Edge: The Loner

“You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man,” he implored, knowing the lie of his words.

“They’re the easiest kind to kill,” he said and squeezed the trigger.

But at that moment the hammer struck the firing pin, glass shattered and another gun went off, the bullet smashing into Edge’s hand, spinning the Henry from his grasp, its shell burying itself harmlessly into the floor.

“Reach, Forrest,” a man commanded and as Forrest obeyed Edge looked at the shattered emptiness of the saloon window and saw Honey’s face nestled against the stock of a rifle. “I think we want a hundred back,” he said to Edge.

“He ain’t dead yet,” Edge said softly,

“He won’t see another sunrise,” Honey replied. “Please throw down your revolver, Señor Edge.”

As Edge complied the rest of the town came in through the swing door, led by Gail.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EDGE sat on the side of the bed in his hotel room, submitting with a mere token show of reluctance to the ministrations of Gail. First she bathed his injured hand in warm water, then dabbed an astringent liquid upon the torn flesh before finally bandaging it. He was sure she enjoyed it when he winced as the healer stung, complained she had fastened the dressing too tight.

“There,” she said when she had finished. “You won’t be shooting anybody with that hand for some time to come.”

He grinned coldly. “I’m two-handed with guns, lady,” he said. “Or any weapon.”

The young man who stood to the left of the room door, holding a revolver in his hand as if he was not sure what it was shuffled his feet uncomfortably as he heard Edge’s words. Edge had heard Honey give the kid his instructions, telling him to watch the stranger, prevent him from reaching Forrest before the citizens could make the final kill for themselves. He had accepted the duty with pride and enthusiasm which had waned steadily as the results of Edge’s violence had come to light in the rooms above the saloon. He was just a kid who thought himself a man. With each soft word that Edge spoke he grew younger and more vulnerable. He was glad the waitress from the restaurant was in the room with him and Edge. She seemed able to keep him in line.

She came up from stooping over her patient, rubbing the small of her back where it ached from holding the same position too long. “You must have had a powerfully strong reason for wanting to kill those men,” she said, and carried the bloodied bowl of water over to the dresser.

“Five hundred of them,” Edge answered.

Gail shook her head. “Stronger than money. I think you took the reward under false pretences. You were going to kill them anyway.”

Edge shrugged. “Thinking is free.”

“One of them called you Captain.”

“I ain’t ever liked answering questions, lady,” he told her, his expression as hard as granite.

She pouted. “A man’s business is his own, unless he wants somebody else to know it.”

“I don’t.”

“Frank Forrest is the town’s business,” she came back. “I told you earlier we had a lot of respect for Sheriff Peacock. And we want Peaceville to be a clean, decent town. If there was any doubt who killed the sheriff we’d hold a vigilante trial and dispense justice the way we see fit. But Forrest and his men killed the sheriff before the whole town so he’ll hang.”

Edge listened dispassionately. “Then the town ain’t so decent,” he said softly. “It’s robbing me of something.”

An expression of distaste flitted across the woman’s beautiful face. “They’ll probably let you keep the full five hundred.”

“I aim to,” he answered. “But I’m not talking about money. That doesn’t matter a damn in relation to the other.”

Gail looked at him closely, a confused look upon her features, “You ...” she started and then stopped.

“Yeah?”

“You can speak like an educated man when you want to and yet most of the time you ...”

Edge stood up, suddenly angry, and the kid near the door brought up the gun, cocking it. Edge knew that when the chips were down, he’d know what to do and he’d do it quickly.

“I ain’t no first grade drop-out,” Edge snarled at Gail. “I already warned you about prying into my affairs.”

“They must have done something very evil to make you the way you are,” she replied with gentleness, refusing to be provoked by his anger.

Edge turned his back on her and went to the window, threw it open, admitting the cold of the early hours, drawing it into his lungs in great gulps. The gray light of a false dawn was already streaking the sky, dimming the stars and giving the town the substance of solid wood and adobe out of the shadows from which it was formed during the night. Edge leaned out to look back down towards the intersection of streets and watched for awhile the activity taking place there. A dozen men were working in the center of the two streets, measuring, sawing and nailing. They had been engaged on their task for less than a hour and yet already the construction was taking the shape of a gallows.

“Ain’t you ever hanged anybody in Peaceville before?” he asked without looking back into the room.