Days of Death

by P McCormac

  ‘Do you know where the sheriff is now?’

  ‘Yeah, he and Black run fighting bouts. Ginsberg is their star fighter. The Fighting Sheriff they call him. They put up big prize money so as to tempt anyone to challenge him. He’s never lost a fight yet. Ginsberg has killed a few in the ring. He’s unbeatable. He and Black went out some days ago to organize a fight in Rivesville. I guess he’s due back any time soon.’

  ‘The Fighting Sheriff,’ Cyriac repeated, shaking his head bemusedly. ‘Helluva way to make a living.’

  ‘Oh, he enjoys it. I saw him fight. They had a few bouts here in Thomaston and the money was too tempting for some. Now folk around here know better than to challenge him. That’s why Ginsberg has to go further and further afield to get fights. Some place as folk mightn’t have heard of him.’

  ‘So what do you reckon will happen to our friend Benedict?’

  ‘They’ll hang him for sure. His pa struck lucky. He came into town with a sack full of nuggets. Then he got in a poker game and had an argument with the gunman, Clive Carter, who accused him of cheating. Next thing Benedict is dead. The samples of gold he brought in with him disappeared at the same time. Then Turlough has a fight with Carter’s sidekick, Alfie Manning. Sometime later Manning is found dead. Turlough swears he didn’t kill him. You can put your own slant on things. A man makes a big strike and one by one his family is killed or driven away. With no one to work the claim, Alliance Holdings, which is owned by Black, will take it over.’

  ‘How terrible,’ exclaimed Beth, ‘can nothing be done to right this?’

  Richards glanced around the store, suddenly nervous.

  ‘Maybe I said too much. You never heard any of this from me. I’d better get back to work.’

  ‘It seems pretty hopeless,’ Beth said when the storekeeper left. ‘It looks like they’ll hang Turlough and take over his family’s claim. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.’

  People were coming and going in the store while the three sat there; each of them sunk in their own dire thoughts. They looked up as Richards came over.

  ‘I just heard, the sheriff is back in town.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Cyriac said. ‘Maybe I should just mosey down there and have a talk with him.’

  The storekeeper shook his head. ‘Remember what I said about having a parley with a grizzly. You’ll be wasting your time.’

  Cyriac stood up. ‘Nevertheless I’d like to try.’

  Beth stood, too. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  ‘You’d better not get involved,’ Cyriac advised.

  ‘I am involved,’ Beth said. She turned to the storekeeper. ‘Mr Richards, can you make a pot of coffee and make up some vittles? Poor Turlough must be pretty hungry by now.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Cyriac stepped inside the sheriff’s office, followed by the two women. Aimee had decided to come too and he wondered if it was only to mock the prisoner. Inside was a man about Cyriac’s own age in a broadcloth suit with collar and necktie. He was seated with a heavily built man wearing a sheriff’s badge on his vest. The sheriff had a brutal face and was hatless, exposing a bald head. The two men were in earnest discussion but looked up when Cyriac entered.

  ‘Yeah?’ the sheriff said with no hint of friendliness in his voice.

  ‘I believe you got a prisoner in here – name of Turlough Benedict.’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘We brought some grub for him,’ Cyriac said, indicating the basket Beth was carrying.

  ‘Leave it. I’ll see he gets it.’

  Jesse Linenan chose that moment to come out from the cells, rubbing his knuckles.

  ‘I just gave that punk a good working over,’ he said before his jaw dropped and he slapped his hand on his gun. ‘That’s the son of a bitch as buffaloed me!’ he yelled, then stopped as he saw the gun in Cyriac’s hand.

  ‘Howdy, Jesse. I came back to return the gun you loaned me. You can have it back, either barrel first or butt first.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ the sheriff roared. ‘Put that gun away, fella, afore I arrest you.’

  ‘I don’t mind putting the gun down as long as you can control your deputy here.’

  There was a sudden movement as the sheriff abruptly stood, toppling the chair he was sitting on. He was a giant of a man, reaching well over six and a half feet, and broad and muscular.

