‘That’s a fine occupation for the Sabbath, I must say,’ said the old woman disapprovingly, when she caught sight of the gun. ‘I’m glad to observe you’ve had the kindness to spread some newspaper on the table cloth. I’ll thank you not to get any oil stains on it.’
‘I’m a neat enough worker when I’m doing aught of this sort,’ said Brown, polishing the barrel of the pistol carefully. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any bacon fat, I suppose?’
Miss Clayton went into the pantry and returned with a small earthenware pot. ‘You’ll not be needing much, I guess?’
‘A tiny smear is all.’ Fascinated in spite of herself, the old woman sat down at the table opposite Brown. His large hands worked swiftly, oiling and cleaning. He was as deft as a woman with a piece of fine embroidery. ‘What do you want with the fat?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes sparks fly out into the other chambers when you fire. If you’re not careful, you can find yourself firing off two or three shots at once. A little fat round the mouth of the chamber stops sparks getting in.’
‘You seem to know your stuff.’
‘I’d hope so, Miss Clayton. I’ve lived by use of my gun since the war began. Signed up the very same day that Mr Lincoln called for volunteers. After Fort Sumter, you know.’
After he had thoroughly cleaned and oiled the pistol, the teacher put it back together again, tapping in the wedge which held the barrel in place with a tiny wooden mallet. Then, after spinning the cylinder a couple of times to make sure that it was running smoothly, he produced a copper powder flask and filled each of the chambers in turn.
‘I suppose this all has something to do with my brother-in-law?’
‘Your brother-in-law, ma’am? I don’t rightly know who you might mean.’
‘Linton Avery, of course. Didn’t I tell you as he was married to my baby sister, once upon a time?’
‘I don’t recall that you did.’
‘What are you going to do when you’ve got this weapon all settled nicely?’
Mark Brown didn’t answer immediately, but looked as though he was carefully weighing up the question. At length, he said, ‘I shall go back and see Randolph Parker. Tell him things have changed since last I saw him. Then I’ll ask him to keep his men out of town for a while and to stop trying to steal any more land.’
‘You know how to open your mouth wide,’ said Miss Clayton admiringly. ‘What if he tells you to get lost?’
‘I hope he won’t. If he does, then he and I are likely to fall out.’
It struck Mark Brown that it would be a shabby trick to abandon his classroom, just because he had taken on another post. All other considerations apart, nothing had been said when he was talking to Avery about where any salary might be coming from if he took up the job of sheriff. And so both ethical and financial motives coincided, and the following Monday morning saw the teacher setting out the schoolroom the same as usual. If he was going to be at outs with Randolph Parker, then there was no earthly reason why it couldn’t be after he had finished teaching school that day.
The children were pleased to see him and the morning went pleasantly enough. After he had dismissed school for the midday break, Linton Avery showed up. He said, ‘Surprised to find you still teaching the ABC to these children. Thought you might have been planning what to do next.’
‘You can leave me to tend to that, Mr Avery. I’ll be riding out to Parker’s ranch this evening and setting things out plain for him.’
‘You’ll be needing this then.’ Avery took from his vest pocket a small tin star. As he handed it to the teacher, he paused, saying, ‘You sure you’re up to this, Brown?’
‘Don’t you worry none. This is business that I know about.’
After school had finished, Brown went home and took out of his trunk a holster and belt. It was not a gunslinger’s fancy rig, nor anything like. In fact, it was nothing more elaborate than an old artillery holster, with the strap at the top cut off and most of the holster also cut away, so that only the barrel of the pistol was held secure. The belt was an old one as well; intended not to hold up Brown’s pants, but to keep the holster at such a height as to allow the hilts of the pistol to brush easily against the inside of his forearm, halfway between elbow and wrist.
Once he had strapped on the holster, he took the pistol out of the trunk and added that. He felt complete again, in a way he had not done for several months. Then he pinned the star to his jacket and stood in front of the looking glass hanging above the wash-stand. Well, thought Mark Brown, I have had a deal of fun teaching those children and there’s no denying it. Still and all, a job of work like this present one is more in my line.
