EDGE: The Final Shot (Edge series Book 16) Page 8

  The other two surviving horses dragged their burdens from the river and into the brush.

  All five men who took a moment to regain their breath were aware of a slight change in the desperate situation. The firing from the opposite bank was as constant as ever, but fewer bullets cracked towards them. Then, simultaneously, Hedges and Forrest saw the reason. Pressed low in the brush, they looked across the river and saw that only half the fire power of the Rebels was directed at them. The rest of the soldiers were blasting lead on a different line.

  ‘How about that?’ Forrest muttered as he and the Captain swung their eyes to their own side of the river and saw Rhett galloping towards them, snapping off wild shots with his Spencer. ‘The yellow bastard’s doing it right for a change.’

  A Rebel went down with a bullet in the head from Rhett’s rifle. Then Hedges and Seward opened up, from cover towards a totally exposed enemy. Three more grey-uniformed forms slumped into inertness before the others ceased fire and lunged towards their mounts. Another died, toppling from his saddle, as the Rebels wheeled their horses and heeled them into a gallop back towards the cover of the stud farm.

  Rhett hauled on his reins to bring the stallion to a shingle-showering halt on the beach in front of the brush.

  ‘Hi, you guys!’ he greeted with delighted relief as he surveyed the men on the ground, counting the full complement of five. ‘Bet you figured I’d run out on you, uh?’

  ‘Nah, Bob,’ Seward said with a grin as he slotted fresh shells into the Spencer. ‘We knew you’d back us up.’

  ‘Only natural you’d be a little behind,’ Scott added with a giggle.

  ‘Real smart trick, Bob,’ Forrest complimented, bringing a grin back to the New Englander’s face, to replace the grimace he showed in response to the barbed humor.

  Hedges, his rifle fully-loaded again, ignored the men and peered back up and across the river towards the stud farm. They had killed only a handful of the Rebels and the rest were all back at the farm: some still mounted in a group on the trail running past the front of the house, others inside.

  ‘You got any more up your sleeve, trooper?’ he asked when his survey was completed and he raked his gaze to look at the mounted New Englander.

  ‘What’s that, Captain?’ Rhett asked, bewildered.

  ‘Any more smart tricks. Only need the one - to get Douglas away from the Rebs, if he’s still alive.’

  ‘He took his chances like the rest of us,’ Seward growled. ‘I say we high-tail it outta here now we got the chance. How about you, Frank?’

  ‘You got an idea, Billy,’ the mean-faced sergeant said softly.

  ‘So let’s get,’ Seward urged, standing up.

  Forrest rose only as far as a squat on his haunches. ‘In talkin’ about high-tail,’ he growled, and showed his brown teeth in a wry grin. He looked at Hedges. ‘Rhett don’t keep his tricks up his sleeves, Captain.’

  All of the men except Hedges and Forrest had been as anxious as Seward to take it on the run again. But now their mood soured as they realized the Sergeant was not yet prepared to assume command.

  ‘Speak your piece,’ Hedges invited.

  ‘Your move, sir,’ Forrest answered with a shrug. ‘It just figures that all Rhett’s tricky deals are gonna be off the bottom.’

  * * *

  ‘STAY mounted, lady,’ the new sheriff of Monksville said. ‘And you guys get up slow and unbuckle your gun belts.’

  ‘If we don’t?’ Melody Devine challenged.

  ‘I start blasting.’

  ‘At an unarmed woman?’

  ‘Guess.’

  She still had her back to him as she sat her horse in the centre of the square, peering over her shoulder through the falling dusk. It took her just a second to reach the decision. Then she swung her head around to glare at her brothers.

  ‘Do like he says!’ she ordered. ‘He’s not kidding.’

  Lon and Clayton glanced at each other, but found their gaze drawn back to the angry face of their sister. The Bowie knife was dropped, then the two men straightened up, took off their gun belts and allowed them to fall to the ground. Not until then did Gerstenberg push wide the batswings to hurry out into the square, leading the doddering town councilors and every other aged customer from the saloon. Other doors opened around the square to give exit to the horrified and curious watchers. And lamps were lit to spill yellow illumination out on to the square, holding back the encroachment of night.

