Marshall without a Badge by Ray Hogan

Author:Ray Hogan [Hogan, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-4941-0
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 1987-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

It was near noon. Eleven o’clock to be exact.

Jeff Wallis, standing in the doorway of the jail said to Kennicott, “Here they come. Part of them, anyway.”

Kennicott arose, checked the loads in his pistol. He reached for the short-barreled shotgun standing in the corner rack, broke it open and assured himself its two chambers were filled. That done, he moved out into the bright sunlight.

There were seven riders in the group, only a small part of King Overmeyer’s considerable trail crew. The advance guard, the lawman thought. They rode arrogantly abreast spreading across the road’s entire width. When they reached the beginning of the street at the town’s limit the phalanx did not break but came steadily on, disregarding pedestrians and vehicles alike with a fine contempt.

They swung past the jail. One of the riders, his brown face toward the lawmen, smirked broadly. “Looky there, boys! You all best be on your Sunday school manners else them fierce lookin’ peace officer’s will put you in their pokey!”

The man riding slightly in the lead was not King Overmeyer. He was Dave Seringo, a husky, hard-featured man with empty eyes colorless as rain. He wore a dark, shabby suit and a dirty red and white striped silk shirt which stood out with startling clarity. Instead of the usual wide brimmed cattle country headgear, he had on a small, black felt hat now well covered with trail dust. He was not listening to his fellow rider’s comments; at that moment his glance was upon Judith Lockridge, standing on the parsonage porch.

After the OX rider had spoken he swung his indolent gaze to Kennicott and the deputy. He muttered something to his companions, inaudible to the marshal and Wallis. It evoked a loud laugh from the OX crew members.

Kennicott watched them pass on down the suddenly deserted street without comment. He waited until they had pulled up to the hitching bar in front of the Trail Queen and then, without turning, said to Wallis, “Let’s go.”

“We runnin’ them out?” the deputy asked.

“Got a better idea,” Kennicott said. “Rohle is so anxious to have them around we’ll just take their guns and keep them corraled in his place until the rest come. Any damage done it will be done to the Trail Queen.”

Wallis grunted his appreciation for the plan. “You going to take Seringo’s gun?”

“Seringo first of all,” Kennicott said. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

Wallis wagged his head. “Just wanted to know how to figure things.”

The deputy fell in behind the marshal, saying no more. He had not again mentioned to Kennicott the matter of his resigning and the fact that he would have been wearing the marshal’s star had not the big lawman changed his mind. He was much the same man outwardly as he had been before talking to Keith Crandall and dreaming his thoughts of glory. An endless procession of disappointments temper any man and teach him to accept the bitter cards that fate dealt in stoical silence.

“I’ll handle Seringo,” Kennicott said over his shoulder.

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