Halliday 3

by Adam Brady

  Instead, Donna began to raise the rifle to her shoulder. She did not even see Halliday draw, but suddenly his six-gun was in his hand and cocked.

  “Dammit, I’m tryin’ to help you!” Halliday gritted. “But I’ll pull this trigger if you leave me no choice!”

  Glaring at him, Donna slowly laid the rifle on the table between them.

  Kip Heller pulled away from Halliday and lunged for the rifle, but Halliday stepped forward and pinned him facedown against the tabletop with his free hand. The kid howled in pain, but Halliday continued to hold him down.

  “Let him up, or I swear I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” Donna said shrilly.

  “End the games, ma’am,” Halliday said, and then he grabbed Kip by the scruff of the neck and threw him into a chair.

  “What more do you want from us?” Donna hissed. “Why won’t you just leave us be, damn you?”

  Without answering, Halliday emptied the cartridges from the woman’s rifle and dropped them into his pocket. Then he quickly checked the kitchen and the parlor for more guns. When he found none, he went to the front door and pulled back the bolt.

  “You’re siding with Dean!” Donna cried.

  “The only side I’m on is my own,” Halliday told her coldly, and then he opened the door for Nathan Dean to enter.

  The rancher scraped his boots and removed his hat, and then he looked quickly around what he could see of the interior of the little house.

  “Mornin’,” he said to no one in particular.

  There were none of these niceties from Red Barrett, who came in behind Dean and lounged against the doorjamb with his hand inches from his gun butt.

  The look that passed between Red Barrett and Kip Heller was enough in itself to move Halliday to say;

  “Keep right out of this, Barrett. This is up to your boss and the Hellers.”

  Donna fixed her eyes on Nathan Dean, and she said;

  “In case it’s what you’ve come to find out, we have plenty of ammunition and Kip and I are still very able to hold a rifle.”

  “No,” Dean said patiently, “I came to set a few things straight.”

  It happened so suddenly that no one could stop her. Donna stepped right up to Dean and spat in his face, and then she went for him with feet, fists and fingernails, driving the slight-statured rancher back almost to the door.

  Halliday took a step forward and pinned her arms to her sides, but she continued to kick and struggle in his grasp, beside herself with rage. Although Halliday figured that a hard slap might be the only way to stop her, he held back and they went right across the room with Donna squirming and kicking and Halliday trying to contain her without hurting her.

  With all eyes on Donna, Kip’s glance slid to the kitchen table and Donna’s empty rifle.

  Finally, Halliday had Donna pinned against the wall.

  “Dammit, woman, we’re tryin’ to help you!”

  “Get your hands off me! Leave me alone!”

  “Not till you promise to listen to what Dean has to say,” Halliday insisted. “What’s wrong with you? Do you want to get yourself killed?”

  “I don’t care,” she said obstinately. “I just want you out of my house.”

  “How about I handle this?” Barrett said from the doorway. “I’m kinda partial to spirited women.”

  “Stay where you are, mister,” Halliday growled, “or you’ll have more than this hellcat to worry about.”

  Taking a fresh grip on Donna’s elbows, he marched her across the room and sat her down in a chair so hard that everyone in the room heard one of the rungs crack.

  “Now sit there and listen to what Mr. Dean has to tell you,” he said coldly. “Once you’ve heard him out, you can make up your own mind what to do about it. If you’re still bent on gettin’ yourself killed, nobody here will stand in your way. You can die, if that’s what you want.”

  Still looking daggers at Dean, Donna straightened herself in the chair and began to rub her bruised arms.

  It was then that Kip made his move.

  He charged forward and dragged Dean’s gun from his holster, knocking the rancher forward with his shoulder as he did so. The kid went into a crouch and fired the gun with a roar that rattled the crockery in the cabinet.

  Barrett went down with a bullet full in the chest, and then Heller was whirling to point the gun at Halliday.

  “Kip ... watch him!” Donna cried, but her warning came too late.

  With tremendous effort, Barrett lifted his gun and it bucked in his hand.

