by Ralph Hayes
‘You been a big help.’
After his drink O’Brien walked his mount over to the boarding house near by. It looked a lot like Elias Walcott’s house in Ogallala. He mounted some steps and walked into the carpeted parlor.
He filled the doorway with his distinctive silhouette. He held his Winchester loosely under his right arm. When he walked over to a registration desk his spurs made rhythmic metallic sounds in the silence of the big room. A slim young man in Eastern clothing took a look at him, rose from a chair, and hastily exited the parlor.
There was a man behind the desk with a green visor on his head and a deep frown as he read the page of a local newspaper. When he looked up at O’Brien, he jumped slightly. Then looked him over warily.
‘May I help you?’
‘I guess you rent rooms,’ O’Brien said.
The man reluctantly nodded. A sigh.
‘Yes. We do.’
‘I might want one later.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ Stiffly.
‘In the meantime, do you have a guest here by the name of McComb?’
‘Why, no, we don’t. But he was here. With another man.’
‘A Mexican?’
The fellow nodded, making a face.
‘Yes. A Mexican. Are you a friend?’
O’Brien scowled at him, making the fellow lick dry lips.
‘So they moved out?’
A nod. ‘Just recently.’
‘Do you know where they went?’
The clerk hesitated. Then, ‘Not really.’
O’Brien could see in the man’s eyes that he knew something. He leaned forward onto the desk.
‘Do you really want to lie to me?’ he said in a brittle tone.
The clerk wilted under the look.
‘Well, they did mention some cabin they were going to move into.’
‘What cabin? Where?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ Fearfully.
O’Brien went outside to think things over, standing beside his horse. He had always known he might have to go through Navarro to get to McComb. He felt the Mexican was almost as culpable as McComb, anyway, in Cahill’s killing. But now there were others whom McComb had gathered to him and undoubtedly they would defend him, just as Navarro would.
Well, he thought, if the last two keep out of my way, they’ll live. If they don’t, they won’t. It is that simple for them.
He decided he wouldn’t look for the cabin. Not yet. He was sure that if he visited the Occidental every night he would run into some or all of them. He would play the cards dealt him at that time.
He had no idea that in two days McComb would be gone from Billings. For ever.
He billeted the appaloosa at a nearby hostelry that afternoon, stopped in at the Occidental briefly without seeing McComb or any of the others, then he returned to the boarding house. The same clerk was on duty inside, and was obviously sorry to see O’Brien back.
‘Yes, sir. We have a room for you,’ he told O’Brien. He looked down at the Winchester under O’Brien’s arm. ‘You taking that in with you?’
O’Brien gave him a withering look.
‘Just tell me what room.’
The clerk’s smile faded. ‘Yes, sir. Here’s the key to 206.’
O’Brien took it. ‘Don’t mention I’m here to anybody. You understand?’
The clerk looked scared again. ‘Well, some ugly-looking man came in here just after you left earlier. Wore one of those metal noses. He hadn’t applied it well, and it looked like it would fall off at any minute. It makes you sick.’
O’Brien was frowning impatiently.
‘You told him about me?’
‘He was here to get a skinning knife Mr McComb left in his room. I might have mentioned you were asking about McComb.’
O’Brien looked away, digesting that. The clerk tried a smile.
‘Sorry. I told him I didn’t know your name. I just said you were wearing rawhides.’ O’Brien let a long breath out.
‘Now they know.’
‘I thought they were your friends.’
‘You ought to get out from behind that counter and learn about the real world,’ O’Brien said sourly. Then he went up to his room.
Things were radically different now. The element of surprise would be gone. McComb would be prepared for him. Waiting. With four guns to defend him, he figured.
But circumstances dictated that McComb would not know he was there. Not yet. Before returning to the cabin with McComb’s knife, No Nose Foley elected to visit the Occidental for a quick beer. When he got there he found Navarro sitting alone with a bottle of tequila before him.
‘Hey, Mex! I though you was back at the cabin?’
Navarro regarded him balefully. He had never liked Foley from the time they were introduced.
