Fury at Troon's Ferry

by Mark Bannerman

  ‘What’s happened, honey?’ she gasped.

  ‘Somebody’s set fire to the barn,’ he cried. ‘I must get over there, see what I can do.’

  He was turning back, relieved that Leah was safe, when he realized that she still might not be. Once he turned his back to attend to the fire, she would be as vulnerable as she had been before. He climbed halfway up on the ladder, passed the gun to her.

  ‘Take it,’ he instructed. ‘If anybody comes near you, use it!’

  ‘But, Angus, you’ll be unarmed.’

  ‘I’ll use a pitchfork if I have to.’

  He delayed no more, but hastened from the house, seeing that the barn was now a mass of billowing flame, roaring like a locomotive. The roof was crumbling in white-hot ash. He prayed that the intruder had left the area, having struck his blow, and, with daylight not far away, was no longer seeking trouble. Even so, he gazed around with great apprehension.

  The name of Johnny Kypp kept hammering into his mind. He must go to the town marshal once more, attempt to goad him into finding and arresting this individual who, Angus was convinced, was making life an absolute misery.

  As he set to work tackling the flames, Leah came out to help him, placing Anna, blanket-wrapped, in a sheltered spot. They hauled buckets of water up from the river, dousing everything they could, their eyes watering and stinging, their skin and clothing blackened by smoke. Fortunately there had been no livestock or anything else of great value inside. All along he’d considered the barn a place where his enemy, or enemies, might strike. So he had left it largely empty, but even so the structure had been part of his estate, part of his heritage, built by the hard labour of his father many years since, and to see flame licking through its old timbers was sickening.

  By full daylight, they had done the best they could, although the place was ruined, blackened and charred, and would never be of practical purpose again.

  When Ed Mullins arrived from town he was shocked at what he saw and at the story Angus related. But within a couple of hours it was business as usual as the first clients of the day trickled in and were ferried over the river, their eyebrows raised in surprise as they saw the wreck of the barn.

  Angus rode Judas hard into town, determined that the law must respond to what was happening, give him some protection. He found Marshal Fred Terrill in his office, chewing on a dead, half-smoked cigar as he thumbed through some paperwork. Terrill was of cumbersome build; he had a reputation for laziness and overindulgence of the bottle, being a far different man from his conscientious predecessor, Jim Ringrose. He waved his visitor towards a chair, but Angus was in no mood for relaxation.

  In a breathless voice he related the details of the latest outrage.

  Terrill shook his head despairingly, stubbed out his cigar. ‘I helped you in guardin’ your place,’ he said, ‘but you probably know you’re outside my jurisdiction out there. The state’s lines of responsibility have been shifted. This is rightly a job for the county sheriff. I heard he’s a sick man at present.’

  Angus grunted with frustration.

  ‘This fellow Johnny Kypp,’ he said, ‘do you know anything about him?’

  ‘Not much,’ Terrill shrugged, ‘apart from the fact that he got sentenced for robbin’ the bank, five or six years back, but you know all about that. He’s done his time. I got nothin’ against him now.’

  ‘Well, he’s out of jail and I saw him in town the other day. Seems too coincidental that my barn got burned.’

  Terrill scratched his stubbly jaw reflectively. ‘Come to think about it, the Kypp family run a smallholdin’ over at Eagle Springs, but I think you’re makin’ a mountain from a molehill. Kypp’s most likely got nothin’ to do with your troubles. Still, to put your mind at rest, you might care to take a ride over there and see what the Kypps have to say. They won’t make you welcome, though.’

  ‘Eagle Springs.’ Angus nodded. ‘That’s south of Kelly’s Hole.’ He rammed his hat on. ‘Thanks for your help.’ And he left Terrill to his paperwork and wished that old Marshal Ringrose still ruled the roost.

  He was reluctant to spend any more time away from the ferry house than was necessary because he knew that Mullins could not protect Leah and Anna every second of the day; he was too busy ferrying travellers across the river. But Angus was determined to confront Johnny Kypp and have things out with him.

