by Frank Callan
‘No Sir, I’ve always been on my own. Lonesome but not lonely, I guess. The war and the trails filled my life and then, wham . . . it’s all gone and I’m going grey!’
‘What about a woman then? Have you had a special woman?’
There was an uneasy silence. Nobody had ever asked Cal that before. Nobody had ever asked him about women. ‘Now, Sedge, as I understand it, a woman fills your life up. She asks a lot. I’ve never been a giver. That’s my fault, I guess. My own self filled up my time.’
‘Same thing for me, partner!’ Sedge laughed and put out his hand, and the two men shared something important.
‘Now,’ Cal asked, ‘Do we just wait?’
‘Only thing is,’ put in Sedge, ‘We have to sit on this damned hard floor for hours. . . .’
‘No’ Cal said, ‘There’s no need. I’m goin’ out to circle the shooters.’
Sedge pulled a face and screwed up his forehead into a frown. ‘You’re still in a fragile state from the stitches what some doc put on you there, son. I say we stay put. Come the night, one of us could do that then.’
Cy was more edgy than anyone else, and he expected the worst. ‘Look, they are Pinkertons, and they will be expectin’ reinforcements any time. Maybe there’s another and he’s ridin’ off for help right now! We gotta act fast, Sedge. Boldwood, you’re right. Hitting hard and fast wins the day. I never heard of Pinkertons being outsmarted, but they could be outgunned.’
Sedge was all for encouraging Cy to go, and the young man made ready, checking his guns, but Cal could not go along with that. ‘No, no, Cy. I have no wife, no kids. I’m the one to go. Sedge, your leg’s bound to slow you down, though I know your heart’s strong as an ox. I’ll crawl round behind them and pick ’em off.’
Cy was starting to think that the drifter looking for work was not what he seemed. He was too capable, too committed to action. Was he a hothead on the loose, or was he a wanted man? He sure acted like an army officer. But they let Cal go. They waited some hours, for when dusk was filling the air. Then Cal took Cy’s rifle and went out the back door, on his belly, real slow. There was a thick line of vegetation ahead of him, and a pile of old logs. He would make that his first vantage point. Slow as a snake with a rat in him, he slithered across to the wood and squat down.
Inside, Sedge, Cy and Lizzie managed to drag tables and chairs across to the window to block any light and to hide behind. It had been quiet out there for hours, so they were expecting trouble now. Everybody had been patient, but now Jim Kenny was restless. He bawled out, ‘You in there . . . we just want you gone. This is Jim Kenny . . . we want you out. This is a Kenny place and we got deeds, from a lawyer, Mr Holden, you hear? Mr Holden, a real lawyer. Now you leave . . . come out with your hands up, and you can ride away.’
‘Jim Kenny, this is my land. You’re trespassin’,’ shouted Cy.
As Jim was talking, Cal knew he wasn’t figuring to shoot at him, so he moved as fast as he could, his mind overcoming the pain, to where he could see Jim Kenny. He and Coop were on their knees, behind a thick shrub, their rifles pointed at the window, where some shadows could be seen moving. He could see Jim Kenny clearly and he raised his rifle, ready to aim at the head. But in that instant, in the fading light as some late sun was directed at Coop, Cal saw a man whose very presence made his heart miss a beat. His jaw dropped and his gun fell down to the dust, because in that beam of light he could see the hat with the white feather, and once again he was the terrified little boy, seeing his father die.
He saw that his dropping the rifle had made a sound, and both men glanced across to where he was. In a panic, Cal shot at Jim, and the bullet ripped into his right arm. He went down with a shriek. ‘Coop,’ he called, ‘Coop, we need to go and get help!’
Cal saw the white-hatted man get to his feet and start to walk, wrapping an arm around Kenny, as they both staggered out of the line of fire. He dragged one leg as he moved, as if the limb was only half functioning. There was no doubt in his mind now that the man he had heard called Coop was the man who had killed his father. He started after them, as quickly as he could, and he saw that Kenny slipped and fell again, clutching his arm. White Hat looked back, saw Cal raise his gun, and in that second, he saw and knew Cal.
