‘Are you OK, Drabble?’ he called. The figure of the deputy appeared from behind a stanchion.
‘Yeah,’ he replied. He glanced at three bodies lying in the dust. Another man was on his knees groaning. In an instant the sheriff had strode across to him and seized him by the collar.
‘What the hell is goin’ on?’ he snapped.
As if by way of reply there came a shattering explosion from the other end of town. Snelgrove looked up, startled, to see a cloud of dense black smoke spiralling into the air.
‘Come on!’ he shouted at Drabble. ‘Looks like this is only a diversion. I figure they’ve blown up the bank.’
Leaving the man where he kneeled in pain, blood oozing from a wound in his side, they started running in the direction of the explosion. The centre of town was strangely deserted where people had taken shelter in the buildings and the riders had carried on towards the bank. It was hard to see clearly what was happening as dust and smoke filled the air. An expanding flower of red and yellow flame rose into the sky and from the roof of the saloon someone was firing down. Snelgrove’s first thought was that it was one of the gunmen, but he quickly realized the shots were being aimed at the bank, so it must be one of the townsmen who had taken to arms. The fire crackled and snapped and it seemed only a matter of time before it spread to other buildings and threatened the whole town. A man Snelgrove recognized as one of the bank clerks suddenly appeared in the doorway of the bank and began running, but he didn’t get far as a couple of bullets hit him in the back and he went tumbling head over heels like a jackrabbit. Most of the riders seemed to have disappeared althought Snelgrove could hear shooting in the distance. He continued running and had almost reached the bank when three men burst through the doorway and began running hard towards another group of riders who held horses by their reins. The men sprang into leather and the whole group began to ride away. Snelgrove raised his rifle and opened fire, but they had a clear start. They tore away and were quickly out of range. His instinct was to find his horse and give pursuit, but he quickly realized that the priority was to put out the fire and stop it spreading.
Already some of the citizens had emerged from cover and were taking steps to douse the flames. Signalling to Drabble to follow his example, he rushed to the nearest water trough and, filling one of the buckets which had appeared, rushed to the spot where the fire was fiercest. It seemed a hopeless task at first, but as more people emerged and joined in the struggle, the flames gradually began to diminish. Above the noise and bustle Snelgrove detected a creaking sound.
‘Move away!’ he shouted.
Responding to his command, the people nearby leaped clear in the nick of time as one wall of the building swayed and then toppled to the ground, filling the air with clouds of dust and debris and sending showers of sparks drifting like fireflies through the atmosphere. Once they had recovered from the shock, the townsfolk rejoined the battle with the blaze. There wasn’t much else they could do, but continue to pour water over the lingering flames. Occasionally someone would give a start and look about, listening for the sound of hoofs or the rattle of gunfire, but it was fairly apparent that the riders had gone. It was clear to Snelgrove that the bank had been their target, and they had been successful. He would have to wait to see how much they had got away with. It was soon evident that, in addition to the bank clerk who had taken a bullet in the back, the bank manager had been injured too, but not seriously. A second clerk was shaken but unhurt. There wasn’t a lot to be done except continue to pour buckets of water over the lingering flames and smouldering ruins. A few people were beating at the flames with blankets. A pall of smoke and ash hung over the town, but at least the townsfolk had managed to put out the fire and prevent an even bigger disaster.
When he was satisfied that things were more or less under control, Snelgrove made his way over to where a small knot of people were gathered around the bank manager. He had suffered a blow to the head from the butt of a six-gun, but a big bump and a raging headache seemed to be the worst consequences of his ordeal.
‘How much did they get?’ Snelgrove asked. The bank manager gave him a dazed look.
‘I don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had a chance to check. But there was more than twenty thousand dollars in notes as well as a small supply of gold coins in the safe they blew.’ The sheriff patted him on the shoulder.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a point of gettin’ it back again.’
‘It’s not so much the money,’ the manager said, ‘I understand they shot and killed poor Donaldson.’
