Fury at Troon's Ferry

by Mark Bannerman

Angus thought about it, then nodded. At least it would provide him with a small income for the time being and he had always prided himself on being a quick learner.

  On the day following his commencement of work at the pharmacy he was approached by a stranger in town, a German called Franz Kruger, who said he was interested in buying the ferry house and business. Kruger was a thickset, pugnacious man, but he seemed genuine enough. He and his family had recently immigrated from Hamburg. After negotiation, and Kruger’s further inspection of the property, the German offered a sum slightly lower than the asking price. Angus accepted, the deal was agreed and the necessary legal documents completed and witnessed by Pawnee Bend’s attorney.

  Kruger also purchased the draught-horses, pony and wagon. When all the money was paid and lodged in the bank, Angus had the satisfaction of being financially solvent — at least for the time being. But what good was money when all the happiness had been torn from his life?

  After he had cleared out from the house the few items that he wished to keep he handed the keys to the new owner with a heavy heart. He regretted that the ferry was no longer the responsibility of a Troon, having been built and run by father and son for so many years, but his regrets were immediately dwarfed into insignificance by the other sorrows branded into his memory.

  He would never escape the conviction that he had failed his wife and child; he recalled the sweetness of Leah’s smile, how the sun glinted in her gold hair; how she radiated love. He was thankful that Old Man Havelock, who had entrusted him with the lovely flower of his daughter, was not alive to know how that flower had been crushed in terrible death.

  Late one evening, in the following month, when Angus was returning to town after delivering some medicines to an outlying ranch, he met Will Staveley.

  ‘Thought you’d like to know,’ the newspaper editor confided. ‘Johnny Kypp has taken up his appointment with Fred Terrill. So far as I know, he’s over in the office now.’

  Angus tensed. It was as if his heart had been seized in an icy grip.

  Staveley reached out to lay a restraining hand on his arm. ‘You’d better tread carefully, Angus. Maybe Kypp’s guilty of causing your troubles, maybe he isn’t. But one thing’s certain. He’s a tough and violent man and no stranger to using a gun.’

  Angus’s breathing had quickened. He nodded. ‘He must know something, that’s for sure.’

  Grim-faced, he returned to his lodgings and strapped on his Navy Colt, caressing the trigger with his finger. Images of Leah’s final moments filled his mind. The way her tongue had protruded from her mouth; her lungs heaving; her eyes like luminous globes; the death-rattle. He slipped five rounds into the gun’s chamber and holstered it at his hip. He would make Johnny Kypp pay for his part in what had happened. If he was subsequently accused of murder, he would face the penalty willingly.

  Darkness was taking hold as he strode purposefully up the street towards the marshal’s office. The cold air brought a shiver to his spine. The sidewalks were quiet, the stores closed. The only sound came from the saloon: the desultory notes of a Tin-Panny piano, the raucous voices of men, the shrill laugh of a woman. He felt certain he heard Terrill’s slurred speech.

  Leah had once told Angus that nothing was achieved by violence, but now he was convinced that she’d been wrong. The desire to inflict vengeance brought the bitter taste of bile to his mouth. However, before bullets started flying, he had to get the truth from Johnny Kypp.

  Coming abreast the law office he paused on the opposite sidewalk. A couple of horses were hitched to the outside rail. One of them was Kypp’s Morgan. A lantern glowed from within the office and the door stood slightly ajar. He drew his gun from its holster, the firmness of the butt in his hand reinforcing his determination; then he crossed the wide, rutted street and mounted the sidewalk. A second later he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  He was met by the stench of cheap perfume, and with it the sound of a woman’s ecstatic groans. His eyes were drawn to the female back, moving sinuously and clothed in the bright red of a hurdy-gurdy girl. She was perched on the front of the marshal’s desk, her skirts drawn up to reveal frilly garters and the tops of black silk stockings, her legs astride the man slumped in the chair beneath her. Her hands were cupping his face, her lips feeding off his with the desperation akin to a starving wolf.

  The unexpected scene took Angus aback, halting him in his tracks. He was unable to see the man so encompassed by this voracious female, whom he recognized. She was known as ‘Squirrel Tooth’ Sally, a girl from ‘the palace of sinful pleasure’ – a well-soiled dove.

