Showdown With Fear (2 page)

Dan knew it would be a few young gunmen, and almost certainly from the ‘Rattler’s Nest,’ as folk called it, where the lawless of the whole state went to hide. He mounted and rode around to the opposite side, going downhill steadily, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, expecting bullets coming at him. It seemed ages before he got to the opening of the small canyon. He could see the body, still motionless on the dirt. It was just a black blur in the sun. Dan put his horse in the shade and tied him, then started climbing to find a spot which would be safe. It was then that the bullets came at him. Too many. He dashed down again, leapt into the saddle, and tore away across the plains, the sound of screaming behind him.

He looked around. There seemed to be about ten of them. All he had in front of him was wide, featureless plain. No trees, no rocks, no cover. Dan wheeled around and pulled up his horse, then slapped her to fall. He cowered behind her. The mare was a beauty at this. She’d had to do it before, and at eight years she was wise. He had a rifle and a Colt. All he could do was burn some metal at them and drop as many as possible before they got to him.

He got two for sure, and they drew up to a halt. There was gunfire behind them. One man had got up from his dead horse and was charging at Dan, screaming like hell, with his side gun raised to kill. Dan grabbed for his Colt but the man was too near. He raised himself, then ducked to one side. The outlaw fell over the mare. Dan held him round the throat, yanked him back, and broke his neck.

He was breathing hard and his heart was pounding. He knew that there were horses behind. He turned to see Savory, Pearce and the others staring at him.

‘Well, seems the man’s got some heart after all... though it was guns against courage!’ Pearce sneered.

‘You turned up just in time. Reckon I owe you.’ Dan said.

‘You’re a fool, Mullen... taking off like that... you wanna die feller?’ Savory moaned.

‘Okay... I’ll stay with you, but for God’s sake... let’s find my boy... and where are the damned vermin likely to be? It’s like searching for a mouse in a forest.’

The men looked at each other. Finally, the old-timer screwed up his eyes and said, ‘They’ve gone for a few friends... so they’ll be tailin’ us looking for revenge, I’d guess, sheriff.’

He addressed these words to Dan. It was a force of habit. The others kicked their heels uneasily.

‘I don’t wear a star these days,’ Dan murmured, walking away.

‘Just a minute there, man... you recall there was a body back there Dan?’ Pearce asked.

‘Yeah... I didn’t make out who it was.’

‘It was one Slim Hardiman.’

Dan reacted with a shocked expression, but that melted into a satisfied smile. ‘Hardiman? Hell, I risked my neck for a sidekick of John McVie’s.’ He shoved his hat back and he took in the information. Hardiman had been one of the men that day, one of the bunch he knew had been waiting for him, rifles cocked above the street, just aching for him to walk out and square up to John and Sam.

‘One less murderin’ bastard!’ The old-timer cackled. ‘I ain’t gonna bury him... anybody else feeling excessive charity today?’

There was silence until Dan swung up onto his horse and trotted back towards the bluff.

‘Suppose I’ll do it... I should ‘ve done it six year back!’

*

The desperadoes had done a good job with Hardiman. He was maimed and cut almost everywhere. A bullet had shattered one arm and half his face was off. This seemed like the work of somebody with a grudge, or some renegades. But he dug and dug, forgetting about the heat, then gathered a heap of stones. It took an hour or so, but he said a few words over the stones while the others rested and took some food and water, just quietly staring at him. ‘He’s yeller
and
crazy,’ Pearce drawled, as he chewed at some dry bread.

‘Yeah... but you gotta respect the guy,’ Savory said, ‘And you know... I recall when he was good. Real good. That man brought fear with him if he set agin some desperadoes. Believe me, you wouldn’t tussle with Dan Mullen, the Dan Mullen that used to wear that star. And he was always broody like. Never a word to spit at a dog. Deep, they said. Read books. Talked about fine things, like he was a dude in some other life.’

‘He never had a another life... always wore the tin star, I heard,’ the old-timer said.

Dan was praying more for Pete than for the soul of this roughneck. He was bringing to mind the last time he saw him, when he waved him off to the Corey’s. He ruffled his son’s hair and smiled at him, telling him to learn some trade... not take up a gun as a profession. God help that John McVie, he swore under his breath... God help that vermin if he so much as touches my boy....

The men watching were not to know that the thoughts being expressed over Hardiman’s body were more curses than prayers.

‘Maybe the man’s got some guts after all,’ a voice called out.

‘Yeah... maybe just stupid... taking on ten men like that!’

