“Under the bar, about middle way. You be careful, Trent. That gun will take saints and sinners, alike.”
Slipping through the door into the smoke filled room, he walked casually down to the middle of the bar, reached under and brought out the shotgun. He thumbed off the safety.
Charley Walsh was sitting at the far end of the bar. When Trent walked in, his eyes lighted up. “Well, if it isn’t…?” His comment died as he saw Trent take the shotgun. “Oh, shit.” Walsh scooted around the end of the bar and pulled his pistol.
The room got quiet in waves, starting close to him, and then expanding on into the room as more people looked up and realized who was there.
Red Seaver sat at a table with two other men. When he looked up and saw Trent, he went two shades whiter.
He pounded on the counter top with the butt of the shotgun. He had their attention. One of the men at the table stood up, hands out wide. Trent recognized him instantly. Dake Priest was an ex-courier. He’d dropped out of sight the last couple of years and he’d lost track of him.
“I’m not in this, Trent.”
“Too bad, Dake. I like to get all my chickens together.”
“Now, you got no call to act like that. What happened two years ago wasn’t my fault.”
“Oh, I know. Someone had to supply them with automatic weapons. Right? Tell you what, Dake. You go stand in that corner, and maybe I won’t shoot you.”
“You want my gun?” Priest asked.
“Keep it. You can use it if you feel lucky.” He moved his attention to the rest of the crowd. “Folks, there’s going to be some shooting. If you aren’t friends of Red here, you’d better get on outside. If you are friends of his, then stay and join the show. It doesn’t matter to me, one way or the other.”
“Now, Marshal, you hold on a minute.” Seaver was sweating. “This ain’t going to be fair. I got this girl in one hand and a drink in the other. You got to at least give me a chance.”
The area between Trent and the table cleared out and most of the patrons filed out the door. The table in front had three men, and standing in the corner was a fourth.
“You men were warned. Not only did you stay, you killed a man. And for what, Seaver? What do you get out of killing that preacher? Was that one fair?”
Seaver stammered an answer. “We were drunk, man. Besides, Pagan started that. Not me.”
Jumbo Smith had stood it too long. With a truculent voice, he said, “We got you three to one, Mr. Marshal. Maybe if you drop your guns, we’ll let you live for awhile.”
The bar girl started struggling to get away. It was all the distraction they needed. He could see it in Red’s eyes. It was going to be now. He made eye contact with the girl and said, “Drop.”
The girl fell down as if she had practiced the move for years, as Red’s gun was coming up. Trent dropped the barrel of the duck-billed Ithaca and pulled the trigger, aiming high to avoid the girl. The two men at the table exploded in a red froth as the number four shot blew through them. He whirled to face the man in the corner as a bullet nicked the top of his ear and he jacked another shell into the pump shotgun. The Ithaca jammed! He sidestepped up the bar as a second shot went through the side of his shirt, palmed his pistol and fired. Rocked back against the wall by the expanding slug, the man tried to bring his gun in line. He fired again and the man dropped, his gun falling from lifeless fingers.
“Left, Trent!” Charley’s hoarse scream galvanized him back into action. Jumbo Smith, covered in blood, was coming up from behind the overturned table. Trent dropped onto one knee as Smith’s first shot went over his head. Carefully, as if on a target range, he fired one shot. Smith stood stiffly for a moment, and then collapsed lifelessly behind the table.
The door opened behind him as Walsh got up from the floor. Katie came in, and with one look at the carnage around the table, slowly slid down to the floor. She sat that way, with her arms folded across her knees, forehead on her arms.
Murdock stood protectively over her, but with a sheepish look on her face as she spoke to Trent. “I forgot to tell you. That Ithaca jams a bit. Needs some work.”
He just looked at her.
“I said I was sorry.” Her customary belligerence was coming back as she went around the bar to help the bar-girl to her feet.
He helped Katie get up. “Let’s find a place to hole up for the night,” he said gently as he folded her into his arms. “And Murdock?” He pointed at Charley. “Take care of my friend, here. He looks a little under the weather.”
2
Morning was still a promise in the eastern sky as they stood by the preacher’s grave. The roar of the water, rushing from beneath the mountain, seemed muted by the fog. The errant breeze, pushing the mist around the small graveyard, was cool and damp.
“We never got along.” Katie’s voice was subdued, barely audible above the background noise of the Springs. “I’m sorry for that.”
“He died doing what he believed in. Even in the face of death. I heard from some folks he did not give in and was telling them to get out of town when they took him. I would say that’s a fair judgment of any man. He died facing his troubles. That’s all any man can ask.” Trent’s eyes roved around the meadow, and toward the town.
“Do you have to go?”
“You know I do.”
Her head turned away so he wouldn’t see the start of more tears. “Isn’t there some other way? There has been enough killing.”
“If there was another way, I’d do it, Katie. There’s been too much killing, that’s a fact. But there will have to be some more before this is over.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know, Katherine. So am I. There’s a lot at stake, now.”
“I should have fallen in love with some hillbilly and raised pigs and chickens.” She sighed and leaned her head against his chest. “I don’t want to lose you, John. Not now.”
He looked steadily into her eyes. “It could happen, you have to know that.”
“Why can’t we just ride out of here? Why not just grab our stuff and go?”
“What about little Tommy? Or Murdock, do you think she can last—or any of the settlers?” He looked at her, a humorous glint in his eyes. “Don’t I remember you telling me I should take this job? It was my duty?”
“I didn’t love you then. Ah, damn you. I don’t know why I stay with you.”
He chuckled and pulled her to him. “Sure you do. You said us old guys were more interesting.”
She leaned back, looking at him. “You can’t do all those interesting things if you’re dead.”
“Point taken. This won’t be a contest, Katherine. Not if it’s just Pagan.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know him. I know me.”
3
As the sun started to climb, running the shadows from the street below, people began showing up in small groups, positioning themselves along the street and between buildings for what small protection they would afford. Trust the mountain grapevine. Word gets around.
Leaving Katie sitting on the church steps, Trent was just starting down the hill when he heard his name called. He turned to confront the small group of horsemen just coming in from the trail above the springs. Just what I need. “Mr. Starking.”
“Marshal Trent.”
He wondered if the thong was off his pistol and vowed to cut it off. He’d just have to chance his gun falling out of the holster. “I’m asking you to stay out of this, Mr. Starking. It would be a favor.”
Starking smiled crookedly. “We never had much in common with Pagan Reeves, Marshal. No, actually we are here to meet with some of the townsmen. It’s peace we’re looking for, not war. We won’t interfere.”