Wyatt by Dale Chase

Author:Dale Chase [Chase, Dale]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781602828063
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
Published: 2012-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Johnny Ringo, Ike Clanton, and Curly Bill Brocius stood across the street from the courthouse as we exited, reducing our well-wishers to a cautious Jim Earp and three of the more stalwart vigilance committee members. When I started over to let the Cowboys know we would not be intimidated, Wyatt stopped me. “We have no authority, Doc. Anything you do now will land us back in jail.”

This irritated me, as I refused to let the criminal element gain the upper hand. We had just been exonerated in killing three of them, we had justice on our side, yet they acted like they had won.

“They’re looking for a fight,” Wyatt continued, hand still on my arm. “Don’t play into it.”

“Goddamn, Wyatt, they are calling us out and you don’t walk away from that.”

“This time you do. You can’t play into it. That’s what they want, to get you back in jail almost before you’re out. Now come on.”

He urged me up the street and I went with great reluctance, walking up Fifth toward Allen, boiling inside because all we’d been through for the last month seemed to have been tossed aside.

“People are afraid,” Jim said as we went along. “Word is that the Cowboys are going to take revenge on the whole town, so don’t be surprised if you take the blame for it.”

Jim was right. A veritable shunning occurred as we walked through town. Backs turned. People hurried inside and slammed doors or rushed to cross the street while the few standing fast glared at those they saw responsible for a new threat.

“You were right, Wyatt,” I noted after the gravity of our predicament sank in. “What you said before. We’ve gone down a road we hadn’t planned and there is no return.”

“Wish I’d been wrong,” he replied.

We were on Allen Street when he said he was going home. “I’m tired,” he added and I saw this disappointment as much as fatigue. The lawman in him couldn’t help but believe in justice, however often she failed him. I found myself feeling much the same, having expected tolerance rather than blame.

“Maybe see you later,” Wyatt said before moving on.

Worked up from the Cowboys’ blatant challenge, I sought a few drinks at the Alhambra and then a game of poker. While I found this profitable, there remained a standoffish mood. Such things were not new to me, being somewhat notorious, so I ignored the efforts and kept to my game. It was around ten that night when Wyatt came in and said trouble was brewing. I immediately cashed out and followed him outside.

“The Oriental is filling up with Cowboys, and Grady Lowe just told me there are about thirty at the edge of town. We may have a situation.”

As we hurried along, I wondered who would represent the law. Jim Flynn had been appointed city marshal in Virgil’s place, and I asked Wyatt if he was about.

“Haven’t seen him.”

“Figures. What about Behan?”

“He’s at the Oriental, knee-deep with the Cowboys and acting like nothing is afoot.

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