Death's Horse Throws A Shoe

Part 2

Sheriff John Davis surveyed the work on the gallows and smiled. In a few hours he would hang a wanted man and put a feather in his own cap. It might even put Copperton on the map and make this tiny town into a prosperous, rich town. Maybe they would make him mayor and then who knew after that. The ambitious made their own future and hanging Jeb would be the first rung on the ladder to success. Davis had been waiting for something like this. There were not many opportunities this far West of the Rockies. Men made their own laws, but the territory that was Arizona, had charged him with keeping their laws and by God he meant to do it.

If Jeb Malik had not already been a wanted man, he would have cut him loose. The accounts of what happened in the saloon were too fantastic to be believed. Even from the witnesses' own stories, Jeb had never touched old Fenner and there was not a judge in the area that would have convicted him. It was just luck that Jeb had a price on his head. Luck for Davis anyway. Not so lucky for the man that was about to get his neck stretched for his crimes.

Davis smiled as he reached into his pocket. He packed his pipe and struck a match off of the belt buckle of his gun rig and took a few puffs to get the tobacco going. He drew deep, filling his mouth with the acrid smoke. He watched the workmen hammering away by the torchlight. He could have waited until morning, but some dark streak in him decided that the noise would keep his prisoner up all night and maybe cause him to reflect on his lawless ways. Davis might even allow Jeb a chance to save his soul, even if his body was due to swing. He would have to remember to rouse the preacher at dawn to give Jeb the spiel. God might even take him in, but Arizona wanted him dead.

The work on the gallows was almost complete. Davis looked off to the East and could see the sky beginning to go pink. Not long now. One of the workers was securing the noose. Once it was tied up, the worker grabbed hold of the noose and hung off of it to make sure that it would take the weight of his body. He was larger than Jeb and Davis was confident that it would hold, at least long enough to get the job done. Davis made another mental note to find someone to take a picture of him with Jeb's corpse and the paper man in town to write up a story. Maybe he would make the papers in the bigger towns. Maybe people would flock here to meet the man who got Jebediah Malik. He smiled again.

They tested the trap door next, using sandbags for weight. The lever was pulled and the door swung down and the sandbags hit the ground sending up plumes of dust into the air. Perfect. The gallows were ready, the prisoner was safe in his cell and the lightening of the sky told him that it was about time. Davis sent some of the workers to rouse the preacher and the photographer. He knocked the coals from his pipe and stamped them out. Time to get the show on the road.

When Davis opened the door to the jail he saw that Sheck was gone. He saw the whisky on the table and his first thought was that the deputy was in the outhouse, but his instincts told him something was wrong. He would have seen him on his way to the jail. Maybe Sheck had fallen asleep in there. That idea was rejected too. Davis pulled out his pistol and slowly entered the building. He checked the corners and behind the door. It was clear. He looked into the cell. Jeb was under the blanket on the cot. The only problem was that his boots were gone. He would not have put them on and gone back to sleep. The man seemed a little strange, but not that strange. Davis shifted his pistol to his left hand and unhooked his keys from his belt.

"Alrighty, Jeb Malik. It's nearly time. I got the preacher coming for your last rites and a chance to meet your maker with a clear conscience."

The form under the blanket moved and moaned. Davis was not surprised. Barton did give him a right wallop on the back of the head. He was lucky the man did not die in his cell and miss out on a chance to make a name for himself. The moaning continued and seemed to have some force to it as the figure began to thrash. Davis moved his gun to his shooting hand after unlocking the cell. The thrashing continued and the blank slid off. It was Sheck. Davis hurried over to the deputy, removed the gag and began to unbind him.

"What happened? Where's Malik?" Davis demanded.

"I don't know. He was in the cell out cold." He replied, rubbing his chaffed wrists. "I was watching him, then just closed my eyes for a second and the next thing you know, I had the barrel of my gun stuck right in the middle of my face."

"How did he get out?"

"I don't know, John. I still had my keys when he got the drop on me."

Davis turned to leave the cell and saw the blood smeared near the lock on the inside. He shook his head which filled with more questions than he could provide answers for. He crossed the room and opened the cabinet. Sure enough, all of Jeb's belongings were gone. So was Jeb, and he was armed now. His chances for greater things were fading fast and he was getting angrier by the minute.

"Gary. Go round up a bunch of riders. Pistols, rifles, axes, I don't care what all. I mean to catch that man." He turned to Sheck. "Hurry now, he hasn't been gone long. We might be able to catch up to him before the sun's all the way up. Go find Travis too. We'll need his tracking skills."

"Right, Sheriff." Sheck hurried out of the room.

Davis plopped down into his chair and poured some whisky into a glass. He would have to remind Sheck again not to drink on the job, for all the good it would do. He took a sip and his eyes caught the wanted poster. The additions to the poster almost made him laugh. He had brass ones, that Malik. Yes sir, brass ones. He opened the drawers to his desk to see if anything else was missing and found Sheck's gun and key ring. Solid Brass.

Davis sipped at the liquor and checked his pistol. He spun the cylinder and enjoyed the clicking sounds that it made. He pulled his Winchester from the cabinet and had begun to load it when Sheck came storming in.

"The boys are ready, Sheriff. Barton has thrown Travis into the horse trough, so he'll be up and around by the time we're ready to ride." Sheck seemed pleased with himself.

"Good. Go get the horses ready." Davis threw him the Winchester.

They did not have any time to lose. He hated to think what the town's people would say when they woke to find a new gallows that went unused. Davis cursed under his breath and drained his glass. The whisky burned going down. He stood and picked up a shotgun and box of cartridges. If it came to close quarters fighting, he wanted all the firepower he could get his hands on.

The posse was waiting for him when he went outside. The sky was even lighter and they were wasting time. He mounted his horse, a loyal appaloosa, and surveyed the men around him. All were hard charging frontiersmen and knew how to ride and shoot. He liked his chances better. Davis saw Travis who swayed in his saddle. He knew that even though the old drunk seemed this side of useless, he was one of the best trackers in the territories. He had helped them track down that Indian raiding party a couple of winters back.

"You with us Travis?"

Travis looked up blearily and smiled. "Course." He shook his head, flinging the water from the trough off of his dirty mat of grey hair.

"Which way you reckon?"

"North." Replied Travis without missing a beat.

"How do you figure?"

Travis pointed at the ground. "Them shoes ain't from round here, that's for sure."

Davis looked at the ground. There were faint hoof prints on the dust. How Travis could see anything in his state, much less barely visible tracks, was beyond him.

"You heard the man. We go North."

Davis gave the appaloosa a kick and the group started out at a decent run. The chase had begun. Adrenalin rushed through Davis' veins and he gave a whoop of delight. The morning had its ups and downs but things were looking up. He would catch up to Jeb Malik and he would drag him back to town, trussed up like a pig for slaughter. He would get his hanging, his photo, his news paper article and his notoriety.