down. He scanned the crowd, brightening when he spotted his grand parents.
“There’s your grandson, Cap,” someone called.
Racing toward the older couple, the child embraced Sylvia Kincaid. The three then set off for a nearby wagon, oblivious to the townsfolk waiting for Mercer. Cap’s red hat bobbed in the crowd as he lugged the boy’s bag.
Eyes shifted back to the front of the coach. Ragan stood on tiptoes, searching the crowd.
Becca pressed closer. “Do you see him?”
“No. I don’t think he came.” A sick numbness ran through her.
Disappointment spread through the onlookers. The music died away.
“Didn’t come? We wired a deposit—he’d better come!”
“Maybe he missed the stage. Maybe he’s on the next one.”
Tempers flared to match the temperature.
“Of all things! The whole town’s out to welcome him, and he doesn’t show up. What does that say for his credibility?” Minnie Rayles blustered. “Carl? What’s going on here?”
“Don’t go gettin’ yourself worked up, Minnie. Give the man time.”
Johnny focused on the small-statured, bespectacled figure threading his way toward Alvin Lutz and Carl Rayles. Mercer? He’d read stories about the gunslinger, but none ever gave a description that he could recall. He watched the man exchange a few words with the sheriff. Shock registered on Alvin’s face. He stepped back, cupping his hand to his ear.
A moment later, “ You’re Mercer?”
Johnny winced at the sheriff’s incredulous tone. Because of his deafness he always spoke loudly, and his voice carried well through the crowd.
Heads swiveled. Jaws went slack.
“ That’s Mercer!”
“That can’t be the shootist. That man couldn’t fight his way out of a wet periodical!”
“It’s him, all right. Look at Carl. He looks fit to be tied.”
Johnny saw the man’s steely stare. It was Mercer all right. The town just didn’t care to believe it.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Minnie turned away in disgust.
“Now, Minnie,” Muriel Davidson was overheard trying to pacify her. “Warren always says it’s not a person’s size—”
“I don’t care what Warren always says. Look at him. He can’t fight these gangs. He’s no bigger than a termite.”
“Send him back, Mayor,” Mazilea yelled. Mayor Rayles held up his hand and demanded silence. When the clamor died enough for people to hear, he lifted his voice above the confusion. “Folks, er…now, calm down. It seems there’s been a mistake—Warren! Stop playing that blessed tuba!”
Tuba strains died away.
“Is that Mercer?” someone in the crowd shouted.
“Er…yes. Now, let’s not jump to conclusions…”
The crowd pushed forward. Mayor Rayles and Sheriff Lutz were forced to step back or be trampled.
“We want our money back!”
“Oh, my.” Ragan pressed her hanky to her forehead. “This is just awful.”
Judge McMann stood and tried to peer over the frenzied gathering. “They should at least talk to the man. Why, this is a disgrace.”
Johnny parted his way through the crowd, moving toward the gunman. Granted, Mercer didn’t look as if he could whip cream, but looks were deceiving.
“Send him back!”
Johnny couldn’t believe his ears. In their midst was one of the deadliest guns in the West, and they were complaining because he wasn’t as big as they had imagined he would be?
He reached Mercer as the crowd formed a ring around the mayor, calling for his removal. By now Mercer stood to the side, stiffly watching the exhibition.
“Lars Mercer?”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed, his hand dropping to his holster concealed beneath a dark blue suit coat. “Who wants to know?”
Johnny extended his hand. “John McAllister.”
Mercer ignored the gesture, refusing to shake. “What’s going on here?”
Johnny studied the crowd. He wasn’t about to apologize for others’ bad manners. Then he saw Ragan, and his thoughts tempered. This was her town, and it was a troubled town. “They’re
“There’s your grandson, Cap,” someone called.
Racing toward the older couple, the child embraced Sylvia Kincaid. The three then set off for a nearby wagon, oblivious to the townsfolk waiting for Mercer. Cap’s red hat bobbed in the crowd as he lugged the boy’s bag.
Eyes shifted back to the front of the coach. Ragan stood on tiptoes, searching the crowd.
Becca pressed closer. “Do you see him?”
“No. I don’t think he came.” A sick numbness ran through her.
Disappointment spread through the onlookers. The music died away.
“Didn’t come? We wired a deposit—he’d better come!”
“Maybe he missed the stage. Maybe he’s on the next one.”
Tempers flared to match the temperature.
“Of all things! The whole town’s out to welcome him, and he doesn’t show up. What does that say for his credibility?” Minnie Rayles blustered. “Carl? What’s going on here?”
“Don’t go gettin’ yourself worked up, Minnie. Give the man time.”
Johnny focused on the small-statured, bespectacled figure threading his way toward Alvin Lutz and Carl Rayles. Mercer? He’d read stories about the gunslinger, but none ever gave a description that he could recall. He watched the man exchange a few words with the sheriff. Shock registered on Alvin’s face. He stepped back, cupping his hand to his ear.
A moment later, “ You’re Mercer?”
Johnny winced at the sheriff’s incredulous tone. Because of his deafness he always spoke loudly, and his voice carried well through the crowd.
Heads swiveled. Jaws went slack.
“ That’s Mercer!”
“That can’t be the shootist. That man couldn’t fight his way out of a wet periodical!”
“It’s him, all right. Look at Carl. He looks fit to be tied.”
Johnny saw the man’s steely stare. It was Mercer all right. The town just didn’t care to believe it.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Minnie turned away in disgust.
“Now, Minnie,” Muriel Davidson was overheard trying to pacify her. “Warren always says it’s not a person’s size—”
“I don’t care what Warren always says. Look at him. He can’t fight these gangs. He’s no bigger than a termite.”
“Send him back, Mayor,” Mazilea yelled. Mayor Rayles held up his hand and demanded silence. When the clamor died enough for people to hear, he lifted his voice above the confusion. “Folks, er…now, calm down. It seems there’s been a mistake—Warren! Stop playing that blessed tuba!”
Tuba strains died away.
“Is that Mercer?” someone in the crowd shouted.
“Er…yes. Now, let’s not jump to conclusions…”
The crowd pushed forward. Mayor Rayles and Sheriff Lutz were forced to step back or be trampled.
“We want our money back!”
“Oh, my.” Ragan pressed her hanky to her forehead. “This is just awful.”
Judge McMann stood and tried to peer over the frenzied gathering. “They should at least talk to the man. Why, this is a disgrace.”
Johnny parted his way through the crowd, moving toward the gunman. Granted, Mercer didn’t look as if he could whip cream, but looks were deceiving.
“Send him back!”
Johnny couldn’t believe his ears. In their midst was one of the deadliest guns in the West, and they were complaining because he wasn’t as big as they had imagined he would be?
He reached Mercer as the crowd formed a ring around the mayor, calling for his removal. By now Mercer stood to the side, stiffly watching the exhibition.
“Lars Mercer?”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed, his hand dropping to his holster concealed beneath a dark blue suit coat. “Who wants to know?”
Johnny extended his hand. “John McAllister.”
Mercer ignored the gesture, refusing to shake. “What’s going on here?”
Johnny studied the crowd. He wasn’t about to apologize for others’ bad manners. Then he saw Ragan, and his thoughts tempered. This was her town, and it was a troubled town. “They’re
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