson bought it.”

“The parson bought it? Well, that’s rather unusual.”

Harder shook his head. “Yeah, well, the parson is what you might call an unusual man.”

Hawke thought of the conversation he and Gideon McCall had held in the street a few minutes earlier.

“Now that you mention it, he is a little different from your average preacher. Have you known him long?”

“A couple of years, is all. He and his wife and little girl came to town about two years ago, right after the old parson died. The church had stood empty for six months, and to tell the truth, I didn’t think Parson McCall would be able to get it started up again. Bob said he would, but I didn’t believe him. Turns out, Bob was right.”

“Bob? Are you talking about Bob Gary?”

“Yeah, Bob and the parson are great friends.”

“That’s a rather unusual friendship, isn’t it? A parson and a bartender?”

“Well, it’s like I said, the parson is an unusual man,” Harder replied. “I tell you what, I feel bad about you bein’ out of a job and all. What happened here wasn’t your fault. You can keep your room till the end of the month. Maybe by then you’ll have an idea about what you’re going to do.”

“Thanks, John, I appreciate that,” Hawke said.

“It sure is a shame, though. I never cared much for music
before now, but I have to confess that, sittin’ back there in my office, listenin’ to you playin’ the piano out here…well, sometimes that was just real pleasant.”

Hawke chuckled. “Well, if I’ve made another music lover in the world, then my time here wasn’t wasted.”

“Good night,” Harder said. “Or what’s left of it.”

“Good night,” Hawke replied.

Hawke was a man who lived his life on the edge, and, like all such men, he had developed a sixth sense, and that sense gave him a feel for when something wasn’t quite right. That feeling hit him as soon as he opened the door to his room.

He drew his pistol, then stepped quickly away from the wedge of light that was created by the open door.

“Who’s there?” he said into the darkness, cocking the pistol as he called out.

“No! Don’t shoot!” a frightened woman’s voice replied.

Hawke recognized it. “Millie?”

A match was struck, and the lantern lit. Millie raised the match to her lips and blew it out. She was wearing a thin cotton sleeping gown, the nipples of her breasts prominent against the cloth.

“What are you doing in here?” Hawke asked.

“I heard all the shooting and I got frightened,” Millie said. “Somehow, I felt safer in your room. But now that it’s over, I, uh, guess I could go back to my own room. That is, if you think I should,” she added.

Millie put every ounce of seduction she could muster in her voice, and she thrust her hip out to one side, accenting her curves. It was planned to be a provocative pose, and it was.

Hawke holstered his pistol. “Or, you could just blow out the lantern,” he suggested.

Smiling, Millie pulled her sleeping gown over her head, then stood naked before him.

“I was hoping you would say that,” she said.

FOR THE SECOND TIME IN LESS THAN A WEEK, A
corpse was put on display in the front window of Robison’s Hardware Store. This time, though, it was displayed in a plain pine box, rather than the highly polished, elegant, Eternal Cloud coffin that Robert Griffin had sold to Clint Jessup. And whereas Shorty had been dressed in a suit and tie, this corpse was wearing the same denim trousers and red shirt he had been wearing at the time of his death.

The corpse’s eyes were open and opaque, and his mouth was drawn to one side as if in a sneer. When the viewers looked closely enough, they could see that, although Robert Griffin made a notable effort, he had not been able to get rid of all the blood from the repaired bullet hole in the shirt.

A sign was hanging around the corpse’s neck.

KILLED IN THE RAID ON OUR
TOWN LAST NIGHT.
DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?

While Hawke was standing in front of the window looking at the corpse, Mayor James Cornett came up with Elmer Keith. Keith owned a picture studio, and he was carrying the tools of his trade with him.

“Can you get a picture of him through the window?” Cornett asked. “Or do I need to go ask Robert Griffin to move him outside?”

Keith set up his camera and tripod, draped the hood over himself and sighted through the camera. He made a couple of adjustments, then came out from under the shroud.

“I can get him through the window with no problem,” he said.

“With me in the picture, don’t forget,” the mayor said. “I don’t intend to pay for it, unless you’ve got me in the picture with him.”

“I will be able to get you in the picture,” Keith promised.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hawke,” Cornett said. “But would you mind steppin’ to one side for a moment?”

“No,” Hawke answered. “Not at all.”

The mayor moved to stand in front of the window, then pulled his pistol and held it across his chest. He stared at the camera.

George Schermerhorn came across the street from his freight yard.

“James, what in the world are you doin’?” he asked.

“I’m getting my picture took with this here raider that I kilt last night,” the mayor answered. “It’ll be good publicity for my next campaign.”

