WESTERN---Part 1 (A work in progress)

         The train braked, wheels screeching loudly. It drew alongside the Grant City depot. David Diamond stepped down from the leading passenger car onto the platform, a Henry rifle held firmly in his right hand. He paused, and his dark blue eyes scanned the scene.

         "Morning, Marshall," Diamond greeted the stocky man leaning against a post, a silver badge on his vest proclaiming his occupation. "I'll need to talk to you as soon as I get my horses unloaded."

         Diamond walked quickly to the box car hooked behind the locomotive, arriving almost at the very moment the brakeman pulled open the sliding door. Quickly entering the car first, the brakeman backed out even more quickly when the both the chestnut and the buckskin kicked and snorted their mutual displeasure at being cooped up in a noisy, moving rail car.

         "Easy, big boys," Diamond cooed, stepping past the cowering railroader and into the stock car. He assured his mounts that everything was all right. It was not their first train ride, and they displayed none of the blind panic they had felt on that first trip. Still, the two geldings were not happy about traveling in a manner other than on their own four feet. Hearing Diamond's calming voice, they quickly quieted and allowed themselves to be led from the train and saddled, with the pack frame going on the chestnut and the buckskin being rigged to ride.

         The train sounded its whistle and began pulling away from the station. Diamond hitched the horses at a water trough and walked back onto the platform to find the marshal. He looked around, but the man was gone. "Well, I'll be..." he muttered.

         "What's that, mister?" Diamond turned to face a short, rotund man with thick spectacles, a dusty suit, and a fistful of papers. "I'm Joshua Langsdon, the stationmaster. Were you needing something?"

         "I needed to talk to the marshal," Diamond said, "but he seems to have disappeared."

         "Well, yes, I suppose he has," Langsdon chuckled. "Marshal Trucks meets the morning train, then he usually heads for his ranch, out west of town, until it's time to come in and meet the afternoon train. Lately, it seems like he's gotten a whole lot more interested in ranching than in marshaling. He probably won't be back in town until close onto three o'clock, unless half the town burns down. City council'd be mighty upset, if he didn't show up for something like that. Yessir, mighty upset."

         "Well, if the marshal's gone," Diamond asked, his irritation not escaping his voice, "does he have an office? And maybe some working deputies?"

         "An office, yessir," Langsdon agreed. "But there won't be any deputies on duty until about dark. That would be Simms and Hammond, tonight, by my reckoning. They'll both show up at the city jail shortly after dinner, and will both be working until around about dawn. That's the way the marshal runs it. He supposedly works the daytime, and his deputies work the nights, when he says trouble is most likely to happen."

         "I'm not really that interested in how the marshal does his job," Diamond began...

         "Pretty shabby," Langsdon interrupted. "Pretty damn shabby, if you ask me. And there won't be anybody else over to the city jail except old Jess Carter, the jailer. Jess might be able to help you if your problem was a stray dog or visiting someone in jail, but, other than that, I really doubt that old Jess could help you."

         "What I want to know," Diamond began again, shaking his head and telling himself to be calm, "is if there's any law officer in this town that I can talk to?"

         "Well, sure, mister!" Langsdon laughed. "Grant City's the county seat, and we've got us a real good county sheriff. Yessir, a real good sheriff."

         "How do I find this sheriff?" Diamond asked. "And does he have a name?"

         "Sheriff's name is Roscoe James, and his office is over at the county jail, just across the street from the court house," Langsdon proclaimed, pointing up the street that ran north from the depot. "Court house is that big, gray stone building sitting in the middle of a bunch of runty-looking trees," he said with another chortle. "Probably be kind of impressive looking, comes the time those trees get all grown up."



         Diamond gathered his horses and slipped his rifle into its scabbard. He took a good look around, noting that the south side of town, across the tracks, featured a gaudy collection of saloons, dance halls, and gambling houses. It looked like some form of civilized propriety had come to Grant City, even if temperance and chastity had not.

         He swung up into the buckskin's saddle and rode down Main Street toward the county jail, noting the many varied businesses lining the broad but dusty avenue. Three general stores and two more "emporiums," along with two dry goods stores. A hardware store with smithy attached, sitting right across the street from a tinsmith's shop. A grocery, a meat market, two bakeries, and a candy shop. A tobacco store; a drugs and patent medicines store; a books and stationery shop; a gunsmith's establishment; a tack, saddle, and harness shop; a shoes and boots store; three dress shops and a millinery; two barber shops--- one advertising hot baths; a haberdashery; a jewelry store. It looked like Grant city had just about everything a growing city should have, including overhead offices with windows painted to advertise at least a half dozen lawyers, a couple of doctors, a "painless" dentist, and a photographic gallery. There were also two hotels with restaurants, three other cafes, two banks, two newspapers, an opera house, a Chinese laundry, and a pawn shop. Yes, it looked like Grant City had just about everything a modern city needed.

         At the north end of the three block long business strip sat the county jail, a brightly new redbrick building facing the equally new gray granite court house sited directly across Main street. Diamond nodded his agreement with Langsdon's assessment that the court house probably would look impressive once the puny oak and maple trees on the lawn matured. He hitched his horses, dug into one of the panniers on the chestnut, and slipped a feedbag onto each horse's head, giving each a handful of oats and corn as a reward for enduring the train ride.

