A Writer's Tale #3: The Sheriff's Showdown

Chapter 8: Never Taunt A Gunman

The group that gathered in the empty meeting hall early the next morning was considerably more dismal and beleaguered than the ones who had convened three nights ago. Many more bandages and crutches present, some faces missing (many bedridden, a few dead), and a lot more new faces besides, as the whole town turned out to either vent their frustrations at the Market Day catastrophe, or find out just what the Sheriff might do next. I even saw the Manor ladies--dressed much more modestly this time--sitting together in the back of the crowd.

Jerry Coldwell stood in front of the crowd, clinging to the podium as if it was the only thing keeping him upright, which it nearly was. He hadn't slept much the night before. I heard Shirley fussing after him long after I'd gone to bed, and even in the odd times when I popped awake in the middle of the night, I could still hear his boots tapping on the floorboards. This morning, his face was drawn and pale, and he wore a haggard expression.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Phantom Gulch," he said, and the crowd hushed up a lot faster than they had before. "It is with heavy heart that I must own to you that, far from having any outlaws locked up to face justice for their numerous crimes, we have in our jail today three people--citizens of Phantom Gulch, who arrived here originally for the express purpose of making this town their home..." He almost choked on the words. "Only to turn around and betray every single one of their neighbors in the very face of trouble." He paused to let the gravity of the situation sink in.

A hand raised, and I saw Abigail stand up when Jerry nodded to her.

"Sheriff," she mused, "while I know you're the one who must uphold the law, and the law says not to set fires to buildings, well!" she glanced around her. "I'm sure there are some of us who would agree that it was a very brave thing those ladies did, doing what they thought was best for the virtuous community of Phantom Gulch!"

Didn't that set people off!

"Virtuous, my ass!" shouted one of the Manor girls. "Those two steeple-jammers were nothing but a couple of judgmental traitors!"

The whole group dissolved into a shouting match. I watched from a chair just behind the podium, beside Shirley, as the room seemed to physically divide itself, with those in support of Tru and Pru gathering on one side of the room, and those against them on the other.

Jerry pulled out his gun and rapped the butt on the podium.

"Calm down now, everyone! Calm down and sit down!" he shouted over the confusion.

When the noise subsided, he beckoned to one of his few remaining posse, who brought up a canvas bag full of items. From that, he poured out a mound of red handkerchiefs onto the podium. Next to that, Jerry pulled out a cowbell--the cowbell, the one that was supposed to be the signal.

Suddenly everyone's attention zeroed in on these items.

Jerry shook his head. "Whether you agree with the actions taken by the sisters or not, I just wanted you to understand the impact of their choices. You see, when Miss Prudence sought to make an agreement with the outlaws--the ones who want to destroy Phantom Gulch for good--in order to do this thing which, as you say, she thought was best of Phantom Gulch, she gave them information in return." He placed a hand on the pile of rags. "Information we thought was going to be the key to outsmarting these wicked men. Information that should have--that would have--saved all these lives, possessions, homes, businesses..." he shook his head with a sigh. "And just like that, this cause that was so important to her, became more important than the people around her." He picked up the bell and shook it--but no sound came out. For a moment I was confused; Why would someone offer a busted cowbell for a signal? A moment later, I grasped the thought: The clapper had been removed. Someone had sabotaged our secure signaling system.