Ralph Compton - Blood on the Gallows

‘‘Saul Remorse, even a madman like you can’t kill us all,’’ Harlan said. His mouth was dry, the words rustling like fallen leaves.

‘‘A madman, I? Would a madman give you and the others I’ve mentioned a chance to repent and mend your wicked ways? Would a madman even see a chance for redemption in you, Thad? Think about it, you can spend the rest of your life in prayer and do all kinds of good works or die. It’s such a simple choice to make.’’

‘‘Too late for me, Reverend. The devil’s already slapped his brand on me.’’

‘‘I know, Thad. I can see it smoking on your dirty hide right now.’’

The wind stirred Remorse’s hair and in the street a dust devil spun like a dervish for a moment, then collapsed in a puff of yellow dust.

‘‘All right, when will it be?’’ Harlan asked. ‘‘I want to be ready.’’

‘‘Why rush things, Thad? Later, when I’ve made up my mind to it.’’

‘‘You’ll give me a show?’’

‘‘Yes, Thad. You’ll be standing on your feet and have a gun in your hand.’’

The marshal touched his tongue to his top lip. ‘‘Maybe I’ll shade you. I’m the fastest there is around.’’

‘‘You won’t even come close, Thad.’’ Remorse relaxed, his smile wide. ‘‘Now, on to more pleasant business, between friends as it were. You see who I brought in with me?’’

‘‘I see them, Ben Carney, Steve Pettigrew and Decker Reese. They pulled out of town early this morning.’’

‘‘And their bounties, Thad?’’

‘‘Carney and Pettigrew, five hundred apiece. Reese, six hundred.’’

‘‘Sixteen hundred dollars, a nice, round figure,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘Pay me now, Thad.’’

Harlan shook his head. ‘‘I can’t do it. I don’t keep that kind of money in my office. A sum like that will have to come from the mayor.’’

‘‘Then tell the mayor I expect to be paid within the hour.’’ Without turning his head, Remorse said, ‘‘John, watch my back. Thad is not above shooting a man when his back is turned to him. Are you, Thad?’’

Harlan looked as if he’d been slapped, but said nothing, his cobra eyes glittering.

Remorse swung out of the saddle, and one by one tipped the bodies into the dust of the street. He said to Harlan, ‘‘Their horses, saddles and guns are worth something. Who would that buyer be?’’

‘‘Try Jed Whipple down at the livery,’’ Harlan said. ‘‘He buys horses and guns, sells them to gents in a hurry who have to leave town on business.’’

‘‘Thank you for the advice, Thad,’’ Remorse said. ‘‘We’ll be going now.’’

He gathered up the reins of the horses and started to pull them away from the marshal’s office, but Harlan’s voice stopped him.

‘‘Hey, Reverend! All the talk I’ve heard about you, I expected a man ten foot tall with the devil riding on his shoulder.’’ The lawman grinned under his mustache. ‘‘Up close, you don’t stack up to much. With all that white hair you look kinda like an old school marm lady.’’

Remorse smiled. ‘‘Ah, Thad, you’re getting your nerve back, aren’t you? Soon you’ll start thinking that you can take me, and then you’ll begin to believe it, like you’re beginning to believe it right now.’’

‘‘Maybe I can take you. You don’t know that I can’t.’’

‘‘It’s just as I feared, Thaddeus, you’re beyond redemption.’’ Remorse looked around him. ‘‘Where is the undertaker?’’

‘‘Down the street a ways, just before you reach the livery.’’

‘‘Good. I’m buying you a coffin, Thad, with your name on it. You can go see it later. It will be a nice one, I promise.’’

‘‘Maybe it will have my name on it and your body in it, Reverend.’’

Remorse nodded. ‘‘I’m glad you’re feeling better now, Thad. I’d so dislike killing a man who’d turned yellow on me.’’

‘‘We could always decide the thing right here and now,’’ Harlan said. He was stiff, but looked ready to uncoil fast.

‘‘Now you grow tiresome, Thad.’’ With his left hand Remorse reached into his shirt pocket and took out the makings. As he built a smoke his eyes lifted to the marshal. ‘‘Why are you in such an all-fired hurry to die?’’ He thumbed a match into flame and lit his cigarette. ‘‘Dying with your face in the dirt with a bullet in your belly and black blood in your mouth is not much fun.’’ He opened his fingers and let the smoking match fall to the ground. ‘‘Come talk to me sometime and I’ll tell you how it feels.’’

Chapter 22

McBride stood at the door to the livery stable as Remorse and Jed Whipple dickered inside. He could not shake the feeling of being watched and his hand was never far from the gun in his waistband.

The early afternoon sun lay heavy as an anvil on the street, and the air was still and thick, the heat oppressive. To the north the Capitan Mountains looked like a low, lilac cloud, half-hidden behind a shimmering haze that made the brush flats dance. A skinny, tan dog nosed around a clump of yellow groundsel growing out from under the boardwalk across the street and Sammy wedged himself between McBride’s feet and watched it, growling softly.

After a couple of minutes, McBride walked away from the barn and stepped into the street. There! He saw it, a curtain twitching shut on the second floor of the Kip and Kettle Hotel.

It had to be Dora, a lady he planned to have a serious talk with later. Was Clare with her? If what Remorse had implied was correct, then she was bound to be.

But what could he do to Clare? It was his word against hers that she’d tried to kill him. Even if he managed to get Harlan to arrest her, and that was highly unlikely, no jury you could assemble in Rest and Be Thankful would convict her. She need only dab her eyes with a scrap of lace handkerchief and say that John McBride attacked her and she’d shot him to defend her virtue.

The most likely outcome to a trial would be a rope around his own neck.

Maybe Remorse would come up with a plan to punish the guilty. But the reverend’s solution would likely be to gun down everybody in town, like an avenging angel sent to smite the wicked. There had to be another way.

McBride recalled the plan he’d made the day he first met Dora Ryan. It wasn’t perfect and might address only part of his problem, but maybe the time to put it into effect was now—

McBride’s train of thought was interrupted by Remorse calling him from the door of the livery stable. He stepped beside the reverend, who was scowling. ‘‘John, do I have scorch marks on me?’’

‘‘Not that I can see.’’

‘‘Well, I should,’’ Remorse said, clearly irritated. ‘‘That old man burned me on the horses and guns. I got less than half of what they’re worth.’’

Whipple cackled from the doorway, then yelled, ‘‘Hey, Reverend, remember that he is richest who is content with the least, for contentment is the wealth of nature.’’

McBride grinned. ‘‘Did you read that in the Bible, Jed?’’

‘‘Nah, I read it in a book on the philosophy of Socrates.’’

Not for the first time, McBride was amazed by the learning that even the unlikeliest of some western men possessed. But Remorse seemed unimpressed and continued to fume.

‘‘We’ve got company,’’ McBride said, nodding in the direction of the street.

Thad Harlan, riding the Appaloosa he’d taken from the man Clare had shot, swung toward the livery and stopped a few feet from Remorse.

Still smarting at getting bested by Whipple, Remorse snapped, ‘‘Did you bring my money?’’

Harlan shook his head. ‘‘You’ll get that from Mr. Josephine. He’s at his bank right now and wants to talk to you both.’’