The Black Horse Westerns

by Abe Dancer

  ‘As a county official who probably stands in line to get paid, I’d say Broome’s lawyer,’ Ben said.

  ‘Hell, let’s get some tonsil juice, while we’re here,’ Hector suggested. ‘I know the ideal place.’

  Leading their horses they crossed to the dog-hole saloon that Hector had once notably paid a visit to. ‘Remind me to tell you a story about this place, Joe,’ he said, as they hitched their mounts.

  ‘Hah, that was folklore for a couple o’ years,’ Ben chuckled, as they stepped onto the low boardwalk.

  The moment they were through the door, Hector looked quickly around him. He moved to the end of the bar, in the darker light away from the window.

  ‘What’s your poison, fellers?’ Tolman asked.

  ‘Whiskey,’ Hector answered.

  Tolman took a closer look at Hector. ‘Were you Hector Chaf, before them grey whiskers?’ he queried.

  Hector levelled back a hard stare. ‘Yeah, an’ before you got lard gutted, you were the goddamn bigot who never knew the whereabouts o’ Quedo Lunes,’ he snapped back.

  Tolman thought for a moment before responding. ‘Sure, I fill up the space a bit more’n I used to,’ he said. ‘Can’t get from the bar to the can as quick, but yeah, that sounds like me.’

  ‘Three glasses,’ Hector said, as he cast an eye around the bleak, sparsely furnished saloon.

  Tolman placed the glasses on the bar and uncorked a bottle of whiskey. ‘Just like ol’ times to see you two drinkin’ together,’ he offered. Then he looked at Joe. ‘I used to wear out the knees o’ my pants crawlin’ an’ duckin’ away from the bullets.’ He shrugged when there was no response from Joe. ‘Well, we don’t get gun stuff anymore,’ he continued, looking from Ben’s holstered Colt to Hector’s, than Joe’s. ‘No, sir, them days are long gone.’

  ‘That’s why you got singled out,’ Hector said. ‘Somewhere to relax safely an’ in private for a friendly drink.’

  Ten minutes later, a group of riders pulled up in the narrow street. They were directly across from the bar, and Ben asked Tolman if he was expecting company.

  ‘Well, I’m always hopin’,’ the man replied. ‘But if it’s who I think it is, maybe we’re headin’ for another memorable moment.’

  The old cantina with its thick adobe walls and one dust-caked window at the front was gloomy on the brightest of days, and entering from the street’s bright sunlight, the newcomers didn’t recognize anyone at first. Wilshaw Broome had gulped down half his first beer before he took an interested look at Hector who was standing less than six feet from him.

  ‘Hector Chaf,’ Broome grunted with a touch of alarm. ‘Looks like trouble ain’t come single-handed.’

  Hector took a single step back. ‘That’s right, Broome. ‘Your worst nightmare’s suddenly come true,’ he returned with hushed menace.

  Broome smiled compliantly. ‘I ain’t come here lookin’ for trouble, Chaf,’ he claimed and looked to the three men who were with him. ‘I mean it. Cover me while I leave,’ he told them and immediately edged towards the door.

  Ben, who had been standing behind his two companions, then stepped into view.

  ‘Jeesus, it’s him. That’s McGovren,’ Broome said roughly, as he backed through the open door and into the street.

  Hector watched him go, cursed because he couldn’t shoot him in the back. ‘There goes a man who gives a whole new meanin’ to “he who shouts an’ runs away”,’ he rasped, and turned back to face the man’s three cohorts.

  The word was out for Broome’s hired men to kill Ben McGovren on sight, but Broome’s henchman didn’t realize that Ben, Joe and Hector were in cahoots, were the trouble that Wilshaw Broome had just been referring to. Influenced by the big dollar reward that Broome was offering, he mistakenly made a move for his gun.

  Before he cleared his holster, Joe hit him. He’d drawn his own Colt and laid the frame hard into the side of the man’s head. It split the skin from temple to jawbone, and the man went down cold.

  Ben knew that close-quarter blows were safer than bullets, and he quickly stepped forward to crack the barrel of his Colt against the second man’s forehead. The man’s eyes rolled, went blank before he too crumpled to the rough puncheon floorboards.

  Hector caught sight of Tolman moving behind the bar. ‘Stay put,’ he yelled, while watching Broome’s third guard run for the safety of the street.

  ‘It might be best to clear this place,’ Ben rasped at Joe and Hector. ‘We don’t know how many they’re goin’ to bring down on us now.’

