A Colt for the Kid (11 page)

Johnnie grabbed her arm painfully. ‘She’ll live, won’t she? She’s just got to. Got to, I tell you.’

Belle made no attempt to shake off his hold, hurtful though it was. ‘Johnnie, we’ll all do our best for her, but a thirty mile ride in the hot sun is quite something on top of being shot.’

Johnnie released his hold on her arm. He gazed around the saloon as if his eyes did not comprehend what was before them, then in a few long strides he reached the bar.

‘Gimme some of that whiskey stuff,’ he said harshly.

‘Whiskey, Johnnie?’ the bartender said. ‘It’s bad drinking if you’re not used to it.’

‘Gimme, I say.’

Belle was at his side. She nodded to the bartender. ‘One from my own bottle, Doone.’

Johnnie downed the drink in a gulp, spluttered a little, then looked at Belle.

‘Feel any better now, Johnnie?’

‘Some. I’m going after that skunk, Donovan.’

‘Don’t get yourself killed, Johnnie. If she gets better she’ll want you and wanting hurts like hell. I guess you know that now.’

Johnnie gave a cracked laugh. ‘I know it all right, Belle, but I’m not fooling myself that a girl like Lucy could ever want a feller like me. Least, not in the way I want her.’

Belle smiled. ‘It’s your name she been muttering since she’s been in that bed, Johnnie, and a girl doesn’t mutter a man’s name unless she thinks a heck of a sight of him. You just be careful how you go.’

Johnnie nodded and strode swiftly out of the saloon.
Hennesey, who had been watching him, came to Belle’s side.

‘Where’s he going to, Belle? Not after Donovan, I hope.’

‘He’s doing just that, Ed.’

‘For hell’s sake why didn’t you call me? I’ll never overtake him by the time I saddle up. That horse of Donovan’s is real fast.’

Carter caught the gist of the conversation. ‘There isn’t anything you can do, Ed, if you do catch up. Johnnie’s a man and he’s gone to call Donovan to a showdown. You can’t interfere with that. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to.’

‘Hell, Johnnie can’t be always lucky,’ Hennesey protested. ‘Twice he’s gone for Donovan and each time the luck has been on Johnnie’s side. It won’t last, I tell you, I’m going after him.’

‘You try to stop Johnnie from doing what he wants to do and you’ll have a fight on your hands,’ Belle warned.

‘Just the same, I’m going,’ Hennesey said grimly.

Carter shrugged. ‘I reckon I’ll string along with you then.’

‘You!’ Hennesey’s surprise was as great as Belle’s.

‘That’s right. I can’t shoot and I’m scared of fights, but if an eighteen year old kid can go after a man like Donovan then I guess I’ve just got to find enough guts to go along and watch.’

‘Glory be,’ Belle murmured. ‘Glory be. This I never thought to see.’

Donovan got unsteadily to his feet and passed his hand over his blood-caked jaw. He probed the ragged gash that the gun muzzle had made, winced at the pain of it, then in a shambling walk went down the steep descent to the river. Bathing his face made the raw wound sting and brought on an ache he had not noticed before. He stood for a few moments dabbing his face dry with his handkerchief then retraced his steps uphill. There was still some confusion in his mind about what had happened, but the sight of Lucy’s mare grazing peacefully alongside the bony mount that belonged to Johnnie reawakened his memory. He remembered most strongly the shot he had fired and the girl’s scream, so suddenly cut off as she had dropped to the ground. He wondered if she was dead and the possibility of it jolted him. If that was the case, would even he get away with it? Then he jerked his shoulders back. Get away with it? Of course he could. It was his town, just the same as this patch of land with its ruined soddy, half buried in thorn and weeds was his. He must be feeling his age to think otherwise. He went over to the mare and was about to mount when he recalled that he was without his gun. He searched around a little, found the weapon, checked that it was undamaged, saw to the loading, then climbed on to the mare’s saddle. The
smallness of the horse after his own giant of a mount angered him and he had a feeling that he looked slightly ridiculous. He would look more than ridiculous if he allowed the full story of the recent incident to reach the town and eventually his own range hands. He looked at his watch, apparently he had been stretched unconscious for nearly half a hour. Callum, with the girl, would be well on his way to the Stevens’ ranch. No possibility of overtaking him on this small mare. On the other hand there was little possibility of himself being expected to follow to the place. With the smallest amount of luck he would settle with young Callum and Sam Stevens at the same time. Of course, there was the girl. She might be only wounded. Donovan’s already grim mouth set in a harder line. A pity if she was not dead for he could not afford to leave her alive. Her tale would undoubtedly bring his prestige into the dust.

He followed much the same route that he had covered earlier and saw two things that would ordinarily have sent him into a wild rage. The first was a pair-horse wagon with a stained canvas tilt, undoubtedly that of a homesteader. The second, a distant view of grazing sheep. He noted both items but for the moment they were crowded from his mind by what he had in hand. He kept telling himself, as he rode, that he had to handle this business alone; had to do it that way so that he could go back to his ranch and let it be known that what a whole bunch of men had failed to do for him he had done for himself. Nearing the house he had so blown up his self esteem that he was working up a scheme to finish off Carter the moment he had done with young Callum and the Stevens’ pair. However, he retained sense enough to rein in when he got within a long rifle shot of the place, to study his best approach to the house. There was low ground to the right of the house and it seemed to him that if he made his way to it he could probably come up to the barns unnoticed.
He moved in that direction and came to a dry gulch,
steep-sided
and narrow. He let the mare slither down one bank and was beginning to climb the other side when a voice called out.

