The Only Man I Can Trust
Chapter 15
It is strange what pain and weakness will do to a man. His focus had become very narrow and time seemed to be slowed. He watched as Spike Holcombe and two of his men raised their guns. Maybe he could have taken two or all three of them on a good day, but the pain in his chest was going to compromise his speed and accuracy. He didn't worry about that for himself. He had accepted a long time ago that his life could end any day, possibly quite suddenly and most likely violently, but now he was more worried about the people who'd been helping him. If he couldn't somehow overcome the Holcombes, those peoples' lives would be in jeopardy too. Somewhere on the periphery of his vision there was movement. He hardly dared take his eyes off the men in front of him. Everything seemed to be moving so slowly. He heard voices, and Holcombe and his men began to turn to look behind them.
"Mr. Dillon, look! It's that old man who runs the telegraph office."
With an effort Dillon pulled his gaze away from the slowly unfolding scene in front of him, and looked across the street. He saw a group of men armed with all manner of weapons, and they were headed this way. They were older men, not cowboys or gun-slingers. They looked like men who had come straight from their places of business, dressed in suits, some still wearing ties. Maybe they had come from behind the desks at their banks or the counters of their stores. There were about a dozen of them, toting a wild variety of rifles, shotguns, and an array of pistols that must have been left over from serving in the army during some war or another. One even carried a huge curved sword. Hugh had said he thought Johnny Billings had been killed. Obviously the man was very much alive.
Billings and his men positioned themselves across the street. The old man had a blood stain on his shirt, and his left arm was in a makeshift sling, but he spoke with a clear voice.
"Holcombe, we've come to talk to you."
The gambler and his brother turned to see where the voice was coming from. He started to laugh at the group of elderly attackers behind him, but Johnny Billings put an end to any laughter. He fired his rifle and the bullet landed in the dirt a few inches from Tad Holcombe's feet.
"We're taking our town back! We don't want you here anymore. We were scared of you and your kind for a while, but the marshal here has shown us that we have to fight for what's ours and that's what we're doing."
The little group was an unlikely assortment of men. Most of them had been robbed and tormented by Carp for too long. By themselves they hadn't been able to organize their courage. But now, with a United States Marshal on their side, they were more than ready to act.
Somehow their presence gave Dillon the extra burst of energy he needed.
"You heard them, Holcombe! I want you and your brother to throw your guns over here. The rest of you men can just ride on out of town and don't come back."
Spike Holcombe could see only one way out. He raised his gun and aimed at Dillon. Just as he started to apply pressure to the trigger, something impacted his arm just above the wrist. It was as if a lightning bolt had struck him. The rifle instantly fell from his now useless hand.
"Mr. Dillon told you to drop your guns." Chester's voice was an angry growl. He was still pointing the smoking Winchester at Holcombe, prepared to fire a second shot if necessary. "Do it now, or the next one will go straight through yer head." Chester turned his eyes slightly to glance questioningly at his boss. He needed approval, just to make sure he was doing the right thing.
The report from the jailer's rifle had shattered the air. The collection of hired killers was undecided for a moment. It was just long enough for Billings and his unlikely group to cross the street and threaten those who had not yet decided to leave. Most of the men now backing Holcombe had been employed by Carp, and heavily involved in putting fear into these same business owners. Now it seemed that the fear had been lifted and the hunters were becoming the hunted. The hired men were smart enough to know that there was no love lost here. Maybe leaving town was the best option. They began to peel away, slowly at first, one by one, but then, very quickly, they were leaving in small groups with the rag-tag army of men jeering loudly behind them.
The owner of one of the saloons that had been taken over by Carp had a particular grudge against them. They had killed his only son in a bar fight when they started taking over the town. He spotted the man responsible and called to him. The man barely had time to turn around and certainly no time to draw his gun before the saloon owner took careful aim and fired. He may not have been a young man anymore, but many years of experience, added to the hatred he felt, had made his aim perfect. The man he had recognized fell dead in the street. The other hired men were spurred into action. No amount of money was worth dying for. Those who had been undecided up to now, began running down the street to gather up their horses. Billings' men followed, firing their guns into the air and yelling insults.
