A Town Called Fury

Rafe smiled. “Yeah, I know. But it’s hardly movin’.”

Jason’s brows narrowed, and he cocked his head, recalling his conversation with Rafe and Abe a few days earlier. “You think—”

Rafe’s grin broadened. “Yeah, I do.”

Jason shook his head. “Well, that sonofabitch!”

“My feelings exactly. He did that to me, I’d raid his place, too! So, you comin’?”

“Not without Abe. He’s in charge once we leave town.”

“Well, let’s go find him!” Rafe stood up.

“Not till I check my prisoner.” Jason pushed back his chair, walked around his desk, and strode across the room. “Wake up, Davis!” he hollered. The man on the cot didn’t stir. Jason turned around to face Rafe. “All right. Let’s go find Abe.”

Abe turned out to be at the cafe, having a “late lunch”—which, in his case, meant a large serving of apple pie with extra cheese, coffee, and fritters—and once he polished off his meal, the three of them set off to get the horses. Jason had seen Abe at the funeral as well, but, again, hadn’t had a chance to speak with him. Once they were ready to ride south, he asked the questions that had been nagging at him.

“Abe?” he began, as the three men rode out the gates of Fury, heading south, “I don’t know if you’ve given any thought to staying on in town once you’re married, but—”

“Already wrote the marshal’s office ’bout that,” Abe said as he rolled himself a smoke. “Doubt he’ll gimme much of a fight over it. They been looking to have a man down here, full-time, for quite a spell.”

Jason grinned. “Well, you’d sure be welcome. Hell, you can share my office if you want!”

Abe nodded. “Thanks. I’ll think it over. Outside’a MacDonald, you ever have Apache troubles?” He finished building the quirlie and stuck it between his lips while he fished in his pocket for a match.

“Once, right after we got here and had maybe a quarter of the town built up, we had it in a big way,” Jason said, and went on to explain the Indian attack, and how they had at last driven off the Apache by building a moat filled with burning tar and grease around the town.

Abe nodded. “Yup. You told me about that. Heard tell about a couple other little skirmishes, too. But there ain’t been no big to-do’s since that one, have there?”

Jason shook his head, but Rafe couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I heard about that, too! I mean, clean over in California, I heard about it! Wish I’d been here to see it!”

Jason wished he had, too. Maybe they would have made Rafe the marshal, then. That would’ve kept them both out of trouble.

“So, you’re thinkin’ that MacDonald’s got the water dammed up so the Indians ain’t gettin’ any?”

That was about the size of it, and Abe had succeeded once again not only in hitting the nail on the head, but in abruptly changing the subject, as well. Jason nodded. “That’s about it.”

“Well, hell,” said Abe. “Who in tarnation figured that little puzzle out?”

Rafe said, “Wasn’t much of a puzzle. And I think you did, didn’t you?”

Jason’s brow furrowed. There were only three of them, and God knew how many Apache. He piped up, “You think we need more men?”

Matt MacDonald wasn’t expecting company. He was expecting simply that in about an hour or so, Cookie would send him up a plated dinner of beef stew and hot biscuits, and in anticipation, he’d already set the coffeepot on the stove to start perking.

So when he heard the hubbub outside, and one of the men yelling, “Riders! Riders coming in!” he was on his feet like a shot and out the door, scanning the southern horizon, looking for the cloud that would signal an Apache presence.

But there was nothing, no sign at all. And then he saw Curly, down by the barn, pointing to the north. The north?

He spun around, and then he saw them, too. Three riders, taking their time, were riding in from the direction of Fury. Three riders who he quickly realized, by the palomino ridden by one, were the so-called law.

Under his breath, he growled, “I didn’t send for you, Fury!” and then lifted his arm in a wave. If they were riding this way, they must have a damned good reason. He might as well act friendly, anyway: He wasn’t as big a dolt as most people thought.

And whose fault is that? asked a tiny voice in his head, which he promptly ignored.

The riders neared the ranch house, and now he could see that they were Jason and that Rafe person who’d been out here the other night, and that damned U.S. Marshal. The one who’d slugged him so hard that he was still nursing a loose tooth.

He made himself smile anyway.

But when the riders stopped their mounts before the house, they didn’t dismount. Instead, Jason said, “Afternoon, MacDonald. Wonder if we could have the use of six or eight of your hands.”

Matt’s smile disappeared. “What for? It’s almost suppertime.”

“I want ’em to ride on down the creek with us for a spell. I think you know why.”

Matt tried to look innocent. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Fury.”

“Figured you’d say as much.” He signaled to Rafe, who rode on down to the barn, toward Curly.