Days of Death

by P McCormac

  CHAPTER 18

  Thomaston was buzzing. The saloons were doing a roaring trade. Horses, carts and wagons lined the roads and side streets as people came in from the outlaying areas and townships to witness the fight. Elwood Black had sent riders out with printed posters as soon as he knew he had snared Cyriac.

  The event was to be a big affair. An army of labourers from Black’s mining operations were recruited to erect a giant marquee on the outskirts of the town. As the crowds swirled around the stores and the saloons, children ran wild, excited by the hurly-burly going on around them.

  The bout was scheduled to take place at three o’clock in the afternoon when the light was good and people wouldn’t be too drunk to attend. The same labourers who erected the tent would be retained to keep order.

  Already the betting was heating up. The odds against Cyriac were at one hundred to one. The odds shortened when betting on how long he would last. Going one round was ten to one with the odds lengthening with each subsequent round.

  Cyriac had ridden back to the Benedict shack with the sisters. He spent the spare time patching up the place; replacing boards, and fixing broken windows and steps. The materials for these jobs he was able to scrounge or buy from the neighbouring miners working the diggings.

  Once they knew who he was, they were more than willing to help and some even offered to assist with the repairs. These offers Cyriac declined. He needed to be on his own or at least to work alone while he awaited his rendezvous with Sheriff Ginsberg.

  Watching him work, no one would have guessed he had a date with the deadliest pugilist ever to fight in those parts. Such was the sheriff’s reputation that Elwood Black had been forced to go further and further afield to find fighters willing to go against his champion. Tricking Cyriac had been an inspiration and one Black knew would pay off. Not only would the mine owner be rid of a troublemaker, he would be another step closer to getting his hands on the Benedict mining claim.

  Cyriac worked steadily, stopping only for drinks and the meals that Beth provided. On the morning of the fight, he ate a large breakfast of eggs, fatback and freshly baked bread washed down with lashings of coffee.

  ‘I don’t know how you can scoff all that, knowing what is going to happen today,’ Beth said. ‘I couldn’t eat a thing.’

  ‘This is all I will eat today until the fight is over,’ Cyriac told her.

  ‘Aren’t you worried?’

  ‘What good would that do?’

  ‘If you hadn’t got involved with that dimwit Benedict,’ Aimee told him sourly, ‘you wouldn’t be in this bother. Why you care about that loser beats me. If it were me I would just ride away.’

  ‘I guess,’ was Cyriac’s only response.

  He went outside and continued his work. From time to time miners came by to chat but Cyriac’s dogged silence discouraged them and they left him alone, watching him from a distance.

  In the afternoon a buckboard came bouncing along the bottom of the valley and pulled up nearby. Cyriac glanced idly at the occupant and straightened up from his task when he recognized him.

  ‘Howdy, Cyriac,’ Doc McCullough called. ‘I’ve come to give you a ride into town.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m going in?’

  ‘You’re not the sort of man who walks away.’

  ‘I’ll manage OK on my own.’

  ‘Yeah, I know you will but I thought you might like one friend by your side. I’m volunteering to be your second.’

  Cyriac was shaking his head. ‘I can’t let you do that, Doc. It’ll be too dangerous.’

  ‘Hah!’ the doctor barked out a laugh. ‘I was a surgeon in the war when this country was tearing itself apart. I’ve been through more hell and brimstone than you could ever imagine. Don’t talk to me about danger. Now go and fetch your coat and get in this damn cart afore I change my mind.’

  Cyriac studied the doctor for a few moments before turning indoors and remerging with his coat and his gun belt.

  ‘You won’t be able to wear that during the fight,’ McCullough said. ‘It is fisticuffs, not a gun duel.’

  ‘I won’t be wearing it but you will. If you are determined to be my second then you need to keep this handy in case I need it.’

  ‘Thomaston is thick with people,’ Doc McCullough said. ‘Black is a snake but even he won’t dare try anything underhand with such a crowd in town. You’ll be safe enough for today at least. Well, as safe as anyone going into the ring with that gorilla Ginsberg.’

  They were some miles down the road before Cyriac spoke again.

  ‘Did she send you?’

