Edge: The Loner

Although the scene before him was a panorama that invited his examination of every detail, Edge concentrated his entire attention upon the object of his hate, fastening his hooded eyes upon the quivering face of Forrest, seeing every blind, each nervous tic of the cheek, counting the flicking of the tongue over dry lips. When the group reached the foot of the steps leading up to the gallows platform Forrest’s knees began to buckle as the fear turned his muscles to jelly. The men who held the ropes dropped them and moved quickly to the prisoner to support him, push him up the steps to where Honey waited – the elected hangman.

Beneath the gallows, the hanging rope brushing the side of his face, Forrest found new strength, made an almost enthusiastic attempt to push his head into the noose. He missed and Honey reached out and completed the job. The silence then was so complete it was as if the world had stood still.

“You killed Jamie!”

The accusation hurled down through the silence from the roof of the church seemed to have physical force that stunned everybody who heard it so that there was a pregnant time lapse before every head was turned to look at Edge. They saw him sitting astride the angle of the roof, aiming the Starr, barrel resting on the wrist of the crooked arm.

“Rhett killed him,” Forrest screamed back. “That’s why I blasted him. You must have seen him.”

“I saw him,” Edge replied. “Move out of the way.”

The last was addressed to Honey, who had stepped in front of the condemned man, interrupting Edge’s line of fire. The two men who had led the prisoner to the gallows crowded in on each side.

“It’s going to be a legal execution,” Honey said as the first ray of sunshine of the new day angled down the street, released between the twin peaks of a mountain range to the east.

“I’m taking Forrest,” Edge said evenly. “I take a few more with him, makes no difference to me.”

He squeezed the trigger and the slug zinged downwards. The man on the right yelled in pain and went sideways, clutching his shoulder. Edge grunted as he noted the gun pulled to the right, made allowances for this in taking aim again. But the man on the other side of Forrest saw he was next and went off the gallows in a shallow dive, hitting the dirt just as the bullet struck the wood where he had been standing. Several men in the crowd went for their guns, but not one drew. There was something about the man on the roof, about his voice and the way he held himself, about his utter coolness in leaving himself exposed that threw fear into every one of them.

Honey saw the barrel of the Starr swing in an arc on to him and hesitated only a moment. He ducked, turned and launched himself around the side of Forrest, stretched fingers clutched for the lever to open the trap door. Completely exposed, Forrest was frozen into an attitude of stiff terror as he looked at the figure silhouetted against the skyline.

Squeeze, crack, cock: squeeze, crack, cock–the motions and sounds were repeated four times as Edge emptied the gun. The first slug took out Forrest’s right eye, the second entered just below the left, the third pierced his throat and the fourth went over his head. Honey’s hands found the lever and Forrest dropped, the movement robbing Edge of a final hit.

Edge sighed, lowered the gun as smoke curled from its muzzle and surveyed the shocked faces of the crowd below him. He held the gun out, cocked it and squeezed the trigger.

All heard the dry click that told of an empty cartridge. Edge tossed the gun down to the ground, swung his legs off his perch and slid down the roof, leapt the final six feet to the ground from the eaves.

The crowd divided, allowing him passage and he walked through the space, looking to neither left nor right, his expression showed nothing of what he felt. He halted in front of the gallows, looked up dispassionately at the body of Forrest, twisting slowly on the end if the rope. He eyed the bloodied face and made a throaty sound of satisfaction.

“Figure he was dead before he dropped,” he said.

Honey seemed about to argue the point, but the evil glint in Edge’s eyes warned him off. He reached out and swung Forrest around so he could see his face. He grimaced at the sight, nodded.

“Be obliged to have my weapons back,” Edge requested.

“They’re in the sheriff’s office,” Honey said, licking his lips. Then he was reminded, reached out and ripped the star from the unresisting Forrest.