  His was relieved, on arrival at home, to find that no trouble had occurred during his absence, except that Jack the old collie had been afflicted by a fit. Leah sat nursing the blind animal, even laying her hands on his head and praying for a cure. But come next morning he was dead — and it seemed just one more blow in the succession of tragedies that had befallen them, another misfortune caused by their enemies.

  After Angus had buried Jack in the meadow they both felt pretty low. He discussed matters with Leah, expressing his conviction that he must visit the Kypp homestead and try to glean some idea of what was going on.

  ‘You must be careful, honey,’ Leah warned, her arm around Anna. ‘Don’t incite any violence.’

  ‘I’ll try to sort things out without stirring up more trouble, but this situation is getting crazy. We can’t go on like this.’

  Leah nodded sombrely, knowing that he was right, wishing that God would be a little quicker in answering her prayers.

  Next afternoon, Angus told Ed Mullins what he was doing, saddled Judas, kissed his wife and child and rode out. He knew that the undertaking was risky in more ways than one, but anger simmered inside of him. He would not court violence, but if he was offered no alternative, he would not flinch away from it. The Spencer rifle was nestled in his saddle scabbard and he had recently invested in a long-barrelled Navy Colt which was holstered at his hip. His practising with it had brought a frown to Leah’s face but she had not commented, realizing that this world had many aspects that were not of her choosing.

  On the way to Eagle Springs Angus stopped overnight at a guest-house in the small township of Kelly’s Hole. The lady proprietor, a tough old bird, gave him directions to the Kypp smallholding.

  ‘But you be careful,’ she said. ‘Old Linus Kypp is as mean as a skunk. He don’t take to strangers, and he treats his wife Arabella like trash.’

  ‘How about his son Johnny?’ Angus enquired, trying to show a casualness he did not feel.

  ‘Ain’t seen him more than once or twice since he came out o’ jail,’ the woman responded, ‘but I guess he’s tarred with the same brush as his pa.’

  Angus nodded his thanks.

  Next morning he started out at daybreak. He knew that there was no guarantee that Johnny would be at home. Even at this moment he might be hovering close to the ferry house, intent on further mischief. Angus hoped not to delay his absence any longer than was absolutely necessary.

  For a couple of hours he followed the trail through heavily timbered country where the trees were redolent with spring’s blossom and chipmunks frolicked in the branches. He wondered how the land could appear so beautiful while black hatred inhabited men’s hearts, even his own.

  Mid-morning, with the sun burning from the cloudless sky like an angry eye, he reached the southern end of the valley of Eagle Springs and he soon located the Kypp homestead. He reined in Judas on a ridge overlooking the run-down establishment; it was crouched like a dark bird waiting to flap its wings and rise into the wind. It consisted of a rusty corrugated iron shack, with a big oak tree at its front, a barn and some outlying chicken and hog-pens.

  He gazed at the abode, seeing no sign of life, though the door stood open. He knew better than to sashay in without giving warning. Johnny Kypp might be at home, watching out through the window and there was no sense in stirring him into violence unnecessarily, though the thought that he might be close to the man who had made his life such a misery had fury running through his veins.

  He lifted his hands into a cup about his mouth and called out: ‘Hello there! I’d like to come visiting!’

  He waited. There
was no response apart from the crowing of a cockerel from the yard. Otherwise the throbbing silence remained unbroken. He debated whether to call out again, but decided against it. Instead, he slipped his Spencer from its scabbard, pulled back the hammer and heeled Judas forward down the slope. As he got nearer the cabin, he knew that he was a sitting target, but impatience to sort matters out drove him on.

  When he was a few yards from the open doorway, he reined-in his horse and called again: ‘Hello there!’

  It was then the girl appeared in the doorway. She looked Mexican and had long, black hair. He guessed her age was no more than twenty. She wore a multicoloured bead necklace and a calico dress of pale blue that hugged her hips and thighs, and accentuated her breasts. There was a wantonness about her that he found disturbing.

  Angus took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m looking for Johnny Kypp,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘Johnny? He not here.’

  ‘And Linus?’

  ‘My husband,’ she said, ‘he not in the house.’