They sat down to ease themselves before carrying on the chase. Only Ned Pearce was still hardening his heart to Dan Mullen. Mullen was still the man trying to take his girl away, and this was the best chance he’d get to move the man out of his way. It had been fine until she took an interest in the man who everybody talked about, the one who ran circuits of an evening down by the old mine, and the one who went alone to a house that had been ample for five or six people.

The talk in town was that Dan Mullen did nothing but read books, eat, sleep and exercise. That was his life. People would stop and loiter in groups to stare at the man who just sat by a window through a long warm day, when folk was taking time off, head fixed in a book. But Helen’s head had started to turn and notice him. One day, as he was walking with her to a dance, they had walked past Mullen as he sat and looked blankly at the horizon. Helen had wished him good evening and asked him what he was looking at. Mullen had quoted a line of poetry. Something about an evening star and the past life. She was captivated. All night at the dance, she was holding Pearce, but talking about Mullen.

Pearce was jolted out of his day-dream.

‘Okay... saddle up boys... we got some rats to trap and drag home for killin’.. so get your trigger-fingers loose and your heads clear,’ Savory called. ‘And remember, we’re not sure how many there are of these roughnecks... nice and easy, okay?’

The posse moved on, this time with Dan Mullen out front, trying to force the pace, with just one thing on his mind. All he could see was Pete’s face.

‘Who does the man think he is?’ someone droned behind Savory. ‘A hero or somethin’? The whole town knows he’s a gutter-rat. He tryin’ to impress us, Jack?’

‘He’s just a man worried sick about his boy... okay?’

Chapter 2

The McVie gang were plodding through some trees, weary. Heads were down and nobody sang, which was what usually happened when there were plenty of miles to use up. The sun was slowly setting and the shadows cast by the trees flickered across them. The brothers led, talking closely about something, then Sara and Pete, flanked and watched every second by Grip. Barero, the half-breed, followed a little way behind, humming a dance tune and thinking about booze and women. In fact, he was thinking about one particular woman - the nearest to him, young Sara Corey. He could have enjoyed a young woman like that.

‘Okay... listen up.’ It was John. He stretched high in the saddle to talk to them all. ‘Now, we’re just a little ways from the bolthole. I want to get in there in darkness. If you gotta secret spot, you keep it that way... right? Even my old partner Stobart don’t really know... he’s had a guess mind. So we stay here till the night falls.’

They tied the horses and settled down to drink some water and lie at ease for a while, saying very little. But Pete Mullen’s mind was racing, desperately trying to come up with something. If he could only think of a way to break out before they reached this den. But he was strapped up and gagged, along with Sara. It pained him to see her so. He had only known the Corey’s for a few months, but he was fond of this girl. They had hit it off from the first day, when his pa had gone a-calling on his friends. After all, pa’s woman, Helen, was kin to the Corey’s. Best of all was the fact that she lived far enough away from Red Ridge to be untouched by the bad talk about his father.

If there was just some way...

‘Now see here, there’s just one thing I gotta say.’ It was Grip. Pete’s thoughts were interrupted by the big man’s words.

‘Say... it’s the big fella... decided to use your tongue huh? We are honoured, boys!’

Sam, the younger brother, loved turning the screw on anybody he thought was weaker than himself.

‘See, I just wanna point out... it was bad, losin’ Slim.’

‘You gotta point?’ John stared him eye to eye.

‘Yeh, sure. Point is, I thought them damned Stobart men was with us! How come they killed Slim?’

‘Grip.... where were ya when Slim shot the kid?’

‘Huh? So he pegged out a man, so?’

John persevered. ‘So, the thing is, this kid was the son of some big noise in these hills. THEY AIN’T WITH STOBART. Get it?’

‘Ah, I git it.’ Grip tore at some stale bread.

Pete was trying to piece all this together as well. So the gang were not running the whole show, there was disagreements here. Thieves fall out, he thought. Pete felt that things were going to get a lot worse when the gang met the renegades. Seemed like there was a struggle going on for top dog, and folk were being bitten in the scraps.

‘I jus’ didn’t like the way they cut him down... bastards...’ Grip was brooding to himself.

‘I know a very good cure for dis, big hombre, see... you shut the hell up and stop thees baby crying stuff. The guy’s pegged it, okay? He was a fool to be so trigger-happy,’ Barero spoke. He’d been quiet till now, but liked an argument.

‘Shut it!’ John rapped at him.

