The Quiet Gun - Edge Series 1 (17 page)

He was unable to ignore a compulsion to constantly peer in this one direction until he had moved far enough away so just the booted feet of the sleeping guard were in sight. And when he did manage to wrench his unblinking gaze away from the Mexican he was startled by the force with which air rushed silently out of his throat: realised he had unwittingly held his breath for many stretched seconds.

Back in the mouth of the alley at the corner of the saloon, he felt a pressing need to pause. For it suddenly seemed the surreptitious foray had caused a massive physical as well as emotional drain on his reserves.

But he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Did this again and again as he flexed his muscles: until he felt ready to return to his bolt hole behind the feed and seed store.

Then froze, for the noise of the sleeping men within the saloon was no longer all that marred the otherwise total silence clamped over the town. There was the thudding of running feet, then a frantic voice yelled:

‘Luke! Hey, Luke! They’re coming back on in, it looks like!’

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The shouting of unaccented English triggered a sudden clamour inside the saloon: voices raised to vent Spanish cures and booted feet hitting floorboards, the crashing over of tables and chairs and the smashing of glass.

Edge risked a glance along the street and saw just one man running – surely Strange or Craig who had been on watch from the roof of the stage line depot? Loping toward the law office, where the door was flung violently open.

By the time the Mexican in the chair got clear of the saloon entrance and other men began to spill raucously outside, Edge had whirled and lunged into the full cover of the dark alley. Unconcerned about the sound of his own footfalls which were lost amid the barrage of noise from elsewhere.

Another man began to yell, his tone of authority gaining dominance over all else. And the noise of the town quietened to a level of subdued muttering of many voices and the scuffling of men moving in less frantic haste. And Edge reverted to furtiveness as he made good his retreat from the saloon.

Nobody came after him: by intent or unwittingly because of the orders given to deal with whoever was heading into town.

A tight knit group of riders, Edge could see as he reached the relative safely of the cluttered area out back of the aromatic feed and seed store. A half dozen . . . No, seven. Holding their mounts down to a walk over the final stretch of the south west trail out of the low hills.

Seven was a wrong number if this was the posse McCall headed up. Because eight men had left town to hunt down the Shannon bunch. But he gave no consideration to the possible reason for this as, crouched in deep shadow, he used the knife of his eating irons taken from the carpetbag to prise open the wooden box.

He knew he could do nothing to warn the riders about the men waiting to spring an ambush. Not without announcing his own presence and he thought he had used up all the goodwill Luke Shannon had once harboured for him on account of them being jailhouse buddies. And then he saw something that eased his mind on this score. The men had ridden close enough so he was able to recognise them as the Dalton Springs citizens McCall had deputised. And next saw the lawman was not among them as

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he registered that the front rider was the town’s liveryman who held aloft a Winchester rifle with a piece of white fabric tied to the muzzle.

Then as a length of wood eased away from the top of the box on the ground in front of the hunkered down Edge a match flared above him. And in the glare of the flame he saw rows of shiny metal cartridges tightly packed in the box.

He turned his head slowly to look up at the tall, broadly built figure of John McCall standing over him, touching the match flame to the end of an almost smoked cigar. Edge left the box of .45 calibre shells on the ground as he unfolded to his full height while the lawman’s eyes switched their unblinking gaze between the man at his side and the posse advancing slowly under the flag of truce on the trail. Then, as he shook out the flame, McCall said evenly: ‘I guess there’s no prize for guessing what’s packed in those bigger crates you brought down here from Tucson?’

Edge rasped through gritted teeth: ‘We’ll get to that later, feller. Right now I figure we ought to think about winning the war before we start talking pieces?’

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CHAPTER • 13

_________________________________________________________________________

JOHN McCALL countered grimly: ‘I’ll go along with that. Since it seems like I’ve
got bigger fish than you to fry.’

The lawman took a lungful of smoke and dropped the cigar stub to the ground then stepped on the glowing end as the riders moved between the feed and seed store and Slocum’s premises.

Edge touched the open crate with the toe of a shoe and said: ‘If it’s this kind of rotten fish you have in mind, I’ve got a personal interest in what’s cooking, feller.’

Ephraim Rider and the others did not let their attention be drawn toward the rear of the store. And it was obvious they knew McCall was there, having seen the pre-arranged signal of the struck match.

‘Okay. But no more of the kind of damn fool business you just pulled stealing the box, uh? I figure the interests of the people of this town will be best served if you and me stay quietly out of sight for awhile?’

Edge saw McCall was peering commandingly at him and he shrugged as he allowed:

‘No sweat, sheriff.’

The tall, lean lawman with his craggy features hard set said grimly: ‘We’ll swap stories later. For now it’s best we just watch and wait. But not from out here.’

He moved to the rear door of the building and used a key to unlock it. Edge held back to retrieve his carpetbag, bedroll and the box of cartridges then responded to the lawman’s impatient signal and went through the doorway behind him. Entered a room that was pitch black as soon as the door was closed on the moonlit night. It smelled more pungently of the aromas that clung to the exterior of the building and from the way the sounds of their progress were muted and the resilience of the obstacles with which they occasionally collided, it was clear they were in a storeroom filled with the stock in trade of the establishment.

Then they emerged into the store proper which was less cluttered and was dimly lit by the glow of the moon through a large display window.

