Bait
by D. Kirts Lewis
Edwin Allan put his .44 back in its holster and turned to his daughter. With no remorse in her heart, Gracie waited patiently as the man’s chest fell and his eyes rolled from brown to white. She picked up his pistol and carefully laid it on the edge of the shattered display case.
“I suppose I oughta go get Uncle Walt.” She kissed her father, hung the closed sign in the window and stepped out onto the boardwalk. Placing the key in the lock she looked up the street toward the bank and down the street toward the train station then caught her own image in the glass. She stepped back and thought about the first time she’d ever laid eyes on the San Pedro Mercantile just a little more than five years ago.
“What do you think, Gracie?”
“Well, Papa, I think it needs a good cleanin’.”
Edwin laughed as he pulled cobwebs from the corner of the recessed doorway. “Nothin’ a broom and a rag can’t handle.”
Gracie wiggled her nose and turned her attention to the rotting, water-stained wooden awning that hung just above the arched clerestory window. She focused on a rusty brown streak that stained the faded blue dentil molding as it made its way over the side window, past the broken sill, then through a crack in the boardwalk.
“Grit and a hammer is more like it, Papa.”
Edwin smiled as he pulled Gracie close and pointed to the broken glass that made up the top half of the door. “Now that’s a pretty picture if I ever did see one. Those two people staring back at us are gonna have a good life, startin’ right now.”
Gracie squinted at their reflection, wiggled her nose again and when that didn’t solve the problem she reached up with one finger and pushed her glasses into place.
“He was a bad man, wasn’t he Papa?”
Edwin turned his daughter to face him. “I dealt with a lot of bad men when I was a bounty hunter, Gracie, but he was the worst. It was pull the trigger or die. You understand that don’t you?”
Gracie smiled. “I’ve got the grit. You best know how to use a hammer. Let’s go inside and see what we got ourselves into.”
As Gracie retrieved the key from the lock she caught the reflection of Marshal Frye running toward her and her thoughts drifted to their first meeting and the years that had passed between then and now.
The bell rang and the pig-tailed teenager looked down from the ladder to see a gentleman of about forty years peering over the top of a stack of crates.
“We’re not open yet, sir, but if you can tell me what it is you’re lookin’ for I’ll see if I can find it.”
The fellow chuckled as he looked around at the multitude of crates and barrels. “I think I can wait until you’re open but I would like to speak to the owner.”
Gracie smiled. “That’d be me and my Papa. He’s in the back room. I’ll get him in case it’s somethin’ he needs to hear.”
Her father stepped out from the back room doorway. “Afternoon. I’m Edwin Allan and you’ve already meet my partner, Gracie. What can we do for you today, sir?”
“I’m . . . ” The man looked down, ran his hands across his chest, then chuckled and pulled his coat aside to reveal a silver star. “It’s a little chilly out today. I’m Marshal Frye. Just wanted to come by and welcome you to town and let you know I got that letter from Sheriff Statler from over in Sweetwater.”
“Hess is a good friend of mine. He thought you should know the reason behind us bein’ here.”
“I have a few questions, but I’ll save them for another time.”
“Gracie and I don’t have any secrets, Marshal. You can ask.”
Marshal Frye shook his head. “He had a bounty on his head for three years and nobody ever even got a look at him. How did you get close enough to shoot him?”
The girl looked down from the ladder. “Papa —”
Edwin put his hand up to stop her. “He came to me. I guess I must have gotten too close for comfort and he figured on takin’ me out to get rid of the threat. Gracie and I had just set down to supper. Needless to say, we didn’t eat until breakfast the next mornin’.”
Frye looked up at the girl, then back to Edwin. “She was there when you shot him?”
Edwin motioned for her to join him. “She was there.” He put his arm around her. “We’re dealin’ with it together.”
“I guess my only other question for now is can I call on you if I need to?”
“Like Hess’s letter said, I’m not a bounty hunter anymore, Marshal.” Edwin pulled his daughter closer. “It brings danger too close to home. This town is a new start for Gracie and me and I’d prefer that no one here knows me as anything other than the proprietor of the mercantile.”
