The RECKONING: A Jess Williams Western (27 page)

             
“Well, Sheriff, each of us carries our own burdens in life,” he offered. “I suppose some are worse than others.”

             
“One of my burdens is I worry that one day these people will have me shot and it will probably be in the back since not one of them would face me straight on,” he said. “But hell, that’s my problem. Yesterday you asked about any men with a bounty on them. Well, I just got a message from a little town about thirty miles from here. It seems a drifter stole a horse from some rancher there.”

             
“Sheriff, I appreciate you bringing me this, but as I told you, I’m not interested in chasing horse thieves,” refuted Jess.

             
“What if I told you that this rancher wasn’t about to give up a good horse so willingly and the drifter shot him dead?” the sheriff responded.

             
“Okay. Now you have my attention.”

             
“And then, what if I told you that his twelve-year-old son went in the house and got his pa’s rifle and took a shot at the drifter and the drifter plugged that poor kid right in the chest?”

             
“Now I’m definitely interested. Tell me more,” he said leaning forward in his chair.

             
“Now, there ain’t any law in this little shit-hole of a town, so the Texas Rangers have been assigned to go get the bastard,” he said. “The only problem is there are no Rangers within at least a week’s ride of the town. You could get there easily in two days. Since there’s no law in town, he might stay for a day or so. Plus, there is a reward of five hundred dollars for his return, dead or alive. So, you want the job?”

             
“Sheriff, why not send one of your deputies?”

             
“Hell, they’d probably get lost and never come back. Besides, I hear this drifter is pretty fast with a leg iron. My deputies are tough as nails, but none of them are that fast with a pistol. From what you told me, this is exactly what you’ve been looking for,” he said smiling and raising his eyebrows.

             
Jess sat up straight and thought a second or two about Blake Taggert. He’d never been this close to catching him, but he’d been waiting to catch him for two years now. What were another few days? Besides, it might take that long before Sheriff Rubel got any information on Taggert. Jess looked at Sheriff Rubel and asked, “You said the boy was twelve?”

             
“Yep,” he replied.

             
“Sheriff, tell me where this town is.”

             
“So, am I to assume that you will be bringing him in dead?” asked the sheriff.

             
“Yes, but not on the horse he stole,” he replied. “That will be returned to the rancher’s wife. I’ll drag him here with my horse if I need to.”

             
“The more I get to know you, the more I like you,” said the sheriff perceptively. “And I don’t like most people.” Jess headed straight for the stable and told Earl to saddle up Gray.

             
“Boy, I thought I’d never stop hearing about this nice young man who gave my wife a dollar tip last night,” said a happy Earl. “She must’ve talked about you for an hour. Couldn’t hardly get a word in edgewise, not that I usually get one in anyway. That was mighty nice of you, Mr. Williams. Yes, sir, mighty nice.”

             
“Her biscuits were worth the dollar all by themselves,” he said. “Of course, I did take into account that she’s a whole lot better looking than you are Earl.” Earl let out one of those huge belly laughs.

             
“Man, you’re right about that, too!” he laughed.

             
“I’ll be gone for about four or five days, Earl,” he said. “Save me a good spot for Gray when I get back and you’ll still get a dollar a day just for holding it.”

             
“You a damn right nice feller, Mr. Williams,” he boasted. “Yes sir. Where you headed?”

             
“Some little town called Jonesville just east of here,” he replied. “Got a man there with a bounty on his head. He killed a rancher and his twelve-year-old son.”

             
“Sounds like a man who needs to see a hanging rope.”

             
“I don’t think he’ll make it that far,” he said boldly, as he swung into the saddle.

             
“Well, you make sure you come back now,” said Earl. “I’ll need that money for sure. Got three kids of my own to feed and they never seem to stop eating.”

             
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” replied Jess. “Most likely with some dead weight.”

             
Sheriff A. J. Rubel was sitting behind his desk reading a newspaper when one of his deputies came in and poured himself a cup of coffee. He, like the other two deputies, never knew for sure whether to bother the sheriff. Sheriff Rubel’s temper was erratic as hell. They had been quite surprised by his friendly tone with Jess Williams.

             
“Uh…Sheriff, could I talk to you a minute?” asked the deputy. Sheriff Rubel slowly put his paper down on the desk and looked up at the deputy.

             
“I suppose so, as long as you can answer me one question.” The sheriff said looking at the deputy.

             
“Sure, Sheriff, what is it?” the deputy asked, feeling pretty good that he hadn’t pissed the sheriff off.

