Not a soul moved to his aid as their horror-stricken attention was captured by a new movement. But one pair of eyes in the crowd stared with deeper intensity than all the others: saw the doorway of the sheriff’s office in much stark clarity that it might have been the noonday sun beating down upon the scene rather than the dull flickering light of a kerosene lamp. Edge’s eyes were narrowed to the merest slits and his teeth gleamed between lips pulled so tightly back that they seemed not to exist at all. His fingers gripped the butt of the Remington so hard that his knuckles showed white and his arm ached clear up to the shoulder socket.
Frank Forrest came out first, Colt revolver in his left hand, Spencer repeater rifle in his right. Then came Billy Seward, went to the left, next Hal Douglas to join him on that side. John Scott and Roger Bell emerged to stand on the right. They no longer wore their cavalrymen’s uniform and their faces were as overgrown with week old beards as was Edge’s. But Edge recognized each and every one as easily as if he had seen them on parade, as neatly dressed and cleanly turned out as his brand of discipline had demanded of soldiers serving under his command. Each was armed in the same way as Forrest, except for Seward, who brandished his army saber instead of a rifle.
“Frank Forrest her has got an announcement to make to the people of Peaceville,” Seward said suddenly. “You all better listen and listen good.”
“Right,” agreed Hal Douglas, his eyes roving the ring of faces. “Anyone tries to interrupt, likely he gets his head blown off.”
“We ain’t fooling,” Bell enjoined. “Listen good.”
“Good,” Scott emphasized.
Forrest waved the rifle, telling his men they had said enough and it was his turn.
“Sheriff Peacock there ...” He jabbed at the injured man with the rifle. “… he was a stupid man. He thought he had this town and this part of the country sewed up nice and neat. But he was wrong. He scared a lot of people, but he didn’t scare me.”
“Nor us,” Seward put in, the held his silence under Forrest’s stony gaze.
“He had nothing to back him up expecting all you people’s fear of him. You see what good that does him when his time came.”
At the rear of the crowd, standing between Gail and Honey and the old man from the livery stable, Edge watched and listened, his mind floating in a sea of hot, liquid hate that he knew would have to cool and subside before he made his move. Fury was a weapon that was unreliable, could backfire on a man and leave him easy meat in the sight of another man armed with a cool brain.
“That’s by and by,” Forrest went on, his voice dropping to an almost conversational level. “Sheriff Peacock ain’t the law in Peaceville any more. I am, and these are my deputies.” He spat onto the sidewalk. “Won’t be many changed made, far as citizens of the town is concerned. All they got to do is vote me a higher salary than Peacock had, and salaries for my deputies, of course. And any bounty hunters among you the sheriff’s take got to be higher. With all these deputies, the cost of law enforcement has gone up considerably. Ten per cent for me and five per cent each for my boys. Makes a nice round thirty per cent.”
“Screw you,” a man in the crowd said, his voice very clear.
“Too clear,” Forrest said. “Blast him.”
It was Bell who fired and it was as if the bullet had physically pushed a gap into the circle of people. In fact, they had drawn away in horror as the complaint’s forehead cracked open to gush blood in a fountain as he pitched forward. Besides Edge, Gail turned away, a hand flying to her throat as she retched, but failed to raise moisture.
“They’re tough,” the old man on the other side said with admiration.
“Like Rodge here said awhile back, we ain’t fooling,” Forrest went on easily. “So do like we say, and Peaceville will be a fun town to live in.” He transferred both guns to his left hand and held his right aloft. “I, Frank Forrest,” he intoned, “hereby appoint myself new Sheriff of Peaceville, Arizona Territory. I swear to protect its citizens and uphold the law.” He grinned around the crowd. “I ain’t sure of what the right words is but I guess that will have to do.”
“Hey Frank,” Seward yelled. “You can’t appoint yourself the new sheriff. The old one’s still around.”
Forrest sighed, aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The sheriff arched his back once and died. “He ain’t now,” Forrest said.
Seward gave a shout of glee and leapt down from the sidewalk, flipped the dead Peacock over onto his back with a vicious kick. He stopped, ripped the star from the man’s shirt. Then his saber went high, made a swishing sound as it fell and drew a deep seated gasp of horror from the watching crowd as the blade slashed cleanly through Peacock’s neck, severing his head from his body.
“That makes it for sure,” Seward said, tossing the star to Forrest who caught it and pinned it to his own shirt-front.
At the rear of the crowd, unmoved by the horror of what had taken place outside the sheriff’s office, Edge judged that the time was right. He felt cold and calculating, his muscles relaxed, his mind and body ready to act like a machine, obeying the spur to vengeance but open to the caution for self-preservation. He drew the Remington, his hand curling around the cold hardness of its butt. Then, like a released coil spring he sprung as fingers clawed into his arm. The muzzle of his revolver was an inch from Gail’s horrified face and Edge’s finger was within a split instant of squeezing the trigger.
“What are you doing?” she demanded sharply, her voice lost to all others in the buzz of startled conversation that had sprung around the crowd.
“Attending to my business,” Edge snapped, lowering the gun, shaking free of the girl’s grasp.
“There’s innocent people here,” she urged. “Women and children. They’ll get hurt.”
“That ain’t nothing to do with my business,” he came back, looking across the crowd, seeing that all but Bell and Seward and gone into the sheriff’s office. These two stood a menacing guard outside.
“You’ll fail,” Gail pressed on. “You can’t hope to go up against their rifles with a revolver.”
Edge stared down at the Remington snuggled in his hand and realized the truth of the girl’s words. He’d been wrong. He wasn’t ready. He had acted on an impulse, taking no account of a primary factor that loaded the odds overwhelmingly against him.
“Don’t listen to her,” the toothless old man encouraged, anxious for more action. “Go and get ‘em son. They’re tough but you’re tougher. Go blast them out of the office.”
Edge looked at him and from the expression on his face, the old man was sure his words had convinced Edge not to wait.
“Go get my horse ready, feller,” he said easily. “Feed him, water him, rub him down till his coat shines like a mirror, and saddle him. If he ain’t ready by the time I want to ride out of here you’ll have three minutes to make your peace with whatever kind of God makes scum like you.”
The old man turned and scuttled away, and the rest of the crowd began to break up, only two men having the stomach to cross and pick up the headless body of Sheriff Peacock under the menacing guns of Bell and Seward. But even they turned away from the displaced head, white faces twisted by terror.
“Thank you,” Gail whispered, and took Honey’s arm for support as the couple moved away.
Edge cast one more glance at the sheriff’s office before using the cover of what remained of the crowd to go into the hotel.