  The slug took Kip Heller in the side and threw him across the room just as he was jerking the trigger. His bullet missed Halliday by a hair, and he staggered back and hit the edge of the table with such force that the six-gun flew from his hand as he went down.

  Donna seemed frozen in her chair, looking stupidly down at the six-gun her brother had dropped, as if not knowing what it was. Then she threw herself out of the chair and grabbed at the gun, coming to her knees as she pulled back the hammer and steadied her aim on Nathan Dean.

  The rancher rushed her, kicking the weapon from her hand before she could fire and knocking her to the floor.

  She lay there in a huddle with her face hidden by her long hair and her skirts pulled up around her hips.

  “Dammitall!” Halliday said softly. “Now there’s a woman that just won’t listen to reason.”

  Seven – No Mercy

  Wiley Bosker ambled into the saloon an hour or so after Buck Halliday’s run-in with the Dean bunch. Naturally enough, the showdown with Luden Finn was still the only topic of conversation in the bar.

  Bosker was not surprised to hear that Buck Halliday had come out on top. He had seen from the start that Halliday would be a hard man to handle, although it crossed his mind that Sam Rushton could match it with the man.

  Bosker idled away his time over a drink and a smoke until he saw a big man in bad shape limping into the saloon. The look on the man’s battered face clearly signaled that he did not want to talk about recent events.

  The drinkers at the bar caught the same message and kept their eyes on the shot glasses in front of them.

  None of it interested Bosker very much until Luden Finn sidled up to him. Bosker already knew the brothers better than he wanted to. In his estimation, they didn’t amount to much—too wild for their own good and likely to drag anyone who associated with them into trouble.

  “What are you doin’ back in these parts, Wiley?” Luden Finn asked.

  “What’s it matter to you?” Bosker drawled. “Looks like you got enough troubles of your own without lookin’ for more.”

  “Still runnin’ with that Rushton bum, are you?” Finn persisted.

  A nerve jumped in Bosker’s temple, but he was determined to keep the lid on his temper.

  “If Sam happens by, you can always ask him yourself,” Bosker said.

  “I ain’t scared of Sam Rushton,” Finn announced, puffing out his chest. “Way I see it, it’d be worth a man’s while to run into him. What’s the price on his head now?”

  Wiley Bosker shrugged.

  “You’d best ask him.”

  “Is he comin’ back?”

  “Who knows?”

  Finn stayed silent as Bosker ordered another drink, and then he said, “I figure he is. Whenever you show your ugly face, Rushton ain’t far behind. You checkin’ out the lay of the land for him again?”

  Bosker sighed.

  “Haven’t you had enough trouble for one day, mister?” he asked, and this time he used his left hand to pick up his drink.

  Finn noticed that Bosker also stepped back from the bar a little, giving himself plenty of elbow room in case he needed to go for his gun. He had never seen Wiley Bosker in a gunfight, but something about the man’s cool confidence warned him to be wary.

  “I reckon he’s comin’ for sure,” Finn said after a time, “and he’ll be droppin’ by the Heller place to see that whore of his. Most likely Halliday’s one of the bunch, to
o, ain’t that so?”

  “The way I hear it, Halliday beat you fair and square,” Bosker said with a tight grin. “So if I was you, I’d just try to forget all about Buck Halliday and Sam Rushton.”

  Finn’s hand went unconsciously to his shoulder. It hurt more now than when the bullet went in, and the pain was raising a sweat that made his hairy face glisten.

  “Halliday killed Joe,” he growled, “and he put his bullet in me. Nobody’s gonna forget that. And if Rushton decides to side with Halliday, they’ll both be in trouble. I’m just tellin’ you so’s you don’t end up in the middle of somethin’ that ain’t your doin’.”

  Bosker grinned and said;

  “Is that what this is all about? You’re worried I’m gonna side with Halliday agin you?”

  “Of course it ain’t,” Finn said uncomfortably. “Just tellin’ you for your own good, is all.”

  “Well, I thank you for the advice then, Luden,” Bosker said with a straight face.