             
The sheriff said, “I just want to know if there is a sign on my forehead that says ‘will the first dumb-ass that walks in here please interrupt me?’” The deputy hung his head realizing he had screwed up again with the sheriff, which was pretty much normal.

             
“Sorry, Sheriff, I guess I should’ve known better,” he said soberly. “I know you like to read your paper in silence.”

             
“Well, go on already,” said Sheriff Rubel. “You’ve done interrupted me now. But the next time you see me reading my paper just turn your sorry ass back out the door, understand? Now what is it?”

             
“I was just wondering what you thought about that kid, Jess Williams?” asked the deputy. “You seemed awful friendly to him.”

             
“And you, who finished all the way up to the fifth grade all by your lonesome can’t seem to figure that out, eh?”

             
“But…if I could do that why would I be asking?”

             
The sheriff just shook his head thinking to himself how hard it was to get good help these days. His deputies were tough, but they weren’t the brightest bunch. He got up and walked to the table where the coffeepot was and poured him a fresh cup. Then he walked back to his desk and sat down again.

             
“Well,” the sheriff said, pausing for a moment and looking as if he was thinking real deep about what he was about to say. “I’ve seen a lot of different men in my lifetime; brave ones, cowards, braggarts, idiots, crazy ones, liars and a few stone cold fearless types. But this kid, Jess Williams, is something I ain’t seen before. When you look into that kid’s eyes you can see that there is a good side to the boy, but it’s buried way back in there behind all that rage and hatred for the men that murdered his family and men like that. That boy’s going to hunt men for a living and he’s going to be damn good at it. Now some people are destined to be just normal average people and some are destined to be something special, something completely out of the ordinary. That kid’s one of those destined to be special. I just think that it’s a privilege to have a chance in our lifetime to know someone like that. It don’t happen all that often.” The deputy had listened to all of this and he took a minute to ponder all that the sheriff had said.

             
“And you could see all of that in his eyes?” asked the deputy.

             
“You can read a man’s life history in his eyes if you know how to look for it.”

             
“Damn. I wish I could do that.”

             
“And I just wish I could get back to reading my damn paper!” countered the sheriff, getting back to his normal grumpy self.

             
“Sure thing Sheriff and thanks,” replied the deputy, as he walked out and sat down in the chair outside the office and thought about Jess. He wondered what he would have done if his family was murdered like that. He suddenly felt glad that he wasn’t that drifter over in Jonesville.

             
Jess hit the trail hard. It only took him a day and a half to reach Jonesville. The sheriff was right, there wasn’t much to Jonesville. No law, no bank, just a saloon, general store and a livery, along with a few houses scattered around the town.

             
He stabled Gray and asked the boy working the livery to brush down Gray and give him some extra grain. He had ridden him hard the last day and a half. He headed for the only saloon in town. There was no name on the saloon and no doors either. Jess walked in and stopped just inside the door. There were four men in the place, not counting the barkeep. Jess walked up to the barkeep and asked for a beer. The barkeep brought Jess his beer and sat it down, but not before wiping up the bar in front of Jess. The barkeep was a short fellow, but he looked like the kind of man who didn’t take any crap from anyone. Jess figured he might know about the drifter he was looking for.

             
“What’s your name, barkeep?” he asked.

             
“Who’s asking?”

             
“Jess Williams, and I’m looking for a drifter.”

             
“Information costs money here, mister,” implied the barkeep. “Hell, you don’t think I make any money serving drinks in this hell-hole of a place, do ya?” Jess took out a five dollar gold piece and placed it on top of the bar.

             
The barkeep took it, smiled and said, “Whatcha wanna know?”

             
“I’m looking for the drifter who shot that rancher and his son. You know who that might be or where I might find him?” The barkeep’s eyes turned cold and he reached into the pocket where he had put the five dollar gold piece and threw it back on the counter. The gold piece spun around and then fell flat on the top of the bar.

             
“Mister, that information ain’t for sale,” he said bluntly. “You can have it for free, especially if you’re here to make him pay for what he did. Hell, I knew that rancher and his kid. They were real nice folks. Now, if you tell me you’re a friend of his, you can take your ass back out of here.”

             
“I’m no friend of his,” he replied sharply. “I’m here to take him back for the bounty.”

             
“I thought you might be a bounty hunter what with all them guns you’re wearing,” stated the barkeep. “Not only is the information free, but so is the beer. That sumbitch has been hanging around here and he’ll most likely be back tonight. How are you with that fancy shootin’ iron you got there?”

             
“Good enough.”

