CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Her name was Gail. It was said in neatly formed red letters,

stitched with thread on the left side of her white blouse

where the material started its slope to her neck after

cresting the high, pointed peaked swell of her breast. She

was a tall redhead, the skin of her face tanned a pretty

brown, throwing the whites of her large eyes with blue

centers into an attractive contrast. Although her breasts

were large her build was slim, with a narrow waist and

promisingly curved hips. Her walk was graceful as she

threaded between the tables of the small restaurant and her

movements agile as she dispensed the plates heaped with

fine smelling food cooked by a grinning Mexican who

occasionally popped his head through the door from the

kitchen to see how business was progressing.

It was good but beginning to fall off as the hours slid

towards midnight. When Edge had entered there had been

perhaps twenty men and women scattered around the

fifteen tables. But he took his time, relishing the inch thick

steak, the beans and deep fried potatoes, savoring the apple

pie with thick fresh cream, only sipping the hot, sweet

coffee. Gradually the diners finished their meals, paid their

checks and left, treating the waitress named Gail with

courtesy, which she acknowledged with gentle smiles and

invitations to return to Honey"s.

The restaurant was situated in mid-town Peaceville

and appeared to draw its custom from both areas. But there

was something about the standard of the food, the

friendliness of its service, the eastern decor of checkered

tablecloths, elegant cutlery and fine china that created an

atmosphere in which good manners became a matter of

course to all those that entered.

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“Who"s Honey?” Edge asked as Gail closed the door

behind a departing, middle-aged couple, and he and the

waitress were alone in the dining room.

She flashed her gentle smile. “The cook and the

owner,” she answered brightly, nodding towards the

kitchen door. “He has some unpronounceable Mexican

name that has a bit in the middle that sounds like Honey.

People started to call him that and it stuck. You new in

town?”

She arched her eyebrows and looked at Edge with

unashamed interest. He wondered momentarily if he should

feel flattered, decided she was the kind of woman who

would be interested in everybody and everything.

“New tonight. Heading for Warlock and didn"t know

I"d arrived „til the Sheriff told me you"d changed the

name.”

She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “Nice thought,

wasn"t it? The war being over like it is. Trouble is, not

much has changed except some signs. Most of the people

just used it as an excuse to throw a weeklong celebration.

You"ve arrived for the tail end.” Her expression dulled into

distaste. “You missed three shootings and an attempted

lynching and so many fights nobody kept tally.”

“Add one more,” Edge told her, handed her his cup

and indicated more coffee.

She filled the cup to the brim from a jug, unsurprised

by his revelation. The meal had calmed Edge, the good

food nudging him into a mood of quietude that relaxed his

body and face, so the girl saw him simply as a tired, travel

stained man with nothing on his mind but the prospect of a

long rest, with time for maybe a little conversation. She sat

down at an adjacent table.

“It"s a good town,” she said with feeling. “There are a

lot of decent, hard working people in Peaceville who hope

it will live up to its name. And at this end, it mostly does.”

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She sighed and Edge felt a stirring of desire as he

watched her breasts rise and fall.

“But you get the trouble makers in here as well as

peaceable folk?”

She nodded and smiled again. “Yes, we do. But they

behave themselves in the restaurant. Sheriff Peacock sees

to that.”

Now it was Edge"s turn to show surprise, and it drew

another smile, lighting up Gail"s regular features.”

“I take it you"ve met him. He tries to have a word

with every stranger who rides in. He may seem a bad

choice for authority, but he"s right for this town. He

recognizes the need for what"s downtown and so he let"s it

be. Any trouble up this end and he shows how mean he can

be. We respect him and they fear him – most of them.” Gail

yawned. “Excuse me,” she said as the cook peered outside

again and heaved a sigh when he saw the restaurant was

almost empty.

“We close after this gentleman has left, Honey,” she

said.

Edge finished his coffee at a swallow and stood.

“How much do I owe?”

“Dollar, sir.”

Edge gave her two. “Obliged. It was worth double, so

I"ll pay double.”

