CHAPTER ELEVEN
The sandstorm had not yet blown itself out and the hour was late, but Hank Cobb rang the church bell to announce a meeting of the townspeople.
As the citizens appeared, most of them in nightclothes, Cobb and his gunmen steered them away from the church to the sheriff’s office.
Cobb wanted to speak to only the most influential residents, the businessmen and their wives, and the others were left outside on the boardwalk, to take shelter from the still hard-driving sand as best they could.
After Cobb called the meeting to order, he told Shel Shannon to present the butcher’s bill for the battle against what he called, “the terror riders.”
Shannon read the warning in Hank Cobb’s eyes and mentally reframed his statement to suit the mood of the curious crowd that had squeezed inside the sheriff’s office.
“Brothers Amos, Gideon, Kent, Bernard and Lemuel are all dead,” he said. “Brother Matthias is gutshot and squallin’ like a—”
“A grievous, mortal wound,” Cobb said, his glare again flashing a warning to Shannon that he should watch his tongue. “And painful.”
“Yeah, an’ Brother Jeremiah’s knee is bullet smashed and he ain’t never again gonna walk again on two legs.”
“Where is the witch?” a fat man with wet lips said. “We must burn the witch.”
“Yes, we must, but did she escape?” a woman said.
“The terror riders took her,” Cobb said. “Our brothers had no chance against such a host of gunmen and the witch, the devil’s harlot, helped them prevail by casting her evil spells.”
He pulled his cowl over his head and looked at the people around him from shadow.
“The good Lord is testing us,” he said. “The brothers laid down their lives to protect this blessed town from outlawry, violence and witchcraft, but were laid low.” His voice rose to a shout. “But we will prevail over evil. Those who cast envious eyes on our fair town and wish to destroy it will themselves be destroyed. This is the word of the Lord!”
This last drew a cheer, but a few of the women tugged their dressing gowns closer around their necks and exchanged fearful glances.
“Brother Matthias, we must have safety and security at any price,” the fat man said. “Only then can Holy Rood regain its peace and tranquility.”
“Where will you lead us, brother?” a man in a plaid robe and carpet slippers said.
“Perhaps we must flee and establish a new Holy Rood away from all danger,” a woman said.
Cobb shook his head. “No. That is not the way.”
“Then ease our minds and show us the way, Brother Matthias,” a voice from the crowd said, to nods of approval.
“I say we execute outsiders with evil in their hearts right away and not keep them for trial before the Grand Council like we did the witch and the two men with her,” the fat man said.
This brought another murmur of approval.
“Yes, mistakes were made, but they will not be made again,” Cobb said. “We have lost holy and valiant brothers this night, but, as I prayed over their dead bodies in the street, God spoke to me.”
A chorus of, “What did He say? Tell us, brother.”
“He told me that I have brought three years of peace and prosperity to our town and He instructed me to bring many more,” Cobb said. “He said it is His wish that more skulls of the evil interlopers who would do us harm line the road into Holy Rood.”
There were a flurry of cheers and a few shouted questions, but Cobb held up his arms for quiet.
Ignoring the gesture, a thin, older woman, her mouth as tight and mean as a snapped-shut steel purse, raised her voice and yelled, “More rolling heads! It is the Lord’s wish.”
“Indeed it is, madam,” Cobb said. “But first we must replace the holy warriors we lost with more heroes of the same stamp. The terror riders and the witch who now leads them must be hunted down and destroyed.”
Recognizing his cue, Shannon called out, “Our town is in grave danger, Brother Matthias, but for pity’s sake tell us where such brave men can be found?”
“Money will bring them, Brother Uzziah, and plenty of it,” Cobb said.
His eyes glittered in the shadow of the cowl. “We will lure such paladins to Holy Rood with the promise of gold, saith the Lord to me, and then we convert them to our ways. Soon they will see the light and fight for peace and justice, just as the rest of our brethren does.”
“Brother, I have but a few cents in my pocket,” Shannon said. “But I give them to you freely for our holy cause.”
“Blessed be the givers,” a woman said. “And bless you, Brother Uzziah.”
Cobb threw his cowl back and, his pitiless, criminal eyes blazing, he said, “Then ye’ll pay for more crusaders, will ye?”
“Command us!” the woman with the mean mouth yelled.
“Just don’t break the bank, brother.”
This last came from white-haired Temple Carstairs, the owner of the town’s prosperous mercantile. As a major of Union infantry, Carstairs had fought well at Gettysburg and there was a hard edge to him.
But Cobb ignored the old soldier’s outburst and said, “All of ye standing here tonight, do you want the best? Do you want to live your lives free from evil and men who would do violence to you and yours?”
“Aye, the best there is,” another man said. “Keep us safe, brother.”
“Then I’ll find champions for you,” Cobb said. “But know this, such men don’t come cheap.”
There was not the roar of approval that Cobb expected, but Shannon stepped into the breach again.
“We’ll pay to restore Holy Rood to an island of peace in a sea of lawlessness,” he said. “Name the price we must pay, Brother Matthias.”
