Warlock

Earnshaw had been acquitted by a jury of supposedly good men and true in Bright’s City. I suppose there is no reason to damn the jurors, who were bound to abide by the evidence; and ten witnesses had ridden in from San Pablo to swear that Nat Earnshaw was seen by all of them in San Pablo on the day that the prosecution claimed he had tried to rob the Bright’s City stage, and that he had been mistakenly apprehended by the posse while i

Unfortunately, no one on the stage could identify Earnshaw as one of the bandits, for both had been masked, and the only witnesses for the prosecution were Schroeder and the possemen, whose evidence that they had followed the tracks of Earnshaw’s horse from the scene of the assault upon the stage to the point of capture, was not given as much credence as that of the San Pablo hardcases, whose threatening demeanor was no doubt more effective than their verbal testimony.

The Citizens’ Committee met upon the subject of Earnshaw, and discussed posting him with a considerable lack of resolution. Blaisedell spoke to the effect that if we ever intended to post anyone, Earnshaw was a good place to begin. Upon which we entrusted our consciences to the Marshal’s capable hands. There was no dissent, although Miss Jessie was not present, nor Judge Holloway, who, I am sure, would have loudly damned the illegality of our action. Luckily the judge had drunk himself into insensibility that day, and was not heard from for several days thereafter.

We would have heard from him had Blaisedell been forced to ventilate Earnshaw, I am sure. He can be as nettlesome as various of the wild-eyed Jewish prophets must have been to their rulers. But thank God the fatal day when we must look at each other and try to shrug off some stubborn fellow’s death as being only his own doing, is put off a little longer.

[1] The Sister Fan and Pig’s Eye were already at this time having difficulty disposing of the water encountered at the lower levels.

[2] Proprietor of the Feed and Grain Barn.

9. GANNON CALLS THE TURN

IT HAD turned chilly with the sun gone down and some quality in the atmosphere did not hold the dust, so that the air was clear and sweet now as Ga

He walked through the thin stripes of light thrown out by the louvre doors of the Glass Slipper. Other groups of men fell silent before him. Unwillingly he felt his steps hasten a little, his wrist brushed against the butt of his Colt, and his stomach twisted with its own cold colic. He glanced down to see a little light glitter on the star pi

It was quiet tonight, he told himself calmly, quiet for a Saturday night; the concentrated jumble of sound from the Lucky Dollar faded behind him.

When he descended into Southend Street dust prickled in his nostrils. To his right were the brightly lit houses of the Row; to his left, across Main Street, the second-story window above Good-pasture’s darkened store was a dim yellow rectangle. Light from the jail spread out across the planks of the boardwalk, beneath the hanging sign.

Carl sat alone at the table, one hand on the shotgun. “Seen the marshal?” he asked.

“I expect he’s in at the Glass Slipper.”

“Pony and Calhoun and Friendly’s in town,” Carl said. He leaned back in his chair, stiffly. “See them?”

“No.”

“And your brother,” Carl said.

Ga

“They are in the Lucky Dollar, I heard,” Carl said. He chewed on the end of his mustache; he stretched. “Well,” he said, in a shaky voice. “He handled the whole bunch at once, I don’t know why he can’t four of them.”

“I expect he can,” Ga

“I don’t know,” Carl said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Seems like I face up to it every night as soon as I close my eyes. But damn if I can—” He shook his head, and said, “When you see a real man it surely shames you for what you are, don’t it?”

“Meaning Blaisedell?”

“Meaning Blaisedell. You know, I had got to thinking that if I didn’t go up against McQuown sometime I would know I was dirt. But maybe that’s wrong. Maybe he is the one — I don’t know, maybe I mean big enough or clean enough or something — to do it. My God damn how I have chewed myself to ribbons over that bunch. But maybe McQuown is Blaisedell’s by rights.”

Ga

“Dirt,” Carl said. “Me”—he laughed breathlessly—“that thought I was the finest thing to walk the earth when I put this star on here. Not because of Bill Ca

Ga

“Something awful,” Carl said, laughing and stretching again. “Well, I have never seen one yet that didn’t pass on by come Sunday morning. And a damned comfort when they do.”

After a long time Carl spoke again. “Had a delegation from the Citizens’ Committee come to call this afternoon. Buck and Will Hart.”

“What did they want?”

“Wanted some action about all this road-agenting. I told them there’d been some starch took out of us ru

“That will make things easier,” Ga

“It is,” Carl said. He leaned back in his chair again. “I told them it was fine and public-spirited and all, but Buck is hard to get along with sometimes. We got along better when I rode shotgun for him; he was always afraid I was going to quit. We had some words.”

Ga

“Well, I told him if he didn’t like the way I did my job he could hang this star on himself and welcome,” Carl went on. “I told him and Will to look at those names over there,” he said, nodding toward the scratchings in the whitewash. He glanced toward Ga