             
“You’d better be, ‘cause that drifter is slicker that shit with a pistol.”

             
“You let me worry about that,” said Jess with a knowing look in his eyes.

             
The barkeep brought Jess another beer. Jess hadn’t realized how fast he had downed the first one. It had been a dusty and windy ride the last two days. Now that he thought about it, it seemed like it was always dusty and windy in Texas. The other four men in the saloon just sat there and drank. They listened to the conversation between Jess and the barkeep and decided they would wait and see what happened. They all knew the rancher and his son, too, but they weren’t gunslingers. They were ranchers and farmers. And since there was no law in town, they had long ago learned to mind their own business. Jess didn’t have long to wait. He had just put his glass down on the bar when the barkeep gave him a look and nodded toward the door. Jess moved back into the corner at the far end on the bar. The drifter slowly walked into the bar as if he owned it. He stopped at the table where the four men were sitting. He stared at them until each one of them lowered their eyes, humiliating them without even saying a word.

             
The drifter was about six feet tall with a little meat on his bones. Not heavy, but stocky. He wore two six-shooters low on his hips, but it wasn’t a double holster; it was two separate holsters, one strapped over the other. The right hand gun was lower than the left. The left gun was backwards and slightly forward. Jess figured he used the second gun as a backup gun since it was designed to be drawn with the right hand.

             
“You boys gonna buy me another beer tonight?” the drifter asked.

             
“Sure mister, no problem,” said one of the four men sitting at the table.

             
“Why, that’s mighty nice of you fellows; mighty nice indeed,” replied the drifter, as he walked up to the bar, but not before noticing Jess. He stopped at the bar and ordered a beer. He took a long, slow sip and sat his glass back down on the bar all the while never taking his eyes off Jess. He noticed the shotgun behind Jess, but he had not noticed Jess’ pistol yet since Jess was still facing forward to the bar, watching the drifter carefully out of his side vision.

             
“Well, well, seems we have a newcomer to town,” announced the drifter. “What’s your name, boy?” Jess didn’t respond right away. He just looked at the barkeep who had a look of foreboding in his eyes.

             
“Barkeep,” asked Jess, “you got any grub in the back?” The barkeep was somewhat surprised by the question.

             
“Sure mister, we got some stew left over,” he said. “I can get a plate of it for you if you want some.”

             
“That would be mighty nice of you,” said Jess. “I’d like to eat a bite before I leave town tonight.” Jess finally turned to the drifter, exposing his gun and looking the drifter straight in the eyes. The drifter was obviously not used to someone treating him so casually.

             
“I asked you what your name was, son?” demanded the drifter.

             
“You’re really not going to need to know that, actually.”

             
“Really?” replied the drifter sarcastically. “I always like to know the name of the man who’s going to buy me my next beer.”

             
“I’m not buying you a beer,” he said flatly. “Matter of fact, you’re not having another beer. At least not if you are who I think you are.” The drifter changed his stance a little.

             
“You tell me since you seem to know so much.”

             
“You’re the drifter who shot that rancher and his son, isn’t that right?”

             
“What if I am?” asked the drifter. “What the hell are you gonna do about it?”

             
“Well, there’s a bounty on your head in the amount of five hundred dollars if you’re the man who did it, and I intend to collect the money.”

             
The drifter laughed out loud. “So, I guess this means you ain’t gonna buy me that beer, eh?”

             
“No, not likely,” he replied. “I will buy those four men a beer though, to make up for all the beer they’ve obviously bought you.”

             
The barkeep came back out from the back of the bar with a big plate of hot stew and sat it down in front of Jess. Jess didn’t look at it, but he could smell it.

             
“Sure hope it tastes as good as it smells,” observed Jess.

             
“It does,” bragged the barkeep. “And the answer to your question is yes. That’s the rotten bastard who shot the rancher and his son!”

             
“Shut the hell up, barkeep!” hollered the drifter. “I hear one more word coming out of your pie hole and I’ll come back there and shove that sawed-off shotgun you want to reach for straight up your ass!” While the drifter was yelling at the barkeep, Jess had ever so slightly lowered his gun hand closer to his pistol.

             
“Seems like another mystery has been solved,” said Jess. “Well mister, seems like there is only one thing left to do.”

             
“And just what is that smart-ass?” demanded the drifter.

             
“I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done, so why don’t you go ahead and show these men just how tough you really are.”

             
“You’ve got a real smart mouth on you, boy.”

             
“Maybe.”

             
“You know who the hell you’re messing with?”