“It’s probably for the best. Don’t want to give Bundy and Crump cause to shoot us in ‘self-defense.’ Not that they’d need much excuse, by the looks of things.”
“What are you going to do? Do you have a plan?”
“Definitely.”
“Is it a good one?”
“Definitely not. Just stay low. When I give the signal, move.”
“Move where?”
“I don’t know. Just do something.”
“Mal?”
“Yeah?”
She kissed him. Just once. Lightly, an inch to the side of his lips. It made him feel ten feet tall.
Mal rose from the sagebrush, waving his arms over his head. “Oh, hi there, Sheriff. Deputy,” he said at the top of his voice. “Fancy bumping into you guys out here in the middle of nowhere.”
As one, Bundy and Crump turned and drew on him.
“Whoa,” Mal said, striding out towards them. “Easy, fellas. I’m not packing, as you can see. I’m here to parley. I see that we have what some’d call a good old-fashioned lynching.”
“What you see,” said Bundy, not lowering his gun, “is the due process of the law. We caught Jamie Adare red-handed, in the commission of an act of thievery. We are well within our rights to sentence and punish him in the manner of our choosing.”
“Not sure I recall there being a trial.”
“Not sure I care what you think, Reynolds. You could say my deputy and I are teaching you owlhoots a lesson. We’re fed up to the back teeth with your games and your tomfoolery. I run an orderly town, and I won’t stand for any sort of misbehavior.”
“And you know what?” Deputy Crump chimed in. “When the Alliance comes and incorporates Shadow into the Union — and it’s gonna happen any day now — you’ll find there’ll be even stricter law enforcement. Those Alliance folks don’t tolerate troublemakers. We’ve seen it on some of the Red Sun planets already, Alliance troops cracking down on anyone as gets too uppity. They call ’em insurgents but we all know they’re just crooks and criminals.”
“And what do they call that cracking down?” said Bundy. “They call it a ‘police action.’ So we, as police ourselves, are only emulating their example. Starting with you miscreants.”
Mal shrugged. “I tell you, Sheriff, I’d already been giving thought to joining up with the Independents. Seems as though you’ve just pushed me a few steps further in that direction. But let’s not bring politics into this. Let’s keep things strictly personal. How’s about this? You take that there noose off of Jamie, then we all shake hands and walk away, no harm, no foul.”
“Or how’s about I just plant a bullet in you right now?” said Bundy. “On account of you’re committing an obstruction of justice. What do you say, Orville? Reckon that’d fly?”
“Reckon it’d fly right nicely,” said Crump.
“Better still, you can halt there, Reynolds, exactly where you are. Don’t come a step nearer.”
Mal did as bidden, in the full knowledge that either Bundy or Crump would drill a hole in him if he disobeyed. He was now within ten paces of the mesquite tree, and somewhat closer to Crump than to Bundy.
“Good boy,” said Bundy. “Stay put, and you can watch your pal Jamie dangle, knowing there ain’t a thing you can do about it. Knowing, too, that it’ll be your turn next.”
Jamie cast Mal a frantic look. Both of them had come to the same realization: Bundy and Crump were not kidding around; this was not all just some piece of theater. They were going to go through with the hanging. Because they could. Because they were the law. Because the prospect of war in the ’verse, which over the past few weeks had become less of a possibility and more of a cast-iron certainty, seemed to have given them the courage to act as intemperately and self-indulgently as they liked. Because when chaos loomed, reason and accountability went out of the window.
Behind his back, Mal flapped his hand at Jinny. He trusted she would interpret the gesture correctly. He was telling her to get out of there. Nothing was to be gained by her remaining. He and Jamie were as good as dead. No point her making it three for three.
In the event, the vagueness of his plan — the nonexistence of it, really — worked against him. Jinny, instead of fleeing, stood up out of the sagebrush.
“Well, well, well,” said Bundy, pushing his wide-brimmed hat back on his head with the barrel of his pistol. “Lookee here. Got the whole gang, just about, apart from the Finn brat. Now we got us a proper audience. Ain’t no one going to be more upset about Jamie Adare’s neck getting stretched than his kid sister.”
“Please, Sheriff Bundy, I’m begging you,” Jinny said. “Let him go.”
“You got something you wanna bargain with, girl?” Bundy’s leer made it patently obvious what he was hinting at. “’Cause tempting though that’d be, I think I’d much rather watch you watch your brother die. Talk about satisfying. Orville? I’ll keep my gun trained on these two. You set about doing what needs to be done.”
Deputy Crump holstered his sidearm and unlashed the rope from the tree trunk. Then he took the strain and started to pull, using the trunk like a pulley to mitigate the weight on the other end of the rope. Jamie’s feet left the ground. His legs kicked. The noose tightened and he began making horrendous choking, gargling noises. His face rapidly purpled.
Mal knew he had one shot at this. He might die as a consequence. He might die even before he was able to achieve what he was setting out to do. But either of those fates was better than allowing Bundy and Crump to get away, unopposed, with what was unarguably cold-blooded murder.
He whisked his knife from its sheath and slung it through the air.
The blade cleaved clean through the rope, inches above Jamie’s head.
Sheriff Bundy’s attention had been divided between Mal and Jinny. Hence he was slow getting off a shot at Mal, so slow that Mal had time to duck out of the way, even as Jamie tumbled to the ground.
Deputy Crump also fell as the rope was cut and went slack in his hands. Suddenly, with nothing to counterbalance him, his strenuous pulling was converted into strenuous falling backwards. He sprawled in the dust. Mal pounced, planting a knee on Crump’s chest to pin him down, then slid the deputy’s gun out of its holster. He drew a bead on Bundy, cocking the hammer.
Standoff.
Jinny ran to Jamie’s side and released the noose. Jamie rolled over, retching and wheezing.
Bundy eyed Mal beadily. “You won’t, boy. You don’t have the stones. You ain’t never shot no one in your life, and the last person you’re going to start with is a lawman.”
“Or maybe,” said Mal, “the first.”
And he fired.
Neither Jinny nor Jamie could believe it. Same went for Crump, who stared up at Mal aghast.
Even Mal himself was a little surprised. It was as though some part of him had known he had no choice, while another part reeled in astonishment.
Bundy went down like a sack of coal. For several long moments Mal was convinced the sheriff was dead. He hadn’t known he had it in him to kill someone. Now he understood what it took: the right motivation, the right mix of necessity and desire. This was it. He had crossed a bridge he could not cross back. His life from now on would never be the same.
Then Bundy hauled himself up into a sitting position. “Gorramn owwww!” he cried, clutching his shoulder. “That hurts like a tā mā de hún dàn!”
Not dead. Just wounded.
Mal didn’t know how he felt about that. Relieved, yes, but not entirely.
“You moron, Reynolds!” Crump exclaimed, still pinned under Mal’s knee. “We weren’t really going to hang him!”
“Huh? You expect me to believe you?”
“Believe what you want. It’s true.”