CHAPTER 21
The chaos on Lee Street had quieted down some, except for a large crowd that had gathered in front of The Ruby when word spread about Halstead’s standoff with Rigg and the Hancock boys.
Edison’s men cleared a path through the spectators to let Halstead and the chief pass. When they had gotten well clear of the crowd, Edison asked, “You mind telling me what you were aiming to do back there besides almost getting yourself killed?”
“Rigg took a shot at Pappy,” Jerry said as they threaded their way through the thinning crowd on Lee Street. “He was up in the turret of the Municipal Building with a Sharps. The same damned Sharps that’s hanging over the bar back there.”
“Are you sure?” Edison asked as he struggled to keep up with him. “Are you sure it was Rigg?”
That was the problem. Jerry knew it was him, knew it in his bones, but he could not swear to it. “The gunman had wavy blond hair, just like Rigg. I followed a man with wavy blond hair from the building through the crowd, but I lost him in front of The Ruby.” He realized he had not seen him actually enter the saloon, but it was close enough to the truth. “Then I see Rigg sitting there, winded and sweating. He says he was there the whole time, but he’s lying. He said he was drinking, but his table didn’t have a glass on it.”
The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. “He’s lying, Ed. He’s lying, and I let him go.”
“The Ruby’s a Hancock saloon, and they answer to Grant,” Edison reminded him. “Every man in there’s a Hancock man, and there’s no way they would’ve let you walk out of there with Rigg. No way.”
But Jerry had not walked into The Ruby expecting to arrest the rifleman. He expected to kill him for trying to kill Pappy. Edison may have been convinced Jerry would have died, but Jerry had been in spots like that before. The Ruby as crowded as it was, he could have shot Rigg and taken down twenty of them before he had to resort to using his bowie. He would have gotten hurt, maybe even shot, but he had figured he had a better-than-even chance to make it out of there alive in the confusion once the shooting started in such a packed room. And even if he did not, at least Rigg would be dead.
But Rigg was alive. Probably buying rounds for the house and laughing about how he got Mackey’s deputy to back down. How Edison had saved him and how half-breeds just did not have enough sand for a fight.
“I could’ve taken him, Ed.”
“Well you’re not taking him today,” Edison told him. “In fact, I’m the one who’s taking you. To the Municipal Building. Right now.”
Jerry stopped walking, ignoring the people who bumped into him.
Edison stopped, too. He was careful to keep his hand away from his pistols and keep his Winchester at his side.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Jerry said. “You taking me in for something, Chief?”
“Of course not,” Edison said. “It’s just that the town elders want to talk to you about what happened is all.”
Jerry started walking again and Edison fell in alongside him. The townspeople had calmed down considerably since the shots rang out and were eager to move out of the way of the lawmen, who appeared to be in a hurry.
“Which elders?” Jerry asked.
“The new mayor for one,” Edison told him. “Doc Ridley and Mr. Bishop for another.”
“Bishop’s not an elder,” Jerry said. “He sits behind a desk and makes money.”
“He runs the company that runs the town,” Edison answered. “Guess that makes him the eldest elder we’ve got, even over old Pappy.”
But Jerry had been led into a room with powerful men after another dustup and had not breathed free air for three years afterward. He did not like the feeling that was beginning to creep into his bones. “When do they want to see me?”
“Immediately if not sooner,” Edison said. “Those were Mr. Bishop’s exact words.”
“He giving you orders now?”
“The mayor agreed. Stands to reason they’d want to talk to you,” the chief explained, “seeing as how your shot started the whole thing off.”
Jerry started to argue but the words died in his throat. He supposed he had shot first, otherwise Pappy would be dead. “But I wasn’t the only one who got off a shot, Ed. Rigg shot, too.”
Edison’s silence made the feeling creeping into his bones turn into a full-on ache. “You did hear the Sharps go off, didn’t you?”
Edison’s frown told Jerry all he needed to know. “Let’s talk about it up in the mayor’s office. It’ll be better for everyone if we have the same conversation once. Better for everyone.”
When they got closer to the Municipal Building, Jerry stopped at the alley leading back to the old jailhouse. He wanted to point out the spot in the mud where his feet had landed when he had jumped down the stairs. He wanted to point out where the gunman’s feet had landed, too.
