Buck Wild
by Brianna M. Hoyle
He smiled too much for a man with that many people trying to kill him. The dust from the trail had followed him into the dining room, but when he flashed a grin and removed his hat to let loose a mop of dark curls, the girl behind the counter forgot about the floor she had just swept. Sheriff Whitman watched the newcomer take a seat and begin to charm his sister about her lovely blonde waves and the pink flush to her cheeks. It was mostly harmless, Ashley received flirtations of the like from just about every man who came through that door and got a whiff of home cooked food. Whitman did not blame any of them. His sister was the best cook in Clearcliff ever since his Ma had passed on, and Ashley held her own if they became more than she wanted to handle.
But that was not what worried him today. The man with skin like tanned leather and slender hands that knew how to hold the gun tied to his waist was none other than Buck Holdago, the same man who was rumored to have taken out all three of the Limbocker brothers at once. Whitman had never heard of Holdago before this week, but his name was circulating everywhere. A gunman, a killer, a smooth talking criminal with a gang after him for what he did in the backlands of the mountains. Rumors could get wild, especially if women were involved in spreading them, and Whitman did not know how much of the story he could believe. This kid had Spanish blood from the looks of things, and was accustomed to talking to women, but he did not have the look of a killer, even if it was in defense of himself.
When Ashley finished with the stranger and came over to refill his coffee cup, Whitman did not look at her when he spoke. “What’s he seem like?”
“Too friendly. Like he’s compensation’ for somethin’.”
Ashley appeared flighty, but she had wits about her that most men had not managed to keep up with, going by the long list of rejected suitors that refused to stop in Cheyenne if they could help it. There was no time in her schedule to entertain silliness, though she did humor it now and again if it led to a hefty tip. The savings jar by her bed was intended for a train ticket to New York someday. Whitman did not like the idea of his baby sister so far away from him, but he did not allow his cynical outlook on the ill deeds of man to put a bur under her saddle.
“He seem nervous to you?”
“Maybe a mite. More so expectant. Reckon he’s waitin’ for someone to mention what happened in Katawa.”
When his cup was full and his table was clean, Ashley returned to the kitchen, her blue checkered skirts twirling with her. Whitman did not miss how the hombre’s eyes followed that swishing of checkered blue and he had half a mind to chuck the hot coffee across the room at him.
But he did no such thing. As the Sheriff, he had a reputation to uphold. Losing his temper over a pair of eyes lingering too long on his sister’s modest shape could be seen as acceptable to some, but the town was big enough for rumors to get thrown out of proportion and before the sun went down, half the folks could be of the mind that he’d burned the kid’s skin with a hot iron for saying hello. By the blazes of the desert, did he hate rumors.
The kid had ordered the house special, Ashley’s honey glazed ham and a heaping side of potatoes. When she brought his food to him, Whitman wondered if the kid had eaten in days. The plate was empty in seconds and Ashley had been forgotten. In place of the charm that had oozed from him was the kid Whitman had expected to see under that smile. One scrambling to survive in a harsh, unfair world. The smile did not hide intent to kill. It hid fear of being killed.
Sympathy wormed its way into Whitman’s stomach and he cursed his Ma’s good teachings for making him care so much, immediately tossing a prayer up to heaven for daring to have a curse and his Ma in the same thought. If it made it past the ceiling, he’d be surprised. He hadn’t been much of a praying man in the last few years.
Ashley brought Holdago more coffee, and while pouring it, she said, “Got some pie in the back, baked fresh.”
His eyes became big and he nodded with his mouth still full. “Much obliged, miss.”
Short responses. He had been focusing on getting food, and now that he had it, there was no point in the charm. With one of life’s necessities before him, the only reason he could be so enamored with it would be if he didn’t know when he would get more. He was on the run with little time to spare for such things, but he had enough awareness to enjoy flirting with Ashley. Whitman wondered what else was layered underneath this kid. With a scrutinizing stare, he watched his sister clean the table around Holdago’s plate.
“You stayin’ in town long?”
“Passin’ through.”
