The others turned and saw the Stevenses coming through the crowd of men who still lingered. Lucy slipped from her saddle.
‘Johnnie, you were great, just great. Sam and I had gotten to a place where we hoped to do some good with our rifles and we saw the whole thing. My land! Donovan of all men on the run. Lordie! he’ll never forget that.’
Johnnie grinned then saw the shine in Lucy’s eyes and colour mounted up the back of his neck. ‘The marshal said I was a plumb fool for coming up the middle of the street to go after Donovan. I guess I was.’
‘Let’s all get something to eat,’ Belle said, turning towards the saloon. ‘I guess we’re all plenty hungry and we can talk about Donovan’s next move while we chow.’
Lucy and Johnnie were the last pair to go up the steps of the veranda and he turned as he felt her hand on his arm. Again he coloured at the glow in her eyes then blood surged to his head as she said with quiet emphasis:
‘Johnnie, you were no fool. You’re just great.’
CHAPTER TEN
Defeat. The word was acid in Donovan’s mind, corroding his thinking power until the setback he had received in town magnified itself to the size of a major loss. Never, not even in the days when he had first set foot in this land and done battle with marauding Indians, had he been licked. Indians, small-time ranchers and homesteaders had all turned and ran before his ruthless methods. There had been one exception, Brett Stevens. Brett had held out against him with formidable courage and in the end died a natural death and left Sam and Lucy to carry on.
He had used every method short of actual violence to push the pair from their land but at last turned to it again because the need for their range, with its valuable access to water, grew greater as his own herd reached vaster proportions. It had got so that, besides coveting the land he was almost desperately in need of it. And now he was defeated, licked and mainly because of the action of an ignorant, overgrown youth. What in a hell had made him run from the kid? It could not be that he had been infected with Bohun’s fear, for the judge had struggled out through a back window the moment the kid had yelled for himself to come into the street. No, it could not have been the judge’s influence, for he remembered calmly smashing a front window and sighting his sixgun on to young Callum. He had done all that calmly enough and yet he had missed at ten or a dozen paces. Also, he had fired no second shot in answer to Callum’s wildly fired slugs. No, he had stood for a moment as if some paralysis had his limbs and then fled as if he had never before faced gunfire. Was it that he was getting old? Were hand and eye no longer to be relied on when it came to gunplay? He had a notion that his disgruntled range hands were talking that way about him even though he had been no further than the front porch of the house this last three days. Stone, in his necessary comings and goings to the house, had somehow conveyed the idea to his mind although the only words the foreman had spoken that made any reference to the subject were threats of what he would do to young Callum the moment his own wrist was sufficiently mended. Donovan wrestled with his mental as well as physical defeat until the fourth morning after the affair in town, then he ordered his horse to be saddled.
He rode alone and the thing uppermost in his mind was the necessity for finding out whether or not he was still the man he had reckoned himself to be or an ageing coward who had run before a younger and more virile man. He purposed to do this simply by finding young Callum and forcing him into a close range shooting match. After that, and here his mind was not quite so certain of itself, he might try the same tactics on Sam Stevens. He deliberately forced himself to ride via the way of the town although commonsense indicated that being alone he was liable to receive a slug in the back from some vengeful townsman and passed through without other incident than a good deal of staring from those who saw him go.
Mid morning brought him close to the Stevens’ house without having seen any of its occupants and he reached almost to the veranda before Lucy’s voice called:
‘Far enough, Donovan. Rein right there unless you want a slug through you.’
Donovan reined in and endeavoured to make out Lucy’s shadowed figure more clearly, but the glare of the sun defeated him.
‘Sam at home?’ he called.
‘Doesn’t matter to you where he is. You’ve got a nerve coming here. There isn’t anything you want to say to him that you can’t say to me, so say it and get out of here.’
‘If you’re all alone you’d best not take that tone with me.’
‘I am all alone, go for your gun if you want to. I’d just as soon finish the business here and now.’
Donovan laughed. ‘You always did have plenty of sand for a girl, Lucy, but this is a game for men. I wouldn’t have minded a talk with Sam, but young Callum is my main objective.’
‘Well, he’s not here, so—’ Lucy stopped suddenly.
Donovan laughed again. ‘That’s about all I want to know. The young pup’s away at that precious piece of land he’s staked out. I thought he might be but it was quicker to ride here and find out than to go all that way and draw a blank. You can put your gun down. I’m on my way to see Johnnie Callum.’
