Fury at Troon's Ferry

by Mark Bannerman

  Angus returned to Judas, tightened the girth and swung into the saddle. There were a lot of unanswered questions, but now was not the time to resolve them. He set out on the long journey home, anxious to assure himself that all was well back there.

  He would have been horrified had he known that he would find no such assurance.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ed Mullins was slumped on the ground, blood seeping from his shoulder staining his shirt crimson; the shock of the bullet’s impact was now giving way to intense, breath-cutting pain. He groaned, then coughed up some more blood.

  Only a couple of hours ago, he’d waved farewell to Angus as the latter had set out for the distant Kypp homestead. In his handicapped voice, Ed had wished his employer well, promising him that he would keep an eye on things at the ferry. During the time that followed he’d had not a single traveller to ferry across the river, and had occupied himself with maintenance of the great cog-wheels housing the ropes that drew the barge back and forth, carefully oiling the mechanism.

  While he was thus occupied the bullet caught him, slamming into his shoulder, throwing him face forward, down the steep slope of the river bank. Stunned, he had sprawled there for a full minute, feeling the pain intensify, aware that blood was pumping from the wound. He had been unaware that any gunman had been in the vicinity, that any danger was threatening him.

  But now, he heard a sound – a woman’s frightened voice calling his name. ‘Ed … Ed, what’s happened!’

  Leah had heard the shot and come running from the house, desperately searching for him. Even in his dazed state, Ed was conscious of the fear that the gunman might still be lurking – and that Leah could be his next target. Red mists were clouding his brain, but somehow he managed to shout out, ‘Leah, stay back!’

  Leah, holding her skirts high as she ran, heard the desperate cry, hesitated. She glanced around but saw nothing untoward. Everywhere seemed quiet. She stumbled in the direction from which Ed’s voice had come. Drawing up breathlessly on the brink of the river bank, she glanced down and cried out in alarm. He was lying so still, his shirt a sodden gory mess. If he’d rolled another yard, he would have fallen into the water. She practically fell down the grassy bank, dropping to her knees beside Mullins, praying that he was not dead. It seemed God answered her pleading, for she could see Ed’s chest rising and falling. But she had no doubt that unless she could stem the flow of blood from the ragged wound in his shoulder he would soon succumb.

  With desperate hands she ripped a large piece from her petticoat, and made it into a pad. Then she tore another section to form a bandage which she bound over his shoulder and beneath his armpit. Her hands were slippery with his blood, but she worked undeterred. Only when she was convinced that she had stemmed the loss of blood, albeit temporarily, did she leave him and scramble up the bank to its top.

  Who had fired that cowardly shot!

  She gazed around, her hand shading her eyes against the sun. Everything looked so normal, so peaceful — yet she knew that what had happened was another example of the mindless succession of wicked deeds which had been carried out against her husband and those who were part of his life. And the fact that this enemy remained out of sight was no guarantee that he was not, even at this moment, spying on her from some hiding place, maybe laughing at her predicament, maybe already lining up his gun for another shot.

  She flinched at the thought, but stood her ground, all the time praying to God for His help. She wished Angus were here, but he was miles away, tracking down the enemy they feared but who was, however, far nearer than they had imagined.

  She strove to restore her calm. She would help nobody by remaining in a state of panic. Her thoughts swung to Anna, whom she had left playing in the kitchen of the house; yet at this moment she must take the terrible risk of leaving the child unprotected.

  She returned down the bank to Mullins. To her relief, he was regaining consciousness and groaning with the pain which tortured him. He was trying to scramble to his feet, and she supported him, finding strength she had not known she possessed.

  ‘What happened, Ed?’ she gasped. ‘Did you see who shot you?’

  His tongue struggled with his cleft palate to form words. She had to lean close to hear his faltering whisper,. ‘No. F-first thing I knew … I had a bullet in me. I. …’ His speech trailed off, his pain too intense for discourse.

