The Survivalist: Madness Rules Part 22

He b.u.mped the door with the back of the flashlight.

The sleeping man startled, jerked upright, and reached for his pistol.

"Don't," Mason warned, gripping his Supergrade.

The man stayed his hand. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, probably about the same age as Mason's father. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt covered in food stains. A b.u.t.ton-up shirt, cowboy hat, and a trench coat hung from the coat rack. A pair of black boots rested near the foot of the couch.

"What the h.e.l.l do you want?" he demanded. Before Mason could answer, he added, "Jeezus, that's a big dog."

"Are you Joe Ward?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "What if I am?"

"I've received a complaint about you and your sons."

Joe laughed as his hand continued toward the revolver resting in its holster.

"If you touch the weapon, I'll shoot you where you lie."

He slowly pulled his hand back.

Bowie advanced into the room, making a wide circle around the man.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you to come into my house-"

"I'm Deputy Marshal Mason Raines." Mason parted his blazer so that the man could see his badge.

"A US marshal?" The man eyed Mason warily. "Last time I checked, marshals have no business b.u.t.ting into a town's affairs."

"The complaint says that you've been using inhumane punishments."

"Is this some kind of joke?" he said, getting to his feet.

Bowie immediately moved toward him, growling.

Joe abruptly sat back down on the couch, pressing himself up against the back.

"If that dog bites me, sure as s.h.i.t, I'll kill it with my bare hands."

"I seriously doubt that."

Joe started to sweat as Bowie eyed him.

"We only did what needed to be done. You ain't got no call to be ha.s.slin' me like this."

"Did that include branding a young woman?"

Joe licked his lips. "Brandin's a reasonable form of punishment. People who are branded don't forget what they done wrong. Besides," he said with a toothy smile, "what man don't wanna brand a pretty lady? Come on, admit it. Cowboys like to mark their herd. It's only natural."

Mason weighed shooting Joe Ward right then and there. Certainly, there would be no loss to the world. But killing in cold blood was not his way. He would finish gathering the facts and then decide what punishment fit the crime.

"I'm guessing it's also true that you smashed a boy's foot with a sledgehammer."

"What can I say? We got tired of chasing him."

"And cutting out a man's tongue? Did you get tired of him talking?"

"You know as well as anyone we can't allow mouthing off to the law." Joe slid forward to the edge of the couch, and Bowie gave a deep warning growl. "I ain't gonna deny that my boys and I are holdin' this community accountable for their crimes. And maybe everyone don't agree with our ways, but what we do is effective. Ain't hardly n.o.body stealin', rapin', or murderin' no more."

Mason looked at the man and felt nothing but disgust. He was worse than a vigilante. He was a vigilante hiding behind a badge.

"I don't suppose you'd leave if I gave you and your boys an ultimatum to get out of town."

"Why the h.e.l.l should we?"

"That's what I figured."

"Let's cut to the chase, Marshal. You ain't about to shoot me lyin' here like this. So, you might as well get the h.e.l.l out." Joe Ward flopped back down on the couch, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. "Close the door on your way out, will ya, Marshal?"

Mason felt his temperature rising.

"Get on your feet."

Joe opened one eye. "Or what?"

Mason drew his Supergrade and shot him.

The bullet tore off Joe's big toe, and he leaped up, bellowing in pain.

Bowie immediately started to move in, but Mason waved him back.

"You son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h!" Joe shouted, hopping around on one foot. "You blew my d.a.m.n toe off." Dark pools of sweat were forming on his white shirt, and with every hop, blood smeared on the hardwood floor.

"You should count yourself lucky. I was tempted to shoot off something else."

Joe flopped back on the couch and held up his foot to get a better look.

Mason holstered his pistol. "I'm going to give you a chance to prove just how much people appreciate your particular brand of justice."

"How you gonna do that?" he whined, nearly crying from the pain.

"All I can tell you is that you're not going to like it."

Mason pressed Joe Ward up against a light pole in front of the Paramount.

"Wrap one leg around the pole."

"What?"

Mason pressed his boot against Joe's b.l.o.o.d.y toe.

"Agh! Stop! Please! Jeezus, stop!"