‘They’ll pay for that as well.’
Snelgrove returned to the group of people dousing the last embers of the fire outside. They looked up at his approach and it seemed to him there was a questioning look in their eyes. He felt their pain and confusion. Nothing like the events that had just occurred had happened while he had been sheriff and he felt almost as shocked as they did. What was more, he took it as a personal affront. He was responsible for the maintenance of law and order in the town and in the county. He prided himself on the job he had done. Desolation Wells, despite its name, was the sort of place people could settle and put down roots, the sort of place that had a future; that had now been undermined, but he meant to restore the peoples’ faith in their town and in himself. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t at first hear the voice of his deputy.
‘Who do you think did this?’ He turned to Drabble.
‘I don’t know, but we’re soon gonna find out.’ There was a moment’s pause before Drabble replied.
‘First Dwayne Oliver and now this. Do you reckon there could be a connection?’
‘Not if you’re askin’ whether I think this was some sort of revenge attack. It’s too much of a coincidence. All the same, I think it’s likely Oliver was linked to those varmints. Maybe he was just another member of the gang.’
‘You said somethin’ about Oliver bein’ too close to Desolation Wells for comfort. Well, it looks like you were right.’
Snelgrove took a long look at the scene of destruction. The smell of burning hung heavy in the air and his eyes smarted. His cheek hurt where it had been gashed by the splinter of glass. In his depleted state, Drabble’s comments worked like a cold blade. Could he have done something to avoid the trouble happening?
‘First things first,’ he said. ‘Once we’ve got this place lookin’ somethin’ like itself again, we can set about bringin’ those vermin to justice. And I think our first stop might be the Barbed S.’
‘The Barbed S?’
‘That’s where Oliver and his compadres seem to come from in the first place. Remember, they tracked Westoe to Desolation Wells.’
‘Do you know where the Barbed S is?’
Snelgrove glanced down the length of the street away from the fire. A rider was coming towards them and the sheriff’s face creased in a grim smile as he watched his approach.
‘Nope,’ he replied, ‘but here comes someone who can show us the way.’
Drabble looked in the same direction, but didn’t recognize the newcomer. ‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s Barnet. You know, the one I set off with to try and find Westoe. Well, it looks like he’s finally abandoned the enterprise.’
It didn’t sit easy with Westoe to spend so much time having to stay in bed and take it easy. He was encouraged by Leonae to lie face down in order to ease the pressure on his back. Each morning she came in and changed the dressing, reappearing at certain times to bring him food. Sometimes the door to his room was left open and he could hear desultory scraps of conversation drifting through. It seemed the trading post was doing a decent business. It made him feel more guilty that she was having to give time and attention to him as well. He expected Ben Howe to put in an appearance, but when some time had passed and he hadn’t showed up, he raised the matter with Leonae.
‘Ben’s gone to take a look at what’s left of his cabin and livestock,’ she said. ‘You know it got burn
ed down?’
‘Yeah. I feel real bad about it. Maybe if I’d stayed around it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘Ben told me about what occurred. You can’t blame yourself. It was thanks to you he managed to fight off that first attack.’
Westoe eyed her closely. It was clear from the lines on her tightly drawn face that life wasn’t easy for her. Despite that, she was still a good looking woman. There was something he wanted to broach with her, but he was hesitant.
‘Something’s goin’ on around here,’ he said, ‘and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea what it is.’ She turned her head to look at him. ‘I’ve been thinkin’ about something Ben said,’ he continued. ‘He told me that after I’d left, he had a visit from Holden Stroup. He told him what had happened. It seems it was his son that I shot. The strange thing was that Stroup wasn’t angry. He just listened to what Ben said and then took the body back with him. It was a couple of days afterwards that his place got burnt out. So who was responsible? Apparently it wasn’t Holden Stroup.’ He paused to observe the effect of his words. He expected her to be surprised or puzzled, but her expression did not indicate that she was.