“I can respect that. But if something comes along that I can’t handle I just want you to know that I will ask again.”
“I won’t just stand back and watch if I’m needed but I’ll make that distinction when it becomes necessary.”
“Carter had a couple of brothers, you know. They weren’t anything like him but you know how family can be.”
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted a little distance between us and Sweetwater. I’ll have some warnin’ if any of Carter’s family is headed this way.”
“Fair enough. I’ll let the two of you get back to work. Welcome to Benson.”
Edwin dried his face. “Well, Gracie, we open the doors tomorrow. Are you ready for our first day?”
“Put it on, Papa. And yes, I’m ready.” Edwin smiled as he took the gun belt she offered, wrapped it around his waist, buckled it, and tied the holster down.
“I’ll get the stew and the bread out of the oven while you set the table.”
“Check it first, Papa.”
Edwin drew the .44 and slowly spun the cylinder, checking each chamber. “We’re good.”
“I’d better wash up, too.” Gracie smiled. ”Marshal Frye will be here any minute.”
“Put them on, Gracie.”
She dried her face and accepted her glasses.
“You’ve got this place fixed up real nice.” Frye patted his belly. “You’re spoiling me, Gracie, Whatever you got cooking smells just as good if not better than last night.”
“It’s one of Papa’s favorites. Rabbit stew. We got a couple while we were out target shootin’.”
The marshal laughed. “I’m glad to hear you’ve got your Papa doing something besides banging nails. He doesn’t make you clean his guns for him does he?”
Edwin smiled. “She only has to clean what she dirties.”
“Well then, Gracie, I’ll help with the eating and then we’ll let your Papa clean his guns while me and you do the dishes. Sound fair?”
“Sounds fair to me.” She pushed her glasses into place and smiled.
The lawman pulled out a chair and grinned. “Are you going to wear that pistol at the table every night? Because I promise I’m not here to start any kind of trouble.”
Edwin laughed. “I’ve seen how much you can eat. I just wanna make sure I get my fair share.”
“I make Papa wear it at the table.” Gracie walked over and locked the door. “We’ve had unwanted visitors before, remember?”
Their guest smiled. “I suppose it’s not a bad idea at that.”
“That was some mighty fine stew, Gracie.” Frye sat back from the table. “You’ll have to give your papa a day off now and then so he can do something useful like hunting rabbit because I think he’ll just be getting in your way when you open up tomorrow.”
Gracie laughed. “You just want him helpin’ you is all. He’d just be takin’ up space at the jailhouse ‘cause I haven’t heard a single shot since we’ve been here. I’ll keep him around. Some of those crates are a little hard to move all by myself.”
“You two do know I’m sittin’ right here, don’t you?” Edwin grinned.
The marshal chuckled. “Yeah, Ed. We see you. We’re just having a hard time figuring out what you’re good for now that you stopped chasing varmints.”
“I’ve been spendin’ my luxury time tryin’ to figure out how to build a better rat trap. Seems to me if I can figure how to draw the varmints into the jailhouse, you can just turn the key and take the credit.”
“You might just have something there, Ed. We find out what kind of cheese they prefer and bait accordingly.”
Gracie pushed her glasses into place. “It would work, you know.”
“What would, Gracie?” Frye leaned back in his chair.
“Baitin’ the trap. Now I’m not suggestin’ you bait for murderers and such. Just for pests like that elusive chicken thief you’ve been tryin’ to catch.”
“You just might have something there, Gracie. What do you think, Ed?”
“I think if you can catch a few rats, the rest of ‘em will scatter. You just need to figure out a way then plant a rumor.”
Frye laughed. “Tell them where to find the best tasting chickens in Benson?”
“Exactly.” Gracie smiled. ”Now, Marshal, I believe you and me have some dishes to do.”
Edwin took over the table and started cleaning his pistol and rifle. He stopped a few times to listen to the conversation at the sink.
“Did you hear that, Ed?” Frye laughed. “I should be working on getting her to sign on and leaving you with the inventory and sales. She just laid out the whole plan for catching that chicken thief and the joker that keeps stealing laundry off the clothes lines around here.”
