Kelly Atkins might have been right about Clearwater Valley being the best in the country. It was certainly beautiful, large enough for many settlements, with excellent water year-round, and the grass to go with it. The summers were hot and the winters could be brutally cold, but that was about all the area had against it.
Clearwater Valley was named after the Clearwater River, which largely divided the valley in half. The valley ran roughly north and south, and was surrounded by mountains, though the range stretching from northwest to northeast was the mightiest. Clearwater Valley was shaped much like a baseball field. If the reader will allow the analogy, the river came in from the mountains deep down the left field foul line, meandered lazily through left-center field, down near second base, over the pitcher’s mound, and then not far up the first base line where it the disappeared into the hills to the southeast. The town of River Bend lay on the west side, in a curve in the river between second base and the mound. The whole valley consisted of several hundred thousand acres. Gail Sanders had a ranch and owned most of the eastern half, which she called East Clearwater. Actually, she also owned the western half of the valley, but was selling that in parcels to settlers. There was some growth as new people moved in, but it wasn’t a boom. Still, River Bend was a prosperous town, the home now of several hundred people—including the ranchers who lived out in the valley.
Kelly and her father, Fred, owned a small, 160-acre spread on a hillside in the southwestern part of the valley. They weren’t getting rich, but they made do and were very happy with what they had. They ran about 20 cattle on their land, and Fred would sell a few every so often if they started overgrazing the grass he had. But the Atkins also had a number of domestic animals, such as chickens, pigs, and goats, and Kelly worked a small garden in which she grew some vegetables and fruit. She was also a near marksman with a rifle and kept the family sufficiently supplied with meat. As noted earlier, her mother had died many years before—Kelly never knew her—so Fred and his daughter lived alone. And were very well respected in Clearwater Valley.
Fred adored his daughter and didn’t want to lose her to another man, though he knew it was going to happen soon enough. But he tried. Kelly had come home one afternoon and spotted three new crosses sticking up in the ground. She had asked her father what they were doing there. With a twinkle in his eye, Fred had responded, “Well, three fellows came out today wanting to court you, but I…persuaded them otherwise.”
Kelly had laughed…but had also removed the crosses.
River Bend was a nice town, with many good people, but it was far from perfect. And while the Negro Ben Baker had been accepted and was well-liked by most of the populace, there was that element—lewd fellows of the baser sort, in the words of the Good Book—that took offense just because of the color of his skin. They were outnumbered, and hadn’t caused Ben any problems yet. And that was partly because they had no real leadership in organizing against him.
No leadership, that is, until Top Tolliver and his men arrived in River Bend.
In spite of all his conciliatory gestures towards bartender Nate Nation and Marshal Ben Baker, Top Tolliver was stewing. Nation had gotten the best of him—publicly—and Ben had made fools of two of his men. This simply could not be allowed to stand without retribution. If people were laughing at the Tollivers, they weren’t fearing them; and fear was a crucial element to the success of any outlaw gang. If word of what Nate and Ben had done got around, people would begin to believe in the vulnerability of the gang. That could be disastrous.
Plus, Trent would never tolerate Top leaving town without re-establishing the credibility and dread of the Tolliver name. The only question to Top was not that Ben, especially, must die, but how he would die, and what else could be done to punish the town of River Bend. Robbing the bank became secondary to the revenge that was necessary to restore the Tolliver reputation.
And Top knew a way to accomplish that.
The Royal Flush wasn’t the only saloon in River Bend, it was just the classiest. And had the toughest bartender. That baser sort of lewd fellows mentioned a few paragraphs earlier haunted the less respectable establishments in town, the ones with the watered-down whiskey and the two dollar whores. It was in these establishments where Top figured he could find the help he needed to bring down Ben Baker.
It was a place creatively named “River Bend Saloon.” It was in a seedier part of town —called the “Hot Spot,” for reasons unknown--and as the Tolliver men had walked down the lane looking for a likely locale, they had been repulsed by what they had seen. Most of the buildings were empty and boarded up. There were drunks moaning in the alleys. The cheap, washed-up, and ugly “ladies of the night” were standing outside their brothels—and there were several—trying to talk passers-by out of their money. The area wasn’t very well lit, and it smelled of raw sewage. But actually, there wasn’t a whole lot of crime in the area. There wasn’t much to steal. The occasional brawl broke out, but Ben and his deputy, Turley Edwards, frankly didn’t waste much time in the Hot Spot; it had a way of policing itself so the lawmen largely let it do it.