‘There’s somethin’ else,’ he went on. ‘What Ben told me cleared up the mystery of who followed me to Desolation Wells. It can only have been riders from the Barbed S, but if Holden Stroup took the news that I was the one responsible for his son’s death so calmly, then why would he have arranged for me to be tracked down? It doesn’t add up.’
He looked again at Leonae. Her expression was tense and he thought he read pain in her limpid grey eyes. In the few moments of silence that filled the room the calling of a bird came faintly through the open window. The she spoke.
‘What you say doesn’t surprise me. Holden Stroup is a good man. But that doesn’t apply to his sons. At least it doesn’t apply to Rafe. The one you shot, Eben, wasn’t such a bad boy. It was Rafe who led him on. I don’t like to criticize anybody and we were hopin’ our suspicions weren’t justified, but there can be no doubt now about the way things stand. All the bad things that have been happenin’ round these parts are down to Rafe Stroup. It started in a small way, but it’s just been gettin’ worse and worse. I used to figure Rafe had just got himself in with some bad men and he would change, but now I see he’s the main culprit.’
Westoe was struggling to understand the ramifications of what Leonae was telling him. He suddenly thought of the gravestone he had come across, marked with the name of Sean Bowman.
‘Maybe you’re right about those people following you being from the Barbed S,’ she continued, ‘but what’s your evidence?’
‘I saw the brand on their horses.’
‘That doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe it wasn’t Holden Stoup who set them on you, but Rafe. He was probably the one behind the shootout. It’s just about certain he’s the one responsible for burning down Ben Howe’s cabin.’
‘What for? Why would he do it?’
‘Burn down the cabin? There’s no real answer to that question. Just for the hell of it I guess. Maybe he’s got some plan of his own, but who can figure out someone like that.’
‘I still don’t see why he would bother with me.’
‘Wait a minute,’ she replied. ‘Didn’t you say that the young man you spoke to at the Barbed S mentioned that Barnet, the foreman, was away on business?’
‘Lucas Bunch,’ Westoe interjected.
‘Yes. I couldn’t think of his name. It could be that Holden set Barnet to follow you to try and find out just exactly what happened when Eben got killed and confirm Ben Howe’s account. Rafe could have got wind of it and arranged to have one of his cronies ride along just to make sure there were no complications. After all, he stands to inherit the ranch.’
Westoe was thinking hard, considering what she had said. It was all somewhat confusing, but it began to make a kind of sense. He looked across at Leonae and as they exchanged glances, he suddenly felt a new emotion. He felt protective and had an urge to put his arms around her, but before he could do anything she rose to her feet.
‘I think that’s enough for now,’ she said. ‘I want you to concentrate on getting well. All this can wait for now. I shouldn’t be burdening you with problems that are none of your own.’
‘Look at me,’ he replied. ‘I’d say they were very much my concern. Besides, I’m the one who raised the whole matter.’
He wanted to ask about Sean Bowman, but didn’t see how he could do so and before he could say anything further she had taken the tray on which she had brought his food and moved to the doorway.
‘Get some rest,’ she said. ‘I’ll come back later.’
She went through to the store, closing the door gently behind her. He lay still, looking after her before eventually turning over on his side. Although he had already learned much that he needed to know, he still determined to pay another visit to the Barbed S. He wanted to see for himself what sort of an operation Holden Stroup ran. Lucas Bunch had seemed a decent sort. Would the acting foreman Sumter turn out the same? Or would the Barbed S cowboys turn out to be but a bunch of gunslicks in disguise? There was another reason too. If Rafe Stroup was the villain Leonae suspected him to be, a stop had to be put to his activities. He needed to be brought to justice. That couldn’t happen till his hideout was discovered. There was yet one other thing. Although he could not have avoided it, he felt a need to apologize to Holden Stroup for shooting his son.
