Come the Spring (5 page)

“If you miss Riley, his bullet is going to go through you and hit me,” Cole said.

“I never miss.”

“Arrogant bastard,” Cole whispered just as Eagle
went for his gun. Cole reacted with lightning speed. The gunfighter didn't even get his weapon out of his holster before a bullet stabbed through the palm of his hand.

Ryan fired at the same time. He shot the gun out of Riley's hand just as he was bringing his weapon up. The bullet cut through his wrist.

Keeping their guns trained on their targets, the two marshals strode forward. Ryan reached Riley first. He removed his weapons, ignoring the man's squeals of agony, and prodded him toward Sheriff Norton's jail.

Eagle was bellowing like a wounded boar. Much to Cole's frustration, he wouldn't stand still, but danced around in a gyrating jig.

“You ruined my shooting hand, Clayborne. You ruined my shooting hand,” he screeched.

“I heard you the first time,” Cole grumbled. “Stand still, damn it. I'm taking your guns.”

Eagle wouldn't comply, and Cole quickly tired of chasing him. He let out a sigh, grabbed hold of the gunslinger by his collar, and slammed his fist into his jaw, knocking him unconscious. He continued to hold him up until he'd removed his gun, then let him drop to the ground. Gripping the scruff of his neck, he dragged him to Norton.

The sheriff was beaming at the two marshals from the boardwalk. “Guess I'll have to go get the doc to patch them two up,” he remarked.

“Guess so,” Cole replied.

The sheriff rushed back inside, snatched his keys off the desktop, and hurried on to unlock two cells. A moment later, the gunfighters were pushed inside.

There wasn't time for the sheriff's congratulations, for no sooner had the cell door slammed shut than Ryan was called outside by the telegraph clerk. When Cole joined him on the boardwalk, one look at the marshal told Cole something bad had happened. He was surprised when Ryan handed the wire to him.

Cole read the contents while Ryan gave the news to Sheriff Norton. “There's been another robbery.” His voice was flat.

Norton shook his head. “How many dead this time?”

“Seven.”

“Where did it happen?” Norton asked.

“Rockford Falls.”

“That ain't far from here. I can tell you how to get there.”

“How far is it?”

“About forty miles over some rough terrain.”

“You might want to keep your eyes open in case any of them pass through here again. I doubt they will,” Ryan added. “They've already hit this bank. Cole, are you riding with me?”

He shook his head and handed the wire back to Ryan. “It's not my problem.”

Ryan said nothing. Squinting against the sunlight, his eyes narrowed and his brow wrinkled into a frown. Suddenly he grabbed hold of Cole's vest and shoved him backward off his feet. Before Cole could recover and retaliate—his fingers were flexing into a fist—Ryan stole his thunder by apologizing.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I let my temper get the upper hand. Look, you're right. You didn't ask for any of this, and the robberies aren't your problem. They're mine. I just thought … hoped, anyway … that you would want to help. I won't accept your resignation, though. You're going to have to ride to the regional office and surrender your badge to the marshal there. Sheriff Norton will give you the directions. I've got to get going to Rockford Falls before the trail grows cold. No hard feelings?” he asked as he put his hand out.

Cole shrugged and shook Ryan's hand. “No hard feelings.”

Ryan headed for the stable at a run. Cole watched
him leave and then followed the sheriff inside the jail to find out where in tarnation the regional office was located.

“If it isn't close by, I'm sending the badge back,” he told the sheriff.

Norton sat down heavily behind his desk and stacked his hands on top of his papers. “I don't think Marshal Ryan will cotton to that idea. Those badges are considered sacred, son. I wouldn't get him riled up if I was you. He went to considerable trouble getting you appointed, and it sure seems peculiar to me that he didn't want to argue with you a little more. He gave up easy, didn't he?”

“I don't know Ryan well enough to judge,” he replied.

“You sure you want to give the badge up?”

“I'm sure. I'm not cut out to be a lawman.”

“You thinking you ought to be a gunslinger? Some folks think there ain't no difference at all between a marshal and a gunman.”

“I'm just a rancher, nothing more.”

“Then why are so many gunslingers coming after you? Like it or not, you got yourself a reputation for being fast. Those boys ain't gonna quit chasing after glory. It seems to me the only way you can change your future is to hold on to that badge. Some gunslingers will think twice before taking on a U.S. marshal.”

“Some won't,” Cole argued. “Are you going to tell me where the regional office is or not?”

Norton ignored the question. “I'm gonna tell the facts to you plain and simple is what I'm gonna do. Marshal Ryan didn't nag you into doing the right thing, so I guess I ought to, and you're gonna have to be polite and listen to me because I'm old enough to be your father and age gives me the advantage. We got us a terrible problem with this Blackwater gang running over our territory, and since you happen to live
inside the boundaries, I'd say it was your problem too. Not too long ago our little bank got robbed and we lost us some good friends. They were decent, law-abiding folks who just had the bad luck of being inside the bank at the time. Every one of them was killed like a dog. We had us a witness too. His name was Luke MacFarland, but he didn't last long.”

“Sheriff, I'm sorry about what happened, but I don't—”

Norton cut him off. “Luke got shot up when the robbery was going on, and he wasn't even inside the bank at the time. He was just passing by on the boardwalk, which was another piece of bad luck all right. Still, the doc had him mending. He would have recovered—the doc said so—and he did see a couple of faces through the crack in the shades of the bank. He would have made a good witness when those no-good bastards got caught.”

“What happened to him?”

“Luke got his neck sliced like a bow tie, that's what happened to him. His wife got cut too. They were both sleeping in their bed, but I think maybe one of them woke up. You should have seen that room, son. There was more blood than paint on those walls. I ain't never gonna forget it. Their little boys saw it too. The oldest, just ten last month, found them. He ain't never gonna be the same.”

