Showdown With Fear (12 page)

Chapter 10

What the defenders of Red Ridge saw first was a cloud of dust and what seemed like the sound of thunder. The man on the roof shouted out, ‘Here they come... I reckon fifty of ‘em Harry!’

That first piece of mis-information did a lot to unnerve an already quivering group of men trying to act like professional gunmen. Harry and Dan both knew this. They knew that every man there needed all the moral support and back-slapping it was possible to rouse up, because they were about to fight like cornered rats or go down yelling for mercy.

Dan screamed out first, calling from the porch, ‘Pick a man... make ‘em know we mean business!’

Harry caught the right cue from the lawman. He walked along the wagons and wooden boards, giving them some useful buoying-up talk. You can see them - they can’t see you! Now, give ‘em a volley, then back to the bank... quick as you can...’

The noise of the pounding hooves grew louder and louder, and within a minute there was a whole crowd of horsemen coming at them, appearing at the very end of the main street. There were so many colours and sizes, Helen thought, from her perch. It was strangely beautiful - a whole line of colours flashing from the swarming dust-clouds, then rifles raised in a salute. A voice cried out, ‘Go git ‘em boys!’ and she was reminded most of one of the books she had read her father, about Napoleon’s wars, and the charges of cavalry, gallant and brave. But where was the bravery here, she asked herself. These were desperadoes, men who robbed and killed for money, launching their destructive powers on a peace-loving town of good people. She raised her barrel and took careful aim. It would be a huge boost to the men down there if she could take one down. But when she hit a man clean in the chest and he hit the dirt, trailing in his stirrups, little did she know what fury she roused up in them.

There were immediate yells of ‘Kill the swine!’ and ‘Let’s flatten the whole damned town, boys... they got Frank Yates! They got Frank Yates!’

The men behind the barricade did as told; they fired one shot each, squeezing triggers too early, in panic, and running for cover. They had missed targets, their bullets falling short of horse or man.

‘Damn! Get in there boys!’ Harry Boak shouted at them, as he stood at the door of the bank, pistol ready to pick off any chasing invaders. They were soon inside, apologising for their panic to Harry and Joe. Bullets whistled across the street and cracked into the wood by the door. Harry ducked inside.

The cavalry charge was halted by the barricade, and they wheeled and turned. Teach, who was taking charge, ordered them to turn and come back in with ropes. ‘We’ll pull the thing down... rope it, boys!’ Helen saw this as a gift. They were all turning, no-one noticing her, so she made the most of the precious few seconds. She picked off two men, being fairly close. They yelped and keeled backwards, thrown into the sand. One got up, limping, the other lay still.

Teach looked up and just caught sight of her head before she ducked again.

‘Hell... it’s a woman! The murderin’ dog’s a
woman
!’

He told three men to get around the back, climb and see to her.

‘Just nail the bitch!’ He wheezed, joining the main force and turning.

They rode a few hundred yards back and re-formed, all raising lariats, ready to trap and tear apart the barricade. The man on the closest roof screamed that they were coming again.

‘Let it shatter... pick ‘em off when they smash it!’ Dan shouted. He was still on the porch, itching to go and help, but he knew that there were the real old enemies behind somewhere. He controlled his emotions and walked back to the chair. He poured the whisky and pretended to be interested in it. His true urgings were to smash the thing in a thousand pieces. But everything had to be as it was. It was a day of destiny.

In the dressing-room, Ned and Pete were straddled across bags and hat-boxes, peering out of a dirt-caked window normally reserved for the prompter, or for a nervous actor about to take the floor. You could see the stage from the side from there. Across the other side was the back door. Dan was right - you had a good view of the back door. But what you couldn’t see was any other access from the rear of the theatre. If McVie came any other way but the door, nobody would see him. Dan was going by tradition, he said, as ‘the rat came that way before.’ But, as Pete had learned, this rat John McVie had a slippery sort of disposition and tended to take you by surprise.

‘Ned... you see that heap o’ clothes?’

‘Yeah?’

There’s a smashed window up above it... can you get up there and take a look out?’

‘I’ll try.’ Ned struggled at first, as it was a mountain of cast-off props and clothes, all waiting sorting-out. Joe Wright was famous for his messy, take-it-as-it-comes approach to everything. But eventually, Ned stood unsteadily on a pile of folded cloth on a rickety table and looked out.

‘I can see the whole street... not a soul in sight.’

‘Well you stay there and give me a sign if you see anybody ... it’s most likely gonna be three men - one wearing a sombrero... little fat feller.’

‘Pete..... do I shoot ‘em if I see ‘em?’

‘Well you can plug the Mex... believe me, I’d be relieved.’

*

There was hell at the other end of town. The gang had wrenched the most solid parts of the barrier down and tugged them clear. Other riders were leaping the debris, firing at anything that moved, and then galloping further down the street. They even reached the theatre, and some bullets rattled into the room where Dan sat. But still, he waited. The men in the bank were doing well. In spite of their fear, they manned the windows and shot at random. There were enough of them to cause some alarm, and Teach told the gang to circle. ‘Ride around them once, volley ‘em.’

The outlaws cantered around, running at the bank in lines and firing volleys. They knew that some of their outfit had been killed. It was no longer a supporting action to give John McVie a chance for revenge.

‘Let’s go in and waste ‘em!’ Teach said. In minutes there were outlaws running around all over town, but mostly concentrated on the bank. They took cover across the street and behind the wagons, firing rapid and sustained shots at the one room from where the shots were returned.

On the roof, Helen had heard the men clambering behind her and she inched around to the quiet side, praying that no stray horseman had ridden around to that end. She saw two men climb to the gable and look around for her, but she was too quick for them. She shot upwards, one bullet smacking a man under the chin and the second grazing his forehead. She slithered down a drainpipe and sprinted towards the stables, in search of a horse. They were going to need help. At her father’s place there were twenty old men, but they could fire guns. Hell, she thought, they could
look
like a platoon. It was all a case of giving them the right hats.