“You killed him?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know you killed him?”

Cornett sighed. “All right, I don’t know that I kilt him, but I don’t know that I didn’t either,” he replied. “I was shootin’ at them as they rode through town. So I figure I come as likely to killin’ him as anyone.”

“Well, he was lyin’ in front of my place,” George said. “How do you know I didn’t kill him?”

“I don’t know,” Cornett replied. “But I aim to have my picture took with him, no matter who did it. We know that one of us did it. He didn’t kill hisself.”

“Would you like your picture taken with him as well, Mr. Schermerhorn?” Keith asked. “I’ll print you up a nice copy for only twenty-five cents.”

“I—” George started, then stopped, thought about it a moment and grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “Why the hell not? If I’m not the one who killed him, I was sure shootin’ at the son of a bitch. And like the mayor says, it could have been any of us. Let me go back and get my pistol.”

“No need to go back to get your gun, George,” Cornett said. “You can use mine. Nobody will be able to tell the difference in the picture anyway.”

“All right, James, thanks,” George said.

George stood by while Keith took James’s picture, then he posed for one of his own. That brought others around, so that within a few minutes Keith had photographed half a dozen of the citizens of the town, all standing beside the coffin of the dead raider, holding a pistol across their chest. By now, not only was Keith making money from the operation, but so was Cornett, who was charging those who didn’t have a pistol ten cents to hold his.

Smiling and shaking his head, Hawke walked away from the picture session, then wandered down to the newspaper office. The window that the three cowboys broke out had not yet been replaced, but it was now boarded over. And, not to be deterred by the broken window, Clemmons had painted a sign on the boarded-up window:

THE BRAGGADOCIO JOURNAL
AN ORGAN OF TRUTH
NOT TO BE DETERRED BY HOOLIGANS
VERNON CLEMMONS, PUBLISHER

Clemmons was setting type, and he looked up as Hawke stepped inside.

“Good morning, Mr. Hawke,” Clemmons said. “That was quite some excitement we had last night, wasn’t it?”

“I suppose you could call it exciting,” Hawke agreed. “Are you writing a story about it?”

“Indeed I am. Would you like to hear the headline and subheads?”

“Sure.”

Clemmons stood back from his set type, and, despite the fact that it was backward, read it easily: “Midnight Raid on Braggadocio. Cowboys believed the culprits. One outlaw shot dead in the streets. Town must act to disarm cowboys.”

“What do you think?” he asked, looking up from the type.

“I think you’ll sell some more papers,” Hawke said.

“Mr. Hawke, how would you like to work for me?” Clemmons asked as he went back to setting his type.

The question surprised Hawke.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How would you like to work for me?” Clemmons repeated. “I know that you will not be able to play the piano anymore. Not since it was destroyed last night. That means you are going to be looking for work.”

Hawke chuckled. “How did you know that?”

“I’m a newspaperman, Mr. Hawke. I have my fingers on the pulse of this community,” Clemmons answered. “I am right, aren’t I? You are looking for a job.”

“I suppose I am,” Hawke admitted. “But what makes you think that I would be a good newspaperman?”

“You are smart and you are educated,” Clemmons said.
“And, there is more to you than meets the eye. I have a feeling that you have seen a lot of this old world, Mr. Hawke. That gives you a sophistication that plays well in the newspaper business.”

“I thank you for the offer, Mr. Clemmons,” Hawke said. “I—”

“Wait,” Clemmons said, interrupting him. “Don’t dismiss the offer out of hand. At least think about it.”

Hawke nodded. “That’s just what I was going to say, Mr. Clemmons. I will think about it.”

At the Bar-J encampment, Jessup went over to the suspended coffeepot to pour himself a cup. Carter was standing nearby.

“Major, it ain’t right that we left Frank Miller lyin’ in the street back there,” Carter said.

“Then you should have picked him up and brought him back,” Jessup replied.

“We didn’t have time to pick him up,” Carter said. “That’s why I think we should go into town now and claim him, the way we done for Shorty.”

“Deekus told me Miller had not been into town yet.”

“That’s true, not till last night he hadn’t.”

“That means that nobody in town will recognize him,” Jessup said. “And if they don’t recognize him, they won’t be able to connect him with us. It would be foolish to go in and claim his body now. That would just be admitting that we were the ones who rode through town last night, shooting it up.”

“Well, hell, they goin’ to know it was us,” Carter said.

“Not necessarily,” Jessup replied. “There are two other outfits here now, and they are nearly as big as the Bar-J. As far as the people in town know, he could be one of their riders.”