  Somehow she got him across the meadow to the house and into the living-room. He virtually collapsed on to the sofa, and she struggled to prevent him from rolling on to the floor. She checked Anna, thankful that she appeared unharmed. Her attention returned to the wounded man.

  Without Angus here she knew that the ferry would have to be closed for the rest of the day. One other thing was obvious. Unless Ed got medical attention promptly he would die. Maybe even with a doctor’s attention, the bullet had gone too deep and would prove fatal. She debated rapidly what her next course of action should be. She could wait until a traveller turned up at the ferry and seek their help. But with things so desperately quiet today, it might be hours before somebody appeared, and, even then, they might not be prepared to assist. Anyway, by then Ed might have passed away. Alternatively, she could somehow get the patient into the buckboard wagon and take him to the doctor in town. She decided to adopt the latter option. She had no choice but to take Anna with her.

  It took her ten minutes to harness the pony to the wagon, which had a canvas covering, and another ten to help Mullins from the couch, across the porch and somehow get him into the wagon. She fetched a blanket and pillow for him. He seemed to be losing consciousness again.

  ‘Don’t die, Ed,’ she whispered desperately. ‘For God’s sake don’t die!’ She knew she had no time to delay.

  She re-entered the house, lifted Anna in her arms and carried her to the wagon, murmuring to her to be a good girl. She was pleased that the canvas provided shade for both her passengers. She climbed on to the wagon-seat, jerked on the reins and set the pony in motion, hoping that the bumpy trail would not bring further pain to Mullins.

  She did not look back, did not see the man step from the concealment of the adjacent cottonwood. He stood for a moment, his lips widened into a wolfish grin. He gazed towards the rapidly departing wagon, and knew he was hidden by the cloud of dust trailing behind it.

  Then he stepped towards the house. He fancied that woman. He’d watched her before, and the sight of her supple body and prissy ways had sent a tingle through his loins. Maybe he would have her before the day was out. He grunted as he considered the prospect. He’d wait until she got back.

  Leah wished that her father was still alive, but God had claimed him just a year ago. How desperately she could do with his support at this time – but a new minister had now taken up the living. She stopped several times during the journey to town, checking to ensure that Mullins was still breathing and to attempt to quiet Anna who cried continuously, not liking the bump of the wagon on the rutted trail.

  Leah could have stopped at the homes of friends, some Russian immigrants, whose smallholdings stood alongside the trail, but she was sure that time was vitally important. If only the medical powers she herself had been blessed with could have been strong enough, but she knew that it needed more than prayer and faith to extract a bullet. Only a skilled medical man could save this man who had served Angus so well.

  On the outskirts of town she halted once more to check Ed’s condition. She gasped with apprehension. She felt the pulse in his neck. He was still alive — but only just. She climbed aboard the wagon again and urged the tiring pony into motion. She entered the town, seeing how things were pretty quiet in the early afternoon heat. She made it up Main Street to the surgery of Doctor Clayton, drew rein and threw throwing herself from the wagon seat, turning her ankle over in her haste.

  She groaned with dismay as she saw that the doctor’s surgery appeared to be closed and silent. Perhaps he was away, called out for some other emergency. She thumped on his door,
bruising her hands. She waited, her lips moving as she murmured over and over: ‘Please God may he be here!’

  At last she heard a sound from within and the door swung open. Jasmine Clayton, the doctor’s wife appeared, her hands covered in flour.

  ‘Is he here,’ Leah gasped. ‘The doctor… .’

  Jasmine Clayton needed no further hastening, seeing the desperation In Leah’s eyes. She nodded, turned back and called to her husband. ‘Edmund, come quick!’

  Within seconds Edmund Clayton appeared, drying his hands on a towel. He was tall, and this was emphasized by his thinness and hollow cheeks. But he had a reputation as a fine doctor.

  ‘Ed Mullins,’ Leah cried, nodding towards the wagon. ‘He’s been shot!’

