A Time for Justice

A TIME FOR JUSTICE
　
"Do you want to live forever?" Lane said as he cocked the hammer on his Colt. He winked at Bradley and burst out of the door firing his hair triggered gun. Lane got off two shots before the air exploded into mayhem. There was an entire band of outlaws outside surrounding the small house. Bradley had the rifle in his hands. He knew that Lane would be cut down in a matter of seconds. He heard Lane yell over the gunshots. Then there was silence. Lane was done for. Bradley pushed open the door and stood on the threshold. He looked around at the bandits that had turned the tables on him and his deputy.
"Drop the gun sheriff," said a voice in the crowd. "Your trigger man is dead. Put the rifle down and you still got a chance of walking out of here."
Bradley looked at Lane. No man could have lived through that. No man except one. Bradley lifted the rifle. Uncountable shots rang out and ...........
........ Darrin sat up. He was covered with sweat. It was the nightmare again. Another cry from the past creeping in on the present. Darrin kicked his legs out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to force the remnants of the dream out of his head. He looked at the clock. 2:07 am. Right on time. The two o'clock nightmare, watching Lane get killed.
"Darrin?" said a voice from the other side of the bed. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine," Darrin said. "Go back to sleep."
The girl kneeled on the bed behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. She kissed his ear. "Was it another nightmare?"
"No, it was the same nightmare," Darrin said.
She wrapped her arms around her chest. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"
Darrin turned to look at her. She was wearing a lace teddy that could cheer up any man. Her name was Debbie. She was the only likeness of Mary that he had ever come across. She was the only one he allowed himself to get close to him since........... then.
He smiled at her and she took him into her embrace. Soon, he began to forget about his deputy, Lane; killed by the gang of out laws. He forgot that, if he concentrated, his memory spanned more than two centuries. He returned to where he was now, who he was now. He was not the sheriff of an unbridled western town any more. He was a cop with the DEA. And he wasn't chasing horse thieves. He was after drug dealers.
In the morning, Debbie found Darrin digging through an antique chest. It was his prize possession. "What are looking for?"
"A way to stop a nightmare." Darrin said.
He caught the kiss she blew to him as she left for work. She was an emergency room nurse at a nearby hospital. They met the night Darrin's partner got shot. Darrin and his partner had the midnight shift. The were watching a factory suspected of being used for a trafficking operation. Darrin was putting an entry into the log book when he heard two pops. He looked up and saw a pair of holes in the windshield, bullet holes. One bullet hit the seat between them. The other hit Darrin's partner in the chest.
Another shot hit the back of the car as Darrin sped away. He made it to the hospital in a matter of minutes, but it was too late. The bullet had pierced his partners heart. He was dead before the third shot hit the car.
Darrin was still standing outside the ER doors when Debbie's shift ended. She stopped to make sure he was all right and ended up inviting him over for coffee. During coffee he realized why he was so relaxed around her. She looked so much like Mary, it was haunting. Coffee ended when he abruptly fell asleep on her couch.
After that they got closer and closer, until she finally asked him to move in with her. All she asked for, in return for her love, was the promise that no one would carry him into her emergency room the way he carried in his partner. It was a promise that Darrin could easily keep. Darrin smiled at the thought of her and continued to search through the chest.
What Darrin was searching for was at the bottom of the old chest under; a vietnamese crossbow, a korean flag, a german lugar, a WWI rifle, a box containing six badges, and an old Colt. It was a picture of Bradley, Lane and Mary. It was taken when photography was as new as the land that Bradley and Lane were trying to bring a little justice to. Darrin shook his head at the vast amount of time that seemed to just slip away.
* * * * * * *
Sometimes it seemed to Bradley as if he had been alive since the beginning of time. He new it wasn't true. It just seemed that way. When he allowed his mind to open, he whisked himself back through time. He could remember his mother. She was tall with bright blonde hair that hung well past her waist. She was broad of hip and shoulder. She was elegant in all her movements. Her eyes were dark and deep and mysterious. Her gaze could hold him in check whenever she talked to him. He remembered how she always told him that they were special people. He never understood what she meant back then. She assured him that some day he would.
Bradley only asked about his father once. His mother told a story of a tall, strong, handsome man with blonde hair and a full blonde beard. He was a man of the sea, a great captain. He and his men would sail their long wooden boats out into the northern sea for weeks at a time. One time he paddled back to shore on a single wooden plank. They had been caught in a storm and their ship broke up. He was the only survivor.
One night he packed up his wife and his sparse belongings, and headed out for a new land. A land far across the ocean that he had found on an adventure a year before. He gave up the sea, and they traveled a land that was as vast as the ocean. They traveled until they found a mountain range that reached clear to the heavens. They climbed into the mountains to make their home. They spent many, many years living under the trees, alone and happy.
The winter when she was heavy with child, was a harsh one. The snows came early, before the stores were fully stocked. He went out one morning to find game, and never returned. He had been master of the sea, but the land had mastered him.