‘Oh, Foley. You’re supposed to be back there chopping firewood.’
Foley came and sat down and took a swig out of Navarro’s bottle, uninvited.
Navarro looked at Foley’s maladjusted nose and shook his head. Foley didn’t see the gesture.
‘McComb sent me to get his knife. He left it at the boarding house,’ Foley explained. He leaned forward confidentially. ‘I got some news.’
Navarro narrowed his dark eyes on him.
‘News?’
‘Somebody come looking for McComb.’
Navarro set his glass down.
‘What? Where?’
‘There at the boarding house. Just today.’
All sounds in the saloon were suddenly closed off to Navarro’s hearing.
‘Did you find out what this man looks like?’
Foley grinned. ‘Sure I asked. What do you think?’
‘Well?’ Navarro said impatiently.
‘He was tall. Big. Wearing rawhides.’
Navarro felt his stomach lurch.
‘Jesus y Maria!’he whispered.
Foley frowned. ‘What’s the matter? Maybe he’s one of McComb’s old friends.’
Navarro wasn’t listening. It had to be O’Brien. He had come to avenge Cahill’s murder. And if he had come this far for McComb, he was here with deadly resolve.
‘We got to get back to the cabin,’ he said thickly. He poured himself a last drink and swigged it down.
As he put his glass back down, O’Brien walked through the swinging doors. The Winchester was nestling snugly under his arm.
Navarro saw him immediately.
O’Brien scanned the room. His eyes fell on Navarro. He just stood there for a moment, attracting some attention from nearby tables. He looked big, primitive and dangerous.
‘Dios mio!’ Navarro muttered. He looked over at Foley. ‘Are you as fast with that Schofield as Purvis claims you are?’
Foley frowned. ‘You want to try me?’
Navarro motioned to O’Brien. ‘No. But he might.’
Foley turned and saw O’Brien. ‘Oh. The rawhide man.’
‘And he’s no friend of McComb,’ Navarro said as O’Brien started toward them.
Foley grinned an ugly grin. ‘Well, then let’s kill him.’
O’Brien stopped a few feet away from their table.
‘Where’s McComb, Navarro?’ he said in a deep growl.
Navarro found his courage.
‘Are you loco, rawhide? It is not just McComb now. It is all four of us. Can you go up against that?’
O’Brien took a breath in. ‘I don’t have to go up against all of you,’ he corrected him. ‘I found you, Navarro. That’s good enough for now.’
Navarro could feel his heart pummelling his chest. He knew how good O’Brien was with a rifle, and he had heard stories about him. Stories he had never believed. Until now.
‘I didn’t kill Cahill. Your beef is with McComb. And he’ll find you before you find him.’
‘You got to answer for Cahill, too,’ O’Brien said. ‘Every ugly thought he had, you had. You was right beside him, telling him to do it. You’re going down.’
Navarro and Fole
y rose from the table. They both faced O’Brien. Suddenly the entire saloon was deathly quiet. Two men sitting behind Navarro’s table got up and moved into a far corner. A heavy bartender stopped his work and saw what was happening.
‘Hey, boys! We don’t allow any gunplay inside here. Take it out on the street.’
‘Shut up,’ O’Brien growled out without looking at him.
Foley couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. He turned to Navarro.
‘Leave this to me. I’ll put three in him while he’s figuring it all out.’
In the next moment he drew the Schofield so fast the eye couldn’t follow.
But O’Brien, who was accustomed to watch the eyes of men and animals alike to access next moves, had seen Foley’s good eye squint down almost invisibly just before he went for iron. In that half-instant, O’Brien fell into a low crouch, and when Foley’s gun roared in the room, its hot lead hit O’Brien in the left arm instead of his chest. Between that shot and Navarro’s drawing, O’Brien staggered backward a step, then fired off a quick round at Foley.
The rifle roared out even louder than the revolver of Foley, and Foley was struck in center chest, flying off his feet like a circus aerialist and crashing into two tables before hitting the floor, eyes wide in the rictus of death.