The River Bend Saloon was typical of the area. It had a regular door--instead of swinging doors--announcing the “.ive. Be.. Salloon”—yes, “salloon,” not “saloon.” Top and his men walked in; the room was thick with smoke and rancid whiskey smells. There were only a couple of lanterns providing light. The bar was old, faded, and cracked—and the bartender looked the same. There was a piano, and a barely-clad female was beating an unrecognizable, out-of-tune ditty on it. Plenty of tables occupied most of the space, and plenty of patrons occupied most of the tables. Top wrinkled his nose and sneezed as he walked towards the bar.
“This place is awful,” he murmured to his companions. Then smiled. “But just what we’re looking for.”
He ordered whiskey, and took the bottle and four glasses. Nobody paid any attention or said anything to them. Poker was common at most of the tables, and Top idly wondered where any of these louses got enough money to play a hand.
The Tolliver men found a suitable table and it didn’t take long for Top to strike up a conversation with a nearby contingent of…lewd fellows of the baser sort.
“Quite a town you got here,” he said, having to lift his voice a bit to be heard over the music, cursing, spitting, hacking, laughing, chip-rattling, and whore bottom-slapping that generally can be heard in such palaces of pleasure.
The fellow he had spoken to grunted and the other men at his table—and there were five total—laughed softly. “Yeah, a reg’lar Garden of Eden,” the man replied. It was so dark that Top could hardly see him, but he appeared to have a rather weathered face under a hat that was bent out of shape. The other men didn’t appear in much better condition. “Me, Duke, and the boys is thinkin’ about headin’ somewheres else.” He made a general motion with his hand around the table, indicating who “Duke and the boys” were. “Fact is, we was talkin’ about it right now.”
“Where would you go? I’ve been lots of places. They’re all pretty much the same. Watered down whiskey, ugly whores, and law that won’t mind its own business.” Top scooted his chair over to enable quieter conversation. He thought he might have found the men he wanted.
“Well, that pretty much describes River Bend. Gotta be better over the hill somewhere.”
“Must be bad here if you gents are thinking about pulling out.”
Another grunt. “Well, we got the cheap whiskey and ugly women, but the worst thing is they went and hired an uppity nigger for a marshal.” He shook his head and downed his drink. “That’s downright embarrassin.” Top reached over with his bottle of whiskey and poured him another. The man had taken the conversation in exactly the direction Tolliver had wanted. “Obliged,” the fellow said. “You boys not from around here?”
“No, we’re just passing through,” Top replied. “That is embarrassing, having a slave for law around here. The world sure has turned upside down, hasn’t it.” The group all chuckled. He looked at the man. “Why don’t you fellows do something about it? Put him in his place? By the way, I didn’t get your name.”
“Hardy,” the man responded. “Hardy Nippo. That’s Duke, Rhino, Samson, and Digger,” pointing around the table as he called out the names. “Who are you gents?”
“I’m Top Tolliver,” he said. “This is Lem, Snarky, and Gus. You heard of Trent Tolliver and his brothers?”
Hardy’s eyes got big and he seemed to sober up a little. “Yeah. You one of them Tollivers?” When Top nodded, Hardy turned to his friends and said, “Hey, boys, did you hear that? These guys are part of the Tolliver gang.”
That did seem to get through to the inebriated brains of his buddies, and a couple of other men at a nearby table overheard, too, and were now watching and listening.
Hardy lowered his voice, leaned over, and said to Top, “Whachu boys doin’ in town? Gonna hit the bank?” He burped and Top made a face at the sour whiskey smell that reached his olfactory senses.