  Edge, the rifle lowered to his hip, kept ahead of the crowd. He halted beside the woman.

  ‘Off, and into the law office, lady,’ he ordered.

  She showed him a look of angry confidence that stopped short of bravado. Then she swung down to the ground, always covered by the rifle, which acted to hold her brothers inactive.

  ‘You won’t get a conviction, mister hard man,’ she taunted.

  ‘Ain’t my job,’ he replied, nudging her in the small of the back with the Winchester muzzle.

  As she headed for the still-darkened law office, he nodded for Lon and Clayton to lead the way. They did, and as soon they cleared the area around the terribly injured Andrews, the townspeople crowded around the rear of the stage.

  The law office had only a single cell, at the rear through an archway. The door was still open from when the last prisoner was dragged out.

  ‘He’s the only thing we have to fear,’ Melody warned sharply as she saw her brothers glance at the rack of rifles behind the desk.

  The men did not reply and led the way into the cell. Their sister entered behind them and Edge used the barrel of the rifle to swing the door closed. The key - one of a bunch on a metal ring - was still in the lock. He turned it and withdrew it.

  ‘There’s only one cot in here!’ Melody complained as the half-breed went back through the archway.

  He struck a match, lit the lamp on the desk and then opened the pot-bellied stove in a corner of the office. ‘Only got the job for a day,’ he answered as he started to set a fire in the cleaned-out stove. ‘Won’t have the time to do any refurnishing.’

  ‘We’ll manage, sis,’ Clayton growled sourly. ‘Just for the one night.’

  ‘That’s right!’ Melody agreed, the complaining tone gone from her voice. ‘Judge Hewitt’s always liked me. When he hears what Andrews did to me, he’s sure to tell the jury what verdict to bring in.’

  The fire blazing fiercely from the kindling and started to get a grip on the fuel and Edge closed up the stove door, stepping back. He sat on the side of the desk, from where he could be seen by the three prisoners.

  ‘What do you think about that, mister new sheriff?’ Lon taunted. ‘No matter what a jury of those old has-beens out there try to do, the judge’ll set us free. ‘Cause he’s got a hankerin’ for Melody, here.’

  ‘No accounting for taste,’ the half-breed replied wryly, and glanced through the archway. All three Devines were sitting on the cot.

  Anger flared across the faces of the men, but the woman accepted the taunt with resignation.

  ‘You’ll see,’ she retorted evenly.

  But she had lost the half-breed, who had returned into the state of pre-occupation that had gripped him for so long, whenever outside circumstances did not affect him. He moved around to the back of the desk and dropped into the leather-covered swivel chair. The rifle he rested across the uncluttered desk top. The office door was still open, but with the heat of the stove beginning to make itself felt, he did not close it. Through the doorway, he had a wide angle view of the square as Andrews was carried gently across it. But he saw and digested the scene with only a part of his mind, for the major share of his thought process was concerned with the telegraph in his billfold.

  It was now obvious that the message had been nothing more than bait to bring him to Monksville. Nancy Harman, who could have told him why he had been tricked into coming to the town, was dead. And she had evidently not revealed this to her brother until today - when he returned from the Funeral Mountains Way
Station and mentioned that a man named Edge was out there waiting for the stage. For if the sheriff had known the story that morning, he would surely have attempted an arrest with the backing of a whole posse.

  So, if Nancy had kept the secret from her brother, it was unlikely she had told anyone else in town.

  ‘Sheriff, we gonna get fed in this dump?’ Lon Devine demanded.

  Edge ignored the question. All he knew was that a lawman was on his way from Kansas, to arrest him for an old murder. A killing committed just after the close of the War Between The States, and the only one for which a warrant had been issued against him. A warrant in the name of Captain Josiah C. Hedges. Thus, he had two pieces of information to work on - the man who was coming for him knew that Edge was really Hedges, and he also knew of the marriage to Beth. More than that, even: knew of the depth of feeling Edge had for his dead wife - deep and strong enough to hook him on the bait of an unexplained telegraph that mentioned her.