She had her baby alone. As soon as Bradley was strong enough to travel, she took her son and left the mountains. She traveled back the way she had come until she found more people in a town near the sea. In time, she found a house and set her mind to raising her child.
One evening, when he was grown, he returned home to find the house in flames. The fire was devastating. It reduced the house to ashes, along with Bradley's mother. He found only pieces of bones among the cinders. Bradley raised a headstone to his mother's memory. Before leaving town, he donated the land to the church on the condition that it be used as a cemetery. He didn't want his mother to be alone.
He headed west, following the path his father did. He wanted to see the mountains where he was born. The old paths his mother had told him about had become heavy roads where wagon trains had worn scars across the land. A great many people were driving westward looking for a new life, a fresh start.
The trail that Bradley chose led him to a small town called Martinsville. It was small compared to some other city's, but it was still a thriving, growing town. There were more than two hundred people living inside the city limits and every wagon train that passed through left a few more. Then there were the farmers and ranchers that had claimed the land on every side of Martinsville. They all kept a steady flow of people and goods moving through the town. There was even talk of the railroad coming through.
Unfortunately, settlers weren't the only people to come to Martinsville. They had more than their fair share of outlaws and bandits. The only law in Martinsville was a lone sheriff. He had a hard time keeping on top of it all. For safety's sake, the sheriff's office was right across the street from the bank.
As luck would have it, the day that Bradley arrived in town was the same day that a pair of outlaws tried to hold up the bank. It was near sunset. Bradley had left the saloon and was looking for the hotel. A pair of gunshots inside the bank brought the sheriff running across the street with guns drawn. He was almost to the bank's door when the barrel of a shotgun pushed out the door and fired. The sheriff fell. Bradley was standing right next to the door. Bradley saw the shotgun turning towards him and his reflexes took over. He dropped his bags and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, pulling it out of the outlaw's hands. He turned the gun over and hit the bandit in the face with the stock. Two more shots rang out. Bradley felt a sting in his chest. The second bandit stepped out of the door. Bradley aimed the shotgun and fired. Bradley had never fired a gun before, and the force of it pushed him backwards.
Inside the bank, one gunman was dead and the other had a broken jaw. The bank owner, two tellers, and five customers witnessed the whole thing. They all thought that Bradley had been shot, but there wasn't a scratch on him. It didn't take long for a crowd to gather. Everyone was calling Bradley a hero. The mayor shook Bradley's hand and paid for his hotel room. The next morning, the town's one page newspaper recounted the whole ordeal from the witness's stories. Suddenly, everybody knew who Bradley was. Complete strangers would shake his hand and congratulate him. The bank owner gave Bradley a one hundred dollar reward for stopping the thieves.
The townsfolk were convinced that Bradley was a hero and they tried to pay for all his expenses. A gambler picked up his tab at the saloon. A rancher and his family insisted that he have dinner with them. The barber refused to take his money. It was enough that he be able to tell the story that Bradley sat in his chair. About the third day, Bradley decided it was time to move on and find his mountain. He was packing up his belongings when the mayor knocked on the door of his room.
"The inn keeper tells me your movin' out today," the mayor said.
"Yep," Bradley said. "I've lost too much time already. I've got to reach the rockies before winter sets in."
"That doesn't leave you a lot of time. It's august already. You'll be hard pressed to make it over the pass before the first snowfall."
Bradley was still packing. "Who said I was going over the pass?"
"Don't tell me you playin' at bein' a mountain man," the mayor said. "Those boys don't live too long."
"I'm looking for something," Bradley said.
"Well, can your trip hold off for half an hour?" the mayor asked. "I got somethin' to discuss with you."
"What's that?"
"Walk with me. It's too nice a day to spend inside."
Bradley looked at the mayor. He was intent on getting a piece of Bradley's time. That much was clear. "All right. Let's go have this talk."
The mayor kept quiet until they were outside. He spread his arms and took a deep breath. "This town has got the best air in the west. It's a great place to live, Bradley. There's plenty of room for whatever kind of life you want." The mayor was leading Bradley down the street. "Martinsville is growin' fast. A lot of people are settelin' in here. And why are they stoppin' here? because there ain't no trouble in Martinsville."
"Just the occasional bank robbery."
The mayor stopped walking. They were across the street from the bank. "All right," the mayor said. "I'll admit it. We have our share of problems. But no more than any other town." The mayor opened a door and walked through it.
Bradley followed the mayor. They were in the sheriff's office. "What are we doing here?"
"You've made a hell of an impression on the folks in Martinsville," the mayor said. "I've never seen so many people like one man so much. You'll be missed if you leave."
"Get to the point, mayor." Bradley was fast loosing interest in the conversation.
"It was a terrible thing that happened to sheriff McGreggor," the mayor kept rambling. "Men like him ain't easy to come by. The town needs a new sheriff, Bradley. We need a man that stays cool under pressure; someone who's not afraid to stand up for what's right. We need the kind of man that can take a shotgun out of the hands of a bank robber."
"What makes you think I can be a sheriff?" Bradley asked. "I was just in the right place at the right time."
