‘So what happens now?’ the old man asked. The kid was free, the sheriff was slumped in his chair, looking like the sorriest critter that ever walked the earth, and it suddenly occurred to the old man that he didn’t have the faintest idea where they were going to go from here. He knew some sort of line had been crossed but he wasn’t at all sure what that meant.
‘What time do you figure it is?’ Bill asked and then noticed the sheriff’s chain hanging from his waistcoat. He pushed the barrel of the Colt beneath the chain and lifted, pulling the lawman’s timepiece from his pocket. ‘Three. Figure we’ve maybe a hour or two before dawn.’
‘You’re all going to hang for this,’ the sheriff said and looked at the old man who was holding the shotgun aimed square at his stomach.
‘You best start riding sheriff?’ Bill said.
Neither the old man nor the kid said anything, but they both shot questions at Bill with their eyes. Bill smiled at them and then bent menacingly towards the sheriff and when the lawman cowered in his chair, Bill reached out and snatched the badge from his waistcoat.
‘You ain’t entitled to wear this,’ he said, turning it over and over in his hand. He looked back at the sheriff and when he next spoke there was grit in his voice,’ I want you to ride out to your boss.’
‘I ain’t got no boss,’ the sheriff snapped back. This earned him a snort of derision from both the old man and the kid.
‘Your boss,’ Bill continued. ‘Old man Stanton and you tell him that we’ve taken the town back He’s no longer running things around here. Bill paused; a thoughtful look crossed his face. He tossed the sheriff’s badge to the old man. ‘You tell him that Sam here is the new law in town. You tell him the kid and myself are his deputies.’
‘You’re crazy,’ the now ex-sheriff said. ‘He’s nothing but a broken down old man.’
The new sheriff came forward and for a moment it looked as if he was going to bring the butt of the shotgun into his predecessors face, show the fat man just how broken down he was. But then he smiled and pinned the badge to his shirt.
‘Better a broken down old man,’ he said, ‘than a corrupt tub of lard.’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ Bill said and then quickly added: ‘Not that I’m saying you’re broken down, mind.’
‘You have been booted out of office, Sheriff Clemens,’ the kid said, grinning.
‘Ain’t no Sheriff Clemens about it. He’s no longer the sheriff,’ the old man said, proudly pushing his chest forward to show his badge. ‘From now on he’s simply Fats Clemens.’
‘Good a name as any,’ Bill said. ‘Now come on Fats. Get going and tell Stanton if he wants trouble, best leave it till gone noon. I’d like to get a little shut eye.’
The sheriff, or rather ex-sheriff, got to his feet slowly as if unsure of himself and fearing one or other of the men was going to open fire at any moment. This didn’t make any kind of sense to him. The logical thing to do after springing the kid would be to vamoose, try to get as far away as possible before the shooting started, but this Welshman was anything but logical. He’d broken into the jailhouse in the dead of night, well walked in, calm as you like, and now he seemed to be intent on hanging around and facing the might of the Stantons. On the face of it he would have no chance, but Clemens didn’t think it wise to underestimate the man. He had already somehow bested two well-armed deputies without so much as a pocketknife in his possession. He’d been unarmed when the deputies had escorted him out of Stanton but somehow he’d gotten the better of them.
‘You’re letting me ride away,’ Clemens, the onetime lawman, asked.
‘No,’ Bill said, smiling. ‘I’m sending you on an errand. You tell Stanton all I’ve said and also inform him that if he comes looking for trouble I’ll send him straight to Hell.’
Clemens didn’t answer, merely stared at Bill for a moment. There was something in the Welshman’s eyes that told the fat man his words, as incredible as they sounded, were no idle boasts. And for the first time in many years, the man considered the possibility that Stanton for all the muscle he commanded, all the guns at his disposal, may not be indestructible after all.
‘Now get going,’ Bill said. ‘Before I change my mind and gun you down here and now. We could hold a trial, say you attacked the new sheriff and I, like a good deputy, sprung to his defense.’
Clemens shook his head.
‘You ain’t going to get away with this,’ he said once more and started towards the front of the jailhouse. His steps were slow and Bill helped him on his way with a well-aimed boot to his backside. That provoked a whoop of delight from the new sheriff.
Once outside Bill ordered the old man and the kid to stay in the jailhouse while he escorted Clemens to his horse and set him on his way. Neither of the men was happy with this, but when they protested Bill cut them short, telling them he would be back in few moments and explain what had to be done. He didn’t elaborate on that and once again crossed the silent street, this time with the redundant lawman walking before him.
They made their way to the livery stable where Clemens’s horse was housed in a reserved stall. The night was starting to give way to the day and in little more than an hour it would be dawn. Bill wanted to get the fat man well on his way before first light.
‘What are you trying to achieve here?’ Clemens asked, presently as he pulled his horse from its stall. He located his saddle in its usual place and threw it onto the horse. Next he bent to secure the straps and then turned back to Bill who had kept that Colt trained on him throughout the entire operation. ‘Well?’ he prompted.
Bill looked back at the man, said nothing.
‘Hell,’ Clemens said. ‘I knew you was loco the first time I met you. Just didn’t figure out just how loco you truly were.’
Again Bill said nothing and gestured with the Colt for Clemens to mount up, which the man did with surprising agility for someone so big.
‘My guns?’ Clemens asked, hopefully.
‘I think we’ll hang onto them,’ Bill said, smiling. ‘Seems the wise thing to do. And besides who would want to shoot you?’
For a moment there was silence between the two men. It was Clemens who finally spoke.
‘I’ll just ride out of here then,’ he said, sat astride the horse, eyes scanning the Welshman. It was obvious he was still unable to believe what was happening, and was fully expecting to be gunned down at any moment.
‘Bloody marvelous,’ Bill said, smiling. He walked behind Clemens as the man rode out of the livery stable and onto the street. Bill remained there for some time, watching Clemens ride out of town, all the while wondering what train of events this latest escapade had started into motion.
Still, he reasoned, whatever happened next would not be his fault. He was the one who had been transgressed against. It was he who had been dragged before a kangaroo court in which all due process was ignored. And if things had gone the way Stanton had planned then he would, at this very moment, be lying in a shallow grave.
Too much had happened for him to simply ride away and as his da, had always said, ‘Chorddi ‘r arall boch boyo a cei daro ail,” which roughly translated as, “You turn the other cheek, boyo and you get smacked again.”