The devils marshal, p.1
The Devil's Marshal, page 1
The Devil's Marshal
I. J. Parnham
Published by Culbin Press, 2022.
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
First published in 2013 by Robert Hale Limited
Copyright © 2013, 2022 by I. J. Parnham
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
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Further Reading: All Must Die
Also By I. J. Parnham
Chapter One
“I need a room for a few days,” Brodie Latimer said. “I don’t know how long yet.”
“Take your pick of the rooms and stay for as long as you like,” Genevieve Shelby, the black-clad hotel owner, said with a thin smile. “Nobody else is staying here.”
Her reply made Brodie frown. Hamilton was busy, the Shelby Hotel was clean and located in the center of town and the rates were reasonable, but he didn’t question his luck as he signed his name in the indicated space.
He wasn’t surprised when his name made Genevieve flinch before she reassumed her good host demeanor and directed him to follow her up the stairs. She picked a large room that faced the law office and courtroom.
After she’d indicated the view, she met his eye, but he ignored the opportunity to explain his reason for coming to Hamilton and instead he complimented her choice of room. When she left, he considered the scene outside, which, while he’d booked the room, had developed into a worrying one.
Earlier, when he’d spoken with Marshal Kyle Duffield, people had begun gathering outside the law office. Now their numbers had swelled so that the crowd blocked half of the main drag and this critical mass of people had created a disruption that was encouraging more people to join them.
Kyle had promised him that he could return at sundown. That was an hour away, but with the crowd growing in size and rowdiness by the moment, it felt unlikely that the lawman would be able to honor his promise.
He still headed outside where he skirted around the crowd and went in search of a quiet saloon. He could fulfil only half of his requirements as the two saloons in town were both bustling.
In the Sundown saloon, customers were jostling each other at the windows as they watched the people gather. So he went to the Four Aces saloon that was around the corner, which didn’t have a view of that part of town. Even so, the events there were the only topic of conversation.
“They’re sure to find her guilty tomorrow.”
“They should hang her tonight and get this over with quickly.”
“Hanging is too good for a woman who did what she did.”
Brodie overheard these views and others that were equally one-sided before he reached the bar. When he had a whiskey in hand, he joined one of the many opinionated groups where he nodded at the appropriate times while listening for any information that would give him hope.
Tomorrow morning Lucinda Latimer, his younger sister, was to be tried for murdering Archibald Harper. As youngsters, Lucinda had been restless and unwilling to accept a life of toil in the small settlement of Dirtwood.
She’d always been in trouble while Brodie had spent his time sorting out trouble. Accordingly, as young adults, while Lucinda had run away with unspecified plans to seek a better life, Brodie had accepted an appointment as a deputy to the town’s first marshal.
Before long, the meager rewards had encouraged him to leave town and become a manhunter instead. Over the last seven years, he’d built a reputation as a bounty hunter who always found his quarry.
He’d often wondered about Lucinda’s fate, although he hadn’t thought she’d commit a serious crime. So when he’d read in a newspaper that she’d been accused of murder, he’d been shocked.
As Lucinda was the only family he had left, he’d abandoned his hunt for the outlaw Phineas Moon and had headed north to Hamilton. Sadly, if the gossip he’d heard was right, she would be found guilty.
When the low sun edged into view and cast its dying rays across the saloon room, Brodie moved to slip away. That had the unfortunate effect of drawing attention to him for the first time.
“I don’t know you,” the nearest drinker said. “What are you here for?”
When Brodie had ridden into town, he’d resolved not to hide his identity, but what he’d seen and heard since had convinced him that discretion would be more sensible.
“Nothing much,” Brodie said after struggling to come up with a suitable answer.
“I saw you earlier heading into the law office,” another man said. “Are you here for the trial?”
“I’m just here for a short while,” Brodie said with a warm smile.
Then he moved toward the door, but he hadn’t soothed his questioners’ concerns as consternation broke out behind him. He chided himself for failing to provide better answers, as clearly the townsfolk were eager for gossip about the trial and even the hint that someone might know something had excited this group.
So when he reached the door a line of men trailed behind him shouting out for him to stop. He slipped outside, took a quick left and headed down the street, an action that inflamed his eager followers even more as they hurried out after him.
By the time he reached the corner of the street, his small hope that he could make his appointment without fuss died. Ahead, the crowd had grown to an unruly mob of around a hundred people.
Torches were being lit and excited chatter filled the evening. Brodie checked behind him and that made his followers gesture and shout at him, so Brodie hurried into the crowd. Within moments people surrounded him, but they were stationary so he was able to wend his way toward the law office without difficulty.
Unfortunately, this meant his pursuers were also able to move quickly through the mob. He’d covered only a quarter of the way to the law office when he and his unwanted retinue gathered the interest of those ahead.