  ‘Mister, you’re obviously a stranger round here. I’m Sheriff Ginsberg. You don’t put that gun up, I’ll shoot you down for disobeying a law officer.’

  ‘As a legitimate citizen of the United States of America, I have every right to carry a gun and defend myself. I just heard your deputy here boasting of giving your prisoner a good going over. That don’t seem very law-abiding behaviour. In view of my suspicions, I claim the right to hold this gun until I am sure I am in no danger from no trigger happy hombres, even if they are acting under the cloak of lawmen. I’ve seen your brand of law and it ain’t like no law I am familiar with.’

  The atmosphere in the office was tense as Cyriac casually held Linenan’s gun, waiting for the sheriff and his deputy to make their play. It was plain Ginsberg was itching to pull his gun and have it out with the stranger. But then, Cyriac had the advantage with a gun already in his hand. It could go either way. Men would die and the lawmen were wondering which of them the stranger would shoot first before the other got a shot off.

  ‘Whoa there.’ The man in the suit stood up, holding his hands out wide from his sides. ‘This ain’t no way to settle an argument. Sit down, Goren.’ He flapped a hand at Ginsberg and surprisingly the lawman sat. ‘Jesse, you sit, too.’

  Sullenly the deputy came across and perched on the edge of the sheriff’s desk.

  ‘Mister, I didn’t catch your name. You can put that gun up and we’ll talk this over peaceable.’

  ‘Halkias is the name.’ Cyriac did not surrender his gun but lowered it by his side. ‘You have a friend of mine in your cells and I came by here to find out how he’s faring, only to discover a pair of bullyboy lawmen beating up on helpless prisoners. Under the circumstances I don’t rate his chances of survival very high.’

  ‘My name is Elwood Black and I’m not without influence about these parts. What is the name of this prisoner you are enquiring about?’

  ‘Turlough Benedict.’

  ‘What exactly is your relationship with Mr Benedict? Are you a relation?’

  Remembering the storekeeper telling of how anyone with a worthwhile mining claim was killed or driven off, Cyriac decided to play a bluff.

  ‘We’re partners in a mining claim. I bought into a half share with him.’

  The frown was fleeting but Cyriac was watching for a reaction.

  ‘I see, and have you any proof of such a transaction?’

  ‘Yep, the papers are lodged with my lawyer in Temba,’ Cyriac lied smoothly, then stopped abruptly and frowned as if he had a sudden thought. ‘There was a clause that if either of us died the other’s half of the claim would pass to the surviving partner.’

  He stood staring off into the distance as if the significance of this had just occurred to him. The mine owner was also frowning as he thought over what the other man had revealed.

  ‘So if your friend was to be found guilty of murder and hanged, it would not be a worry to you?’

  Cyriac snapped back into focus again. ‘Of course it would. I don’t want no harm coming to him.’

  Black was staring speculatively at Cyriac. ‘Are you a betting man, Mr Halkias?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Sheriff Ginsberg and I run a little sideline. We organize boxing bouts. You look as if you’ve been in a fight or two. How about I propose a little wager? You take on my man in the ring and if you win, your friend Benedict goes free.’

  ‘That’s no kinda bet. I’ll hire a lawyer and fight the case in court. Your wager doesn’t take into account Benedict’s guilt or innocence. That wouldn’t tempt me to get in no ring with
no bruiser. What if I lose? I’m no better off except a few new scars to add to these.’ Cyriac pointed to his heavily marked face. ‘No deal, mister.’

  ‘Wait, I can make it worth your while. What if I put up a purse of five thousand dollars?’

  Cyriac laughed harshly. ‘That claim is worth much more than that. We could dig five thousand dollars out in less than a month.’

  This last assertion was only a guess but he could see from Black’s face it had hit home.

  ‘Ten thousand then against your half of the claim.’

  Cyriac stared speculatively at the mine owner. ‘Ten thousand, you say?’ Slowly he nodded. ‘That might be worth fighting for. I’d want to see the money up front.’

  Black bridled at this. ‘You saying you don’t trust my word?’

  ‘Mister, I just met you. You seem to hang around with some unsavoury people. They say you can tell a man by the company he keeps. So no, I don’t trust you. We’ll need a neutral body to hold the stakes.’

