Doc rode up beside his brother. “What are you figurin’ on doin’?” he asked. Like the others, he wondered why Mace had sent for the sheriff. “Why don’t we just knock over the saloon and the general store and get the hell outta here?”
“We will,” Mace replied, “but we’ll take our time about it. I got my reasons.”
Doc didn’t push the issue further, although he knew the other men felt the same as he did—hit-and-run had always been their style. But Mace had been noticeably withdrawn into one of his dark moods ever since they had failed to turn up any hidden fortune at Pryor’s ranch. It was never a good idea to bother him when he was brooding over something. Doc would not understand Mace’s reasons for lingering in Paradise had he been told. His simple mind lacked the passion for conquest that drove his brother and the feeling of power he sought over an entire town. Though tiny and vulnerable, Paradise would be his, if only for a short time.
“Uh-oh.” Gus warned his boss, Ben Thompson, when he glanced toward the door of the saloon to see Mace and his gang coming in. “Here’s them fellers I told you about. I was hopin’ we’d seen the last of them.”
“Well, just treat ’em like any other customers,” Thompson said.
Mace ignored the two men standing behind the counter and started giving orders as soon as he walked in the door. “Zeke, you and Junior pull a couple of them tables up here closer to the door, so’s we can see what’s goin’ on outside. We’re gonna need somethin’ to eat, too. Bob, why don’t you and Lacey go next door to that store and see what you can scare up for food?” Only then did he turn to the two astonished men at the bar. “I expect you’ve got a cookstove in the back room somewhere.”
Struck speechless for a few moments, Ben Thompson finally found his voice. “Mister, just what in the hell do you think you’re doin’? You can’t move in here like you own the place. I’m the owner of this establishment. You can put those tables right back where they were. If you and your men want to buy a drink, we’ll be happy to serve you. Otherwise, you can clear outta here now.”
Casting a patient smile in Ben’s direction, Mace replied. “What do I think I’m doin’?” he repeated. “I’m takin’ over this saloon is what I’m doin’. You got any objections?”
Flabbergasted by the man’s audacity, Thompson sputtered. “You’re damn right I’ve got objections!”
Maintaining his calm smile, Mace said, “Doc here handles objections. Take care of the man’s objections, Doc.”
With a wide grin on his face, Doc pulled his .44 and pumped two slugs into Thompson’s gut. As his boss crumpled to the floor, dying, Gus was rendered motionless for only a second before reaching under the counter for his shotgun. Mace stopped him before he could put his hand on the weapon. With his pistol already out, he warned, “Go ahead and pull it if you want the same as your boss.” Gus froze. “Look behind that counter, Doc, and see how many guns he’s got hid back there.” Then to Gus he said, “You could be useful to me if you behave yourself. We’re gonna need somebody to do the fetchin’ for us.” He cocked the hammer back on his pistol. “It’s up to you.”
Gus looked down, wide-eyed and shocked as his boss lay helpless on the floor, his eyes searching desperately for help from some quarter as he clutched his bleeding stomach, trying to sit up against the counter. When Gus started to reach down to help him, Mace motioned him away with his pistol. Hesitating, Gus could plainly read the wrenching pain that wracked Ben’s body.
“What’s it gonna be?” Mace pressed. “You gonna throw in with us, or get the same as he got?”
There was no choice for Gus but to agree to go along. Facing six desperate-looking killers, he knew he was standing on the edge of his grave. There was nothing he could do for Ben Thompson, his employer and friend, so he meekly accepted the circumstances offered him. “I reckon I ain’t got much choice,” he said. At least until I get a chance to run for it, he thought. Tom Austin oughta be up here any minute. He was bound to have heard those shots. What he didn’t know was that Tom was on his way to Oscar Perkins’ farm, having already confronted the raiders.
