RETRIBUTION: - GlenMarcus (best summer reads TXT) 📗

your service. First drink is on the house.” His accent gave him away as an easterner, but he seemed likable enough. “You gentlemen just get into town?”
“We pulled in today. What parts do you hail from?” Emerson asked.
“I moved out here from Long Branch, New Jersey two months ago. Hence, the name of my establishment. I opened this business just a month ago and I plan to build it into a fine saloon and gaming hall very soon.”
“You have room to grow, that’s for sure,” Gus said with a grin.
After exchanging pleasantries, Emerson bought a bottle and the three went to a corner table. The cheap whiskey burned young Thom’s throat, but he tried not to show the discomfort. As with most cow towns, the crowds were full of rough and tumble types. Tinhorns and pickpockets were the norm, so you kept your wits and your valuables very well guarded.
As the red eye flowed, Thom was the first to succumb to its power over him. He lay with his head on the table in a state of unconsciousness. Marsh and Gus continued to have a high ole time, even taking a turn or two on the dance floor with a couple of “hostesses” as Mr. Harris had referred to them. The music wasn’t the best they’d ever heard, but the piano man made up for that by playing loudly.
During a break in the bad musical interlude, the two still-conscious men sat back down at their table for a rest. The small saloon was packed to capacity and at an adjacent table Marsh noticed some unusually rough looking characters eyeballing him. Though he wasn’t sober by a long shot, Emerson still had the state of mind to nudge Gus under the table with his foot to alert him to the situation. The old cowhand acknowledged the sign and eased his left hand under the table towards his sidearm.
The four men that had gotten Marsh’s attention slowly rose from their table and calmly walked out of the Long Branch’s swinging doors. Removing his hand from his Schofield, Gus commented, “Reckon those fellas was lookin’ for trouble?”
“Not sure, but I think I’ve had enough for one night. One more drink and then we’d better get Thom into his room.”
After finishing the remainder of the bottle, Mr. Emerson picked up the inebriated young man and put him over one of his broad shoulders. The two men walked out the saloon and headed up the street back towards their hotel. Passing a small alley along the way, someone stepped out directly in front of them about twenty feet ahead. A torch light burning between them, illuminated his face well enough to see it was one of the men from the saloon. With Gus behind him and the kid slung over his gun arm’s shoulder, Marsh was in a bad way if trouble was brewing. He stopped cold and the tipsy Gus ambling behind almost ran into his boss’s backside.
“Can I help you mister?” Emerson said in strong but hushed tone to the blonde headed man.
Gus, now realizing there was a problem ahead, stepped to Marsh’s side and slipped the leather tie-down off his .45. From the darkness of the alley, the other three slipped up from behind the cattlemen, one with a club in his hand. Striking Gus atop his Wasey style felt hat, the old man crumpled in a heap on the ground. With a gun barrel suddenly in his ear, the thought of dropping Thom and going for his pistol quickly vanished from Emerson’s mind. Dragging Gus’ body into the darkness of the alley, the men took Emerson’s Colt and directed him to follow closely.
Marsh relieved himself from the load of Thom, by sitting his limp frame on a crate by some trash cans. Figuring the men for the thieves, he asked what they wanted.
“Oh, we be takin’ all the money you get from them longhorns, big man,” said the half-breed with the pistol still at his temple.
“I ain’t got the money with me,” began Emerson, “I’m picking it up tomorrow at the bank.”
“Wrong answer,” said Tony Bell as he emerged from the shadows. “We’ve been following you since you crossed over into Kansas. You were at the Exchange today and then you went to the bank.”
Even in his semi-drunken state, Marsh knew he was in a bind. He had in fact gotten the money today at the Dodge City Bank. He tried one last ploy. “All right, the money’s up in my room.”
“That’s all we need to know,” as the fourth and final man stepped into a better light. He placed a quick hand on Marsh’s shoulder and with an even quicker move pulled a twelve inch Arkansas Toothpick. Being double-edged it entered Emerson’s chest cavity with ease. Once, twice, three times with the last strike in the heart. Marsh felt his breath taken away and then he felt weak in the knees. He hit the ground on his face and his vision dimly faded to darkness.
Rolling the big man over, Dawson Ricketts opened Marsh’s coat and there it was. Stitched inside the light jacket was a deep flapped pocket. Jerking the flap and snapping the button off revealed what they were searching for. An envelope of cash was taken and the escaped convict snatched Marsh’s gold pocket watch from its fob.
“Now we got all the dinero we needs to get across the border,” GreyHawk said.
To that statement Ricketts replied, “We have to make a stop in Colorado first.”
“With half the state of Texas on our trail, you still got it in your craw to kill Wallace, don’t ya,” Tony asked somewhat rhetorically. “I know the Rangers think we’ve gone down below and crossed into Mexico, but it’s only a matter of time ‘til they figure out we didn’t.”
“If you want to ride on to Canada, then head north, but I got business to tend to in Denver.”
“I’m with you Dawson,” Slim said.
“Me too. Ain’t never killed me no ‘knight in armor’ afore,” GreyHawk said with a wide grin.
“Aw hell Ricketts, we’re all good. Let’s go take care of that peckerwood and then light out.”
With that, the four men mounted up and headed west towards the Kansas state line.