Matt seemed to have recovered enough strength to put a little fear in the Holcombe brothers himself.
"You two stay right where you areā¦Chester!"
The jailer turned to look at his boss. He had never seen Mr. Dillon's face so drawn.
"Lock these two up."
"Yessir."
"And, thank you," he added, quietly enough for only for his assistant to hear.
The jailer blushed slightly. Mr. Dillon didn't hand out praise lightly. That simple 'thank you' meant more to him than a whole month's pay.
The brothers now stood alone on the dusty street of the town that had once been theirs. They were too stunned to put up much resistance. Chester pointed his rifle at them.
"Come on you two. You know the way."
()()()
Chester had turned the key in the cell door, locking the Holcombe brothers inside.
"You tell Dillon he's not going to get away with this," Spike called out in a sudden burst of useless bravado.
Chester swung the keyring on his finger as he stood looking at the men. "It'll take more than a coward like you to stop a man like Mr. Dillon! " He couldn't help but let the pride he felt for his boss come through in his words. Mr. Dillon was the most honest, trustworthy, and dedicated man he had ever known.
By the time he returned to the front office, the marshal was once more seated behind the desk, and Fleur was pouring coffee. She offered Chester a cup, then handed one to Dillon.
"Here Matt, you look like you could do with this." Fleur went behind the desk to stand beside the man she hoped would notice her. He accepted the mug and leaned back in the chair - something was bothering him. He had just watched a man being shot in the back. Admittedly the man was a hired gun, but he was a man, none the less. Strictly speaking, he hadn't been shot in the back because he did turn around at the last minute, but he never had time to draw his gun. After giving it some thought, Matt accepted that he just didn't have the strength to worry about that right now. Carp and the Holcombe brothers were much more important.
Chester looked across at Johnny Billings. "We thought you were dead," he pronounced.
The old telegraph operator grinned, "It'd take more than one bullet from that idiot, Farrell, to stop Johnny Billings. I managed to send your telegram alright, Marshal, but couldn't wait around for an answer."
The jailer had moved over to look out the window once more. It was surprising how quickly the town was moving around again. It seemed that everyone had come out on the street to experience their new-found freedom from Carp and his cronies. Chester felt good about the situation. He and Mr. Dillon had done a fine day's work here. Looking over at his boss he could see he was not in too good a shape. He needed to rest - after all that's what Doc always prescribed.
"Mr. Dillon, I think we need to get you over to the hotel or somewhere you can rest up for a while."
"Didn't you get a room at the boarding house near the stable?" volunteered Tebbers. "I'll take you over there if you like, Marshal."
Matt nodded. "I did, " he said, then added, "I can make it." He hated to show any weakness. It would invite trouble.
"I'll walk with you, Marshal," Fleur was still hopeful that maybe she could get this man's attention.
"No I'll be fine. Chester, you stay here and watch the prisoners." He hauled his weakening body up from the chair and walked slowly towards the door.
Chester watched for a moment or two, then looked towards Tebbers. "You stay here. I'll be back shortly."
Chester understood his boss very well. He just walked silently beside him as they made their way towards the stable and the small boarding house just behind it. Once or twice he thought Dillon was going to fall, but somehow they made it all the way with the marshal just taking one slow, painful step after another.
"Here, Mr. Dillon, you just lie down for a while and if anythin' happens, I'll come get ya."
While he was speaking he helped the lawman remove his boots and pulled back the old quilt so the marshal could stretch out on the bed.
"I'll come by an' check on ya in a while."
"I'll be fine Chester. In the morning you can let most of those prisoners go...as long as they agree to leave town. Just keep Carp and Farrell and the Holcombes.
"Yessir, Mr. Dillon, I can take care of that."
Quietly Chester left the room and went back to the jail, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do with all those prisoners for the rest of the night.
TBC
