Pennock let out a choking yell and grabbed at the leg as he toppled backward into the mud.
Scrambling to the seat, Bostwick slapped the horses with the lines, and the heavy wagon started with a jerk.
Behind him there was an angry shout. Glancing back Bostwick saw the big man lunge after the wagon, then slip and fall facedown in the mud. Then the team was running, and the wagon was out of town on the trail to Squaw Springs.
Jim Bostwick drove for thirty minutes until he came to what he was looking for, an abandoned barn that had stood there since boom days. He drove over the gravel approach and into the door in the end of the barn. Fortunately, somebody had used the barn during the summer and there was hay in the mangers. He unhitched the horses and tied them to the manger, and then going outside, he eliminated what tracks he could find. The rain would do the rest.
When he had finished he went back to town riding one horse and leading the other. He took them to the livery stable, then scouted the boardinghouse, but as Kate had foretold, most of the townspeople were present.
When he entered, Cap Pennock half-started to his feet but Bostwick had a thumb hooked in his belt near his gun, and slowly Pennock sat down again.
“You the one who drove that wagon off?”
“I was. And I was completely within my rights.”
Astonishment replaced anger on Pennock’s face. “What do you mean … rights’?”
“You quiet down, Pennock. We’ve got business.” Bostwick glanced at Kate. “Are you ready, judge?”
“Judge?” Pennock’s hands rested flat on the table. He looked like an old bull at bay. “What’s going on here?”
Kate Mulrennan banged the table with a hammer. “Court’s now in session !”
Pennock looked from one to the other. “What kind of tomfoolery is this?” he demanded.
“It means,” Bostwick replied, “that the town council met this afternoon and appointed me the town marshal according to the regulation set forth in the city ordnances of Yellowjacket, which decrees — read it, Katie.”
The aforesaid town council shall meet on the fifth day of January, or as soon thereafter as possible, and shall appoint a judge, a town marshal and town clerk. These officials shall hold office only until the fifth of January following, at which time the council shall again meet and re-appoint or replace these officials as they shall see fit.
Bostwick’s eyes never left Pennock. It was the first time the man’s bluff had been called, and he was expecting trouble. Appointed to the office almost three years before, he had run the town as he saw fit and had pocketed the fines.
“That means,” Jim went on, “that you are no longer the town marshal and I am. It also means that for two years you have been acting without authority. As there was no meeting of the town council in that time we will waive that part of it, but we must insist on an accounting of all the fines and monies collected by you.”
“What? You’re a pack of crazy fools!”
“According to regulations you get ten percent of all collected. Now we want an accounting.”
Cap Pennock clutched the edge of the table. Month after month he had bullied these people, fining them as well as strangers, and no man dared deny him. Now this stranger had come to Yellowjacket and in one day his power had crumbled to nothing.
But had it? Need he let it be so? Watching Pennock, Bostwick judged that he had been wary of tackling a tough man who might be a gun-fighter, but driven into a corner, Pennock had no choice. It was run or fight.
“I haven’t the money.” Pennock was very cool now. “So you’ll pay hell collecting it.”
“We thought of that, so you have a choice. Pay up or leave town tomorrow by noon.”
“Suppose I decide to pay no attention to this kangaroo court?”
“Then it becomes my job,” Bostwick replied quietly, “as the newly elected town marshal …”
Cap Pennock got to his feet. Bostwick had to hand it to him. When the chips were down Pennock was going to fight for what he had. “You won’t have to come looking for me, Bostwick. I’ll be out there waiting for you.”
Pennock started for the door and Kate called out, “Hold up a minute, Cap! You owe me a dollar for grub. Now pay up, you cheapskate!”
Pennock’s face was livid. He hesitated, then livid with anger he tossed a dollar on the table and walked out.
“Well, Jim,” Harbridge said, “you said if it came to this that you’d handle it. Now you’ve got it to do.
“He’s a dangerous man with a gun. Sandy Chase was good, but he wasn’t good enough. I never would’ve had the nerve to go through with this if Kate hadn’t told us you’d face him, if need be.”
“Are you fast?” Grove asked.
“No, I’m not. Probably I’m no faster than any of you, but I’ll be out there and he’d better get me quick or I’ll take him.”
Bostwick disliked to brag, but these men needed to believe. If he failed them they would take the brunt of Pennock’s anger.
When they had trooped out of the room and gone to their homes, Bostwick sat down again, suddenly scared. He looked up to see Ruth watching him.
“I heard what was said. You’ve done this for me … for us, haven’t you?”
Bostwick’s hard features flushed. “Ma’am, I ain’t much, and I’m no braver than most, it’s just that when I see a man like him something gets into me.”
“I wish we had a few more like you!” Kate said.
She gestured to the table. “You set, I’ve some more of that pie.” She looked around at Ruthie. “You, too, you look like you could do with some nourishment.”
When the sun hung over the street, Bostwick stood in a doorway thinking what a damned fool he was. Why, Shorty, who laid no claims to being good with a gun, was better than he was. Yet he had walked into this with his eyes open.
He must make no effort at a fast draw. He was not fast, and he would be a fool to try. He must accept the fact that he was going to be hit, and he must hope that the first shot didn’t kill him.
He might have time for one shot only, and he must be sure that shot would kill. Jim Bostwick was a man without illusions. He knew he was going to take some lead, and he had to be prepared for it. Yet he was a tough man, hard years of work and brutal fights had proved that. He was going to have to take some lead and keep a’comin’.
He was a good shot with a pistol, better than most when shooting at targets, only this time the target would be shooting back.
The sun was baking the wetness from .the street and from the false-fronted buildings. Somewhere a piano was playing. He stepped into the street.
“Bostwick!”
The call was from behind him! Cap Pennock had been lurking somewhere near the livery stable and had outsmarted him, played him for a sucker.
Cap was standing there, big and rough, a pistol in his hand. And he was smiling at the success of his trick. Cap fired.
Take your time! The words rang in his mind like a bell. He lifted his bone-handled gun and fired just as Cap let go with his second shot. Something slugged Bostwick in the leg as he realized Cap had missed his first shot!
His eyes were on that toothpick on Cap’s watch-chain. He squeezed off a shot even as he fell, then he was getting up, bracing himself for a careful shot.
Cap seemed to be weaving, turning his side to him like a man on a dueling field. Bostwick fired from where his gun was, shooting as a man points a finger. This time there was no mistake. Where the toothpick had hung there was a widening stain now, and he fired again, then went to his knees, losing his grip on his gun.
Somewhere a door slammed, and he heard running feet. He reached out for his gun, but his hand closed on nothing. He smelled the warm, wet earth on which his face rested, and he felt somebody touch his shoulder.
“I think he’s waking up,” somebody said, some woman.
He moved then and a bed creaked and when his eyes opened he was looking up at a ceiling and he heard Ruthie saying, “Oh, Katie! He’s awake! He’s awake!”
“Awake and hungry,” he grumbled.
He looked at Ruthie. “How’s your grandad?”
“He died … only a little while after your fight. He said you were a good man.”