He avoided catching anyone’s eye and slipped past another five people until someone blocked his path. He moved to the left, but the man moved that way, too, so he darted to the right, an action that encouraged others to join in and form a barrier. Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder and dragged him around.
“What have you got to hide?” the red-faced and liquor-fueled man demanded.
“Nothing,” Brodie said. “I’ve got business in the law office.”
“What business?”
Brodie didn’t have an answer so he tried to back away, but the mob had closed in. By now, everyone had turned to the altercation.
“He went into the law office earlier,” one man said.
“He’s only just arrived in town,” another man said.
“I saw him go in to the Shelby Hotel,” a third man offered.
In an instant, the lively mood turned sour as this comment appeared to convince everyone his intentions were suspicious. Someone shoved him, knocking him into two other men, who took exception to being pushed and pushed back.
He fought to keep his balance and he accidentally barged someone over before he tripped over another man’s foot. He crashed to the ground before rolling into a forest of legs. When he came to rest, he was lying amid people who wouldn’t know why he’d been knocked over, but that didn’t stop them kicking and prodding him.
He reached to the ground to try to lever himself to his feet, but someone stood on his hand. Then the wall of people pressed in around him and more kicks slammed into his side. Before he became trapped and someone did him serious damage, he hunched over and crawled his way along the ground.
He made more headway than he expected, giving him the impression that people had backed away. He extended his neck, turtle-like, to find out if he’d been reprieved, but instead, one of his irate pursuers was standing over him.
This man dragged him to his feet and then drew back his fist as he aimed to punch him back down again. Brodie raised a fist, but he didn’t need to defend himself when a gunshot sounded, making everyone freeze.
Then Marshal Kyle Duffield slipped through the suddenly still and quiet throng with Deputy Erskine Farlow at his shoulder. While Erskine faced his assailant until he backed away, Kyle turned to Brodie and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
Brodie directed a warning gesture at his assailant that said the lawmen’s intervention had saved only him from a beating before he turned away and walked down a passageway that had formed through the crowd. Everyone turned to monitor his progress to the law office. When he reached it, he walked straight in, but the lawmen followed him only to the door.
“You’ve made your feelings clear, people,” Kyle shouted. “Now go about your business. Lucinda Latimer will face an open trial tomorrow and justice will be done.”
His comment gathered a supportive cheer, but only from a portion of the crowd.
“What’s that man doing here?” someone demanded to a louder chorus of approval.
“That’s not your concern.” Kyle raised his voice when several men shouted that it was. “I’ll make it my concern if you don’t stop blocking the main drag.”
The two lawmen faced the mob and Brodie helped the situation by moving out of view. For a minute they stood silently and Brodie was wondering if a confrontation was inevitable when sense prevailed and people on the periphery peeled away.
When the dispersal gathered pace Kyle headed inside. The deputy closed the door and Kyle stood before Brodie with his hands on his hips.
“I’m obliged you came when you did,” Brodie said. “That was about to get messy.”
The mob was still moving away, although their angry muttering confirmed that more trouble was likely.
“It was,” Kyle said with an exasperated sigh. “You shouldn’t have told anyone your name.”
“The trouble is, I didn’t tell them who I am. They just took exception to me.”
Brodie smiled and Kyle took the opportunity to lighten his mood with a laugh.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes. If the trial doesn’t end tomorrow, you can return again tomorrow night.”
“Do you reckon it could be over with that quickly?”
Kyle signified for Erskine to unlock the door to the small jailhouse.
“She’s not got a defense.”
With this grim assessment ringing in his ears Brodie took a deep breath and then headed into the jailhouse. Four cells were set together in the center of a square room that had a bench around the walls.
Three prisoners were inside. Two men were in the far left cell and Lucinda was in the near right one. This arrangement was presumably the safest for her, although her cropped hair and male attire could let her, under casual scrutiny, pass for being a man.
The other prisoners were asleep, but Lucinda was sitting up on her cot with an ear raised high, presumably in concern about the developing situation outside. Lucinda turned to Brodie without interest until he sat down on the bench facing her in a position where the shadows didn’t hide his face. She flinched upright with sudden recognition and a wide smile appeared on her face.
“I didn’t expect you,” she said with genuine relief in her tone.
“You couldn’t expect me,” Brodie said. “You didn’t tell me you were in here.”
“I couldn’t get in touch after seven years to tell you I was about to go to jail for murder, but I’m pleased you’ve come to see me as a free woman for one last time.” Lucinda rolled her legs off the cot and then shrugged. “I’d heard you’re now a manhunter.”
Brodie smiled, appreciating Lucinda’s breezy method of dealing with this awkward encounter.
