Taking Charge in Stumpy Creek

"Is anyone out there?" The question came from the jail cell across the office, and I jerked myself back from the edges of a light doze. I fished my pocket watch out of my vest and checked the time.

"I'm here, but I'm leaving," I told the prisoner. "Something you need? "

"I'm sober, and I'm sorry. Can you let me out now? This bed in here stinks." The arrogant young buck in the cell was Hoyt Setzer's boy, Daniel. Hoyt had sent him back east to one of those fancy colleges a couple of years ago, to get himself a degree. He had only been back home for a week, and he was already getting drunk and pestering Polly Walsh. He's always been a mite rowdy, and I was sure he didn't mean any real harm, but Polly was so mad she could have bit a tenpenny nail in two when him and some of Hoyt's drivers came in her store acting fools, and trying on ladies' hats. The rest of 'em scattered like buckshot when Polly came outside and started hollering. I was in the office napping, but Polly's got an awful big mouth. I heard the commotion and went running, and there was nothing to do but lock him up. It surprised me that Hoyt hadn't been in yet to take him home. I figured I'd let him cool his heels overnight-might teach him a lesson about getting likkered up with troublemakers. I left the office to go make my rounds.

I was shaking doors and having a general look-see around town, just like Sheriff Muncey would do if he was here. Old Jasper had started in tinkling the ivories over at the Black Horse, and the sound of "Camptown Races was leaking out through the doors of the saloon and into the street. The moon wouldn't be full for another week, so I wasn't expecting much trouble over there until then. Sheriff Muncey would be back by that time, and I was glad of it. I hate trouble. I made sure Galen's Mercantile was locked up tight, then headed back toward the office. I needed to collect the supper plate out of the Setzer boy's cell and see that he was settled for the night. For the time being, he was the jail's only occupant, and I was hoping things stayed that way.

I'm the deputy here in Stumpy Creek, but I'm a country boy, and I'd rather be working my own little spread outside of town. I've been saving all I can out of my twelve dollar salary every month so I can have that someday. When the time is right, I'm gonna buy some land I've got my eye on and build a house. Me and Sally Woodward have been sweet on each other for a while, and someday I'll settle down with her. She keeps dropping hints that we should go ahead and get married, but her daddy is against that idea. He's so protective of Sally he won't let her set so much as one pretty little toe in the Black Horse, even though he owns the place. Hell, I'd marry her tomorrow, if it wasn't for this job of mine. But Sally's a sweet, delicate little woman, the kind of woman with soft, genteel sensibilities. I don't think she'd be very happy married to a lawman, but someday she'll make me a good little wife.

I was halfway back to the office when it struck me that the music had stopped. It wasn't like Jasper to lay down on the job before about midnight or thereabouts. It was only 8:30, so I thought I'd better look in on the Black Horse before I went back to the office. Damn, I thought, I hope there ain't any trouble brewing over there. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a coward. I got no qualms about facing down any man who's breaking the law, and I've put plenty of men in jail. I just don't like being the one in the catbird's seat. Never have, never will. But Sheriff Muncey had to take a prisoner over to Abilene and testify at his trial, which leaves me to handle whatever comes up here in town.

The raucous piano music at the Black Horse had been replaced with a silence that felt heavy, and made me as nervous as a whore in church. Since I didn't know what I'd find, I crept up on the swinging doors of the saloon real quiet like before I slipped through. Nobody inside was moving. It was almost like time had stopped, and had frozen them all wherever they were at the time. George Faust and three of his ranch hands were seated at a table with a small pile of money in the middle, each one of them holding a handful of playing cards in a near death grip. Jasper was on the piano stool, looking like he wanted to disappear. He was staring hard down at the keys, like he expected them to start playing a song on their own. It appeared like Millie, one of the saloon gals, had started toward the poker table with two big mugs full of foaming beer. Now she was standing stock still between the bar and the table, still holding the beer in front of her like you'd hold the reins of a buckboard.

In the space of about two seconds I took all this in, but I still couldn't figure the why of the situation. I glanced over at Hank, the bartender, and he gestured with his eyes toward a corner in the back. Frank Woodward was standing to the side of a stranger, and the stranger's gun was flush up against Frank's temple.

"Okay, old man," the stranger growled. "Now we're gonna walk real slow over to that metal box behind the bar. You're gonna unlock it and get everything that's in there. Then you're gonna hand it to me." The metal box was where Frank kept all the money that changed hands at the Black Horse. I suspected he wouldn't be out very much if the stranger stole it, because I knew that Frank went to the bank every morning during the week, and deposited most of the cash from the night before. I was about to learn that this wasn't necessarily a good thing.

As Frank and the stranger side-stepped over to the bar, I studied on what my next move should be. How would the Sheriff handle this? I wondered. Muncey would be able to draw down on the stranger and put a bullet in his gun hand, even before he took his next breath. I was nowhere near that fast with a gun. Or as accurate. I decided that the best thing I could do was probably to let the stranger take the money and get out. I could take off after him when he left the saloon. What's a few dollars, when lives are at stake? I thought. Then things went to hell.

Frank and the stranger were behind the bar now. Frank had taken the money out of the box, and was holding it out to the stranger, who jerked it roughly out of his hand. The stranger lowered his gun and took a step backward after he yanked the money. I was about to let loose a big sigh of relief when the stranger started yelling.

"THIRTY DOLLARS? Where's the rest, you old son-of-a-bitch?" Now Frank was holding both his hands in the air, and I could see he was scared shitless.

"It's all, uh...uh in the bank," Frank managed to mumble.

"You're dead, old man." This time the stranger's voice was as cold as a Dakota winter. He was raising his gun arm again, and there was no doubt about his intentions. This was it. I may not like my job that much, but I take it very seriously. My breath was coming in short spurts, and my hands were shaking worse than a wagonload of whiskey going over the mountains. I went for my gun.

Before my hand could even reach the holster, a tiny tigress with hair the color of winter wheat had charged through the swinging doors of the Black Horse, and had put a bullet square in the middle of the stranger's forehead. He slumped down behind the bar, dead as a steer at slaughtering time. His gun clattered aimlessly to the floor beside his body.

Sally had been looking for me that night, to tell me exactly how she felt about the way things were going between us. She had seen me creeping up on the Black Horse, and figured something was wrong. The day after the shooting, she decided that we should get married, so we did.

Sheriff Muncey came back a week later, and he met with me and Sally at the office. Seems the stranger was a man by the name of Will Bonderant, and there was a price on his head. Sheriff Muncey said he'd been on a killing spree, and was wanted in three states. Reward money totaling two thousand dollars was on its way from Abilene, and Sally was thrilled.

"We'll be saving all but the cost of our land," she told the Sheriff primly.

I gave him my badge.