CHAPTER SIXTEEN

There was upwards of fifty people outside the hotel when

Edge got there, formed into a wide half-circle facing the

Sheriff"s office. Mean-faced bounty hunters, frightened

saloon and dancehall girls, grim-faced citizens of stature

and their shocked wives. There was even a group of three

children, two boys and a girl who looked on in wide-eyed

amazement. All attention was focused on the Sheriff"s

office, its windows smashed, door swinging open. The only

sound as the audience held its breath in anticipation of what

was the come was the faint, regular creaking of the

Sheriff"s rocker as, empty, it dipped and tipped with the

momentum of its recent occupant.

Then the crowd let out its breath in a single rush of

escape, the sound magnified by the silence to the height of

a sudden gust of prairie wind. Sheriff Peacock had

appeared in the doorway of his office, legs apart, arms

stretched out so that he could rest his hands around the

doorframe to either side. His elderly face, etched with the

experience of so many hard, bitter years in the far west,

seemed to be set in a position of repose. It was an

expression, which took no account of a big patch of blood

in the center of his shirt-front, which spread wider as he

stood there, like an orator wondering how to begin his

address to the waiting, expectant audience.

“Sheriff,” somebody said from the rear of the crowd

and the wounded man seemed to recognize the voice,

accept it as an invitation to emerge.

He took three normal strides across the sidewalk, but

as he stared directly ahead, seeming to search above the

heads of the crowd for the man who had spoken his name,

he was unaware that he had reached the edge. His foot at

the end of the fourth stride found only thin air and he

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seemed to hang, unmoving in the off-balance position for

several seconds before falling forward to land in a heap at

the side of the dusty street.

Not a soul moved to his aid as their horror-stricken

attention was captured by a new movement. But one pair of

eyes in the crowd stared with deeper intensity than all the

others: saw the doorway of the sheriff"s office in much

stark clarity that it might have been the noonday sun

beating down upon the scene rather than the dull flickering

light of a kerosene lamp. Edge"s eyes were narrowed to the

merest slits and his teeth gleamed between lips pulled so

tightly back that they seemed not to exist at all. His fingers

gripped the butt of the Remington so hard that his knuckles

showed white and his arm ached clear up to the shoulder

socket.

Frank Forrest came out first, Colt revolver in his left

hand, Spencer repeater rifle in his right. Then came Billy

Seward, went to the left, next Hal Douglas to join him on

that side. John Scott and Roger Bell emerged to stand on

the right. They no longer wore their cavalrymen"s uniform

and their faces were as overgrown with week old beards as

was Edge"s. But Edge recognized each and every one as

easily as if he had seen them on parade, as neatly dressed

and cleanly turned out as his brand of discipline had

demanded of soldiers serving under his command. Each

was armed in the same way as Forrest, except for Seward,

who brandished his army saber instead of a rifle.

“Frank Forrest her has got an announcement to make

to the people of Peaceville,” Seward said suddenly. “You

all better listen and listen good.”

“Right,” agreed Hal Douglas, his eyes roving the ring

of faces. “Anyone tries to interrupt, likely he gets his head

blown off.”

“We ain"t fooling,” Bell enjoined. “Listen good.”

“Good,” Scott emphasized.

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Forrest waved the rifle, telling his men they had said

enough and it was his turn.

“Sheriff Peacock there...” He jabbed at the injured

man with the rifle. “...he was a stupid man. He thought he

had this town and this part of the country sewed up nice

and neat. But he was wrong. He scared a lot of people, but

he didn"t scare me.”

“Nor us,” Seward put in, the held his silence under

Forrest"s stony gaze.

“He had nothing to back him up expecting all you

people"s fear of him. You see what good that does him

when his time came.”

At the rear of the crowd, standing between Gail and

Honey and the old man from the livery stable, Edge

watched and listened, his mind floating in a sea of hot,

liquid hate that he knew would have to cool and subside

before he made his move. Fury was a weapon that was

unreliable, could backfire on a man and leave him easy

meat in the sight of another man armed with a cool brain.

“That"s by and by,” Forrest went on, his voice

dropping to an almost conversational level. “Sheriff

Peacock ain"t the law in Peaceville any more. I am, and

these are my deputies.” He spat onto the sidewalk. “Won"t

be many changes made, far as citizens of the town is

concerned. All they got to do is vote me a higher salary

than Peacock had, and salaries for my deputies, of course.