Tolliver shook his head. “No, like I said, we’re just riding through. We’re not wanted in this territory and we’re going to keep it that way.” But then, he appeared to be thinking—an illusion, he already had this planned, of course. “We did have a run-in with your marshal, though. And that ape of a bartender over at the Royal Flush. Both of ‘em think they’re hot stuff, and me and my boys were thinking about teaching them a lesson or two before we got shuck of this place.” He looked around at Hardy and his men. “You fellows want to help out? If you do a good enough job…” He shrugged. “We Tollivers are always looking for good men. I’ll talk to Trent…” And though he left that hanging, the implication obvious, Top had no intention of doing any such thing. This scum was far below the caliber of men that rode with the Tollivers, but they would serve Top’s purpose in River Bend. But let them think they might be good enough to ride with the gang—that was part of the bait. An appeal to ego.
Hardy’s eyes glistened and he looked at the men around the table. A couple of them appeared skeptical, but Hardy said to Top, “What have you got in mind?”
Top replied, “Pretty simple. You guys go into the Royal Flush. Get a ruckus started. Make it a good one. The marshal will come over, the bartender will stick his nose in it, and we’ll wipe out both of them. At least the marshal.” He looked around the table, his face serious and mean. “Nobody crosses a Tolliver and lives to tell about it.”
The men got the message and they were suitably impressed—and intimidated. One of them, Rhino—called that because of his upturned nose, Top figured—responded, “I don’t want to be killin’ no lawman. That’s serious stuff that can get a fellow a rope mighty quick.”
“No, you won’t be doing any killing. In fact, you don’t even need to be wearing guns, so you won’t be accused of shooting anybody. Just start the fracas, we’ll be around, and when the marshal shows up, we’ll provoke him into a gunfight. Snarky here is awful quick to clear leather and he’ll take him. We’ll make it look like self-defense. You boys will get off, scot-free, have a good time, and maybe—just maybe—end up riding with the Tollivers.”
This plan wasn’t exactly what Top had in mind—it wasn’t foolproof enough—but it was simple, and he’d found those sorts of plans were usually the best, especially when dealing with men whose intelligence level ranked right up there with turkeys and sheep. “What do you say?” he asked, looking around the table. “I’ll even sweeten the pot with a little cash. Say, 50 dollars apiece—after you’ve done the job, of course. I’ll give you some whiskey money, and maybe a little stake in a poker game. Go in there, pick a fight, get it going, and we’ll do the rest when the marshal shows up. Just make sure the fight gets out into the street where it’ll be easier for us to pick off Baker.”
The money seemed to swing the skeptical to Top’s idea. “Well, as long as we don’t have to shoot no lawman,” Duke said. Then he grinned. “50 bucks for startin’ a brawl. That’s not a bad night’s work. How about it, boys?”
There were general nods around the table, and one of the men at the other table who had been listening piped up, “Can we get in on that? That big nigger busted my lip and tossed me in the hoosegow not long ago and I been wantin’ to pay him back ever since.”
“The more, the merrier,” Top said. He had no intention of paying any of these men $50, and they didn’t seem to recognize any inconsistencies in his plan. But that didn’t matter. All they needed to do was get the fight started and get Ben involved in it. He’d take care of the rest. He decided he wasn’t going to bother with Nate Nation—unless an easy circumstance arose.
“When do you want us to do this?” Hardy asked.
Top sort of shrugged. “Tomorrow’s Friday; how about tomorrow night? There’ll be a big crowd there. You boys get together around 7:30 or so and go into the Royal Flush. Let it be known that you’re now part of the Tolliver gang, and that me, Gus, Lem, and Snarky will be there soon. We’ll be there, probably outside. Start the fight. Since you’re part of the Tolliver gang now”—it was nice how he slipped that in there—“somebody might even start the fight before you do, trying to show how tough they are.” He grinned. “I’ll bet you boys can work up a doozy.”
He got grins all around the table. “Yeah,” Rhino said. “I ain’t been in a good scrap in a long time. It’ll feel good to rub my knuckles on somebody’s nose.”
“When are you goin’ to get there?” Hardy asked Top.
“You may not even see us, but we’ll be there. I want to see how you boys handle this to see if your worthy of riding with us. Understand?”
All the men around the table nodded their heads, though Top wasn’t sure he saw understanding in everybody’s eyes.