As he turned his mount he came nearer to getting a shot in his back than he had ever been in his life. Lucy’s finger quivered on the trigger as several things struck her at once. Sam was miles away down by the river. Johnnie had gone to have yet another stare around at his piece of land as Donovan had so rightly guessed. Why hadn’t she told him he was out on the range? That would have given her time to go and warn Johnnie. For she knew now that if anything happened to Johnnie, life, for her, would be an empty thing. It had taken this visit of Donovan to make her see that clearly.
She watched Donovan’s fast receding figure and her thoughts went ahead of him. He would come to Johnnie under the cover of the great rock chimney and be upon him, gun in hand, before Johnnie was aware of his arrival. And there seemed nothing she could do to prevent it. She knew so well what would be in Donovan’s mind. Johnnie had made him turn and run. Now, the rancher would take vengeance by shooting him down from some convenient cover. On a sudden decision she flew across to the horse barn, and although she realized that pursuit of Donovan was hopeless she struggled frantically to throw on a saddle and bridle a fast mare. In less than ten minutes she was out of the barn, the rifle across her knees, as she kicked the mare to its best pace. Donovan was a mere speck in the distance and remained that way in spite of her desperate efforts to close on him. In the rough ground that surrounded the chimney she lost sight of him altogether and was near to tears in her uncertainty as to the exact location of Johnnie’s patch of land. Then she heard a sixgun shot, distant but quite distinct, and she turned her mount towards the sound. There were five more shots and they filled her with hope. Johnnie must have seen Donovan, after all, and if he had acquired a little skill with his Colt he would have some kind of chance of fighting back. Her grip tightened on both rifle and reins. Donovan could look for no fair play from her. A shot in the back was his if she got a chance.
But the shots that Lucy heard were all from Johnnie’s own gun. Donovan was just rounding a boulder when he, too, heard them. He saw Johnnie aim and fire at a stone on the ground. The stone jumped high in the air. The same thing happened again, and Donovan knew that he was no longer dealing with a mere youth who could not use a gun. Johnny was thumbing fresh shells into the Colt as Donovan slid from the saddle and walked towards him. The shells were going into the gun slowly and awkwardly. Donovan was about thirty yards away and reckoned to make the distance twenty by the time the gun was loaded. He guessed the Colt would be holstered then drawn again for further practice and he intended to call Johnnie while the gun was still holstered. The fact that he reckoned easily to beat Callum to a draw only added zest to the killing. By all range laws it would be a fair fight. Moving soft footed in spite of his giant bulk, Donovan passed one of Johnnie’s marker stakes and smiled cynically as he saw the scrawled notice fastened to the stake. He made five more yards. C
allum had completed the loading and was about to slide the Colt into its holster. The slight wound on Donovan’s left shoulder burned a little adding further to his desire to see this youngster dead. His hand went to the butt of his gun and at that moment Johnnie turned. Donovan drew, levelled and fired with practised speed, but his slug went wide. Johnnie’s move was slow and dragging by comparison, the roar of his Colt being measurably behind Donovan’s but the more accurate shot clipped the brim of the rancher’s hat and sent his second shot even wider than the first. In a rage at his failure he tried to steady himself for a third shot and had Johnnie sighted when the Colt roared again and the slug from it ripped the weapon from his hand. For a moment, Donovan knew the fear of death, then he saw that Callum had lowered the Colt and was walking towards him. Johnnie’s words came slowly.
‘Get off my land and stay off. If I see you here again I’ll kill you. I’d do it now only I’ve been listening to some talk about fair play. Don’t reckon to understand it properly but I’m giving it a trial.’
Donovan gaped surprise. ‘You’re a damned fool, Callum. You’ve had luck, that’s all. Take my advice and don’t play it too hard.’
‘You’d better get moving,’ Johnnie said quietly.
Donovan shrugged. ‘No hurry for me, seeing that you’re so high minded about fair play.’ He took a side glance and saw the still distant figure of Lucy coming towards them. ‘A pity your woman friend couldn’t have seen that clever shot of yours. She’d have appreciated it.’
‘Woman friend! I don’t have any woman friend. At least—’
Johnnie stopped speaking and a dark flush of anger coloured his face at the barely understood innuendo. ‘If you’re talking about Lucy Stevens—’
‘Who else? But I’d better shut up, you’ve got a gun,’ Donovan grinned.
Knowledge came to Johnnie. He had licked this man in a gun battle. Not by accident but because he had learned to take his time. Now the big man was trying to taunt him into putting down the gun and carrying on the fight in a hand-to-hand struggle. Donovan was banking on his six extra inches of height and his forty or fifty pounds of superior weight. Well, he could have the fight that way if he wished it. He grinned back at Donovan.