  He finished his drink and asked the barkeep for a bottle. While Finn watched, he counted out the money and placed it on the counter. Then he looked up at Finn with a glint of amusement in his eyes and said;

  “How about we go someplace where we can tie one on, Luden? Looks to me like you’ve had a bad day ...”

  Finn blinked in surprise but willingly followed Bosker to the door and around the back to the deserted yard.

  “I just have to see to my horse first,” Bosker said, “and then we got all the time in the world.”

  Finn shambled along beside him as they turned into the alley that led to the livery stable. He was in no way ready for the sudden move when Bosker whipped out his gun and jammed the muzzle into his ribs.

  “Wh-what’s goin’ on, Wiley?”

  “You talk too much,” Bosker said in a cold, hard voice.

  Bosker pulled the trigger and stepped back a little as Finn collapsed on the ground. There was an acrid smell of scorched fabric and flesh. Finn’s shirt was smoldering slightly but the blood quickly quenched it.

  Bosker removed the cork from the bottle and drank as he walked away.

  “I’m ready to go now,” he announced as he strolled into the stable.

  “I’ll get your horse right away,” the old stableman said, jamming his pitchfork into a pile of hay. “Say, mister, did you hear a gunshot just now?”

  “Just some fool lettin’ off steam, I guess,” Bosker said as he swung into the saddle.

  “I guess,” the old man said doubtfully. “That’ll be fifty cents.”

  Bosker handed the man a coin and rode slowly through the double doorway with the air of a man who had places to go and things to do.

  Sam Rushton walked his horse into the shade of a tree and started to roll a cigarette as he waited for the oncoming rider.

  After giving the Partridge County posse the slip a month before, he had discovered that most trails south were closed to him. It had taken time to work his way back without going near a town, and he still had the suspicion that a couple of cowhands had recognized him.

  The fact remained that he had made it safely and that he finally had enough money in his pocket to take Donna across the border and buy himself a little place where he could keep her.

  It was a notion he had been considering for quite awhile, and now he figured that the time was right. It would be good to have a safe place where he could come and go as he pleased.

  The chances were that the horseman out there in the open was no danger to him, but Sam Rushton lived by the belief that a man in his position could never be too careful. It wouldn’t be a lawman, but there were plenty of men who were always willing to collect a bounty.

  The rider was only a quarter of a mile away now and coming on at an easy lope, looking for all the world like a drifter giving his horse its head on a trail to nowhere in particular. Rushton stayed in the shade, a vague shape against the dimness of the tree and the brush behind it.

  He drew his gun and checked the loads, more to fill in a little time than to assure himself he was ready should trouble arise. Suddenly, the rider changed direction and headed toward him.

  Rushton nodded slowly and put up his gun. He knew now that the man was Wiley Bosker, and he rode out to meet him.

  Bosker’s saddle creaked as he took his feet out of the irons and stretched his legs.

  “Everything okay, Wiley?” Rushton asked.

  “Sure, Sam.”

  Bosker moved his horse into the shade.

  “I been goin’ all night to catch up with you, Sam,” he said. “My horse needs a rest.”

  Rushton nodded. He had no great liking for Wiley Bosker, but the man might be useful. So far, he had never let Rushton down, but his help and his information never came cheap.

  Bosker came off his sweat-flecked horse and stretched himself, but Rushton stayed in the saddle, looking blandly down at him.

  “Somethin’s wrong, ain’t it?” Rushton said after awhile.

  Bosker eyed him from under the brim of his hat.

  “Ain’t sure what to make of it, Sam,” he said, “but I don’t reckon things is quite as you’d like ’em to be.”

  “Spit it out, Wiley.”

  Bosker straightened, working his shoulders and scrubbing his bandanna over his face.

  “Well,” he said, “when I got to ’em, Donna and that brother of hers was in big trouble with Nathan Dean’s outfit.”

  Rushton’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  “Dean’s tryin’ to throw ’em off the place,” Bosker said slowly, “but Donna don’t aim to do anythin’ until you get there. Last I heard, a drifter named Halliday was tryin’ to help Donna out, and there’ve been some killin’s ...”

  “Halliday?”