Tolliver nodded, and stood up. “Ok, tomorrow night. I’ll let you boys handle the details of how to start the fight. That’s all you need to do.” He tossed $100 on the table. “Divide that up among yourselves. That’ll get you started tomorrow night.”
“Oooo-wheee,” Hardy said, reaching out for the money. “I might try out one of the Flush’s whores with my hunk of that.”
“Just get it done,” Top said. “Let’s meet here, say 10 o’clock, after it’s all over and I’ll pay you and we’ll talk about…other things.” And he gave them a knowing smile.
“Sounds good, Mr. Tolliver. We’ll do our part, don’t you worry none about that.”
Top nodded, motioned with his head to his men, and they left the bar. Lem heaved a sigh when they were outside. “Lord, I think this is the first decent breath I’ve had since we went in that place.”
“And it stinks out here,” Snarky said.
Gus spoke up. “Boss, do you really trust those fellows? Seem like a bunch of low-lifes to me.”
“They are, but, yeah, I think they’ll do it. For 50 bucks, most of them would probably shoot their own mothers.”
“You don’t really intend to pay them, do you? And ride with us…?”
Top gave Gus a “get real” look. “Of course not. In fact, you boys are going to be long gone by tomorrow night.” He smiled.
He received a collective “Huh?” for that last comment.
“We’re going to drop by the marshal’s office tomorrow morning and ask him how to get to Miles’ Heading in Idaho. We’ll let him know that we’re leaving town—immediately. He’ll be glad to hear that, of course, and we’ll go about 10 miles or so and you boys will camp out. I’ll sneak back into town about 7:30 when it’s dark, and hide out somewhere near the saloon. When the fight hits the street and Baker is…preoccupied…I’ll put a bullet in his gullet and slip back out of town. Maybe that bartender, too, if he’s around, but I especially want that marshal. That bunch of clowns I just hired will brag their fool heads off that they were working for the Tollivers, but nobody will be able to prove anything—after all, we left town. They’ll show back up at the River Bend Saloon at 10, but we won’t be there, of course. They’ll cuss us all the more, and people in town won’t know what to think—except not to mess with the Tollivers.”
“I thought you were going to let me have that marshal, Top,” Snarky said. “I want him real bad.”
“No, Snarky, I don’t know if you can coax Baker into a gunfight or not. I’m not going to risk that. And you can’t shoot him down in cold blood—not where people can witness it. We’ll get the credit for doing it, but nobody will be able to prove it was us because nobody will see me shoot the marshal.”
Gus didn’t especially like the plan; he thought he saw too many “ifs” in it. If those men even showed up at the Royal Flush; he wasn’t convinced they were sober enough tonight to understand what was expected of them. If they could get a good fight started; Nate Nation would probably pull out that shotgun of his. If they could get it out into the street; that didn’t always happen. If Ben Baker showed up; it might be the deputy making the rounds. If nobody saw Top shoot the marshal; gunshots draw attention. If the Tollivers got the credit for killing Baker without Top being seen doing it. But Gus wasn’t going to voice any objection. Except to say, “I hope those boys are up to it.”
Top was a little peeved at him. “Gus, all they’ve got to do is start a barroom brawl. How difficult is that?”
“What if Baker doesn’t show up?”
“He did the other night and nothing was really going on. He just happened to be making his rounds and lucked into Lem about to start that fight. Well, he’ll be making his rounds tomorrow night, too, and he’ll hear the noise and investigate. I’ll get him. You boys just have supper ready, that’s all you’ll need to do.”
Gus still didn’t like it, but he let it go. Top usually knew what he was doing.
And, after all, how hard is it to get a fight started in a drunken saloon?
The next day…
Kelly Atkins, as usual, was up before dawn, and before her father, fixing breakfast for them. Fred usually rose at the smell of bacon and had a cup of coffee while his daughter was preparing eggs or pancakes or whatever she had in store for the morning.
“I’m going to need to go into town this morning, dad,” she said to him as she heaped some scrambled eggs onto a platter. “Something’s not right with my rifle and I’m going to take it to Randy Tate and get him to fix it.” Tate was a local blacksmith who doubled as gunsmith.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“The trigger is acting strange. Sometimes it’s too loose and sometimes it sticks. I can’t figure it out.”