‘I beat your foreman into the dust without having any gun and I can do the same to you. In fact I can lick you so as they’ll have to bring a rig to take you home. I’m holstering the gun and then I’m taking the belt off. You can either start running for your horse or stay and fight it out.’
Donovan made no answer but his eyes glinted as he saw the Colt slide into its holster and Johnnie’s hands engage with the broad buckle of the belt. He waited until the buckle was loose then moved forward with speed. There was no wildness about his arm movements and no clumsiness in his footwork and his first blow rocked Johnnie on his heels. The second sent him reeling off balance and down to earth. Donovan followed quickly and drove his boot at Johnnie’s head, the one form of attack that Manders’ treatment had made him skilled in avoiding. He rolled to the kick, seized the booted foot and with a quick twist of his long arms threw Donovan to the ground. He was up in a moment and flung himself on top of the rancher, intent on securing a throat hold. Donovan met his downwards dive with the soles of both boots driven hard into Johnnie’s middle. Johnnie’s breath departed in a whoosh of sound and he landed yards away on the flat of his back. Donovan came agilely to his feet, saw the gun-belt some yards from him and charged towards it. Johnnie saw his danger and, gulping for air, got somehow to his feet. He reeled on unsteady legs towards the rancher and his hands clamped on the other’s wrists. Donovan, with the Colt in his hand, tried to twist from the grip but found himself in a hold that he could not shake. Next he put all his strength into turning the Colt against Johnnie’s body whilst his hate filled eyes glared into the face of a man who, although gasping painfully for breath, was still grinning. For some seconds the pair remained almost motionless, standing toe to toe with barely an inch between their heaving chests while the arm muscles of both cracked audibly under the strain that was upon them. Then the Colt that was in Donovan’s grip began to turn outwards, the muzzle of it vibrating slightly in the rancher’s fierce hold. Johnnie’s grin widened as he felt Donovan give slightly and he braced himself to a still greater effort. The rancher felt pain shooting from his wrists to his shoulders and under the inexorable, twisting pressure, his arms began to spread, the fingers open, until with a thud the Colt dropped to the ground. It was the rancher’s breath that was now coming gustily and realizing the fact, Johnnie gave a great upwards heave to the man’s arms that pulled him off balance. He had Donovan in a position to throw him to the ground when the sound of hoofs made him jerk his head round. In the split second that he was relaxed, Donovan broke free and made a dive for the Colt. Johnnie had a blurred vision of two things happening at once as he went after Donovan. Lucy, a rifle in her hand, scrambling from the saddle and Donovan with the gun again in his possession. He grappled Donovan as the Colt exploded deafeningly, wrenched the weapon from him as if his grasp had been a child’s, then slammed him full in the face with the barrel of it. Donovan became suddenly inert and Johnnie came to his feet to see Lucy stretched on the ground. He saw, even as he bounded towards her, the blood that was flowing down the side of her face and he let out a cry that was almost one of a madman. A second later he was calm enough. The wound just above Lucy’s temple might or might not be a serious one, but the only thing he could do was work on staunching the flow of blood then get her to where she could get better attention. The town was nearer than her own home, he decided.
The full heat of the afternoon sun was blistering the street when he came to it and Lucy, on the saddle in front of him, might be dead for all that he knew. She had stirred slightly when he had mounted her and himself on Donovan’s big roan, which he had taken as better able to bear the double weight, but since then his anxious, downward glances had shown him no sign of life in her. Running and shouting men had carried the news of his arrival to the saloon before he himself got there and both Hennesey and Carter were waiting to take the girl from him. She was carried quickly inside and upstairs and then the bedroom door was closed with Belle and one of the townswomen inside the room. Johnnie trooped down the stairs with Carter and Hennesey. He answered their questions with monosyllables, heard Carter say that he would get someone to ride out and let Sam know what had happened whilst all the time his mind was busy with two questions.
Would Lucy live? and how soon could he get after Donovan and settle him for ever?
It was an hour before Belle came downstairs and the gravity of her face quenched the little hope that had been dwelling in Johnnie.
‘Wound’s not too bad in itself,’ Belle said, ‘but there’s a kind of fever rising in her. That’s got me plain scared.’
Johnnie grabbed her arm painfully. ‘She’ll live, won’t she? She’s just got to. Got to, I tell you.’
