Broken Star (2006)

by Murphy, Terry

  ‘I understand,’ Raya said, with a sympathetic smile. ‘I do hope that you find what you are looking for.’

  ‘So do I,’ Carmel Morrow said wistfully. She hooked a thumb under the strap joining the saddle-bags and took them from her shoulder. ‘First things first, though. I need to become a solid citizen by opening an account here.’ A sudden thought clouded her face and she enquired, ‘I hope I’m not risking our savings. Is Yancey a safe town, Raya?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Raya assured her, giving an embarrassed little giggle before adding, ‘Mind you, I’m biased, as I’m going to marry the sheriff next spring.’

  ‘You can’t get safer than that,’ Carmel laughed.

  ‘That’s very true,’ Raya agreed proudly. ‘There’s nobody within two hundred miles of Yancey who would dare to go against Sheriff George Harker.’

  Giving Raya’s arm a little squeeze, Carmel said, ‘That’s very reassuring. Thank you, Raya. Maybe I’ll get an invite to the wedding if we settle here.’

  ‘You most certainly will, Carmel, both you and your brother.’

  ‘That’s nice of you.’ The teller’s position was now vacant and Carmel gave Raya a gentle nudge with her elbow. ‘There you go.’

  Having seen Raya go into the bank, Fallon Vejar pretended to study the items in a gunsmith’s window while keeping an eye on the bank doorway. The street was a peaceful scene of people going about their legitimate business. It pained him to imagine how drastically that would change when Ken Klugg and his gang arrived. Since venturing out that morning, he had met several folk he had once known well, but who now passed him by without speaking. This made him wonder how Raya would react to his return. During a largely sleepless night in the jailhouse, he had done some deep thinking. He had reasoned that as he was sure to meet Raya at some time, then the sooner he did so the better. Though he still had strong feelings for Raya, his days as an outlaw had forever separated him from her. Though it would be painful for him, he had to let her go. The air between Raya, Harker, and him had to be cleared if he was going to work with the sheriff.

  Raya reappeared, coming out of the bank and turning down the street without even a glance in his direction. Vejar started after her, but stopped again as a rider he recognized as Ben, the youngest of the Poole brothers, came slowly down the street. Passing Raya, Ben Poole headed unhurriedly towards Vejar. Anticipating trouble from the renowned brawler, Vejar stood on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting.

  Ben Poole was a big man, whose size and strength was feared greatly. He reined up in front of Vejar; a holstered Colt .45 resting on a right thigh that was as thick as a tree trunk. Vejar was confident that there would be no gunplay. The heavily muscled Ben’s movements were far too slow for him to draw on Vejar. In the way of all bullies, Ben Poole never started a fight that he wasn’t certain he could win. But a cautious Vejar quickly scanned all of the doorways and side alleys in the vicinity, suspecting that the other two Poole brothers might be lying in ambush. But the area was clear.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman exit the bank. There was something immediately familiar about her. With two saddle-bags slung over her shoulder, she turned and walked off away from him. Though he hadn’t seen her face, the way she held herself and her walk half convinced him that it was Gloria Malone. Vejar accepted that all that kept him from being fully convinced of the woman’s identity, was his fervent hope that it wasn’t Gloria.

  Seeing the black-haired outlaw girl in Yancey was deeply disturbing for Vejar. Ken Klugg was moving in on the town more rapidly than Vejar had expected. The immediate threat that was Ben Poole instantly became a secondary, unimportant issue. Vejar had to force himself to bring his attention back to the thuggish Ben.

  With both hands resting on his saddle horn, Poole’s dark eyes had within them a permanent glint of amusement as though he was laughing at himself. There was a deceptive aura of childish innocence about the big man. This no longer fooled anyone who had seen his massive fists beat opponents to a pulp, or his murderous intent when wielding the long-bladed knife that he habitually carried.

  Annoyed at having missed an opportunity to speak with Raya, and perplexed by seeing Gloria in town, Vejar tersely enquired, ‘Have you got something you want to say, Poole?’

  Not replying, Ben Poole sat staring at Vejar for several minutes, his large, flat face expressionless. Then he slowly raised his right hand and pointed the forefinger at Vejar. After a minute or so had passed, Poole lowered the hand, pulled the head of his horse round, and rode off up the street, keeping his mount at a walking pace.

  Aware that what had just happened was simply the start of what would inevitably occur between the Poole brothers and him, Vejar stood for a moment watching the broad back of the departing Ben Poole. Then he pulled down his Stetson to shield his eyes from the sun as he made his way to the sheriff’s office.

  Finding George Harker sitting behind his desk engaged in some paperwork, Vejar explained who Gloria Malone was, and how he had seen her leaving Yancey’s bank.

  ‘Getting the lie of the land?’ Harker asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly. ‘You say that she was carrying a saddle-bag, Fallon.’

  Vejar corrected him. ‘Two saddle-bags.’

  ‘Which means that, if she was making a deposit, it would be a tidy sum of money,’ Harker pondered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So Klugg would be robbing a bank that holds his own money,’ Harker said doubtfully.

  ‘Money he’s robbed from another bank,’ Vejar cynically clarified the situation.

  ‘That figures,’ the sheriff conceded. ‘Yancey has seen the last of this woman, seeing as how she’s done her job?’

