The Shadow of the Greenback Page #3

"The Shadow of the Greenback" by Robert Barr is a gripping detective novel that explores themes of crime, greed, and moral ambiguity. Set against the backdrop of a bustling financial landscape, the story follows a cunning detective who investigates a series of mysterious events linked to counterfeit currency and corruption. As he delves deeper, he uncovers a web of intrigue that challenges his understanding of justice and loyalty. With Barr's trademark wit and sharp storytelling, this novel offers a captivating blend of suspense and social commentary.

• Short story

								


Sam, a cocked revolver in his right hand, stood squarely in the centre
of the street, with the sturdy bearing of one who has his quarrel just,
and who besides can pierce the ace spot on a card ten yards further
away than any other man in the county.

Old Buller came riding up the street as calmly as if he were on his own
ranch. When almost within range of Sam's pistol, the old man raised
both hands above his head, letting the reins fall on the horse's neck.
In this extraordinary attitude he rode forward, to the amazement of the
crowd and the evident embarrassment of Sam.

"I am not armed," the old man shouted. "I have come to talk this thing
over and settle it."

"It's too late for talk," yelled Sam, infuriated at the prospect of
missing his victim after all; "pull your gun, old man, and shoot."

"I haven't got a gun on me," said Buller, still advancing, and still
holding up his hands.

"That trick's played out," shouted Sam, flinging up his right hand and
firing.

The old man, with hands above his head, leant slowly forward like a
falling tower, then pitched head foremost from his horse to the ground,
where he lay without a struggle, face down and arms spread out.

Great as was the fear of the desperado, an involuntary cry of horror
went up from the crowd. Killing is all right and proper in its way, but
the shooting of an unarmed man who voluntarily held up his hands and
kept them up, was murder, even on the plains.

Sam looked savagely round him, glaring at the crowd that shrank away
from him, the smoking pistol hanging muzzle downward from his hand.

"It's all a trick. He had a shooting-iron in his boot. I see the butt
of it sticking out. That's why I fired."

"I'm not saying nothing," said Mike, as the fierce glance of Hickory
rested on him, "'tain't any affair of mine."

"Yes, it is," cried Hickory.

"Why, I didn't have nothin' to do with it," protested the saloon
keeper.

"No. But you've got somethin' to do with it now. What did we elect you
coroner fur, I'd like to know? You've got to hustle around and panel
your jury an' bring in a verdict of accidental death or something of
that sort. Bring any sort or kind of verdict that'll save trouble in
future. I believe in law and order, I do, an' I like to see things done
regular."

"But we didn't have no jury for them cowboys," said Mike.

"Well, cowboys is different. It didn't so much matter about them.
Still, it oughter been done, even with cowboys, if we were more'n half
civilised. Nothin' like havin' things down on the record straight and
shipshape. Now some o' you fellows help me in with the body, and
Mike'll panel his jury in three shakes."

There is nothing like an energetic public-spirited man for reducing
chaos to order. Things began to assume their normal attitude, and the
crowd began to look to Sam for instruction. He seemed to understand the
etiquette of these occasions, and those present felt that they were
ignorant and inexperienced compared with him.

The body was laid out on a bench in the room at the back of the saloon,
while the jury and the spectators were accommodated with such seats as
the place afforded, Hickory Sam himself taking an elevated position on
the top of a barrel, where he could, as it were, preside over the
arrangements. It was vaguely felt by those present that Sam bore no
malice towards the deceased, and this was put down rather to his
credit.

"I think," said the coroner, looking hesitatingly up at Sam, with an
expression which showed he was quite prepared to withdraw his proposal
if it should prove inappropriate, "I think we might have the lawyer
over here. He knows how these things should be done, and he's the only
man in Salt Lick that's got a Bible to swear the jury on. I think they
ought to be sworn."

"That's a good idea," concurred Sam. "One of you run across for him,
and tell him to bring the book. Nothing like havin' these things
regular and proper and accordin' to law."

The lawyer had heard of the catastrophe, and he came promptly over to
the saloon, bringing the book with him and some papers in his hand.
There was now no doubt about Sam's knowledge of the proper thing to do,
when it was found that the lawyer quite agreed with him that an
inquest, under the circumstances, was justifiable and according to
precedent. The jury found that the late Mr. Buller had "died through
misadventure," which phrase, sarcastically suggested by the lawyer when
he found that the verdict was going to be "accidental death," pleased
the jury, who at once adopted it.

When the proceedings were so pleasantly terminated by a verdict
acceptable to all parties, the lawyer cleared his throat and said that
his late client, having perhaps a premonition of his fate, had recently
made his will, and he had desired the lawyer to make the will public as
soon as possible after his death. As the occasion seemed in every way
suitable, the lawyer proposed, with the permission of the coroner, to
read that portion which Mr. Buller hoped would receive the widest
possible publicity.

Mike glanced with indecision at the lawyer and at Sam sitting high
above the crowd on the barrel.

"Certainly," said Hickory. "We'd all like to hear the will, although I
suppose it's none of our business."

The lawyer made no comment on this remark, but bowing to the
assemblage, unfolded a paper and read it.

Mr. Buller left all his property to his nephew in the East with the
exception of fifty thousand dollars in greenbacks, then deposited in
the Coyote County Bank at Salt Lick. The testator had reason to suspect
that a desperado named Hickory Sam (real name or designation unknown)
had designs on the testator's life. In case these designs were
successful, the whole of this money was to go to the person or persons
who succeeded in removing this scoundrel from the face of the earth. In
case the Sheriff arrested the said Hickory Sam and he was tried and
executed, the money was to be divided between the Sheriff and those who
assisted in the capture. If any man on his own responsibility shot and
killed the said Hickory Sam, the fifty thousand dollars became his sole
property, and would be handed over to him by the bank manager, in whom
Mr. Buller expressed every confidence, as soon as the slayer of Hickory
Sam proved the deed to the satisfaction of the manager. In every case
the bank manager had full control of the disposal of the fund, and
could pay it in bulk, or divide it among those who had succeeded in
eliminating from a contentious world one of its most contentious
members.

The amazed silence which followed the reading of this document was
broken by a loud jeering and defiant laugh from the man on the barrel.
He laughed long, but no one joined him, and, as he noticed this, his
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