The Outrage - Edge Series 3 (17 page)

‘It appears that Sheriff Meeker and his deputy have returned, Edge. And they’re not on their own.’

Edge was unceremoniously jostled aside by the trio of women who were determined not to miss the cause of the furore. They chatted excitedly as they joined the throng advancing toward a line of four riders moving slowly along Texas Avenue: Meeker on one flank, Lacy the other with a pair of younger men between the peace officers.

‘I recognise young Ivers,’ Sullivan said as he rubbed a blob of shaving cream off his freshly shaved jaw. ‘Guess the other one is bound to be Hooper.’

Edge told himself not to un-count any chickens yet, but acknowledged there was a strong probability that the lawmen had arrested the pair of young men for killing the Quinn women. And as the town doctor moved off behind the crowd heading toward the new arrivals he sighed and muttered aloud to himself: ‘Well at least your didn’t buy any supplies you won’t he needing.’

‘What’s that you say, stranger?’ The speaker was the bespectacled old timer named Virgil who had emerged from the barbershop leaning heavily on his cane. He wore a selfsatisfied smirk that matched his tone as he challenged: ‘Makes you mad, I reckon? The way our local lawmen are capable of taking care of troublemakers hereabouts? Shows we don’t have no need of any overpaid Yankee to do the job for them?’

Edge kept watching the approaching quartet of riders as he said: ‘How did you get to live so long, feller?’

‘Uh?’

‘You being such a damn irritation, it seems to me somebody should have swatted you a long time ago.’

The old man sneered: ‘And it seems to me you got the taste of sour grapes, mister. But you don’t have to take it out on an old cripple like me.’

Edge continued to direct his glinting eyed attention elsewhere as he said: ‘If I had any kind of taste, feller, I wouldn’t even be standing on the same side of the street as a bitter old sonofabitch like you.’

‘Hell, you ain’t – ‘

Virgil’s angry response was curtailed by a sudden upsurge in raucous activity along Texas Avenue. And he wrenched his head around in time to see the prelude to an eruption of yet more trouble in this normally peaceful town.

The line of four riders had advanced along half the length of the street’s western stretch and were close enough for Edge to read their expressions in the moonlight and fringe glow from the lamp lit windows of the flanking stores.

The short and overweight Meeker and the taller, more muscular Lacy were glowering down at the press of people who were yelling a barrage of excited questions up at them from either side. To the sheriff’s right the tall and broadly built good looking, fair-haired, unshaven young man with prominently long sideburns was showing smirking equanimity as he swung his head from side to side like an arrogantly over-confident actor accepting applause from an appreciative audience. While being at the centre of clamorous attention patently unnerved the dark haired, head shorter, much thinner youngster between him and Lacy. A moment later there was a shrill cry and a frail looking, elderly woman lunged clear of the crowd and staggered toward the riders, the sound from her gaping mouth rising higher into an ear piercing shriek. Her arms flailed and her straggly hair was strung out behind her from under a shapeless grey hat.

‘Damn, ain’t that the Ivers – ‘ The older time choked in his excitement. The less composed of the two prisoners yelled: ‘Ma, get back or – ‘

Meeker’s horse was spooked by the high pitched sound and the sight of the shrieking woman lurching toward it. And the sheriff had to abandon all other considerations to concentrate on calming his mount that threatened to crash down from the rear and be panicked into a bolt toward the demented Agnes Ivers. Or plunge to one side or the other into the crowd that was roaring loudly enough now to mask the screaming voice of the woman. At the same time, Lacy reached out to grasp her son who had reined his horse to a halt and was about to throw himself out of the saddle, clearly desperate to get to his frantic mother. Which allowed the fourth rider stretched seconds in which to do as he pleased. And he grasped the chance to escape with opportunistic eagerness: thudded in his heels, yelled a command and slapped the reins to urge his roan into an instant gallop. Was carried at speed down the centre of the street, it and the flanking sidewalks virtually deserted beyond the immediate vicinity of the sheriff’s spooked horse and the roaring crowd.

‘Doggone it, that Hooper kid sure is a wild one!’ Virgil exclaimed, the gleaming admiration his eyes magnified by the lenses of his spectacles.

Edge was only vaguely aware of what the old man said as he dropped his right hand to fist it around the butt of the holstered Colt.

Meeker brought his mount under control as Ivers tore free of Lacy’s grip on his arm and powered to the ground: raced to his mother and gathered her into a protective embrace. Stood there wide-eyed and fearful, yelling a plea at the two lawmen as they drew their revolvers. Both the glowering men still astride their skittish mounts recognised there was no danger from Ivers who wanted only to keep himself between the threatening gun muzzles and his mother and shifted their gazes and the aims of their revolvers toward the retreating Hooper.

Abruptly the clatter of galloping hooves on the hard-packed street surface seemed to be the only sound in Springdale as all attention became focussed upon the fleeing young man and racing horse under him. Then everyone’s breath was trapped in his or her lungs as another figure moved out on to the intersection ahead of Hooper. Edge had stepped down off the sidewalk, his right hand still gripping the walnut butt of the Colt that remained in the holster. He yelled: ‘Hold it, kid!’

Maybe Hooper did not hear the command as the exhilaration on his dirt streaked, heavily bristled face changed in an instant to a scowl of sullen defiance. But Edge’s abrupt appearance and menacing stance signalled a dangerous intent and the rider wrenched on his reins to veer his horse to the left, angling toward the start of River Road. Then two gunshots exploded and one bullet drilled into the centre of Hooper’s broad back as he galloped past Edge. The young man stayed astride the bolting horse for a second more as Edge, his Colt still in the holster, snatched a look along Texas Avenue. And saw both lawmen continued to aim their smoking revolvers: Meeker’s gun now tilted into the moonlit sky, Lacy’s ivory butted weapon levelled from his shoulder at arm’s length.