And any bounty hunters among you the sheriff"s take got to

be higher. With all these deputies, the cost of law

enforcement has gone up considerably. Ten per cent for me

and five per cent each for my boys. Makes a nice round

thirty per cent.”

“Screw you,” a man in the crowd said, his voice very

clear.

“Too clear,” Forrest said. “Blast him.”

It was Bell who fired and it was as if the bullet had

physically pushed a gap into the circle of people. In fact,

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they had drawn away in horror as the complaint"s forehead

cracked open to gush blood in a fountain as he pitched

forward. Besides Edge, Gail turned away, a hand flying to

her throat as she retched, but failed to raise moisture.

“They"re tough,” the old man on the other side said

with admiration.

“Like Rodge here said awhile back, we ain"t fooling,”

Forrest went on easily. “So do like we say, and Peaceville

will be a fun town to live in.” He transferred both guns to

his left hand and held his right aloft. “I, Frank Forrest,” he

intoned, “hereby appoint myself new Sheriff of Peaceville,

Arizona Territory. I swear to protect its citizens and uphold

the law.” He grinned around the crowd. “I ain"t sure of

what the right words is but I guess that will have to do.”

“Hey Frank,” Seward yelled. “You can"t appoint

yourself the new sheriff. The old one"s still around.”

Forrest sighed, aimed his rifle and squeezed the

trigger. The Sheriff arched his back once and died. “He

ain"t now,” Forrest said.

Seward gave a shout of glee and leapt down from the

sidewalk, flipped the dead Peacock over onto his back with

a vicious kick. He stopped, ripped the star from the man"s

shirt. Then his saber went high, made a swishing sound as

it fell and drew a deep seated gasp of horror from the

watching crowd as the blade slashed cleanly through

Peacock"s neck, severing his head from his body.

“That makes it for sure,” Seward said, tossing the star

to Forrest who caught it and pinned it to his own shirt-front.

At the rear of the crowd, unmoved by the horror of

what had taken place outside the sheriff"s office, Edge

judged that the time was right. He felt cold and calculating,

his muscles relaxed, his mind and body ready to act like a

machine, obeying the spur to vengeance but open to the

caution for self-preservation. He drew the Remington, his

hand curling around the cold hardness of its butt. Then, like

a released coil spring he sprung as fingers clawed into his

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arm. The muzzle of his revolver was an inch from Gail"s

horrified face and Edge"s finger was within a split instant

of squeezing the trigger.

“What are you doing?” she demanded sharply, her

voice lost to all others in the buzz of startled conversation

that had sprung around the crowd.

“Attending to my business,” Edge snapped, lowering

the gun, shaking free of the girl"s grasp.

“There"s innocent people here,” she urged. “Women

and children. They"ll get hurt.”

“That ain"t nothing to do with my business,” he came

back, looking across the crowd, seeing that all but Bell and

Seward and gone into the sheriff"s office. These two stood

a menacing guard outside.

“You"ll fail,” Gail pressed on. “You can"t hope to go

up against their rifles with a revolver.”

Edge stared down at the Remington snuggled in his

hand and realized the truth of the girl"s words. He"d been

wrong. He wasn"t ready. He had acted on an impulse,

taking no account of a primary factor that loaded the odds

overwhelmingly against him.

“Don"t listen to her,” the toothless old man

encouraged, anxious for more action. “Go and get „em son.

They"re tough but you"re tougher. Go blast them out of the

office.”

Edge looked at him and from the expression on his

face, the old man was sure his words had convinced Edge

not to wait.

“Go get my horse ready, feller,” he said easily. “Feed

him, water him, rub him down till his coat shines like a

mirror, and saddle him. If he ain"t ready by the time I want

to ride out of here you"ll have three minutes to make your

peace with whatever kind of God makes scum like you.”

The old man turned and scuttled away, and the rest of

the crowd began to break up, only two men having the

stomach to cross and pick up the headless body of Sheriff

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Peacock under the menacing guns of Bell and Seward. But

even they turned away from the displaced head, white faces

twisted by terror.

“Thank you,” Gail whispered, and took Honey"s arm

for support as the couple moved away.

Edge cast one more glance at the sheriff"s office

before using the cover of what remained of the crowd to go

into the hotel.

The gold-studded clerk eyed him fearfully. The drunk

slept on. No longer snoring. The only sound in the lobby

was the heavy tick of a large clock above the door. It"s

hands pointed to the hour of two o"clock. Peaceville was

suddenly quiet.

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