In stark contrast to the mood of general despondency that hung over the devastated town of Desolation Wells in the days following the bank robbery, Rafe Stroup and his gang of desperadoes were having a grand time celebrating their success. They rode hard to get back to their hideout, but once they arrived the festivities began. That night they let loose. Light spilled from the buildings, fires blazed and liquor flowed freely. The raucous sound of voices rose into the night air as the men shouted and argued, whooped and called out the old rebel yell. At intervals gunfire echoed from the surrounding hills as the owlhoots fired into the air. Occasionally a drunken fight would erupt, but it was all part of the fun.
Rafe could afford to congratulate himself. The success of the operation confirmed his status as leader of the gang and the general feeling was that the Bronco Boys were really on their way. There was only one slight cloud on his horizon, and that was the absence of Dwayne Oliver. The gunslinger was as close to a confidante as he had ever known, but that wasn’t saying much. There was always Skinner to take his place. No, he was more concerned that none of the three who had set off to trail the stranger involved in the shooting of his brother had returned. They should have been back by now. Had Oliver dealt with him? He would certainly have expected to see Barnet back at the ranch. However, he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the matter. The Bronco Boys were ready for more. The attack on the bank seemed only to have whetted their appetite, which was just as well because Rafe had already started to plan for their next escapade. Forgetting Oliver, he took advantage of a slight lull in the proceedings to call Skinner over. The man had drunk too much, but that didn’t matter. Rafe’s only use for him was as a receptacle for his own ideas.
‘The boys are enjoyin’ themselves,’ he began.
‘They sure are,’ Skinner replied.
‘They did well, but I can tell they’re ready for more.’ Skinner looked up at him.
‘Yeah. Sure.’ He sought for more words to say, but couldn’t find them.
‘Aren’t you interested in what I got planned next?’ Rafe said.
‘Sure. The boys are ready. Sure. So am I.’
A smile like a rictus spread across Rafe’s features. ‘Then I’ll tell you. As soon as the boys have got over their celebrations, we’re gonna hit the Barbed S.’ Skinner’s expression was blank as he looked at Rafe through bleary eyes.
‘The Barbed S,’ he said. Somewhere in his throbbing head a muddled thought was trying to materialize. ‘The Barbed S … but isn’t …’ He didn’t get any further as Rafe�
�s voice cut in.
‘Yes, the Barbed S. That ranch should belong to me. The old man isn’t fit to run it no more. He always preferred Eben to me. Well, Eben ain’t around anymore and I don’t intend waitin’ any longer for the old man to croak. I’m gonna take what is mine and then I’m gonna take over all the other ranches. You’ll see. Pretty soon this whole territory is gonna belong to me. I got the money now. If they don’t want to sell, we’ll run ’em out.’ He broke into a shrill laugh. ‘Hell, I ain’t gonna waste any money. We’ll just drive them out anyway. Let the boys have some fun.’
Skinner was confused, but the sound of Rafe’s laughter coupled with the suggestion of having some fun seemed to register with him.
‘Yeah. We’re gonna have fun. We’re takin’ over. Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop the Bronco Boys.’
CHAPTER FIVE
The trail from Bowman’s Store and trading post was familiar to Westoe because it was the second time he had ridden it, but it still felt strange. He put it down to the fact that he had only just recovered from his wound. Leonae was probably right when she said he should wait a little longer, but he was restless and keen to get back into action. Ben Howe had volunteered to accompany him, but he had pointed out that for him to do so would obviate the point of the exercise. He wanted to get an insider’s view of how things were at the Barbed S, and that meant trying for a job. It was with reluctance that the oldster had agreed to remain behind. His trip to the burnt-out cabin had proved not entirely unsuccessful. He had managed to recover a few articles and papers, but it was no recompense for what he had lost, and he still did not know what had become of his meagre herd of cattle.
‘You can stay here at the trading post as long as you want,’ Leonae said. ‘It’ll be good to have you around. I reckon I could certainly use some help.’
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