Ed chuckled. “Now, Walt, you just keep comin’ around a few nights a week for supper and to get some small-time-thief-catchin’ advice from Gracie and I’ll throw in with you on the big stuff if you ever find yourself in over your head. Only one of us at a time can use this pistol and I’d prefer that’d be me.”
“Are you offering me a deal there Ed?” Frye chuckled.
Ed shook his head and smiled. “Sorta sounded that way, now didn’t it?”
“Shake on it?”
Ed stood and shook Walt’s hand. “Done deal.”
Frye kept a firm grasp. “You were right, Gracie.”
“Gracie Allan! Did you set this up?”
“Just baited the trap is all.” Gracie smiled. “I know you miss enforcing the law. I’m almost fourteen now. If Marshal Frye needs help from time to time I want you to know that I’ve got your back. I can handle the mercantile for the most part and you know I can take care of myself if you’ve gotta be out at night.”
Ed hugged Gracie. “I do miss it, Gracie, but you and me are partners. I won’t take on anything without discussin’ it with you first.”
“That goes both ways, Papa. I promise.”
“I think I’ll escort Marshal Frye back to the jail so I can lay out a few rules for him.” Edwin kissed her on the top of her head. “You know what to do.”
“’Night, Uncle Walt.” Gracie smiled then headed to her room and prepared herself to be alone.
Her five-year-reverie was broken when Gracie heard the bell over the door ring. She pushed her glasses in place and smiled. “Afternoon, Marshal. You’ve got that look on your face. What is it you’re needin’ today — thief catchin’ advice or a gun hand?”
Frye chuckled. “Am I that obvious?”
Gracie laughed. “No more so than Papa when he’s holdin’ aces.”
“Then I might as well lay mine on the table.” He sighed.
“You sound kinda serious about this, Uncle Walt. Has somebody been hurt?”
“Not yet, but I don’t want it to come to that. Is your papa in the back room?”
“It’s almost time to lock up and supper is in the oven. You might just as well stay so you can discuss it with a full stomach. Papa is just cleanin’ up a bit. Head on in. I’ll be right behind you.”Gracie locked the door, grabbed the gun belt from behind the counter, and headed for their rooms in the back of the store. “Put it on, Papa.”
Edwin smiled, took the gun belt that Gracie offered, wrapped it around his waist, buckled it, and tied the holster down. “I’ll get the pot roast and the biscuits out of the oven while you wash up.”
Marshal Frye took his place at the table and watched the familiar routine.
“Check it first, Papa.”
Edwin drew the .44 and slowly spun the cylinder, checking each chamber. “We’re good.”
Gracie locked the back door, headed to the sink and washed her face and hands.
“Put them on, Gracie.” He held out her glasses.
Ed pushed his plate back and rubbed his head. “It just doesn’t make any sense, Walt. Anybody that knows a damn thing about this town knows there’s no money in the bank until the auction and anybody with any sense at all would rob the train long before it got within sight of town.”
“Well now, most of the people we’ve locked up over the past five years landed there because they didn’t have any sense. What I’m thinking is if we can figure out stupidity, maybe we can stop a hold-up before it happens and somebody gets hurt.”
Gracie stood to clear the table. “Are you sure you’re dealin’ with stupidity and not genius?”
“How’s that, Gracie?” Frye cocked his head.
“I’d bet my last dollar you’ve hit the boardwalk runnin’ south each and every time you heard the train whistle blow and north every time you’ve seen a stranger headin’ toward the bank.”
“Well, yes, I guess I have.”
“You’d do best to hit the boardwalk and take up a seat. Sit a spell and see if you can spot who might be watchin' you. Might just be someone havin’ a good time winnin’ bets at your expense or it could be someone tryin’ to learn your behavior. They’ll either have a good laugh or they’ll make a play on the opposite end of town. How’d you find out about this plan?”