Ashley asked no more questions. She knew a man focused on grub. After she returned to the kitchen, Whitman got up and made his way to Holdago’s table. If the kid was that keen on leaving, Whitman needed to make certain there would be no trouble before doing so. This town attracted enough greedy hands thanks to the amount of money kept by the Hawkins Estate, a family of horse breeders and jewelry enthusiasts. If Holdago had too many outlaws following him, he wanted him moving along as soon as possible.
Whitman took a seat without asking if he could join, resting his hands on the table and staring the kid down. A little intimidation on his part might help keep the kid honest. There was not enough information to determine if the kid needed to be put away. Too many witness accounts conflicted on what had actually happened when the Limbrocker brothers met Buck Holdago on the range behind Katawa, and he was not about to sentence a kid to solitary confinement over some rumors. If he rode on and caused no trouble, Whitman would say nothing about it. But if trouble brewed and Holdago found himself at the root of it, there was an empty cell next to the town drunk where he could spend the night.
“Afternoon.”
The kid did not look up. His surroundings no longer concerned him and with every passing second, Whitman doubted the likelihood of the Limbrocker brothers dying at the gun on his hip. If they had, self-defense or a stroke of luck was more than likely the answer. But not malicious intent to kill. He tried again to get Haldago to speak. “Food around here is good,” he told him.
“Sure is, mister.”
“How long you figurin’ on stayin’?”
“Not long at all, figurin’ on hittin the trail by mornin’. I’ll be outta your hair, mister, soon as I can.”
The words in their tone came off casual, but the arrangement sparked a thought in Whitman’s mind that Holdago was used to being run off and had come to expect it from those who approached him. “So long as you don’t plan on causin’ no trouble, I don’t care how long you stay.”
The kid finally looked up at him. From this close, Whitman saw how green his eyes were, big and round, with a youthfulness he had not seen from farther back. Those eyes watched him, then looked around before Holdago responded. “Ain’t safe for me to stay nowhere, Mister.”
There was the fear. He was running. Whatever had happened in Katawa, this kid did not plan on facing it. More than likely, he hadn’t expected things to go as they did.
“You keep runnin’, kid, and you’ll find yourself between a rock and a hard place. That hard place is gonna be a bullet.”
Holdago lowered his fork, the food not holding his interest as it did moments ago. The thought of death could do that to a man. Whitman was getting to him, but he didn’t even know why he was trying. What good would come of helping this kid out?
Those green eyes were on him again and the rattle to his voice could have put a snake to shame. “You want me to stand and face Pa Limbocker and his gang?”
The kid had reason to fear. Justice Limbocker had his own way of doing things, pulled from the years before Katawa was even a town, when the land was even more wild than it was now and there was no law around to settle disputes. Disagreements ended with a handshake or a six foot hole, and the outcome balanced out most days. As the people began flooding in from the east and claiming land all around the Limbocker Ranch, Justice grew to hate the noise and the ruckus of the stagecoach and he pitched the biggest fit the west had seen when a railroad was put down, crawling straight through Katawa and passing by his barn.
He had no deed for that part of the land and the law did not recognize anything aside from what was signed and written on paper. Nobody listened as he huffed and argued. Not until he shot three railroad workers for leaving their tools too close to his cattle, that is. After that, Limbocker became a real problem, but in spite of his old fashioned ways of proving his point with a Winchester, there was only one thing that he loved just as much as his land, and that was money. A lump sum from the railroad company silenced anymore complaints, and the families of the dead workers were told it was an accident.
He had no more trouble with the railroad, but as the years turned his hair white, he found other things to shoot people for and there was not enough money in the world to excuse the wailing widows and angry sons of those he killed for trying to cross him. He was up in years but still a better shot than most of the men Whitman knew. His sons grew up with their Pa’s ornery stubbornness. They expected people to do what they said because they could shoot them if not. As far as Whitman knew, the man only had one daughter, who had married a businessman and moved out to the east. Ma Limbocker put up her own fight if folks messed with her boys or her man. It was a family of hate and Whitman wanted no trouble from them.
Which confused the mess out of his own mind when he spoke to the kid again.
“Stand your ground if its worth standin’ on, boy. If you know you ain’t in the wrong, don’t go runnin’ just ‘cause somebody’s bigger than you.”