‘Donovan.’

He had no need to look up to know that the caller was Sam Stevens, and waited only for the bark of a shot or the order to draw. It would be one or the other whether the girl was dead or not, and Donovan began to curse himself for his foolhardiness in riding into a trap. Then Stevens’ voice called again and he looked up to see Sam sitting his horse at the top of the bank.

‘You’re on my land, Donovan. I ought to kill you on sight but I guess murder ain’t in my line. Better get moving and stay that way.’

Donovan mastered his surprise. It appeared that Callum had not taken the girl home, or at least, Stevens was not aware of it yet. He had the option of riding away and leaving Stevens to wonder what had brought him to the place or, if he could get to the side of Stevens, force a fight on him. He was on the point of deciding to leave when Sam whipped out his gun.

‘Sit right where you are, Donovan, and start talking. I’ve just noticed that’s Lucy’s mare you’re riding. Should have seen it before but she looks different from up here.’

Donovan’s mouth went dry. Unless he could find some way of bluffing Sam, the chips were down for the last game.

‘I’m waiting for an answer, Donovan,’ Stevens said in a hard voice. ‘You’ve got ten seconds to say how you come to be on that mare.’

‘My own went lame,’ Donovan blurted out. ‘Almost in front of your house. I was calling on you to see if we couldn’t fix things between us—’

‘That sounds like a goddam lie, but go on.’

‘There was no one at your place,’ Donovan managed to put conviction into what he knew was true, ‘so I borrowed the mare and set out to look for you. I reckoned you mightn’t be far away.’

‘And you picked Lucy’s mare, the smallest horse of the bunch, or maybe you’re going to tell me it was already saddled for you.’

Donovan seized on the chance. ‘Odd though it sounds, that’s the way it was. The mare was hitched to the veranda rail but I went through the house and all around and there was no sign of Lucy or young Callum.’

Filled with a number of suspicions he could not put a name to, Sam snapped out:

‘I don’t believe a darn word of what you’ve been saying. Throw down your gun and ride back to the house and go carefully.’

Glad of even this breathing space, Donovan let the gun drop to the ground and turned his mount about. He thought he could see the mistake he had made and there was a possibility he might still ride free if he did not delay. Lucy, he guessed, was not dead but badly wounded and Callum had taken her to town as being the nearest place. There had not yet been time for the news to reach Sam. Donovan began to calculate time as he guided his horse towards the house. Callum would have reached town by now, supposing that that was where he had gone. A message would undoubtedly be sent to Stevens and if it were done immediately the messenger should reach the Stevens’ place in the next half hour. Could he, by any means, trick Sam Stevens into letting him go before that time? It would be difficult in the face of the fact that his own mount was not at the house. Suppose he failed to persuade Stevens into letting him go free. What then? A slug fired in anger or would Sam take him into town and hand him over to Hennesey?

Donovan felt his spine crawl at either prospect and as the house came into view he had the mad idea of jabbing spurs to the mare’s flanks and trying to make a run for it. He half turned his head and saw from the grim expression in Sam’s face that the cocked gun in his hand would blast immediately if any such move was made. A minute later Sam’s voice came, harsh and dry, as if his throat were constricted.

‘I don’t see your horse, Donovan.’

‘It could have wandered.’

‘You said it was lame. Spit the truth out before I blast your spine in halves.’

Desperation prompted Donovan’s inventive powers. He pulled the mare to a standstill and twisted in the saddle to face Stevens.

‘All right, I’ll give it you straight. I was over on that patch of land near Chimney Rock. The piece young Callum reckons is his. We got to pulling guns then Lucy rode up. She got one of Callum’s slugs in the shoulder. I loaned him my horse to take her to town. Mine would carry double weight easier and town was nearer than coming here.’

A trickle of sweat ran down Donovan’s cheek as he watched the doubts expressed on Sam’s face. Then Stevens snapped the question.

‘If all that is true, why all the lies in the first place?’

‘You had a gun pointed at me and you mightn’t have believed that I’d bring you the news. Things being the way they are between us.’

‘You’re damned right I wouldn’t have believed you and I don’t know that I do now.’

Stevens moved his horse closer to Donovan and his left hand unhooked the lariat from his saddle. With a deft move he slipped the noose over the rancher’s head and settled it round his neck.

‘Now ride to town and make it fast. If you’ve any notions
of breaking loose, forget ’em unless you want to be dragged by the neck.’

Donovan turned and settled the reins in his grip. Sweat ran freely down his face now and the loosely fitted rope about his great bull neck seemed to be already constricting his breathing. He felt, as he urged the mare to a fast trot, that unless some miracle happened, the rope about his neck would be a hangman’s noose. Then he thought of Hennesey and his spirits lifted a little. Hennesey would not stand for lynch-law, even if Lucy had died as a result of the shot. The rancher pushed the mare to a faster pace. The sooner he got to town the better the chance that the girl still lived.

