by Neil Hunter
‘She’s in no condition to travel. Anyone tries to say otherwise will have to say it to my face.’
‘Thanks, doc.’
‘Come back in a few hours. Cassie should be awake by then.’
He followed Tyrell outside, where they stood on the porch’
‘I need to send a telegram to Cassie’s father,’ Tyrell said. ‘He needs to know she’s all right.’
Lanier nodded, then touched Tyrell on the shoulder.
‘Benedict,’ he said.
Tyrell saw Lou Benedict walking towards them, face red from the effort.
‘You need to leave town,’ Benedict said. ‘You and the girl. Last thing Madison Springs needs is your kind of trouble.’
Tyrell held back from speaking, but he was primed if Benedict pushed thing too far.
‘Lou, the young woman is not able to travel,’ Lanier said. ‘I’ve just tended to her injuries and she is sleeping.’
‘Neither of them should be here,’ Benedict said. ‘Tyrell will only bring his problems to town.’
‘I brought in an injured young woman is all,’ Tyrell said.
‘You were always trouble,’ Benedict said. ‘Best thing was when you left. Corbin says...’
Tyrell gave a harsh laugh. ‘Hell, now we get to it. Corbin says. He telling the law what to do now, Lou?’
‘Marshal,’ Lanier said, unable to conceal his distaste for Benedict’s manner, ‘Vince Corbin does not speak for this town. He has no authority to decide who stays and who goes. I have no doubt he’s put you up to this.’
‘I’m the law in Madison Springs,’ Benedict said. ‘It’s up to me to keep the peace.’
‘Like you were doing when three of Corbin’s men attacked Will a little while ago? Where were you then, Lou?’
‘I didn’t know about that.’
‘If I was you, Lou, I would start thinking about how safe your job is. Town council is well aware of your association with Vince Corbin. It doesn’t sit too well.’
‘Vince is an important man hereabouts. He puts a lot of business Madison Springs way.’
‘He doesn’t own the town,’ Lanier said. ‘Time you realized that, Marshal. And he has no sway with the council. We hired you. And we can fire you just as easily. Think about that.’
‘Doc, I need to send that telegram,’ Tyrell said.
He turned away slowly, catching Benedict’s hard scowl. He made his way along the street to the telegraph office about halfway along. When he stepped inside he saw a familiar face behind the counter.
Sam Brewster had been the town telegrapher for a long time. He was skinny and balding and surveyed the world through wire framed spectacles. He was one of those men who was difficult to put an age to. And today he was dressed in his familiar striped shirt and black waistcoat. His face split into a wide, friendly grin when he saw Tyrell.
‘Will, good to see you, boy. Been a piece.’
‘It has.’
‘I heard the telling,’ Brewster said. ‘Seems you’ve been having a busy time.’ He studied the bruises on Tyrell’s face. ‘I hear the other fellers are in a worse state than you. Can’t say I’m upset about that. Those Corbin hands have been asking for a dusting for a long time.’
‘Wasn’t what I came back for,’ Tyrell said.
‘Oh, hell, Will, I know that. Now how is that young woman?’
‘Over to doc’s. Being well looked after. Sam... ’
‘Listen to me jabbering away and you having business to deal with.’
‘I need to send a telegram to Miss Marchant’s father. Let him know where she is.’
Brewster pulled his pad in front of him as Tyrell recited the town and name he wanted the telegram sending to. The pencil in Brewster’s hand moved slowly as he printed out the words. He moved across to the telegraph key and tapped in the message. There was a silence after he finished until the machine gave a few responsive clicks.
‘There she is,’ Brewster said. ‘All we have to do now is wait for a reply. I’ll let you know when it comes through.’
‘How much do I owe, Sam?’
‘Why not a thing, Will. This town owes you. Way things were when you left...let’s say this is a small part of saying sorry we let you down.’
‘Thanks, Sam.’
Tyrell made his way back along the street. Slowly as the bruises in his body started to protest.