"That's true," the mayor said. "But think about why you did what you did. Bein' at the right place at the right time is only half the picture. You could have just stood there and watched those men ride outta town with all the money in the bank. But you didn't. You didn't have any interest in this town or our bank. You did it because you knew it was right."
"Your wrong," Bradley protested. "I wasn't thinking about anything. It was all reflex."
"Most people's reflexes would have told them to run for cover," the mayor reasoned. "You're a special man, Bradley. This town needs you."
Bradley was quiet for a moment. A 'special man' the mayor had said. Suddenly his mother's voice was ringing in his ears, telling him they were special people and some day he would know why. Then he thought about the night he stopped the bank robbers. The pistol had gone off and Bradley had felt a sharp pain in his chest. The witnesses said they thought he had been shot. He thought about the new hole in his shirt just to the right of the third button. Bradley had been shot. But, anyone examining his chest wouldn't even find a scar.
The mayor saw Bradley thinking it over and decided to sweeten the pot. "The job pays fifteen dollars a week. There's a bed and a kitchen in the back room. There's a Pinto in the stables and a good saddle."
The mayor opened a desk drawer and pulled out a gun belt with a pair of pistols in it. "These were sheriff's McGreggor's. You'll need them for this job."
"I don't know."
"Look Bradley," the mayor said. "The rocky mountains ain't what they use to be. Whatever the gold miners haven't dug up, the wagon trains have trampled down. Whatever it is your lookin' for, I'm sure you can find it here." The mayor held out a badge to Bradley. "We need you."
Bradley looked at the badge and then at the mayor. He took a long pause before taking the badge. He stared at it, not fully knowing why he accepted it. "I'll try it for a while. But this is only temporary."
"That's what McGreggor said, six years ago," the mayor said. "The keys to the cells are in the desk. Oh, and sheriff, welcome to Martinsville."
* * * * * * *
Bradley's first two months as sheriff went fairly smoothly. There was a minor scuffle between a rancher and the black smith over the price of fixing a wagon wheel. Otherwise, all had been quiet. Until,....... Bradley had just taken off his gun belt and was about to kick off his boots when there was a frantic knocking at the door.
"Sheriff! Sheriff, come quick!" It was a woman's voice.
Bradley opened the door. It was the barmaid from the Red Lion Inn, a hotel and saloon at the other end of main street. She was flushed and very excited. ""What's the matter?"
"A couple of hands from the McClure ranch are tearing up the saloon. You gotta come quick!" she said.
The barmaid was so frantic that she had Bradley running full speed down the street as soon as he had his gun belt fastened around his waist. He could hear the scuffle before he was half way down the street. The whole saloon was consumed in a massive brawl. Bradley had just stepped through the door when a whiskey bottle shattered on the wall to the left of the door. He started pulling people out of the brawl one at a time. He traded a few blows, but managed to get through the most of it unscratched. Finally, he got down to the two that had started it all. They were trail hands. One was Bradley's size. The other was the size of Badley's horse. The smaller one wiped a trickle of blood from his lip as he stared at Bradley. The big one was rubbing his knuckles.
"I think it's about time the two of you call it a night," Bradley said.
"We're still thirsty, sheriff," said the smaller of the two.
"Have a drink when you get home." Bradley was not looking forward to trading blows with these two.
"We'd rather stay here," the trail hand said.
"You can go home," Bradley said. "Or you can go to jail. The choice is yours."
"I don't think we'll go to jail," came the answer. "Cause you ain't big enough to get us there."
They rushed at Bradley. Bradley brought a knee up and caught on man in the stomach. The other man planted a fist on Bradley's jaw. Bradley swung back and connected. That's when everything turned into a swirling storm of fist. Bradley lost his bearings on where he was standing. He kept swinging at whatever came close enough. Then he felt a crushing grip from behind that kept his arms pinned. The bigger one had him in a bear hug. Bradley looked at the other one. He was bleeding from the nose and mouth, and one eye was nearly swollen shut.
"You're pretty good with your fist," he said.
Bradley kicked him in the groin. "I'm good with my feet too."
Bradley struggled against the bear hug as the trail hand got back to his feet. He threw a punch at Bradley's stomach. Bradley braced himself for the hit, but it didn't connect. A large man, as tall as Bradley but wider in the shoulders, had caught the fist in mid-swing. His clothes looked worn from a lot of traveling. He wore a wide brimmed black hat, and a red scarf around his neck.
"You boys don't seem to have much resect for the law," the stranger said.
"Who the hell are you?" asked the man with his fist caught in a vise.
"I'm the guy that keeps the odds even." He tossed the trail had against the wall. Then, he brought a blow across the big man's face that broke the bear hug on Bradley. Three blows from Bradley and the smaller man was on the floor. When Bradley turned around, he saw that the stranger had the big man on the floor as well. The barmaid brought out some rope to tie the hands of the trouble makers. Then Bradley and the stranger took them to jail.
