I Shot the Sheriff

I Shot the Sheriff
By
James W. Aubuchon

         I didn't remember where I came from, or where I'd been, but I was standing in the dusty street facing five men. Two of them had long rifles, while the other three sported six-shooters. It was a typical windy day in old Covenant. Some rich easterner had the brilliant idea of lining the streets of this small California mining town with palm trees. It made the place look more like some middle-eastern village. The problem was that when the wind rose up the palm branches had a way of falling off the trees and covering the streets.

         The palm branches had started to come down as I starred across at the five desperados facing me. They were dressed strangely for a cowboy gang. Instead of the typical get up with the cowboy boots, long coat, and cowboy hat, they wore regular clothes. They looked more like farmers or townsfolk. It was no matter. As a sworn deputy it was my job to make sure that these sorts didn’t upset the peace of our small town.

         It didn’t take long for them to sign their death warrants. The two men with rifles broke to each side while the other three reached. I paused just a little, to give them a chance, then I drew.

         I fanned my hammer at the three men drawing, and took them down before they arrived at the holster of their guns. Then I rolled to one side, knowing full well that the two riflemen were aiming for the spot where I was standing. I finished the roll and fanned the hammer again, taking out first the closest shooter, and then the one on the other side of the street. The entire action lasted about 3 seconds.

         It’s odd. I can’t remember where I learned to shoot like that, but I was convinced that my skill with a gun was the reason the people of Covenant trusted their safety into my hands.

         The undertaker was standing under one of the overhangs on the side of the street. I flipped him a silver dollar as I walked by. “Take care of the mess,” I said. He bowed with a singularly unreadable expression on his face and proceeded to make his way over to the dead bodies.

         Old Covenant was a mining town, and gold was the reason most of these people were here. “Gold in them thar hills” there was, and plenty of it. This tended to attract all sorts of unscrupulous types to the town. People bent on taking away as much money as they could. Greed was the word here. Street justice was the expectation for those who tried to play the greed game in the wrong way though. Then it was an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. This was the standard for the less fortunate anyhow. The more fortunate liked to have a little more protection and a little more license.

         Perhaps this is why they talked of a new sheriff coming to town. It’s funny that no one ever spoke to me about it. All I know about this new sheriff I overheard in conversations between the townsfolk. Perhaps they thought I would be jealous, so they never mentioned it around me. I don’t know. I do know that what I heard about this new sheriff was not good news at all.

         It was just the other night at the Praetor Saloon that I first heard of this sheriff. I was coming out of one of the rooms upstairs and tightening my belt when I caught the conversation going on down below. I don’t think anyone knew I was there. They tended to become quiet when I was in the room – a sign of respect I reckon.

         Old Caiphas Smith had gotten himself all hot on whiskey, and was carrying on. He said this new sheriff was the worst thing that ever happened to their town. From what he had heard, this guy was a monster. “Merciless” was the word that he kept using over and over. The sheriff had no pity on anyone. If anyone crossed him or disobeyed him in any way, there was hell to pay, and there was no getting out.

         Then Herod Wesson, who was drunker than a hound with a treed coon, took the story to the next level altogether. Apparently this sheriff was the Devil himself. Not only was he merciless, but he robbed old ladies of their money and demanded tribute from the townsfolk. If you didn’t pay up, he shot you down like a dog. I guess the only thing this new sheriff was interested in was money.

         Was it any surprise that the next day, Smith and Wesson were in the street gunning for me? I tried to talk em out of it, but they would hear nothing of it. Apparently my role as deputy had somehow tied me to the sheriff in their minds. I guess if I had wanted to prove my loyalty to the townsfolk, I could have told em I would gun this sheriff down as soon as he set foot in town, but I hadn't made up my mind by the time the two men called me into the street to take care of ending their mortal existence for them.

         I have to admit these men were pretty fast. Faster than anyone else who dared challenge me in Covenant so far. I honored their courage and their expertise by drawing my gun at full speed. I didn’t want to kill these men. I would rather have taken on 45 colts than go against Smith and Wesson, but I guess fate had other plans. The undertaker was waiting in his usual place to clean up the mess.