‘I’ll be damned . . . Cal Roney! You a ghost?’ Coop said, firing a shot to stop Cal making any progress, and then he moved on into the darkness, shouting, ‘I’ll be back for you, Jim!’
A short while later, Cal stood over Jim Kenny, who was whimpering and holding his arm. ‘You’ll pay for this, mister,’ he whined.
‘Unlikely, mister. I have nothin’ in my pocket book!’
‘I was talking about paying with your life.’
‘I know that, but you see, the big war didn’t kill me, and the tribes on the Plains didn’t kill me, and damn me if the heat and flies didn’t kill me, so your brother will have to be somethin’ real exceptional!’ Cal chuckled with delight and Jim Kenny hated him for it.
‘I heard you was a gunslinger, Roney? I heard you could have killed my pa. Why didn’t you do it?’ Jim asked, puzzled.
‘You know, young Kenny, you need to exercise the brain in there. . . takin’ a life is not always the right way, and it’s not always as easy as you might think. Sure, you can pull a trigger. But you are takin’ a man’s life, and that’s big. It is in most folks’ minds, though I’m startin’ to see that a Kenny has no scruples in this matter.’
‘Well, you didn’t kill Pa. Clearly, you are a gunman to be respected, I have to say. Though I’m fast losin’ any kind of fellow-feeling for you after what you done today.’
Cal grabbed hold of Jim Kenny by the collar and lifted him off the ground. He found enough strength, though agonizing pain shot across his chest where muscle touched the wound, and he slammed the kid against a tree trunk. ‘Kenny, you got a lot to learn. Most of all, you got to learn that life is valuable. . . a life is worth something, and it’s not counted in gold or silver. You follow me?’
He held the youth so firm and tight that he whimpered and his face creased with the spasms of pain that went through him. ‘Yes . . . I understand . . . put me down, you madman!’
‘Sure. Respect for life, you see. . . even the life of a sewer rat like you!’ Cal dropped him back to the earth with a thump, and the kid moaned and whined like a stuck pig.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Matt Calero was riding out towards the south, with the Medicine Bow heights on the far horizon, thinking that it would take a couple of days to reach anywhere near Blood Creek. He had decided that Lerade was nothing more than a worrier, and would fret over red wine spilt on a rug. Cal Roney could take care of himself, he was sure. This was a perfect time to go steadily, easily, take in some free time out in the open. He had been shut inside sitting at a desk ever since the fight at Dentstown six months back.
He was convinced that there was no emergency, no massacre, and certainly no ghost or witch awaiting him out at the Creek. Consequently this gave him a couple of days in which he could take in the beauty of the land, do a little hunting and shooting, and maybe, when he reached the place, sink a few drops of the gargle varnish with good old Cal, who was a loner like himself.
But he did have a secret – at least it was a secret he had kept from Lerade. It was something that only he and Cal Roney knew. Back in the war, he had turned tail and cracked. In fact, he had been in tears, a man racked by fear, trembling, hiding in an old barn a few miles from the battle which had seared him, burned into his soul, frightened him to the bone. Cal Roney had been the man who had found him in that state, a man on his knees, praying for his life, begging the Good Lord to save him. Deserters would be shot.
Cal Roney had found him and helped him. Through a long, cold night in Missouri he had kept watch over Matt Calero, and somehow dished up some broth, made by the farmer there. They had made it back to the regiment, and nothing was said. The episode was covered over when Cal Roney had wounded him in the arm, to draw some blood and give
him a cover story. Struggling back with a bleeding man was a convincing ploy in front of the infantry that Roney had commanded. Even more heartening for the situation was that Calero was a mere private. The men had watched their officer come back, dragging one of their own, having saved his life.
Calero took his time because the truth was, he didn’t want to meet Cal in any difficult situation. It would be fine to drink with him, but not to be in a tight spot. Their paths had not crossed since the war apart from one brief meeting in Laramie when Calero had been in a crowd of detectives and Cal had not recognized him.