Life advice was the last thing Holdago needed. Especially if that meant it would lead Justice Limbocker straight to this town along with whatever guns for hire he could bring with him. But the words came out of his mouth like they had a mind of their own and Holdago was looking at him like he had just met the Messiah in the flesh, awe inspired.
“I believe its worth standin’ on, mister, but it was pure dumb luck the first time. Now they want my neck and I ain’t got no way of makin’ sure luck comes my way again.”
“Slow down, youngin’, and quit panicking before you choke on them potatoes, you waste Ashley’s food and I’ll hang you for it. Now, tell me what happened. I ain’t heard a straight story for the life of me.”
The kid put his fork down and looked at his hands, which, upon closer inspection, were far too slender to be accustomed to holding the gun he wore. There were callouses, but they were from farm work. “They don’t like where Papa built his house. Limbocker claims he owns the land its settin’ on. But Papa got word from the government that the land was unclaimed. So he claimed it and we started buildin’. Them Limbocker brothers kept comin’ over, actin’ real friendly and nice, and that was strange to me. Leastways until I saw that my big sister had taken herself a liking to one of them. Only it was one who was married already. I didn’t want no trouble, so when I caught them both in the barn, I just told him to git and threatened to tell his wife about what he was up to. Julietta ain’t talked to me since and I know she’s mad as a hornet over it.”
The meal Whitman had just finished was not sitting well. It never did when a married man and an affair were involved. Those were the worst kinds of situations to deal with when they ended in a shooting. But despite the initial fear when talking about Pa Limbocker, Holdago was calmly retelling the events.
“They cornered me on the range one day and I had just gotten my gun, Papa gave it to me, it was my grandfather’s. They rode up and told me they was gonna string me to my horse and have him drag me. I warned ’em not to come no closer, but they didn’t listen. I pulled the gun, I’d been practicin’. I wasn’t aiming, I was just gonna point it, but it got caught and it went off… one hit one brother and he fell from his horse. The other two pulled and I fired it again on purpose, but it didn’t hit either of ’em, it hit a rock and ricocheted and hit the second brother…”
Whitman wanted to drop his head on the table at the sheer coincidence of this kid surviving. “What happened to the third brother?”
“He panicked. Turned his horse too fast tryna leave. Fell out of the saddle, hit his head on the same rock.”
The love-hate relationship that Whitman had with luck was the main reason he wasn’t looking to get married anytime soon. Some days luck was on his side and kept him alive. Other days it just made things hard to prove. But from the way it all sounded, this kid had not killed the three Limbocker brothers in cold blood. “How old are you, son?”
“Sixteen.”
He dropped his hand on the table from where he had been rubbing his bearded chin. “You’re joshin’ me.”
“No, sir… I just turned sixteen, that’s why I got me the gun for my birthday.”
Whitman had not believed he was that young. He was tall and lanky but well worn from the sun. Twenties had been his original guess. It was the jawline. It made him look older. “All right… well, is Pa Limbocker after you?”
“Sure enough is, but I’m stayin’ a day ahead of them. I been doin’ a heap of prayin’ and I don’t think the Good Lord will abandon me, as he knows before anybody else that I had no hateful intent to kill.”
“That’s good to hear, son, but the Good Lord don’t carry a Winchester or a pile of cash and that’s about the only negotiations Limbocker knows how to work with. Where you headed for?”
The kid shrugged. “Ain’t thought that far.”
Whitman rubbed his face with both hands. There was no way he could just send this kid off, knowing he could die. If Limbocker did not catch up to him, the Kiowas would get to him. Whitman was friendly with the village south of the town, but there were a few nomads that came from farther away and stole horses from travelers if they could. Were Holdago a man, Whitman would be tempted to leave him to fight on his own, but at sixteen, the kid had no reason to be running across the country.
But to tell him to stand his ground meant he would be dealing with Limbocker in Clearcliff. If his last information on the old ornery cuss still stood, Limbocker may still have that Irish gunman with him, Tailor. The man was faster than anyone Whitman knew and he enjoyed killing more than a cow enjoyed chewing. Honor and reason did not matter to him, if he was given someone to point and shoot at, he would do it.
