“It’s going to be a legal execution,” Honey said as the first ray of sunshine of the new day angled down the street, released between the twin peaks of a mountain range to the east.
“I’m taking Forrest,” Edge said evenly. “I take a few more with him, makes no difference to me.”
He squeezed the trigger and the slug zinged downwards. The man on the right yelled in pain and went sideways, clutching his shoulder. Edge grunted as he noted the gun pulled to the right, made allowances for this in taking aim again. But the man on the other side of Forrest saw he was next and went off the gallows in a shallow dive, hitting the dirt just as the bullet struck the wood where he had been standing. Several men in the crowd went for their guns, but not one drew. There was something about the man on the roof, about his voice and the way he held himself, about his utter coolness in leaving himself exposed that threw fear into every one of them.
Honey saw the barrel of the Starr swing in an arc on to him and hesitated only a moment. He ducked, turned and launched himself around the side of Forrest, stretched fingers clutched for the lever to open the trap door. Completely exposed, Forrest was frozen into an attitude of stiff terror as he looked at the figure silhouetted against the skyline.
Squeeze, crack, cock: squeeze, crack, cock–the motions and sounds were repeated four times as Edge emptied the gun. The first slug took out Forrest’s right eye, the second entered just below the left, the third pierced his throat and the fourth went over his head. Honey’s hands found the lever and Forrest dropped, the movement robbing Edge of a final hit.
Edge sighed, lowered the gun as smoke curled from its muzzle and surveyed the shocked faces of the crowd below him. He held the gun out, cocked it and squeezed the trigger.
All heard the dry click that told of an empty cartridge. Edge tossed the gun down to the ground, swung his legs off his perch and slid down the roof, leapt the final six feet to the ground from the eaves.
The crowd divided, allowing him passage and he walked through the space, looking to neither left nor right, his expression showed nothing of what he felt. He halted in front of the gallows, looked up dispassionately at the body of Forrest, twisting slowly on the end if the rope. He eyed the bloodied face and made a throaty sound of satisfaction.
“Figure he was dead before he dropped,” he said.
Honey seemed about to argue the point, but the evil glint in Edge’s eyes warned him off. He reached out and swung Forrest around so he could see his face. He grimaced at the sight, nodded.
“Be obliged to have my weapons back,” Edge requested.
“They’re in the sheriff’s office,” Honey said, licking his lips. Then he was reminded, reached out and ripped the star from the unresisting Forrest.
Edge gave a cold grin of approval, turned and started down the street. He stopped off at the hotel first, his too-tight boots echoing hollowly in the empty lobby. Everybody had been at the hanging. He found the cash box under the desktop and removed four dollars fifty. Then he went to his room, from which the kid had disappeared, crossed to the window and leaned out to take his capital from behind the loose shingle. Rather than go back through the hotel he stepped out of the window and swung down to the sidewalk from the porch. As he crossed towards the sheriff’s office he looked back down towards the intersection, saw the crowd still grouped around the gallows, from which Honey appeared to be making a speech. Edge spat and went inside as the sun raised clear of the mountain range and began to make its warmth felt.
His rifle, revolver and knife were neatly arranged on the desk and he stowed the smaller weapons in their appropriate places. Then he sat behind the desk and felt the full weight of his weariness settle upon him like a heavy, warm blanket. He did not think he had ever felt so tired in his life before. He could quite easily have allowed his chin to drop forward to his chest and invited sleep to claim him.
But he refused to acknowledge his fatigue, stood and moved to a rough-hewn bureau in one corner of the office, upon which rested a piece of broken mirror and a basin of stale water. He splashed the water on to his face, experienced a slight freshening up. One of the bureau drawers was jutting open a few inches and a word on a paper he could see caught his attention. He jerked open the drawer to its full extent and saw a collection of wanted posters. The top one showed a fresh faced cleanly shaven young man in a captain’s uniform, above the badly printed:
WANTED
FOR THE MURDER OF WAR VETERAN
ELLIOT THOMBS
former captain J. C. Hedges.
Edge snatched up the piece of mirror and looked at his reflection: at the cruel, hooded eyes, thin mouth line, the water-beaded beard that sprouted from sun-toughened skin. He grinned. The army picture, completed on the day he was commissioned, bore not the slightest resemblance to the man he was now. A laugh ripped from his lips as he tossed the wanted poster back, slammed the drawer shut.
When he turned, he again became aware of the depth of his tiredness. For had not the lack of rest dulled the edges of his alertness, Gail and Honey could not have got within yards of the office doorway without him knowing of their approach. As it was, they were even inside the office.
“We would like you to stick around for a while, señor,” Honey said.
Edge saw that they were both unarmed. A glance at the windows both left and right revealed an empty street. If he had read an implied threat into the words, he was wrong.
“What?”
“I think you heard, Mr. Edge,” Gail said. “The Citizen’s Committee held another meeting.”
“Who else do you want me to kill?” Edge snapped.
Gail shook her head. “Nobody. The town needs a peace officer until we can send for a regularly appointed lawman. And ...”
“And you want me to take the job?” Edge asked with a flicker of surprise.
“Were you aiming to go someplace special?” Honey asked.
“Mr. Edge doesn’t like personal questions, Honey,” Gail put in hurriedly, and looked expectantly at Edge. “Well?”
“How much? No place special.”
“Two dollars a day, free board here and all you can eat at the restaurant.”
“Four dollars,” Edge said. “And I leave whenever I’m ready.”
“Three and we want to know a week before you leave.”
The woman’s eyes were locked onto Edge’s and she showed no sign of weakening in her resolution.
“Badge?” Edge asked and held out his hand.
Honey tossed the star and saw it caught easily, pinned to the new sheriff’s shirt-front. Edge looked up and grinned and Gail thought there might have been just a twinkle of humor in the narrowed eyes.
“Let’s go and get that first free breakfast,” Edge said, hefting the Henry. “All this killing gives a man an appetite.”
Honey and Gail stood aside to allow him through the doorway, and followed in his wake. Both cannoned into him when the sound of hoof beats on hard ground froze Edge into a posture of readiness. He eyes swept up the street, searching for the source of the sound, suddenly saw two riders swing into view around the corner of a building at the end of town.
“Inside,” Edge barked, and heard Gail and Honey scamper into the cover of the sheriff’s office.
Edge himself took the final step that brought him to the limit of the sidewalk and stood waiting. He recognized the riders as two of the three kids who had jumped him in the alley: one with a wad of dressing where his right ear should be, the other with his face scarred by the marks of Edge’s fingers.
“You bastard, you broke Eddie’s back,” the one-eared kid yelled as he raised his revolver, but needed to be closer before opening fire.