  Her words disappointed him.

  He wondered how on earth had old man Linus got himself such a young wife. One thing was sure: she couldn’t be Johnny’s mother because he was older than her, and there was more Indian about him than Mexican.

  But now he realized that her gaze extended beyond him; she was looking over his shoulder. He felt the small hairs along his spine tingling.

  The voice came strongly.

  ‘Stay where you are, mister, or you’re dead! Drop that gun and raise your hands.’

  Angus, still in the saddle, cursed. He’d been outfoxed. He dropped his Spencer, not to the ground but into its saddle-scabbard. Then he grudgingly lifted his hands.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  He heard the rustling noise of somebody descending from the oak tree behind him. The man now threatening him must have been perched up on a branch, watching every move he made. When Angus risked a glance over his shoulder, he saw a wizened, grey-haired individual in a black hat moving with surprising agility, keeping his rifle, a huge .50 calibre Sharps buffalo gun, deadly steady. At such close range, Angus knew that the slightest pressure on the trigger would blast his head from his shoulders.

  The old man circled around, and stepped up on to the porch alongside the girl. Angus had never seen such an ill-matched couple. Linus must have been well over sixty. His face was weather-beaten, carrying scars that could have been made with a knife blade. Where he had sweated in the heat, salt had encrusted on the deep-etched scar-lines. The black stubs of his teeth showed between lips that were no more than twin flakes of dried-out skin. He was bandy and dwarf-like and had the same brooding eyes as those of Johnny Kypp. Those eyes held a glint of insanity. There was no doubt he was Johnny’s father. His squat figure reminded Angus of a distorted image in a fairground mirror.

  ‘Do not do wicked things, Linus,’ Arabella warned. ‘He far too pretty to bloody up.’

  ‘God a’mighty, keep your hungry eyes away from him!’ Linus snarled, but his attention remained riveted on Angus. ‘Now, Troon, I know who you are and what you did, gettin’ Johnny locked away like that, blackening my good name. So it’s no good makin’ out you’re somebody else. You got no right to come here. You ain’t welcome.’

  ‘Mr Kypp,’ Angus said, keeping his voice levelled, ‘I want to speak to Johnny.’

  The old man scowled. ‘Johnny ain’t here.’ A gobbet of spit accompanied his words. ‘He don’t live here no more. But wherever he is, he’s served his time and he don’t want the likes of you sniffin’ after him. You just leave him alone.’

  Angus had come a long way. He didn’t favour being fobbed off so easily. ‘I got reason to believe that Johnny has killed two of my horses and burned my barn down.’

  Linus Kypp unleashed a growl, his hands white knuckled on the Sharps. ‘You can’t prove nothin’, but I’ll warn you, if you come pesterin’ me or my son, it’ll be the last thing you ever do!’

  Suddenly Arabella Kypp spoke up from behind her husband, her voice shrill. ‘Best you leave, Señor Troon. Linus – he means what he say!’

  ‘All right, have your way,’ Angus said. ‘But things won’t end here.’

  He lowered his hands, touched his heels to Judas’s flanks and turned away. He rode off at a trot, not looking over his shoulder, but he could feel Kypp’s eyes burning into him and he feared that at any moment the man might blast off his gun, shooting him in the back. Gradually he left the homestead behind and he breathed more easily. He was annoyed with himself. He had gleaned nothing in coming here, except maybe the realization that old Linus Kypp was as stirred up against him as was his son Johnny.

  He reached the far side of the valley, reined in and took a glance towards the homestead, but the great oak tree hampered his view and he couldn’t see whether either husband or wife were still on their porch. He edged Judas into the pines that clothed the valleyside and started to climb, appreciating that at least he was out of rifle range. He wondered where Johnny Kypp was. He was concerned that he might, at this very moment, be hovering in the vicinity of the ferry house, intent on committing evil.

  On the other hand, Johnny Kypp might be no more than a stone’s throw from his father’s homestead — or even hiding out within it. But Angus dismissed the latter idea, believing that Johnny wasn’t the hiding sort. Had he been there, he would have no doubt welcomed Angus with a bullet.