  The doctor moved quickly, hauling himself up beneath the canopy. Both Leah and Jasmine Clayton followed him, but there was no room for them all in the wagon. Leah lifted the wide-eyed Anna out and held her. They stood back, watching the doctor kneeling beside Mullins. Leah was filled with dread. Perhaps she was already too late. It seemed an eternity that the medical man took over his examination. He pressed his ear to his patient’s chest, after which he checked the pulse. At last he straightened up.

  ‘Will he live?’ Leah asked anxiously.

  The doctor shook his head, his face gaunt. ‘I’m afraid he’s dead,’ he said.

  Giddiness assailed Leah like a green mist. Jasmine Clayton took hold of Anna. Leah felt unable to breathe and Elizabeth, the doctor’s seventeen-year-old daughter reached out to support her.

  ‘Dead,’ Leah murmured ‘He can’t be….’

  But Edmund Clayton was solemnly nodding. ‘Best go inside. I’ll see to things outside.’

  The two women helped Leah into the house, sat her down. The place was redolent with the smell of lemon polish. Leah slumped with her head in her hands, unable to accept the cruel turn of events. Jasmine fetched a drink while her daughter sat alongside Leah, striving to find comforting words.

  Meanwhile Doctor Clayton had Ed Mullin’s body transferred to the town’s mortuary and arranged for a man to attend to the pony and wagon. Clayton crossed the street to the marshal’s office. He had to inform the lawman that murder had been committed. It had occurred on land not under Marshal Terrill’s jurisdiction, but it would be his duty to notify the county sheriff. Not that he felt he could rely on Fred Terrill. He was in a constant drunken haze and rumour had it that he was running up huge gambling-debts.

  The doctor’s fears were proved valid. Upon entering the lawman’s office, he was assailed by the stench of liquor; the marshal was leaning back in his chair, his eyes vacant, an empty bottle on the desk before him. He scarcely nodded as Clayton related events, but he seemed to understand the instruction to telegraph the county sheriff, though whether he would remember to do it was another matter. Clayton would check later.

  He wasted no further time with Terrill but returned to his home where his wife was holding smelling salts beneath Leah’s nostrils. Poor Leah had received a terrible shock, but she was now regaining her composure, sitting up and drying her tears.

  ‘Who did it?’ Clayton enquired.

  Leah shook her head. ‘I was in the house when I heard the shot. By the time I got outside, there was no sign of anybody. I found Ed by the river. He’d fallen down the bank. I thought … I thought I could get him here in time to save his life.’

  ‘There was nothing more you could have done,’ Jasmine Clayton murmured soothingly.

  ‘Where’s Angus?’ the doctor asked.

  Leah explained events as best she could. When she’d finished, Clayton said that he’d heard they’d had trouble at the ferry, about the burning of the barn, but he hadn’t realized that matters had got so bad.

  Leah spent several hours with the Claytons, gradually coming to terms with the awful events of the day. Eventually she decided it was time to get back to the ferry house. Angus would be returning soon and she needed to be there to let him know what had happened. Doctor Clayton insisted that he accompanied her, and although she claimed she would be all right, that whoever had done the shooting would be long gone, he insisted.

  Accordingly, they left town as it was getting dark, the grey sky already tinged with a sullen blue-black over the east. The doctor drove the wagon, Leah and the child under the canvas, with Clayton’s horse fastened to a tiering at the back. It was dark by the time they reached the vicinity of the ferry and Leah was greatly relieved to see a light showing from the window.

  ‘Angus is home,’ she said. ‘Thank God for that!’ But she dreaded having to impart the awful news to him.

  ‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said. ‘You can go back. Doctor Clayton, I am so grateful for all you have done for me.’

  The doctor had halted the wagon. He debated whether to see her safely inside the house, but he knew that he had taken a risk in being away from his surgery, so, finding comfort from the distant glow of the light, he stepped down and unhitched his horse.

  Leah repeated her thanks. ‘I know Angus will be in touch with you.’

  He nodded, clasping her hand in his own thin fingers for a moment, then he turned to his horse, mounted up and rode off.

