Ride With the Devil Read Free Page B

over an anvil, the ringing of his hammer audible above all else.
    From the blacksmith’s, one side of the street contained a butcher shop, a general store, a bakery, six small houses, then a leather goods shop next door to an apothecary. A set of outside stairs climbed the left side of the drugstore to a small stoop that stuck out from the second floor. A painted hand on a sign, with a finger pointing up, read:
     
    CHARLES URBAN, M.D.
     
    The city marshal’s office and jail was next to the apothecary, then came the bank, a hardware store, and several houses, before that side of the street ended with the Episcopal church at the other end of town.
    On the north side of the street, proceeding from the blacksmith’s, there was a gunsmith, a newspaper office—the Salcedo Advocate —a café called Dumplings, then several houses, followed by a seamstress shop, the Ranchers’ Hotel, a stage depot, the Golden Calf saloon, several more houses, and a small one-room school.
    Citizens of the town stopped when they saw the body draped across Hawke’s saddle, then started following him. Staying on either side of the street, they gave him plenty of room but, out of curiosity, kept pace with him as he rode into the town.
    “Hey, he’s got Delaney,” someone said.
    “That’s Ed Delaney,” another said.
    “Delaney!”
    The hollow clopping sound of his horse’s hooves echoed back from the buildings. More people came out of those same buildings, and the crowd began to grow large.
    “Lookie there,” he heard someone say. “The rope is still around Delaney’s neck.”
    One of the crowd ventured much closer than the others, coming off the wooden sidewalk to step out into the street for a closer look at Delaney. Hawke stopped then and looked right at him.
    “Where’s the undertaker, mister?” he asked.
    For a moment the man was as startled as if Delaney himself had spoken to him. He stared at Hawke.
    “The undertaker?” Hawke asked again.
    “Uh, that would be Gene Welch,” the man replied, pointing. “His place is behind the hardware store, which is just up there, on the left. You can’t miss him.”
    “Thanks.”
    Hawke continued to ride down the street until he reached the building the man had pointed out. The sign out front read:
    SIKES’ HARDWARE:
    NAILS, LUMBER, TOOLS
     
    Underneath was a smaller sign:
     
    GENE WELCH, UNDERTAKER
    IN BACK
     
    Hawke didn’t have to go around back, though. A man wearing a long black coat and a high silk hat was standing on the porch of the hardware store. Obviously, word had already reached him that someone was coming into town with a body.
    “You’d be the undertaker? Hawke asked.
    The man nodded, but said nothing.
    “I have a job for you,” Hawke said. He gave Delaney a little push, and the body fell off the horse. When it hit the ground, the crowd, now close to one hundred people, gasped in unison. Many jumped back, as if they expected the body to explode.
    “Whoa, Delaney’s getting’ a little ripe,” someone said, and a few others giggled nervously.
    “Mister, did you cut that body down?” the undertaker asked.
    “I did,” Hawke said.
    “We, uh, weren’t supposed to cut it down.”
    “You didn’t cut it down. I did,” Hawke said. “Now, are you going to give him a decent burial, or do I have to bury him myself?”
    “What’s he to you, mister?” one of the men in the crowd asked. He had a shock of unruly hair, a red, pockmarked face, and buck teeth.
    “He’s a man that needs burying,” Hawke said.
    “You read the sign, didn’t you? If you don’t want to answer to the Salcedo Regulators Brigade, you’ll take himback and put him where you found him,” the bucktoothed man said.
    “No need for that, Vox,” another man in the crowd said. “I think the point has been made.”
    “All right, Colonel. If you say so,” Vox replied.
    “Mr. Welch,” the one Vox had called colonel said. “You may bury Mr. Delaney now. I’ll pay the