          The horses taken care of, he gave himself a quick going over. He brushed the dust and ashes of travel from his clothes and boots, then ran his fingers through the hair that he felt was in need of barbering. He checked that the thong still secured the Colt .44 in the cross-draw holster on his left hip. Hat in hand, he stepped up to the jailhouse door.



         Diamond entered the jail and crossed the open room to a desk. Seated at the desk was a man who, even sitting down, looked to be impressively tall and carrying a good deal of bulk on his height. "Sheriff James?" he asked.

         "That would be me," a deep basso voice answered from behind him. Diamond turned and faced a man who was the physical opposite of both his own voice and the man sitting at the desk. The sheriff was several inches short of Diamond's five foot eight inch height and slightly built, although he gave off an impression of wiry strength. A full, bushy mustache seemed to be an attempt to compensate for his almost total baldness. Other than that mustache, he had only a sparse, dark brown fringe along the sides and around the back of his head..

         Resisting the sudden urge to run his fingers through his own head of thick, curly, black hair, he introduced himself, offering his hand, "I'm David Diamond, Sheriff,"

         The sheriff paused in reaching for Diamond's hand. "The bounty hunter?" he asked warily, cold gray eyes boring into Diamond, as if to read his soul.

         "No Sheriff," Diamond stated firmly, "I am not a bounty hunter." He explained, "I took the bounties on Earl Coleman and Curt Keane, but I wasn't after them for the money. I'm chasing after the whole Coleman gang, and I plan on keeping after them until they are taken out of the game, or I am." He paused and drew a breath before continuing, lest his voice break as he said, "My wife and son were two of the people they killed, when they robbed the St.Martins' bank and then shot up the town a year and a half ago."

         "Yeah, I guess I did hear about that, Mister Diamond," the sheriff said, now offering his hand. "Sorry for coming off all gruff like that. What can I do for you?"

         "It's more what I can do for you," Diamond said. "I wanted to tell the marshal, but he didn't stick around to hear what I had to say. Best as I can tell, the Coleman gang is coming to Grant City."

         "You sure about that, Mister Diamond?" The sheriff's voice showed concern, but not tension or excitement.

         "Do I know of an absolute certainty? There, Sheriff, you ask a question only time can tell. I would have to answer, no, Sheriff, I do not," he admitted. "According to the marshal over at Spencerton, four men who looked a lot like Luke and Will Coleman, Frank O'Donnell, and Tyler Smith rode out of there late yesterday morning, traveling in this direction. There might be some other place they were going, but, then too, it might not have been the Colemans, and even if it was, they might be headed some other place, but it seems to me that, even with all of those ifs, ands, and buts, that Grant City would be their most likely destination."

         "Yeah," the sheriff said, sitting down and indicating that Diamond should also take a seat, "that is awful iffy, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. You say they left Spencerton yesterday morning?"

         "Late, the marshal said; probably a whole lot closer to noon than dawn," Diamond said. "Those fellows aren't much for early rising. Since, as far as they know, nobody is hot on their tails, they probably stopped early, then got another late start this morning. Even so, I calculate they should be here in Grant City no later than early this afternoon, if it is, in fact, the Coleman gang."

         "Yeah, if it is them," Sheriff James agreed. Then he gave Diamond a questioning look. "And you got here ahead of them?"

         "Yes, sir," Diamond said, "I stayed the night in Spencerton and caught the early morning train, hoping that it would get me here ahead of the Colemans."

         "Maybe you did," the sheriff said. "Nobody's tried to rob the banks so far today." He took a scatter gun from the gun rack behind the desk. "Get yourself armed, Thompson," he told the deputy, who stood up and showed himself to be considerably more than a head taller than the sheriff, as he reached over the shorter man and grabbed a Spencer rifle.

         "How we gonna go 'bout this,Roscoe?" Thompson asked in a voice as rumblingly deep as the sheriff's.

         The sheriff scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "I figure we'll mosey over to Lou Ann's Cafe and have us some coffee. Hers is a damn sight better than yours, and, if we sit at a table by the front window, we'll have a good view of both banks." Looking at Diamond, he explained, "They're both on the east side of Main Street, Grant City Bank is half a block north and Tilton and Jamieson's Bank is half a block south. 'Course if they go after one of the other banks, we'll be in the wrong place," he added as he walked to the door.

         "Other banks?" Diamond asked as he followed the sheriff out to the street.

         "Prob'ly not much chance of that," Thompson chuckled.

         Diamond slipped his Henry out of its scabbard and followed the two lawmen who were walking rapidly down the street. "No, not much chance," Sheriff James said. "There's a darkie lawyer name of Jefferson Tanner has a bank across the creek, over in Darktown, which really is a part of Grant City, even if there's some folks wish it weren't. And a Chinaman who goes by the name of Benjamin Franklin Woo has a small bank for his fellow Celestials in the so-called Chinese social club he owns. That's over in Darktown, too. I doubt that Luke Coleman and his gang would be going after either of those."



