Ralph Compton - Blood on the Gallows

‘‘What would you know about men, Reese?’’ McBride snapped, his anger flaring.

The gunman pointed at him. ‘‘For that, you get it right in the guts.’’

‘‘Wait!’’ Remorse said. ‘‘Just a single moment of reason, gentlemen, if you please.’’ He took a breath and sat taller in the saddle, like a preacher in a pulpit. ‘‘Ben, Steve . . . Decker, cast aside your lives of sin and return to God. Throw down your guns. End your association with ardent spirits and wild women and from now and forever let the Good Book be your guide along the trail of life. Turn your backs on murder, rape and robbery, and step into the loving and forgiving light of the Lord.’’

Reese grinned at his companions in turn; then his eyes again lifted to Remorse. ‘‘And what if we don’t plan on doing any of them things, parson?’’

Remorse shook his head slowly and made a tut-tut sound with his tongue, a man apparently filled with sadness. ‘‘Then I’m very much afraid that I’ll have to kill all of you.’’

For a moment Reese was taken aback and all five men seemed frozen in a single moment of time. It was Ben Carney who shattered it. Angry and belligerent, he snarled, ‘‘Decker, shoot that damn uppity parson right off his horse.’’

Reese nodded. And went for his gun.

Later, try as he might, McBride could not put it together. Everything happened so fast, like a lightning flash, his brain did not have time to process every movement.

He remembered Reese grinning, reaching for his gun. In his mind’s eye he saw Remorse’s arms cross his chest and the bucking Remingtons blazing. Then, through a gray haze of gun smoke three sprawled bodies lay on the ground.

The Red Rock Kid tried to rise, pushing himself up with one hand, his gun in the other. Remorse fired twice, once from each hand, and the man’s head exploded.

From the end of an echoing tunnel he heard Remorse say, ‘‘Dang me, but I knew I shot Steve too high the first time.’’

McBride hadn’t even drawn his Colt. He’d had no time. Now he watched Remorse reload his guns before he swung out of the saddle. The man stepped to the bodies and folded their arms across their chests. He kneeled among them, his hat off, head bowed in prayer, white hair streaming in the wind like a tattered banner fluttering over the fallen. His eyes were shut and his lips moved as he said prayers for the dead in a cadenced whisper.

After ten minutes Remorse rose to his feet, replaced his hat and his eyes lifted to McBride. ‘‘Care to say a few words, John?’’

‘‘You’ve said it all,’’ McBride answered. ‘‘I have nothing to add.’’

‘‘Then so be it. We will do what we came to do and let our horses graze for a spell.’’ Remorse smiled with the enthusiasm of a small boy. ‘‘John, there’s a fire by the creek bank. Smell the coffee and bacon? We can take time to eat before we ride on, huh?’’

McBride nodded. But he’d lost whatever appetite he’d had.

A short while from now he and the Reverend Saul Remorse would ride into Rest and Be Thankful. But, with a strange sense of dread, McBride knew the preacher did not intend to offer its morally frail citizens the hope of heaven. He would bring them only a guarantee of hell.

Chapter 21

McBride and Remorse stood by the outlaws’ fire and drank coffee from the tin cups of the dead men while Sammy chased tiny white moths around their feet. Remorse seemed like a man completely at ease with himself and his conscience.

‘‘Will we bury your dead?’’ McBride asked.

Remorse shook his head. ‘‘There are bounties on all three of those men. We’ll take them into town. Thad Harlan will pay.’’

‘‘Then that’s what you are, a bounty-hunting preacher?’’

‘‘No, not quite. But bounties do pay my traveling expenses from time to time. I visit my wife’s grave in Boston quite frequently and cities are expensive places.’’

‘‘Where did you learn to shoot like you do?’’

‘‘John, you don’t learn to shoot like I do. A man is born with gun skill. It’s the way his brain connects with his hands and he either has it or he doesn’t. Some men seek to acquire it, but few, if any, are fast enough and sure enough to become named men. Then there’s the matter of courage, to have the guts to stand and fight while other men, just as fast with a gun, are trying to kill you. Unlike gun skill, a man can learn courage, just as a child is taught to speak. And that’s all to the good.’’

McBride gave an awkward little smile. ‘‘Saul, I’m a named man and I’m pretty much scared all the time. As for gun skill, the fight was all over before I even started my draw.’’

‘‘Ah, but you stood your ground and didn’t run away.’’ Remorse slapped McBride on the shoulder. ‘‘That took courage. Good for you, John, because the Lord surely hates a coward.’’ He motioned with his cup toward the three bodies, admiration in his eyes. ‘‘They were top-notch, you know, Reese and the other two. Very sudden with the revolver and steady in the fight.’’

‘‘Were you worried, Saul?’’ McBride asked, his normal smile returning.

The man shook his head. ‘‘Not in the least. They didn’t even come close.’’

McBride helped Remorse load the bodies onto two horses. The lame grulla they unsaddled and let loose.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky when they rode into Rest and Be Thankful. The dusty Main Street and warped, ashen buildings were hammered by heat and there was not a living soul in sight. In the glare of daylight the town was depressing, revealing its ugly flaws like the face of a girl working the line who has just removed the last of her paint as the merciless dawn drives through her window like a lance.

Remorse led the way as they rode past the jail, the only sound in the street the creak of saddle leather. Reese and the Red Rock Kid were draped over the back of the same horse, their hanging heads nodding as if they were holding a conversation in the land of the dead.

‘‘Marshal’s office just ahead,’’ Remorse said, turning in the saddle. He had removed his coat but was still wearing his clergyman’s collar.

‘‘I see it,’’ McBride answered. Someone was watching him. He felt the crawl of their eyes.

Remorse turned his handsome to face the office and drew rein. ‘‘Thad Harlan!’’ he yelled. ‘‘Turn out! I’ve brought in dead.’’

Boot heels thudded on the timber floor inside, the door swung open and Harlan stepped onto the boardwalk. His eyes went from Remorse to McBride, registering first shock and then anger.

‘‘You know me, Harlan,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘I’ve come to collect my due.’’

Harlan looked up and down the empty street, his head moving like a snake on his thin neck; then his cold, basilisk stare settled on McBride. ‘‘This time I’ll hang you for sure,’’ he said. ‘‘Them Meskins who helped you escape are all dead and cursing you in hell.’’

‘‘Thad Harlan, pay mind to me!’’ Remorse did not shout, but his voice carried to every corner of town. ‘‘You will have to step over my body with your rope.’’ The preacher was tense, poised, his steel eyes gleaming under the flat brim of his hat. ‘‘Now, pay the legal bounty on these men or die right where you stand. The choice is yours.’’

Suddenly Harlan looked frightened. ‘‘I know who you are, Reverend. I’ve seen you in nightmares and I’ve always known that one day you would come. But you have no call to threaten me like that. I’ll pay, then you go back to wherever hell it is you come from.’’

Remorse shook his head. ‘‘Oh no, I have too much outstanding business for that. I’ve adopted John McBride as my ward and I’ve promised to help him deal with those who would do him harm. Thad, my list is long . . . Josephine, father and son, Clare O’Neil, Dora Ryan, late of Denver town, and you.’’ He smiled. ‘‘And every outlaw and killer currently residing in this accursed town.’’