“I can tell you for certain you made the right choice,” Mace said, punctuating the statement with a guttural chuckle. “ ’Cause I’d just as soon blow a hole in your head as not.” Taking his attention away from Gus for the moment, he called to Doc, “Maybe we need to get the packhorses where we can get to ’em in a hurry if we need to. Why don’t you take one of the boys and go down to the stables and fetch ’em? We can tie ’em right behind the saloon.” Doc nodded and started to summon Zeke to help him when Mace said, “Might as well bring a couple of sacks of grain, too.” This wouldn’t take a whole lot of getting used to, he thought as he watched his brother and Zeke leaving to follow his orders. It had always been Mace’s nature to take what he wanted, but this time it was different. It was the first time he had ever had the luxury of owning a whole town, with everything in it his for the taking. “And, Doc, drag this son of a bitch outta here. He can die outside.” Gus stood helpless as Ben was dragged outside, feeling considerably less like a man for not trying to help his employer, but knowing it amounted to suicide if he so much as made a move in that direction. Seconds later, he heard a gunshot that told him Doc had decided Ben wasn’t dying fast enough. At least it ended his pain, Gus thought.
Next door at the general store, Fred and Lena Hatfield stood warily watching the two men who had suddenly walked into the store and begun searching the shelves and counters without so much as a word to them. “Can I help you fellers find somethin’?” Fred asked. Before there was time for an answer, they heard the two gunshots next door. Both man and wife jumped, startled, while the two outlaws seemed not to notice.
“Sounds like somebody gave the wrong answer,” Lacey said.
“Sounds like,” Bob agreed.
“What’s goin’ on?” Hatfield asked nervously. “What do you fellers want?”
Lacey laughed, amused by Lena Hatfield’s efforts to hide behind her husband. “Why, I expect we’re gonna be your biggest customers. We’ll take all the salt pork and bacon you’ve got, and most of them soup beans in that barrel.” Turning to point toward another barrel at the end of the counter where Bob was already helping himself to a sample, he added, “Them dried apples, and about anything else you’ve got to eat.” Seeing the confusion in Hatfield’s eyes, he said, “You can write it all down and put it on our bill.” Then he exchanged amused glances with Bob Dawson.
Tom found Oscar Perkins at the end of the field that bordered the road to town, almost at the same spot where Oscar had seen the six riders pass some days before. “Damn, Tom,” Oscar exclaimed in greeting, “you look all lathered up.”
“We got trouble in town,” Tom said as he pulled up beside Oscar’s wagon. He hurriedly related the events that saw the gang of six outlaws ascend upon Paradise. “They’re an ugly bunch, and they talk like they’re takin’ over the whole damn town. They said they needed to talk to you.”
Oscar was immediately gripped by a cold hand on his insides. He remembered the six riders vividly. “What do they want with me?” he asked. “Have they broke any laws?”
“Well, not so far,” Tom answered, unaware of the murder of Ben Thompson shortly after he had left to get the sheriff. “But there ain’t no doubt in my mind that they’re plannin’ on somethin’, and you’d best get into town before things get outta hand.”
Oscar did not respond for a few minutes while he searched his soul for courage. The clear picture of the six men remained in his memory as he glanced from Tom’s worried face back toward his house beyond the field. With his young deputy waiting anxiously for his reply, he made his decision. “I didn’t take the sheriff’s job with any notion to stand up to a gang of murderin’ outlaws. I told Raymond Pryor I’d try to keep an eye on things, but I ain’t got no qualifications to go up against six gunmen.”
Unable to understand at first, Tom questioned him. “Are you sayin’ you ain’t gonna go?”
�
�That’s what I’m sayin’.”
“You’re the sheriff! That’s your job!” Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’ll be there to help you.”
“I’ll tell you what my job is,” Oscar replied. Turning to point toward his house, he said, “My job is to take care of my family, and who’s gonna do that if I go and get myself shot by a gang of murderin’ outlaws?” He shook his head sternly. “No, sir. If you wanna go get yourself shot, go ahead, but I ain’t that crazy. I’ve got a family to think about.”
Tom was totally dismayed. There was nothing more for him to say. With eyes wide in disbelief, he stared at the reluctant sheriff for a long moment, then turned his horse and rode out of the field, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and indecision. After a few moments more, he realized what he should have done in the first place. With that in mind, he set out for Raymond Pryor’s ranch. He could form a posse with Curly and the crew that should be a match for the six outlaws, and to hell with Oscar Perkins.
