He lowered his chair back to the board walkway and stood up to watch her progress. After freeing her hem, she turned in the direction of the general store, angling across the dirt street, dodging the few puddles. Billy Ray openly appraised the young woman, admiring the slender waist and the dainty way she carried herself. Like she had something precious to protect, he thought. She’s too damn fine for that sissy schoolteacher she’s married to. He decided that it was time to introduce her to a real man.
Her eyes focused upon the ground before her feet, as was her habit when crossing before one of the three saloons in town, Rachael Andrews was unaware of the man until she almost bumped into him. Looking up then, she was startled to confront the sneering countenance of the town’s bad boy. Excusing herself immediately, she attempted to go around him.
“Whoa there, honey, I came out here to help you across the street,” Billy said, grabbing her by the arm. “I wouldn’t want you to get your pretty little feet dirty in one of these mud puddles.” She tried to pull away, but he held her fast.
Frightened, she nevertheless attempted to remain calm. “I thank you for your concern, sir, but I can manage on my own.”
His sneering grin still in place, he pulled her up close to him. “Ah, now, no call for you to be so snotty. I just wanna get to know you a little better. I think you and me could have a lotta fun when you get to know me.”
Appalled, she jerked her arm free of his grasp. “Sir, I am a married woman.”
“Hell, I ain’t gonna hold that against you.” Before she could step away, he suddenly swept her up in his arms. “I’ll carry you across all these mud puddles.”
Terrified, Rachael screamed and struggled to free herself, all to no avail, and to Billy Ray’s great amusement. Laughing at her futile efforts, he pressed her even closer, feeling her softness against him, as he carried her to the opposite side of the street. Once across, he set her feet down on the board walkway, but held her tightly by her arms. “Now I think I ought to be rewarded for being such a gentleman,” he said and attempted to kiss her. She pulled her head away, but he persisted until, finally, in frustration, he slapped her hard across the face. Stunned, she froze for a moment. He was quick to seize the opportunity, kissing her hard on the mouth while he held her head still with one hand, the other groping her body. When she finally was able to pull away from him, she staggered back a few steps, humiliated and frightened, tears now streaming down her cheeks. Unable to speak, she spat in his face. He reached for her again, but she stepped quickly back, turned about and ran toward her buggy, sobbing openly. He stood there, at first angered by the spittle hanging from his chin, but then laughing at her shame. He called out after her, “That was just a taste of what I’ve got for you. Just like a taste of whiskey—you don’t never know you’re a drunk till you’ve had your first taste of whiskey.”
* * *
Sheriff Sam Ingram looked up when the door opened, and Pete Svensen burst into his office. “Sam, you and Lon better git down to the Lucky Spur right now!”
Never one to get excited, Sam remained seated. “Lon’s gone huntin’. Why don’t you calm down a minute and tell me what’s got you so lathered up?”
“Billy Ray!” Pete blurted. “Will Andrews called him out, said Billy Ray made a play for his wife.”
“Damn,” Ingram uttered under his breath. He knew it was bound to happen. It was just a matter of when. Billy Ray had been itching for somebody to challenge him for too long. The sheriff wasted no more time. Getting to his feet, he took a rifle from the gun rack behind his desk and checked to make sure it was loaded. “Where are they?” he asked as he rounded the desk and headed for the door.
“In front of the Lucky Spur,” Pete replied, the urgency in his tone told Ingram he’d better hurry. “Will came down to the saloon lookin’ for Billy Ray. He didn’t have no gun. Billy Ray drew down on him, and told him he’d better go git one. Will borrowed Tom Leary’s pistol, and the two of ’em went out in the street.”
“Damn!” Ingram swore. “Why didn’t you come get me sooner?” He bolted out the door with Pete right on his heels. “By God, I’ve got him this time. He ain’t gittin’ away with it again.” A face-off between Billy Ray and Will Andrews amounted to no more than simple murder. Will had no chance against Billy Ray. The young schoolmaster didn’t even own a gun. Ingram broke into a trot in an attempt to reach the two before Will sacrificed his life for the sake of his pride.
