‘What in tarnation do you think you’re up to?’
‘Just a bit of fun, Marshal.’
‘Well, lay off that kind of fun or you’ll find yourself in real trouble.’
Hennesey’s eyes went from the fun maker to the veranda of the saloon. Four of Donovan’s men were in front of the batwings and one of the townsmen was coming up the steps. The four parted to give way for the man’s entrance to the saloon then suddenly a foot was thrust forward and the man went sprawling. Hennesey took the three steps in a bound, grabbed at the shoulder of the puncher who had done the tripping up and drove a heavy punch to his jaw. As the man went reeling backwards the others grabbed for their guns, but the marshal’s was out first. The three grinned at him and sauntered away. The one who had been punched glowered as if inclined to take the quarrel further then went after his companions. Hennesey holstered his gun and turned to the man who had been tripped.
‘I guess you’ll have to put up with what’s just happened, Jake. Donovan’s boys seem set on causing trouble.’
Jake grumbled a little and passed into the saloon. Hennesey, after a glance up and down the street, followed him. The saloon seemed unnaturally quiet. Ten, or a dozen, men were at the bar but there was little conversation going on and all seemed to be waiting on something, or someone. Hennesey had a few words with Carter and Belle in which he told them what had happened in the street.
Carter looked uneasy. ‘It sounds as if Donovan’s men are set on scaring people off the street before election time.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Half an hour to go. Ed, I’ve a notion that us three will be riding that stage when it pulls out this afternoon.’
‘The heck we will,’ Belle snapped. ‘At least, not unless someone hog-ties us and throws us into the coach.’
Hennesey gave a half grin and was about to make a reply when the steady banging of a sixgun sounded. He hurried to the batwings with Carter and Belle close on his heels. Thirty or so yards down the street Johnnie Callum was riding towards the saloon. He sat on the aged horse that he had taken from Manders in a manner that reminded Hennesey of a sack of wheat thrown carelessly across the saddle. Yet there was something in his way of riding that showed he was completely master of the horse. As the marshal watched, two slugs kicked dust from near to the hoofs of the animal but neither horse nor rider gave any sign of being affected by the shots. Hennesey’s eyes went to the corner of the store from where the shots had been fired, and at the same time his hand went to the butt of his gun. Then he stopped the movement. The puncher who had been doing the firing had emptied his gun and was now making an attempt to reload. Johnnie’s slowly moving horse had turned slightly and was going directly towards the gunman. Hennesey left the veranda at the same moment that Johnnie vaulted in an ungainly manner from the saddle. The new Colt was holstered at his waist but he made no attempt to draw the weapon although he must have seen that the Donovan man had nearly completed his loading. Hennesey drew in a deep breath and wondered if he should try to control the situation with his own gun, but even as the thought came to him he knew that the distance was too great for accurate shooting, if shooting was called for. Then something seemed to happen to Johnnie. His shambling, graceless striding became a quick whirl of arms and legs and the next moment the Donovan man was sprawling in the dust, his sixgun wrenched from him. He made a move to rise from the ground but was immediately flattened again by a swinging punch that had sledge hammer force in it. This time the man stayed down, or would have done if Johnnie’s large hand had not gripped him by the bandanna and hauled him to his feet. The marshal came up at a run and shouldered his way between men who had got to the scene ahead of him. He was in time to see Johnnie shake the puncher like a child shakes a rag doll then with his free hand knock him senseless to the ground. In a moment the crowd of men, their loyalties always with the winner of a fist fight, surged forward to surround Johnnie, and Hennesey found himself shoved to one side by men demanding to buy Johnnie a drink. He got a quick glance at the boyish face. It was neither angry, excited or triumphant. Just solemn and a little uncertain. He had a feeling that Johnnie had come to town to see him, Hennesey, and began to push towards him again and as he did so a man shouted:
‘Hey, fellers, here’s the boss.’
The shouted words seemed to quell all excitement in the men, and Hennesey turned to see that Donovan, astride a big sorrel, was within a few feet of him. Donovan’s glance went straight to himself.
‘What’s it all about, Marshal?’
The accent on the title was not lost on Hennesey but he answered quietly. ‘One of your men trying to scare Johnnie Callum with gun shots.’ He gestured over his shoulder. ‘You can see how he got on.’