“Well, that’s more up Tate’s line than mine, so I’ll let him deal with it. Pick up the mail while you’re in town, will you?”
Kelly always did, but she said “yes,” and after breakfast she saddled her horse, Buckeye, and rode into River Bend. The days were starting to warm up, but there was still a chill on the morning air. But the sun was out and that brightened Kelly’s mood some. Some…a little…well, probably not at all, if truth be told…
Randy Tate examined Kelly’s gun for a few minutes. “The problem, Miss Atkins, is that this whachamacallit that fits here into the thingamabob is all catty-wampus and I’m going to have to conjure up a hootnanny to fix it with and it will require major surgery….” That’s not exactly what Randy said, but as far as Kelly was concerned, that’s what it amounted to. The only thing she knew about rifles was how to load, aim, and pull the trigger. So Randy’s explanation made no sense to her.
“How long will it take?”
Randy rubbed his jaw, which was covered with about a week’s growth of red beard. He was a big fellow, a lot of it in a gut that had had too many beers, but he was a skilled gunsmith. “I reckon I can have it done by tonight. I’m sorry, but I got a couple other jobs to do, so it will be this afternoon before I can get to yours. But I can have it finished by, say, 8 P.M.”
That wasn’t especially to Kelly’s liking. She didn’t want to leave the rifle with Tate overnight; that gun slept in the bed with her, just in case some four—or two—legged varmint came prowling around the house at night. But the thought of riding home after dark wasn’t terribly appealing, either. After a few moments’ thought, however, the latter was the lesser of the two evils in her mind, so she nodded and said, “Ok, I’ll be in town and drop by around 7 or so and see how you’re coming along. Try to get it done as early as you can.”
All of Randy’s customers said that, of course, and he responded with his customary, “I’ll have her to ye as quick as molasses,” and then he chuckled at his own dumb joke.
They settled on a price that Kelly thought was too high, but she agreed to it. Her mood had turned a little more sour. Rob Conners bought me that rifle…no wonder it broke…
Top Tolliver and his men stopped by Marshal Ben Baker’s office about 10. “Just thought you’d like to know that we’re leaving town, Marshal. Thanks for all your hospitality.” Top spoke the last sentence with a touch of sarcasm to it.
“You don’t need directions how to get out of River Bend, do you?” Ben asked, with a little bite to it.
“Actually, now that you mention it, do you know how to get to Miles’ Heading in Idaho? I know there’s a cutoff about 50 miles up the road, but I’m not sure whether to take the left fork or the right one.”
“The left one. Right fork goes to Canada. Come to think of it, take the right one, keep riding, and don’t stop. Polar bears need to eat, too. But, if you head to Idaho, you ought to know that the bank in Miles’ Heading is awfully small.”
“Going to do some fishing up there, Marshal. And thanks. Have a nice day.”
“Come back when you can’t stay so long.”
Top gave Ben a rancid look. “This town doesn’t have anything we want, anyway. The dogs are better looking than the women and the food looks and smells like pig slop.” He sniffed a couple of times. “Everything else around here smells, too.”
Ben understood the insult but ignored it. “I suspect the dogs would have you before the women would. And the air will be a lot cleaner in a few minutes,” meaning, of course, when the Tolliver men had left town. “Enjoy the jail in Idaho.”
“I’ve never seen the inside of one, Marshal, and I never intend to,” Top said, turning away. He walked outside, fuming. I can’t wait to put him six feet under…he thinks he’s as good as white man, and there’s nothing worse than a nigger who doesn’t know where he belongs….His men could tell he was mad so they didn’t say anything. But Top said, “Come on, let’s ride.”
Ben stared at the door thoughtfully for a few moments after Top shut it. Then he got up and walked outside. He spotted the Tolliver men and his eyes followed them till they were out of sight.
“’Morning, Marshal,” somebody said as he walked.
“Yeah, it is,” Ben replied
And a good one at that… Ben went back inside his office.