  “Yeah. Buck Halliday. Big man with a fast gun. Looked to me like he’d been stayin’ at the house.”

  Rushton’s face darkened, and he came out of the saddle, no longer able to simply sit and listen.

  “Like I said,” Bosker continued quickly, “Dean’s tryin’ to run Donna and her brother off. Looked to me like Halliday got dragged into the whole thing by accident, but he killed Joe Finn and put a bullet in Luden, too.”

  “You reckon somethin’s goin’ on between Donna and this feller?” Rushton rasped.

  Bosker pursed his lips and thought for a moment.

  “Hard to say, Sam. Hell, I was only there for an hour or so ... but it almost looked that way. I know Donna was sore as a boil at Halliday when he told her he was leavin’.”

  Rushton smashed his fist into Bosker’s face, and when the smaller man hit the ground, he snarled;

  “You’re lyin’ to me!”

  Bosker sat up and wiped blood from his mouth.

  “Dammit, Sam, you pay to know what’s goin’ on, and I’m tellin’ you what I saw.”

  “So what else?” Rushton demanded angrily.

  Bosker dragged himself to his feet.

  “That’s about all of it, Sam. ’Cept Kip killed Ben Wright, one of the new gunmen Dean brought in ... and now Dean means to settle things once and for all. The only other thing is that Luden was way too interested in your whereabouts and talkin’ about collectin’ a bounty ... so I fixed him for you.”

  “And you lit out and left Donna to fend for herself,” Rushton barked.

  “I figured you had to know what was goin’ on before you walked in on a whole heap o’ trouble you wouldn’t be expectin’, Sam.”

  When Rushton remained silent, Bosker stepped back toward his horse and said;

  “I always done whatever you asked me, didn’t I, Sam? From here on in, though, I reckon we oughtta part company. Money’s been good and I liked workin’ for you, but if Luden was wise to me, the same goes for a lot of other folks that’s a damn sight smarter than he was. I don’t reckon I’m any good to you no more, Sam ...”

  “That’s just what I was thinkin’, Wiley,” Rushton told him flatly.

  Bosker’s face went white. He had hold of the saddle horn, but h
e threw himself to the side and reached desperately for his gun as he fell.

  Sam Rushton’s six-gun was in his hand before Bosker could turn to face him, and he triggered without hesitation.

  The first bullet wasn’t fatal, but Bosker lay there helplessly as Rushton stepped up to him and shot him again, right between the eyes.

  The echoes of the gunshots were still hanging in the air as the outlaw went back to his horse, squinted up at the sun and nodded to himself.

  He figured he could be with Donna come suppertime.

  Eight – Backlash

  Nathan Dean was the first to reach Donna Heller, and his face showed real concern as he helped her to her feet. She stood there passively for a moment or two, as if she was trying to get her bearings, and then she pushed the rancher away.

  “Get your dirty hands off me!” Donna hissed, and then she ran to her wounded brother.

  Kip’s face was white as a sheet, and his breathing came in ragged gasps.

  “You’re nothing but a pack of filthy murderers,” she screamed. “You pretended you wanted to talk, and now look what you did to Kip!”

  “It was Red Barrett who did that,” Dean said quietly, “and only after Kip shot him—”

  “Kip could see what you were up to!” Donna raged. “You brought Barrett along to do your dirty work for you, but Kip was just too smart for him.”

  “Donna, listen,” the rancher said in a tired voice. “I only came here to talk to you. I want no fight with you, but Kip was another matter. He’s turned into a lowdown killer, and we both know it.”

  “He’s only a boy!”

  Dean sighed and pulled a chair away from the table. He dropped into it and just sat there for a moment, with his eyes on the woman as she cradled her brother’s head in her arms.

  “Donna,” he said, “you never let me speak my piece before, but you’ll have to listen now. I’m not in the least sorry about your brother. He asked for everything he got.”

  Kip groaned and his eyelids fluttered open. Blood still oozed from his side. Donna pulled his shirt open and took in a sharp breath. Gently, she replaced the shirt, and tears welled in her eyes.