  Suddenly Sally became aware that they were not alone; she drew back her lips and turned her rouge-cheeked face around, indignation flaring in her eyes. But Angus was more interested in the now-revealed man who was struggling to regain some composure. Angus was desperately trying to fit the face of Johnny Kypp on to the individual’s shoulders – but could not. He slowly came to terms with the fact that this was not the man he sought. He was Dave Sangster, one of Marshal Terrill’s part-time deputies, a youngster who provided his services once or twice a week to help preserve law and order in the town – but he had a strange way of doing it.

  The woman slid down from the desk, smoothing her dress into place.

  ‘Ain’t no cause for you to look so shocked, Angus Troon,’ she said. ‘ ’Specially after all them tricks you used to get up to before you married that prissy….’

  Angus silenced her with an angry glare and she trailed off, suddenly afraid of him. She was right of course; he’d been as guilty as any other woman-lusting male.

  Sangster stood up, hastily buttoning his jeans. ‘Weren’t expectin’ no callers,’ he said. ‘What d’you want?’

  Angus glanced around, satisfying himself that there was nobody else in the office or adjoining cell.

  ‘I want Johnny Kypp,’ he said. ‘I heard he’s taken up his duties.’

  ‘He has,’ Sangster grunted. He chose to overcome his embarrassment with arrogance. ‘What d’you want with Deputy Kypp?’

  ‘I need to pay off a debt,’ Angus replied.

  Sangster hesitated, his eyes glancing over Angus’s shoulder through the window, then he said, ‘He’s patrollin’ the town, keepin’ law and order like he’s paid to do. You best put that gun away, otherwise you’ll get arrested for breakin’ the peace.’

  Angus shifted his position, moving away from the open door. Silhouetted in the lighted room he would have been a clear target. He slipped his gun into its holster.

  ‘If Johnny Kypp comes back here,’ he said, ‘tell him that Angus Troon is looking for him.’

  Turning, he stepped from the office on to the sidewalk; the thought that Kypp was somewhere out here, drifting through the darkened streets, quickened his pulse. The town seemed dead, apart from the saloon.

  In the shadows beneath the covered way he paused, his gaze probing the gloom. Further along light was spilling out from the saloon, revealing the numerous horses hitched to the rail outside. Even at a distance he concluded that proceedings were getting somewhat riotous. He knew that a bunch of cowboys had ridden in from the ranges that afternoon and were no doubt splashing their money around on liquor and fancy women. If the steadying hand of the law was needed anywhere, it was probably in the bar room. Maybe Kypp was there. Angus grunted with disbelief. It was crazy that an outlaw like Kypp was masquerading as a lawman.

  He crossed the street. Pacing through the shadows, he peered warily into the darkened alleyways. He was conscious that at any moment he might encounter the man he hated.

  He remembered the saloon well enough, even the hurdy-gurdy girls, from the wild days before Leah had brought sobriety to his life. Then, he’d sworn that he’d never touch the low life again. Now Leah was gone and he knew he was a bitter man, his ambition narrowed to nothing beyond vengeance. He would not rest until another man was in his grave.

  As he neared the saloon he realized that the voices and commotion he heard were not
the drunken, light-hearted banter of cowboys. Hard, threatening words were being exchanged.

  He passed a man sitting on the sidewalk, his hands holding an undoubtedly sore head. He did not look up as Angus stepped by.

  He reached the pool of light outside the door of the saloon, surprised by the increasing ferocity of the bar-room voices. Then he braced himself and entered the crowded place, pressing his back against the inside wall. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he was stunned by the view thus afforded.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The long room was lit by a multitude of kerosene lamps, the whole place thick with tobacco smoke, reeking with alcohol and there was an unmistakable tension in the air. It showed in men’s eyes. Some loud-mouthed cowpunchers had grouped at one end of the bar. One of them Angus knew of old. He was a troublemaker called Bradshaw. He had unholstered his six-shooter, was waving it in the air.

  Then Angus became aware of another man – standing close to a felt-topped table. Here some gamblers had been playing poker, but now they paused, looking up, white-faced. The nearby man was wearing a cartridge belt with a six-gun. His cheeks were scarred by pockmarks, his hair was braided Indian-fashion and there was a deputy’s star pinned to his shirt.