         I went back to my office and sat down with a bottle of whiskey. I had a lot of thinking to do. Maybe Smith and Wesson were right. If this new sheriff was the monster they reckoned him to be, perhaps it was my moral obligation to do something about it. But I had sworn an oath, and part of that oath was to defend those who wear the badge, not kill them.

         Just thinking about the new sheriff made me angry. If he was going around bringing hell in his wake, maybe I should repay evil for evil. Maybe I should bring some hell down on him. What I did know was that no damned sheriff was going to rob the old ladies of "my" town. I would make sure of that. But apparently I wasn’t going to get much chance to think about it, for right then there was a shout in the street. “Someone’s comin!”

         I downed the rest of the whiskey and walked out into the street. The wind was kicked up fierce, and the palm trees were bending low. The dust was whirling like a dervish. I peered down the dusty street, and saw what appeared to be a man on a white horse.

         Palm leaves began covering the street as the mounted man began to move into the town. I hadn’t made up my mind what to do, but whatever it was, I wanted to be sure this was indeed the new sheriff. Then I saw the glimmer. I had seen it many times in the past, and its look was unmistakable. The man was wearing a badge.

         I’m not sure exactly when I made the decision. Was it in the saloon the night before? Was it when the town thought that they were being protected by Smith and Wesson? Was it in the office while looking into my bottle? Or was it a long time ago? Some time that I couldn’t quite remember. Some time before I ever saw old Covenant, or knew anything about it.

         Whenever it was, the decision was made. I drew and fired just one shot and the man fell. I stood there with my gun drawn, starring down its barrel when a sudden feeling of dread came over me. What had I done?

         I began walking towards the fallen figure. The wind brought a storm with it, and dark clouds filled the sky. The sound of thunder and flash of lightning accompanied me as I made what seemed to be an endless trek down the street. What was strange was that at each lightning strike, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Maybe nothing was there at all, but I thought I saw some of the people that I had been forced to kill defending the town. It was as if they had left their graves, and were now walking free.

         As I came upon the figure, the first thing I noticed was that he wasn't riding a horse, but a donkey. As I stooped over him, I realized he wasn't quite dead. He motioned for me to come closer. Then he spoke to me in a raspy voice.

         "Pontus, Pontus my friend, I have something to tell you."

         That name sounded familiar. I recognized it as my own. I said to the man, "Do you know me?"

         "Yes, my friend, and you know me. Do you remember me Pontus?"

         I was not sure. I felt as if I did, but the feeling was far off and old. "I…I think I do know you. Who are you?"

         "I am the sheriff Pontus. I was the one who made you my deputy. Don’t you remember?"

         I did remember. It was a year ago. Sheriff Joshua had to go back east to take care of some business, and he left me in charge. But what did this mean? Joshua had been the sheriff in Covenant for as long as anyone could remember.

         "So, you aren’t the new sheriff?" I asked.

         "No son, you are."

         "Me? What are you talking about?"

         "I left you in charge of the town Pontus. It was a good town, and the people loved me, but you were selfish and merciless. You proclaimed yourself as the sheriff and began to rule the town with an iron hand. You took money from old ladies and forced people to pay tribute, lest they meet the barrel of your gun. Many of the townspeople tried to get rid of you. They sacrificed their lives, but you were too good, and you beat them every time. They finally sent word back east, and I had to come back."

         I looked down at the badge I was wearing It didn't say "deputy". It said "sheriff".

         Then I remembered. It was true. I was the one the townsfolk had been talking about. I put my head in my hands and cried.

         Then Sheriff Joshua did something I didn't expect. He put his hand on my shoulder.

         "I’m glad I came Pontus. I’m glad I helped you remember who you were. Now the people of this town can have peace."

         With those words, the sheriff fell dead. The people of the town poured out of their houses to gather around the dead body. They all wept. Then I pulled my gun out of its holster.

         They all stepped back in fear. I could see it in their eyes. They were looking at the monster. They looked desperate. They knew I could kill every single one of them if I wanted to.

         Instead, I turned to the undertaker and offered him the handle of my gun. I now knew the truth.

         The enemy was me.

The End