  ‘Hey, I said are we gonna get fed?’ Lon yelled.

  ‘Sure you’ll get fed, if you can face eatin’ after what you did.’

  It was Gerstenberg who snarled the response, as he entered the law office. He was short of breath from carrying Edge’s gear, which he dumped on the floor just inside the doorway. He crossed to the desk and dropped the badge beside the Winchester.

  ‘For the money we’re payin’, you can at least wear that,’ he said in the same tone he had used on Lon Devine.

  ‘Two questions, feller,’ the half-breed said, not touching the badge.

  ‘If one of them’s about your money, town treasurer’s over in the courthouse now, openin’ up the civic safe. A thousand in advance and the balance when your tour of duty is over.’

  ‘No sweat,’ the half-breed allowed, his lean face still set in a pensive expression. Then he grinned. ‘You’re pretty good in the prediction line. Takes care of one of my questions.’

  The night air coming in through the open doorway now had a very cold bite to it. The elderly mayor went to the stove, splaying out his hands towards it. ‘Man don’t get to my age without gettin’ an understandin’ of his fellow men, Mr. Edge. I’ll make another guess - that you don’t plan to ask about the Andrews boy. But I’ll tell you anyway. Doc reckons he’s got a fifty-fifty chance. He’s a strong boy.’

  ‘Who won’t grow up to be a man!’ Melody called harshly from the cell.

  Edge ignored Gerstenberg’s report, the woman’s comment and the raucous laughter it drew from her brothers. ‘You know anything about a telegraph Nancy Harman sent me?’ he asked.

  The mayor showed the same brand of disinterest in the half-breed’s question as Edge had displayed in the news about Andrews’ condition. He shook his head absently. ‘Can’t send telegraphs from Monksville. No line into town. Most of the folks that live here ain’t got no time for newfangled things like that. Nearest telegraph office is at Angus Wells, day’s ride south.’

  ‘What d’you know about the Harman woman?’

  ‘Came from Kansas, like her brother did. But a lot later and only for a visit. Been here less than three weeks.’

  Edge nodded. It fitted, if the lawman coming after him was more intent on killing him than arresting him. Far outside his own jurisdiction, he could gun a man down without news of the act getting back to his home ground and jeopardizing whatever position he had there.

  ‘Obliged,’ the half-breed said.

  ‘All aboard!’ the voice of Mort yelled out in the square. ‘Stage is headin’ out. Angus Wells next stop.’

  Then a whip cracked, hooves thudded at the hard ground and wheels began to turn. Dust was raised and some of it drifted through the open doorway into the law office.

  ‘My belly’s beginnin’ to think my throat’s been cut,’ Lon Devine whined.

  ‘It’s a nice idea,’ the half-breed drawled, as he picked up the tin star and pinned it to his chest.

  Gerstenberg scowled. He pointed at the badge. ‘That means your job is to protect every citizen in this town, sheriff,’ he reminded. ‘Those three prisoners included.’

  Edge grinned. ‘A man can only do his best, feller.’

  ‘For two grand a day, you better be the best,’ the mayor muttered, relinquishing his warm position at the stove and heading for the door. He stopped, shot a contemptuous glance at the half-breed, then stepped out into the night, which had become quiet again now that Mort had driven the clattering stage far beyond earshot.

  ‘You screwed these decrepit old bastards outta two thousand dollars for a day’s work?’ Clayton Devine yelled incredulously.

  Edge leaned back in his chair and raised his booted feet up on to the desk. ‘And I’m obliged to you for your help. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘Keep your thanks and everything else!’ Melody snarled. ‘Yeah!’ Clayton agreed.

  ‘Intend to,’ Edge told them as he took out the makings. ‘Anyway, you’ve already had your cut.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CORPORAL Hal Douglas was afraid. As he ran across the meadow and saw the Union troopers gallop away from him, he had started to scream curses at them. Then, as the bunch of Rebel soldiers angled towards him, his voice dropped and he muttered inarticulate pleas for God to forgive him for battering the aged monk to death. He was aware of the Spencer in his hands and the captured Colt in his belt. But he knew he was not going to reach the horse Hedges had turned loose in the corral: and he thought his life might be spared if he did not fire at the Rebels.