He reached the hotel and walked into the lobby. He remembered it from the old days. Lev Menahim, the owner, was behind the desk. Just like he always seemed to be. He was a small man, spare and in his fifties, yet he still sported a full head of thick black hair and a neat mustache to go with it. When he recognized Tyrell his face split into a wide grin. He threw out his arms as he came out from behind the desk.
‘My God, it is you,’ he said. ‘William Tyrell in the flesh.’
‘Bruised and battered flesh, Lev.’
They shook hands, Menahim pumping Tyrell’s arm repeatedly.
‘I hear you had some trouble out there,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Loren told me when he came in to get you a room.’
‘Not caused you any problems?’
‘This is my establishment, Will. Just because Corbin uses my hotel doesn’t bring him any more privileges than anyone else. He doesn’t like it what can he do? This is the only hotel in town.’
‘I’m grateful, Lev.’
‘I got you your old room. Where you used to live if I recall.’
‘That I did.’
Tyrell would never forget the room. It overlooked the main street. Gave him an easy view of the local traffic.
‘I’ll bring my possibles over from the livery…’
‘I’ll get my boy to bring them. You look like you could do with a rest.’
‘What I do need is a hot bath.’
‘No worries there, Marshal...’ Menahim’s face reddened at the slip. ‘Oy, forgive me, my friend. Old memories.’
‘It wasn’t all bad, Lev...now about that bath?’
‘Yes. At the end of the corridor along from your room you’ll find a genuine bath. I had it installed a year back. It’s the latest thing. Nowadays a good hotel has to be able to provide for its customers. I will have it filled with hot water for you’
Menahim handed Tyrell the key.
He made his way up the stairs, feeling every riser. Unlocked the door and went in. The room looked and felt just as it always had – when it had been his home. Tyrell crossed to the window. It had been opened halfway to let in some air. Tyrell stared down at the street. He may have been away a long time but nothing seemed to have changed.
Except that it had.
He watched with little interest as Lew Benedict made his slow way across the street, kicking up dust as he moved in that slow way of his, dragging his heels as if the effort of walking was too much for him. The man had never exerted himself as long as Tyrell had known him. Always did the minimum as long as he could get away with it.
Tyrell turned from the window and located the bathroom. It was as modern as possible, with an enameled bath. This, he decided, was as good as it could get.
Minutes later assistants arrived carrying large wooden pails holding steaming water they poured into the bath. When the tub was half filled they departed and left Tyrell. He stripped off his clothing and stepped into the bath, using the block of soap available. It felt good to sink his aching body into the water. Tyrell washed then sank bank and stayed there until the water became cold. The soaking helped to ease the aching bruises left from his fight in the livery.
When he eventually made his way back downstairs, dressed in clean clothes from his saddlebags, with his gun holstered on his hip, he made his way to the town barber where he had a shave and a hair trim. He decided to leave calling in to see Cassie until he had eaten.
He found a restaurant that hadn’t existed when he had been resident in Madison Springs during his marshal days. The smell of coffee and cooked food drew him inside and he chose an empty table at the rear. He a
te well. A big steak with all the trimmings and plenty of black coffee. He took his time, acknowledging a few of the town residents who recalled him and despite everything that had happened in the past Tyrell found he was pleasantly surprised by his feelings.
Returning to Madison Springs was not as traumatic as he might have expected. That didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to move on and pick up his current life. His days as a lawman were behind him. Will Tyrell was a different man. He had a new purpose. The lure of town life had little to draw him back. It slowly dawned there were only two important matters he needed to complete.
Making certain he didn’t lose his relationship with Cassie Marchant.
Returning to the high country and the life he had built for himself.
He headed in the direction of Doc Lanier’s place. Someone called his name. It was Sam Brewster, waving a buff paper.
It came, he said. ‘Your reply from Bell’s Creek.’
He thrust the telegram into Tyrell’s hand.
Mister Tyrell. Got your message. Jimmy’s going to make it. On way to Madison Springs. Tell Cassie. Roderick Marchant.