Navarro’s Remington Army .44 blasted out its retort as Foley was blown off his feet. O’Brien’s turn toward him had partially ruined Navarro’s aim, and his shot had just grazed O’Brien’s right side as he fired off a second round from the big gun that hit Navarro in the gut. O’Brien fired yet again and struck the Mexican just between the eyes, sending him plummeting to the floor. He was dead before he hit. He made the floor shake and the crotch of his trousers went damp.
The air was so thick with gunsmoke that it penetrated customers’ nostrils and left an iron taste in the mouth.
O’Brien levered the rifle again in a swift, smooth action, and glanced down at Navarro. There was no movement. Nobody in the room broke the new silence. Nobody moved. O’Brien, looking even more dangerous now, walked over to Foley and stood over him.
Foley was a grotesque sight. His wandering eye, still open, was looking in a different direction from the up-staring one. His metal nose had been knocked off, revealing a scarred hole in Foley’s face.
‘That’s the ugliest thing I ever looked on,’ O’Brien said casually. He looked as unruffled as when he had walked in. His blood pressure had not even risen above normal. He walked over to the bar and threw a gold coin on it. ‘That’s for their drinks, and for the clean-up,’ he said acidly. He was frustrated because he still hadn’t found McComb and he was bleeding from his arm and side.
As he walked to the front doors two men at the bar stumbled quickly out of his path, almost knocking each other over. As he left he punched an elbow into one of the swinging doors, causing three slats to fall out.
Nobody protested about the manner of his exit.
CHAPTER TEN
O’Brien spent most of the next hour in a doctor’s office down at the end of the street.
The silver-haired medic just put salve on the shallow side wound, but had to apply a thick bandage to O’Brien’s left arm. When he was finished he went over to a counter and got a length of cloth from a drawer.
‘I’ll have to put a sling on that arm. It should only take a few minutes.’
O’Brien shook his head. Sitting here with his rawhide shirt off, he looked very muscular and athletic. Very primitive. He already had two thick scars on his torso.
‘Don’t bother, Doc.’
The doctor turned to him with a frown. O’Brien was gingerly moving the arm, testing it. His face didn’t react to the pain. The doctor shook his head.
‘Are you immune to pain, boy?’
‘I just don’t pay no attention to it,’ O’Brien told him.
‘Well, at least take a bottle of laudanum with you.’
O’Brien gave him a tired smile ‘Just tell me what I owe you, Doc, and I’ll be out of here.’ He was pulling the tunic back on carefully, over the bandage.
‘Well, suit yourself. But if I was you I’d take a little more interest in my own welfare.’
O’Brien caught his gaze. ‘If you was me, Doc, you’d be dead now.’
The doctor frowned quizzically at him for a moment. Then he went to write up a bill for him.
Down at the Occidental McComb and Purvis had just walked into the saloon looking for Navarro and Foley. They were surprised not to find them there. McComb walked over to the bartender.
‘We’re looking for a couple of friends. They was with us when we was in here before. You seen them?’
The bartender’s eyes widened slightly.
‘Oh, yes. I remember you were in here together.’ He took a long breath in. ‘Well. You missed all the excitement. Those two were just hauled down to the morgue, mister.’
McComb looked at him as if he had gone crazy.
‘The morgue? What the hell are you saying? We must be talking about different men.’
‘No, sir. These were the ones you were drinking with. A Mexican and that weird-looking fellow. With the nose.’
Purvis had come up beside McComb and they now turned to each other with stunned looks. McComb turned back to the barkeep.
‘They’re dead?’
A casual nod. ‘Yep. Had the biggest gunfight in here ever saw. Some big man wearing rawhides. The nose man tried to kill him when he came in. But it didn’t work out that way. I’ve never seen anybody that good with a rifle.’
McComb looked down at the bar.
‘O’Brien.’
‘Who?’ Purvis frowned.
‘I told the sheriff,’ the bartender went on, ‘that they drew on him. He won’t even be questioned.’
