IMAGINATION'S PLACE
FICTION
DON'T MAKE SENSE
By; Gerald A. Polley
All rights reserved.
Part Three
Frank hefted the money bag. "Hadn't we better
have a look, marshal?" he inquired. "I ain't never seen $10,000!"
The marshal thought a moment. "Well, I suppose
there's somethin' to that. We really ought to check it out. Open
her up! Spread her on that table, there."
Frank did so. Everybody was discussing
rather or not the judge would agree to their proposal when Frank called
out "William! I think you'd better have a look at this!"
The marshal came over. Frank turned one of the
bundles over. Looked proper enough. Then he separated it
about in the middle. It wasn't money, it was pieces of newspaper
cut to the size of bills! The marshal came over. "Hmmm!" he
muttered. "No wonder he didn't want this stack of bills to get to
the cattlemen. This explains a lot! Let's get on in town."
They were just on the outskirts when Sheriff Pardee
met them. The marshal took out one of the stacks of bills and
tossed it to him. The sheriff examined it and looked at the
marshal, wide eyed, and they all headed for the bank. The clerk
was just locking the doors.
"Well!" he bellowed, "I see you got him!"
"Not only that," the marshal announced, "we got the
money, too. Why don't we open the bank back up, count it, and put
it away?"
He threw the money bag on the steps. The clerk
looked down at it. "Well, that certainly looks like the right
bag!" he sighed, coming down the steps. Suddenly he lunged between the
horses, grabbed his girlfriend, and pulled her out of the saddle. By
the time the others could calm their startled animals the clerk had a
derringer to the woman's head! "Everybody get your gun belts
off!" he ordered, "Nice and slow! Let 'em go to the ground.
Marshal, don't let your hand go anywheres near that shotgun or I'll
take this traitorous bitch to hell with me! Now, let me see," the
man remarked, "I think your horse is the best possibility,
sheriff. I'm sure not gonna try to ride the marshal's, and
Frank's is questionable too. So you just ease out of the saddle
and back off! The lady and I will make our way down the street,
mount up, and ride out. I'm pretty perturbed with her but have no
desire to hurt her. So if nobody's following after a while I'll
let her turn around and come back. Now, very slowly, honey, bend
down and pick up the marshal's gunbelt."
The woman knelt down, but instead of picking up the
gunbelt she picked up a handful of gravel and threw it in the clerk's
face! He stepped back for a second and the derringer raised
up. There was a swoosh and a thud, the derringer discharged, and
the man fell over backwards. "Wondered how long before that was
gonna happen!" the sheriff remarked. "Good throw, William!"
The marshal dismounted, retrieved his knife, cleaned
it on the man's clothes and slipped it back in its scabbard hidden in
his trail coat. To his surprise the man was still alive!
But he wouldn't be long. "Be better for you," the marshal
pleaded, "if you tell us where the rest of the money is."
The man labored for breath but answered "Gambling house,
Harrison. Lost it all there. My luck wouldn't turn.
Father found out, was going to turn me in." His eyes glazed over
and he stopped breathing.
"Well! I know the man that runs that place," the
marshal explained. "We're not exactly friends. I've taken away a
couple of girls that didn't want to work for him. But he's honest
enough. I'll see if I can get the money back."
He headed for the telegraph office and sent a
telegram to Harrison. He didn't even get out the door when the operator
cried, "Marshal! You're getting a reply!"
The marshal came back and the operator read off the
message as it came in. "Well, William! Had my suspicions
about that one! Got plenty in the bank. Would like to have
your good will. Send it back. But I think a $200 recovery
fee would be fair."
"Send back!" the marshal instructed, "Fair enough! Wells Fargo will pick it up."
He went back and told everyone the money was coming
back. The stage coach was just pulling in. The marshal saw
somebody looking out the window. "See you folks later!" he cried,
and headed after the stage. The burly shotgun rider was just
undoing a woman's trunk on the top. "Keep it on!" the marshal
ordered. "She's not stopping here."
The woman on the stage looked hurt. "Come on, marshal!"
she pleaded, "I won't cause no trouble. I've served my
time. Give a girl a break!"
The marshal looked at her and up the street to Frank. "Would you mind livin' in the country?" he asked.
"The further from a city the better!" the woman moaned.
"Hey, Frank!" the marshal called, "You interested in a wife?"
"A wife?" Frank gasped.
"A wife?" the woman repeated.
Frank came down and looked at the woman. "Well,
she's not ugly!" he commented. "My sister-in-law could use some
help around the ranch."
"Hand down the trunk, Chaw!" the marshal ordered. "Lady's staying after all."
He tied his horse to the back of the stage and started
towards the saddle, but Frank pulled out his rifles and handed them to
him, undid the saddle, and secured it in the stage's boot. The
marshal climbed into the stage. The two other passengers looked
at him curiously as he stretched out on the pad that had been thrown
down.
"My God, sir," one of the men asked, "are you the..."
The marshal raised his hand. "Name's William
Walker," he remarked, "that's the only name I'm known by. If
you've heard any other I suggest you not use it."
"Absolutely, sir!" the man answered, trembling, "Absolutely!"
The driver gave a cry and the stage rolled
out. The weather was pleasant, they'd make it to the next stage
stop and bed down there. The marshal was anxious to get
home. He was very anxious to get home!
THE END