  ‘Can’t you say her name then?’ the doctor asked testily. ‘She! What way is that to refer to someone whose life you’ve turned upside down? Call her by her God given name if you want to talk about her.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ask me again, but this time ask properly.’

  ‘What do you mean I turned her life upside down?’ Cyriac muttered.

  ‘You blind, dumb, big ox.’ The doctor sighed heavily. ‘Arlene is the most precious thing in my life. I’ve watched over her since her fiancée died last year.’

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘It was an accident up at Black’s mining operation. God help me but I could not bring myself to tell Arlene, but my suspicions were that it was no accident. Robert was a surveyor and assayer. My guess was he found something dodgy at Alliance Holdings and was killed to keep him quiet.’

  They drove in silence for a while, Cyriac mulling over what the doctor had just told him. It was only when the town came into sight that the doctor spoke again.

  ‘I ain’t ever seen the town so lively. It seems the whole country has come to see you fight. There’s still time to reconsider.’

  ‘Doc, I thought you came to be my second, not try and talk me down.’

  McCullough grinned at him. ‘Afore I left town this morning I bet on the outcome of the fight. I got good odds, too: one hundred to one. I wagered twenty dollars.’

  Beth watched the buggy driving away with Cyriac and the doctor.

  ‘Come on, sis, we gotta go in and give Cyriac some support.’

  ‘Huh!’ Aimee snorted but went willingly to saddle up.

  When the women got to town, there were so many pedestrians milling about and vehicles parked everywhere and anywhere that they were at a loss as to where to look for Cyriac.

  Beth said, ‘Seeing it was the doctor that took him in his buggy that’s where he’ll be at.’

  After making enquiries they were directed to the doctor’s surgery. Arlene opened the door to them.

  ‘I’m afraid the doctor is not in. He went off some time ago and I don’t know when to expect him back again.’

  ‘Oh dear. The doctor is with a friend of ours and we were hoping to join them.’ Beth turned to go. ‘Thank you, miss.’

  Arlene was frowning. ‘A friend, you say. Who might that be?’

  ‘Mr Halkias; Doctor McCullough drove off with him in his buggy.’

  Arlene’s frown deepened. She stepped back from the door.

  ‘Please come in.’

  The girls filed into the parlour.

  ‘Now tell me exactly what my father is doing with Mr Halkias.’

  CHAPTER 19

  The noise in and around the giant marquee was akin to that of a hungry beast as the area seethed with men hungry to watch the fight – billed as the greatest match of the nineteenth century. The challenger, Goren Ginsberg, was being promoted as the man to defeat the famous John L. Sullivan, only for the fact the champion was afraid to face Thomaston’s sheriff. Halkias became the Greek Gorilla from the land of ancient heroes.

  Elwood Black, fat cigar jammed between his teeth, strolled through the packed crowds, his passage eased by the wedge of bullyboys roughly forcing their way through the yelling, howling mob of eager fight fans. He pushed inside one of the makeshift pens erected to house the combatants and give them some privacy from the eager fans.

  Sheriff Gi
nsberg was sitting on a stool naked except for a pair of long drawers. His body was being liberally smeared with grease while his arms and legs were vigorously massaged by a quartet of helpers. The two men nodded and grinned at each other.

  ‘Don’t finish this too quickly, Goren,’ Black said. ‘The punters will want their money’s worth. Give them three, maybe four or five rounds.’

  The giant fighter swilled from a water jug, gargling it in his mouth before spitting into a bucket. He then picked up a whiskey bottle and took a slug from that.

  ‘What if he falls down with fright?’ Ginsberg grunted. ‘Hell, he might pass out after I hit him.’

  ‘Don’t be too cocky with this one. There’s something about this fella strikes me as his being a tough hombre. He thought nothing of facing us down in the jail singlehanded – and with an empty pistol. The way Masterson tells it, he faced down Jesse Linenan at the doc’s place and put them both to flight. We want this Cyriac Halkias dead all right, but do it right and make sure when he goes down he stays down.’

  ‘Since when did I ever fail you, boss?’ Ginsberg lifted a huge hand and formed it into a fist. It looked as big and hard as one of the buffalo skulls that littered the prairie. ‘Just watch these fists punch that greaser into an early grave. No one can stand against these hammers of death.’