If anyone in the crowd thought that was big talk coming from a man with only a few cents in his pocket, he or she stayed quiet.
“Then thus spake the Lord to me,” Cobb said. “From every man in town ye will collect watches, studs, rings . . . everything they have that’s made of gold.”
Talking into a shocked silence, he continued, “From every woman, jewelry of all kinds. Heed my warning, let no woman wear a ring, bracelet or necklace of gold after this tithe has been made or verily, it will turn molten and burn her like the very fires of hell.”
The silence grew, deepened and stretched for long moments, and then Carstairs’s voice shattered the quiet like a rock thrown through a plate-glass window.
“It’s too much, Brother Matthias,” he said. “You can’t demand such a sacrifice from these people. I say we arm ourselves and form our own police force. Aye, even an army if need be.”
Temple Carstairs didn’t know it then, but Cobb did, that the large number of hear-hears from the crowd after his statement would prove to be his death warrant.
“I don’t demand such a sacrifice from you,” Cobb yelled. “God demands it!”
“A tithe like that would just about wipe me out,” another man said. “I’ve worked hard for what I own.”
“And surely you don’t want our wedding rings?” a woman said.
“I don’t want them, but God surely does,” Cobb said. He saw mouths opening to speak and added, yelling, “Listen to yourselves, people! With God’s help Holy Rood is a heaven on earth. We live free of crime, free of the violence that has so destroyed the Western lands. The only people allowed in our town are those honest souls who come to buy, sell or trade.”
Shel Shannon once again decided to back up his boss.
“Look around you, citizens,” he said. “There are no drunken cowboys or stinking miners staggering from saloon to saloon in search of demon drink, no painted women eager to satisfy their lusts, no pale-faced gamblers to fleece the unwary and no soulless outlaws to visit violence on our women and children. The law never comes to Holy Rood and why? Because they know it is a town of peace and good order.”
His voice rising to a roar, Shannon poked holes in the air with his forefinger and said, “And the skulls of those who have tried to transgress against us are plain to see, a warning to others who might be tempted to do the same.”
“Indeed, Brother Uzziah,” Cobb said. “And we owe all this to you and others like you, the holy warriors who have kept the peace in Holy Rood with the gun, the noose and the falling blade. But now, to save this town from terror and witchcraft, we need more of your kind.”
The reaction from the townspeople was lukewarm at best, and Carstairs made things worse when he said, “What you have told us is true, Brother Matthias. Holy Rood is a safe town, a place where women and children can walk without fear. But sometimes the price for such security can come too high.”
“Brother Carstairs, you talk of forming a police force, even a citizens’ army, and that tells me you are a fool,” Cobb said. “All you’d form is a rabble that would flee their first encounter with the terror riders.”
Carstairs looked angry and opened his mouth to object, but Cobb shouted him down.
“Only the men I choose can be trusted with guns,” he said. “We don’t want an armed rabble here. Only the warriors I plan to hire can bring you the peace and security you desire.”
“Peace and security at any price!” a woman yelled, and a few heads nodded in agreement.
“I suggest a meeting of the Grand Council to discuss the matter and that a vote be taken,” Carstairs said. “I propose a citizens’ police force, but others may think that a certain amount of money could be allotted for more armed men. No matter the decision, you’ll have to work within a strict budget, Brother Matthias.”
“I am your obedient servant, Brother Carstairs, and I will abide by the wishes of the Grand Council,” Cobb said. “But know this, the witch who entered this town now leads a band of terror riders and Holy Rood faces a crisis the like of which it has never experienced before.”
Cobb pulled up his hood again. “Bear that in mind when you speak in council, Brother Carstairs.”
“Hell, Hank, that damned fool Carstairs is gonna upset all our plans,” Shel Shannon said. “All that talk of his own police force.”
“No he ain’t,” Cobb said, reaching for the whiskey bottle. “We’ll still wring this hick town dry afore we light a shuck.” He smiled. “An’ I’ll finally be glad to get rid of these holy-roller robes. Damn things are hot and itch like hell.”
“But, Hank, I mean, how we gonna—”
“Part of your problem is that you ain’t too bright, Shel,” Cobb said. “An’ that’s why you don’t think things through.”
“But you do, huh, boss?”
“Damn right I do.”
Cobb picked up his glass, stepped to the sheriff’s office window and stared outside.
The storm still raged and ticked sand against the glass panes. Across the street a sign hung aslant on one chain and somewhere a screen door banged in the wind and a dog barked.
Without turning, Cobb said, “Temple Carstairs dies tonight.”
He heard the grin in Shannon’s voice as the man said, “You want me to gun him, boss?”
Now Cobb turned, took time to sip his whiskey, and said, “No, you idiot, you want to alarm the whole town again?”
Without waiting for an answer, Cobb said, “I don’t want a mark on him, understand? No bullet or knife wounds.”
Shannon’s mind was slow and he looked confused.
“But why fer that, boss?” he said.
Cobb walked to the desk and leaned over Shannon. His face, lit by the oil lamp, was hard, his mouth a thin, white gash.
“I’ll tell you why fer that,” he said.