A Colt for the Kid

by John Saunders

  ‘Get that big sorrel saddled for me. I’m going into town.’

  Talbot said: ‘Yes, Boss,’ then hesitated.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Donovan snarled.

  ‘I had a sort of message for you, Boss. I forgot ’til now. Sam Stevens said that you or anyone else that fancied clearin’ him off the range would understand what those six dead men meant. Then a youngster named Johnnie Callum said to tell you that he’d almost forgotten about his parents until the other day, and he’s goin’ to take up the patch of land they held as soon as he can locate it. I didn’t understand what he meant but that’s about what he said.’

  Donovan grunted. ‘I understand all right, the conceited young pup. Now get that horse saddled.’

  Donovan reached town an hour before noon and pulled up outside Judge Bohun’s house. He looped his reins over the picket fence and thudded his fist on the door. Bohun, freshly shaved but without his collar, opened the door. He gave Donovan a surprised look in which there was a hint of fear. He stood aside to let the rancher enter.

  ‘You got my message, then?’ he said as he led the way into the parlour. ‘I thought you’d know my handwriting.’

  ‘Message! What message?’

  Bohun paled, realizing that something had gone wrong. His first thought on seeing Donovan was that he had had the message, had recognised in spite of the lack of signature that it had come from him and that Donovan was here to thank him for it. He said nervously:

  ‘I guess it doesn’t matter seeing as you didn’t get it.’

  ‘What the blazes are you talking about?’ Donovan barked, ‘Come on, out with it.’

  The judge swallowed hard then reeled off a detailed account of how he had attempted to send a warning message to Donovan between the boxes of cigars. ‘I didn’t sign the note, fortunately,’ he concluded.

  ‘Fortunately, maybe,’ Donovan said drily. ‘Whoever got the note will most likely recognise your handwriting but won’t be able to prove it yours. The thing is, will the fellow need proof or will he go after you with a gun? Supposing the note got into the hands of Stevens? Do you think he would need more proof than he got from his own eyesight? Anyway, you did your best and had the right idea in your head. A range war is no part of the town’s business. I guess if you had the running of the town, you’d fire that Hennesey feller.’

  Bohun nodded. ‘I reckon I would. It doesn’t make sense to me to plague the biggest outfit in the district when the town’s dependent on it for its trade.’

  ‘Then run it for me,’ Donovan urged. ‘Listen, I need a man like you, one who knows the law and can use it for me. Tell me. How would I stand, supposing I bought all the property I could lay my hands on. Would that give me a say in appointing a marshal?’

  Bohun took time to consider the question. ‘In the absence of any other authority, the owners of property have a right to appoint a marshal. That’s the way it’s been here only that Carter owns the biggest block of property, the Silver Dollar, and no one else has bothered. There have been cases where a town has had two marshals. Not for long, of course.’

  ‘Just as long as it took one to shoot the other,’ Donovan said. ‘Well, maybe it’ll turn out that way in this town. I want you to act as my agent. Buy every piece of property you can. Offer a good price and let me know if there are any non-sellers.’

  Bohun drew in his breath sharply. ‘You mean buy up the town? Hell, that’ll cost you plenty. No matter how quietly I go to work it’s bound to come out that you’re buying then the prices will jump a mile high.’

  ‘Pay them, whatever they are, and I want it all done in the next two days. Make it clear to everyone that they can stay on at a nominal rent, promise anything but get me the town.’

  A nervous sweat broke out on Bohun’s forehead. He asked a few questions concerning the supply of cash, managed to think of a suitable percentage for himself then, as Donovan was impatient to be gone, showed the rancher to the door. Closing the door after Donovan, the judge hastened inside again to put on his collar and shoestring tie. A few minutes later he was on his way to the Silver Dollar feeling that nothing but a large sized glass of real whiskey would still the excitement he was feeling. He had redeye in the house but felt it was hardly the proper drink for one who in a few days’ time would be the most influential citizen in Carterville, except perhaps for Luke Carter.