  Angus’s blood turned to ice, knowing that at this moment he had the drop on Kypp because he was unaware of his presence. He could kill him with a single bullet and all his troubles would be over – or would they?

  But suddenly Kypp’s voice prodded firmly into the loaded atmosphere. ‘I told you. No gunplay in here. Put that gun away.’

  Bradshaw made no effort to comply. A insolent smile spread across his pug-nosed features. ‘Ain’t no jumped-up bank-robber givin’ me orders! You should be back in jail, where you belong.’

  Kypp did not to flinch; he just radiated cold, deadly venom. ‘I give you one more warnin’,’ he hissed. ‘You put that gun away or you’re a corpse!’

  Bradshaw was about to respond with further abuse, but another man spoke. Fred Terrill had stumbled to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. Angus realized that he had been slumped across a table, obviously in a drunken stupor, but now he had drawn his gun. His words came in a slur. ‘You do as … my dep-deputy says, Bradshaw. Kypp’s served his sentence for the crime he c-committed. He’s as innocent as you now!’

  Bradshaw’s response stabbed across the room. ‘Go to hell, Terrill!’

  The marshal’s inebriated eyes contorted with anger. He swung his gun in Bradshaw’s direction and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the wall above the cowboy’s head, scattering a shower of plaster. But as the room reverberated with blast and the accompanying screams and shouts, another shot roared out. Terrill was thrown backwards on to the sawdust floor, splintering a table, his shirt-front showing an explosion of blood, his face growing purple as he struggled to draw oxygen into his lungs.

  Across the room men scattered to avoid further bullets and the barkeeps ducked down. Bradshaw stood alone, gun in hand, a shroud of smoke hanging about him.

  ‘Self-defence,’ he shouted out. ‘He’d’ve killed me otherwise!’

  Johnny Kypp ran forward, fell to his knees alongside Terrill’s body. ‘He ain’t dead,’ he yelled out. ‘He’s still breathin’. We gotta get him to the doctor’s.’ He glanced around, for the first time meeting Angus’s cold stare. He hesitated, his eyes widening, then said: ‘Don’t just stand there. Give me a hand!’

  Angus was aware of men rushing towards the door; they moved so fast a swarm of bees could have been chasing them. One cowboy brushed him aside as he departed. It was Bradshaw.

  ‘Give me a dawgone hand!’ Kypp repeated angrily.

  Scarcely realizing what he was doing, Angus stepped across to the sprawled frame of Fred Terrill, seeing how the lawman’s chin was stained with a dark froth he’d coughed up and how the surrounding floor was shining with the blood that soaked into the sawdust. He needed medical attention – fast. Angus stooped down, grabbed the marshal beneath the armpits.

  ‘Let’s get him to Doc Clayton’s,’ he said. ‘His place is close.’

  Kypp nodded and took hold of the marshal’s legs.

  Angus felt the crazy unreality of what was happening, but he went on with it although Kypp’s nearness had his nerves hammering.

  Together they raised Terrill’s leaden weight and carried him out through the door. The saloon’s customers had vanished with surprising speed.

  Angus nodded down the street and they carried their burden along the sidewalk, exchanging no words. Angus was relieved to see that a light was burning in the doctor’s surgery. They rested the weight down and he pounded on the door. A flushed Elizabeth opened up, her young face wincing as she saw the reason for their visit. Behind her was the beanpole figure of her father. Within a minute, Terrill had been placed on the surgery table.

  With his long fingers Clayton pulled back the gory shirt from the wound. He shook his head.

  ‘The bullet’s gone deep,’ he said, ‘maybe punctured his lung. I’ll try to get it out, but I can’t guarantee he’ll survive. Who did it?’

  ‘Bradshaw,’ Angus said, aware of Johnny Kypp’s brooding gaze resting on him. He avoided the man’s eyes.

  ‘Serious matter, shooting a law officer,’ Clayton said, picking small pieces of sodden cloth from Terrill’s flesh, then he turned to Elizabeth. ‘Get me some boiling water quick as you can.’ She nodded and rushed to comply.

