The Night of the Silent Scythe
Arizona Territory, 1871
The sheriff wasn't a man prone to unfounded fear or suspicion. But the shot that came through the window of his office was clearly intended to send a message, if not kill him-and this time he took it seriously. Digging the bullet out of the wall, where it had lodged itself inside of a wanted poster, the sheriff noticed two things-the bullet's unusually long shape, and the small nozzle at its end…
Kansas City
"Gentlemen, I don't think I need to tell you how serious the Secretary of War thinks this is," the refined but blunt-spoken man who had joined Jim West and Artie Gordon on The Wanderer gruffly said. "You've seen the reports?"
Jim nodded. "Of the new high-powered bullets that have been used against law officers out West, yes, sir. Apparently they're designed like some sort of a rocket…"
"A miniature flying torpedo, according to the man who designed it-whose body was found in his office in Connecticut a week ago." The man's tone was grim. "Somebody out there now has access to one of the Army's most advanced rifles, which was designed as a possible replacement for the Springfield carbine. The real danger here is how silent it is. It has a special muzzle which hides the sound of the shot so that a rifleman can fire at his target with impunity. It also has a new telescopic mount that highlights the target area in darkness. Something to do with optics, I'm told, but then I'm not as much interested in the technical aspects as I am in getting the thing back before some other target gets chosen."
"Like the President of the United States," Artie replied.
The man nodded. "That's why we have to get this gun-and its bullets-back from whoever stole it before it gets used again."
"Well, Jim, looks like we're headed for Arizona," Artie said as the man left. "How do you propose we start looking for this newfangled gun?"
"The sheriff who wrote Washington gave a pretty detailed description of the bullet he found, and we have a good idea of what range it has-I suggest we start with where this long-range gunman might have set up to fire at his targets."
"And hope he doesn't decide to pick us off in the meantime," Artie added.
The trip to Arizona took a few days, even using the new transcontinental line which had been cleared for their use. They found themselves disembarking in a dusty, well-worn desert town that had been a former boom town and which was now on its way toward becoming respectable. They were greeted by a man who identified himself as the sheriff's deputy.
"Where's Sheriff Reed?" Jim asked.
"He got shot again two days ago," the deputy replied. "It happened while he was walking down the street on his way home, at night. Nobody saw or heard any shots, but the bullet hit him right in the chest. The Doc said he was lucky he wasn't killed. He got the bullet out-it's one of those funny-looking ones the sheriff found in his office."
The bullet in question was as the deputy had described it. Turning it over with a pair of the doctor's tweezers, Jim could see that it was designed to travel long distances, and had the aforementioned nozzle on the back. Upon opening it up, Jim saw the small propellant tank which the deceased inventor's notes that the man from the War Department had given him described. It was like a miniature rocket, sort of like the Congreve rockets he'd seen used during the War Between the States.
"Whoever our killer is, he's an expert marksman," Artie commented. "Can you imagine being able to hit somebody in the dark with one of these things?"
"Maybe not so expert," Jim replied. "The rifle was designed for field Army usage, so that a private with average training could use one. I don't think we're looking for a trained professional-more likely a gunman for hire who's still learning how to use his new 'toy.'"
"Some toy," Artie muttered. "So, what's our next move?"
"We wait," Jim grimly replied. "Sooner or later he'll make his move…and we'll be there when he does."
Three Days Later
The street was dark and quiet as a graveyard-just the way he wanted it. Now that he'd had enough practice with the fancy rifle, the man in the long coat and low-brimmed hat knew that this would be the night to put his newfound skills to use. After this, he would be able to name his own price as the most famous hired assassin in the territory-in the world, even. He'd even picked out a name for himself-the Silent Reaper.
"Sheriff, it's time to meet the Reaper," the gunman said with a sadist's grin as he knelt down on the roof of the hotel across the street from the Sheriff's Office. The fool was right in his line of fire, his head a sharply defined silhouette against the light of a kerosene lamp. He raised the gun's long and deadly accurate barrel…
"You can put that gun down now, Mr. Reaper," a strangely familiar voice behind him said. So startled that he nearly lost his footing, the gunman only managed to drop the rifle instead and watched helplessly as it clattered down to the street.
"Sheriff Reed?" He peered at the man's face, dimly lit against the moonlight. "But you're…" he pointed at the window.
"You're not as smart as I thought, falling for an old trick like that," Reed said. He waved at the figure in the window, which stood up, and came outside wearing the Sheriff's clothes.
"Everything all right up there?" Artie called out.
"Just fine," Reed answered. He turned to the other man standing next to him, who had been waiting in the shadows. "I reckon he's all yours, then, Mr. West." The former Reaper, still too stunned by his own slip-up to resist, allowed himself to be chained in irons as the two men led him down from the roof.
"What'll happen to the gun?" Reed asked as they headed back to the Sheriff's Office.
"It'll be taken back to Washington and dismantled. I think the Army's decided the world isn't ready for a gun that can be fired in the darkness." He didn't add that he knew that eventually such a gun would appear. "As for our 'Reaper' here, his scything days are over."
THE END