Gunlaw

Gunlaw 6

Jenna watched the gunslinger set off along the dirt road to Ansos town, his stride long and easy, no hint of tension in his arms. He didn't look like a man ready to be shot. She guessed he'd left his horse at the Hanging Tree. The Tree always had a crowd of free-fighters at the bar. Mikeos' sort of place. There wasn't much of that boy from the Five-oh-Seven left to see in him. He'd left that innocence behind somewhere in fifteen years on the move, hopping trains, killing under the gun-law, building a reputation that was slanting toward legend.

The pillar's shadow followed the road all the way into town. The Old Ones hadn't left much, but what they left cast long shadows.

Jenna had decided to come to Ansos on the day her brother died. They had buried Kyle that same afternoon, there had been no arrangements to make, no coffin to prepare.

"Best get it done, girl. Cain't let him lie on a day like this." Sheriff Marks wiped his brow with a gray rag from around his throat. Jenna still remembered the redness of his neck and the white bristles of stubble poking through the skin. "They'll box him up at Gunders'."

The heat that sat across the Oh-Seven had been heavy and brutal. The alley stank. Kyle had died in the place where they had met Sykes – the exact spot. He returned to it in his sickness, eyes wide and stark in his head, lips dark.

"I got no money, nothing for a burial," Jenna said. She should have called him 'Sir'. Sheriff Marks would have liked that. But the word wouldn't fit in her mouth.

"There's places you can get some, girl." And the sheriff had turned to go. "Get it done," he called over his shoulder. "There's a dollar fine iffn I find you left him for the corpsers."

Jenna watched him leave. She knew the kind of work Marks had in mind. The kind Kitty's girls did upstairs at the Bullet and Rye. Work you could do on your back.

As Marks vanished into Main Street a shaggy figure slipped past him into the alley. Jenna stood her ground, with Kyle curled on the dirt behind her.

"That you, Hemar?" She thought she recognized the dogman, but he looked too steady on his feet for Hemar.

"Yessum."

"I ain't got nothing for you, Hemar." Steady meant sober, and a sober Hemar was a dogman scenting out his next drink.

"Came to pay my respects, missy."

Hemar came into the light, red eyed, panting against the heat. He looked down at Kyle. A whine escaped him, over the lolling tongue, past yellowed fangs. It rose to a muted howl of misery.

"Ain't but a pup," Hemar said.

"I got nothing for you, Hemar." Jenna held her hands out. "Not a drop of whiskey. Nothing."

Hemar ignored her. "Where's them kids you run with?" He sniffed the air, seemingly immune to the stench.

"Cleared out," Jenna said. An anger she hadn't known was in her found its way into her voice. "They think Skyes Bannon is gonna come and take Kyle."

"That ain't no pack." Hemar shook his head.

Jenna shrugged.

"Is Bannon coming for him?" Hemar asked.

"Maybe."

"You should run too then," he said.

"No." Jenna remembered the terror the corpser carried with him, but she knew she wouldn't run.

Hemar grinned, all teeth and slobber.

"I got nothing for you, Hemar." The dog man smelled bad, fur matted with piss and old whiskey. She wanted him gone.