‘You going to tell that young woman?’
Tyrell smiled, even though it hurt.
‘What do you think, Sam.
He made his way to Doc Lanier’s place and stepped inside. Minutes later he was being ushered into Cassie’s room by the doctor’s wife.
‘The doctor was impressed by the way you dealt with Cassie’s leg,’ she said. ‘All he had to do was replace the splints. That young woman was fortunate that you found her.’
‘What about the rest of her injuries? She went through a bad time before I found her.’
‘Nothing time won’t heal. She’s a remarkable individual. You know she’s dome very little except ask about you.’
Cassie’s room was on the front of the building. Overlooking Madison Springs’ main street. Her bed set so she could look outside. She was propped up on thick pillows that raised her in a comfortable position, her splinted leg resting on another thick pillow. When Tyrell stepped inside she turned her head and stared at him for a time. Lanier’s wife closed the door to give them privacy.
‘You look better than the last time I saw you,’ Tyrell said.
Cassie smiled. ‘You too. Though you didn’t have all those bruises then. Have you had problems, Will? Because of me? It appears I have brought nothing but trouble since you found me.’
He stood beside her bed, shaking his head.
‘This had nothing to do with you. Just something from my past.’
He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. She gave a soft sigh and reached up with both her arms, grasping his shirt and drawing him closer to return the kiss. Only this time it was full on the lips and the touch lingered.
‘Will Tyrell, I believe the time for restraint is long past. So no more chasteness.’
‘I hope so,’ he said.
He drew up a ladder-back chair and sat down. Held up the telegram and showed it to her.
‘From your father.’
‘Dad? You found him?’
‘Bell’s Creek telegraph to be exact.’
Cassie took the paper and read the words. Tears came to her eyes unbidden.
‘He’s well enough to travel.’ She smiled at Tyrell. ‘And Jimmy is alive too. The best news I could hope for.’
‘On his way to take you home.’
Cassie’s face flushed at the words. ‘Maybe I don’t want to go to Bell’s Creek, Will. Could be I want a new home...’
The way she spoke those words left an opening for him to respond. Tyrell’s earlier thoughts rose in his mind. The way he had been thinking himself.
‘You sure about that?’
Cassie nodded. Yes, Mr. Tyrell, I’m more than sure.’
‘I don’t have much to offer. Callender burned my cabin. All my possessions.’
‘Then we’ll build another. Remember you said you were going to make something bigger and better. We can do that, Will. Together.’ She paused, her eyes fixed on him. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Nothing surer.’
‘Then wait until my father gets to town. I’m sure he’ll want to help. Unless your pride won’t allow that.’
‘Never been one to pass help aside. Just one thing, Cassie Marchant. Is this willfulness going to be showing itself a lot?’
‘Oh, you can count on that. Is it going to be a problem?’
‘Something I’ll have to take into account.’
When he kissed her again it was with a determined force.
‘And that is something I’ll have to take into account?’
‘Yes, ma’am, it most certainly is.’
When he took his leave and stood on the boardwalk outside the doctor’s office Tyrell took a look around. He was uneasy. Something hovering on the edges of his mind.
Mordecai Callender.
He had allowed the matter to slide to the back of his mind. Other things had taken precedence. Now the name came back with a vengeance. He glanced up at the window of Cassie’s room. He had been concerned with her welfare, making certain she was being looked after and other matters had been pushed aside. That had been a foolish error and Tyrell was about to face the consequences.
Four riders appeared at the far end of town, riding into view as they passed the livery stable. They were weary. Travel stained and by the expressions on their faces Madison Springs was not about to be putting out the welcome mat.
The big, unshaven man leading the group had to be Mordecai Callender. The burly man had a presence about him. He carried a Sharps Big 50 rifle across his thighs. He was mounted on splendid white pure bred horse.
Tyrell stepped out, knowing this was nothing he could walk away from, and met them halfway along the street. The bunch drew rein and a silence followed until Callender spoke.