"Have a seat and rest a spell," Bradley said as he took off his gun belt, again. "I'm Bradley. Thanks for lending a hand. I thought I was about to loose my teeth."
"You gave those two a better whollop than the entire rest of the saloon. That was pretty damn good, especially considering it was two to one. My name's Lane," he said holding out his hand.
Bradley shook his hand. "You did good yourself."
"You did the work," Lane said. "I just helped clean up the mess."
"What brings you to Martinsville, Lane?"
"I was hooked up with a wagon train until my horse went lame. I'm hoping I can find work to earn enough money to buy a new horse. Then I'll get back on the trail to California."
"A wagon train is going to be hard pressed to make it over the pass before winter sets in," Bradley said. "It's still fall down here, but the mountains could be covered with snow already."
"I'll wait for the next train," Lane said. "It'll take that long to save enough for a horse anyway. The party I was with left a few days ago. They'll be alright. That Mr. Donner knows his way around the mountains. He'll get his people through well enough."
"I hope so," Bradley said. "A lot of people around here think that we're in for a hard winter."
"It's always a hard winter," Lane said.
Lane and Bradley had been talking for about an hour when there was a knock on the door. "Oh, what now?" Bradley said, rising form his chair.
It was the barmaid again. "Don't tell me it's another brawl," Bradley said.
"No," she answered. "I've got dinner this time, for you and your new deputy."
"Deputy?" Lane asked.
"The whole saloon is talking about how the two of you broke up the brawl," she said placing the tray on Bradley's desk. "Mr. Granger over at the general store said he knew you were a lawman the second you stepped into his store."
"Who sent the food over?" Bradley asked.
"It's from me," she said. "I figured that you'd be hungry after all that."
Bradley said, "Thank you very much, miss ......"
"Mary. I'll leave you to eat in peace."
The door closed and Lane and Bradley laughed at each other. "Well, deputy," Bradley said. "Pull off that cover and lets see what's for dinner."
They just started eating when the mayor burst though the door. "Bradley, do you have a moment?"
"Sure. Come on in. This is Lane."
"How come you didn't tell me you hired a deputy?" the mayor asked.
Lane started to laugh again.
"I didn't hire him," Bradley said. "He just lent me a hand with a couple of McClure's boys that were raising a ruckus."
"So you didn't hire a deputy." The mayor said.
"Not yet."
"What do you mean?"
"Well mayor, if it wasn't for Lane here I would have got my ass kicked," Bradley said. "This town isn't exactly small any more. It's too big for one man to handle. Maybe if the last sheriff had some help he'd still be alive today."
"I suppose you have a point," the mayor said. "There's not much money in the budget for another lawman though. Can you work for six dollars a week Mr. Lane?"
"I think I can live on that."
After the mayor left, Lane asked, "What the hell just happened?"
"You found work," Bradley answered.
"I guess I did," Lane said. "It's a weird way to find a job though."
"Believe it or not," Bradley said. "It's damn close to the way I found it."
* * * * * * *
Bradley kept the hands from the McClure ranch locked up for four days, until Mr. McClure found time to come into town and pay for the damages to the saloon. He had Lane escort them to the town limits, just in case. He also banned them from the saloon for two months. Mr. McClure made them bed down in the barn until they worked off the money he spent to get them out.
After they left, Bradley went to the saloon for dinner. He sat in the back, away from the bar and the poker tables.
"Good evening, sheriff." Mary ambled up to his table.
"Good evening."
She had on a different smile than the one she wore for the rest of her customers. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like one of those wonderful dinners you serve up here."
"Would you like anything particular?"
"Whatever's on the stove. Surprise me."
She giggled. "I'll be right back."
Mary disappeared into the back room. She emerged a short while latter carrying a large pitcher and a pair of mugs. She sat down next to Bradley and filled the mugs. "You're going to enjoy this. It's irish ale. An irishman on the last wagon train sold three casks to old Mr. Buckley. It's smoother than whiskey and it taste better."
She picked up one mug and handed the other to Bradley. They thunked the mugs together and both said, "Cheers."
"You're right. This is good," Bradley said.
"Do you ever get a night off from being sheriff, Bradley." It was the first time anyone had used his name since he took the job as sheriff. He liked the way it sounded when she said it.
"I haven't had much reason to take a night off," Bradley answered.
"Well, to tell the truth, I make a much better dinner at home than anything you'll get here. Maybe some night you can come over and I'll show you what I can do."
"I just may take you up on that sometime."
"How about tonight?" She was very persuasive. "All they have on the stove back there is a pot of stew that's barely good enough for the boys on McClure's ranch. You deserve better."
She was intoxicating. Bradley sat there getting drunk on her.
"Well, Bradley, what do you say?"
"I say it sounds good to me. I just have to walk by the office and let Lane know where I'll be."
"I'll get my wrap."
After dinner, Mary and Bradley talked until the wee hours of the morning. Mary went to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on when Bradley abruptly fell asleep on her couch. She pulled a blanket off her bed, sat beside Bradley, leaned against his chest and went to sleep in his arms.
