“Yea, yea, I can hear ya.” Fuller tried to sound tough.
“Your partner’s not around any more. He’s lying up there in the rocks with two bullet holes in his belly,” Jon said forcefully. “I’m the law around here. My name’s Jon Stoudenmire and you’re under arrest. I want you to throw your guns out by the creek and come out with your hands up. One false move and I’ll use you for target practice. Do you understand?” Jon said menacingly.
“I hear you Sheriff, but how do I know you won’t kill me anyway?” he replied. Fuller felt very isolated in this desolate spot so far from town. Jon could kill him and then tell everyone that it was self defense. He also knew that Malone was a friend of Jon’s and that Jon could get furious when you messed with his friends. Fuller was still undecided when Jon shouted back at him.
“You’re right Mister; you don’t know what I’ll do for sure. Make your call!”
Fuller was starting to worry; he was damned if did and damned if he didn’t. He yanked his red plaid handkerchief from around his neck and wiped the sweat from his brow. He tapped the barrel of his Uberti on the palm of his hand. After a few agonizing minutes, he spoke up.
“Okay Sheriff, okay. I’m coming out with my hands up. Don’t shoot!” the nervous man pleaded. His rifle and six gun flew out of the rocks and landed on the creek bank where Jon could see them. Fuller stood up and walked slowly out from between the huge rocks, hands in the air. His brow was sweaty; his heart was pounding hard as he came into full view of the big lawman.
“Don’t worry; I never kill an unarmed man. Not even a snake like you,” Jon said. Both of his pearl handled Colts were drawn and pointed straight ahead as he stepped out and moved up to the edge of the creek.
“Move on down here where I can get a good look at you,” Jon ordered.
Fuller walked toward the creek; he stopped at the edge of the water near his discarded six gun.
“Kick that gun in the creek and then come over here.”
The water rippled as the shiny six gun slid into the creek. Fuller grimaced as his leg went into the icy water. His red leather boots sank into the mud under the water as he struggled to the other side. He was shivering as he continued to slosh across the narrow brook. Cold and scared, he reached the other side and looked up at the big lawman. Jon’s muscular two hundred pounds and six foot plus frame looked huge; his blue eyes looked dark and menacing as he squinted into the slices of sun that filtered through the trees.
“Now you listen to me you ugly snake,” Jon said angrily. “You’re alive for one reason and one reason only. I heard you and your friend talking and I know you didn’t shoot Malone. If I thought you did, you’d be dead already. You understand?” Jon said threateningly as he yanked Zing’s hands behind him and cuffed him.
“Yea, I understand,” Fuller grumped.
“Now we’re going to ride back to town and find you a nice warm cell. And I’m hoping and praying that between here and town, you try something, so I can let you have it,” Jon snorted; he seemed disappointed that he hadn’t been able to kill the Fuller sooner.
“Don’t worry Sheriff, I ain’t stupid,” Fuller said as his lips turned into a nasty grin.
Jon whistled for Babe. She came lickety-split down the center of the creek. He collected the other horses and helped Fuller mount his steed. He carried the youngster’s body over and dropped it on the pack horse, it fell limp, arms dangling to the side. Jon mounted up, looped the pack’s leather rein around his saddle horn and headed back to town. There was just enough daylight left to make it back to town before dark.
Chapter 2
Piano music drifted out the window of the Barbee as Jon and Babe rode slowly into town. It was almost dark now. Camp, shoeing a horse by the light of a kerosene lamp, rose up when he saw Jon coming. A dejected Zing Fuller looked over and gave the young stable hand an ugly stare as he rode past on the lead horse. The dead gunman’s arms dangled to the side of the following pack.
“You okay?” Camp shouted.
“I’m fine Camp, see you at the Barbee tomorrow at the usual time,” Jon shouted.
Camp stuck his black thumb in the air and quickly went back to work. He had a stable full of horses that needed shoeing by morning.
“Sheriff’s back, one dead and one alive!” a young boy playing in the street shouted.
A few folks gathered along the side of the road to greet their returning hero. Jon sat tall in the saddle as he tipped his hat to the crowd. He rode slowly toward the jail, keeping a close eye on Fuller.
“Whoa girl!” “Whoa!” Babe’s head jerked back as they stopped in front of the jail. Deputy Morgan came running out to meet him.
“Any chance?” Ed asked, shocked by the sight of the young man’s body.
“Not a chance,” Jon replied. “How’s Malone doing?”
“Not so great, but Doc Fletcher seems to think he’ll make it okay. Lost a lot of blood, but he’s a pretty tough hombre.”
“Might have to get someone to fill in for Jack while he’s mending,” Jon replied.
“Okay Jon, looks like we’re gonna need all the help we can get round here.”
“Make sure this poor fool gets a proper burial. He’s only a kid, it’s a shame.” Jon sounded distressed as he spoke of his most recent kill.
“Sure thing Boss, you better clean up a little and get down to the Barbee. Libby’s been coming down here every twenty minutes to check on you. I’ll send one of the boys o’er to the Barbee to tell her you’re okay.”
“Thanks Ed.” Jon smiled at his loyal deputy. He tied Babe to the hitching post and hurried down to the Westwood Hotel to spiff up a little.
The floor boards creaked as Jon walked to his room at the end of the hall on the second floor. He turned the key, and the door fell open. Jon stepped in the room and quickly closed and locked the door behind him. Steam rose from a pan of hot water sitting next to the bed. They’re spoiling me, he thought, as he tossed his hat on the bed and slid his hands into the water. He splashed his sweaty face, it felt great. He grabbed the cotton towel off the brass bed rail and patted his face dry. His black leather vest and denim shirt came off. He slipped on his white silk shirt and brocade vest, slapped on some cologne and took a quick look in the mirror. “You handsome devil,” he mumbled as he grabbed his hat off the bed and hurried down to see his girl.
* * *
Libby’s eyes kept glancing at the door as she waited for her big lover. She reached under the bar and pulled up a small bottle of expensive perfume and carefully dabbed it on a few key spots on her neck. She liked being Jon’s girl, even with all the uncertainty. Why do I always fall in love with the wrong men?” she thought, as she carefully placed the perfume under the bar.
The door opened, Jon walked in slowly and stopped. He looked around the room for Libby. She smiled and waved; his face lit up with a big grin as he straightened his hat and headed for the bar.