  ‘Good.’ Black slapped Ginsberg on the shoulder and then took a towel to wipe the grease from his hand. ‘I’ll go and have a word with our referee, Jemmy Walbeck. He knows the score and will be on your side all the way.’

  ‘I tell you,’ Ginsburg growled, ‘I don’t need no one on my side. Only one man will walk outta that ring today and that’ll be yours truly.’

  ‘Nevertheless I like to figure all the angles.’

  A few strides away in another cubical, the challenger was also sitting on a stool and Doctor McCullough was with him. He was instructing Cyriac on the art of fisticuffs. His pupil was sitting with closed eyes and McCullough was not sure if his pupil was listening. The doctor was distracted by the number of scars and the puckered marks of old wounds that had been stitched together without much skill, giving a rough and uneven texture to Cyriac’s torso.

  ‘You don’t mix with this gorilla. He’s as strong as a bull and if he gets inside, he’s liable to pound your guts to mincemeat. Dance around hitting him but keeping out of range. Hell, damn it, are you even listening to me?’

  Cyriac opened his eyes nodded and reached for the water jug. The doctor slapped his hand away.

  ‘Don’t take anything that is supplied by that snake Black. You can’t tell what it’s laced with.’ The doctor reached in his bag and handed Cyriac a flask. ‘I brought our own refreshments.’

  Cyriac drank while the doctor continued coaching him.

  ‘Grease,’ Cyriac interrupted him. ‘I need to grease my body.’

  ‘Yeah, I got the grease.’

  Again the doctor reached in his bag and brought out a large tub and unscrewed the top. He dipped in and produced a generous blob of yellowish cream. Cyriac wrinkled his nose as his friend slapped the mixture on his chest and began to smear it in.

  ‘What the hell is that? It smells like something crawled in that jar and died.’

  ‘This is good stuff,’ the doctor said, dipping in for more grease. ‘It’s my own concoction; a mixture of lard, alcohol and urine.’

  ‘Sweet mother of all my woes! Why couldn’t you just have made do with axle grease?’

  ‘The lard is made from beef fat. If you get weary during the fight just lick your arms. The fat will nourish you while the alcohol will fire up your flagging spirits.’

  Cyriac raised his eyebrows.

  ‘A joke,’ the doc said and put more of the mixture on. ‘And before you ask, the urine is a healing agent. Trust me. I have been preparing for this fight since you told me about it, so try and be grateful. Like I say, I don’t trust anything supplied by Elwood Black. Also, I have a stake in you winning.

  ‘I went into Ginsberg’s booth a while back and asked to inspect what they were using on their fighter. On the pretext of examining the water I slipped in a sleeping draught. So watch for him yawning. That’s when you move in and put him to sleep permanent like.’

  A slow and rare smile broke across Cyriac’s uneven features.

  ‘McCullough, remind me to change my doctor after this. You’re as cunning as a sack of raccoons. A fella wouldn’t know what the hell you’d be slipping him on the pretext of curing him.’

  ‘So Cyriac was tricked into this fight just because he was trying to save his friend, Turlough?’ Arlene asked.

  Beth nodded. ‘That awful sheriff told Cyriac he would hang Turlough and then offered him a chance to save him if he fought him in a boxing match. Cyriac and Benedict are partners in a mining claim. If Cyriac loses then his share of the mine will be given over to Black, but whatever happens, he promised Turlough would go free. Cyriac had no choice – if he wanted to save Turlough he had to fight.’

  ‘Dear God,’ Arlene said in a low, trembling voice. ‘Ginsberg has killed men in the ring and out of the ring if the truth be told. He wants Cyriac dead otherwise he wouldn’t have challenged him. They covet the Benedict claim. Whichever way things go they will kill Cyriac and Turlough will be dead soon after. They murdered his sister and now his mother is missing. I think the Benedict claim is so rich Black is prepared to go to any lengths to take it over. It’s what they do.

  ‘Poor Cyriac is caught up in this terrible mess. He will not live out this day. And my father is with him. I fear for him, too.’ She got up from her chair and paced up and down. ‘Dear God, what can we do?’ She sat down again, staring at her guests with stricken eyes. ‘I feel so helpless. If only we could help in some way.’