  Outside, they just saw the Broome man run into another saloon further along the street. It was a place that Hector had visited all those years before.

  Gaining their horses, they were cutting diagonally across the street when the first gun blasted. Then other guns were cracking out and bullets whined and thumped all around them. Hector checked his horse and emptied his Colt at the front of the second saloon. The door splintered apart and he cursed those inside. ‘You’re gutless scum, Broome, an’ I should o’ killed you years ago!’ he yelled. Then, with Joe and Ben, alongside him, he whirled his horse and raced to the edge of town.

  16

  A mile beyond the outskirts of town, Joe pulled up his horse. Hector and Ben, thinking maybe he’d been wounded, reined in beside him.

  ‘You ain’t hit, are you, son?’ Ben asked anxiously.

  ‘No, I’m not hit. I just ain’t runnin’ any further. We’re not goin’ to win anythin’ this way.’

  ‘An’ we ain’t winnin’ it by gettin’ dead, either,’ Hector replied sharply. ‘Broome’s got himself a score o’ trigger-itchy thugs back there, an’ we only met the advance party. There’s no sense in goin’ up against a whole gang of ’em, until we know there’s a chance, an’ that ain’t in town or anywhere near it,’

  ‘So where are you thinkin’ of?’ Joe asked eagerly.

  ‘In the goddamn pear – where else?’

  Ben nodded in accord and heeled his mare forward. They rode on and, although frustrated, Joe followed doggedly in the rear. Markers had been put down and both sides knew where they stood, but if any Broome riders wanted to follow, he’d have first sighting. Given his head, he’d go back and dust the town’s foundations if it had any.

  Back in Lemmon, Joe had been right about someone else needing the services of the lawyer, George Daggert. After leaving the saloon, Wilshaw Broome had stood in the street for a moment, shaking with fury when he saw the man he wanted rid of, clear the end of town with his armed allies. A minute or two later, he’d made it to the town’s law office.

  ‘Are you comin’ from, or headin’ to trouble?’ Daggert asked, as Broome came through the door, choking on blasphemies.

  ‘Both,’ Broome stormed. ‘Them boys o’ mine had Ben McGovren cold, then let him get away.’

  ‘Well, it couldn’t have been so cold, Wil. But don’t go blowin’ a plug, the man’s got away before. It’s a habit o’ his an’ he don’t usually get far. Was it Hector Chaf an’ Jasper Kettle’s boy who got away with him?’

  ‘Yeah, how’d you know that? How’d you know it was one o’ the Kettles?’

  ‘Comes with my territory,’ the lawyer said. He waved the paper he held in his hand and explained the filing of the suit.

  ‘Burn it. Goddamn piece o’ paper,’ Broome snapped.

  ‘He’d best not,’ Brent Perser said, who was keeping prudently close. ‘If this case ain’t on the docket when the court next meets, an’ them three fellers swears it was filed, it won’t just be me takin’ a trip to Yuma.’

  ‘Them turkeys won’t be swearin’ to anythin’, ‘Broome continued angrily. ‘Not if I get another chance at ’em.’

  ‘Brent’s right,’ Daggert said forcefully. ‘There’s more’n just your livelihood at stake here, Wil, an’ you can’t blame anybody but yourself. But that’s only for us to know, so calm down an’ listen to sense. I told you two months ago that McGovren had somethin’ up his sleeve.’

  ‘Yeah, an’
I tried to get him to talk about it.’

  ‘An’ he didn’t, but no one’s burnin’ anythin’ because o’ your hot-headedness,’ Perser charged, and put the paper in his pocket. ‘Goin’ up against county law’s one thing I hadn’t bargained on.’

  ‘Are you thinkin’ o’ givin’ up bein’ clerk to this town?’ Broome threatened.

  Perser flinched. ‘You an’ this town need me more’n I need either o’ you, an’ that’s a fact,’ he retorted. ‘To date, how many o’ your boys have them three “turkeys” done for?’

  ‘They ain’t done for any of ’em,’ Broome said, suddenly less aggressive.

  ‘That’s the point,’ Daggert said with a trace of exasperation. ‘Don’t it tell you somethin’ about ’em? I’m tellin’ you now, Wil, if you want the job done your way, go ahead an’ do it your way. But if that youngster’s only got half the sand of his pa, an’ he has teamed up with Chaf and McGovren, you’ve got real trouble.’