Chapter 6
Jason was still a couple of miles away when he thought he detected the faint smell of burnt timber. There was no cause for alarm in his mind. He figured Pryor had Curly and the boys clearing out some brush along the river to provide better access to the water. It was not until he gained the crest of the east ridge that he pulled Biscuit up short, startled by the devastation in the valley beyond. There was nothing left but still-smoking timbers where the barn and bunkhouse once stood. Even the main house had been burnt to the ground. The only thing still standing was the corral, with only the rails next to the barn singed and black, some burnt almost in two. There was a single horse beside the corral, saddled, with the reins looped around a corner post, but no one was in sight.
It was hard to believe what his eyes were telling him. The scene below was one of total destruction. A raid, possibly by a band of renegade Indians? he wondered. He discarded that thought at once. There had been no sign of Indian activity in this part of the territory in over a year. Nudging Biscuit with his heels, he started down the side of the ridge. It was only then that he spotted the man standing next to a charred corner post of the bunkhouse. He pulled up again and drew his rifle from the saddle sling while he took a long hard look at the man. He recognized him as someone he had met in town, but it took him a few moments’ thought to remember him as the young deputy sheriff. He put his rifle back and guided Biscuit on down the slope.
Standing at the corner of what had once been the bunkhouse, Tom Austin stared with eyes wide in disbelief at the blackened ruin that had housed Raymond Pryor’s crew. He had found four bodies in the barn, all burnt beyond recognition, and he was still trembling from the shock. So far, he had discovered no more of Pryor’s men, no bodies that he could see in the bunkhouse. Where were the others? Within a period of a handful of hours the world had been turned upside down and he didn’t know what to do about it. There was no doubt in his mind that the brazen gang of outlaws in Paradise were the persons responsible. His thoughts were interrupted then by the sound of an approaching horse. His first instinct was to run for his rifle, so he turned and sprinted toward his horse. After a dozen or more steps, however, he recognized the rider as Jason Storm, the loner who had built a place up on Blind Woman Creek. He stopped and waited for him to approach.
“What happened here?” Jason asked as soon as he pulled up beside the waiting deputy.
“I ain’t really sure,” Tom replied. “I just got here about twenty minutes ago, but I’m pretty sure I know who did it.” He pointed toward the remains of the barn. “There’s four poor souls burnt up in the back of the barn, and I ain’t looked in the house yet.”
Jason took a moment to look around him at the grim devastation of a once working ranch, now the site of what appeared to be a massacre. It was almost too much to believe. How could someone do this without any sign of opposition? “You say you know who did this?”
Tom nodded, then told him of the arrival of the gang of obvious outlaws, and the fact that they wanted to find Raymond Pryor’s ranch. Then he told Jason about their reappearance in town several days later—this morning—with the blatant attitude of running roughshod over Paradise Valley.
“They sent you to fetch the sheriff?”
“That’s right,” Tom replied, “only Oscar said he wasn’t goin’ in against ’em. Said it wasn’t worth riskin’ his neck.”
Jason thought about that for no more than a moment. He wasn’t surprised to hear of Oscar’s reaction. “I’m gonna take a look around,” he said and turned his horse toward the barn. He spent a few minutes looking at the four charred bodies, then moved around the back and sides of the corral. “That explains how they all went down without a fight,” he told Tom and tossed an empty cartridge shell to the young deputy. “There’s some more of these on the ground on the other side. They were bushwhacked, like shooting fish in a barrel.” He dropped a couple more empty shells on the ground and turned to head for the house. “Let’s see if we can find the rest of the crew,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t.
It was a grim business, but Jason wanted to know if anyone on the ranch had escaped. They hadn’t. The bodies had been stacked in the front room of the house in a casual funeral pyre making it necessary for Jason to pull the corpses aside to account for everyone. Those stacked on top were charred beyond recognition, although Curly was easily identified by his size. As each corpse was pulled away from the pile, those beneath appeared less burnt. So it was that Raymond Pryor and his housekeeper and cook, Juanita, were still identifiable.