The plan is, then, he thought as he ambled along, to arrive too late for anything. Whatever it was that ravaged his dreams, he didn’t want it back again. Today, four years after the war, Matt Calero still had the bad dreams, the re-run of his shameful fleeing from the noise of the guns and the screaming, pain-racked wounded. He still thought of Cal Roney finding him weeping and trembling in that barn. He didn’t want reminders of that.
Even out in the open plain, when he made ready to sleep under the stars, comforted by a bottle of whiskey, because he was heading for some place where Cal Roney might be, he knew the bad dreams would torture him, and he drank to try to drop into a deep sleep, where the booze would help him forget.
Cal decided not to follow White Hat. He couldn’t move fast enough. Instead, he walked out, pulling Jim Kenny, where he could be seen from the house and called out for Cy and the others. They came out, still gripping their firearms.
‘They’ve gone . . . but they’ll be back,’ Cal said, ‘I winged this one . . . Mr Kenny himself!’ He said nothing about what was really in his thoughts: the disturbing discovery of the man in the white hat.
‘A Kenny is he, this man . . . the brother of the one who came a few days ago?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I thought he was a likeable man at first . . . real friendly . . . then it turned out he was nothin’ but a threat to us. Well done, Mr Boldwood. He is your brother, mister?’ She looked down at Jim, who now sat on the ground.
Sedge advised that they all get back inside and fortify the place. ‘Unless, of course, you all want to run.’ But Cal could now see the peril in their situation. He had been listening and learning about the Kenny outfit, and he knew they were truly dangerous.
‘Cy, maybe you should move on. Do you know who you’re dealing with here?’
‘Yeah, some crazy brothers who want my home. They can’t have it. Now I got one of them!’
‘You understate things, my friend,’ Cal said. ‘This man I just shot is a part of what could be called a private army, ain’t that right, son? They’ll now want me dead . . . I think they’ll be a little upset that we have one of them right here . . . They’ll come back and flatten this place. What do you want to do?’
They all looked at each other. There was head-scratching and frowning. Finally, Lizzie said, ‘Mr Boldwood, we’re not long married. We’ve seen hard times, Cy and me. When we met up with Sedge here, we found a kindred spirit. . . a man who was badly wounded in the tail end of the war, and who had nobody and nothing. The three of us together became real tired of drifting around, and then, as if guided by the good Lord, we stumbled on this place. Mr Boldwood, we’ve been runnin’ since we was no bigger than a new-born calf. I don’t know what Sedge thinks, but I want to stand and fight.’
Sedge agreed. ‘Mr Boldwood, I don’t know who you are, but this ain’t your fight. You were on your way, passin’ through, and now you’ve shot a Kenny here . . . the kid of the family, I reckon. . . . His big brother will be aimin’ to bury you alive and dance on the grave. This ain’t your fight. No cowardice in swinging your leg over that beautiful appaloosa and steamin’ out of this place.’
‘My brothers’ll rip your guts out, you idiots. Get out of here if you’ve any sense!’ Jim snapped.
Before Cal could answer, Cy butted in with, ‘By the way, who exactly are you, Mr Boldwood? I mean, you’re handy with a rifle, you took control of the situation in there . . . you’re not just a cowherd surely?’
‘Some cowherds are useful with weapons, Cy, you know that.’
Cy was about to say something more when there was a sound of hoofs not far off, and their heads turned.
‘They can’t be here so quick, surely!’ Sedge said.
‘Back inside, everybody!’ Cal called out, and they moved sharp, back into the shack, with Cal picking up his own rifle from his saddle, and giving Bella some fuss. Cy and Sedge grabbed a tight hold of their prisoner and took him inside.
Only a few hundred yards away, Ben Stile, Charlie and Emilia were pulling up to a canter, and they had no idea what had been happening at the Creek.
Riding towards Long Corral at the head of twenty of his cowhands and hired killers, Eddie Kenny knew that the time had come for a show of strength. Jake knew what he was to do, and that would be the last act in the night’s drama. First there was the jailhouse and its noble but thick-headed deputy, Ben Stile. Here was a man, he thought, riding in the late afternoon light towards the main street, who didn’t have the sense to step across the road and join the winners. He was a loser. He was king of the losers. Now he was about to join the feathered choir in the Heaven of the God that he and his suited do-gooders loved so much.