         As the three men entered the cafe, the sheriff called out, "We need three hot coffees and some bear tracks, if you got any left, Honey!" Two men sitting at the counter turned and glared until seeing James' and Thompson's badges.

         "Just hold your horses, Roscoe," came a reply from the kitchen just before a tall, blonde woman came out, carrying a big, blue enameled coffee pot.

         Diamond stopped, halfway between standing and sitting. "Hello, there," he greeted the woman with his warmest smile. His eyes quickly gave her more than a casual examination. She was as tall as he was; sturdily built, but not fat; and as pretty as any woman he had seen in quite some while.

         "That's my sister you're starin' at, Diamond," Thompson said with an underlying chuckle to his words. "Not to mention her being Roscoe's wife. Lou Ann, this here's Dave Diamond. He's come to town to warn us that the Coleman gang may be heading this way."

         "I suppose," she said, frowning and shaking her head as she set a plate of doughnuts on the table and poured three cups of coffee, "that that means you three are going looking for trouble."

         "Not looking for it," James said, "but being ready if it comes our way."

         "Your wife?" Diamond asked James.

         "What?" the sheriff laughed. "You didn't think a runt like me could get a real woman?"

         "Nothing of the kind, Sheriff," Diamond answered. "I rather thought you might be too ugly a man to get any woman."

         Thompson snorted his coffee all over the table, trying to laugh and keep from choking at the same time. James stared at Diamond for a moment, then loosed a thunderous belly laugh. "I know we just met, but somehow, I never would have expected something like that from you, Diamond," he said, continuing to laugh. "And it not only sounded like something a crazy Irishman would say, but you sounded like an Irishman when you said it."

         "That would possibly be," Diamond said as he picked up a sugar covered doughnut from the plate that had miraculously escaped Thompson's spewed coffee, "because I was born and reared in the city of Dublin, in the amazingly beautiful, but wretchedly poor isle commonly known as Ireland."

         "How is it that an Irishman has a name like Diamond?" the sheriff asked.

         "Ah, 'tis a long story, how the Diamonds removed themselves to Ireland some few years before Ferdinand and Isabella banished the Jews from Spain, but it will have to wait until another time," Diamond said, dropping his somewhat exaggerated brogue, "because that's the Coleman gang just now getting off their horses in front of the--- what did you say?--- the Tillman and Jameson Bank."

         "Tilton and Jamieson..." James said as he stood up, checking his shotgun as he moved toward the door, "not that it matters." Rifles in hand, Diamond and Thompson followed him out to the street.



         Three of the men, whom Diamond recognized as the Coleman brothers--- Luke and Will--- and Frank O'Donnell were already entering the bank, while Tyler Smith held their horses' reins and nervously looked up and down the street. His eyes stopped suddenly on Diamond. As recognition sank in, his right hand moved quickly to draw his pistol.

         Diamond was quicker, and his Henry boomed.

         Smith spun and fell, dropping the reins and his weapon.

         People screamed and ran for cover.

         The bandits' horses trotted away from the noise and the smell of blood.

         The bank doors flew open, and Frank O'Donnell stepped out, a six-gun in each fist. He waved the guns this way and that as he searched for a target. Sheriff Roscoe James' shotgun barked, and O'Donnell went flying backward. His guns fell to the ground as he fell back against the wall of the bank, bleeding for a dozen places or more.

         A shot rang out inside the bank, and the front window blew out. Diamond felt like his left leg had been kick out from under him and fell to the street. He held onto his rifle and rolled behind a water trough. He pointed the Henry at the door of the bank just as Will Coleman ran out, firing a pistol wildly. Diamond braced himself and fired, and Will Coleman joined Frank O'Donnell, lying against the bank wall, bleeding. Unlike O'Donnell. he was still armed, and when he raised his gun to shoot again, another shot from Diamond's Henry rifle put him down with finality.

         Only Luke Coleman, the leader of the gang, remained. Then he was there, standing in the bank entrance, holding a young woman in front of him, his pistol pointed at her head. "I'm comin' out!" he shouted. "And you're gonna let me go, or I kill this gal!"

         "The only place you're going," Sheriff James said loudly and clearly, from somewhere to Diamond's left, "is to jail or to Hell."

         Coleman's gun swung away from the girl and toward the sheriff's voice. A shot rang out and Coleman's head seemed to explode. Before his dead body fell away from the girl and hit the ground, Thompson stood up, the barrel of his Spencer still smoking. He had moved to the right, leaving him a clear shot when the sheriff distracted Coleman. "I think that takes care of business," he said.

         Diamond started to stand up, but intense pain in his left leg made him check himself for damage. He found that he was bleeding steadily from an apparent bullet hole in his calf. "I do believe I have been shot," he informed James and Thompson.

         "Doc Jacobs," Thompson said loudly, looking up at the second story window of the bank, "you can stop looking around to see what's going on down here from up there and haul your butt done here, 'cause Diamond's been shot." He started to walk toward the bodies, stopped, looked up, and added, "Not to mention a bunch of bank robbin' desperadoes."