They mounted and carried on. Sara was now still. She had been whimpering and sobbing all the journey till that moment. Pete looked across at her pony. They had tied her in with all the provisions. She was property, that’s all. Not a person at all, to them.

Pete looked at her face. The strands of her black hair were stuck across her pretty round face, wet with tears. Her blue eyes flashed at Pete, and then all around her. She was only seventeen, but a real woman. She had grown up in the last half-day all right, Pete thought. He gave her a reassuring smile, and she managed to return it.

‘Thees is one very good-looking girl... a pretty lady... you’re a lucky hombre...’

Barero had spurred alongside and was reaching over to stroke her hair. Sara spat at him.

‘You little bitch... I teach you!’

He slapped her face and she screamed. John McVie was along the line like a shot. Before Pete could react, John had cracked a punch at Barero’s jaw, knocking him clean off his mount. He pitched into the mud, and as he broke his fall with his arms, his right arm rapped against a tree. He reeled over in pain, then stood up, reaching for his gun. ‘Ahhh, my arm... my..’

John had his Colt aimed at Barero’s head. Sam joined in, in his mock-whinging tone.

‘Oh, dear, had the poor man injured his shooting-arm? Oh dear, dear, he’ll have to be a good boy now...’

‘Wassa matter, McVie? You want the woman?’ The fat man scowled.

‘She my property, and you don’t mess with my property. You savvy?’

Barero nodded, then took his reins with the left arm. ‘Okay, you ain’t worth crossin’ you sack o’ blubber,’ he said this with a forced grin.

They trudged on until they came to a sheer rock face. John called a halt and this gave Pete a chance to have a good look, and take it all in. The bluff was dotted with dozens of small caves, maybe ranging from ten to thirty feet across at the entrances. There were bushes hanging onto the narrow paths, their roots mostly exposed to the weather, and there were pines, thick and right up to the edge of the rock. It would be very hard to track somebody into this place. He decided to memorise everything. But there was an awful nagging doubt in his mind. If he wasn’t blindfolded to protect this secret, then was he ever going to get out? The McVies would surely kill anyone who knew their bolthole? Or did they have others?

And that would mean that Sara was never going to come out, either. It was crucial that he listened and took in every detail of what they did and said. A long conversation about how suspicious they all were of this Stobart was a great help in explaining at least some of what was happening in this hell yard. The heat was enough to dry up a cactus, he thought.

The talk had been about an insult - just that - but it was enough to make John McVie screwed up with hatred. It seemed that Stobart had met up with the McVies in some border town and got drunk. Stobart wanted to impress some wealthy partner in their business plans, and had broadcast himself as the self-styled ‘King’ of the Badlands. When the moneybags had arrived, Stobart had treated him like a king and left McVie playing second fiddle.

During the ride, when the pace was slowed down, the brothers had got to talking about Stobart.

‘I just hate the man’s impertinence, Sam. He thinks he’s
so
good
.’

‘He ain’t worth a spit.’

‘Well, little brother, I’ll tell you somethin’ about Nick Stobart. He wants to run the whole show. He’d go for President if there was a way. He has this knack o’ attracting money. The bucks just fly to him and stick on his hands. He sweet-talks the crankiest old soft-brain and leaches dollars off him... he’s just a fancy-talking dude... but his time is due... he’s got to come down a peg or two, little brother.’

Sam, who was neat and square, all muscle under his head of blonde hair, and with a love of ex-cavalry clothes and Navajo bolos, mimicked his hero brother, ‘Yeah, down a peg! Let me have the pleasure?’

‘I don’t necessarily want to see him squirm or suffer, little brother... but I sure would whoop with joy if he had to leave for some very distant spot... ya hear?’

‘I hear.’

‘And you know what’s real nice?’

‘Yeah?’

‘That some of his men are splitting... he’s no King.... it’s all crumbling cos he’s just too full of big ideas and he kicks people about.... they’ll all leave him. You see, Sammy, boy. You see if I’m right.’

Sam just loved his brother in this kind of mood. They were back at their best.

*

‘Somethin’ don’t add up.’ The old -timer scratched his head and his hat tilted. He screwed up his eyes and looked up at the posse, who were waiting for him to give them a direction.

‘Meaning what?’ Savory asked.

‘Well, there was about twenty horses...hmm, how come we didn’t find no more bodies? Just this Slim character?’

‘Easy. They took the others captive,’ Pearce said.

Several voices reminded him that McVie would be looking for blood, not prisoners.

‘Well, they must have been sort of in a rush.’ It was Dan Mullen, at the back. All heads turned to look at him. ‘I know these men. McVie’s always had a thing going with these men out here, always did. If you look up the trail a little way, you’ll see they split.’