Marshal Frye leaned back in his chair and reached into his pocket. “I got it right here. Delivered to the jailhouse this morning. Postmark says Benson.” He unfolded the picture postcard and handed it to Gracie
She wiggled her nose then reached up and pushed her glasses into place. The picture showed the Sweetwater train station. Gracie turned it over, stared at the familiar handwriting, shivered and dropped the card to the floor.
Edwin stood at his chair. “Are you all right, Gracie?”
She forced a smile then bent to retrieve the card. “Just a chill, Papa.”
“Let me have a look.” Edwin took the note from her hand. Between the train and the bank you have something I want. With furrowed brow, Edwin looked up at Gracie then back to the note.
Marshal Frye put his hands on his hips. “You both look a little rattled. You want to sit back down and talk about this?”
Edwin handed the card back to Frye, sat, eased back in his chair and smiled. “I’m sidin’ with Gracie on this one, Walt. I think you’ve got a prankster.”
Frye looked at the note and laughed. “Well, I think I’ll side with caution for a day or two and then I’ll side with Gracie and see if I can figure out who’s watching me.”
Edwin reached for Gracie’s hand, pulled her close and hugged her. “I’m gonna go send a telegram. Don’t want your Uncle Hess to worry about us. You know what to do. I’ll let you know it’s me when I come back.”
Gracie locked the door behind her father, walked to her bedroom and grabbed her Greener break-action double-barrelled 10 gauge that was propped against the wall beside her bed. She thumbed the lever, broke it open. Satisfied both primers were unscathed, she snapped it shut, pivoted a quarter turn, cradled the shotgun and rested her right arm on her hip while her finger caressed the front trigger. She pivoted another quarter turn and with her left foot forward, shotgun firmly against her right shoulder, she rested her cheek against the stock. With the thumb on her right hand she straightened her glasses, sighted down the barrel and smiled.
Relaxing her stance andturning the shotgun over her shoulder, she grabbed her journal and walked to the kitchen. She placed her notebook on her chair, laid the gun on the table and started washing the dishes. Once everything was in order she sat at the kitchen table and thumbed through her journal, stopping where the worn postcard marked the page she had written almost six years ago. She pulled the card from the book. Your father is very close to two people. Both by blood. One his blood. The other the blood of many. Of the two, whose blood will he carry on his hands for the rest of his life?
A knock on the door startled her. She put the postcard back in her journal, picked up the shotgun and put it to her shoulder. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Gracie.” Edwin came in, shut the door and locked it.
“What took you so long, Papa? I was startin’ to worry.”
“I had to find Sam, then convince him that sendin’ a telegram for me was more important than sharin’ a drink with a lovely lady.” Edwin laughed. “He was none too happy with me when he heard what I wanted it to say.”
Butch knocked on the open door of the jailhouse. “Sheriff Statler, I got a telegram here for you.”
“Well, bring it on in here, Butch.” Hess laughed. “I have no cause to lock you up today. Maybe later tonight . . . but not today.”
“Yes, sir, Sheriff.” Butch nervously handed him the message.
I have a riddle for you.
“Shit, Butch. When the hell did this come in?”
“Late last night, Sheriff.” Butch took the defensive. “Didn’t think I should wake you up for it.”
“Well, damn it Butch, who ever told you to think?”
“Just figured you was playin’ that riddle game with Gracie Allan.”
“What the hell do you know about that?”
“No need gettin’ all riled, Sheriff. I’m just sayin’ it puts me to mind of a few years back when Gracie was gettin’ them postcards with riddles on ‘em. Got ‘em for about three months before the incident.” Butch shook his head. “Still can’t believe Ed only winged ‘im.”
“It was dead or alive. Ed Allan never killed a man for money.”
“Gracie used to pick up the mail on her way home from school. If there was a postcard, chances were she’d post a response within a day or two. Is Ed and Gracie doin’ alright in Benson? That’s where the telegram is from.”
“Shit, Butch. Why the hell didn’t you tell me that?”
“Just figured you knew where they lived is all.”
“It’s not from Ed!”
Hess shoved Butch out the door and pointed him in the direction of the post office.
“You need me to post a letter for you, Sheriff?”
“I need to send a telegram!”
“George ain’t there.”