Sending Holdago on with some grub and maybe a lesson or two at handling his gun was all that was required of him, but when Ashley came and put a slice of blueberry pie in front of the kid and he saw the way the boy’s eyes lit up like it was pure gold, Whitman knew he couldn’t do that. His Ma would haunt him to the grave and that was the last thing he needed.
“Finish your food and I’ll get you a place to stay for the night. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Holdago did not answer. His mouth was full of pie.
“You done gone soft on me, Brandi Whitman.”
“I don’t wanna hear it, you were motherin’ that kid well enough to kill him.” He placed his hat on its designated hook and dipped his hands in the cold water in the basin to wash up. Ashley found his eventual choice amusing, but he was anything but amused. To shelter this kid and take responsibility for him could be the worst move he had made in his life if it caused Justice Limbocker and his gang to shoot up Clearcliff.
He never wanted to be in charge of protecting a whole town. He had not accepted the position of Sheriff because he wanted it, but the last Sheriff just had to get himself killed in front of him, and left him to take care of his killer. Which he only did because the last Sheriff was his Pa. For the first time in its entire existence, the town of Clearcliff was on the same page, and they unanimously voted him in as Sheriff after the fact.
Every second that he walked around with the badge was another second that could find him put in the ground just for wearing it. The law was not everybody’s friend and Whitman never wanted to live like his Pa did, constantly expecting someone to come after him because they didn’t like how he handled something. But Clearcliff wanted it and there was not a man in town who wanted to take his place. Anyone who wanted to probably shouldn’t have it, that’s what his Pa always said.
Whether he liked it or not, he had to keep Clearcliff safe, and giving Limbocker a reason to settle down here would get people hurt. But every time he tried to tell himself to send the kid on, he saw those green eyes, still full of life despite the fear, stupidly trusting in a God that had since abandoned this land. The kid was asleep right now, in a room across the street.
Ashley took the basket of his shirts that needed washing and came over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re sweeter than anybody says and you can’t fool me.”
Since Ma had passed on, Ashley was the only person who could get away with even standing that close to Whitman. He was not one who much liked anybody in his personal space unless they appreciated getting a knife in their chest or arm. But Ashley was family and she knew how to give him his space when he needed it most. He might be a few years older, but she still looked after him. Not because he was incapable of looking after himself, she would always say, but because he needed to be reminded that he was still worth loving.
He didn’t think so. There was a lot of hate in him that the harsh plains had made sure he held on to. Nothing underneath his freckled skin and hardened body was worth loving, but his sister was intent on proving otherwise.
When she said her goodnight and left the office, closing the door behind her and stepping into the night, Whitman was left alone to think of his choice and what he should do when Justice Limbocker showed up to give Holdago a taste of his gun. For all he knew, Limbocker may have every right in the eyes of the public to shoot down the boy who killed his sons. If Holdago looked more his age, the folks might be on his side, as nobody wanted to see a kid die for making a simple mistake. But Holdago looked only a few years younger than Whitman and the confidence he carried to disguise his fear gave off the impression of being cocky. There were no witnesses except some cattle, a horse, and Holdago himself. Limbocker would not leave without killing the boy or getting paid and Whitman did not have the funds to satisfy a man like that.
Propping his boots up on the desk, Whitman sat in the chair and tilted his head back, deciding to let the thoughts stew in his mind for the night and perhaps offer themselves up with something decent by breakfast.
The kid was eating again. How many stomachs did sixteen year olds have? Ashley adored the boy, that much was clear. If the kid thought he was managing to woo her, he had a disappointment coming. If a person managed to keep Ashley’s attention, it was because she saw them as someone else to coddle and baby and coo at. The girl needed a husband to give her a kid so she’d quit adopting every long faced pup that walked in the doors of her dining room.
“Mornin’, Sheriff!”
Whitman did not have any morning cheer, and nowhere near as much as a kid like Holdago, but he managed to say something akin to pleasant when he took a seat across from him. “You’re happy for some reason.”
“The food sure enough is good, that’s reason enough for happy.”
“Even if its your last meal?”
Ashley hit him with her dish towel. “Now you ain’t got no reason to be like that.”
“I don’t, but he does. How far behind you is Limbocker?”