  He purposely hurled the rifle away as he tripped to the turf, and yelled that he intended to surrender. But the thud of hooves and slap of leather drowned his croaking, breathless voice. And the soldiers who rode their horses up to him thought he was fumbling for his Colt to get off a shot. A veteran sergeant leapt from his mount and launched a vicious kick that split the skin under the greasy hair above Douglas’ right ear. The Union man was plunged into unconsciousness and so, for awhile, was unable to experience anything.

  He returned to awareness in the hallway of the farmhouse, and smelt the familiar bittersweet odor of new death and faded gun smoke. He felt pain first, then opened his eyes and the fear swept back - far more terrifying than that which he had experienced out in the meadow. He was bound at the ankles and knees and his hands and arms were lashed to his chest. They had dumped him on his side, the temple and cheek stiff with crusted blood uppermost. He had recognized the men as Confederate soldiers as they galloped towards him, so it was no shock to see the uniforms now. A captain and two sergeants, supervising six enlisted men who had draped the dead in blankets and were carrying them out through the front door of the house.

  There was no more gunfire and Douglas was certain his despair was complete - that the Rebs had killed or captured the whole unit. Not that it mattered. If every one of the bastards had got away, they would run out on him. None of them had even given a damn for him.

  ‘Sir, he’s awake,’ the sergeant reported.

  All the Rebels turned hate-filled eyes towards Douglas, who swallowed down a threat of nausea and fixed one thought in his mind. Whatever they did to him, he must not admit to being a Union soldier. Because he was in civilian clothing deep inside enemy territory they would think him a spy, which meant he was subject to summary execution.

  ‘You!’ the middle-aged captain snapped, pointing a gloved finger at Douglas. ‘Will be taken to town and handed over to the civil authorities. You’ll be charged with the murder of the old man in the woods and an accessory to the killings which took place here.’

  Douglas groaned. So they had found the dead monk. News of it was sure to get back to the monastery and his true identity would then be known.

  ‘Take him out and put him on a horse,’ the officer ordered.

  The enlisted men were busy with the dead, so it was the two non-coms who hoisted Douglas roughly from the floor. And, as he swung painfully between them, the Union man began to sob. For he knew he was destined to die - by civil or military law. It didn’t
matter. He was in an inescapable trap with the shadow of the gallows on every side of him.

  Withdrawn into his misery and terror, Hal Douglas saw nothing of his surroundings as he was carried out into the bright moonlit night and folded, face-down, across the saddle of a horse. He was tied on to the animal, alongside the dead monk brought out of the timber. He was unaware of this body, or the corpses of the six shot soldiers who had been killed on the river bank. Nor of the blanket-wrapped remains of the three men and one woman who had been blasted to death in the farmhouse. He did not see the string of six colts and five stallions that were lined out behind the columns of twos into which the soldiers formed. Only on the very periphery of his awareness did he sense the motion of the horse beneath him as the column moved off - back along the trail which curved towards the low-sided gorge.

  Hedges saw all of this as he lay sprawled out flat on the high ground above the trail on the south side of the river. He was breathless from leading his men on a fast run through the cover on the north bank, and his clothing was sopping from a second swim across the river. Behind and below him, the men were similarly breathless and soaked to the skin as they crouched among the boulders at the side of the trail. He could hear their sour-toned voices.

  ‘I don’t like leaving my horse over the other side,’ Rhett complained. ‘I’m the only man kept his mount and I gotta leave him. He’ll likely bolt if there’s a ruckus, high-breed animal like that.’

  ‘Bob?’ Forrest said.

  ‘Yeah, Frank?’

  ‘One, you ain’t a man. Two, there’s a whole friggin’ bunch of trained cavalry mounts comin’ down the trail. Three, just make sure you don’t bolt when the ruckus starts. Four, you don’t stop whinin’, I’m gonna forget you’re on my side.’

  ‘For once I’m with Bob,’ Billy Seward growled. ‘Six of us got across with four horses. And those Rebs weren’t comin’ after us. We had it made.’