The Right Thing To Do

Chapter 2

Dieter Preston looked out his office window over the centre of town, his mind shifting from concentration to consternation. The man on the other side of his massive desk had, with trembling knees, reported on the event in Bedford Creek, and the failure to collect the expected money, not only from the woman cook, but a few of the others as well.

"The three of you just let him run you out of town like a bunch of- of . . ." he threw up his hands and turned from the window, leaning on his desk.

"Jess and Tyler stayed back hoping to- to catch him on the trail." The statement faded away as Dieter massaged his hands together.

"Unless they do catch him on the trail, and I get my money, you boys had better rethink your own miserable lives."

When the man left the room, Dieter sat and looked at the other person present. A long, lean man with shoulder-length hair and a dull moustache that grew down around a mean mouth to form a short beard.

"I suppose I'm going to get your opinion again."

"I told you before, you're wasting your money on those three."

"And your encounter with Caleb Weston makes you worth your fee?" Dieter shook his head and sniffed. "You hung him, and you didn't even get the bank draft."

"I told you, his horse ran off and I needed to get it back. It had all his belongin's."

"But you didn't get it, and you didn't go back and search him, either."

"I planned to . . ."

"Really? When?" He stood again and went to the window. "Never mind. I need you to look into this interference in Bedford."

"You want to meet him, or do I just take him out?"

"Take him out. Why the hell would I want to meet him?"

"Just askin'." The man rose fluidly and strode to the door.

"Rance. No more foul-ups." Dieter frowned at the cocky salute as the door slammed shut.

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"Sure you don't want to put down roots and handle the law here in Bedford?"

Galen had to laugh, then waved an apologetic hand. "I don't think so."

"Well, we sure appreciate what you did do. You want a drink on the house?" The man managing the saloon wiped his hands together, looking at the others.

"Arley's right, Mister, you put a bur under their saddles for sure."

"And now it's up to you folks to see it stays there." Galen went out to the street and accepted the reins from Old Grunge, fastening his saddlebags and mounting up.

"No need to pay that other dollar, Mister."

"Thank you, I'll take that as payment enough. You folks think about gettin' organized." He tipped his hat and kicked his horse into a quick trot. Riding out of town, the air seemed cleaner, the sky bluer, and the sun warmer. Galen patted his horse's neck, expressing how happy he was leaving Bedford Creek. A few miles from town, he steered him into a grove of trees, nodding at the sight of the small stream emerging from a rock shelf. Maybe this was the Bedford Creek, he wondered.

"Wet your whistle, Stanley. Maybe chew on some of that grass too. I'm gonna have a full wash. That town left me feeling grimy."

Washed and relaxing with his reheated coffee to go from Cookie, he fished the locket out of his pocket and opened it, studying the young couple's faces. Caleb smiled awkwardly, a tuft of hair seemed to burst from behind one ear. The young woman smiled shyly, eyes slightly down. She wore her hair long onto her shoulders, and the gown had a small ribbon at the neck. He clicked it shut and twirled the chain on his finger, losing it as it sailed a couple of feet away. He leaned forward, stretching to reach it, giving an involuntary yelp, as a chunk of bark flew off the tree he had been leaning against.

Galen rolled instinctively, flattening himself against the rough grass, and bringing his Colt up in aiming position. Nothing moved in his line of sight and after a few tense seconds, he rolled away again, heading for the base of another tree. Nothing. He probed every inch of ground he could see, trying to determine the source of the shooter. No more shooting. His inched himself upright behind the tree and waited some more.

He showed his head and pulled back quickly a few times, and still nothing happened. Finally he took in a deep breath and stepped from behind the tree, his nerves almost audibly twanging. When nothing happened, he picked up the locket, and fast walked back to where his horse was grazing.

"Somethin's up boy, think we need to make some tracks. Find us a bit of safe space, and see if we can't spot who's shootin' at us." He decided to walk a ways through the stand of trees, head swivelling about and one hand on his gun.

Just as he decided to mount up, Stanley pulled back, ears pricked. Galen calmed him down and walked over to another, larger tree and stood quietly, listening.

"What do you hear, boy?" He rubbed Stanley's nose, whispering. The horse's head came up again, jerking away, and Galen heard the hoof beats pounding closer, from behind him. He snatched his rifle from the guard, slapped Stanley's rump, and positioned himself behind the tree. Shots cracked in the air, tearing chunks from the tree as the single rider bore down on him. Galen levelled his rifle and fired.

The horse galloped past, and Galen ducked away as the rider, caught in the stirrup, bounced past, kicking up dust and twigs, lifeless limbs flopping wildly. He turned to see if there was anyone else, and caught sight of another man following the riderless horse. Whistling for Stanley, Galen caught him on the run, and twisted up into the saddle, pulling him around in pursuit.

They came out of the stand of trees onto rough scrub and rocky ground that was flat for a distance, finally blending into some low rolling hills. Galen saw the tattered an bloody body of the man he shot, splayed against the hard ground, and ahead, the other rider, low against his horse's neck.

"C'mon, Boy. just 'cause we're gettin' older don't mean you have to act it." He gave Stanley's mane a ruffle and a bit of a nudge with his knees, feeling a small extra surge. They were gaining slowly, but not soon enough before they reached the base of the hills where the ground changed to wild brush and large rocks.

Galen saw the man dismount, running and stumbling to safety behind a huge boulder. He went a little farther, then steered Stanley into the rocks, still a ways from the other man. Two shots rang out, both kicking up rough chips, but a good ten feet away. Hunkering down with his rifle and a pouch full of ammo, Galen lifted his hat above his hiding spot, drawing another shot, still six feet away.

Well, either you can't shoot worth a hoot, or your sight is missing. He stole a look around the side of the rock while reaching back and raising his hat again. This time the shot kicked off the top send a spray of chips over him. Got you, friend. Let's try that again.

This time, Galen positioned the hat so he could shove it around the side of the rock with his foot, and carefully inched out the opposite side, taking aim. When he was set, he pushed the hat and fired as soon as the man appeared. There was an echo that went way up the hill, and a cry of pain. He waited a few minutes, then stood, whistled for Stanley and walked cautiously to where the shooter lay.

It was the talker from Cookie's. The top of his shoulder was soaked red and from the angle of his arm, the bullet had done some damage to the bones.

"Your other friend around here somewhere?" Galen squatted close to the man, feeling the puffs of gasped air on his face. A painful movement of his head, and a closing of the eyes, told him the answer was no.

"Reckon you're done, fella. That amount of blood ain't gonna stop. One of them artery things in the neck is my guess. Anything you want to say, if you can?"

"P- Pres- Preston . . ." Blood bubbled out of his mouth and his head went slack.

Galen went through his shirt and vest pockets, collecting tobacco and papers, along with a few wooden matches. Inside his hat, he found a letter addressed to a Lois Connor - it was signed, love Caleb.