Blood on the Gallows

Chapter 4

As McBride walked along the boardwalk toward the hotel the clouds had cleared and a honed moon hung in a sky without stars. The dank air smelled of mud and horse dung and out on the flat grass the coyotes were talking.

The buildings along both sides of the street looked bleached white in the stark moonlight, but the alleys were angled in deep purple shadow. Reflector oil lamps had been lit outside the saloons and McBride walked from darkness through dancing cones of orange light and back to darkness again.

The night was young and the town of Rest and Be Thankful was not yet fully awake. There were few men on the boardwalk, but the tinkle of pianos and the laughter of women that floated from the saloons declared to one and all that the music and painted, bold-eyed girls were ready and waiting.

The Kip and Kettle Hotel was in sight when McBride saw two men standing ahead of him where the boardwalk stopped for an alley. The men had Colts drawn and at first he thought they were shaping up for a gunfight. But then he heard one of the men laugh and say, ‘‘Set it up on the rail there, Ed. See if I can take its damned head off.’’

McBride quickened his pace, his eyes on the men. They were rough, bearded, dressed in dirty range clothes and they had been drinking. A sign that advertised women’s clothing creaked over their heads and a short length of white picket fence bordered the boardwalk outside the store, an attempt to add a touch of femininity to the location.

Then McBride saw what was happening and his anger flared.

The man called Ed had set a tiny calico kitten on top of the fence. The little animal was terrified, mewling in alarm, a hunched, trembling, bundle of orange, black and white fur.

‘‘Cut ’er loose, Jake.’’ Ed grinned. He holstered his Colt, his amused eyes on the kitten.

‘‘Watch this, Ed, its head’s comin’ right off,’’ the other man said. He took a few steps back until he was stopped by the store window. He raised his gun—and that’s when McBride hit him.

Driven with all McBride’s strength, the brass butt plate of the Yellow Boy crashed into the side of Jake’s head and the man dropped like a felled ox. He lay on the muddy boardwalk, his left leg twitching, but he made no sound.

Ed cursed and went for his gun.

McBride swung on him and rammed the muzzle of the rifle into the man’s belly. Ed bent double, retching, and McBride grasped the rifle in both hands and chopped upward, driving the top of the receiver into Ed’s mouth. The gunman convulsively triggered a shot into the timber of the boardwalk, then straightened for a moment before staggering into the fence. The slender pine rails splintered under his weight and Ed fell on his back into the mud, his ruined mouth a startled, bloody O of smashed teeth and pulped lips.

McBride stepped to the edge of the boardwalk, looking down at the injured man. Ed was conscious and his gun was lying close to him in the mud. But he showed no inclination to reach for it. The man climbed to his feet, turned and lurched across the street. Over his shoulder he cast a single, fearful glance in McBride’s direction, then crashed through the batwing doors of a saloon and vanished inside.

McBride watched the man go, his anger settling. He bent and retrieved the kitten from the street where it had fallen when the picket fence collapsed. The little calico was covered in mud, shivering, and he held it close to him. Despite its fear the kitten was purring, a fact that pleased McBride immensely and made him smile.

Boot heels sounded on the boardwalk and McBride turned to see Marshal Thad Harlan taking a knee beside the unconscious Jake. The lawman grabbed the fallen man’s jaw and jerked his head back and forth. He slapped Jake’s cheeks a few times, then rose easily to his feet and faced McBride.

‘‘He’ll live, lucky for you,’’ he said. Harlan’s eyes looked like chunks of worked obsidian in the darkness, capturing scarlet flecks of lamplight. A saloon girl in a bright yellow dress stepped onto the boardwalk. She’d heard the gunshot and wanted to see what she could see. But the woman spotted the marshal, seemed startled for a moment, then walked quickly back inside, her high heels clacking.

‘‘I won’t stand aside and watch women, children or animals being abused,’’ McBride said. ‘‘I can’t abide it.’’

As though he hadn’t heard, Harlan smiled and rubbed the top of the kitten’s head with the pad of his forefinger. ‘‘I’ve heard it said that if you stare deep into a cat’s eyes you’ll be able to see the world of spirits,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve never tried it so I don’t know if it’s true or not.’’ His gaze lifted to McBride’s face. ‘‘If you’d killed Jake Streeter I’d have hanged you before the moon went down.’’

‘‘He was going to shoot the kitten. I had to stop him.’’

‘‘McBride, understand this—Rest and Be Thankful is a safe haven for men like Jake Streeter and Ed Beaudry. Take that safety away and you take away the town’s only reason for existing. Pretty soon all you have is a ghost town filled with ghost people.’’

‘‘Marshal, I’d say that men who would kill a helpless little animal for fun aren’t worth protecting.’’

‘‘That’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it. But it’s my job to see that men like Ed and Jake are safe in this town. That’s why they come here in the first place.’’

McBride was puzzled. ‘‘What’s so all-fired special about trash like Ed and Jake?’’

The marshal’s thin mouth stretched in its humorless smile. ‘‘They’re good at what they do.’’

‘‘And what’s that?’’

‘‘No business of yours, McBride.’’

Buttoning the kitten into his slicker, McBride picked up his bedroll. He looked at Harlan. ‘‘You going to charge me with assault?’’

‘‘You’ve been a peace officer somewhere along your back trail.’’

‘‘How can you tell?’’

‘‘The way you stand, the sternness in your eyes, the noble, righteous way you talk. It takes one to know one, I guess.’’ The lawman shook his head. ‘‘No, McBride, I don’t take the time to charge a man with anything. I hang him or I gun him. That’s how I administer the law in this town. But for this once I’m allowing you some slack since you’re only passing through. Call it professional courtesy.’’

‘‘A gun and the rope isn’t much of a way to administer the law.’’

‘‘It suits me. It suits this town.’’

McBride turned on his heel but into the dark, dead space between them Harlan said, ‘‘Take care of your kitten, McBride, and stay out of trouble. I don’t want to draw on you unless I have to. That’s friendly advice from one law officer to another.’’

McBride stopped and turned. ‘‘Marshal, don’t threaten me with your gun. When a man threatens me with a gun I get scared and when I get scared I get violent and bad things happen. That’s more friendly advice from one law officer to another.’’

‘‘Look into the cat’s eyes, McBride,’’ Harlan called out to the big man’s retreating back. ‘‘Maybe you’ll see the spirit world and decide you really don’t want to go there any time soon.’’

The marshal laughed, a mocking cackle that followed McBride all the way to the hotel. Like bat wings flapping around his head.