It had been a long time since Sam Ingram tried to run anywhere. He was already puffing before he had trotted halfway down the street toward the crowd gathered to watch the confrontation. He could see the two combatants facing each other in the middle of the wagon track that served as Dry Fork’s main street—Will Andrews with a borrowed gun stuck in his waistband; Billy Ray, his back toward the sheriff, standing confident, his hand hovering over a low-slung holster.
“Hold on!” Ingram shouted, but it was too late. Will made a move toward his pistol. In a fraction of a second, Billy drew his pistol and pumped two shots into Will’s belly. While the spectators gasped, Will doubled over, still trying to pull Tom Leary’s pistol, which was caught in his waistband. Another bullet in the chest finally dropped him lifeless to the ground.
Feet widespread, pistol still pointing at the fallen man, Billy Ray stood as if in a trance. The blood was pumping wildly through his veins, triggered by an overpowering feeling of euphoria at the sight of his second kill. The pounding of his heartbeat in his ears almost drowned out all other sounds that surrounded him. Totally captured by his moment of conquest, he did not hear Sheriff Ingram’s command to drop his weapon. When Billy Ray failed to respond, Sam fired a shot in the air as a warning. Snapped back to his senses by the sound of the rifle, Billy Ray whirled around and emptied his pistol of the remaining three cartridges. It happened so fast that he wasn’t even aware of what was happening until he saw Sam Ingram lying mortally wounded in the street. The sudden barrage scattered the crowd of spectators into nearby doors and alleys. Those who froze long enough to see the shooting later reported that the only apparent reaction from Billy Ray was a slight curling of his upper lip as he sneered at the sheriff’s body.
After a few minutes had passed, Billy Ray calmly reloaded his weapon, looked once again at Will Andrews’s body, then back at Sam Ingram’s. Then he walked toward the Lucky Spur with a slight swagger to his step. Once he had disappeared inside the swinging doors, the spectators emerged from their holes and gathered around the bodies. It was too late to help either victim. “Somebody better go tell Sam’s wife and Rachael Andrews,” Pete Svensen said.
“Somebody better go find Lon,” somebody else said.
* * *
In the course of a few minutes time, Billy Ray had dealt a crippling blow to the little town of Dry Fork. He had eliminated over half of the law enforcement capability of the settlement—most folks didn’t figure Lon Fortson to count for much more than Sam’s helper—as well as killing the town’s one school-teacher. No one knew where Deputy Lon Fortson was, only that he had gone hunting and wasn’t expected back for several days. The question before the leading citizens of Dry Fork was what to do about the brazen killer holding court at the Lucky Spur.
“We can’t tolerate his kind in this town any longer,” John Castleberry stated. “We’re gonna have to do something about Billy Ray, and I mean right now.” The mayor of Dry Fork had called the special meeting of the city council at his home, one mile south of town, in order to keep the meeting secret.
“Ain’t much we can do till Lon gets back,” Wilson Greenwell commented.
“Who knows how long before that fool gets back?” Castleberry shot back. “Meanwhile Billy Ray hangs on the bar at the Lucky Spur bragging about what he did.” He paused to look around him at the other five men seated at his kitchen table. “Word gets out that a young hothead can brazenly gun down our sheriff and one of the towns leading citizens, and nothing is done about it—why, it’ll be an open invitation for every outlaw in t
he territory.”
“What are you proposing we should do about it?” The question came from Walt Collins, a man of few words, large stature and burly appearance who owned the stables on the north end of town.
Castleberry turned to meet Walt’s steady gaze. The mayor already knew that Collins would support any call for action. “I don’t ordinarily condone any type of vigilante activity,” the mayor replied. “You all know that. But sometimes it might be necessary in order to protect the progress we’ve already made in Dry Fork.” He permitted his gaze to sweep the other faces around the table. “Now I know we all stand for law and order. But let’s be realistic about the situation we’ve got here. Lon Fortson means well, and you can’t help but like the man, but the only reason he was hired as a deputy was so Sam could have somebody to play checkers with. And that’s about it. Besides, there’s no use in Lon going up against Billy Ray and getting himself killed.” He paused again while the members of the council exchanged knowing glances, aware of what the mayor was proposing. “Gentlemen, it’s time we formed an official posse to protect our homes and businesses. We have to answer to Rachael Andrews and Ellie Ingram.”