McComb couldn’t focus his thoughts. He glanced over at Purvis.
‘Some punk kid from Nebraska. We hunted buffalo together.’
‘What the hell would he have against Navarro?’ Purvis said. ‘And Foley?’
‘Nothing, really,’ McComb heard himself saying, as if through a long tube. ‘It’s me he really wants.’
Purvis was still frowning.
‘Did you two have a spat back there?’ asked the bartender with a smile.
McComb turned suddenly and headed for the door. Purvis hesitated, then followed him. Out beside their mounts, McComb turned to him.
‘I can’t just wait for him to find me. I got to find him. Maybe surprise him. This boy is dangerous.’
‘Obviously,’ the Iron Kid said. All four of his guns were visible on him, and he instinctively put his right hand over one of the Wells Fargo revolvers on his hip. ‘I can’t even imagine how he took Foley down.’
‘We’re making a stop at the boarding house,’ McComb told him.
A few minutes later they were standing in the carpeted parlor talking to the clerk you had checked O’Brien in.
‘Oh, Mr McComb, isn’t it? Can I rent you another room, gentlemen?
‘We ain’t here for a room,’ McComb grated out. He was still very upset. Not only was his life in danger, but O’Brien had fouled up all his plans to get rich quick. ‘Has a big man in rawhides checked in here?’
The clerk’s mind raced back to O’Brien’s warning. Not to mention his residence there to anybody. O’Brien had impressed the clerk that bad things would result from his violation of that prohibition.
‘Why, let’s see. A man in rawhides. No, I guess not. I haven’t seen anybody of that description.’
McComb drew his Colt and showed it to the clerk.
‘Are you sure?’
The clerk felt his stomach contract. But it was too late now to admit he had lied.
‘Yes, sir. I’m quite sure.’
McComb holstered the gun. ‘I better not find out otherwise,’ he spat out. Then he and Purvis left the place.
Outside, as they untethered their mounts, Purvis turned to McComb.
‘Look, whoever this O’Brien is, why should we worry about it?
There’s two of us with fast guns. As I understand it he don’t even wear one. Let him come. We’ll bury him out in back of the cabin with the prospector. Then we’ll get on with your plan. We can recruit somebody else if you think it’s necessary. Your plan is still a good one. I’m not letting any backwoods buffalo hynter spoil it for us.’
That summary made McComb feel better. With the Iron Kid standing with him there was no way O’Brien could take them down. Since they had no idea where O’Brien was, McComb would wait for him to make his move. They would go about their daily routine between the cabin and the saloon, and wherever O’Brien found them they would confront him and kill him.
Then their futures would be just as rosy as ever.
McComb felt the tension in him dissipate, and a surge of confidence took hold of him that he knew would ensure his survival.
O’Brien had gone to a small café across from the Occidental and was sitting at a table by himself, eating a beef stew that was a special offering on the menu. When he used his left arm it hurt, but he ignored it.
At a nearby table sat an older silver-haired man and a ten-year-old-boy who was his grandson. O’Brien didn’t notice, but the two looked over toward him regularly and then spoke between themselves in soft tones.
When O’Brien was almost finished with his meal the boy got up from his chair and walked over to O’Brien. O’Brien turned to regard him curiously.
‘Are you the buffalo hunter called O’Brien?’
O’Brien looked him over.
‘Get away, kid.’ He went back to his stew.
‘I think you are,’ the boy persisted.’ And me and my grandpa want to thank you for what you done over at the Occidental.’
O’Brien put his fork down. He swigged a small drink of beer, and set the glass down.
‘I didn’t do that for you. I did it for me.’ He ran a finger through his dark mustache. ‘Now you get on. You hear?’ His Stetson and rifle were lying on an adjacent chair, within reach. He grabbed the hat and settled it onto dark, long hair.
‘OK. But we’re proud to meet you, O’Brien. I hope you do the same to their partners out at the cabin.’ He started walking away.
‘Hold up there a minute,’ O’Brien called after him. The boy turned and came back to the table.
‘Yes, sir?’