Helen found the place still as the tomb, but there were two very restless animals in there. She slung a saddle on a strong-looking bay and was soon on the road, with a plan hatching better and better with every stride. If only she could get back in time.

*

‘Christ... Harry... they killed Bill. He was a carpenter!’ A man listened at his friend’s chest and turned to look at Harry in amazement.

‘Let’s give ‘em what they want, Harry... we can’t match these men,’ another said. Harry knew that it was time for an injection of iron in the spirit.

‘Look... do you think they’ll take your greenbacks and go home all peaceful after
this
? Come on, grow up, you fellers! It’s a case of giving the vermin some lead back or we get pegged. Now, keep your heads down, and fire at the smoke... simple. We got stacks of ammunition in here. I bin preparin’ this place for hours and hours. There’s a water-butt in this corner. I got the doc in the back here with his stuff... now you make
them
scared.... okay?’

The McVies and Barero were slinking through building after building. In one place, there was a table with temptingly open drawers, and that had slowed them down. Barero had insisted on inspecting these, and when he found a wad of dollar-bills, he started wrecking anything in his way for plunder.

‘Get one thing clear, Filippo... we find any women, you ain’t havin’ them... I seen you in this situation before, you rampant Mex.... now, you hadn’t any relief of the feminine kind for a while, but now’s not the time!’ Sammy teased him. Barero’s jacket was packed with money and cigars. His eyes were roving around, wanting anything that was open to pillage.

John led them to a back street. They looked out and saw nothing. They heard all the gunfire, but concentrated on assessing exactly what they were looking at from the undistinguished rear. There were no billboards, no names of proprietors.

‘What are we searchin’ for, John, I am tired of thees game!’

‘Filippo... it’s a theatre. You adore the drama, right?’

‘Si, I love the ladies who dance!’ His eyes lit up with the thought of it. They were sitting still and all rooms around them were empty, but the stillness was cut as if with a whiplash when a rider sped past, a woman, lashing her mount and digging feet in the girth.

‘By the devil himself... you see that? Go git her, you Mexican dog... looks like your birthday!’ Sammy said. Barero took no persuading. He ran back the way they had come, jumped on his horse, and rode in the direction Helen had gone. He was not far behind her.

*

Dan was so restless he kept going over to the window and shooting at a passing rider. Then he would shout at Pete, asking if there was anything in sight. Nothing. Ned was glaring dutifully out, but he saw nothing except a dog scampering along, away from the noise.

But John and Sam McVie had just reached the opposite side from where Ned looked out, and they scrutinised every plank and every crack before stepping out into the sun to cross. John missed nothing.

‘Hey... brother mine... we got ourselves a sentry-boy... see!’ They looked through field-glasses and saw clearly that this was a man expecting visitors.

‘Why, he’s waitin’ fer us... reckon the coffee-pot is bubbling, brother John?’

‘Why no... this is a mighty unfriendly place... they bin shootin’ at our boys. Right unneighbourly. I guess we could shoot this bastard in the dumb skull he got, yeah?’

‘Pleasure’s all mine, John.’

Ned Pearce was trying to tell a joke when the bullet slammed into his head and killed him in seconds. He rolled down the hill of clothes, a trickle of blood staining the white silk with a rich red stream.

‘Pa... PA! They’re here... they got Ned... they got poor Ned,’ Pete shouted, without thinking.

‘Well you told ‘em now son. Now git over into that stage area... you see there was a cellar? Git into that cellar.’

‘But...’

‘You do as I say... right now.’

Pete went reluctantly through a trapdoor into a cellar, where barrels of drink were stored, and other lumber was stashed. It was cool and cobwebbed. You could hear all movements above you, and see things through the slats of floorboards which had been only roughly and hurriedly put together.

Dan sat in his chair and faced the dressing room. He put his Colt on the table, next to the whisky and glass. He wasn’t to know that the McVies had been holed in by their own men. The back street had now become a centre of the action. The man on the roof who had been a lookout was grafting like a hero. He had been leaping the roofs, shotgun peppering anything that moved below, causing havoc. Teach had gathered his best six marksmen and they had dismounted right outside the back door where Ned Pearce lay dead.

The McVies could say nothing, even though they had only to cross a street to confront the man they had come for. Agonising minutes went by as Teach briefed his men.

‘Where is the scum, Teach? He done plugged four men... includin’ my cousin Larry’

‘I guess he’s over that fancy stable place... with the la-di-dah buggies. These are decent church-goin’ folk and they just love to go a-visitin’ on a Sunday. Now we’ll ring the feller and make him leak with a few well-directed bits o’ lead.’

John McVie was wishing that this Teach had never been liked. He was jealous of any man who tended to be popular. His own voice was the only one to command.

*

Helen was riding with all her strength and courage. She knew that someone was tailing her, but couldn’t make anything out in the dark when she glanced around. She just heard the thudding of the hooves behind, and they were gradually nearing her. Up ahead she saw her father’s place - the familiar lights that had welcomed her so many times before. A bullet whizzed past her, missing her by only a foot or so. She kept her head low, and galloped through the main gates, using all her lung power to scream for help.

Her luck was in. The men had been playing poker in the yard near a barn, and several of them stood up and reached for their guns. Helen pulled up sharp and rolled off the bay, the momentum throwing her into the yard before crashing into a low table.

‘Get out there... a man... after me..’

The men might have been balding and pot-bellied, but they moved sharply enough when a bullet zapped into a fence and sent a wood-splinter flying into a man’s face. They rushed out to look at the origin of this mayhem.