Holdago shrugged. “A day, I reckon.”
“So you have about until late afternoon to figure out how you’re gonna face this.”
“I was doin’ some thinkin’ and prayin’ on that, and I decided that I’m best gonna be honest and straightforward with the man.”
Whitman blinked long and slow. “Wonderful, perhaps the Good Lord will send him a blinding light and have him converted.”
The kid laughed and Ashley giggled with him before heading off to go get more breakfast. Holdago did not catch his sarcasm. “That sure enough would be a relief! But the Good Lord don’t always work that way.”
“And since he doesn’t, you need to come up with a plan that goes beyond being honest.”
“I know, I was thinkin’ of that. I don’t like the idea of doing anymore killin’, but I wonder if there’s any other way I could make it up to him if he still thinks I owe him somethin’…”
“Limbocker is out for blood or money, and I reckon you ain’t got the means to provide either.”
That smile finally began to fade and once again, the kid looked concerned. “Then what do I do?”
“You killed three men, kid.”
“I really only killed two…”
Something stirred in Whitman’s mind and he latched onto the brief thought before it could get away. “Have they already buried his sons?”
“I figured so.”
He sat back in his seat as Ashley brought a plate of food to the table. That was something they could work with. More than likely, Limbocker knew what his sons were up to. If Whitman could just throw a bit of suspicion in front of whoever would be watching, he may be able to convince the old coot to drop everything.
He sat forward to eat, energized by the possibility of this not ending in bloodshed, only to see that the plate Ashley brought had been placed in front of Holdago and the boy was already chowing down on eggs and biscuits.
If this kid lived to see tomorrow, Whitman wondered if there would be a scrap of food left in the town.
It was earlier than they expected him to arrive, but they all knew it when he came in. The whispers started. They had been going on all day once everybody saw Buck Holdago following Sheriff Whitman around like an eager puppy. The kid had a smile for everyone and tipped his hat and did a double take every time a young woman walked by him. He was harmless, and that was a problem, since Limbocker was anything but harmless.
Some said that Whitman was planning to let the kid die, others assumed Whitman was protecting him and planned to arrest Limbocker. At this point, Whitman had no clue what he was going to do once the man arrived, and by the time Limbocker showed his face in Clearcliff, there was no more time to think.
“Sheriff, we got trouble.” Ezra Montgomery was the one who came in to tell him, and Ezra and his brother Moses had eyes in the back of their heads. Initially, the brothers made people nervous, and it took a long time for Whitman to finally agree to appoint them as deputies. Most folks were nervous about a black man holding the law, including Whitman, though his fears sat differently. Because of his skin, people might not be as willing to listen to either of them and heed their words when they gave it, so he held off and let the two prove themselves to Clearcliff before finally granting them both a badge. Ezra in particular had compassion for people and a quick draw, which would make him a better Sheriff than Whitman any day of the week. But until folks stopped hee-hawin’ over whether or not a black man was as good as a white, Whitman had to carry the badge and hope that the day when Ezra could take over would come before his time was up.
If Ezra was here telling him now, it meant Moses was out by the trail, tucked into his cliff-side hideout to watch whoever approached Clearcliff. The boys were twins and couldn’t be told apart except by the way they trimmed their mustaches, and even that difference was hard to see. Folks assumed they were ghosts originally, or had some voodoo charm with them. But the only magic the Montgomery brothers held to was their ability to make hot water cornbread. That confused Whitman to this day.
“Limbocker?”
Ezra nodded as he approached the desk. “The only one.”
Holdago sat up from where he had been playing chess with himself in the corner. He looked between Whitman and Ezra. “He look angry?”
“He’s got himself a posse with him and ridin’ like the Devil is on his heels, if that’s what you’re askin’.”
The kid sighed and stood to his feet. “Reckon its time I went out and talked to him.”
Ezra nodded. “We’re behind you all the way, son.”
Whitman placed his hat on his head and walked to the door. “Come on, let’s get this over with. Try to stay out of the line of fire, Ezra. Ashley’ll have my head if I let you get shot up.”