A jubilant cheer erupted from the crowd.

‘Damn fine shooting!’ Virgil growled in even greater admiration as he watched Hooper slump sideways and tumble to the ground amid an elongated cloud of dust kicked up by the free running horse.

‘I guess the kid’s a Yankee,’ Edge muttered as the shot man made no sound except for the dull thud of his dead weight hitting the intersection. Then he was folded by momentum into the foetal position and became utterly still, blood seeping from a single wound in his back to form a dark, expanding stain on his light coloured shirt.

Edge moved to the slumped, inert form, dropped on to his haunches, placed a hand on the side of Hooper’s neck and took a few seconds to check he was dead. Then he stood up and backed away as other people crowded in on him and the corpse. Sullivan was at the front and the glumly silent doctor dropped to his knees, carried out the same search for a pulse himself, rose and shook his head at Meeker who had left his horse in care of somebody else. Lacy had held back, still mounted, his .45 covering Ivers who had been separated from his pacified mother.

‘It was an accident.’ Meeker was grim faced and sounded like he was speaking aloud a thought he gave no credence to rather than making an excuse intended for others to hear.

‘Warning shots: they were supposed to be warning shots, damnit!’

The inconstant Virgil, ever-ready to praise whoever or whatever took his fancy for the moment, complimented gleefully: ‘Hell, Vic, that was real fine shooting with a handgun! And you saved the county the cost of a hanging! There’s just the Ivers kid to string up now, right?’

Agnes Ivers vented a choked cry and clutched at her throat.

Meeker scowled at the broadly grinning old timer, the lawman’s vitriolic expression warning of an imminent explosion of anger. And Virgil was suddenly fearful as he backed off, needing to lean heavily on his cane.

‘You want me to have Jed Winter come down here and do what’s needed, Vic?’ Sullivan asked after he had scanned the crowd and failed to see the undertaker. The distracted lawman seemed not to hear what was said to him, maybe because of a roaring rage inside his head. But after a few moments, just as the frowning doctor was about to repeat his query, Meeker nodded and turned slowly to locate his deputy, still astride his mount with the Colt aimed unwaveringly at Ivers who had been standing in submissive misery alongside the horse.

Now a scowl of horror began to etch itself into the quivering features of the young man as he gazed fixedly down at the corpse of his friend. While Lacy looked self-satisfied, as if he placed great value on Virgil’s admiration of him and growled:

‘I guess the murdering bastard must be dead?’

Edge said: ‘When you warn a feller, deputy, he sure stays warned for the rest of his short life.’ ‘The damn fool shouldn’t have made a run for it! I did my duty, damnit!’

There was a chorus of agreement with the contention and somebody – not Virgil – said earnestly: ‘You ain’t needed in Springdale, stranger!’

Edge glanced grimly down at Hooper’s inert form and murmured: ‘From what I’m seeing I sure am real happy I’m not a man who’s wanted around here.

CHAPTER • 11

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MEEKER VENTED a terse inarticulate sound deep in his throat and squeezed his eyes
tightly closed for long moments. Thus he was able to bring his threatened rage under control but the expression on his mottled, unhealthy looking face was still thunderous as he made an obvious effort to pitch his voice low.

‘Yeah, doc. I’d appreciate it if you’ll have Jed take care of the body. Max, you escort the prisoner to the office. Edge, I’d like for you to come along, too? And Virgil, you get the hell away from here and stay out of my sight.’ He stabbed a finger toward the temporarily chastened old timer then raised his voice to address the diminishing number of bystanders who had merged into a single group on the intersection but held back from the centre of the scene of violent death. ‘Like for the horses to be taken to Harry Shelby’s livery by someone who’s got nothing better to do. And don’t forget that one.’

He waved a hand along River Road to where the dead man’s bolted roan had come to a halt a couple of hundred yards away. Then he headed with long, resolute strides toward the law office and glanced back just once to tacitly signal for the now scowling Lacy to hurry up.

‘Will I be allowed to come visit with Alvin in the jailhouse, Mr Lacy?’ the subdued Agnes Ivers asked timidly, toying nervously with her shopping bag as the deputy dismounted, waved his gun at the prisoner and moved off in the wake of Meeker.

Lacy chose to ignore her while Edge who brought up the rear told the ashen faced woman:

‘At least your boy’ll be safe locked in a cell, lady. But I reckon it’ll be best if you wait for a better time to ask for favours.’

He went into the adequately furnished, far from luxurious law office and in its lamp lit confined space felt the tension like a palpable presence weighing down on the hot, stuffy atmosphere that had been trapped in the tightly closed room all day. It was even worse when he shut the door at his back to cut off the fresh air of the cooling evening from the street.

‘I said to fire a warning shot, Max,’ Meeker reminded, still managing to keep his voice on an even pitch as he shook out the match with which he had lit the lamp. Then he dropped heavily into the chair behind the room’s single desk and delved in a jacket pocket for his pipe. Edge began to roll a cigarette as, for the first time, Lacy’s eyes revealed a hint of unease that signalled he recognised the depths of the powerful feeling Meeker was struggling to contain.

‘And that’s just what I figured to fire, Vic!’ The threatening glint returned when the deputy gestured with his revolver toward Edge. ‘But this guy stepped out on the street. And that made Hooper swing to the side. So he rode right into my line of fire, damnit!’

‘Warning shots are supposed to be aimed high, feller,’ Edge said as he hung the cigarette at the side of his mouth.

‘That’s your damn opinion that don’t count for too much around here, stranger!’ It sounded like he purposefully over-emphasised his Southern drawl.