Chapter 5: A Hanging Matter

Starfall had seen better days. It was never quite a boom town, but did prosper when silver was found in the nearby mountains. When the mining finished, it returned to catering for cattle and farming interests, which was how it grew in the first place. The miners’ appearance had led to quite a number of new businesses being opened. Now some of them were gone. Five stores, two of the three saloons, the hotel, one of the two rooming houses and the assay office had closed. A number of homes had been abandoned and were falling into disrepair.

Some institutions came wholly or partly unscathed through the contraction. Both church and school were still well-attended. The bank remained open, albeit with activity well below what it had been in the heady years. The town marshal’s office and jail had survived, though the duties concerned no longer justified a full-time incumbent. Now the work was carried out on a part-time basis by the blacksmith, Fred Dunning, who received a derisory salary for the job and did it largely because of his public-spirited attitude.

As to how the town got its name, there were several explanations, some of them highly fanciful. The most widely accepted one was that a wagon train on its way to California had halted overnight at the spot and several members of the party had seen a meteor that evening. Supposedly, one married couple had taken the sighting as a propitious omen and decided to pull out of the trek and stay put. They hadn’t wanted to call the place Meteor and thought that Falling Star was not catchy enough, so had settled for the wife’s suggestion, Starfall. Nobody still living in the town knew whether the story was true, but it was seldom questioned.

There was rarely any great excitement in Starfall, so an attempt at a major crime created a sensation. It happened one May afternoon, when a young man named Chris Paley rode into town and tried to pull off a single-handed bank robbery. He failed, and in the process the sole teller, who had refused to hand over any cash, was shot dead. As Paley rushed out into the street, brandishing his revolver, two passing ranch hands realised instantly what was happening. Showing great presence of mind, and not inconsiderable courage, they pounced on the miscreant and managed to disarm him. Marshal Dunning had been summoned and had jailed him.

The bank manager had been in his private office and saw nothing of the incident. The only eyewitness was a cattleman, Joseph Rogers, who entered the bank at the moment the trouble started. He was wearing a sidearm and said he’d tried to draw it but had been too slow. He gave Marshal Dunning a statement to the effect that he had seen Paley fire the fatal shot.

On a Tuesday morning, six weeks after the occurrence, with young Paley still in custody and awaiting the arrival of the circuit judge, Fred Dunning was about to leave his office when a tall thin hollow-cheeked man of about thirty walked in. “Morning,” said the marshal. “What can I do for you?”

“Mornin’. I called to see if you have any interestin’ wanted posters.”

“I don’t know what you’d call interesting. I haven’t received anything lately and all the ones I have are out of date. Why are you asking?”

“I’m a bounty hunter. I usually call at the lawman’s office in every town I pass through, just to check up on things.”

Dunning’s attitude to men in his caller’s line of work was ambivalent. On one hand he considered their occupation distasteful and on the other he realised that they often saved the official forces of law and order a lot of time and trouble. “Well, I’m sure I’ve nothing worth your attention,” he said. “As far as I know not many bandits pass this way and very few bad things happen around here, although we did have a killing a few weeks ago. The man who did it is in my jail right now, awaiting trial.”

“Oh yeah,” the visitor replied. “I heard about that north of here a few days back. Name of Paley, if I remember rightly.”

“That’s him. And he won’t be with us much longer. Judge Seward’s due here on Thursday and our carpenter’s got all he needs for the gallows he’ll have to build. I reckon we’ll be saying goodbye to Mr Paley within forty-eight hours.”

The bounty hunter chuckled. “From what I hear, you’ll most likely be doin’ that a day early.”

“How come?”

“I guess news travels slow around here. In case you didn’t know, Judge Seward had a seizure on Saturday evenin’. They say he’s at death’s door.”

“You’re right about the speed of information in these parts,” Dunning answered. “I hadn’t heard. Henry Seward’s a good man and I’m sorry he’s so sick. But what’s that got to do with the trial being early?”

“Seems that another judge, name of Langton, was in the area. He’s been appointed to take on Seward’s cases an’ he’s in a hurry to fit them in. From what I heard, he’ll be with you tomorrow.”

“Quick work,” said Dunning. “Thanks for telling me. Are you staying for the big event?”

“No. I have to make a livin’ an’ I’ll not do that waitin’ around here. I hope you enjoy your necktie party. So long, Marshal.” With that, the man went out and rode off.

Fred Dunning spread the word about a replacement judge coming. He sent a message to the rancher, Rogers, asking him to be sure to get into town early the following day, as he would be required to testify. The townspeople became increasingly excited and were at one in their certainty that the Paley affair would be a hanging matter.

At ten o’clock on the Wednesday morning, Dunning was again in his office when the door opened and a man entered. He was about five foot ten in height and of very slender build. Apart from a crisp white shirt, he was dressed in black from hat to boots. The most striking feature of his gaunt, clean-shaven face was a pair of deep-set, penetrating hazel eyes. He removed his hat, revealing a head of salt and pepper hair. The marshal guessed him as close to sixty years of age.

“Good morning,” said the visitor. “Am I correct in assuming that you are Marshal Dunning?”

“You are. Can I help you?”

“Yes. I am Judge Andrew Langton, here to take over the duties of my old friend, Henry Seward.” The deep, resonant voice had an air of authority. “I understand there is only one matter to be dealt with here.”

“That’s right. The Paley trial.”

“Very well. Now, as you can imagine, I have an extremely full schedule, so I need to proceed with this case at once, then move on without delay. I’d be obliged if you would pass the word that I intend to conduct the trial at eleven o’clock. I understand the school is not in session, so I propose to use its premises.”

Though astonished by Judge Langton’s speed, the marshal was anxious to cooperate. “All right,” he said. “There’s just one thing. I might have trouble finding twelve men to serve as –”

Langton interrupted him with an impatient hand-wave. “No need for that. In view of the exigencies ensuing from Judge Seward’s indisposition, I am fully authorised to act as judge and jury, pro tem.”