EDGE: The Day Democracy Died by George G. Gilman

Author:George G. Gilman [Gilman, George G.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: Lobo Publications
Published: 2013-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Edge and Conrad Power rode far to the west and then, when the intervening terrain hid them from the town, they swung northwards. It was after midday when the half-breed altered course again, to head east. The whole time, they were on what had once been the Warrens’ Big-B spread. The families who had gone into hock to the town bank to buy pieces of the range were toiling hard in the chili sunlight.

Those whose newly-purchased sections of land were close to Democracy would have seen the Kerwin gang riding into town and many would have heard the explosion of gunfire that had disturbed the morning. But the reactions of these people to the two horsemen were the same as those by the men and women working too far out in open country to be aware of what had happened. A pointed indifference. They continued to erect fences and build shacks, to plough the pastureland for planting and to dig irrigation ditches: to look anywhere but at the black man and the half-breed riding by.

‘Snyder’s got them in the palm of his friggin’ sticky hand!’ Power snarled to end a long silence. ‘And ain’t no use tryin’ to tell the lunkheads that the fat man’ll clench his fist and start squeezin’ soon as their sweat starts to earn money!’

‘It was tried?’ Edge asked. ‘Telling them? I never did see any posters that weren’t for Snyder’s men.’

Power had done a great deal of spitting along the way. But he still had plenty of saliva left. Another globule of moisture marked their route. ‘There was posters, mister. All over. But they got torn down soon as they went up. Them first deputies the gent brought in did the tearin’ down. Didn’t make no difference, though. They’d’ve busted up any meetin’s the Lovejoy crowd got goin’, I guess. But never was one. Nobody ever showed up. On account of Snyder had already sold his bill of goods to the townspeople.’

Another long silence was broken by Edge.

‘Stanton was always with the Snyder camp, feller?’

The Negro looked about to spit again, but held back the wet and sighed with a shake of his head. ‘The gent was never with no one, mister. Came into town trackin’ the last of a bunch of bank robbers. Trailed them all the way from Indian Territory, pickin’ them off one by one. Got his last man in a showdown on Main Street. Went away with him, then came back. We didn’t have no sheriff and old man Warren reckoned it would be a good idea if we did have. In the event of any more outlaws tried to hole up in Democracy. So the gent was appointed to the office.’

‘Kept himself to himself and didn’t do much else ’cept paint pictures. Until old man Warren cashed in and Frank Snyder started to stir the crap. Then his mean streak come out and he brought in the hired guns to back him.’

Another shake of the head, this time with a grimace on the black face.

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