Hellfire by Jeff Provine Page A

Oh, though I do worry about them.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “We’re a sinful nation in dire need of revival. Every day the papers are filled with more fights and rapes and theft and shootings. Worse of all, we go on our days without doing a thing about it! All in pursuit of our material pleasures!”
    Blake shrugged. “I never thought of it being so bad.”
    “Precisely! It’s not so bad!” Mrs. Kemp paused to throw up her hands into the air. “If things were worse, we’d see the errors of our ways. Instead, we see them as so good with our machines and—”
    Ann returned to the room with a wiry man in a black long coat and black hat. A long, thin mustache draped around his lips.
    “Ticks!” Blake burst out. He dropped his hat to the floor.
    The marshal raised a sharp eyebrow. “Sheriff Blake, what a surprise to see you here.”
    Mrs. Kemp looked from one to the next. “You know one another?”
    Before Blake could speak, Ticks took several steps forward. His boots banged on the floorboards. “Indeed we do, ma’am. I’m sure Sheriff Blake has already introduced himself, but allow me. I am Railroad Marshal William Ticks.”
    “From the Rail Agency?” Mrs. Kemp asked.
    “Indeed I am.”
    “Did you find Mr. Jones?” Ann asked from beside the fire.
    Ticks took off his black hat slowly. “Oh, we did, and it was a sad affair. His body had been chopped to pieces by a violent act before being thrown overboard the train.”
    Ann gasped. She clamped her hands over her mouth and closed her eyes, squeezing out tears.
    Blake frowned deeply. “Ticks…”
    “Oh, I must finish,” Ticks said. He reached into the deep pocket of his black coat and pulled out a letter. He held it out to Mrs. Kemp in a gloved hand.
    “What is it?” she asked as she took it.
    “I’m afraid it is a letter of regret from the Rail Agency,” Ticks told her. He cleared his throat.
    Blake blinked. Did he just smile?
    Before he could answer himself, Ticks said flatly, “Your son has died.”
    Ann screamed. She ran stomping into the back rooms.
    Blake heard springs screech. She must have thrown herself down onto a bed. He stood up. “Marshal Ticks, I think you and I should step…”
    Ticks held up a hand to stop him. “In a moment, Sheriff. It is my duty to deliver this terrible news.” The marshal flashed him a smirk.
    Blake’s jaw fell open. He clamped it shut and ground his teeth.
    Mrs. Kemp sat with twin streams of tears rolling gently down her round cheeks. She held the paper in front of her, but her eyes seemed dead. “H-how did this happen? The sheriff said that Nathan was all right… just a little cut…”
    “We secured a confession from your son about his murder of the train’s engineer before driving it off the rail to cover his action,” Ticks explained. “As we were transporting him, he began a struggle that resulted in him breaking free from our agents while aboard our airship. He fell…”
    Mrs. Kemp crushed the paper in her hand and pressed it to her quivering lips.
    Blake watched her for a moment and then turned to Ticks. The marshal’s face twitched into a brief smirk again.
    Blake squeezed his hand into a fist and raised to bury it into Tick’s nose so deep he’d never breathe again. As he raised it, he stopped. This was the Kemps’ home. He couldn’t do that here.
    “Marshal Ticks, I need to speak to you outside,” Blake said. He was surprised at how icy his voice was.
    Ticks turned to him. “You’re outside of your jurisdiction, Sheriff. You should go home.”
    “I…” Blake stopped. It was a federal crime to assault a rail agent. Still, he some time in the state penitentiary might be worth putting Ticks in his place. Blake took a step toward the marshal, and then he paused.
    There was something bigger happening. The Rail Agency had all morning to deliver the letter to Mrs. Kemp, but Ticks had appeared only a few minutes after Blake.
    “Did you know I would be here?” he asked.
    “I didn’t,”