  Leah climbed on to the wagon seat, flicked the reins and set the pony towards the house, little realizing the awesome fate that awaited her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  She drove the wagon into the barn and loosened the harness, thinking that she would return to unhitch the pony once she had informed Angus of events. She gathered up the sleeping Anna, walked to the house, and stepped up on to the porch. The door stood partly open, the light glowing from within.

  ‘Angus!’ she called, stepping inside.

  The main room stood empty, but she heard movement from the kitchen.

  ‘Angus!’ she repeated. She heard footsteps and suddenly her heart missed a beat. In the doorway stood a man she had never seen before. She felt the blood draining from her face and her frightened mind registered how foolish she had been to send the doctor home and come on alone.

  ‘Where’s Angus?’ she somehow got out.

  The stranger smiled licentiously. ‘Ain’t no need to tremble like a leaf, ma’am. Angus ain’t here, so you don’t have to worry none about him.’

  ‘Where is he?’ she repeated.

  His stubbly face was creased in a grin. ‘Can’t say I rightly know where the dear man is, ’ceptin’ he ain’t where he should be, looking after his sweet little wife.’

  She was making a brave attempt to steady herself, but his eyes were burning into her, somehow, she imagined, seeing through her clothing to her naked body.

  ‘Who are you?’ she got out.

  ‘I’m an old … acquaintance of your husband, Mrs Troon, or may I call you Leah. I’m sure your Angus won’t mind you showing me a little hospitality.’

  He took a pace forward.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she gasped, trying to stem his advance with her question.

  He rubbed his shoulder. ‘Thing is, I’ve got this stiffness in my shoulder. It kinda catches when I move. I heard word in town that you could fix this sort of thing, that you had some sort of heavenly gift that could cure folks’ aches and pains. That’s so, ain’t it?’

  Leah realized she was utterly at his mercy. Holding Anna, she knew he would catch her in a flash if she attempted to escape him. She reckoned her best hope was to try and humour this man, and pray, please God, that Angus would return before she came to any harm. She was still unable to stem the tremble that was in her, but she tried desperately not to show fear.

  ‘It’s true,’ she said, ‘I can help with some afflictions, but I must prepare my oils. It’ll take time.’

  She forced herself to walk slowly forward. She placed Anna down. The child sat wide-eyed on the floor, unable to understand what was happening, but sharing her mother’s fear none the less.

  ‘There’s no need for oils,’ he said, ‘Just a little warmth from your hands will do the trick, I’m sure.’

 
‘But… .’

  ‘No oils, Leah Troon,’ he insisted, the grin on his face replaced by a glint of impatience.

  ‘I’ll just use this,’ she gasped, reaching out to grasp the cup of pepper she had kept in case she needed to defend herself one day. It had always been a joke between her and Angus, but now she prayed that if she was to hurl it into his eyes he might be deterred.

  ‘Sit down,’ she instructed, moving a chair out from the table for him. ‘Which shoulder is it?’

  He stepped towards her and fear slammed through her. ‘Maybe we’ll attend to that after.’

  ‘After what?’ she asked, then hurled the pepper into his face.

  It had little effect apart from increasing his anger. She fought him then, fought him with every ounce of strength in her body, biting, kicking, clawing, screaming. For a second she broke free of him, turning away, but his strong hands clamped around her waist, twisted her back, his grip like steel. In a wild stumble, they both tripped and fell, his weight on top, pinning her down.

  His crazed face was forced into hers. His evil breath, smelling of onions and whiskey, was suffocating her. She clenched her teeth; in vain she tried to turn away. He was too strong, too heavy, forcing his repulsive lips against hers, his tongue into her mouth, pushing her neck back so hard she thought it would break. She gasped, choking and gagging. She bit his tongue with all her might, tasting his blood.

  Then he went mad.

  It was well into the small hours when Angus set the weary Judas across the meadow fronting the ferry house. He was surprised to see, despite the lateness of the hour, that a light was showing from within. He wondered whether Anna was unwell, whether Leah was up tending to her. He was pleased that he had arranged with Ed Mullins to stay overnight and look after things.