“Damn it, Butch! You know the clickin’ good enough to write them down! Don’t you think maybe you could send one?”
“I reckon I could — in an emergency.”
“That telegram was from Carter! Do you think just maybe we have an emergency here, Butch?”
Butch took off his hat and scratched his head. “I didn’t think they let ‘em send telegrams from prison.”
“They don’t! He must have broke and run! Problem is he ran straight for Ed Allan!”
Butch put his hat on and started running toward the post office. “Like everybody keeps sayin’, Ed shoulda killed him while he had the chance.”
Butch sat down in front of the telegraph machine just as it came to life. “They’re askin’ for a response so they can send a message.”
“Answer them!”
“All right. All right.” Butch handed a note pad to Hess. “Just write down what you want me to say. I’ll take this one then send yours out.” Butch started to write then stopped. “No need if you’re sendin’ that to Ed. It’s too late.”
“What the hell do you mean it’s too late!”
“Ed knows he’s there.”
“Well, what did it say?”
“Just says, ‘I know.’”
“All that tapping and that’s all it said!”
“With a long explanation of why we just now got it. Seems somebody over in New Mexico was sleepin’ on the job and—.”
Hess patted him on the back. “Good job, Butch.”
“Put it on, Papa.”
Edwin smiled as he took the gun belt that Gracie offered, wrapped it around his waist, buckled it, and tied the holster down. “I’ll finish the bacon while you get washed up for breakfast.”
“Check it first, Papa.”
The cylinder spun slowly as Edwin checked each chamber. “We’re good, Gracie.”
She nodded and pushed her glasses into place. “You know we have to bait the trap again?”
“You shouldn’t have set yourself up as the bait.”
“I had to or he wouldn’t have come.”
“Partners this time?”
She winked. “Partners.”
“So what are you thinkin’?”
“When the whistle blows, he’ll watch as Uncle Walt heads toward the station then he’ll make his move. That should be somewhere around two fifteen.” Gracie washed her face then dried it.
“Put them on.”
Gracie reached for her glasses, stopped. “Papa, you know the rat won’t go for the cheese if the cat is watchin’ the trap.”
“No Gracie. I’m not leavin’ you in the store alone.”
“It’ll just be for a minute, Papa.”
Ed sighed. “What’s your plan?”
Gracie Allan spent the better part of the morning helping customers, stocking shelves and getting ready for the one person she had hoped she’d never see again.
Edwin pointed to the clock. “It’s two o’clock, Gracie.”
Gracie pushed her glasses in place, looked at the clock and smiled. “I’m ready, Papa.”
At two twenty-three a distant train whistle sounded and she turned to her father. “Wait until Uncle Walt goes by.”
“I still don’t like this, Gracie.”
“It’s the only way to end it. He’ll never show his face with you here.”
“You should have told me the last time.”
“I know, Papa.” Gracie pointed. “There goes Uncle Walt. Go on now.”
“Damn it, Gracie. I don’t like it.”
“We gotta give him what he wants or he’ll take it out on someone else.”
“I’ll only be a minute or two.” Edwin went out of the door and down the street toward the barber shop.
Gracie turned to look at the clock. Two twenty-six. He should have been here by now. Reflective sunlight from the glass in the door moved across the wall and she turned to see Lee Carter standing just inside.
Carter chuckled as he came forward waving his pistol. “Well now, if it isn’t little Gracie Allan, all growed up and wearin’ her glasses today. You was wearin’ ‘em the other day when you was out shootin’ with that papa of yours and from what I seen you ain’t improved none in the last five years so them glasses ain’t doin’ you a damn bit a good ‘cept for helpin’ you to see who’s in control.
“I’m just guessin’ but I’d say the marshal ain’t near as good with riddles as you. Tickled me, watchin’ him run back and forth around town. Kinda surprised you ain’t in good enough with him so he’d a told you somethin’ ‘cause I think if he had, your papa wouldn’t be gettin’ a haircut with me somewheres in the neighborhood.” Carter sneered and took a step forward. “I’m gonna make the best of our short time alone.”