Donovan’s eyes went to the still unconscious man then to Johnnie and back to Hennesey.
‘What did he lay him out with? The butt of a gun?’
‘No, just with his fists.’
Donovan’s eyebrows lifted. ‘A useful fist. More useful at keeping order in my town than you are, Hennesey.’
Hennesey’s face reddened. ‘Maybe you didn’t want the place keeping orderly.’
The beginnings of a grin curled Donovan’s hard mouth. ‘If that had been the case I wouldn’t have called for the election of a marshal at all.’ He pulled out a big watch. ‘I make it a few minutes to noon. I take it you’ll be at the meeting, Hennesey.’
Hennesey nodded. ‘There isn’t anything that would keep me away.’
Again Donovan gave his half grin. He turned a little in his saddle and boomed at the group of men.
‘You have your instructions, boys. See that you carry them out. I want no disorder.’
Hennesey watched him ride towards the judge’s house and his men troop after him. Those in the saloon were coming out too, he noticed. He glanced at Johnnie and saw the change that had come over his face. There was no doubt about the anger in it now. He said:
‘What brought you to town, Johnnie?’ and saw him start as if thought had been jerked from far away.
‘Sam sent me to tell you that the fellers doing guard have gone back home. They got kind of restless sitting around and waiting. Sam says not to worry about it. He just thought you ought to know. What’s this about a meeting?’
Hennesey explained what was afoot. ‘Tell Sam and Lucy about it when you get back, will you?’
‘Oh, sure, I’ll tell them all right. Say, I thought a marshal’s job was sort of permanent?’
Hennesey grinned. ‘Walk with me to the meeting and you’ll see how permanent it is.’
‘But all these people in town. The fellers that know you. They’ll vote for you, won’t they?’
‘They might, if someone hasn’t got a gun stuck in their ribs.’
‘I get it,’ Johnny said slowly. ‘I get it. Donovan’s going to try and crowd you out. Like the way he’s done to homesteaders.’
Judge Bohun was already on his front porch when Hennesey and Johnnie reached the outskirts of the crowd. He had begun to speak, but stopped when he saw Hennesey, with Johnnie treading behind him, begin to push a way to the front. As the marshal got to the front rank he noted sourly that it consisted mainly of Donovan’s men, most of them with their backs to the judge, their eyes on the town men.
Hennesey muttered: ‘Stay here, Johnnie,’ and moved across the clear space to Bohun’s porch as the judge began again.
‘Men, you all know why this meeting has been called. The ownership of most of the town has changed hands, and the new owner, Mr Donovan—’
Bohun faltered as Hennesey stepped alongside him, but at Hennesey’s whispered, ‘Carry on. I’m still marshal and I want to see that order is kept,’ he continued:
‘Mr Donovan has decided that the town ought to have a freely elected marshal. Now all you have to do is shout out your nominations, then step forward to back them up. I have to make it that you step forward so that I can make sure that outsiders, I mean men who do not belong to the district, do not shout out a nomination. As soon as I have a
ll the nominations I shall put the names to a show of hands. Is that clear?’
A voice called out: ‘Get on with it, Judge. We know how to vote, an’ this ain’t no election for a Senator.’
When the laugh had subsided another voice called: ‘I nominate Ed Hennesey.’
Bohun’s eyes appeared to range over the crowd of men. ‘Will the gent who nominated Ed Hennesey step to the front?’ There was a scuffle in the crowd but no one came forward. Bohun called out: ‘Let the gent come forward, please.’
He waited a few seconds, got no response, then shouted: ‘I guess the gent has changed his mind. Well, it’s a free country. Anyone else care to nominate Ed Hennesey?’
This time there came a distinct howl of pain and as it died down, Hennesey brushed the judge to one side. He bawled out:
‘Fellers, no more nominations for me. You’ll only get hurt if you try. Let these Donovan fellers have their faked-up election and see what comes of it afterwards.’ He might have said more, but the sight of Johnnie stepping into the clear space stopped him, and he heard the youngster’s clearly shouted words with something like dismay.
‘I’m nominatin’ Ed Hennesey an’ I’m out in front to show who I am.’