  ‘You gentlemen best leave him in my hands now,’ the doctor went on, working with his scissors. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

  Kypp grunted his acknowledgement. Angus exchanged a look with the doctor. He followed Kypp out on to the street, his mind in a turmoil from the way his immediate intentions had been sidetracked.

  Once on the sidewalk Kypp stopped walking and swung around, his frame silhouetted by moonlight, his brooding eyes in pools of shadow. Angus braced himself, resting his hand on the butt of his gun.

  ‘Johnny Kypp,’ he said, ‘you know me and I know you. We can cut out the formalities. My wife’s dead, my partner murdered, my child vanished … and my life ruined. I hold you guilty and I aim to make you pay.’

  Kypp sucked in breath, then he spat out his words, ‘If it hadn’t been for you, we’d never have been shut away in that stinkin’ hole of a prison. I’d never done wrong before, but nobody took that to account when they dished out those sentences.’

  ‘You got what you deserved,’ Angus countered, his voice rising, ‘and it doesn’t seem you learned your lesson. Kypp, maybe it was your first crime but you still broke the law and that wasn’t my fault. And now you’re here, pretending to uphold the law. But you can’t fool me!’

  If Kypp had grabbed for his gun at that moment Angus would have done likewise, hurled himself to the side and blasted off, but Kypp made no sudden movement. Instead, he said, ‘You’re crazy.’ And then the tension seemed to flow out of him and he added: ‘If it’s your kid you’re concerned about, I may be able to help.’

  ‘What!’ Angus could scarcely believe his ears. ‘She … she’s still alive?’

  Kypp’s braided head moved ever so slightly. It could have been a nod or a shake.

  ‘Come over to the office tomorrow about … say about three in the afternoon,’ he said, ‘I’ll have other business to see to first. I might, just might, have something to tell you.’

  He turned away, as if inviting a bullet in his broad back. Angus stood motionless, stunned, watching him walk steadily up the street to the marshal’s office. With Fred Terrill sidelined for clearly a long time, or maybe for ever, Johnny Kypp was now the chief representative of the law in Pawnee Bend. The situation seemed beyond belief.

  Angus bridled his frustration. The man’s words lingered in his ears. Maybe it was just some cruel taunt, his way of increasing Angus’s suffering. On the other hand, could this be the first real hope he’d had since Anna had disappeared?

  Some impulse had Angus glancing back at the Claytons’ house. He saw Elizabeth gazing from
a window. Her face looked like that of a delicate porcelain doll. She waved to him and he waved back.

  He returned to his lodgings, anxious for the morrow to come. The possibility that Anna might still be alive made his heart pound and gave him a restless night. Maybe Kypp considered that his revenge for being shut away in jail had been completed – or maybe taking on the job as lawman in Pawnee Bend was some sort of cover-up for future wrong-doings.

  Whatever Kypp’s motives, Angus couldn’t trust the man. He must watch him with the intensity of a bird of prey. But if Kypp could get little Anna back for him, and she was unharmed, then he might be able to find some reconciliation in his heart. One thing was certain, it wasn’t in his interest to kill the man right now.

  Next morning he rose early. Winter was casting its bleak mantle upon the land. He took breakfast at a café but didn’t have much of an appetite. He wondered how he would find the reserve and patience to wait for the afternoon to arrive. Kypp had been strangely specific about the time of the appointment at his office.

  When he arrived at the Clayton pharmacy for his morning’s work Elizabeth opened the door, her usual gentle smile absent.

  ‘Angus,’ she greeted him, ‘you’ve heard?’

  ‘No … what?’

  ‘Fred Terrill died last night. Dad tried his hardest to save him, but the bullet had gone through his lungs.’

  Angus shook his head gloomily. He’d never been an admirer of the town’s marshal, for he’d been a perpetual drinker and gambler, doing little to gain the respect that was necessary for his job. But for any man to lose his life in this way was bad news.

  ‘Did he have any family?’ Angus enquired.

  The girl shook her head. ‘He was a loner. Maybe way back he had a wife, but nobody knows. Dad sent a note across to Johnny Kypp, saying he’d better arrest Bradshaw on a charge of murder. He also went over and told Mayor Henry. The mayor said he was appointing Kypp as town marshal.’