  Aimee stood up. ‘I’ll go down and see what I can find out.’

  Arlene was shaking her head. ‘Women aren’t allowed in the arena. They’ll never let you in.’ She looked at the big woman with her angular shape and sharp features. ‘Wait a moment. You might just pass as . . . wait a minute . . . there is a spare medical bag.’

  Arlene left the room, leaving the sisters wondering what she was up to.

  CHAPTER 20

  The crowd roared as the fat man clambered into the ring. Jemmy Walbeck was an imposing figure in a suit straining at the seams to contain his corpulent figure.

  ‘Gentlemen and ladies,’ he bellowed. Like everything about him, Walbeck’s voice was also big. The noise from the crowd lessened. ‘Oh, I forgot, no ladies are present.’ Walbeck guffawed at his own joke.

  ‘Give over, you pudding belly buffoon,’ someone shouted. ‘Get on with the fight.’

  ‘Come on, you baldpate scoundrel,’ another called, referring to Walbeck’s glistening scalp, ‘we didn’t pay to hear your greasy ranting.’

  But Walbeck could give as good as he got.

  ‘Who let this clay-brained loon in? I believe you must have slept in the cesspit last night. I can smell you from here.’

  The banter went on for some time – the compère rousing the crowd with jokes and lewd remarks. The horde of onlookers loved it and at times the arena rocked with shouts of laughter. At last Walbeck brought the teasing to an end and began the build up to the fight.

  ‘You have here today the greatest fighter the world has ever seen. The unbeatable, the unparalleled, the giant of the fighting game. The winner of numerous bouts and, to crown it all, the best lawman in the whole of the west. I give you Sheriff Goren Ginsberg.’

  The champion strode out of his cubical, looking bigger than ever with great slabs of muscle on his chest and arms and shoulders. The roar from the crowd had something bestial about it. He ducked through the ropes and to the great delight of the crowd, began shadow boxing. The compère had trouble calming the crowd sufficiently to introduce the contender.

  ‘Against this giant of strength and fighting skill comes an indubitable challenger. May I introduce Kratos the Greek god from the other side of the world.’ Walbeck was allowing his imagi
nation full rein. ‘He has won so many bouts in Europe that he has run out of opponents. Now he has travelled to our own United States of America to fight our champion, Sheriff Ginsberg.’

  It was Cyriac’s turn to step out and make his way to the ring. Dark and muscled, he carried more scars than his opponent. He slipped into the ring and stood quietly in one corner. Cyriac was a big man but he looked diminished beside the sheer bulk of Ginsberg. The crowd grew quiet as they took in the disparity between the fighters; the huge bulk of Ginsberg and the more compact, muscular form of Cyriac.

  Doctor McCullough followed, carrying his medicine bag and settled down in Cyriac’s corner. The referee beckoned the fighters to the centre of the ring. The contrast in size was even more striking as the two men moved up face to face.

  ‘I’m gonna eat your heart, little man,’ Ginsberg sneered. ‘Any last requests? Maybe you wanna be buried alongside your murdering partner Benedict. Sure as the sun comes up tomorrow morning, I’m gonna hang him.’

  ‘I was told he would go free, no matter the outcome of this bout,’ Cyriac said.

  ‘Elwood Black made that promise to you, but I ain’t beholden to any undertaking Black makes.’ Ginsberg jabbed himself in the chest with a thick thumb. ‘I am the law. I make the law. I carry out the law. The law demands a death for a death.’

  Cyriac stared steadily back at the sheriff. ‘So be it,’ he said slowly, ‘a death for a death.’

  ‘Back to your corners,’ Walbeck roared and the crowd roared with him.

  The fight was on.

  With a big smirk on his face, the sheriff of Thomaston strode across the ring and swung a haymaker at his opponent that had it landed, it would most likely have batted Cyriac out of the ring. Cyriac ducked beneath it and punched two hard jabs into Ginsberg’s kidneys. With a roar of rage, Ginsberg turned and came again at the smaller man. Cyriac danced out of range but not before he put another couple of jabs into the other fighter’s belly.