Kelly didn’t want to spend the entire day in town waiting for her rifle. She had several friends she could have gone to visit, but she wasn’t in a visiting frame of mind. So she did something she knew she shouldn’t do, but had done more than once—and increasingly—over the last few weeks.
She went out to Nicholas Backstrom’s grave.
It was in the back of the cemetery, in an isolated, ugly spot. There was a very small, cheap headstone that read “N Backstrom” and that was almost always overspread with weeds. As she had been doing on her visits, Kelly pulled the weeds. She never brought flowers. She simply stood over his grave for a few minutes, talking to him.
“I know I ought to hate your guts for what you did to me, Evan”—she still called him that. A tear trickled down her cheek. “And I guess, in a way, I do. But I loved you…and I guess…in a way…I still do. Maybe if Rob were here….” She closed her eyes and her thoughts drifted…I wonder where he and that ugly horse of his are…I bet he’ll wander from now to eternity…after what happened to him with his two wives, I doubt he’ll ever want to settle down again…Ben was wrong, Rob’s not going to come back to River Bend, and certainly not for me…why would he, I ran him off both times he was here…That wasn’t true, not even close to the truth, but the sun wasn’t brightening Kelly’s mood enough to move her from the melancholia that had plagued her since Backstrom’s death and Rob’s departure…No, Rob will go someplace far, far away, as far away from all these memories as possible, and start over again…and I can’t blame him one bit…I just know that I’ll never hear from him again…
Kelly opened her eyes, looked one more time at the small, grey headstone beneath her, and her eyes filled with tears. “Evan…you could be so nice, so sweet, so romantic. Why wasn’t that really you?”
She closed her eyes once more and shook her head, as if trying to shake something out of her mind. Then she turned and slowly walked away.
“If only Rob were here…”
But would that really be the answer?
“You still going to take him tonight, boss?” Snarky asked Top once they cleared the city limits of River Bend.
“Better believe I am. That is one arrogant African who’s got a mouth on him a mile wide.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Top,” Gus said. “He’s tough and he’s sharp, regardless of the color of his skin.”
Top snorted. “Yeah, maybe so, but his blood is red and there’ll be plenty of it on the streets of River Bend tonight…”
Hardy Nippo and his worthless band of ruffians started spending the $100 Tate Tolliver had given them long before 7 P.M., so they were already feeling good before they entered the Royal Flush saloon a little after 7:30. The place was already doing a brisk business and the murmur and clamor of saloon racket, along with the haze and smell of tobacco smoke, were being shared and enjoyed by all. Hardy, his voice bolstered by the excess of liquid nourishment he had already quaffed, was heard above the din: “Hey, boys, gather round. Drinks are on us.” He dropped an undetermined amount of coinage on the bar and that racket could be heard above every other racket—ears were attuned to it—and drew the flies to the honey.
Nate the bartender, who knew every drunk in town, looked at Hardy with skepticism. “Where did you get that kind of money, Nippo? You and that ragtag herd you hang around with don’t make that much money in a month. All of you together.”
Hardy gave Nate a smug look. “You’re looking at the newest members of the Tolliver gang, Nation, so you better watch your tongue. Top give us this money last night and we’ll be ridin’ with him soon.”
Nate snorted as he poured drinks. “Don’t make me laugh. The Tollivers wouldn’t let you clean the bottom of their outhouse, must less ride with them.”
Hardy then scowled. “Well, we’ll see about that when Top and the boys show up.”
“Are they coming to the Royal Flush?”
“They’ll be along,” is all Hardy offered, and leaned an elbow on the bar, looking around like he was somebody important.
Jess Hopper, a patron sharing in the benefits of the Tolliver finances, was standing close by and heard the conversation. Bug-eyed, he looked at Nippo, Duke, and the others who had come with Hardy. “Are you boys really part of the Tolliver gang now, Hardy?” A few drinks will make some men very credulous.
“Sure are, Jess. Top told us last night when he invited us to join him that the Tollivers were always lookin’ for good men. He was right pleased that we were willin’ to ride with him. Said solid hands like us were hard to find and he’d been lookin’ for a long time.” This wasn’t exactly what Top had said, of course, but Jess didn’t know that, and Hardy had probably convinced himself that he was saying what Tolliver had told them.
