Edge: The Loner

He took three normal strides across the sidewalk, but as he stared directly ahead, seeming to search above the heads of the crowd for the man who had spoken his name, he was unaware that he had reached the edge. His foot at the end of the fourth stride found only thin air and he seemed to hang, unmoving in the off-balance position for several seconds before falling forward to land in a heap at the side of the dusty street.

Not a soul moved to his aid as their horror-stricken attention was captured by a new movement. But one pair of eyes in the crowd stared with deeper intensity than all the others: saw the doorway of the sheriff’s office in much stark clarity that it might have been the noonday sun beating down upon the scene rather than the dull flickering light of a kerosene lamp. Edge’s eyes were narrowed to the merest slits and his teeth gleamed between lips pulled so tightly back that they seemed not to exist at all. His fingers gripped the butt of the Remington so hard that his knuckles showed white and his arm ached clear up to the shoulder socket.

Frank Forrest came out first, Colt revolver in his left hand, Spencer repeater rifle in his right. Then came Billy Seward, went to the left, next Hal Douglas to join him on that side. John Scott and Roger Bell emerged to stand on the right. They no longer wore their cavalrymen’s uniform and their faces were as overgrown with week old beards as was Edge’s. But Edge recognized each and every one as easily as if he had seen them on parade, as neatly dressed and cleanly turned out as his brand of discipline had demanded of soldiers serving under his command. Each was armed in the same way as Forrest, except for Seward, who brandished his army saber instead of a rifle.

“Frank Forrest her has got an announcement to make to the people of Peaceville,” Seward said suddenly. “You all better listen and listen good.”

“Right,” agreed Hal Douglas, his eyes roving the ring of faces. “Anyone tries to interrupt, likely he gets his head blown off.”

“We ain’t fooling,” Bell enjoined. “Listen good.”

“Good,” Scott emphasized.

Forrest waved the rifle, telling his men they had said enough and it was his turn.

“Sheriff Peacock there ...” He jabbed at the injured man with the rifle. “… he was a stupid man. He thought he had this town and this part of the country sewed up nice and neat. But he was wrong. He scared a lot of people, but he didn’t scare me.”

“Nor us,” Seward put in, the held his silence under Forrest’s stony gaze.

“He had nothing to back him up expecting all you people’s fear of him. You see what good that does him when his time came.”

At the rear of the crowd, standing between Gail and Honey and the old man from the livery stable, Edge watched and listened, his mind floating in a sea of hot, liquid hate that he knew would have to cool and subside before he made his move. Fury was a weapon that was unreliable, could backfire on a man and leave him easy meat in the sight of another man armed with a cool brain.

“That’s by and by,” Forrest went on, his voice dropping to an almost conversational level. “Sheriff Peacock ain’t the law in Peaceville any more. I am, and these are my deputies.” He spat onto the sidewalk. “Won’t be many changed made, far as citizens of the town is concerned. All they got to do is vote me a higher salary than Peacock had, and salaries for my deputies, of course. And any bounty hunters among you the sheriff’s take got to be higher. With all these deputies, the cost of law enforcement has gone up considerably. Ten per cent for me and five per cent each for my boys. Makes a nice round thirty per cent.”

“Screw you,” a man in the crowd said, his voice very clear.

“Too clear,” Forrest said. “Blast him.”

It was Bell who fired and it was as if the bullet had physically pushed a gap into the circle of people. In fact, they had drawn away in horror as the complaint’s forehead cracked open to gush blood in a fountain as he pitched forward. Besides Edge, Gail turned away, a hand flying to her throat as she retched, but failed to raise moisture.

“They’re tough,” the old man on the other side said with admiration.

“Like Rodge here said awhile back, we ain’t fooling,” Forrest went on easily. “So do like we say, and Peaceville will be a fun town to live in.” He transferred both guns to his left hand and held his right aloft. “I, Frank Forrest,” he intoned, “hereby appoint myself new Sheriff of Peaceville, Arizona Territory. I swear to protect its citizens and uphold the law.” He grinned around the crowd. “I ain’t sure of what the right words is but I guess that will have to do.”

“Hey Frank,” Seward yelled. “You can’t appoint yourself the new sheriff. The old one’s still around.”

Forrest sighed, aimed his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The sheriff arched his back once and died. “He ain’t now,” Forrest said.