“You don"t have to...” she began, but Edge had put on

his hat and reached the door in three long strides.

“That"s a mean looking man,” Honey said as the door

banged shut.

“Oh no!” Gail exclaimed, staring at where the lace

frill on the door still swayed from the sudden movement.

“That"s a man, Honey.”

Honey shrugged as he untied his apron, muttering:

“Women.”

Out on the street the subject of this short

disagreement was heading towards where Peaceville was

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showing no sign at all of giving into the thickening

darkness of night, the noise and light raucous and blazing,

as if throwing out challenges to the insistent demands of the

passing of time. Edge sensed the steely stare of Sheriff

Peacock upon him as he unhitched his horse from in front

of the New York Hotel and led her along to the livery

stable.

The man inside was very old, perhaps as much as

eighty years, which was a considerable achievement in that

part of the country. He sat cross legged on the straw littered

floor, using a hay bale as a table on which he was playing

himself a two-handed game of five card draw. All the stalls

seemed taken and he looked up without enthusiasm at the

prospect of new business.

“Filled right up, mister,” he said, showing a toothless

mouth, the loose skin of his cheeks rippling as he spoke.

“How much do you charge?” Edge asked.

“Fifty cents a night, feed and water. When I got room.

I ain"t though.”

“I figure you can find it for two dollars,” came the

reply.

“He, he,” the man giggled, getting to his feet with

remarkable agility for one so old. “Rich men I like.”

He held out a hand for the reins and Edge gave them

to him. The man stood quietly as Edge removed the saddle,

swung it over a peg on the wall. Then the horse was led to

the back of the stable, persuaded gently into a vacant stall.

The man returned and held out a hand again, this time for

money. Edge slapped a dollar bill into it. The man"s

expression showed irritation.

“You said two dollars, mister.”

Edge grinned his icy grin. “And you said fifty cents

when you got room. You got room. I want my change.”

The man"s expression became ugly with rage. “I

could lame that horse of your, mister,” he spat out.

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Edge"s hand flashed to his back appeared brandishing

the knife. His voice hissed low. “If that horse ain"t fed and

watered and fit to ride when I want it, you won"t have any

hands to play poker with.”

The man"s rage withered under Edge"s steady gaze

and he suddenly dug a hand into his pocket, came out with

some loose change and dropped a great deal through

fumbling fingers as he counted out fifty cents.”

Edge put the money away and slid the knife into its

sheath. “Obliged,” he said, and moved to the rear of the

stable.

“What you doing?” the man demanded, failing to get

any authority into his voice.

“Looking,” Edge said.

He had to investigate six stalls before a grunt of

discovery revealed his success. Then he went into four

more and each time found what he expected to. Each of the

five horses stood quietly, calmed by the gentle touch of

Edge"s hand on their backs as he stooped to examine the

brands seared into their hind quarters. In each case it was

identical, a simple, „J&J" with no border.

“You recognize that, mister?” the old man asked

nervously as Edge peered over the wall of a stall at the last

horse Edge had examined.

Edge nodded. “Stands for Josiah and Jamie,” he said

absently, hardly realizing he had spoken aloud as his

expression seemed to melt from pensiveness to nothing and

then reform into a look of terrible hatred.

The man shrunk back into the shadows as Edge

pushed out of the stall, a directness of purpose in his long

strides as he made for the door. There was just the sound of

his footfalls on the ground, and the jingle of spilt change as

his boots trod among it, scattering it. But then a volley of

shots rang out and Edge"s hand streaked to his holster,

came up with the Remington leveled.

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As the old man gasped at the speed of the draw Edge

took a final stride to the door and stuck his head out. He

saw Gail and Honey turn from fastening the restaurant door

and stare down the street. He followed the direction of their

claimed attention and saw a crowd milling in front of the

hotel, the numbers swelling as he watched. The saloon

piano belted out a few more notes, sounding far in the

distance, then the player hesitated, struck another chord and

stopped.

“They got the sheriff,” a man called excitedly and

Gail and Honey started to run towards the activity.

Edge took off after them.

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