Edge: The Loner

“Down here,” Hammond said, indicating a spare corner of the desk, and the moment ended as Annie set down the tray, took the five dollars and with a final glance into the cells, went out. There was room under the cell doors for the plates to pass and this is how they were given to the prisoners, the deputy placing them on the floor and skating them through with his boot. No eating tools were provided for those on the wrong side of the door and Joe and Stupid had to pick up the food with their fingers as Hammond and Hank ate with knives and forks.

There was a small safe in one corner of the room and, after his meal, Hammond took the money across to it and locked it inside with a key on the same bunch as the one he had used to fasten the cell door padlock.

Joe skated his empty plate back outside and again stretched full length on the evil smelling blanket. It was not exactly the kind of rest and comfort he had figured to be his in Anson City, but it was unlikely to improve and so he decided to make the best of it.

“That Annie’s sure got a fine pair of titties, and I know what ...” the man in the next cell began just as Joe started to doze.

“Shuddup, Stupid,” he said softly. “Or you won’t have any throat for Hammond to stuff that rag down.”

The sheriff grinned and withdrew the razor from its pouch, made a flicking movement through the fetid air of the office and looked at Stupid.

“Don’t think it couldn’t happen,” he said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHOOOOOOSH!

The man who had become to be known as Edge was literally exploded out of his sleep in the jailhouse of Anson City. A keg of gunpowder on a short fuse placed at the foot of the rear adobe wall of the sheriff’s office went off with an almighty roar, gouging a large, ragged hole. Edge was blasted off the stinking bed, flung across the cell to slam into the bars. But in the split second transition from sleep to waking a reflex action bred from long experience of mortal danger caused him to draw up his legs and lower his head, cover his skull with his hands and tuck in his elbow so that his forearms protected his face. He hit the bars like a large human ball, and dropped to the stone floor bruised and temporarily stunned, but with no bones broken. As he got painfully to his feet, coughing upon the dust laden, cordite thick air he saw a shaft of sunlight stabbing through the rear wall.

“Those bastards have done it,” he heard Sheriff  Hammond yell in anger, then the rattle of a key in a lock as the bar on the rifle rack was released.

Edge sprinted four paces, lowered his head and pushed his arms out in front of him to launch into a dive through the hole in the wall. His palms found solid ground outside and he twisted his body sideways, pushed against his hands a moment after contact and landed on his feet in a half crouch. His eyes stung with dust, but he saw the blurred shapes of three mounted riders and one spare, saddled horse.

“You ain’t Pete,” one of the riders said with surprise.

“Gun,” Edge demanded. There was a moment’s hesitation and Edge launched himself at the closest horseman. “I said gun,” he shouted and jerked the rifle from its boot behind the saddle, spun round and ran down the alley between the sheriff’s office and the hotel.

Clear of the dust cloud, the street was blindingly brilliant in the clear, hot strength of the noonday sun. In the shade of doorways several frightened faces were looking towards Edge, but a threatening shot with the ancient, single shot muzzleloader was enough to make them withdraw.

Edge leapt to the sidewalk and reached the office door in three long strides, looked inside to see the sheriff crouched near the right hand cell bars, looking at the inert form of the man called Stupid. But he heard Edge’s final footfall into the office and spun his head around, fear etched deep in his features.

“Your friends?” he asked.

Edge watched him inch up the rifle.

“I don’t have any,” he answered. “Those clucks blew the wrong cell.”

He aimed for the man’s heart but the ancient weapon didn’t have the accuracy of a Henry and pulled to the right, the bullet smashing into the sheriff’s shoulder. But it packed punch and the impact of the bullet knocked the man sideways, his rifle dropped from lifeless fingers.

Edge tossed the gun away and crossed the office quickly, tore the key bunch from the sheriff’s belt and took it to the safe. There was only his money and an almost empty bottle of whiskey inside. The liquor seemed to burn the dust off his throat as it went down.

He stuffed the money in the saddlebags, picked up his bedroll and weapons from beside the desk.

“You coming Pete?” a voice sounded from out back.

“Yeah!”

Edge shot a glance at the cell, saw Stupid getting shakily to his feet. He was grinning out between the bars.

“They know I’m alive now. You don’t take me with you. They won’t help you.”

Edge wasted no time thinking about it. He went to the cell door and used another key from the bunch to swing it open.