To Die In Glory

Five

Five“You gonna eat that piece of ham, or can I have it?”

Stella, sitting on the big man's knee, was eyeing his almost-finished dinner plate with the look of someone close to starvation. “If you must.”

Not waiting for a second prompt, Stella swept up the knife and fork and set about demolishing the ham with gusto. The big man laughed and crept his fingers up her spine. She giggled and spluttered, mouth full of food. “You'll give me indigestion.”

“That's not all I'm planning on giving you.”

She coughed and laughed but carried on eating, taking a scrap of bread to mop up the last of the grease on the plate. As she crammed it into her mouth, the swing doors opened and the second of the three strangers stood there, disdainfully. “Clifton, Shelby wants you outside right now. He's addressing the townsfolk.”

“Clifton?” Stella swivelled on his knee. “Is that your name?”

Nodding, he stood up and she almost toppled over. If she were angry, she didn't show it, choosing to cackle instead. She stood with her hands on her broad hips and c****d her head. “That's a nice name. You gonna be nice to me?”

He winked, taking up his gun belt from around the back of the chair and fastening it around his waist. Studying her with an appreciative look, he took in her full figure encased in white petticoat and red and black dress, the bodice open at the top to reveal her plump, milk white breasts. “I'm gonna be real nice.”

“Clifton, move your sorry ass!”

Grinning, Clifton went to step past her, but she moved in front of him, barring his way, and grabbed his crotch. Her eyes grew wide. “My, you are a prize worth having, Clifton.”

He leaned into her and kissed her full on the mouth, then eased her to one side and clumped across the saloon floor to the main entrance. He gave his companion a cold look. “Don't talk to me that way in front of others, Josh, or I'll kick your sorry ass all the way down the street.”

Josh paled, forced down a swallow and stepped to one side. He shot Stella a glance of absolute venom, which she returned with a kiss, blown to him from her palm. As the two men batted open the swing doors and went outside, she flopped down in her chair and licked her lips. Not for the first time, she wondered who would make the best lover and who, more to the point, would pay her the most. Pickings had been few in Glory for longer than she cared to remember, but perhaps things were about to pick up. She smiled at the prospect.

* * *

Glory's glory days were far behind it. Ten years or more before, the California gold rush took grip and prospectors moved through in their thousands as the town grew from a ramshackle collection of tents and shacks to what it now was. A main street, with two saloons, a hotel, haberdashery, merchant stores, livery stables, blacksmiths, even a milliners. There were two churches, both with healthy congregations. The town thrived and people liked it so much many of them stayed. When the gold petered out and rumours circulated of silver in the mountains close by, the town had something of a revival. But now, with the silver lode growing thin, people saw little reason to stay. Someone said that within a few years, the railroad would come, but no one really took that seriously. Why would anyone want to come here?

Taking his time, Shelby stood on a chuck-wagon, its canvas cover thrown back, allowing him a good view of the crowd gathering before him. He gripped his hat two-handed across his midriff, his hair slicked down with grease, his moustache neatly combed. With his dark long-tailed coat, grey waistcoat and dark grey pinstriped trousers, he looked for all the world like a preacher or politician of some sort. Every person in that gathering, however, knew this man was responsible for the death of Sheriff Forbes. The two ivory-handled Remingtons at his hip underlined the fact. This man was a killer, and a very adept one at that.

“I'm not here to eulogise or make false promises,” he began, his voice loud and confident above the murmuring of the people. They fell silent, as one, as he continued, “Nor am I here to apologise for what happened to your late, departed sheriff. I will not give the details, but he was not the man you believed him to be. His death was long overdue.”

“If that's so, why did you not send him to trial?”

A few turned to this new speaker, a small, rotund gentleman with a bowler set at a jaunty angle upon his head.

“I defended myself against him, sir. I had no option but to kill him.”

“And Tomms, Stockton? What about them?”

“Tomms was killed by the sheriff,” explained Shelby patiently, “and the other, whom I assume is this man called Stockton, was in cahoots with Forbes. He deserved the same fate.”

“So you set yourself as judge and jury?” The round gentleman cast his eyes around those close by, many of whom were nodding in agreement. “I think we should send for a Marshal to sort all of this out.”

Murmurings grew louder, voices now more confident, less frightened. The round gentleman seemed to be infusing them all with a newfound sense of courage.

“What is your name, sir?”

“Prentice Lomax. I am an alderman of this town and I own the Northern-Cross Livery stable, together with The Royal Queen saloon.”

“Then you are something of a town dignitary.”

“You might say that.”

“Then it is a wonder to me you are not mayor.”

Someone close to the back piped up at the mention of this, “Mr Howard is our mayor, sir. Unfortunately, he is ill at this present time, but we are all hoping for a swift recovery.”

“I see.” Shelby replaced his hat and stuck his thumbs in his belt, his eyes focusing on Lomax. “Well, Mr Lomax, here is my proposal for you. You can bring together a small council of the just and good of this town to meet with me in your own Royal Queen saloon, where I shall outline my plans for this here town. Everything will be explained there, to your satisfaction.”

“Why not tell us now?” said another. “Why call us all here if not to tell us what it is you are proposing?”

“Well, that was my intention, but I see I must go some way in convincing the good Mr Lomax here. So,” he clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Shall we say one o'clock. That should give you time to assemble a fair council.”

“I think you should tell us all what the hell is going on here,” cried out a man over to the right, the small woman at his side paling, looking up into his face in alarm.

Shelby sniggered, “Well, of course, friend.” He grinned. “We're taking over this here town, as from right now.”

With that, he jumped down and strode off to the saloon.