There followed an extended silence while the five men thought about the action proposed. The first to speak was Walt Collins. “John’s right,” he said, nodding his head as he searched the faces of his fellow council members. “We need to lynch that young hellion to let everybody know we don’t stand for murderers in this town.”
The others nodded soberly in agreement, all but Wilson Greenwell. “I ain’t so sure we can do something like that. Maybe we ought to send Lon over to Cheyenne to fetch the marshal.”
“Hard to tell how long that would take,” Collins said. “Hell, Wilson, we need to take care of this right now.” He shrugged. “If you ain’t got the stomach for it—”
“Never you mind about that,” Wilson cut him off. “I can handle a rifle as well as the next man, and I ain’t afraid to use one. I’m just sayin’ we don’t want to call down any trouble on ourselves for steppin’ outside the law.”
“We won’t be steppin’ outside the law,” Castleberry said. “I’ll appoint Walt Collins temporary sheriff, and he can officially deputize all of us.”
Plans were made and discussion went on until Doris Castleberry entered the kitchen to inquire if she should fix supper for the six of them. That prompted all but her husband to graciously decline her invitation and take their leave. “Tomorrow morning, seven o’clock,” Castleberry reminded them as they filed out the door. “We’ll meet at the stable.” There had been some reluctance on the part of a couple of the councilmen, primarily Cyrus Brumby, who owned the general store. But in the end there was unanimous agreement that the mad dog in their midst had to be exterminated for the sake of the community.
* * *
When he returned to town from the meeting at the mayor’s house, Walt Collins was surprised to see Sonny Demry still at work in the stables. “How come you’re still here?” Walt asked, as he dismounted and led his horse in the barn.
“I didn’t git finished cleanin’ out them stalls in the back like you told me to,” Sonny replied, his eyes downcast as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. “I reckon I got behind in my work when I went up to watch the shootin’ at the Lucky Spur.”
“I reckon everybody did,” Walt said. He took a moment to consider the slow-witted boy, and he thought about the admiration Sonny had for Billy Ray’s ability with a six-gun. “I know you cotton to Billy Ray, but what he did today was dead wrong, and he sure ain’t nobody to be admired. You know that, don’t you?” Sonny didn’t respond, just continued to hold his head down. “He killed two innocent people today,” Walt went on, “and he’s gonna be held to account for what he did.”
Sonny raised his eyes briefly. “But Billy Ray said Mr. Andrews was the one called him out, and Sheriff Ingram was fixin’ to shoot him in the back.”
Walt shook his head, exasperated. “You’ve been hangin’ around that damn saloon again, ain’t you? Hell, Sonny, it amounted to outright murder. You can’t pay no attention to Billy Ray’s bragging. It was murder, and it ain’t gonna be tolerated in this town. You’ll see how fancy your big-talking gunman is when he’s swinging from a free limb tomorrow.” Realizing then that his anger had allowed him to go too far, Walt quickly added, “Now go on home now. You can finish that up in the morning.”
* * *
Sonny usually did as he was told, but what Walt had said troubled him. He had said hanging from a tree limb tomorrow, and Walt always said what he meant. Billy Ray was Sonny’s idol, and Sonny wondered if he should go by the Lucky Spur and tell Billy Ray what Walt had said. Billy Ray might be in trouble, and a friend would warn another friend. Sonny felt strongly about that, for he considered himself Billy Ray’s friend.
Billy Ray was seated as usual at the back table of the Lucky Spur when Sonny peered over the swinging doors, searching for his hero. When Sonny pushed through the doors, Billy Ray looked up from the empty glass he was fiddling with on the table before him. He was still a little perturbed that there had not been more of a fuss in honor of his gunfight that afternoon. To the contrary, it perplexed him that everyone seemed to be giving him more space than usual. He had even had to buy his own drinks. The reception to his deadly ability had hardly been what he would have expected, and for once, he was glad to see Sonny Demry come in. Sonny was a half-wit, but Billy Ray reveled in the poor boy’s idolatry.