Old Miss Clayton arrived back home, just as Brown was leaving. When she set eyes on him, she all but gasped. ‘Well, I’ll say you don’t look much like a teacher any more. You think as you’ll be able to straighten this trouble out for us, Mr Brown? Those Texans are behaving like they own the town today. Think you can handle them?’
‘We’ll have to see, ma’am. I’ve dealt with some rough customers in my time.’
It was a fine spring evening when the new sheriff rode up the drive to Randolph Parker’s ranch. The man himself wasn’t present, but one of his boys gave directions to a spot about a mile from the house, where he said his boss would be found. He looked uneasily at Brown, noting the gun and badge. As soon as Brown had set off in search of Parker, this man hurried off to find some of the new boys and tell them that Brown was heading off after the man who they were pledged to protect.
Randolph Parker was in a clearing in a little wood, directing a team of men who looked as though they were building a miniature log cabin. There was so much shouting and swearing that nobody heard him ride up. It wasn’t until one of the men spotted him and went over to alert Parker, that the work halted and those present gave the man with the badge their full attention. Parker looked anything but pleased to see him.
‘You’re getting to be a regular nuisance, Brown. What do you want with me this time?’
Mark Brown dismounted slowly, making quite sure that his hands were clearly in view all the time and that nobody could think that he was about to draw. Most of the dozen or so men in the clearing were also carrying pistols at their hips and he did not wish to precipitate a needless gun fight. Once he was on the ground, he strolled over to the half-completed log cabin and eyed it with disapproval.
‘Well,’ said Parker, ‘I asked you what you wanted with me today?’
‘Last time I was here, Mr Parker, I asked you to make sure that your boys didn’t trouble folk living either in town or out on their farms. Maybe you didn’t think you needed to listen to my advice?’
Randolph Parker was staring at the star on Brown’s jacket. He said, ‘What game is this? You’re no sheriff.’
‘You’re wrong about that, Mr Parker. I’ve been sworn in as a peace officer and I’m here to tell you that you had best call off your bullies.’
‘Bullies, is it?’ said the other man, his face growing red with anger. ‘You think you can come on to my land and talk so?’
‘I reckon,’ said Brown laconically. He walked closer to the cabin and said, ‘You wouldn’t be fixing for to set this thing down somewhere and claim a hundred and sixty acres? It’s illegal. You know that as well as I do.’
The sheriff strolled round the crude structure, examining it from various angles. Parker stood nearby, simmering. While the other men stood still, wondering whether they were supposed to carry on working, there was a thunder of hoofs and five men galloped up. They looked, to Brown’s eyes, like the sort of irregular forces that he had encountered during the war. He was put in mind of a group of Quantrill’s raiders that his unit had once brought to heel.
The riders were all dressed in semi-military style, with boots which wouldn’t have been out of place on a troop of cavalry. They all had military style scabbards at the front of their saddles which held carbines, and all but one carried two pistols. All in all, they were a pretty formidable-looking party. One of them said to Parker. ‘Heard you might need a little help, Cap’n.’ He turned a cold eye on Mark Brown, saying, ‘This here the teacher I hear so much about?’
‘I’m the teacher, but I combine that job with another. You might not have heard, but I’m now the sheriff for this district.’
‘You say what?’ exclaimed the man in amazement. He looked across to Parker and said, ‘That right? There’s a sheriff here, now? And this is him?’ The man’s tone was slightly truculent and aggrieved, as though here was a new factor which he had not previously needed to take into account.
Parker shrugged. ‘It don’t signify,’ was all that he said.
In a leisurely and unhurried way, Mark Brown finished his inspection of the log cabin and when he had done so, he mounted his horse. He looked across the glade at Randolph Parker and said, ‘You be sure and recollect what I have told you, Mr Parker. Remember these two points. First off is where I don’t want to hear of anybody else being driven off their own land. I wouldn’t even think about loading this heap of junk on to the back of a cart, and then plonking it down and claiming that it’s a homestead. Second, I don’t want to see your boys in town for a few days. If they want to come in for provisions, they aren’t to be carrying weapons. Is that clear?’