By his side, Jake was feeling his heart throbbing with the thrill of what was coming. His assignment was to kill a man, take a life, put Octavius Gibbs among the corpses in the town cemetery, next to where his good wife lay. He was probably doing good, sending a man to meet his one true love, in the other life that we all have to fall into sometime. Only Gibbs’s time was very near. He was not to let his brother down. A voice inside him was urging him on, do the right thing, do a clean job, give the man a quick death.
They arrived at the end of town and Eddie raised a hand to pull them up, so he could savour the moment.
‘Right boys, now . . . you three with the dynamite, get down the right-hand side, and it’s growing a little dark, so let’s have the sticks in place real quick.’ The men did as they were told.
‘Jake, you wait down the side of the Heath. When we come across, you walk in first and do the job.’
Jake nodded, ‘Sure, Eddie. You can rely on me!’
‘Now the rest of you, rifles raised. We’re gonna charge that jail, as soon as the blast has done its job, and tear it to pieces. We charge when I raise my hand again.’
Jake rode on ahead and turned down a yard out of the distance that the blast would hit. Everyone else stayed where they were and waited. They were far enough away to see the work that the blast would do, but their mounts would be safely away from it, and so would their own heads and ears.
It was a tense few minutes. There was a light in the jail, but nobody in Eddie Kenny’s gang waiting there had any notion of who was in the building. In fact, there was only one person in there: a drunk who lay asleep in a cell, on a hard wooden bench, snoring and deeply unaware of what was about to happen.
There was no sound but the jingling and shuffling of riders and saddles along the street, and some music from the Heath, where Macky Heath had welcomed a couple of fiddlers along to entertain. It could have been any normal night in summer when folks walk out and enjoy the entertainment. But Kenny had other plans.
Then there was a mighty blast of noise, and the walls and roof were lifted up into the air for a few seconds, followed by the splintered planks and lats showering the dust. A massive cloud of dust and powdered wood shot into the evening air, and shouts from across the street followed the noise as all the debris hit the ground and spread outwards. After a strange peace of a few seconds, people ran out of buildings towards the wrecked jail, and some shouted ‘Take care . . . stand back . . . there may be more blasts!’
That was the sign for Eddie Kenny and his boys to charge forwards and start shooting at any pieces of wall that still remained upright. They made such a thorough job of this that even the iron bars in their frames clattered down to the ground. The people who had started to run out now turned back, screaming
in fear.
Folk in Long Corral would talk about that night for years to come. They would recall the blast, and the appearance of the great intimidating gang of Kenny’s men – but they would all tell the tale of what happened in the Heath Hotel.
It should have been a simple enough task. A man was to be shot dead. But earlier that night, when the Heath brothers, Sonny Gibbs and the other members of the former Informer paper normally gathered for their poker, they were missing. Jake Kenny found this out when he walked in, shoved aside a man who stood in his way, swaying with the effects of drink, and walked up to the card table in the back room, ready to draw his revolver and put a bullet in Gibbs’ forehead. Jake saw, in that instant, that there was no Sonny Gibbs. In fact, there was no one except a servant who was cleaning the table top.
Jake did not draw his gun. The servant told him that the men had gone out to see what the explosion was. Common sense told Jake to skulk away somewhere and return later.
‘You wanted to join in the game, Mister Kenny?’ the man asked.
‘Sure, sure. I’ll come back when they’re settled again.’
Jake found a quiet room where a few old men were reading or chatting, mostly about the explosion. Someone rushed in and told them that the jailhouse had been blown up, and they muttered and mumbled their surprise, but went on enjoying the peace and quiet. A few nodded at Jake, who sat and melted into the background, waiting for the gamblers to return.
People kept shouting at the door that the jail was blown to pieces. But after a while one of the newsmongers told the old men that Ben Stile had not been in the building, and that he had set off for Blood Creek.
Jake would bide his time, let the furore die down, and when the card players were back, he would strike.
Out at Blood Creek, the newest arrivals had ridden up to the front of the shack and Cy had recognized them, so that when Ben called out to see if all was well, Cy went out to the porch and invited them all inside.