  Belle Clancy, Carter and Hennesey were in conversation with the youth that Bohun remembered had hired to Stevens when Bohun rolled his bulk up to the bar. He gave them an all-embracing nod as he ordered his whiskey, but wanting to savour both the drink and his excitement, made no attempt to join the group. Carter, however, hailed him with:

  ‘A moment, Judge. There’s something you might be able to set us right about.’

  Bohun frowned but took his whiskey and joined the group. ‘Something about law?’ he asked.

  ‘Not quite,’ Carter answered. ‘This is Johnnie Callum, Judge. Does the name mean anything to you?’

  ‘Callum, Callum. Let me see now. Yes, I’ve got it. There was a family of that name who homesteaded south-east of here. Be about seven or eight years back, I guess. You looking for them, young feller, relations of yours, eh?’

  Hennesey cut in before Johnnie could frame an answer. ‘Just exactly where was the place, Judge?’

  Bohun took a gulp of whiskey. ‘Easy enough to find, Marshal. You know that place the boys call Chimney Rock? The river sort of bends sharply round it and there’s a way to climb down to the water. Well, it was just about there. Shouldn’t be surprised if there’s signs of the soddy there yet. Although I guess Donovan’s—’ Bohun stopped suddenly, flushed and then went on. ‘What the heck does anyone want to know that for, anyway?’

  ‘I wanted to know,’ Johnnie said woodenly, ‘because that soddy belonged to my parents and I’m going to take the place for my own.’

  ‘Now look here, son,’ Bohun said quickly. ‘You don’t want to try any foolishness like that. The land that way belongs to Donovan. I guess you’ve heard of him, he’s the biggest rancher for a hundred miles around here and he doesn’t stand for any nonsense. Hennesey, you ought to tell this young feller to get the crazy notion out of his head before he gets himself killed.’

  ‘Before Donovan’s men kill him, you mean? Yes, I’ve told him about that. Now I’m asking you what title, if any, Donovan has to that land. Seems to me from my maps that it’s free range.’

  ‘Free to those who have enough guns to hold it,’ Belle snapped. ‘Hennesey, you know darned well that Donovan hangs on to what he’s stolen because he can pay for plenty of gunslingers. The judge knows it as well, only he’s scared to say so. If Johnnie, here, is going to buck against Donovan then I’m all for him and I wish others would follow his lead.’

  ‘Belle, talk sense,’ Hennesey pleaded. ‘I’m doing my best to keep Donovan in line but he’s big and has plenty of guns. If Johnnie squats on that land, it will end with him being killed.’

  Johnnie glanced from one to the other. ‘I’m thanking you folks for helping me find out what I wanted to know and I’ll be getting back to Sam Stevens. He needs plenty of help yet, but just as soon as he can spare me, I’ll be settling on my land.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Johnnie, drop the idea,’ Carter said. ‘At least until someone pulls Donovan down to his proper size.’

  ‘Someone,’ Belle snapped. ‘Always someone. Somebody big enough. Well, I think Johnnie’s big enough from what Ed’s told us. All he needs is some help and by glory I’m going to give him plenty.’ She turned her green eyes on Johnnie. ‘Why aren’t you totin’ a gun, young feller?’

  ‘Haven’t got one, ma’am. Wouldn’t know how to use it if I had one.’

  ‘Cut out the ma’am and call me Belle, everyone else does. Now come down to the store with me and we’ll fix about a gun.’

  Johnnie shook his head. ‘I haven’t got as much money as that, Belle.’

  ‘Shucks, you’ll have plenty some day. Pay me
for it then.’