"Wrap one leg around the pole," he repeated.

Joe swung his right leg around the pole.

"Now cross the other one over the top and tuck it behind the pole."

He did as instructed.

"Now lower to the ground in a sitting position."

"What the h.e.l.l are you-"

Mason stepped on his toe again.

"s.h.i.t!" Joe shrieked, collapsing into a sitting position with one leg wrapped around the pole and the other tucked in behind him.

Mason put both hands on Joe's shoulders and pushed him all the way down to the ground.

"What the h.e.l.l is this contortion?" Joe asked, trying to shift around.

"It's called the grapevine. Uncomfortable to get into and nearly impossible to get out of without help."

"You're crazy, Marshal."

"I could have tied you to the pole, but you're hardly worth the rope."

Mason stepped back and inspected his handiwork. A few people could escape the leg lock, but not many. Within minutes, it would become quite painful, causing cramps to the man's legs. Joe would struggle like h.e.l.l to get free, but Mason was confident that he was far too heavy to pull himself up the pole. The injured toe would further ensure that he couldn't snake his foot out from underneath. In the end, he would surrender and lean against the pole, exhausted from the effort.

"What kind of monkey s.h.i.t is this?" growled Joe.

"This is you getting your just rewards."

"I'll kill you for this, Marshal. I swear to G.o.d I will."

"Maybe."

Joe jerked upward with all his strength, trying to lift his body up the pole. He barely moved, certainly not enough to untangle his legs. He flopped back down.

Mason turned to walk away.

"You can't just leave me here."

"Sure I can."

Joe glared at him. "I'll starve to death. Or worse, get eaten by dogs."

"If you're so loved by your flock, someone will come along and help you get free." Mason looked up and down the street. A few people were paying attention to what was happening, but none were coming in his direction. "On the other hand, they may decide to express their displeasure with your justice system. I'm going to leave your fate in the hands of your faithful subjects. Understand, however, that if you do get free, the next time I see you, I'll put you down like a lame horse."

Satisfied, Mason walked slowly back to his truck. Bowie stared at Joe for a few seconds trying to make sense of what game they were playing. When he couldn't figure it out, he hurried after his master. Mason opened the door to the truck and Bowie hopped in.

"I imagine Joe's boys will be along shortly," he said, scrubbing Bowie's neck. "And when they see dear old dad leg-tied to a pole, they're going to be none too pleased."

Bowie pressed up against him, laying his head against Mason's chest.

Mason had no illusion about the Wards surrendering to his authority. Three men against one would always choose to call rather than fold. It was going to come down to a gunfight.

He leaned down and kissed Bowie on the nose.

"A fight is coming, and we'd better get ready."

CHAPTER.

15.

By morning, Samantha was nearly back to her old self. Her fever was gone, and she had a hearty appet.i.te, eating a package of freeze-dried eggs and nearly a full sleeve of Ritz crackers. The miracle of penicillin had worked its magic once again.

"How far is it to Mount Weather?"

"Not far, maybe another hundred and fifty miles. You sure you feel well enough to travel?" Despite his lingering concerns over her health, Tanner felt the need to get out of the house. If the doctor had spilled the beans about Samantha, the Merchant might decide to make a play for her.

"Oh sure," she said, wiping her mouth on a small curtain next to the bed. "Let me brush my teeth, and I'll be ready to roll."

If they didn't encounter any kind of detour, Tanner estimated they could be to Mount Weather by lunchtime. Once there, Samantha would be taken from him. With her mother dead, he didn't know what would happen to her. The only thing he knew for certain was that she would be taken care of. Even if Samantha ended up at Crunchem Hall Elementary School under the care of Miss Trunchbull, she would be a lot safer than running around with an ex-con getting into G.o.d knows what kind of trouble.

"You said your dad had pa.s.sed, right?"

"Yes," she said, digging out her toothbrush. "He died from the pox."

"You got any aunts or uncles? Older brothers or sisters?"

She studied him, trying to figure out what he was up to.

"No," she said, drawing out the word. "My Aunt Alice died a few years ago from cancer, and my dad was an only child, just like me. Why?"