Bradley awoke with a wide yawn and a long stretch. Mary was curled up like a baby with her head in his lap. He brushed the hair away from her face. He spent half an hour looking at her. She rolled over and stretched. Her eyes opened to look straight into his. Their gazes locked and they swam in each other. She pushed herself up to her knees and looked at him closer. Neither of them were breathing. Their stare turned into a kiss, that turned into an embrace. The embrace carried them to her bed, where they missed breakfast.
It wasn't long until Mary's small house became Bradley's home as well. Word about Bradley's involvement with Mary spread fast. Many of the rowdys that frequented the saloon stopped coming in. No one wanted to make any trouble for the sheriff's woman. Especially since everybody already knew about what happened to the last two that started a ruckus. They were two of McClure's biggest men, and the sheriff whipped them like they were school boys.
It was early spring. The new leaves had just started to come out on the trees. Mary and Bradley had just missed breakfast, again, when there was a hard knock on the front door. It was McClure. He had two of his men with him.
"Sheriff, we gotta big problem," McClure said.
"Come on in and tell me about it," Bradley said, buttoning his shirt.
McClure took off his hat as he stepped across the threshold. "We got horse thieves in the area."
Bradley stumbled with his buttons. "What?"
"Last night someone stole nine horses off my ranch," McClure said. "Three of my own out of the barn, and six belonging to some of my boys that were kept out in the corral."
"How many do you have left?" Bradley asked.
"All together, twenty-nine."
"Nobody heard anything."
The door flew open without a knock. "Bradley!" Lane looked flushed, like he'd been running hard. "We got trouble. Half the town is in an uproar."
"Now what?"
Lane struggled to catch his breath. "People have been coming by all morning telling me about stolen horses. There's four missing out of the livery stable, and more than a dozen from different people."
"And nine from the McClure ranch," Bradley added.
"They hit your place too?" Lanes asked.
"They sure did." McClure said.
Bradley sat down and took a deep breath. The four men in the room stared at Bradley as he sat and thought. Bradley looked up and saw Mary standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He realized for the first time that he had something to loose. "Do you have any trackers on that ranch of yours, McClure?"
"Why the hell would I need trackers to herd cattle?"
"Go back to your ranch and send me anyone you got that can read any kind of sign. Lane, you do the same in town. Two dozen horses got to leave some kind of tracks. Follow anything that leads out of town, even if it's only a couple of tracks. This has all the makings of an organized group and they'll all have to come together some time." Bradley paused. "Tell anybody that finds anything not to do nothing 'til I get there. Now move, before it rains and we loose the trail."
The four men bolted out the door. Bradley got dressed without speaking. He was strapping on his gun belt when Mary spoke up.
"Bradley."
"Yea."
"I'm scared. This is more than you've ever had to deal with before." Her voice was shaky.
"It'll be all right," Bradley said. "Lane and I will have plenty of help."
"But what if something bad happens?" She was about to cry. "What if you don't come back to me?"
Bradley hugged her tight. "I'll come back. I promise."
"How can you be so sure?" Her tears had started.
"When I get back," he comforted her. "We'll go out and buy you a wedding dress."
She looked up at him. "Really."
"I promise."
Lane found two trackers in the saloon. They said they were on their way north to join up with the calvary. It took less than half a day to find the tracks of a large group of horses heading southwest towards the canyons. They followed the tracks into a narrow gorge. They could hear people and animals at the end of the chasm.
Bradley looked up. The walls of the gorge were steep and high. The path they were on was the only way in or out. If any of these bandits got behind them, there would be no way out. "Lane," Bradley whispered. "I don't like this. let's back out of here and come back a little help."
Lane turned around. He looked like he was about to say something when he stopped and stood up strait. Bradley was confused until he heard it. Someone behind him cocked a gun. Bradley turned. Both trackers had their guns drawn. They were laughing.
"Move."
Lane and Bradley walked into the camp at gunpoint. There was a large corral that held the stolen horses. A small shed was six feet to Bradley's right. A larger building was at the other side of the camp. Bradley guessed that it was a bunk house. There were a few tents scattered here and there. A fire was burning next to an unhitched chuck wagon. A man with a white beard was stirring a pot.
"Well, well. If it isn't the good sheriff Bradley, and his little sidekick." It was a deep booming voice that seemed familiar. "Do you remember me, sheriff? Do you remember making me look like a fool?"
It was the horse sized cowhand that tore up the saloon. "I remember you."
"McClure fire us the second we worked off the money you took from him."
"You shouldn't break things you can't pay for." Bradley said.
"I'm about to break you."
Lane grunted.
"You got something, deputy."
"Yea." Lane's hand sped for his gun. He fired three shots and pulled Bradley towards the small shed. The cow hand and both trackers were on the ground. Lane had killed all three.
Bradley had barely closed the door when the gorge burst into a shower of gunshots. Lane and Bradley laid on the floor of the shed. Bullets were shredding the shed. As soon as the shooting stopped Bradley started firing the rifle out the door. Lane took one of Bradley's guns and was shooting double fisted out the window.