  She hustled Johnnie out of the saloon and left the others talking. Bohun chatted for a while and picked up a few details of what had taken place at the Stevens’ ranch house. Details that were sparse because they had come to the marshal from Johnnie and Talbot, but nevertheless showing that the boy was something of a fighter. In the short period of listening, the judge thought he detected some reluctance on the part of the marshal to speak freely and guessing that it was he who had come into possession of the note intended for Donovan, left the place. He met with Belle and Johnnie leaving the store and saw that the youngster had a .45 Colt in a holster tucked under his arm. He gave a nod to the pair and passed into the store himself. Carlen, he knew, had often talked about going East into retirement if he could get a good price for his store and with that knowledge in his head it took him less than a quarter of an hour to effect a purchase. Moss, who owned the small livery, was a different proposition. He loved his business and was hardly tempted by a substantial offer. Finally, Bohun concluded a bargain that gave the ownership of the place to Donovan but left Moss the full running of the place. An hour later, gossip in the town was only on one subject. Bohun was buying up property and paying good prices. By nightfall, with the exception of a few shacks whose owners would not sell, the Silver Dollar was an island in a town owned by Donovan. Bohun, who had at first concealed the fact that he was buying for Donovan had, early on in the business, given up the idea. He found it hopeless to sustain the deception in the faces of so many who knew that he was continually hard up for money. The one thing he did manage to keep to himself was Donovan’s reason for buying.

  Carter, Belle and Hennesey discussed the matter until midnight but reached no other conclusion except that whatever motive Donovan had, it would be a bad one. Johnnie drove into the Stevens’ place about sundown and in the middle of unloading stores gave Sam and Lucy snippets of news. Johnnie gave his news in the order of its importance to himself. First, he knew where his parents soddy had been, second, he now had a Colt .45 which he would learn to use, and a very poor third was the item that Bohun was buying property for Donovan. All his listeners raised eyebrows at that piece of information but made no more of it than those in the Silver Dollar had done. It was something bad but how bad they could not figure out.

  The last of the daylight over the Stevens’ outfit found Johnnie practising hard with his new weapon and soaking up advice from the Regan brothers.

  Lucy watched with a troubled frown on her brow. Somehow, Johnnie’s intention to take over the place his parents had been evicted from worried her more than did the plight she and Sam were in. At the moment the only bright spot she could see on her horizon was the fact that Johnnie had said he would not quit them as long as Donovan remained a menace. It seemed to Lucy, somehow better that they should all go down together, if that was to be the way of things, rather than Johnnie should be on his own when the rancher struck.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Saturday was stage day for Carterville with the coach due about two in the afternoon. Hennesey wakened to the day with an uncertain mind. Literally nothing had happened in the town since Donovan had bought the place over. Nothing had happened on the Stevens’ place either. Was he, therefore, justified in sending a letter by the stage to appeal for State help? Or rather, would officialdom take any notice of such an appeal? After all, it would be based on one defeated raid on the Stevens’ plus a lot of complaints about what had happened in past years – the years when land-grabbing and burnings-out hardly meant news. Hennesey had practically decided to abandon the idea when he came out into the bright, morning sunshine. A rig was trundling down the street, a fact that surprised him a little, it being too early for the store to be open. Then he saw that the two men on the sprung seat were Donovan’s men and his surprise increased. The rig must have left the MD well before dawn to have reached town by now. He watched the vehicle draw up outside the judge’s house and the men climb down. One of them reached out a spade and began to dig a hole in Bohun’s front patch of grass and weeds. A few minutes later they dragged a yard square noticeboard from the rig and planted the post of it in the hole. With the hole filled in again, the rig rolled towards the far end of the street. Hennesey crossed to the front of the judge’s house and his eyebrows lifted when he read the painted notice.

  DONOVAN CITY

  Temporary Office of the Marshal.

  Judge Bohun, Temporary Marshal.

  Underneath a paper was pinned announcing that election of a marshal would take place at noon in front of the judge’s house and that all were entitled to vote. Donovan’s signature was scrawled on the bottom of the paper.

  Hennesey walked away. He had little doubt that the men in the rig who were now digging at the far end of the street were planting a similar notice. His fingers went automatically to his badge. As well toss it into the dust, he supposed, for whoever Donovan had elected as marshal it would not be himself.

  As the morning passed, he found time dragged heavily and he was in the Silver Dollar almost before the swamper had finished brushing out. By that time he was fed up listening to the assurances of the dozens of men who promised to vote for him. Belle came to him the moment he entered the place. She met him without her usual smile.

