Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

sheriff. I can fill the area where you are hiding with .44 bullets and kill you deader than hell. Won’t take but a couple of seconds. Now, you slide your .32-20 out and crawl out and you will have a nice hot breakfast down at the Marin County Jail.

“Otherwise, your blood will mix in the puddles in the alley as you bleed out. What’s your choice? Smart or stupid?”

Pope saw a rifle slide out on the dirt alley. A man came out on all fours.

“Now, lay on your belly and spread your arms out. I am going to approach you and put the nippers on you. You move and you die. No damn questions asked. Die right where you are laying.”

The man nodded up and down. Pope approached. He left the carbine leaning against the wall. He knew he could draw his Colt in much less than a second. He pulled the nippers from behind his gun belt.

As he approached, he put one knee down diagonally across the man’s shoulders. Pope took one hand and put the clasp of the handcuff on it. Then, he did the other.

“Roll over on your side. Now, get up!”

When the man was standing, Pope patted him down and removed a folding knife and a two-dollar revolver. It was a .22 or maybe a .32. Pope would look at it later.

He whistled and the big horse walked up. Pope recovered his carbine and put it in the scabbard. He looped his lariat around the handcuffs or nippers and did a double wrap around the saddle horn once he was mounted.

“Now walk!”

He walked the man to the sheriff’s office and took him inside. The night deputy was there, having just finished one of his several nightly patrols. Pope set the .32-20 rifle, junk revolver, and pocket4knife on the table as the deputy uncuffed the suspect and put him in one of four temporary holding cells.

“Know who he is?” Deputy Honus Rasmussen asked.

“Not yet. Wanted to get him unarmed and in here before it started raining cats and dogs,” Pope replied.

He walked over to the cell.

“What’s your name?”

“None of your damn business!”

Pope reached between the bars fast as a rattler and grabbed the young man’s collar. He pulled him into the bars and punched him with his left fist between the bars. The man staggered back against the cot as Pope let go of his collar.

“Let’s try again. What’s your name? If you don’t answer, I will come inside the cell and lock the two of us in and make you answer.”

“Thomas Maupin.”

“Where are you from, Thomas?” Pope asked pleasantly.

“San Francisco.”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough!”

“Yep, Thomas, you are old enough. Old enough for me to smack hell out of you if you don’t answer my question,” Pope snarled.

“Eighteen.”

“Why did you shoot up the San Rafael Guest House less than an hour ago?”

Silence.

“The offer to come in and lock the cell door and make you talk is still on the table. You have already interrupted my sleep and gotten me soaking wet in the rain. I’d kinda like to question you up close and personal,” Pope reminded him.

“They were in there,” Maupin said.

“Who is ‘they’?” Pope asked, not as pleasantly.

“The Lanes.”

“Why did you want to kill the Lanes?”

“I didn’t want to kill anybody. I shot to just hit the building with a little .32-20. I knew it wouldn’t go through. I just wanted to scare them.”

“Why was it you wanted to scare them, Thomas?”

“I asked Mattie out and she said ‘no’,” he responded.

Mattie again.

“So, you wanted to scare them because she did not have interest in you?”

“Yep. Bitch. Said she had an older boyfriend who’d beat me from here to Sunday.”

Oh, boy, thought Pope. the ‘boyfriend’ kinda just did.

“Wrap up in the blanket. I don’t want you to die of a cold before the judge sees you.”

“You gonna arrest me?” Maupin asked.

“Yep. I’m going to wait until I talk to the district attorney to see how tough he wants to make it on you first, though.”

Pope walked over to the door and saw Kane, soaking wet, riding into town.

“I was just going to send a deputy after you. I just put a man in custody. It’s unrelated to the matter we feared, Michael. Thanks for your help. Try to get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” Pope said to his friend as he dropped him at the guest house.

Pope rode Caesar back to the cabin. He led Grandpa’s spare horse Kane had been using.

It was almost dawn. Sarah was still asleep. What a honeymoon night, he thought as he slid in beside her.

Sarah had gone to bed alone, something she would have never dreamed would happen on her wedding night. Strong or not, she cried herself to sleep. Their cabin was still not finished. She was in what used to be Pope’s bedroom. Israel was sitting on the front porch in the dark, his Winchester across his lap. He was standing guard as his grandson asked, Scout alert at his side. Under the questionable circumstances of parts of the wedding party being shot up, he would have anyway.

Millie heard Sarah and tapped on the door before going in.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“No, I’m miserable. It’s my wedding night and my husband is off working.”

“Honey, he has a hotel in his generally peaceful county shot up during his first week or so as sheriff. Of course, he had to go. You of all people should understand it.”

“But I usually gun up and go with him!”

“You were his detective partner. Now, you are not a deputy sheriff. You are his wife. He wants to reduce your risk to danger. I think it’s a pretty sweet thought on his part. If you think it has anything to do with your ability to shoot or your bravery, you are wrong. You have different jobs. If you get a call about a stage robbery and it’s outside of Marin County, he won’t go with you. He will trust you