Bradley and Lane emptied their guns quickly. They laid on the floor trying to reload as another borage from the bandits cut up the shed. Bradley looked at his deputy. Lane was laughing.
"What the hell do we do now?" Bradley asked.
"Do you want to live forever?" Lane said as he cocked the hammer on his Colt. He winked and burst out the door firing his hair triggered gun. Lane got off two shots when the air exploded into mayhem as the outlaws that had them surrounded fired back. Bradley had the rifle in his hands. He knew that Lane would be cut down in seconds, but what else could he do? He heard Lane yell over the gunshots. Then there was silence. Lane was done for. Bradley pushed opened the door and stood on the threshold looking at the bandits that had turned the tables on him and his deputy.
"Drop the gun sheriff," said a voice in the crowd. "Your trigger man is dead. Put the rifle down and you still got a chance to walk out of here."
Bradley looked at Lane. No man could have lived through that. No man except one. Bradley lifted the rifle. Uncountable shots rang out and Bradley just stood there taking his time, picking off the bandits one at a time. When the bank robber shot him, he felt a sharp sting. Now he felt nothing. He started walking forward. When his rifle ran out of bullets, he pulled his guns. Then he pick up guns from dead bandits. He shot every man that moved, even the ones that were shot and groping on the ground.
When the dust settled and the echo died, Bradley was the only thing still standing on two legs. Bradley's clothes were cut to ribbons. The bullet holes were all nearly healed already. His sight had even come back to his right eye. Half the horses got shot in the cross fire. The white bearded man had fallen across his cooking fire and was being cooked himself. The shed had fallen over. Lane was face down in the dirt.
Bradley found new clothes in the bunkhouse. He took the two best horses and a good saddle. He loaded the second horse with all the food and water it could carry. He scoured the whole camp for all the money he could find. Finally, he found his guns. He buried them with his badge as deep as he could in his saddle bag. It was pitch black when he mounted his horse.
Bradley sat on his horse at the open end of the pass. To his left was the road to his mountain. To the right was the way back to Martinsville, back to Mary. He thought about Lane, laying in the dirt. He should have buried his friend. He thought about the gun fight. How would he explain it? No one would believe a word he said, no matter how he tried to make it sound believable. His last thought was about Mary. He loved her. Leaving her would be as bad as dying. But if she got scared and she left him, it would be worse than death.
Bradley swallowed hard and decided that it was better if all of Martinsville thought that he and Lane both died in the shoot out. He whispered a quiet apology to his lost love. A single tear rolled down his face, and he turned his horse towards his father's mountain.
Bradley spent his first winter in a deep cave that was long enough to keep the snow out. By his second winter, he had a strong cabin built. Winters blended into winters, that blended into winters. The saplings that were too small for Bradley to build his cabin with, grew into tall sturdy trees that became larger than the logs that made his walls. Civilization creeped in on the mountains. Eventually, there was no path or hillside that didn't know the footsteps of people.
Bradley went back to the cities. He watched times change, cities grow, and the world declare war on itself time and time again. Through ever moving time Bradley wore many badges, and carried many guns. It was the latest siege on mankind that was the worst that bradley ever saw. Until now, wars only killed warriors; outlaws only shot at lawmen; and the lines in the sand were clearly drawn.
But now a new plague had fallen. It killed without cause or focus. Criminals killed by-standers that didn't even know they were being shot at. Children could be victims or accomplices. Lawmen couldn't trust the average person on the street. Schools became war zones. The laws of war no longer existed. It was madness.
Bradley knew he had to fight. The drugs that were pouring in were killing everything. He had to make a difference again. He invented a new identity for himself. When he joined the DEA, his name was Darrin Addler. He soon proved himself to be one of the most valuable officers that the DEA ever had.
In June of 1992, Darrin, along with a handful of other hand picked men, were assigned to locate and apprehend a drug lord calling himself John Wayne. The area John Wayne controlled included; New Mexico, Arizona, Texas, and Oklahoma. In comparison to the other prominent cartels, it was a small area. However, John had a reputation for being exceptionally brutal. His brand of control was a modern rival to the inquisition.
To date, John Wayne had been a master at eluding the police. In 1990 a picture surfaced that was allegedly John Wanye. The police ran a carbon dating test on it and found out that it was one hundred years old. The picture was promptly dismissed as a hoax.
Darrin and his team were assigned to the case after John had five Texas senators shot. The senators were leading a crusade against drugs and calling for strong sentencing, especially for drug related crimes. Their platform was, "Making Texas safe for decent people again". They were gunned down on the steps of the capitol building. John left a note in the brim of his signature black hat. He left a black hat with all his victims. The note said that there was no place safe.
In the first two years of Darrin's pursuit of John, the DEA had arrested forty-two of John's people. They confiscated cocaine, pot, and crystal meth all worth an estimated street value of over twenty-eight million dollars. Most importantly, they managed to cut John's distribution by twenty-five percent.