  ‘An’ you best be real sure o’ your men,’ Perser put in. ‘Bein’ dead’s bad enough, but there’s some would say that gettin’ beat up an’ humiliated’s worse.’

  Daggert nodded, continued the argument. ‘Them fellers ain’t within jurisdiction as long as they’re in the pear thicket,’ he advised. ‘An’ now they know what you got in mind, it stands to reason, that’s where they’ll be lyin’ for you.’

  Broome gritted his teeth and his features paled. Maybe Daggert and Perser were right. But then again he could double bluff. Sure, McGovren and his friends had run for home, but he would step up the reward for bringin’ them in. And there wouldn’t be any of that dead or alive nonsense either. His men would act fast, probably get them before full dark. With his tormentors out of the way, he felt a brief degree of safety. The man made his way from the lawyer’s office to issue instructions about taking care of his two wounded men, to increase payments on his own safety.

  ‘You better lock that paper up good. I recommend somewhere you can’t even find it yourself,’ George Daggert wryly suggested to Perser, the moment Broome had left his office. ‘County Sessions meets first Monday o’ the New Year, an’ if any one o’ that Kettle gang’s still kickin’, you’ll need it.’

  ‘Broome’ll take care of ’em. He’s got too much to lose if he don’t.’

  ‘The same can be said o’ Ben McGovren an’ the Kettle kid,’ Daggert pointed out. ‘Thanksgivin’s just about on us, an’ to flush McGovren an’ Chaf out o’ that brush country ain’t goin’ to be no hunt the thimble. Wilshaw Broome’s messed up on his best chance, an’ you know why?’

  ‘Yeah, ’cause underneath that bark, there’s a goddamn milk-liver.’

  ‘We won a couple o’ skirmishes, but that don’t mean much,’ Hector Chaf said, when they were another mile or so out of town. ‘Not all Broome’s hired thugs will be in the mould o’ those we already tangled with. But I already promised myself one thing, fellers: if ever I get that close to him again, I’ll add a few more holes to those he started out with. The Good Lord won’t think any the worse o’ me, I’m sure.’

  ‘No more’n he probably does already,’ Ben jibed.

  ‘I just might have somethin’ to do with that pledge o’ yours,’ Joe said. ‘I’d rather he relinquished his claim … hear him say the words. It would sound good, an’ sure save a lot o’ trouble … maybe a few lives.’

  ‘He’ll save himself a lot a trouble if he ever sees you when you ain’t lookin, that’s for sure,’ Ben snorted.

  ‘That’s right,’ Hector agreed, peering across the surrounding scrub. ‘This pear country’s full of his hirelin’s, an’ if we don’t sharpen up, they’ll flush us like quail.’

  ‘We’re sharp enough, Hec,’ Ben said. ‘What’s your meanin’?’

  ‘There’s a rider goin’ to cross our trail in a moment or two,’ Hector answered quietly. He eased his carbine in its scabbard, nodded his head to the left of where they were grouped, ‘Who do we know who can pick their way safely through this fearsome stuff?’ he added.

  ‘Aileen an’ Megan,’ Ben said without hesitation. ‘An’ that’s Aileen. I’d know that cloud watcher o’ hers, anywhere.’

  And so it was Ben’s wife who rode up to them. Beneath her broad-brimmed, straw-weave hat, her eyes showed surprise then defiance.

  Ben was obviously taken aback. ‘Where you goin’, Aileen?’ he asked uncertainly.

  ‘Lemmon. I left you a note,’ she rattled back. ‘I’m tired o’ this godforsaken place with nothin’ but sawflies an’ hognoses for company. I’d like to talk to someone, eat a served-up meal that don’t include beef or biscuit.’

  ‘Is this you sayin’ you’re leavin’ me, Aileen?’ Ben asked in an uncharacteristic, discomfited manner.

  ‘That depends. I’ll go right back to Las Cruces if you really can’t provide better than you done so far, Ben McGovren. Only this time it ain’t the same ol’ threat.’

  ‘Aw, come on, Ma,’ Ben appealed. ‘Right now, I got some important business to take care of. I’ll come an’ get you when we’re sorted, an’ we’ll talk it through.’

  Aileen pondered her husband’s suggestion for a moment. Then she shook her head sadly and pulled her horse back to the town trail.

  Joe looked from Hector to Ben in stricken amazement. Hector gave a considerate smile, but none of them spoke because there was nothing they could think of to say.