  ‘Well, Ed, at least we know now why Donovan was so set on buying up the town. He wants his own marshal. You’ll stand against whoever he puts up, I suppose?’

  ‘Oh sure, I’ll stand all right. In fact I think most of the men in town will vote for me. I reckon it won’t be as easy as all that though. Donovan will have some piece of skullduggery up his sleeve, you can bet on that.’

  ‘Huh! I guess so, something with gunplay.’

  ‘Wish I had chance to use my own gun – on Donovan. That would settle things,’ Hennesey said bitterly.

  Carter came towards them, yawning and stretching as he usually did if he rose before ten in the morning. ‘What’s that about using a gun on Donovan? Sounds like a damn good idea.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s only an idea,’ Hennesey said, then gave him the details of the notice posted in front of Bohun’s house.

  Carter took the news phlegmatically enough. ‘Well, it’s no worse than we expected and there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do to stop it. If we had a grain of sense between us we’d all three take the stage this afternoon and clear the hell out of this. As far as I can see we’ll be cleared out sooner or later in any case.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t got that kind of sense,’ Belle snapped. ‘In any case we still own the saloon and I don’t reckon we’ll be selling that to Donovan.’

  Carter shrugged. ‘I can think of several things that Donovan might do that would make us glad to sell to him.’

  ‘Donovan, Donovan. To hell with Donovan,’ Belle shouted. ‘Let’s all have a drink before we go crazy.’ She swung away towards the bar without waiting for an answer.

  Carter and Hennesey were both about to follow her when the marshal’s keen hearing brought to him the sound of hoofs. A great many hoofs. He went quickly to the batwings and took a sideways glance down the street. A pack of riders, between thirty and forty in number, were entering the street. He called the news to Carter then passed outside. Riders in such numbers could only come from the MD spread and he guessed they brought trouble of some sort. He stayed on the veranda until the pack of men and horses drew up. They seemed orderly enough as they climbed from their saddles and beat clouds of trail dust from their clothes before stamping into the saloon. Most of them called out a greeting of some kind as they passed him to line up in front of the bar. Their conduct there was peaceful enough too, if a trifle noisy, and after a few minutes of waiting, Hennesey moved off. He did not want to promote trouble by taking too much interest in the riders. He went as far as the livery and was talking to Moss when the sound of a voice raised in loud protest came to him. He turned just in time to see a man jostled from the boardwalk in front of the store and fall into the dust of the street.

  ‘I guess I�
�d better see what’s happening,’ he said to Moss and walked slowly towards the group of men.

  By the time he reached them the man in the street had picked himself up and was shouting loudly at three of Donovan’s riders who now lounged indolently in front of the store.

  One of them called back: ‘You shouldn’t crowd the boardwalk, feller. It’s ’most bound to get you shoved out of the way.’

  ‘You know darned well I wasn’t doin’ no crowdin’,’ the man in the street shouted back.

  Hennesey stepped in front of the three on the boardwalk. ‘What’s it all about, fellers?’

  The tallest of the three gave him an insolent look. ‘The guy tried to push his way through us, so we pushed back. That’s all.’

  Hennesey looked at the three. ‘Town’s coming to something when a man who’s near to sixty tries to push through three hard-bitten guys like you lot. Don’t try any more of those tricks or you’ll find yourself in the lockup.’

  ‘That so? Well, I guess I’d be out again at twelve o’clock an’ that ain’t so darn far off.’

  Hennesey turned away. ‘Make sure you live to see it,’ he flung over his shoulder.

  He went to the man in the street. ‘Better get along to your shack, Tom. I reckon there’ll be more of this kind of business before long.’

  ‘I’ll be at that darned election,’ Tom said angrily. ‘Us needs a marshal to keep those MD coyotes in check.’

  Hennesey had no sooner moved away than a gun began to crack and a man came hurtling down the middle of the street. Little spurts of dust close to his heels showed where the slugs were going. As the marshal came to the centre of the street the shooting ceased. He moved with long strides to the front of the saloon and spoke angrily to a puncher who was just holstering his gun.