Murder in Dogleg City by Ford Fargo Read Free Book Online Page B

follow them. The crowd grew. The two
men paid no attention, nor did they converse with each other. They
merely walked up Second Street, turned left on North, and went past
the livery stable and the corrals. At least fifty people followed,
whispering, making bets, ogling Samuel and Hébert.
    Sweeney had trampled down the tall
grass beyond the Wolf Creek sign, making a fairly straight line
running north and south. “How’s that, Samuel?”
    “ Fine. Would you like
north or south, Valentine?”
    “ Let’s flip a
coin.”
    Samuel dug a silver dollar from a vest
pocket. “Heads or tails?”
    “ Tails,” Hébert
said.
    Samuel flipped the coin and let it
fall on the ground. It landed tails up. “Your choice of weapon or
position, Valentine. Which do you prefer?” He picked up the
coin.
    The crowd lined both sides of the
dueling ground. Neither Hébert nor Samuel paid them any attention.
“I choose the southerly position, as I am a man of the south,”
Hébert said.
    “ Very well. The pistols.
Give the box to Angus, if you please.”
    Hébert handed the box to Sweeney. He
opened the box and held it out toward Samuel, who casually chose a
pistol. He checked the load and the priming. He inspected the flint
and the frizzen. All was in excellent order.
    “ Gentlemen,” Sweeney said
in a loud voice. “This is a field of honor. Mister Hébert, will you
take the southern position please, facing south. Mister Jones, take
the northern position please, facing north.”
    The duelists took their
places.
    “ At the count of five, you
will turn and shoot,” Sweeney said. "If both parties are still
standing after the weapons have been fired, they will be reloaded
and you will shoot again. Cock your weapons.”
    The hammers cocked with a double
click.
    "Ready your weapons."
    Samuel and Hébert brought their
pistols to their shoulders, muzzles skyward.
    Sweeney counted. "One."
    "Two."
    "Three."
    "Four."
    "Five."
    Samuel and Hébert pivoted,
presenting their right sides to their opponents. Samuel’s face was
placid, as if he cared not whether he lived or died, but Hébert’s
neck above his collar had turned red, and the blood climbed to
flush his face. “ Merde ,” he shouted, and pulled the trigger.
    Samuel Jones stood perfectly still.
The .58 caliber ball from Hébert’s pistol flew past his head, close
enough to ruffle his longish hair.
    The recoil of the dueling pistol
lifted Hébert's right arm high as Samuel fired. His ball took
Hébert beneath his right arm and smashed a rib. The bone deformed
the soft lead ball, which tumbled through Hébert's chest cavity,
tearing heart and lungs. He dropped to his knees, released the
pistol, and fell on his face in the grass.
    Sweeney rushed to the fallen man. In a
moment, he stood and turned to face Samuel Jones. “We can call Doc
Munro if you want, Samuel, but this man’s dead.”
    Samuel Jones carefully placed the
dueling pistol in its box and stood for a moment looking at
Valentine Hébert’s lifeless form. Then, without speaking, he walked
back to the Lucky Break. Deputy O’Connor was approaching the crowd,
but Samuel did not slow down until he reached the
saloon.
    “ Hal,” he said. “Could I
have a beer, please?” He sat down at his table and picked up his
cards.

 
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    Marshal Sam Gardner massaged his stiff
leg and sighed.
    “ Well, there’s no getting
around it, old hoss,” he said—partly to the appendage and partly to
himself, although he supposed it really amounted to the same thing.
“Doc Munro said I needed to be exercising you more. We have enough
to occupy us for the rest of the day and into the evening, and it
looks like we’re in for a hike all over Wolf Creek.”
    Deputy Quint Croy had left the
marshal’s office, after delivering his report, to finally turn in
for the day so he could be fresh for his night shift duties—so
there was no one around to hear Sam talking to his own leg.
Witnesses might have thought he had