But all traces had been pounded out by the feet of fleeing citizens.
He needed time. “I’m not going up there, Ed. Not now and not like this.”
The chief closed his eyes and lowered his head. “They’re up there waiting on us. Let’s just get this over with.”
But Jerry had no intention of going anywhere. Not just yet. “I need some time to work something through. An hour at most. Tell them I’m shook up. Tell them anything. Just give me an hour. That’s all I’m asking.”
Edison looked at his men, who had formed a loose circle around them. They looked like they were keeping the townspeople away, but Jerry wondered if they were not also keeping him from leaving, too.
Which was why he decided to try a little humility. “Don’t make me say please, Ed. I’ve had to eat dirt once in public today. Don’t make me eat it from you, too.”
Edison said, “You’ve got your hour. But I’ll feel better about it if you let some of my boys hang around you to watch your back. I’m gonna have to insist on that.”
“To watch my back?” Jerry asked. “Or watch me?”
“Same difference.” He ordered two of his men to stay with the deputy to keep him safe, before he walked toward the Municipal Building. “One hour, Jerry. Not a second longer.” He touched Halstead’s arm. “Now I’m the one saying please.”
Jerry began walking back to the old jailhouse. Edison’s men followed.
* * *
Jerry sat alone behind Mackey’s desk, drinking coffee that had gone cold hours ago. He had brewed the pot according to Billy’s instructions and, although it was not as good as his uncle’s brew, it was still a better pot than he normally made.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Jerry Halstead felt alone. More alone than he had felt in prison. More alone than he had felt in all of the days he had spent by himself on the trail after he had been released.
He found himself wishing Mackey and Billy were there. Young Sandborne, too. He imagined things would be much different if they were.
But they were in Helena, and he was sitting at a desk that was not his in a town that was not his. Outside, one faction wanted him dead, and the rest despised him for what they believed him to be. Half-breed was only a name to pin on him for what he really was. A stranger. An outsider. Federal badge or no, he was not one of them, and they were lining up against him.
Edison had only heard one shot, and they thought it was his. They thought he panicked and caused a riot.
He had found himself in the same situation three years before in a boomtown called El Paso. The railroad had just come to town, drawing men looking to make their fortune quickly any way they could. Men like young Jeremiah Halstead.
But instead of his fortune, he found himself wearing a tin star as Town Marshal Roy Halbeck’s deputy. The marshal’s office got a piece of every business in El Paso and, although Jerry knew he would never be rich as a lawman, he was making more money than he had ever dreamed a half-Mexican, half-Anglo boy could.
It was not long before factions began springing up in town, and Halbeck had found himself on the wrong side. A group of businessmen had hired a gunman to kill Halbeck and, after several tries, they succeeded.
The town council was up in arms over the cold-blooded murder and immediately promoted young Halstead to town marshal. They gave him a single mandate: Kill the man who had gunned down Halbeck. Jerry had planned to do that anyway, but having the support of the town made it a bit easier.
Or so he had mistakenly believed.
He did not have any trouble finding Big Dave Farley at the ranch of his employers. After it was over, six men laid dead in the Texas dust with Marshal Halstead the only survivor.
The town elders and the newspapers were quick to praise him for avenging their fallen hero. But the rancher had plenty of friends in town, and despite the assurances of the council, Jerry was arrested by the county sheriff and convicted of six counts of murder. He was supposed to serve twenty-five years but was released after three. The reasons were murky, even to Halstead.
Now, Jerry Halstead found himself with another star pinned to his chest and another room full of powerful men looking to speak with him about something he had done to defend a town. Montana might be a long way from Texas, but powerful men were the same everywhere. They became powerful by using men and throwing them away. Men like Jerry Halstead.
He finished his cup of cold coffee and set it on Mackey’s desk. He stood up and drew the bowie knife from the back of his belt as he walked toward the jailhouse door.
He had placed his faith in powerful men once before. He would be damned before he made that same mistake again.
He threw open the jailhouse door and stepped outside, determined to make his own luck or die trying. The same way he had always made his luck. On his own terms.
The two officers Edison had watching him shifted uneasily when they saw him walk out of the jailhouse with the big knife in his hand but did not approach him. He was not coming for them.
He was walking toward the ruined grandstand instead.