Gun Law

Councilman Lyndon Matheson stood before a group of troubled townsmen who had gathered privately in the Great Western Bank and Trust building.

“Gentlemen,” said Matheson, “I think we’ve seen enough out of our new marshal and these thugs he calls his deputies. I propose we set into motion the proper procedure for repealing this law by whatever democratic means—”

“Stop all the jawing,” said Fannin, cutting the councilman off. “You said so yourself that it would be a long and complicated process getting this law stricken off the books.”

“Meanwhile, Kern and his bullies will continue to ride roughshod over us. They do whatever suits them. We can’t stop them,” said Shaggs.

“Gentlemen,” said Matheson, “we must follow the rule of law. Yes, the law is slow-moving and ofttimes highly suspect and questionable. But let’s remind ourselves that we are not uncivilized creatures of the—”

“Shut the hell up!” shouted Stevens. “That’s the same kind of oily politician talk that got the gun law voted in to begin with.”

“It’s the voice of prudence and reason,” Matheson persisted. “And I’m proud to say that I adhere to it.”

“It’s the voice of soft soap and bullshit!” said Fannin. “I wish you’d choke on it.”

“Gentlemen, please!” said Stevens. “Fighting among ourselves isn’t going to help. We all believe in the law. But the law is not infallible. This time it was wrong. We voted in a bad law—we’ve just witnessed firsthand how rotten the law can be if we the people don’t have the guts or the guns to keep it working for us instead of against us!”

“What are you suggesting we do, Stevens?” a townsman called out. “Kern has all the guns.”

“Not all of them, he doesn’t,” said Stevens. “There’re still a few around who didn’t turn theirs in.” He paused for a moment and said, “I might even know where there’re a few others.”

“Yeah,” said a voice, “we should be gathering the ones together who still have guns. The rest of us can get ours back from Kern. All we’ve got to do is tell him we’re leaving town for a few days. He’s got to give them back to us. That’s the law too.”

“Kern is no fool,” said Stevens. “He’ll know something’s in the works if we all start showing up saying we’re leaving town for a few days.”

“But he has to give them back if we’re leaving town and need them while we’re traveling,” said Shaggs.

“Kern doesn’t have to do anything, law or no law,” said Stevens. “He’s armed, we’re not.” He threw up his hands and said in disgust, “How could we ever have been this stupid?”

“Now’s not the time to dwell on how,” said Fannin. “We were stupid enough to fall for it. We gave up the one right that kept all our other rights in check. Now we’ve got to get it back.”

Getting back to business, Dan Marlowe turned to Stevens and asked, “What do you mean you might know where there’re some other guns?”

Stevens looked from face to face. The townsmen stared anxiously back at him.

“I had a mixed crate of a dozen used guns come in from Denver last week. Some revolvers, some repeating rifles.”

“Oh,” Matheson said with a judgmental look, “and when were you going to report these guns?”

“I just did,” said Stevens, the trace of a sly grin slightly visible on his face. “It had slipped my mind until now.”

“Well, thank God you remembered,” said Fannin. “To hell with reporting them. Let’s get them distributed and take this town back from Kern and his thugs!”

The townsmen began to get excited, except for Matheson, who only shook his lowered head.

“Take it easy, gentlemen,” said Stevens. “Of course we’ll get them distributed. But let me remind you that there are only a dozen. They are in high demand. I want to be fair, but I have to charge what we know the market will bear, given the circumstances.”

“You son of a bitch,” said Fannin. “You saw the possibility of this gun law going sour. You ordered guns and hid them back so you could turn a profit on our misfortune.”

“No, sir, I did not,” Stevens said, raising a finger for emphasis. “I saw a potential business venture and I seized it. It’s what any wise businessman would do, gentlemen.” He looked all around. “Now who wants to be armed and who doesn’t?”

Shaggs said with contempt, “Shouldn’t you be asking who can afford to be armed and who can’t?”

“Well, thank you, barber,” Stevens said with a smug grin, “but those are your words, not mine.”

“To hell with you, Stevens,” said Shaggs. He turned and started toward the rear door.

“Wait, Shaggs,” said Fannin. “So what if we have to buy his guns at a marked-up price? At least it’ll get us out of this mess.”

“Do what suits you,” said Shaggs, reaching for the door handle. “But why buy this weasel’s guns when we can buy ourselves a gunman?”

The townsmen looked at each other for a moment. “Shaggs is right,” Fannin said. “Keep your guns, Stevens.” He stood up, dropped his hat atop his head and headed for the rear door himself. “We’ll all remember what kind of a bastard you are when this thing is finished.”

At the hitch rail out in front of the marshal’s office, Harry Whitesides stepped down from his horse, stamped his boots on the ground and stretched his back. A brown stub of a flattened cigarette butt lay between his thin lips. Beside him, his cousins Ted and Lyle Sloane stepped down from their horses and examined their surroundings, rifles hanging from their hands.