On the down side, DEA, justice, FBI, ATF, and a number of police departments had lost men. Nineteen officers had been killed. Another five officers were permanently disabled from their wounds. Three officers, including a female undercover DEA agent, were missing. The law enforcement agencies cheered the successes. The media condemned the reckless loss of life. Government people argued both side, privately and publicly. Only the Texas senate was without comment.
Darrin was the last surviving member of the team that was sent after John Wayne. Darrin knew that John was operating out of the ware house he was watching the night his partner, the second to last survivor, was killed. After the shooting, Darrin backed off for a while. He set up long distance surveillance on the warehouse. Darrin and his new team photographed every living thing that came or went from the ware house for six months. The fed every picture into a computer for comparison. At the end of the six month watch, the DEA had a portfolio of twelve people that visited the warehouse. They were all regulars, averaging three to four visits a week. They always traveled in groups of no less than four, and were in a different vehicle every time.
Darrin hung an eight by ten picture of each person on the walls of his team's squad room. They did all their work staring at the men they were after. Each of the team members had a binder containing copies of the pictures at their house. Those twelve people controlled the drug traffic for four states. If darrin could catch them all, it would be the greatest bust of all time.
It was during the beginning of the surveillance that Darrin started having his nightmares. At first, Darrin didn't give them any thought, until they didn't stop. He wanted to talk to Debbie about them, but couldn't. He knew she would never believe that he had been a sheriff in 1880. At first he thought it was guilt at leaving Mary without so much as a good bye. Now that he was living with Debbie, maybe his subconscious was kicking him in his conscience. But Mary wasn't in the dream. Then he thought that it had something to do with the ambush. Lane had gotten killed when they tried to arrest a whole group of outlaws. Now Darrin was planning to try the same thing again. Could the dream be some kind of warning?
Darrin found the picture of Lane, Mary, and himself still secure in the antique frame. He left the lid of the box open and sat on the couch. He stared at Mary's image and smile for happy memories. His smiled fade when his gaze shifter to Lane's face. It was familiar, and not from the past. Darrin bolted for his desk. He knocked over the coffee table and a lamp getting there. He grabbed the binder that had the pictures of the warehouse criminals and tore through it. The ninth picture was a match.
Darrin ripped the police picture out of the binder. Then he smashed the frame and pulled the old picture out of the glass. He held them close to each other. It was Lane. Darrin grabbed the phone and pushed a speed dial button.
"Hello, this is Harris."
"Harris, it's Darrin. Who else is there with you?"
"Cummings, Walker, and Tucker," Harris said. "Why?"
"I need something and I need it quick," Darrin said. "Do you remember that picture that was suppose to be John Wayne?"
"The fake one that turned out to be a century old?" Harris asked.
"Exactly," Darrin said. "I want all of you to drop what your doing and find that picture."
"Come on, Darrin. You've got to be shitting me."
"Do I sound like I'm fucking shitting you!" Darrin screamed. "You move your ass and move every body else's ass and find that god damned photograph. I'll be there in ten minutes."
Darrin ran out of the house leaving the mess behind. He was met at the squad room door by his team. He tore the picture out of Harris's hand and hurried down the hall to the picture matching computer with out explaining himself. The computer tech jumped when Darrin burst through the door.
"Match these." Darrin said holding out the three pictures.
"Sure," said the tech. "Just leave them on the pile and I'll get to them as soon as I can."
Darrin picked pu the pile of papers and threw them across the room. Papers rained across the computer equipment. "Match these, right now."
The tech's hand was shaking when he took the pictures from Darrin. The computer scanned each pictures, made them all the same size, and began its comparison. Darrin saw a demonstration of the computer once where it was able to tell the difference between a set of triplets. Darrin and the other officers at the demo all swore that all three pictures were the same person. Even when the computer pointed out the differences, Darrin couldn't tell. The computer buzzed and clicked for two minutes that seemed like twenty. Then it spit out the answer. Match.
Darrin laughed at himself all the way back to the house. When he opened the door, Debbie was standing in the living room holding the broken lamp. Darrin went straight to the chest and started digging again.
"What the hell is going on?" Debbie asked.
Darrin didn't answer. He just held out the three pictures to her. She stared at the pictures. Darrin stood up and buckled his old gun belt around his waist. He pinned his Martinsville sheriff badge to his shirt. There was new ammunition that fit the old pistols in the desk. When the old colts were loaded, he secured them in their holsters and rubbed his hand across the badge as if it were a religious relic. Then he pulled the pictures out of Debbie's hands, kissed her cheek and said, "I'll be home for dinner."
Darrin was out the door before Debbie could say anything. He drove straight for the warehouse. His team was there waiting for him. They all looked at him like he was a circus clown when he got out of the car. "What are all of you doing here?"
"One of the pictures you matched were out of the binder," Harris said. "You matched it to two others. One of which is suppose to be a century old. Now you show up looking like something out of the wild west. We want to know what the fuck is going on."