The arrival in the town of the pair on horses that were blowing heavily brought men running after them and quite a few yelled out instructions for Stevens to get his end of the lariat over the branch of a tree. The stir made Judge Bohun heave himself from his chair on the porch of his house. He stared for a moment then hurried towards the Silver Dollar where Donovan and Stevens were climbing from their saddles. Bohun had not been inside the saloon since the abortive election for a marshal, both Belle and Luke Carter having told him plainly that his presence would not be tolerated. Now, however, he hurried up the steps of the veranda, as did a dozen other men, curious to learn how Donovan came to have a rope round his neck. Bohun’s hurry to get inside the saloon was not entirely prompted by curiosity. There was in his mind some glimmering of an idea of making profit for himself out of Donovan’s situation. Bohun had heard a garbled account of Lucy being carried into the saloon, had seen Johnnie Callum ride Donovan’s horse out of town and the quick following up of Hennesey and Carter, and already the sequence of events were adding up to something near the truth in Bohun’s mind. The main thing was, Donovan was in serious trouble and Donovan was
a man well able to pay those who helped him.

Belle was saying to Stevens when Bohun made his way towards them: ‘I think she’s going to be all right, Sam. There’s some fever but it’s not getting any worse.’

Men crowded forward to hear her words, Bohun among them. She gave them a brief glance then went on. ‘Johnnie’s gone gunning for this skunk although it seems from what Johnnie said that Lucy getting the slug was an accident.’ Stevens viewed Donovan sourly. ‘You can get that rope off your neck though I reckon I’ll be hunting you if my sister dies.’

Sam allowed the end of the lariat to drop and was sliding his gun back in its holster when a man pushed forward and gave a savage snatch to the end of the rope.

‘Friends of mine were shot down in the street on account of this guy. I say we ought to hang him while we got the chance.’

Donovan grabbed at the tightening noose about his neck and using all his great strength hauled backwards until the other man was nearly off his feet. The rancher bellowed a curse and somehow that, more than the action of the man at the other end of the rope, brought anger to the rest of the men. A dozen hands gripped on the rope and jerked Donovan off his feet. Sam’s hand went towards his gun as the rancher was dragged across the sawdust covered floor to the batwings. More men were pushing into the place and cries of, ‘String the murdering skunk up,’ came from all sides. Sam was still hesitating to draw his gun, divided between a love of justice and a hatred for the man who had been the cause of so much trouble and bloodshed. Bohun was finding himself shouldered to one side, but his eyes were still on the struggling, mountain of a man on the floor, and his mind on the fact that Donovan alive might mean profit for himself.

Bohun moved quickly, heaving his bulk of fat along at
speed he had not known in years. He pushed behind the bar, passed the pop-eyed bartender and grabbed the shot-gun that hung beneath the mirror. With the double-barrelled weapon levelled at the shouting men he yelled out:

‘Hold it, all of you, or I’ll fill you full of shot.’

‘You damned, interfering old fool,’ Belle shouted as the crowd of men dropped the rope and backed away from the wide muzzles of the gun, ‘can’t you see he’ll ride you into the dust when it suits him?’

Sam gripped her arm. ‘You wouldn’t want to see a man lynched, Belle.’

She turned on him furiously. ‘The hell I wouldn’t! I’d like to see the louse swing higher than a kite.’

She stamped away and climbed the stairs, her full skirts swirling angrily.

Donovan had got to his feet and taken the rope from his neck. His limbs were trembling slightly and sweat poured down his near purple face. Bohun still held the shot-gun directed at the men, but now he had allowed the weight of the barrels to rest on the bar. He, too, was trembling, shocked by his own efforts. Stevens eyed the men grouped about the batwings. A few looked sheepish but rage burned in the eyes of at least half-a-dozen and it seemed to him that only a little spark was wanted to inflame them further. Donovan moved towards the bar, brushing sawdust from his clothes as he walked.

‘I’ll take that shot-gun, Bohun,’ he said thickly, ‘and thanks for the help.’

Sam whipped out his Colt. ‘Keep your hands off that gun, Donovan.’

Donovan turned and glared at him, then there was a shuffling movement as a few men slid out through the batwings.

‘I need a gun to get out of here alive,’ Donovan snarled.

‘You’re darned right you do,’ came from a straggly moustached man at the batwings. ‘You’ll need a gun and a hoss and we’ll see that there ain’t any hoss. Come on, fellers, we can wait outside for this guy. We’ve got plenty of time.’

Sam turned the gun on the speaker. ‘That’s wild talk, Jeff Richards, and you know it. I’ve suffered as much as anyone from Donovan’s rough riding but I don’t want to see
lynch-law
in the town. Donovan will leave here on my horse and there’ll be no shooting in the back as he goes. We still have Hennesey as marshal. Remember that. Bohun, put that
shot-gun
back where it belongs. Donovan, make for the batwings and get on your way.’