The three of them stepped out into the street and Whitman took stock of what was around him. A few people stood outside, a dog was lounging in the shade of the office, two horses stood near Ashley’s dining room. Ashley herself was on the porch, broom in hand. Holdago could not resist smiling and waving to her, but she was too worried about the approaching visitors to return the smile.
Limbocker soon pulled his horse alongside the sheriff’s office and once again, Holdago’s fear settled in and made him start to sweat. Limbocker was a beast of a man, thick from head to toe, with eyes that never left his target. Right behind him were three other men, one the Irish gunman with a cigar in his mouth and a grin showing his yellow teeth. The other two Whitman didn’t recognize, but were clearly hired to be there.
“I think you know why I’m here.” Limbocker’s deep voice carried to everybody on the street, though it was not very loud.
“Yes, sir, I do.” Holdago stepped forward, facing Limbocker, hands trembling but feet steady. Whitman did not know why he was letting this kid do this. “I’m responsible for the death of your sons.”
“That’s right, you are. Now are you gonna face this like a man or are you plannin’ on hidin’ behind the law?”
“There ain’t no shame in lettin’ the law take care of disputes,” Holdago countered as respectfully as he could. “I’m just here to be up front and honest with you, as the Lord wouldn’t want me to do otherwise.”
Limbocker laughed and it was a harsh bark of a sound that left little room for humor. Whitman had his arms crossed over his chest, but he wanted to let his hand fall to his gun. Ezra stood as calm as the breeze, confident that his brother Moses was watching from afar. Ashley was standing in the doorway of her dining room, but Whitman knew that she was no longer leaning on the broom. She had grabbed her rifle and was letting it remain hidden in her blue checkered skirts.
“I hope you’re ready to meet this Lord of yours, boy, as I don’t plan on lettin’ you walk away after what you did.”
“No, Mr. Limbocker, I’m gonna be honest and straight like I said. Your boys pulled on me first.”
“You got anybody or anything to back that up son?”
“Reckon I don’t except for my honest word before Jesus Christ himself.”
Limbocker dismounted and walked up to Holdago, his heavy steps seeming to shake every building on the street. His white beard was full of dirt and sweat and when he towered over Holdago, that’s when Whitman rested his hand on his gun. He was a mountain lion ready to prey on a chipmunk.
“You best start prayin’ then, boy. As your word don’t mean a lick of nothin’ to me with my boys dead. Now you get to the other end of the street and get ready to draw, you ain’t walkin’ out of this town alive.”
The kid was terrified, but to his credit, he didn’t back up. “I don’t aim to kill nobody else, Mr. Limbocker.”
Whitman decided the boy had stood his ground long enough. Too many ears were listening, and if it went on too long, folks could start adding their own ideas to what happened today. “Limbocker, why don’t you hear what the boy has to say before you start slingin’ lead?”
Those sharp eyes settled on Whitman and he could not hide how his grip tightened on his gun. “You stay out of this, lawman.”
“If you don’t let the kid explain himself, won’t nobody know why you just walked up to the street and killed a sixteen year old boy who they won’t believe managed to kill your boys, who I know for a fact are meaner than every snake on this cliff.”
Limbocker spit at him, but he faced the boy again. “Fine! Tell your story and make it good!”
This time, Holdago did jump, but he rubbed his hands together and managed that smile of his that hid so much of his fear. “Of course, mister. See, your oldest was mad that I caught him and my older sister in the barn and I told them off. So they came to me the next day while I was on the range and said they was gonna make my horse drag me. I pulled out my gun good and slow just to point it, but they saw it and pulled too. my gun got caught and it went off and hit the oldest. They was tryna shoot so I shot again but it ricocheted off a rock and I reckon the shrapnel got him. I didn’t even fire at the third one, he fell off his horse and hit his head.”
The story was wild and ridiculous and made of pure luck, but knowing this was a sixteen year old kid made it a little more plausible. Limbocker made his opinion of his story known and spit at Holdago once again.
“If you think I’m believin’ them lies, you got another thing comin’, boy! You’re man enough to kill a man, you’re man enough to die like one!”
Whitman was watching Tailor and the other two gunman. They looked bored. They weren’t expecting any resistance, which was clearly annoying Tailor. He was antsy. Whitman glanced at Ezra and was glad to see that Ezra already had his eyes on the Irishman. This gave Whitman the chance to address Limbocker.