Hennesey saw half-a-dozen guns begin to slide from their holsters, then the judge cut in quickly:
‘I’m much obliged, young feller and it’s an example to the rest of the citizens, but I’m afraid it ain’t hardly legal. I take it you don’t claim to be twenty-one years of age, you haven’t become a man yet?’
Johnnie shook his head. ‘No, not yet, Judge, but I’m told if a feller owned a piece of land in the district he’d be entitled to nominate and vote.’
Bohun coughed. ‘Why, yes, I guess that’s so. If you have land and can prove that you own it that would entitle you to act as a grown man. Where is this land of yours and what’s your title to it?’
Donovan suddenly appeared on the porch, having come, in spite of his height and bulk, almost unnoticed from indoors. He thundered out:
‘What’s this land you lay claim to, young Callum?’
‘The land you stole from my Paw and Maw. A hundred and sixty acres alongside Chimney Rock. I drove my marker stakes in last night.’
Purple mounted from Donovan’s collar to his ears. ‘You drove marker stakes in my range. You young pup! If you were a man’s age I’d have a rope round your neck in less than five minutes. Get to hell from here before I have you dragged out at the tail of a horse.’
Johnnie stood unmoved except that his gaze shifted to meet that of the judge. He said in an easy tone:
‘Mister, is my nomination OK?’
Hesitation showed in Bohun’s fat face, then he said carefully: ‘Well, you see, son, Mr Donovan is disputing your title so I’m afraid—’
A shouted uproar drowned the rest of what the judge had to say. A gun banged and all in a moment the space in front of the judge’s house was filled with fighting men. Three men made a concerted rush at Johnnie and he reeled under the first impact. Then, his long arms were flailing heavy punches and one of his attackers went down. A second grabbed him from the back in a neck hold whilst the third lowered his head to butt at Johnnie’s middle. He met the head-down charge by lifting both feet from the ground and driving them at the man. The result was to bring the three of them down in a heap and break the neck hold on Johnnie. He heaved mightily at the weight on top of him and came bounding to his feet. He caught a glimpse of the blood-spattered face of the man he had driven his boots at, then saw the one who had had him by the neck was striving to come to his feet and drag out his gun at the same time. He remembered his own, hardly used Colt and made a snatch at the weapon, but his unpractised draw was clumsy and the weapon had not cleared leather when the other man fired. The slug seared across his hip, and with a yell of pain and rage he loosed his hold on the Colt and dived with wide stretched arms just as the hammer of the other’s gun was falling for a second time. He felt the blast of the gun, and the roar of it in his ears deafened him, but he had his long arms round his adversary and whirled him clear of the ground before smashing him down. With this third man down he began to see the larger perspective of the battle. The dozens of men locked in struggles or standing clear of one another while they traded heavy punches. He saw Bohun backed against his own front door, his face chalk-white with fear, Donovan booming orders unheeded, and mostly unheard, then Hennesey moving swiftly about using his clubbed six-gun with discrimination. Then, a wave of brawling men dashed against him and he was in the fight again, but coolly, this time, and with the Colt in his hand, fending off mistaken townsmen who scarcely knew who they fought, while the long barrel of the Colt rapped hard against the head of any Donovan rider who came within range. At times, Johnnie found himself hard pressed, and he scarcely noticed the number of savage blows and kicks he received. At others he seemed almost alone and fighting with a single adversary. The battle moved up and down the street like a flowing and ebbing tide, first up against the livery, then with a sudden surge it moved a hundred yards to the front of the saloon where whistling and stamping from the frightened horses added to the din. Guns began to crack and the fighters divided sharply, Hennesey and Johnnie and forty or so townsmen backing to the Silver Dollar, whilst the sombreros of fifteen to twenty of Donovan’s riders showed mostly near the judge’s house. Thirty or so men were sprawled in the street or else making feeble attempts to get to their feet.
It seemed to Johnnie that the battle was as good as over, with his own side being the winners, until he noticed Hennesey moving rapidly about among the townsmen looking as if he were discussing with one, arguing with another. Johnnie got to his side and heard him say: ‘I tell you, Seth, the fight’s only just begun. Donovan will get his men organised then the shooting will really begin.’
‘What do you reckon we ought to do then, Marshal?’ Seth asked.