Belle made no attempt to shake off his hold, hurtful though it was. ‘Johnnie, we’ll all do our best for her, but a thirty mile ride in the hot sun is quite something on top of being shot.’
Johnnie released his hold on her arm. He gazed around the saloon as if his eyes did not comprehend what was before them, then in a few long strides he reached the bar.
‘Gimme some of that whiskey stuff,’ he said harshly.
‘Whiskey, Johnnie?’ the bartender said. ‘It’s bad drinking if you’re not used to it.’
‘Gimme, I say.’
Belle was at his side. She nodded to the bartender. ‘One from my own bottle, Doone.’
Johnnie downed the drink in a gulp, spluttered a little, then looked at Belle.
‘Feel any better now, Johnnie?’
‘Some. I’m going after that skunk, Donovan.’
‘Don’t get yourself killed, Johnnie. If she gets better she’ll want you and wanting hurts like hell. I guess you know that now.’
Johnnie gave a cracked laugh. ‘I know it all right, Belle, but I’m not fooli
ng myself that a girl like Lucy could ever want a feller like me. Least, not in the way I want her.’
Belle smiled. ‘It’s your name she been muttering since she’s been in that bed, Johnnie, and a girl doesn’t mutter a man’s name unless she thinks a heck of a sight of him. You just be careful how you go.’
Johnnie nodded and strode swiftly out of the saloon. Hennesey, who had been watching him, came to Belle’s side.
‘Where’s he going to, Belle? Not after Donovan, I hope.’
‘He’s doing just that, Ed.’
‘For hell’s sake why didn’t you call me? I’ll never overtake him by the time I saddle up. That horse of Donovan’s is real fast.’
Carter caught the gist of the conversation. ‘There isn’t anything you can do, Ed, if you do catch up. Johnnie’s a man and he’s gone to call Donovan to a showdown. You can’t interfere with that. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to.’
‘Hell, Johnnie can’t be always lucky,’ Hennesey protested. ‘Twice he’s gone for Donovan and each time the luck has been on Johnnie’s side. It won’t last, I tell you, I’m going after him.’
‘You try to stop Johnnie from doing what he wants to do and you’ll have a fight on your hands,’ Belle warned.
‘Just the same, I’m going,’ Hennesey said grimly.
Carter shrugged. ‘I reckon I’ll string along with you then.’
‘You!’ Hennesey’s surprise was as great as Belle’s.
‘That’s right. I can’t shoot and I’m scared of fights, but if an eighteen year old kid can go after a man like Donovan then I guess I’ve just got to find enough guts to go along and watch.’
‘Glory be,’ Belle murmured. ‘Glory be. This I never thought to see.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donovan got unsteadily to his feet and passed his hand over his blood-caked jaw. He probed the ragged gash that the gun muzzle had made, winced at the pain of it, then in a shambling walk went down the steep descent to the river. Bathing his face made the raw wound sting and brought on an ache he had not noticed before. He stood for a few moments dabbing his face dry with his handkerchief then retraced his steps uphill. There was still some confusion in his mind about what had happened, but the sight of Lucy’s mare grazing peacefully alongside the bony mount that belonged to Johnnie reawakened his memory. He remembered most strongly the shot he had fired and the girl’s scream, so suddenly cut off as she had dropped to the ground. He wondered if she was dead and the possibility of it jolted him. If that was the case, would even he get away with it? Then he jerked his shoulders back. Get away with it? Of course he could. It was his town, just the same as this patch of land with its ruined soddy, half buried in thorn and weeds was his. He must be feeling his age to think otherwise. He went over to the mare and was about to mount when he recalled that he was without his gun. He searched around a little, found the weapon, checked that it was undamaged, saw to the loading, then climbed on to the mare’s saddle. The smallness of the horse after his own giant of a mount angered him and he had a feeling that he looked slightly ridiculous. He would look more than ridiculous if he allowed the full story of the recent incident to reach the town and eventually his own range hands. He looked at his watch, apparently he had been stretched unconscious for nearly half a hour. Callum, with the girl, would be well on his way to the Stevens’ ranch. No possibility of overtaking him on this small mare. On the other hand there was little possibility of himself being expected to follow to the place. With the smallest amount of luck he would settle with young Callum and Sam Stevens at the same time. Of course, there was the girl. She might be only wounded. Donovan’s already grim mouth set in a harder line. A pity if she was not dead for he could not afford to leave her alive. Her tale would undoubtedly bring his prestige into the dust.
A Colt for the Kid Page 11