“If you think its such a pack of lies, why don’t we take a look at your son’s bodies and see if the injuries match up.”
“I ain’t got to, my word is enough!”
“But his isn’t?”
“He’s a boy!”
“Well, you just said he’s ready to die like a man.”
Limbocker liked to argue, but he wasn’t here to do that today. He was here to kill somebody, but he had not been prepared to kill a sixteen year old. If he wanted to get away with it and keep his reputation, he had to make sure it sounded like the boy was dangerous. So far, Holdago had proved himself to be the least dangerous person in town to everybody except the food supply. Honesty did a lot for a person. To kill him now was a cowardly act.
Ezra shifted. Tailor was getting excited to see that things were not going according to plan. That meant it was more likely for him to get to shoot someone, and he had no qualms about killing a boy.
Whitman focused on the white haired beast nearly drooling on Holdago. “If you wanna settle somethin’, you’d better have grounds to do it. Your boys started it, you ain’t got no right to gang up on a boy.”
“You sayin’ you’re protectin’ him, then, Sheriff?”
That was the last thing he wanted to do for the sake of the town, but he had no choice. “I am.”
He could feel Holdago smiling at him with relief and delight. Whitman almost wanted to take it back, he hated being praised incessantly and he knew he’d be dealing with that if he made it out of this alive. His palms were sweaty and his stomach was ready to dispel his breakfast, but he kept it down and held his ground.
Limbocker growled. “You’ll regret that, Sheriff.”
“You’ll regret it if you don’t get out of my town and go back to wherever you crawled out of. Come back with more proof for what he did and maybe I’ll let you consider shootin’ down a boy.”
Limbocker did not like to back down, and if he did, it meant he was coming back harder than before. He was weighing his options and that made Whitman more itchy. On a whim, he took a chance to antagonize him and get him to act now as opposed to later. Another night of wondering if he was gonna die the next day was making him lose his appetite.
“Your boys were yellow anyhow.”
The fire flashed in his eyes and Limbocker went for his gun with a curse toward Whitman. Whitman had no quick draw, but he had quick feet. He knew the phrase would anger him and he took the barest step to the side and didn’t move as the bullet whizzed by him and lodged itself in his office. Every time he did that he knew somebody would catch on and plant one square in his chest. But today, Limbocker was too angry to catch the shift. Whitman’s heart was like a freight train but he stayed still, years of being cynical lending itself to keeping his face neutral in the face of Limbocker’s shock.
Tailor wasn’t as shocked. He had seen Whitman pull that trick before. He laughed and dropped his hand to draw. Ezra’s Colt roared inches away from its holster and Tailor fell from the saddle. The other two gunman didn’t have a chance to clear their holsters before Whitman spoke, sharp and angry. “Don’t try it if you wanna walk outta here alive, Moses got six rounds for you and Ashley don’t much like folks puttin’ holes in my office.”
Limbocker had not been expecting anything from Ezra. Few people did. He stood like he didn’t have a care in the world and wasn’t even paying attention, but he saw more than anyone else. Limbocker did not know who Moses was, but if he was anything like the shot Ezra was, it was a dangerous plan to proceed.
Whitman could barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he spoke anyway. “The boy don’t deserve to die over this. Get on back to Katawa and pick a fight with someone else. Next time you come through here, I ain’t givin’ you a warning.”
To back down meant he had lost, but he was already down his best gunman. The fury surrounded him, but Limbocker mounted his horse. “You’ll regret this, Whitman.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
Limbocker turned his horse away and Holdago decided to speak as he was retreating. “And he thought the Good Lord wouldn’t keep me safe!”
Whitman let out a deep sigh. “Kid, we need to talk about this whole Good Lord stuff and staking your life on him.”
“Oh, good! I been wantin’ a chance to tell you about him! We should talk over some of Miss Ashley’s pie!”
Whitman sighed and headed across the street, refusing to look at Ezra who he knew was smiling at him with more amusement than he felt was necessary. “Ezra, get the body out of the street.”
“Yes, Sheriff.
The End
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