‘The best we can do is throw two barricades across the street. One at each end of the saloon. That way we’ll have most of their horses penned here. You know how most of these riders are on foot. Sort of half helpless. There’s another thing too. The rifles are still in the saddle boots. We can raise a few rifles out of the saloon, maybe five or six, and that ought to hold them back.’
Seth moved away. ‘I’ll get the boys on that job right away, Ed. There’s plenty will want to have a real go at pulling Donovan down to a natural size.’
Hennesey turned to Johnnie. ‘I saw you putting in some pretty good work, feller. Heck, I didn’t realize you were a real fighting man.’
Johnnie reddened. ‘I didn’t know I was going to start all this when I started yapping to Mr Donovan and that judge.’
Hennesey grinned. ‘It had to start some time, Johnnie, and as it happened you picked the best time. Donovan had his men so set on just keeping the town fellers quiet and not daring to vote that he had them scattered too widely in the crowd to use their guns properly. Go see if you can grab yourself a drink from Belle or Luke. This fighting is thirsty work and there’ll be plenty more to come.’
Belle appeared on the veranda as Johnnie was climbing the steps. There was a sparkle in her green eyes and she had a Winchester in the crook of her arm. She greeted him with:
‘Hiya, fighting man. I was at the back of that crowd when you started to talk to the judge. Feller, you certainly sparked off one hell of a row when you asked that innocent question of yours. You want to get a bit handier with that Colt, though. Fists don’t always win out.’ Johnnie felt he wanted to apologise for starting the trouble but Belle rattled on. ‘This idea of Ed’s, throwing a barricade up on each side of the saloon is a darned good one. It means we’ve got most of the Donovan horses, nearly all, I should guess, and the rifles that go with them. Rifles are going to be the thing that counts.’ She stopped short. ‘My gosh, I’d forgotten. That store of Carlen’s will have a dozen or more in it.’ She began to shout. ‘Ed, Ed. Carlen’s store. What about the rifles in there?’
Hennesey came towards her wit
h a worried look on his face. ‘Tarnation, Belle. I’d forgotten all about the store. Donovan won’t, you can bet. This is bad, Belle. The town men are full of fight at the moment but if they get ten or twelve rifles popping at them, it’ll be a different story. How many can we raise?’
‘Five and two shot-guns. Damnation, there’s those in your office as well.’
‘Six,’ Hennesey said grimly, ‘and it won’t take long to break open the door. Hell, if we could only get a couple of men into that store first. They could maybe hold the store and cover my office at the same time. Be death to walk down that street now though.’
Johnnie’s eyes had been going from one to the other and as Hennesey stopped speaking he said with quiet assurance:
‘I reckon I could get up to that store if I had a horse that’ll walk sort of easy.’
Hennesey looked at him, then his gaze travelled the hundred and fifty yards to where, in front of the judge’s house, the Donovan men were now grouped. He could see five men stretched in the dust and reckoned each of them to be dead. He said slowly:
‘Be a mighty fine thing if you could do that, Johnnie, but I guess we wouldn’t like to see you lying like those other fellers.’
Johnnie nodded solemnly. ‘I wouldn’t like it myself, Marshal, but I reckon it’s important for someone to reach that store before Donovan’s men do.’
‘Let’s find him the sort of horse he wants,’ Belle said. ‘I always knew that pulling Donovan down would be a sort of one-man job. I’m betting Johnnie is the guy for the chore.’
CHAPTER NINE
Ginity, who drove the stage said, after he had passed through the newly named Donovan City that, in all his years of handling the lines of freight and stage teams he had never seen anything like it. He tried to compare it with the times he had been attacked by Indians, or the occasions when road-agents had held him up, but found nothing equal. To come into a town that was engaged in a shooting war was, in itself, unusual. But to have the war cease and the street barriers opened while he changed horses before again taking the trail was something he would not easily forget. It was the surprise in the man, and the fact that he had only an equally surprised gun-guard to tell it to, that made him haul on the lines and set the drag the moment he sighted Sam and Lucy Stevens. Ginity told his story between spurts of tobacco juice, had it confirmed by his gun-guard, and after affirming that he had ‘never in his dog-gone life seen anything to equal it,’ drove on.
A Colt for the Kid Page 9