31 Set A-Foot (A Floating Outfit Western) by J. T. Edson

Author:J. T. Edson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 2019-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The sound of gun fire from the rear of the jailhouse took Deputy Sheriff Jervis Tragg’s, Doc Leroy’s and Marshal Arthur Gormley’s attention from the crowd at the front of it. They exchanged glances. Even Gormley was startled, but for a different reason from the other two. He had expected only a single shot and was wondering why there had been more, clearly from different types of weapons.

‘Come on!’ Tragg snapped, drawing his Colt—a move duplicated by the cowhand—before the municipal peace officer could reach any conclusion over the unexpected development.

Followed by Doc and Gormley, who did not take the precaution of arming himself, the deputy ran to the door in the dividing wall. Ignoring the shouts of the men outside, he jerked it open and went through. Glancing around, he found that Tarbrush was standing alongside the window of the cell and holding a Navy Colt.

So, gazing over Doc’s and Tragg’s shoulders, did Gormley.

‘Watch out!’ the marshal screeched, wishing that he had drawn his own weapon as he realized what an opportunity was being offered. ‘He’s got a gun!’

Although Tarbrush had armed himself instinctively when he had heard the shooting, Gormley’s words warned him that his action might be misinterpreted. So he tossed the revolver on to the bunk and hurriedly raised his hands level with his shoulders.

‘What happened?’ Tragg demanded, striding towards the cell.

‘I dunno,’ the young Negro replied. ‘But it wasn’t me’s did the shooting.’

Shoving at the door, the only thing to surprise the deputy at finding it was unlocked was that his municipal colleague had had sufficient tact, particularly when a colored man was involved, to leave it unsecured. Entering the cell, he took up the Colt and sniffed at its muzzle to find, as he expected, that it had not been fired. One of the shots had come from a weapon of similar caliber, but was discharged at some distance outside the building. Furthermore, if Tarbrush had used his hand gun, the smoke from the detonated powder would not yet have dispersed and there was no trace of it in the air.

‘Come with us!’ Tragg ordered, turning on his heel. Leaving the deputy to investigate the Negro, but keeping an eye on Gormley—about whom he harbored certain suspicions—Doc Leroy had gone to the rear door. Finding it was bolted, he threw them free and drew it open. However, remembering the training he had been given by Dusty Fog while serving as a deputy town marshal in Quiet Town, he did not go out immediately. Instead, he paused clear of the opening until Tragg and Tarbrush were coming towards him. Then he lunged through, his Colt swinging towards the end of the building in which the Negro’s cell was situated. His gaze went to the body that was sprawled on the ground and turned from it to survey his surroundings.

‘Hey!’ Tarbrush ejaculated, as he and Tragg joined the cowhand and he looked at the dead man. ‘That’s one of them fellers I met on the trail!’

‘Huh huh!’ the deputy grunted.

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