  ‘All right then, who do you suggest?’

  ‘Doc McCullough seems to be an honourable man. You give him a promissory note for $10,000 and I’ll sign a paper deeding my half of the claim to you on the occasion that I lose the fight. Who have you in mind that I take on?’

  Elwood Black was grinning broadly as he turned and pointed to the sheriff.

  ‘There’s my man.’

  Cyriac took a step backward, his face creasing in a worried frown. ‘You mean I gotta fight the sheriff?’

  Relishing Cyriac’s feigned discomfort, Black waved a hand in the direction of the cells.

  ‘Now we have agreed the terms of your partner’s release, you can take him his lunch.’

  Cyriac nodded to Beth and they walked forward. As they came near the desk Linenan gave them a venomous look.

  ‘What about my gun?’ he snarled.

  Cyriac tossed the weapon at the deputy. He fumbled but caught it before it fell to the floor. Linenan was frowning at the gun in his hand.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ he muttered. ‘It ain’t loaded.’

  CHAPTER 17

  Cyriac stood on the porch, hat in hand and stared stoically at the door knocker.

  ‘Hell,’ he muttered and turned to leave.

  The door opened and Arlene McCullough stood there smiling at him and a strange shivery feeling guttered through Cyriac, leaving him feeling helpless as well as speechless.

  ‘Cyriac, how lovely. I didn’t hear you knock.’

  He stood big and awkwardly on the stoop, dumb as a pole-axed buffalo. Arlene stepped back.

  ‘Come on in. It was getting late and I wondered if you’d forgotten.’

  ‘No, ma’am, I mean, miss, I’d not forgot.’

  He was inside the hall and there was no going back.

  ‘Let me take your hat.’

  She eased it from his grip and smiled at him. The hallway seemed to brighten with that smile. Cyriac blinked and tried a smile in return that didn’t quite make it all the way. He swallowed.

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  ‘Arlene, please call me Arlene.’

  The doctor appeared in the hallway. ‘Is that our guest? Come on in, Mr Halkias. Would a little snorter be in order before supper?’

  Cyriac shambled down the hall, feeling clumsy as a carthorse.

  ‘Don’t drink too much, you two,’ Arlene called. ‘Supper is almost ready.’

  The doctor poured whiskeys for them. While they waited, someone knocked on the door.

  ‘Damn it, this always happens,’ the doctor grumbled. ‘Just as I am about to sit down to a meal or a quiet drink, someone comes needing my services.’

  The two men sipped their drinks and listened to the murmur of voices. Arlene must have resolved the matter for there was no call for the doctor and shortly she summoned them to eat. A manila envelope was propped on the sideboard with Doctor McCullough’s name printed across it.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s just been delivered.’

  Cyriac was staring nervously at the table loaded down with silverware and food. Hell, when was the last time he had sat at a table as elegant as this?

  The golden brown carcass of a chicken steamed slightly in the centre while tureens gave off tantalizing aromas. The doctor had opened the envelope and was reading.

  ‘What the hell. . . ?’

  ‘Language, Pa, at the dining table,’ Arlene chided.

  McCullough was holding the paper and staring across at Cyriac.

  ‘This is a promissory note to pay you the sum of $10,000 in the event of your beating Goren Ginsberg in a pugilistic match to be staged the day after tomorrow. Fourteenth of April 1888.’

  Arlene was gaping at Cyriac, a shocked look on her face. ‘You can’t do this,’ she gasped.

  Cyriac was looking down at his plate, so white against the pristine whiteness of the table linen, and his own hands so gnarled and discoloured and out of place in this refined dining room.

  ‘I gotta go,’ he said and stood.

  He did not get to the door before Arlene was there before him, holding on to his arm, feeling she was gripping a timber truss, hard and unyielding.

  ‘I’m sorry. Do please sit down again.’

  He looked into her eyes and all his resolve melted before that earnest gaze. He felt weak as a newborn calf. Meekly he allowed her to guide him back to the chair.

  ‘Father, sit down. No more talk about wagers or fighting. We are going to sit and enjoy this supper that I went to such trouble to prepare.’