Nate Nation, still pouring drinks, just shook his head. He’d heard taller tales than this from smaller men than Hardy Nippo.
But Hardy was there to get a fight started, and he intended to do it and impress Top Tolliver. He wasn’t very bright, but he wasn’t all that stupid, either, at least when it came to starting brawls. He had sent Rhino, one of his friends, into the Royal Flush earlier as a “plant,” just to make sure the fight got going.
And Rhino played his part well. With a shot glass in his hand, he picked up the thread, he said, “Hardy, you can’t even ride a horse, much less ride with the Tollivers.” He downed his drink, feigning unconcern.
Hardy turned to him. “I could take offense to that, you know.”
Rhino gave him a disgusted look. “I don’t care if you do or not, just quit fillin’ the air with stuff that smells almost as bad as you do.”
Nate saw it coming, but he was a split-second too late in reaching for his shotgun. Hardy called Rhino an unprintable name and gave him a hard shove that sent him sprawling into a nearby table, breaking up a poker game and scattering money and chips everywhere. Rhino hopped up immediately and socked the nearest man to him, who just happened to be one of the card players. And the merriment was on.
Once one of these melees starts, it doesn’t matter who you hit. It’s all fun and games and if your best friend gets in the way of your fist, that’s just his tough luck. Everybody involved in the thing would have a good laugh and share a drink later on and lie about who they had whipped. It began with a rumble, then became an avalanche, and all Nate Nation could do was fire his shotgun once, get everybody’s attention—fists held in mid-air—and say, “Outside, boys.” Hardy then made a low run at a couple of fellows, grabbed each of them around the waist, and bolted through the saloon doors with them in tow. About a second later, a man came crashing through the front window, another bloke came out leaping on top of him, and soon there were about 20 men outside the Royal Flush, rolling and tumbling, spitting and cursing, swinging and ducking, and generally enjoying the finer things in life.
Because it was Friday night, both Ben and his deputy, Turley Edwards, were working. Ben happened to be in the office when Turley stuck his head in the door and said, “There’s a pretty bad one going on in front of the Royal Flush, Marshal. This is one we might ought to try to head off.”
Ben frowned. He knew what a “one” was, but in River Bend, those sorts of things usually happened in the Hot Spot, not the Royal Flush. But whiskey was whiskey and the stuff had a way of encouraging even the best of drunks into the most squalid of deeds, so he wasn’t terribly surprised. He grabbed two rifles, tossed one to Turley, and said, “Let’s go see if we can keep it from spreading.” And he and his deputy headed in that direction.
Top Tolliver was hiding in the shadows of an alley adjacent to the Royal Flush, enjoying the show in the street. He double-checked the rifle he was carrying. It won’t be long now till the marshal shows up…
He smiled, a wicked, malevolent smile…
Kelly Atkins had arrived at Randy Tate’s shop about 7:30 and was pleased to discover that he had finished repairing her rifle. She wasn’t thrilled to have to stand around and listen to how the widget that worked the thingamajig had been bent by the thingummy that released the doohickey....but she had her rifle back and that pleased her. She stayed pleased for, oh, three or four minutes longer….
“I even loaded her up for you, Miss Atkins,” Randy said. “No charge for that.”
Kelly appreciated that, especially since the charge for everything else was, in her mind, exorbitant. But she had to admit, as she checked all the functions, that Randy had done a good job; the rifle looked, and worked, as if it were brand new.
“Thanks, Randy,” she said and left the shop.
She went outside, standing under a light, re-examining her rifle. Then, hearing a loud commotion, she looked around.
Her eyes got big…
Randy Tate’s shop was on the opposite side of the street, but only two doors down from the Royal Flush saloon…
Ben grimaced when he saw the size of the fight going on outside the bar. “Turley, go around to the other side and bash anybody’s head that needs it. I’m not about to get into the middle of that. Let them play themselves out. It won’t take long.”
“Yessir.” Turley grinned. “Shore looks like their havin’ themselves a good time.”
Ben gave him an annoyed look. Turley headed off in the direction his boss had told him.