“Damn,” Jason uttered softly as he separated the last two bodies. He stood up then and counted the dead. As best he could remember, every man who worked for him, and Pryor himself, were all accounted for. He glanced briefly in Tom’s direction when the young deputy suddenly needed some fresh air and hurried out of the ruins. “There’d be somethin’ wrong with you if this didn’t make you sick,” Jason said so softly that Tom could not hear. Though his stoic expression did not reveal it, he was sick inside. In all his years riding for the U.S. Marshals Service, he had never witnessed such carnage short of an Indian massacre. If Tom was right, they were up against a mean bunch, a gang that didn’t mind killing and one that meant to destroy the whole town of Paradise. To this point, this tragedy had not threatened him or his little place back on Blind Woman Creek. Whoever was responsible for this murderous attack had not touched Jason personally. These people, especially Raymond Pryor, had befriended him and welcomed him, even going so far as to provide him with seed stock to start his own herd. He could not help but think of the fate of the people of Paradise at the hands of a wild band who would commit atrocities like the one he now stood in the midst of. Thinking of the deputy standing now at the edge of the porch, he made his way out of the tangle of burnt timbers.
“So I reckon you’re the only law in town now. What are you aimin’ to do?”
Tom shook his head in bewilderment. It was a question he had already asked himself, with no answer forthcoming. After a moment he replied, “I ain’t sure. I reckon it’s my job to do somethin’.”
Jason studied the young man for a moment. At least Tom considered it his responsibility to represent the law. Jason had to give him credit for that, but it was obvious that Tom was hardly experienced enough to even consider going up against the likes of Mace Cantrell and his murderers. The fact that Tom had allowed Cantrell to send him to fetch the sheriff was evidence enough of the young man’s lack of experience. Jason then thought about the situation in Paradise that Tom had described, with Cantrell telling him he was going to set up his headquarters in the saloon. He could only speculate, but Jason guessed that the outlaw had no intention of slaughtering anyone else until he had bled the town dry, or someone dared to oppose him. Then there might be another slaughter like the one here at the ranch.
As he continued to weigh the situation in his mind, he felt a reluctance to do what he knew had to be done. When he had come to this valley, he had intended to be finished with the viol
ent past that had been his life as a lawman. But the pitiless violence of the lawless breed had found even this remote, fledgling community of peaceful folk. Searching the young deputy’s face, he knew that Tom might have courage enough to attempt to stop the takeover of Paradise by this gang of killers, but he would probably pay for it with his life. There was only one person in Paradise Valley left to face the invaders: Jason Storm.
There might be time to prepare for some action if he moved quickly. There were bodies to be buried, but he had no intention of taking the time to do that now. It would have to be done later.
“Is there anyone in town you can count on for help?” Jason asked.
Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know—Joe Gault maybe.” The blacksmith was the first person that came to mind. Gault was a solid man who gave the impression that he would stand his ground. “Ben Thompson,” Tom went on, “and maybe Gus, and my boss, Arnold Poss. I reckon that’s about all. I wouldn’t expect anythin’ from Hatfield or the doctor.”
If Jason could count on their help, that would make six, counting himself and Tom. From similar situations in the past, he knew that more times than not, there would be some whose backbones would turn to jelly when faced with the business end of a drawn pistol. “You know for sure that this bunch in town did this business here?” Jason asked.
“Well, no, not for sure,” Tom replied. “I mean, ain’t nobody seen ’em do it, but there ain’t no doubt in my mind about it.”
Long years as a lawman made Jason think about this for a few moments. Paradise had a jail. According to Tom, this gang of outlaws had not actually committed a crime as yet—that is, that anybody had witnessed. If they were the vermin responsible for this massacre, extermination would be a just and fitting reward for their deeds. But what if they didn’t do it? There was the possibility that they were just a rowdy bunch of cowhands who made a noisy entrance into town. He would need to satisfy himself on that before taking any final action.
Storm in Paradise Valley Page 7