  17

  ‘I guess there’s no pleasin’ some people,’ Ben said resignedly. ‘Do you remember Quedo Lunes, Hec?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. He was a decent feller who usually had somethin’ perceptive to say,’ Hector replied.

  ‘Yeah. He once said, “Pick the wrong woman, Ben, an’ she’ll throw more out with her spoon than you can bring in with your shovel”.’

  ‘Prophetic as well,’ Hector returned. ‘Did anyone ever find out what happened to him?’

  ‘No, not really. But a few years ago, I heard rumour of a crazy old man with long white hair, stalkin’ the pens outside o’ Fort Wingate. He was gabblin’ an’ beggin’ for quarters. I got to thinkin’ that, if Quedo had returned home that night to find his wife and daughter the way I did, that would o’ twisted his mind some.’ Ben shuddered, and heeled his mare onward once again.

  Hector took an examining glance at his old side partner. Witnessing Aileen’s state of mind, her behaviour, he wondered if the wild pear thickets and the brooding on his failures hadn’t touched Ben likewise. How on earth could he take the fact so coolly that his wife was threatening to leave him? Could it really have been Aileen’s righteous anger that had brought Quedo Lunes into his mind?

  Carefully watching the thickets on both sides of the trail, the three riders continued towards the McGovren homestead. As they approached the clearing where Ben had been jumped the day before, Ben held up his hand. ‘An’ here comes the other one who knows the country,’ he rasped. ‘I wonder if she’s throwin’ in her lot.’

  Megan’s horse was covered with sweat and its sides were heaving.

  ‘That colt’s too young to be rode that way, Megan,’ Ben said, noting that his daughter’s hand was slipped around the stock of her scattergun. ‘You know somethin’ we don’t?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘Just a feelin’. I had to come lookin’ for you. Have you seen Ma?’

  ‘Yeah, we met up aways back, I got … we all got the impression she was discontented, an’ I can’t say I blame her,’ Ben replied. ‘An’ she don’t even know that Wilshaw Browne is evidently offerin’ a reward for our scuts.’

  ‘As if we’re a family o’ cottontails,’ Hector added sourly.

  ‘I’ve had a thought that ain’t too unrelated,’ Joe said, eyeing Megan considerately as he spoke. ‘It ain’t right that you’re losin’ your home, just to win back mine. If I go an’ unfile that suit, take ol’ Hec here back to Westwater, maybe it’ll put a stop to all this.’

  ‘Sorry, Joe, too late for maybe,’ Ben differed. ‘Sure, it ain’t right that our home’s bein’ done away with, b
ut yesterday when they laid into me, they had no idea you were involved. Coyotes could be chewin’ on my bones right now if you hadn’t arrived.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Hector agreed, ‘this really ain’t your doin’, Joe, an’ all of us are involved. Anyway, you wouldn’t get to withdraw that suit. They’re watchin’ the town, an’ have you in their sights the moment you break cover. Let’s get on to Ben’s house, prepare for our own little Alamo.’

  They rode for another five miles, but Joe said he wasn’t hiding behind anybody, and now he rode ahead with Hector.

  ‘Do you reckon your ma means it?’ Ben asked his daughter. ‘Do you reckon she is on the way to Las Cruces? Am I that bad, Megan?’

  ‘Well, Ma reckons so, Pa. But she would be in the way here, an’ there’s danger. For the time bein’, look at it that she’s best off in town.’

  ‘That’s how I’m lookin’ at it for you, Megan. I’m thinkin’ o’ sendin’ you after her.’

  ‘You think on, Pa. I’m here for the full party.’

  Ben accepted Megan’s decision, so he asked about Felix Broome’s proposal. ‘You made up your mind yet about young Felix?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Megan said. ‘There’s somethin’ about him, one or two things he’s intimated. Maybe it’s by mistake, but I got to wonderin’ just how much difference there is between him an’ his pa. So for the time bein’ I’m throwin’ in with you, Pa.’

  With that, Megan rode on in silence, divided her time between encouraging her weary colt, and making another thoughtful study of Joe Kettle’s back.

  Ahead, Hector was talking with Joe. ‘I told you this place was wild, Joe,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, I ain’t seen much like this before,’ Joe replied. ‘An’ Ben’s mighty het up about somethin’. I’d say more’n what he’s been tellin’ us. He’d have taken ’em all on, if we hadn’t arrived. What do you think, you know him?’

  ‘Thought I did, Joe. Still, it won’t be many more hours before we find out. I must admit, I ain’t too happy about havin’ the girl around.’