“Maybe. But still, I hate leavin’ Miller back there, lyin’ in the street like that.”

Jessup sighed. “Well, if it is any consolation to you, I’m positive that he is no longer lying in the street. They’ve got
him in a coffin by now. Probably a cheap one, but you can rest assured that it makes no difference to Miller. He’s dead.”

“I still don’t know why we don’t go in and get him. I ain’t afraid to let them sons of bitches know it was us that rode through their town. What can they do to us?”

“It isn’t what they can do to us if they know who we are,” Jessup replied. “It’s what we can do as long as they don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never studied military strategy, have you, Carter?”

“No, sir, not that I recall.”

“Well I have, and the most powerful weapon any army has is surprise.”

“Are you sayin’ we’re goin’ to ride through the town again?”

“I’m saying I want to keep our options open,” he said.

“Yeah,” Carter said. “Yeah, I think I see what you mean.”

Deekus was also nearby, and he overheard the conversation between Jessup and Carter. When Carter walked away, Deekus chuckled.

“What do you find to laugh about?” Jessup asked.

“I was just thinkin’, that’s all, Major. Don’t mind Carter, he don’t know about things. He wasn’t with us durin’ the war.”

“This remind you of the war, does it, Deekus?”

“A little,” Deekus replied. “I was thinking about Galena. You remember that raid, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” Jessup said. “I remember. I remember it as if it were yesterday.”

Jessup took a swallow of his coffee as he recalled Galena.

“The scouts are back, Major, and they found the Yankees,” Deekus reported.

Just as Jessup wasn’t using the name Jessup then, his sergeant wasn’t using the name Deekus at that time.

“Where are they?” Jessup asked.

“They’re just ahead in Galena. They got their camp set up
in an empty lot between the livery and the leather goods store.”

“Wait a minute. Are you telling me they’ve closed themselves in between two buildings? They aren’t out where they can control the street?”

“No sir, they’ve got themselves in a box, neat as a rabbit in a trap,” Deekus said.

“I almost feel sorry for those poor men, having a leader who is that incompetent. We’ll be on them before they know what hit them.”

“Yes, sir,” Deekus said. “That’s pretty much the way I was figuring it.”

“Tell the scouts they did a good job.”

“We goin’ to hit Galena?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“First light tomorrow morning.”

As Jessup planned the operation, he couldn’t help but wonder what his old professor in military tactics would think. It would be a textbook attack, taking advantage of surprise, speed, and firepower.

As he knew it would, the raid caught the Yankee soldiers by complete surprise. Many were at their morning toilet when the raiders swept into the little town from both ends. Jessup’s men converged in front of the large empty lot where the soldiers were encamped.

“Rebs!” one of the Yankees shouted, and he stood up and tried to run, though as his pants were down around his ankles, running was impossible.

Ironically, the very thing that prevented the Yankee soldier from running also saved his life, because he tripped and lay facedown on the ground while bullets whizzed by over his head.

For the Rebel raiders, it was like shooting ducks in the water. Most of the Yankees were wandering around unarmed, because their officers had insisted that the weapons
be stored in two or three neatly organized weapons’ stacks. The raiders not only shot the soldiers, they also rode into the encampment and set fire to the tents, wagons, and ammunition storage. There were three ammunition storage dumps, all containing several barrels of black powder. The resultant explosions rocked the town.

Not until the raiders had nearly expended all their ammunition did Jessup call them back. They rode out of town exactly as they had come in, exiting by both ends. They left behind them a grisly scene of dead and wounded Yankee soldiers, and a completely destroyed encampment.

As Jessup recalled that incident, he thought of the raid he had conducted on Braggadocio last night. It was not the same kind of raid as the one in Galena, since he had no intention to kill anyone. It was a diversionary tactic only, designed to allow him to get Tex, Brandt, and Cracker out of jail.

Though he had not shared his thinking with any of his men, he knew that the raid was not necessary. He would have been able to get the men out of jail today simply by paying for the broken window. But as far as his men knew, the raid had gone exactly as planned, in that Tex, Brandt, and Cracker were out of jail. Of course, nobody had counted on one of their own getting killed in the process.

The real purpose of the raid was not to free his men, but to prod the townspeople into closing the cattle loading pens and prevent any further rail shipment of cattle.

It was a finesse, because he was betting that they would not be able to close the pens before his shipment was completed. On the other hand, he was gambling that they would be able to close it before the Rocking T or Slash Diamond could ship their cows.

Whether or not the raid accomplished its purpose remained to be seen.