  When he had reached the high rim of the valley he again made a halt and gazed back, his eyes meandering over the terrain. Everywhere, all nature, seemed to be holding its breath. He knew he was hidden up here in the trees, but his own view of the abode was no longer obscured. He waited for five minutes, cogitating on his next course of action, and all the time thoughts of Leah, Anna and Ed Mullins lingered his mind. He could hardly believe that Anna was now a year and a half old, the months had passed so quickly.

  Even though Mullins coped with operating the ferry, he was by no means able. His spirit was as willing as ever, but age was beginning to take its toll, and poor eyesight and the stiffness of rheumatism troubled him. If some sudden danger struck, Ed’s determination might not be enough to provide protection.

  But, having journeyed to the Kypp place, Angus felt reluctant to call a halt to his investigations. He was convinced that the old man was hiding something. He decided to stay here on the slope, to keep watch on the place throughout the remaining daylight. The sun lazed over the distant hills, appearing to cover them with a pink organdie.

  He dismounted, slaked his thirst from his canteen, then filled his hat with water and allowed Judas the same pleasure. He slackened off the sorrel’s girth and hunkered down to watch. Throughout the long hours of the afternoon, everything remained as quiet as a locked-up graveyard. He could understand Leah’s love of the wild places as opposed to the bustle of town life.

  Eventually, with the sun sinking in its final glory over the western mountain rim, a coolness came to the air. Angus was aware of the tiredness in his bones. He’d had a long and tense day, and ahead of him lay a tedious ride back to the ferry house and the welcome of home.

  But all at once his reverie was disturbed. He came to his feet impulsively as he saw movement on the far side of the valley – movement that gradually changed from an obscure, dark shape into the more clearly defined outline of a lone rider and horse moving steadily through the gloaming towards the homestead. Even at the distance Angus recognized the horse as a Morgan. The last time he’d seen the animal was as Johnny Kypp led it on to the ferry five years ago. The appearance of the fine horse had been stamped in his memory ever since. He slipped his Spencer from its scabbard.

  Johnny Kypp was coming home, little suspecting that the victim of his callous torment might soon have him within the sights of his gun. Angus sensed that the awesome time of reckoning was at hand. He had never taken a life before, but this might be his chance to put an end to the gruesome events that had turned his world into a nightmare.

  He decided to al
low Kypp to reach the habitation. Once he was inside, he would approach on foot, taking advantage of any concealment. He would fire through the window if necessary. It was a sneaky way of killing, but he had been an undeserving victim for too long.

  Gritting his teeth, his Spencer ready, he was about to move down the slope when events took a totally unexpected turn.

  The heavy blast of a large-calibre gun boomed out from the doorway of the cabin, and with it the orange flash of the detonation. Angus watched as the approaching horseman was stopped in his tracks, the Morgan rearing in panic at the proximity of the bullet, its whinny piercing the echo of the thunderous gunfire. As if to reinforce the message of the first shot, a second blast roared. The rider fell from his rearing mount and lay unmoving on the ground as the animal galloped back the way it had come.

  Angus was amazed. Had Linus Kypp done the job of gunning down Johnny on his behalf? But why … why should the old man have shot his son? Or could it have been Arabella who had fired the shots? But that possibility seemed no more plausible.

  Once again a surprise lay in store. Through the gloom of the increasing dusk Angus saw movement stir within the fallen body, saw the man first prop himself groggily on to his arms, then slowly hoist himself on to his legs. Angus strained his eyes, striving desperately to establish that it was Johnny Kypp down there. Perhaps he’d been wrong in assuming the identity of the man. But, at that distance, try as he might he could see no distinguishing features, nothing to prove who he was or who he was not. Angus could only watch as the dim figure limped away through the fading light, clearly anxious to put as much space as he could between himself and the gun before a third shot felled him for good. Within a minute he had scurried into the fringe of dark trees that bordered the valley. Angus knew that, with darkness descending, he would never track the man down, nor would he solve the mystery as to why he had been repelled with such ferocity from reaching the habitation.