It was true. By sun-down, the posse came to the spot where the ponies went off to the east, and the tracks of six horses went on.

‘They’re headin’ fer Broken Sword Hills,’ the old timer said.

‘Must be crazy as coots then. You die up there. Ain’t nuthin’ to eat but insects and vermin,’ Savory said.

But they went on and camped just before nightfall. It was just as folk were settling down that Savory came across to talk to Dan, who was sipping coffee and keeping himself to himself.

‘Dan, mind if I have a word with ya?’

‘Sure, sit down. I was just bringing to mind a song I heard once.. at one of these shindigs back East.. about a man who loses himself looking for an answer.’

‘That what you’re doin’?’

He offered Savory some coffee. Jack Savory declined, but sat down, hunching by the dying embers of the fire.

‘Dan... I want to know... what exactly did happen that day six years back? And I ain’t speakin’ as a lawman now, just a friend.’

‘Ah... it’s ancient history now. Who cares?’

‘I care... my sister died that day. And three other folk, just goin’ about their business.’

Dan thought for a minute, weighing something up in his mind. ‘Well, see... you know, when I was young, I felt unbeatable, I was different, you see? I used to be the fastest, the sharpest. I was quick on my feet and my mind was fine as a blade. You know how people respected me?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Well, Jack... when I took that star, I took it cos I needed the respect. I wanted to feel good, the best. Trouble was, I was too cocky, too darn sure of myself. You need other people, Jack.’

‘Yeah, no doubt.’

‘Well, I gunned down a kid called Jim McVie. He was all set to kill me for stopping him dragging him off a young woman.’

Savory’s eyes opened wide. He sat up straight and his look met Dan’s eyes. ‘You mean, they were lookin’ fer you that day... not robbin nuthin’?’

‘Just little me.’

‘How come we didn’t know this?’

‘Cos it was four years back, and they skipped out of the heat for a good while. There were lawmen by the hundreds looking for that crowd... and bounty men.’

Jack Savory stood up, patted Dan’s shoulder and said, ‘So that six to one was a vendetta thing...’

‘Yeah. I.... I just got my thinking wrong. I thought I knew what the man would do and I was plain wrong... just for once... and I let you all down.’

‘You didn’t let no folk down... just yerself...’

‘Uh huh. Reckon you’re right, Jack. But tell that to Red Ridge people.’

Dan Mullen was smiling inside. Somebody understood at last. At least they understood
some
of it, some of the mess that was that day in June, ‘62. Someone was beginning to understand what the wearing of that tin star does to you inside.

‘But there are some who’ll never forgive,’ said Savory.

‘Yeah...but if they knew just what preparation I’d put into that meeting. I mean, I was sure McVie would come alone... it was just me and him, that was the deal.’

Savory gave a wry smile. ‘Yep... I’ve only been a lawman for a couple o’years, but it sure is lonely. Every needling little fear and they want you. I mean, this ain’t Boston. Right? This is a town clinging to a few straws of decent behaviour in a place that stinks to hell of bad dealing and bad blood.’

‘They look to us for doing their risky stuff...and the thing is, we like it, Jack. You enjoy it while you can, friend.’

The conversation was stopped when a shriek was heard at the edges of camp, and someone called out, ‘Attack...git down!’

They were soon over-run. Men scrambled to their feet, grabbing for revolvers in holsters, but many were knifed or clubbed before they could get armed. There was panic. Dan saw a man coming at Savory, and shoved him out of the way. He cracked the assailant across the face, then shot him in the belly. Savory was then attacked by three or four more, and Dan saw Ned Pearce jump in to help. Dan wrestled one to the ground and fought to keep the man’s swinging arm from crashing a gun-butt down on his head. Across the clearing, men were cut down. It was clear to Dan, as he managed to knee his opponent in the face and then knock him clean out, that the three of them would have to run for it. They scrambled for any horses available. Fighting through some more attackers, they got to their horses, but Jack Savory was hit as he straddled a mount. Pearce rode out, full pelt, and Dan hopped onto the horse with Savory, then followed.

They knew they would be followed, and they didn’t have any idea where they were headed.

‘Stay close!’ Pearce yelled.

‘I’m okay... just my shoulder...’ Savory grunted to Dan, who was trying to grip the reins and turn around whenever possible. The chase seemed to last for hours, but Pearce finally called back, ‘Hey... hey, pull up... ain’t nobody there... into the trees...’