CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“Ruby is dead,” Shawn said. He still felt the ghost of her hand in his. “She died well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ford Platt said. “She was a fine woman.”

Shawn nodded. Said nothing.

Then, after a long silence, he said, “I promised Ruby that I’d bury her far from here, among the pines.”

He hesitated again, and then said, “I told the undertaker to preserve her as best he could, and lay her in a sealed coffin.”

Shawn turned to Platt, who sat at the sheriff’s desk.

“Hell of a thing to tell a man, any man, even an undertaker,” he said.

Platt, knowing that anything he said about Ruby would be inadequate, said, “Coffee’s biled.”

“Smelled it as soon as I came in,” Shawn said. He managed a smile. “I could sure use a cup.”

“And lookee,” Platt said.

He held up a full sack of tobacco and papers.

“I know you’re much addicted to the Texas habit,” he said.

Shawn smiled. “And the New Mexico Territory habit.”

“Wherever there are cowboys, huh?” Platt said, passing over the makings.

“And vaqueros,” Shawn said.

He built a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply.

“Ahhh . . . I’d almost forgotten how good that is,” he said, blue smoke trickling from his nostrils. “Now where is the coffee?”

 

 

Shawn was on his fourth cigarette and second cup of coffee when the door swung open and four men walked inside.

“Well, gentlemen, this looks like a delegation,” Platt said.

A tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and a spade-shaped beard that hung halfway down his chest acted as spokesman.

“Where is our money?” he said. His tone was brusque, his eyes unfriendly. “I’m the new marshal of Holy Rood, so speak up.”

“Last I heard it was scattered all over the ridge,” Shawn said.

“There were sacks up there with coin in them,” the man said. “They’ve gone. Somebody took them.”

“Who took them?” Platt said.

“That’s what I’m asking you,” the bearded man said.

“Maybe Hank Cobb ran off with the sacks,” Shawn said.

“No, he didn’t. We all saw him and the only thing he had in his hand was a gun.”

“Then my next suspect would be Mink Morrow,” Shawn said. “If you care to go after him and call him out, you might get the money back.”

The tall man’s face hardened. He held a Winchester in his right hand and flexed the fingers of his left.

“There are other suspects,” he said. “Maybe two of them right here in this room.”

Shawn’s anger flamed. The man was pushing him and he didn’t like to be pushed.

“Damn you, there is no money,” he said. “The only money you had was on the ridge, and by now the rain has probably washed it away to hell and gone.”

Another man, short and portly with a florid face said, “Be warned, when we find those responsible for stealing our savings, we’ll hang them.”

That statement dangled in the air for a few seconds, then Shawn said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper, “No, you won’t.”

“Damn you, sir, for your impertinence,” the florid man said.

Shawn rose to his feet. He wore Ed Bowen’s gun rig.

“Here’s what you’ll do,” he said. “You’ll haul down the gallows and you’ll do the same thing with that—”

“Obscenity,” Platt offered.

“Obscenity you call a guillotine,” Shawn said.

“And how do we keep law and order in this town?” the bearded man said. “What you suggest is impossible.”

“I don’t know how you’ll keep order,” Shawn said. “But you’ll do it without hanging, burning and beheading people.”

“There is evil in this town,” the florid man said.

“I know. I see it standing right here in front of me,” Shawn said.

Platt took down a shotgun from the gun rack, broke it open and loaded two bright red shells into the chambers.

He stepped beside Shawn and said, “Go do like the man said.”

There was recklessness in the bearded fellow’s eyes that Shawn didn’t like. The new marshal of Holy Rood was an unbending man.

“The gallows and guillotine, aye, and the stake, stay, and be damned to ye,” the man said.

“I’m with you, Brother Adam,” the florid man said. He waved a hand to the two other townsmen. “And I’m sure these brothers think as I do.”

The two men muttered their agreement, their faces hostile.

Shawn shook his head. Then, his voice toneless, he said, “You haven’t learned a thing, have you? You finally got rid of Hank Cobb, and now you plan to take his place and carry on as before.”

Platt said, “Listen to yourselves—you even call each other brother, like Cobb taught you.”

“He was a good Christian,” the man called Adam said. “When witches invaded our town, they steered Brother Cobb onto an evil path and that was his downfall.”

Then, slapping the stock of his rifle for emphasis, “His legacy remains. The gallows, the stake and the guillotine will stay as long as the West is lawless. They are edifices of justice, the very cornerstones of Holy Rood.”

“I wanted to save this town,” Shawn said. “Tame it, as the newspapers say. But I believe that all Holy Rood can do now is die and become a ghost. The quicker the better.”

He picked up the sack from the table.

“You can give the women back their rings and the men their watches,” he said. “I have no need for them.”

“Come, gentlemen, we’re leaving,” Adam said, grabbing the sack. “As for you two, you have an hour to return our money and get out of town.”

“It would go better for you if you surrender the money as you did the jewelry,” the florid man said. “You’ll be watched every minute by riflemen, mind.”

After the four townsmen filed out the door, Platt said, “Let them destroy themselves, Shawn. My only job now is to bring Cobb to justice.”

“I wonder how many more will die?” Shawn said.

“I’m not catching your drift,” Platt said.

“How many more will be hanged, beheaded or burned in Holy Rood in the coming years?”

“That is no longer our concern,” Platt said.

Shawn could only nod. He felt weary, like a defeated prizefighter.

“All right, we’ll get Ruby’s body and go,” he said. “I’ll round up Hamp Sedley, and then head to the hotel for Sally.”

“We’ll need a wagon,” Platt said. He seemed a little embarrassed. “For the coffin, I mean.”

“Yes, we will. And we may have to shoot our way out of this damned town.”

Platt studied Shawn, the slump of his shoulders and the sad, pained expression on his face.

“Then let’s get it done,” he said. “I want Hank Cobb to pay for his murders and the sooner the better.”

Shawn nodded.

He drained his coffee then stepped out the door.

And into an ambush . . .