Darrin handed the pictures to Harris. "Two of those where taken around 1880. I'm the one sitting next to the woman. The man standing in the back is Lane. He was my deputy. We were ambushed by horse thieves in 1883. I didn't think he survived. The computer matched him to one of our surveillance photos. He's John Wayne." Darrin spoke about the past freely. He didn't care if the believed him.
"That would make him almost two hundred years old." Harris said.
"Yep."
"And you would have to be two hundred years old too." Harris was having a hard time believing it.
"Oh, at least." Darrin said.
"This is bullshit."
"No," Darrin said. "It's revenge. Lane thinks I abandoned him. He's had more than a hundred years to plan this. That's why he leaves a black hat behind. They're replicas of his hat, the one in the picture. He's been trying to get me to recognize it. He went out of his way to kill cops so he knew I'd get a look at the hat. He killed Mulligan while we were staking out this warehouse and then didn't move. He stayed here because he knew I would figure out that he was here. He's waiting for me. He's been waiting for months for me to put all together."
"This is complete and total bullshit." Harris said.
Darrin took the pictures back. "All of you stay out here and catch anyone who tries to run. I'm going in for Lane"
Harris grabbed his arm. "Darrin, you know I can't let you go in there."
"My name is Bradley."
Bradley knocked on the steel door with the butt of his gun. The door opened and a shotgun stared Bradley in the face. Bradley handed the picture of him, Lane and Mary through the door. "Tell Lane that Bradley is here."
Bradley heard running inside. The shotgun stayed where it was. It only took a minute for the messenger to get back to the door. The shot pulled inside and the door opened. Bradley was led through a maze of crates to the center of the warehouse.
Lane was standing in the middle of a wide open space. He wore a tattered faded black hat and a long coat. Bradley could see the coat bulge at Lane's hip where his gun was hanging.
"Do you want to live forever?"
"That's not the same old hat, is it?" Bradley asked.
Lane smiled. "Of course it is. It's the only thing I have left to remind me of Martinsville."
"I thought you were dead." Bradley said.
"I knew you weren't. I tried to track you but I lost your trail in the rockies. How long were you up there, Bradley?"
"Half a century maybe. Why didn't you let me know you were alive before I rode out of that canyon?"
"I caught a shotgun blast in the jaw and another in the back of the neck when I was down. It was morning before I could move again. It was past noon before I had my voice back. It was the worst beating I've ever taken. Why didn't you follow me out the door?"
"I didn't want you to go out there. I didn't want you to die."
"You could have drawn half the fire and I could have killed them all." Anger was beginning to rise in Lane's voice.
Bradley scowled. "And what were you going to do when I was dead. Were you after my badge?"
"If you had gone through that door with me we could have gone back to Martinsville together. We would have been heros. We could have been more famous than Wyatt Eurp."
"I never wanted to be a hero." Bradley yelled.
Bradley pulled one of his pistols. Lane was drawing his own gun. The gunfight was fast. Lane put three of his six shots in Bradley's chest. Bradley put two in Lane's chest, tow in his head and one in his right knee. The shot to the knee made Lane fall. Bradley pulled his second pistol, walked over to Lane, and emptied all six round into Lanes head.
That's when the big gun fight started. Lane's people opened fire. There were eight other men in the warehouse. They were all shooting at Bradley. Bradley ran for cover in the maze of crates. The gun fight became a deadly game of cat and mouse. Bradley got shot twice more as he hunted down seven of the eight men. Bradley heard a clicking sound behind him and spun quickly. The eighth man had a LAWS rocket launcher on his shoulder.
"Say good bye lawman."
A gunshot rang out and the criminal fell to the ground. Bradley thought that his team had broken into the warehouse. Then he saw her. It was Debbie. She had his german lugar in her hand.
"Debbie, what are you doing here."
Tears were pouring out of her eyes. "I always wanted to believe it was you. Bradley, why didn't you come back to me?"
"Mary?"
"Yes, it's Mary."
Bradley threw his arms around her and squeezed with the might of a hundred lonely years. When he released her, he wiped the tears off her face and said, "Where do you want to go to buy your dress?"
She kissed him and held him as close as she could. Her embrace was broken by a scream from the center of the warehouse.
"BRRAAADLEEEY!!!"
Bradley picked up the LAWS rocket and went to face Lane again. Lane was on his feet. The skin was missing off the left half of his face. He had a Mach 10 machine pistol from one of the men that Bradley killed. He cocked it and aimed at Bradley.
"We're not finished, Bradley." Lanes voice was a vulgar gargle.
Mary stepped out from behind Bradley. "Hello again, Lane."
Lane lowered the gun and stared at her in bewilderment. His pause was all the time that Bradley needed. He lifted the rocket to his shoulder and fired. It hit Lane square in the chest. The explosion minced Lane and started many of the crates on fire. Bradley and Mary escaped the flames through the boat house door that Mary was able to sneak in through.
The fire leveled the warehouse. The police report showed officer Darrin Addler as a victim of the blaze. Drug related crimes in the area dropped ninety percent the next month. The hospital officially fired Debbie when she didn't show up for work for five straight days.
High in the rockie mountains, was an old cabin......