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Standing beside McCall a little way back from the window Edge had a restricted view of the intersection of the south west trail with the main street of Dalton Springs. Where the returned posse came to a nervous halt.

The anxious men astride the weary horses were able to see further along the street than McCall and Edge: and from their lack of reaction it was obvious they saw no sign of anything life threatening among the unmoving moon shadows cast by buildings, sidewalk roofs, hitching rails, a water trough and the wagon parked outside the Lucky Break. McCall drew a breath, as if about to say something. But it was only a spontaneous reaction when he spotted Ephraim Rider thrust higher the rifle with the white rag tied to it. Then the wizen liveryman called in a strangled tone:

‘We sure hope you’re gonna honour this flag of truce, Mr Shannon? Because we got no stomach for a fight with you and your people!’

In the tense silence that followed the plea Edge was aware of McCall holding his breath. Then a small bone cracked in the lawman’s foot as he took a step forward and the breath rushed out through his gritted teeth.

Edge moved closer to the window, to see more clearly what was happening further up the street. Where a line of men was forming across it, some emerging from the saloon and others from the law office diagonally opposite the Lucky Break. Ten of them, a mixture of Americans and Mexicans, each with a rifle aimed negligently from his hip. Shannon was the last man to appear and as he stepped out of the law office doorway he signalled for the straggled line to advance a few paces toward the posse, then halted them.

He laughed and chided in his gravel toned voice: ‘It’s just suckers think they got the guts to fight me and my partners and my
compadres
from across the border! Same way only suckers figured they can trick me! Seems to me that you boys are a little short handed?’

‘Reckon you mean Sheriff McCall?’ Rider could not keep the thickness of fear out of his throat.

‘That’s the guy I’m thinking of, right enough!’

‘Him and Mrs Raine have gone up to Fort Reed! Hoping to get army help! Rest of us voted to come back here! Be with our families!’

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‘Who the hell’s Mrs Raine?’ Shannon was genuinely puzzled until Chrissy growled something from inside the law office. Then he spat to the side and said: ‘Oh, yeah! The dead deputy’s wife! She took off real fast, riding double with the tinhorn!’

There was a telling pause that signalled to Edge his part in this chicanery was the weak link: for nobody on either side knew where he had gone and what he had done after the new widow ran out on him at the Tremaine place.

Ephraim Rider told Shannon, his voice still shaky: ‘Her and him parted company!

She never said why! I guess they maybe had words! Anyway, she told us that Edge helped her get out of town when some shooting started! Shooting’s the reason we’d sure like to go to see our families, Mr Shannon! We ain’t like real lawmen, are we? Just joined the posse when John McCall – ‘

The liveryman was cut off by a querulous burst of fast spoken Spanish in the line of men further along the street. A babble of angry demands for a translation of what was being said and some impatient entreaties for the talking to be done. Shannon glared along the line and warned: ‘Luis, tell your boss and his boys to take it easy! I’m head
honcho
around here!’

While the interpreter did as he was instructed, Shannon returned his attention to the unshaven, dirt grimed, sullen and deeply weary mounted men.

‘Okay, here’s what you Dalton Springs boys are gonna do! You ride on up here real easy, one at a time! And then you drop your weapons in a heap on the street! Get down off your horses and then go see them nearest and dearest that you’re all so worried about!

One false move from any one of you and every last man is through with living! So, let’s get it done! Some of us have got a little sack time to finish!’

Each member of the posse took his lead from the liveryman, rifles held aloft in one hand while the other retained control of the reins. Riding in slow single file. At a tacit signal from Shannon, the row of men barring the street opened up a gap at the centre. And as each rider reached it he first let his rifle clatter to the ground, then unbuckled his gunbelt and allowed it to fall.

Disarmed and no longer cautiously tracked by threatening Winchesters, each townsman continued twenty yards on beyond the gap then reined in his horse and climbed 113

wearily out of the saddle: trudged with stooped shoulders and hanging head toward home and family, looking more exhausted than the animal he led. Even before all of them had gone from sight Shannon and the leader of the Mexicans, with Luis as interpreter, were engaged in a low voiced exchange. Then an order was spoken in curt Spanish and two designated Mexicans gathered up the surrendered weapons and transferred them to the rear of the wagon.

Edge and McCall traded a knowing glance and waited for a shout to signal the case of ammunition had been missed from beneath the tarp. But no alarm was raised and as the street began to empty of men – now with more than just a lone rooftop sentry posted to watch for the army help McCall and Kitty Raine were supposed to be bringing – the sheriff moved to lean his back against the counter before the rear wall of the store. He lit a fresh cigar, shielding the match flare with his cupped hands. On a cloud of smoke he explained: ‘Kitty found us after she took the horse and ran out on you, Edge. Told us what happened back here in town. How the Mexican government men showed up and the Shannon bunch locked them in the jailhouse along with Bart Bannerman. Then how some local men tried to get the best of Shannon and got themselves shot. Maybe all of them killed?’

Edge said: ‘I haven’t been back long enough to ask anybody any questions about anything.’

McCall did a fast double take at him, then drew deeply against the cigar. ‘But you know something about that bunch of Mexicans and the shipment of arms and ammunition, that’s for sure?’

‘You better believe I never knew what it was I was bringing to Dalton Springs when I

– ‘

McCall cut in on him: ‘Everything I know about what you’ve done since you reached town the other night tells me you didn’t have any idea of what you were mixed up in.’