  They ate the meal with Arlene and her pa making small talk about local events and people they knew. From time to time Arlene tried to draw Cyriac but he contributed very little. He was content to sit there in that special place listening to them and thinking how civilized it was.

  He recalled an incident when he had been holed up, waiting for the men who had been sent to kill him and while he watched, a brightly painted bunting had landed close to his hiding place.

  The bird began to sing and nearby another answered. Undetected by the birds and cradling his killing implements, he had been immensely saddened as he listened to the birds singing. So moved had he been that he had resolved to creep away from that place of death. But before he could do so, the birds had been disturbed as the killers moved in. The exotic bunting had fluttered away, taking with it all feelings of goodwill and mercy.

  Arlene and her father were like that bird and its mate with their refrain of warmth and amity. Being here with them induced in him a rare feeling of harmony and a delicious quickening of his blood. Mixed with these feelings, he also felt an intense sadness, for he knew this place and these people were immeasurably separate from him. He ate his meal, clearing all that was served up to him, savouring the excellent food and favouring that interlude as if it were to be his last evening on earth.

  When the meal was finished, he was invited to join them in the parlour. He was almost inclined to refuse and leave but knew it would be pure churlishness on his part.

  ‘Brandy?’ Arlene queried when they were seated.

  While Arlene served up the drinks, Doctor McCullough offered him a fat cigar and they lit up. The civilized behaviour of his hosts served to heighten Cyriac’s isolation.

  ‘I used to spar a bit when I was younger,’ the doctor offered. ‘Maybe I can give you a few pointers.’

  ‘I would appreciate that,’ Cyriac said, thinking the doctor’s concept of fighting would be completely irrelevant to the tactics that would be employed in his coming bout with Sheriff Ginsberg.

  The only rule was that there would be no rules. The contestants would try to put each other in the dirt by whatever means possible. And the man to go down would be the man destined never to get up again.

  Arlene was mostly silent during this exchange, taking small sips of her drink. Cyriac was acutely aware of her scrutiny and it made him deeply self-conscious. However, he was determined to allow himself this rare oasis of peace and serenity.

  ‘I
was told you came into town in the company of two women,’ Arlene said at one stage. ‘Are they friends of yours?’

  ‘I only just met them. When I came into Gold Point with Benedict they had taken over his empty cabin. They were kind enough to accompany him into town to enquire about his mother who seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘An unfortunate family,’ the doctor contributed. ‘I hear they slung the youngster in jail. Knowing Ginsberg, they’ll in all likelihood hang him.’

  ‘I guess that’s how the law in these parts operate,’ Cyriac averred. ‘Do you know anything of this Carter gang that runs with Black?’

  ‘I know enough to advise anyone to steer clear of them. A gang of killers and bandits. Black employs them from time to time as enforcers. But he has to be careful. Let those hellhounds loose on a town and come nightfall, there would be nothing left of it.’

  ‘I see. Where do they hang out?’

  ‘Black houses them out at his mine. He uses them as bodyguards and heaven knows what else. I’d as soon keep a nest of rattlers in my surgery as give room to that bunch of killers. Every one of that gang is ornery as a polecat with a thorn in its paw and liable to shoot you for just looking at them.’

  The evening grew late and Cyriac knew he had to depart. Reluctantly he rose to take his leave, knowing this would be his last taste of genteel society. Arlene accompanied him to the front door.

  ‘Thank you for the delightful meal,’ he said.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Cyriac?’

  ‘Why, it’s getting late and I can’t impose any more on you and your pa,’ he said, even though he knew quite well she did not have in mind his departure.

  ‘I mean this fight with Ginsberg. I’ve heard terrible things about him. He has killed men in these bouts. The man is an animal. Ride away, Cyriac. No one will think any the less of you.’

  He turned to look up into the sky, seeing the canopy of the night studded with clusters of sparkling diamonds, then he turned back and saw the twin jewels of tears in her eyes. Her hand came up and her fingers briefly touched his lips with the soft touch of a moth and like that delicate insect, she was noiselessly gone, the door closing softly behind her.