Ben moved closer to the fighting, but kept his distance. He’d give them three or four more minutes, then, if they hadn’t stopped, he’d point his rifle in the air and shoot a few times. That would be the signal for Turley to do the same, and would almost surely put an end to the festivities.
The River Bend marshal never got a shot away…
There he is…Top Tolliver raised and pointed his rifle at Ben Baker, who stood immobile less than 50 feet away…
“Ben, look out!” Kelly Atkins had seen Tolliver aim the Winchester….
One of the things that Rob Conners had drilled into Ben in their short time together was move first, look later. In other words, when somebody shouts “look out!”, don’t turn and search for the source of the shout or danger. Hit the deck.
And that’s what Ben did.
Top Tolliver’s bullet whizzed harmlessly over his head.
Kelly Atkins’ bullet went straight into Top Tolliver’s heart.
After hitting the deck, the next thing to do is to find the source of the “look out,” and why it was shouted. Ben rolled, hearing the two rifle shots. The first thing he saw was Kelly standing with her gun at her hip, looking past him. He turned his head. The next thing he saw was Top Tolliver stagger out of an alley…and fall to the street. Dead.
Kelly acted instinctively. She yelled her warning and saw the man shoot at Ben. She quickly positioned her rifle and pulled the trigger. As noted earlier, Kelly was a near marksman. And she didn’t miss this time.
But after watching the would-be assassin drop to the ground, she stood there, dazed. I just…killed a man…She had killed Nicholas Backstrom a few months before, and hoped she would never have to end another man’s life. But she did.
And the thought didn’t brighten her mood at all.
The gunfire stopped the brawl in the street. Men were looking around for the cause of the shooting. Ben, his face hard as granite, slowly rose to his feet. He had quickly surmised what had taken place.
“Are ye all right, Marshal?” one of the fighters asked him.
Ben threw him a quick, severe glance. “Yeah, I’m fine. You boys break it up and go home, hear me?”
The men gathered round, looking down at Top Tolliver’s body. Nobody noticed that Hardy Nippo had a horrified expression on his face and slowly backed away and disappeared into the night. Ben checked to make sure that Tolliver was dead, and then looked over to where Kelly was standing across the street. She still hadn’t moved, an amazed, shocked expression on her face.
Turley Edwards came running over. “I heard the shooting. What happened, Ben?”
Ben was still looking at Kelly. “Top Tolliver was waiting in the alley to dry gulch me.” He nodded towards Kelly. “She saved my life. Shouted at me then fired the shot that killed Tolliver.” He turned to Turley. “Take care of the body, will you?”
“Ok,” Turley responded, then shooed the crowd. “You boys have had your fun and almost got the marshal killed. Now, get out of here…”
Ben walked over to Kelly. She still hadn’t moved, her eyes transfixed on Tolliver’s body. She spoke first. “I…I shot a man, Ben. Is he…dead?”
“Yes, he’s dead, Kelly. And you saved my life and I appreciate it.”
Kelly finally looked at him. “Why was he trying to kill you?”
“His name is—was—Top Tolliver, one of the Tolliver gang. You did the world a favor, Kelly, like you did with Nicholas Backstrom.”
That was a little insensitive and Kelly winced, but Ben had no way of knowing that she still had feelings for Backstrom. Finally, she took a deep breath, sighed, and lowered her rifle. “I don’t like…killing people, Ben.” Tears came to her eyes. “I don’t like it…”
“Nobody does, Kelly,” Ben responded, his voice soft. “But sometimes it’s necessary. If you hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me.”
Kelly looked at the marshal, and she smiled, but there were still tears in her eyes. “Then I’m glad I did it.” But then she dropped the rifle, put her arms around Ben, and cried.
A couple of the men who were in the brawl were walking home together wiping the blood and the beer from themselves. “I wonder what happened to Hardy Nippo,” Sam Tucker commented.
“Don’t know,” Coak Wheeler said. “But he ain’t gonna be ridin’ with the Tolliver gang, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah. Boy, Kelly plugged Top dead-center, didn’t she.”
“Shore did,” Wheeler answered. Then he shook his head. “But I’d shore hate to be Kelly Atkins when Trent Tolliver hears that she killed his brother….”