What was clear was that Parker didn’t take at all to being spoken to like that in front of his men. He was purple with rage. Apparently not noticing this, Brown tipped his hat and then turned his horse to ride off. As he did so, the five men on horseback moved into a line to block his path. Brown reined in his horse and said quietly, ‘What will you men have?’
The tension grew for a second or two and several of the men who had been sawing logs, hurried to get out of what they conceived to be the line of fire. Then Randolph Parker said, ‘Ah, let the bastard go.’ The other riders moved a few inches to one side and Brown rode on. His legs almost brushed against those of the other men as he passed by.
As he rode away, the new sheriff felt an uncomfortable tickling between his shoulder blades, which he took to mean that he was being watched. He half-wondered if he would be shot in the back, but nothing happened. ‘That was a close one, boy!’ he muttered to himself.
Brown was two miles further down the road, clear of Parker’s place and congratulating himself on his narrow escape, when the shooting began. The first shot went past his ear so close, he could hear it buzzing like a hornet. He spurred on his horse so the next one was a little wider. He was in a little ravine, with steep and wooded slopes rising on either side. The shots had come from the right and since there had not been another, after those first two, he supposed that he was now out of view of the man.
Slipping off his horse and drawing his pistol, Brown headed straight up the slope, darting silently from tree to tree, trying not to give anybody the chance to draw down on him. When he’d climbed a fair way up, he began to move back along the slope, in the direction from which he had come. All the while, he was looking down towards the track, scanning the trees for any movement or glimpse of colour which was out of the ordinary. Then he saw it. A flash of red. He froze behind the trunk of a pine tree; cocking the Navy Colt with his thumb, he waited and watched.
The man who came scrambling up towards him was dressed like the riders who had turned up while he had been talking to Parker. Same military-looking boots, patrol jacket and two six-shooters. This man was also carrying a rifle, a Winchester by the look of it. It had been the bright red neckerchief which had given him away and enabled Brown to spot him through the trees. For a bet, this was another of Parker’s Texans and had probably been dispatched here to take him out as he passed by. They couldn’t have known then that he was now a sheriff, and it had probably just been done on the assumption that he was a busybody who would be better under the ground than walking over it and causing trouble.
The fellow would pass no more than ten or fifteen feet from Brown, so he just waited patiently. Did the man think that he had killed him? Maybe he’d just been told to deliver a warning. When the other man was level with him and before he himself had been spotted, the teacher said, ‘Just set that rifle down on the ground, now.’
The man whirled round, cocked his piece and began to raise it to fire. Shooting him down was a reflex action for Brown and his ball took the other in the middle of his chest. He dropped the rifle and sank slowly to his knees, an expression of disbelief on his face. There’s a man who never expected to meet another fellow who was quicker or more ruthless than he was, thought Brown to himself. He went over and kicked the rifle to one side. ‘You would o’ done better to have dropped your gun when I first told you,’ he informed the man, whose only response was to topple sideways into the carpet of brown pine needles. When he knelt down to check, Brown found that the gunman was already dead.
There seemed little more to be done there so Brown stood up and made his way back down the slope to where he had left his horse. Would the other men of his party figure out who had killed their partner? Almost certainly, he thought to himself. There’ll be a reckoning for this, but then again trouble is coming my way already, if I’m not mistook.
The ride back to Barker’s Crossing was uneventful and he got back to the livery stable by the time twilight was painting the fields a delicate shade of grey. Old Jack Brady who ran the stable was shutting up shop and looked a mite irritated to have a customer turn up right then. ‘Come on, come on,’ he said. ‘Some of us have homes to go to. I can’t be fooling round here all the night long.’
‘I am paying you for this service,’ Brown reminded him politely.
‘That right that you’re our sheriff now?’
‘Yes. Where’d you hear it?’
‘Jemima Clayton told me. Why, was you hopin’ to keep it a secret?’
‘Seems to me as that lady acts as a clearing-house for all the gossip in the neighbourhood,’ said Brown, not best pleased to have his business being broadcast around the town.
The old man said, ‘Oh, she ain’t told everybody. She mentioned it to me on account o’ we’re kin.’ ‘Is there anybody in this town not related to Miss Clayton?’