The story struck a nerve deep inside Cole. He leaned against the side of the desk, his gaze directed outside, as he thought about the children. What a hell of a nightmare for a child to see. What would happen to that little boy now? Or the other ones? Who would take care of them? How would they survive? Would they be split up and shipped to various relatives, or would they take to the streets, the way he had when he was a youngster? Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ryan on a black horse riding at a gallop down the main street. He hoped the marshal would catch
the monsters who had made those children orphans. In one night, their lives had been changed forever.

He turned back when the sheriff spoke again. “There was no call to kill those two, no call at all. You know what Ryan said?”

“No, what's that?” Cole asked.

“That it was a miracle they didn't kill those little boys. If one of them had come into the room while they were butchering, they would have killed him for sure … the others too.”

“What's going to happen to them?”

“The boys?” The sheriff looked bleak, disheartened. “My Josey and me offered to take them all, but the relatives back east said they'd give them a home. I think they're gonna farm them out between them. That doesn't seem right to me. Brothers ought to stay together.”

Cole agreed with a pensive nod.

“I got my own opinion why they killed Luke's wife. Want to hear it?”

“Sure.”

“I think they were sending folks a message.” His voice dropped to a whisper of confidentiality as he continued. “Word gets around fast, and anyone who might see something or hear something in the future is gonna think long and hard before stepping forward. Witnesses don't survive. That's the message.”

“They're bound to make a mistake one of these days.”

“Son, that's what everyone is hoping will happen. I'm praying it happens soon, 'cause a lot of good people have died, and not just men, but women and children too. Those men are gonna burn in hell for what they've done.”

“They've killed children?”

“I heard about one little girl that got killed. She was in the bank with her mama. Of course it could just be speculation. I asked Ryan about it, but he got a real
strange look in his eyes and went out the door without answering me, so I don't know if it's true or not. The marshal sure has his hands full,” he concluded with a shake of his head. “Are you thinking about heading back to your ranch?”

“Right now I'm headed for Texas to bring some steers back. The regional office better be on the way or—”

Norton wouldn't let him finish. “I got a little favor to ask you.” He put his hand up to ward off any interruption and hastily added, “I know I don't have the right, since I went and knocked you over the head. Still, I'm compelled to ask.”

“What is it you want?”

“Hold on to your badge until tomorrow before you make up your mind. It's already going on dusk, so you don't have to wait long. In the morning, if you're still determined to give the badge back, then I'll be happy to tell you the fastest way to get to the regional office. With that fancy compass, you won't have any trouble finding it. Now, don't shake your head at me. At least consider it, and while you're at it, answer another question for me.”

“What?” Cole asked with a bit more surliness than he intended.

“Why do you suppose Ryan went and shoved you the way he did before he took off?”

“Frustration,” Cole answered.

The sheriff grinned like a big cat sitting in a tub of cream. “You wanted to hit him, didn't you? I saw you make a fist, and—yes, son, I did—and I saw something else happening too, but never you mind about that. You showed considerable restraint,” he added. “And Marshal Ryan did apologize—I heard it with my own ears—but now I'm wondering to myself if he was apologizing for shoving you or maybe something else he'd done.”

Before Cole could ask him to explain what he was
chattering on about, the sheriff pushed the topic around to the badge again.

“Will you stay on tonight? I'll treat you and Josey to supper at Frieda's fancy restaurant, and if you ride out now, you won't get far before dark hits. If I were you, I'd want to spend one more night sleeping between clean sheets before I headed out on such a long trip. Come morning, I'll give you the directions you're wanting and you can be on your way lickety-split. Course you'll probably want to go on over to Rockford Falls first. It ain't too far away from here.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Why would I want to go to Rockford Falls?”

Norton chuckled. “To get your compass back.”

Five
 

The town of Rockford Falls was reeling with shock. In the past two days, they had lost eight of their finest citizens and one who wasn't quite so fine but who mattered to all of them just the same.

Influenza was responsible for two deaths. The epidemic had been gathering strength during the past week, striking down half the population. The old and the young were hit hardest: Adelaide Westcott, a spry seventy-eight-year-old spinster who still had all of her own teeth and who never had a cranky word to say about anyone, and sweet little eight-month-old Tobias Dollen, who had inherited his father's big ears and his mother's smile, both died within an hour of one another of what Doc Lawrence called complications.

The town mourned the loss, and those who could get out of bed attended the funerals, while those who couldn't leave their chamber pots for more than five-minute intervals prayed for their souls at home.

Adelaide and Tobias were buried on Wednesday
morning in the cemetery above Sleepy Creek Meadow. That afternoon, six men were brutally murdered during a robbery at the bank. The seventh man to die and the last to be noticed was Bowlegged Billie Buckshot, the town drunk, who, it was speculated, was on his way from his dilapidated shack on the outskirts of town to the Rockford Saloon to fetch his breakfast. Billie was a creature of habit. He always started his day around three or four in the afternoon, and he always cut through the alley between the bank and the general store, thereby shortening his travel by two full streets. Because he was found cradling his rusty gun in his arms, it was assumed by Sheriff Sloan that he had had the misfortune to run into the gang as they were pouring out of the bank's rear exit. It was also assumed that the poor man never stood a chance. Everyone knew that until he had his first wake-up drink of the day, his hands shook like an empty porch swing in a windstorm. Six hours was a long time to go without whiskey when your body craved it the way Billie's did. He wasn't shot like the others, though. A knife had been used on him, and judging from the number of stab wounds on his face and neck, whoever had done it had thoroughly enjoyed his work.