The fourth man, Odell Trent, peeled off his trail gloves and stuck them behind his gun belt. He popped his knuckles, loosening his fingers.

“You’ll want to settle yourself down some before I go introducing you as my pal,” he said.

“Admirable though that may be, Odell,” said Whitesides, “it’s not the best way to present yourself under these circumstances.”

Whitesides turned his dark spectacles to the marshal’s office as the front door swung open and Kern stepped out into the first rays of early-morning sunlight.

“Morning, Harry. . . .” Kern looked back and forth along the street. He gave Whitesides a nod and gestured for him and the others to come inside.

As soon as Bender closed the door behind the five of them, Kern stepped over between Jason Catlo, Cooper and Jennings and looked at Whitesides.

“I might ask you the same question, Marshal,” Whitesides said, looking the Catlo brothers and Buck the Mule Jennings over with careful scrutiny.

“You first, Harry,” Kern said firmly. “You know I don’t like last-minute surprises.”

“Nor do I,” said Whitesides, his right hand resting on his belly gun, holstered straight across his waist. He jerked his head toward his friend and said, “This is my pal Odell Trent. I’m vouching for him. We needed another man for the job, and I brought my pard here along for good measure.”

“Yeah . . . ?” Kern looked the man up and down. “So, Mr. Trent, are you a rooting, tooting outlaw?”

“I can get the job done,” Trent said coolly. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Who’d you ride with before?” asked Cooper. “Anybody I might know, or heard of?”

“Could be,” Trent said a little testily. “Who do you know? Who have you heard of?”

“Odell here is not what you call an ol’ hand at robbing,” he said. “But he’s a good man and a graduate of the Chicago School of Optometry, and I figure we all got to start somewhere.” He looked at the Catlo brothers. “Now, who are these two fellows—”

“Hold it, Harry,” said Kern, looking Trent over carefully. “He’s a what?”

“You heard me,” said Whitesides. “He’s a graduate of the Chicago School of—”

“All right, that’s all for me,” said Jason Catlo. His hand streaked up with his Colt cocked and ready to fire. Whitesides did the same, in spite of the fact that Catlo had a head start on him.

“Both of you hold it!” Kern said, seeing that Philbert Catlo and Buck the Mule Jennings had both drawn their guns in Jason’s defense. The two Sloanes and Odell Trent raised their guns in turn. Bender and Cooper stood with their hands on their gun butts, not sure what move to make next.

“All you jakes listen up,” said Whitesides, moving his aim back and forth slowly from one man to the next. “I did not ride all this way to get drawn upon by the ones I come to work with.”

“Easy, Harry,” said Kern. “Everybody’s tight as wire here. We’ve had lots going on.”

“I understand,” said Kern. He looked back and forth with his hands chest high. “But let’s all pull down our cannons and clear the air some.” He gestured toward Jason and Philbert Catlo. “These are the Catlo brothers.” He glanced toward Jennings. “And this is Buck the Mule Jennings.”

Whitesides looked at all the welts and cuts on Kern’s face, then at Jennings’ crooked neck and drawn-up arm and shoulder.

“We’ve had some problems, Harry,” said Kern. “But everything is going the way it should now.”

“Oh . . . ?” said Whitesides. “Where’s Hicks?” He glanced around. “Where’s Newman, Carver and Garrant?”

“It’s the truth, Harry. They’re all four dead. Shot down like dogs,” said Kern.

“Then I guess we need to get cracking, kill the men who shot them down like dogs.” He nodded for his cousins and Odell Trent to lower their guns. Then he uncocked his Colt and slipped it down into his holster. “Where will we find them?”

“He . . . ?” Whitesides cocked his head to one side. “You mean they?”

“No, Harry, it was one man killed them,” said Kern. “A fellow named Sherman Dahl—a hired gunman, calls himself a fighting man.”

Whitesides considered it and shrugged. “Well, I expect he’s got a right to call himself that if he killed those four hard-heelers.”

Cousin Lyle Sloane said, “I’ve come very near to killing Ned Carver any number of times myself. But damn, all four of them?”

“This Dahl is sort of a private bounty collector, I take it?” cousin Ted asked Kern.

“That’s the way I see it,” said Kern. “I would have helped those four ol’ boys out, except I didn’t know about it until it was over. By then I figured I best lie low and not tip my hand about what was getting ready to happen here.”

“Yes, considering everything at stake here,” said Whitesides. “But I’ll tell you what. The payroll is coming here this afternoon. We can go call this gunman out, shoot a few bullets into his head, then come back and get ready for our big haul.” He looked all around with a broad grin. “Is everybody with me?”

“We’re all with you,” said Kern, his swollen face throbbing in pain. “But before I shoot anybody, I want to knock back a couple of shots at the saloon.”

Whitesides gave him a hard, narrow stare. “Are you saying you need to get your courage out of a bottle, Marshal?”

“I knew there was something I liked about you, Kern,” Whitesides said.