The Violent Peace (15 page)

Authors: George G. Gilman

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Genre Fiction, #Westerns

BOOK: The Violent Peace

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

ADAM Steele stood in the gateway of the stockade wall, the walkway casting a deep shadow across him. The tiepin was back in his neckerchief, but was hidden by the weighted scarf he had taken from one of the dead thuggees. The knife had been replaced in the boot sheath, the empty derringer was in his coat pocket and the presentation rifle was in his hands, leveled towards the base of the flagpole on the fort side of the drill square,

Colonel Fuller, in full dress uniform complete with sword, stood at the side of the pole, slowly hauling down the Union Jack. When the flag had settled into the dust, he came to attention, did an about-face; drew his sword and marched towards Steele. The American kept the Colt Hartford aimed steadily at the Englishman. Both men's faces were blank.

Fuller halted, raised a knee and snapped the sword cleanly in half. He dropped both sections to the ground and came to attention again.

“Thank you for that,” he said calmly. “Now you may shoot. The plan will die with me.”

Steele nodded and adjusted the angle of the rifle, to send a bullet into the man's, heart. But before he could squeeze the trigger, another gun exploded. Fuller's eyes closed and he pitched, forward, legs still together, arms stiff at his sides. As he measured his length of the ground.

Steele saw the blood-pumping hole in the back of his head.

“Steele looked up, and across the drill square. Bishop and Lovell sat astride their horses on the far side. There was a smoking rifle in the hands of
the frock-coated Washington detective. The deputy's hand still rested on the barrel from where he had spoiled Lovell's shot. Three men on foot stood beside the mounted law officers.

“Looks like I've got to start believing in ghosts,” Steele called as the group moved slowly towards him.

The men on foot were Logan, Monahan and Binns. Monahan hobbled painfully on his injured leg. Binns' arm was in a sling,

“They're alive, Adam,” Bishop said. “I told you I'd be behind you the whole way.”

Steele nodded. “I should have believed you, Bish,” he acknowledged. “You always were a man of your word.”

He had no way of knowing who Lovell was. But he recognized the detective's expression - naked hatred.

“Me, too, Steele,” Lovell snarled. “I promised I'd kill you when I found out you burned my brother.”

Bishop snapped his head around to stare at Lovell. “So that's why you were so damn set on—”

“There's three more of us got reason to want you dead, Steele,” Monahan spat.

“My father … Binns' brother … this guy's brother, Lot of relative killing.”

The group halted, about twenty feet in front of the shadowed gateway where Steele stood.

“You ready to come back, Adam?” Bishop asked.

“You'll never get him there, deputy,” Lovell snapped. “I aim to teach this bastard a lesson.”

“I've already learned one,” Steele said easily, recalling the way Carstairs had died.

“How's that?” Lovell asked suspiciously.

“If you intend to kill a man, do it quick,” Steele rapped out.

As he finished speaking, he went into a crouch, bringing up the rifle. The first shot burrowed into Lovell's heart, lifting him from the saddle. The rifle cracked three more times. Monahan, Logan and Binns staggered back and toppled, blood fountaining from ghastly head wounds.”

Bishop had to calm his frightened horse before he could draw a bead on Steele, but by then the Colt Hartford was aimed straight at him. The young deputy was certain he was about to die and there was deep regret in his eyes as he matched the steady stare of his childhood friend. Then, abruptly, Steele smiled and pointed his rifle towards the sky. He squeezed the trigger and the hammer struck an expended cartridge.

“I guess I'm ready now, Bish,” he said.

Bishop swallowed hard, wondering if Steele would have shot for the sky had there been a live round under the hammer. "Get your horse, Adam.” he instructed.

Steele's mount was ready saddled, tethered to, the inside of the stockade wall. He swung up into the saddle and moved out through the gateway.

“It's going to be a long, hot ride, Bish,” he said, taking the weighted scarf from around his neck and running it over the sweat beads clinging to his thick stubble.

“Be better when we get away from this place,” Bishop replied. “These bodies won't take long to get high.”

Steele grinned. “Guess their souls have already gone low - to a hotter place than this.”

“Maybe,” Bishop replied, heeling his horse forward. “But let's finish the killing with them. Let's remember we were friends once.”

“Up to you, Bish,” Steele said softly, moving his horse alongside that of the deputy.

They were almost to the far side of the drill square when Steele made his move, lurching to the side and curling one weighted end of the scarf around Bishop's neck. The deputy yelled in pain and surprise, then found himself thudded to the ground. Steele fell on top of him, straddling him, gloved hands crossed and pulling the thuggee's scarf tight.

“'The guy in the barroom would have been okay, Bish,” Steele said softly. 'But all the others have cooked my goose. “I wouldn't stand a chance in a courtroom. You want to go back alone and tell them you couldn't find me?”

“I don't think you'll do it, Adam,” Bishop croaked, fingers scrabbling ineffectually at the constricting fabric of the scarf. “But it's no deal, anyway. I only do favors for friends. We had a good friendship once, but you killed it.”

He gave a sudden upward thrust of his body, arching “his back in an attempt to throw Steele off. But Steele pressed down harder on him, crossing his hands sharply. The scarf became taut, and within seconds, a gurgle signified that Bishop was dead.

Steele stood up, leaving the scarf around Bishop's throat. “We sure did, Bish,” he said softly, his expression softening into sadness. “But all good things got to come to…

AN END”