Saturday June 24th

When Doug Evans came into the sheriff’s office for work early Saturday morning, Luke had already beaten him there. “Awful early for you this morning, boss?” Doug said as he slung his hat on the hall tree and plopped down in a chair.
“If I had a wife as pretty as yours, I’d be late every morning too.”
“Late? The chickens ain’t even got up yet. And you leave my new bride out of this, though she does have a sister if you’re interested,” said Doug as he poured himself a cup of Luke’s coffee.
“Well the early bird gets the worm.”
“Yeah and the second mouse gets the cheese.”
The two bantered back and forth like they had known each other forever, when in reality, Evans had been on the job as deputy for just a little more than a month. When the town elders gave the sheriff permission to look for a second-in-command, it didn’t take Luke long to find good help. Doug had grown up in these parts, so he was familiar with the lay of the land. Fresh back from Leadville, Evans never found his fortune, but he did learn that silver was a lot different than gold mining. And a silver miner, he was not. But he was handy with a pistol and very accurate with his Winchester. Being newly betrothed was a drawback in this line of work, but when Luke interviewed him for the position the sheriff knew he’d found a reliable counterpart.
At five feet, eleven inches and a muscular one hundred eighty pounds, there were probably few men at half his age that could keep up with Sheriff Luke Wallace. Doug however was one of them. Tipping the scales at around two-ten and every bit of six foot two in his boots, his new deputy was a man Luke would not tangle with if he had a choice in the matter. But that wasn’t an issue as Doug had one of the most laid-back attitudes of anyone he knew. But the thing that sealed it for Luke was that Evans could put on a rough edge if things went sideways and you had to have that if you wanted to be a lawman. And besides, the deputy had the respect of most everyone in town, another key characteristic to keep the peace.
“I have got to start getting here before you so I can make the coffee,” Doug said with a scowl on his face, “this is terrible.”
“Aw...You’ll get used to it.”
Trying another sip and then tossing the remainder of the cup out the open window Doug replied, “I’m gonna go set up the court room at the Monarch. The judge is still coming in today I guess?”
“Oh yeah. Judge Elbert Nain has never been late for his bi-weekly court session and has never let anyone off without a fine.”
“You got that right. Give me a holler if you need anything.”
As the deputy was walking out the door, William Brownlee, the telegraph operator came into the sheriff’s office with a wire for Luke. “Sheriff, this just came in for you and I thought you needed to see it right away.”
Opening the folded note, he read it to himself. ‘From Monty Cush, Texas Ranger, Fort Worth Texas:

stop

Be on the lookout for Dawson Ricketts and an unknown number of accomplices

stop

Escaped from Huntsville State Prison on the 17th of June stop Direction of travel unsure

stop

Thought you needed to know

stop

Will contact with any further information

stop

Looking up from the paper, William was waiting to see if Luke wanted to send a reply. He reached in his pocket and fished out two bits and tossed it to the young man without saying a word. With that Brownlee turned around and left through the open door.
After glancing at the paper again, Luke swiveled his chair back and recollected what had happened just over a year ago between he and Ricketts. The last words the convicted murderer said to him came back into his mind as clearly as if they had been spoken just yesterday. “Watch your back, Wallace,” he had told him as Ricketts was lead out of the Camp County Texas courthouse. “Watch your back,” Luke heard them again in the raspy tone that they were spoken. With a gleam in his eye he thought, ‘I’ll do just that

.’
Figuring Emmett would have the stage to town early, the sheriff left his office to go meet the judge. Elbert Nain was a contrary old cuss, but he knew the law better than anyone Luke had ever encountered. Harsh but fair, was the best way he could describe the bearded gentleman and he was always punctual to a fault. He once fined Luke twenty dollars for being three minutes late for his proceedings, but later cut the fine in half for what the judge referred to as a "judicial courtesy."
Walking past the livery, he noticed the burly blacksmith was working and stopped in for a minute to chew the fat. Entering the big, open double doors, he saw John Chambers over by the bellows rolling a quirley. 'Smitty,'as Luke called him had become a close friend and confidant since his arrival in Laramie Flatts. A mountain-of-a-man was the best way to describe John and not much else was necessary. Noticing his friend looked a little hung-over Luke said, “Smitty, you look like something the cat drug in. Have a little bit too much of ‘who-hit-John’ last night?”
Bleary-eyed and squinting, as his face turned to the old enemy of sunlight John replied,