‘I’m looking for the man called Tyrell.’
‘You’ve found him.’
‘Then you know who I am. Why I’m here.’
‘Callender, there’s nothing for you in Madison Springs.’
‘My property. The girl. I mean to have her.’
‘All this for nothing but a notion in your head.’
‘She’s mine. Her father dishonored the wager we made.’
‘Hell, man, can you hear what you’re saying. The girl is not a thing to be wagered on by a pair of men who drank too much and were playing a foolish game.’
‘Mister, I wasn’t that drunk. I knew what I was playing for. So did Marchant. I won fair and square. Now I mean to have her back.’
‘You treated that girl badly. Hounded her across the high country. Chased her like an animal. Almost killed her.’
‘Three of my people are dead, Tyrell. One was kin. Killed by your hand. I can’t forget that either.’
‘They took against me. My life or theirs. I gave them notice to back off. They wouldn’t. They were men grown.’
‘My people.’
‘And I ain’t forgot you burned my home to the ground.’
One of Callender’s men eased his horse forward.
‘That bitch caused trouble back to home,’ he said. ‘We aim to see she pays for that if we have to set the torch to this damn town.’
‘No you won’t. You fellers back off right now before I let loose with this here piece.’
Out the corner of his eye Tyrell saw the substantial, dark-dressed figure of Lou Benedict. The lawman held a cocked Greener shotgun in his hands, aimed at Callendar’s group. Benedict’s face gleamed with perspiration as he stood his ground. The weapon in his hands was steady.
The Callender man who had spoken uttered a wild curse and went for the gun on his hip.
Benedict pulled the trigger and blew him out of his saddle.
And after that the street echoed to the crackle of gunfire.
Tyrell saw a second man draw and pulled his Colt, angling up at the rider. He triggered a single shot that punched in through the man’s chest. He lolled back in his
saddle, a blood stain covering his shirt as he rolled off his horse.
Mordecai Callender got off a single shot that slammed into Tyrell’s shoulder, the hard punch knocking Tyrell off his feet and into the dirt of the street. As he hit he turned his wrist, cocked and fired at the man’s bulk. He put three close shots into Callender’s body. Callender shuddered as the trio of shots pushed Callender to the side where he tried to cling to the saddle horn before falling and slamming to the ground. One bullet had gone all the way through, leaving a bloody hole in his back. Callender spread out on his face, pistol bouncing from his grip. He was dead before the weapon fell still.
The remaining rider got off a shot that hit Benedict in the right arm. The lawman stayed on his feet and pushed his shotgun forward, firing his remaining barrel and put the shooter out of his saddle in a burst of bloody flesh as the charge ripped through his neck and face.
Benedict let the shotgun slip from his fingers, clutching his hand to his bleeding arm. His face was ashen white, eyes staring about him in shock.
Still holding his smoking .45 Tyrell slowly sat up. A heavy weight seemed to be pulling at his shoulder and he gave a soft groan as pain took over.
The street had become very quiet apart from the nervous snorting of the startled horses. Tyrell stood slowly, aware of his unsteady legs. He dropped his gun back in the holster and cradled his bleeding shoulder.
Figures began to edge back onto the boardwalks, a low murmur filtering from them.
Benedict edged his way across to face Tyrell.
‘They were bound for killing you,’ he said.
‘No way of talking my way out of that though I didn’t want it.’
‘I couldn’t let that happen,’ Benedict said. ‘Not in my town.’
‘You’re right about that, Lou. It is your town.’
‘Hell, Will, Doc Lanier is going to end up a wealthy man after all this.’
With grudging respect they made their slow way up the street in the direction of the doctor’s office.
When Roderick Marchant arrived in town a couple of days later he observed the peaceful atmosphere about Madison Springs. There was still talk about the recent gunfight. And the way Will Tyrell and Lou Benedict had faced off the Callender challenge. By the time Marchant showed up there had been time to expand the brief showdown into an epic battle.