“I’m not alone, Carter.” She pulled the string she had tied to a nail behind the counter and the can at the other end of that string toppled off the shelf and hit the glass display case. Carter spun around, fired three shots in the direction of the crashing noise, then stared as glass and honey mingled together and dribbled from the shelf. He spun back around just as Edwin Allan ran through the back door and pulled back on the trigger on the Greener. Edwin paled with reminiscent regret at the blast of a shotgun and the aroma of spent gunpowder.
Gracie adjusted her glasses as Marshal Frye stepped up on the boardwalk. “Carter is dead, Uncle Walt.” She handed him the Greener and put her arm around his waist. “Walk with me to the undertaker’s and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“What about your papa?”
“He’ll handle the crowd that’s comin’ and keep them out of the store until we get it back in order.”
“What happened in there, Gracie?”
“I’ll start from the beginnin’, Uncle Walt.” Gracie took a deep breath. “My best friend, Beth Fox, started gettin’ postcards in the mail — riddles of sorts. She showed them to me and I’d help her with the answers. That went on for a couple of months before Beth and her mother were tortured and beaten to death. Beth was only twelve then. I forgot about the postcards for more than a year until I ran across one of them in a book Beth had loaned me. I figured out the riddle and mailed it back. I got a postcard about two weeks later with another riddle. Again I figured it out and mailed it back.
"This went on for about three months until I got one I couldn’t quite figure. I worked on it for a couple of days and finally I realized it was
referrin’ to Beth bein’ tortured. I knew then that the man who sent the cards was the man who murdered her. So I turned the tables on him and sent
a few riddles. It took him a while but he finally figured out I knew who he was and it was just a matter of time before Papa or the authorities
tracked him down. I had a trap set with me as the bait figurin’ Papa could take care of him and claim the bounty. Problem was I hadn’t gotten up the
nerve to tell Papa what I’d done. I was savin’ that for after supper.
"Papa had just finished washin’ up and I was washin’ my face when I heard a
stranger talkin’ to Papa in the kitchen. I reached for my glasses but my hand landed on Papa’s gun belt instead. The man told Papa he was gonna kill
us so I pulled the pistol and walked to the doorway. There were two figures but without my glasses I didn’t know who was who. Papa turned and all
he said was he’s on the right and that’s the direction I fired. I hit Carter in the left shoulder and bein’ a southpaw, he dropped his gun. Good
thing, ‘cause there was only one other chamber loaded and ready. Uncle Hess is the only other person that knows this.”
Gracie stopped outside the undertaker’s office. “Well, here we are.”
Frye and Gracie were halfway back to the mercantile when Frye stopped. “You mean the post card I got was from Carter?”
“Yes, Uncle Walt.”
“Why didn’t you say something, Gracie?”
“Carter wanted me. He didn’t care about gettin’ shot or the jail sentence. He didn’t like me bein’ smarter than him.”
“What did he mean about the train and the bank?”
“Me, Uncle Walt.” She pointed to the mercantile. “I’m between the train and the bank.”
“Back in Sweetwater, why not tell everybody that you were the one that shot him?”
“I knew Carter inside and out by then and so did Papa and Uncle Hess. We figured on killin’ two birds with one stone. We kept my name out of it so I wouldn’t have to deal with reporters or infuriatin’ Carter any more than he already was. We knew he’d never tell anyone it was me that outwitted him or shot him.”
“That’s one bird, Gracie. What’s the other one?”
“To get Papa free and clear of bounty huntin’. Once word got out that Edwin Allan had Lee Carter in his sights and did nothin’ but wing him the requests for help stopped comin’ in.”
“Don’t you think setting Carter up and bringing him down is going to open that up again?”
“Not a chance, Uncle Walt.”
“How are you so sure?”
Gracie put her arm in his and walked up onto the boardwalk right in front of Tim Williams, the local newspaper reporter. “What happened in there, Marshal? I hear Lee Carter was shot and killed. You know whoever got him is going to be famous.”
Still arm in arm, Gracie nudged the marshal to keep him from speaking, pointed to her Greener that Frye had in his right hand and smiled.
“It was Marshal Frye. He saved my life.”