“I’ve taken the details of ten men and I’ve collected ten bounties. I was looking for the eleventh when I heard about you.” Brodie rubbed his jaw as he struggled to think of anything else to say about his life before finishing lamely. “What have you been doing, before all this happened?”
“I took work wherever I could find it.” Her eyes became troubled and she sighed, clearly unwilling to explain more. “Then recently I got a decent job working in the Shelby Hotel. Genevieve didn’t get many guests, but that was fine with me.”
They sat in silence for a while contemplating each other and this let Brodie hear a clock ticking in the main office reminding him that he didn’t have much longer.
“What happened between you and this Archibald Harper?”
“Nothing.”
“The man’s dead and you must know something about the circumstances or you wouldn’t be sitting there.”
“His killer must know something.” She smiled thinly. “I don’t.”
Brodie lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck as he collected his thoughts. He had been sure Lucinda would be honest with him and he judged that her dismissive answer was a truthful one.
“So tell me what you do know.”
Lucinda stood up and paced the cell twice before facing him.
“Archibald and I had been getting close. One night I invited him to come up to my room, but he and Genevieve had once argued and he was reluctant to come in. So I bade him goodnight. I never saw him again.” Lucinda sighed. “Later his body was found lying in the old depot and as I was the last person to be seen with him, Marshal Duffield threw me in here.”
“That’s a weak reason to think you guilty.” Brodie considered. “Can anyone back up your story?”
“Wilfred Clay saw me go back into the hotel and he saw Archibald head out to the depot alone, but my lawyer says that won’t help. Wilfred’s a no-good varmint and the worst person to rely on for your defense.”
Brodie raised his voice as a key rattled in the jailhouse door.
“If nobody else will speak up for you, this could end in only one way.”
“Which brings us back to where we started.” Lucinda leaned forward and widened her eyes, as if she were committing his image to memory. “I’m pleased you came to see me for one last time.”
Chapter Two
Wilfred Clay lived beyond the small, abandoned railroad depot to the north of Hamilton. Archibald’s body had been found in one of the four gaunt timber warehouses, and Brodie dallied for a while before moving on to Wilfred’s house.
Even before he spoke with Wilfred, Brodie decided Lucinda had been right. Wilfred was the worst person to speak up in her defense. His ramshackle house must have been well constructed many years ago, but now it stood at an angle with holes in the walls and roof.
Only the rotting detritus of old farm implements that had been piled up against the walls appeared to be keeping the house from falling over. The trial was due to start in an hour and it was only two hours after sunup, but Wilfred was already lying sprawled out on the trash-strewn porch working his way through a bottle of whiskey.
“Is it time for me to go?” Wilfred slurred, his eyes rheumy and glazed.
“I don’t work for the court,” Brodie said. “I’m Lucinda’s brother.”
“I never knew she had no brother.”
Wilfred wiped the top of the bottle on a ragged and grimy sleeve and held it out. Brodie shook his head as he searched for a clean spot to sit amid the rotting food and discarded bottles. When he couldn’t find one, he located a rusty bucket and upturned it to sit on.
“Lucinda told me about you. You’re her only hope.”
Wilfred shivered and then sought solace in the bottle.
“I can’t tell nobody nothing about what she and Archibald did that night,” he said between gulps.
“Nobody would expect you to. You can only tell the truth about what you saw.”
Wilfred shrugged. “I told you. I don’t know what happened that night. I don’t know what happens most nights. They all run into one.”
Brodie reckoned that was an accurate account of Wilfred’s life, but he was her only hope so he held out a hand for the bottle. When Wilfred passed it over, he placed it on the porch between his feet.
“A decent woman is relying on you to speak up for her. You have an hour to sober up, get cleaned up and get your thoughts in order.”
Wilfred cackled and, in a moment of self-awareness, he gestured at his ragged and grime-encrusted clothing, indicating that even if he had a month, it wouldn’t be long enough.
“Nobody wants to hear what old Wilfred Clay has got to say.” The laughter petered out and he tried to wrest the whiskey bottle back, but he struggled to raise himself and, eventually, he flopped down on to his side. “Even if someone did, they won’t let me say it.”
Brodie had been shaking his head sadly, his misgivings about coming to Wilfred’s house growing, but the last comment piqued his interest. So he went over to Wilfred and dragged him up to a sitting position before leaning him back against the wall.
“What do you want to say?” he asked, hunkering down before him. “Who will stop you saying it?”
“The truth, and them.”
Wilfred waved an arm, seemingly indicating the whole town, and that unbalanced him. He righted himself and offered Brodie a lop-sided and gap-toothed grin, When Wilfred said nothing else, Brodie collected the whiskey bottle and swirled the contents tantalizingly before Wilfred’s face.