‘Oh she’s only a second cousin of my mother’s. It ain’t a close connection. They’re sayin’ as you’ll be needin’ deputies soon. Call on me if you’ve need. I’d like to run some o’ them scoundrels out of the town.’
‘I’ll bear the offer in mind. Thank you.’
Brady was standing a few feet from the sheriff and suddenly wrinkled up his nose and sniffed delicately. He leaned closer and said, ‘Is that powder I can smell on you? You been shooting?’
‘You needn’t trouble about that,’ said Brown hastily, ‘There was something of a misunderstanding back on the road.’
The old man looked searchingly into his face and then said, ‘Like I say, you want any help, I’m your man. I’m what you might term a dab-hand with a scattergun.’
‘Thanks,’ said Brown, ‘I’ll surely remember that.’ At that moment, the old man grimaced in pain and looked as though he might be about to collapse. ‘You all right?’ asked the teacher. ‘Here, why don’t you sit down?’
‘It’s nothing, don’t fuss,’ said Brady testily. He turned towards the office, saying once again, ‘Just remember me, if you want somebody who can shoot.’
Along Main Street, Brown passed several of his pupils, heading homewards with their mothers. The teacher sensed a certain reserve on the part of the mothers. It was nothing that he could put his finger on, just that they were not quite so easy with him as before. It wasn’t until he had left them behind, that it dawned on him that he was now openly armed and wearing a star. They must wonder what the deuce is going on, he thought to himself. I’d best get this whole affair sorted out as soon as possible, so that I can stow this pistol back in my trunk and get back to teaching their children. It stands to reason that nobody cares for the sight of a schoolmaster who’s marching round with a gun at his hip!
Miss Clayton appeared pleased to see her lodger. She said, ‘I’m serving up some poached eggs, directly. I hope you’re setting down at the table now and not gadding off somewhere else?’
‘For somebody who was so mad keen on seeing me pick up a gun again, you can hardly complain now if being sheriff is keeping my time occupied,’ replied Brown, smiling to show that he was just bandying words with the old woman playfully. ‘A dish of poached eggs sounds just the thing right now. Thank you.’
When they were seated together and tucking in to the meal, Brown said, ‘That fellow at the livery stable, Mr Brady, he says he’s kin to you. That right?’
‘In a roundabout way, yes, that’s true.’
‘It’s a foolish question, but do you know if he really is any good with a shotgun? I mean a scattergun, those that you use for shooting game.’
‘Why yes, he was famous for his ability to bring down birds in his younger days. He still goes out hunting. Sells game to people round here. If you’re looking for somebody to guard your back, you could do a heap worse than Jack Brady.’
The teacher laughed. ‘It seems to me, ma’am, that if you had your way I’d be operating with a whole posse of your friends and relations.’
‘You given any more thought to my nephew in that respect?’
‘Ma’am, you are incorrigible,’ said Mark Brown, laughing out loud, ‘So I promise you that if I ever feel the need for any deputies, then I’ll keep your various cousins and nephews in mind.’ Brown recollected this conversation two days later, when he started hunting in earnest for men who would assist him in his duties as sheriff.
The following day was as quiet and peaceful as you could hope. Brown taught his children and not one of Parker’s men showed up in town. It was beginning to look as though his straight-talking had worked some effect upon the rancher. It was surprising that nobody had come looking for him in connection with the man he had shot, but there it was. Perhaps there would be no further bloodshed and reason would prevail.
That Tuesday evening, Brown took a turn around the town and observed that the whole of Barker’s Crossing was quiet. It was most agreeable, and he was getting ready to congratulate himself on the skilful way that he had dealt with what could easily have blown up into a very ugly situation.
When he went to bed that night, Mark Brown was feeling pretty pleased with himself. He had stopped Randolph Parker dead in his tracks and warned him away from the town. True, he had killed a man in the process, but nobody could deny that this had been self-defence. All in all, he had handled things well enough. Then, as he was saying his prayers before getting into bed, he recollected what the Scripture says about pride leading to destruction and so on. He tried to put himself in a slightly more humble frame of mind before drifting off to sleep.