“What you doin’ in here so late, turnip head?” Billy Ray tilted his chair back against the wall and greeted the young boy.
“Howdy, Billy Ray,” Sonny drawled, his face beaming with delight at being acknowledged by his hero. “I come by to tell you somethin’.”
When Sonny related, as close as he could remember, Walt Collins’s veiled threat about a lynching, Billy Ray’s first reaction was disdainful contempt. “They’ll play hell tryin’ to put a rope around my neck,” he blustered loudly for the benefit of those seated at nearby tables. “I reckon everybody saw what happens to anybody tryin’ to go up against me.” His response pleased Sonny, and the half-wit left the saloon with the firm conviction that Billy Ray could take on the entire town if necessary.
One who overheard the conversation between Billy Ray and the simpleminded stable boy was Willett Burns, owner of the Lucky Spur. He took the shot glasses he had just rinsed in the water bucket behind the bar, placed them on the shelf and paused for a few moments, considering what he was about to say. His mind made up, he came from behind the bar, walked over and sat down at the table with Billy Ray. Willett had put up with Billy ever since he had come looking for a job as a thirteen-year-old. Some folks wondered why Willett had continued to let Billy Ray establish himself at the Lucky Spur after evolving into such an obnoxious loudmouth whose only apparent accomplishment was a fast gun. The kid had always been a source of amusement to Willett, even when some of his customers complained about Billy Ray’s threatening swagger. Willett only laughed and chided them that Billy Ray was just talking. But recently, Billy Ray had done more than just talk. This was bad business, this thing that Billy Ray had done to the town, worse even than the underhanded way he had killed that young cowhand. Sam Ingram was a well thought-of man in Dry Fork. One of the original settlers, he was respected by almost all of the town’s citizens. Will Andrews had not been a part of the community long enough for folks to know him very well, but all indications had been that he was a welcome addition to the growing town. Billy Ray was no longer amusing.
“I couldn’t help but hear what Sonny said about lynching talk,” Willett said. Billy Ray shrugged his indifference. Willett continued. “If I was you, I believe I’d think about that some. You killed a couple of people that are gonna be mourned in this town, and folks ain’t gonna think any too kindly toward you for puttin’ ’em under. You know, you mighta outgrowed Dry Fork. Might be time to move on.”
At first Billy Ray was taken aback to hear Willett Burns suggest it might be best for h
im to leave town. Willett had been the closest thing to a father Billy had ever known. For a split second, Billy Ray started to flush with anger. “I ain’t scared of Lon Fortson. I’d like to see him try to arrest me.”
“Hell, it ain’t gonna be Lon Fortson. If Sonny got it right, they’re talking about a posse.”
“I ain’t runnin’ from no bunch of storekeepers. If they wanna tangle with me, I’ll see to it that there’ll be a sight less folks around here.”
“Billy Ray,” Willett began patiently, “these folks ain’t plannin’ to come at you one at a time so you can show ’em how fast you are with that damn gun of yours.” Billy Ray started to protest, but Willett cut him off. “These folks aim to string you up, son. And don’t think they won’t do it. Most every one of these storekeepers, as you call ’em, had to fight Injuns from two different tribes to hold on to their homes.” He sat back in his chair and relaxed. “I’m just offerin’ you a piece of advice. Dry Fork might become a little uncomfortable for you.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t worried about the whole damn lot of ’em,” Billy Ray boasted.
“Suit yourself,” Willett said and got up to return to the bar.
“I always do,” was Billy Ray’s cocky retort. But as he sat there, he thought about what Willett was trying to tell him, and for the first time, he gave it serious consideration. He was no longer welcome in Dry Fork. He could defy the town for only so long before somebody took a shot at him with a rifle, or jumped him by surprise. The more thought he gave his situation, the more he began to think it might be a lot healthier for him to put the dust of Dry Fork behind him. Hell, he thought, I’ve been wanting to go look for some of that gold they’ve been talking about for a while now.
* * *
Bloody Hills Page 2