  ‘No,’ Vejar replied. ‘When the time comes to hit the bank she’ll be there in the thick of the gunsmoke.’

  ‘And she’s the reason you don’t want to back me against Klugg and his gang,’ Harker guessed shrewdly.

  Not answering this, an image of Gloria Malone sprang into Vejan’s mind. He had known many women in his time but, Raya excepted, none of them could compare with the black-haired outlaw. There was something vibrantly alive about everything she did, all that she said. If there was a way to protect her when Klugg rode into town, then he would find it and use it.

  Forcing the mental picture from his head, Vejar said, ‘The thing is, George, Klugg will soon be riding into town, and you’ve got to move fast if you’re going to stop him.’

  ‘You know how this outlaw operates, Fallon, so I’d be loco not to seek your advice.’

  ‘It is important that you don’t let Klugg into town,’ Vejar instructed. ‘Once inside he’ll use any trick, no matter who gets hurt. For a start you’ll need enough men to cover each end of the street so that no one can enter the town.’

  Getting up from his chair and buckling on his gunbelt, Harker walked over to unlock the chain of the gun rack and select a rifle. He told Vejar, ‘Right now I’m going to ride out to the Lazy J, Fallon. Jim Reynard has some tough hands working for him.’

  ‘Gunslingers?’ Vejar queried.

  ‘Cowboys,’ Harker answered. ‘But they’re a rough bunch. Jim will let me borrow ten.’

  ‘Make it fifteen,’ Vejar advised.

  Nodding assent, Harker said, ‘First though, I’ll call at the bank and ask Hiram what business your woman did there this morning.’

  ‘Not my woman, George.’

  Dan Matthews always became uneasy whenever George Harker was out of town. The town council had just two reasons for making Dan deputy sheriff: the first was that the wages were so poor that no one else wanted the job, and the second, that Yancey had been practically crime free since Fallon Vejar had lit out.

  Having been called to the Hero of Alamo that evening, he liked even less having sole responsibility for keeping law and order. A boy had been sent to him with a message that Ben Poole was in the saloon, liquored-up and likely to explode into violence at any moment. Dan couldn’t imagine what anyone thought that he could do against t
he brutish Ben Poole. But he had to show willing in order to keep his deputy’s badge and his pittance of an income.

  It disappointed Dan to find the saloon was far from crowded. The more people there, the greater would be the chance of someone coming to his aid if Ben Poole started on him. Yancey was accustomed to the youngest Poole brother’s regular bouts of drunken violence, which George Harker usually took care of with consummate ease.

  But George wasn’t here right now, and Ben, who had shoulders like an ox, had struck a challenging pose. Back to the bar, both elbows resting on it, his thick, black, wavy hair was brushed back from a forehead so low that just a narrow strip of skin separated the hair from the bushing eyebrows. In his rumbling voice he was taunting the half-circle of men who had left a clear space round him.

  Approaching the bruiser, but careful to stay at more than an arm’s length away from him, old Dan said in a shaky voice, ‘Now then, Ben, nobody here is looking for trouble.’

  ‘Maybe you ain’t looking for it, old man, but you just found it,’ Ben snarled, pushing himself forwards from the bar.

  Knees knocking together, Dan considered forgetting both his badge and his wage, and making a run for it. But relief flooded through him as he heard the batwing doors open behind him, and Ben switched his angry glare from him to whoever had just come into the saloon. A square-toothed grin of delight split Ben Poole’s flat face almost in two.

  Sensing the tension inside the saloon while still outside, Vejar eased his .45 in its holster before entering cautiously. Once he was inside, Dan Matthews came hurrying towards him on legs so bent that he rolled with each step, The old fellow’s body was no thicker than wire, with the clothes he wore hanging on it. The ancient man was looking at him anxiously through eyes that leaked tears that owed everything to age and nothing to sadness.

  Opening his mouth to speak, the old face imploded, leaving on display a toothless upper gum and a row of black and brown snaggly teeth in his lower jaw. ‘Am I glad you’re here, Fallon. Ben Poole is acting up right ornery again.’

  The oldster had no time to say anything more, as Ben Poole advanced on Vejar. He walked with quick, short steps, the weight of his body shifting rhythmically to either heel. With a slight swagger to it that was a challenge in itself, it was the walk of a self-assured fighting man.

  Poole sneered, ‘Well, well! There stands the cowardly back-shooter.’

  ‘I came in here for a drink, Poole,’ Vejar said. ‘Not to seek trouble.’

  ‘Brother Billy wasn’t looking for no trouble when you shot him in the back, Vejar.’

  As he finished speaking, Poole threw off his coat and slipped out of his checkered shirt. There were gasps of admiration from the onlookers as he stood there in a scarlet undershirt that showed off his muscle-packed body to advantage.

  ‘Back off, Poole.’

  Deaf to Vejar’s warning, Ben Poole moved forward with both arms spread wide, his hands open. ‘I’m unarmed, Vejar, and I sure ain’t going to give you a chance to shoot me when I gets the better of you.’

  Though quiet up to that moment, the saloon somehow produced a kind of magical silence. The air was charged with expectancy. Glancing round to double-check that the other two Poole brothers were not among the crowd, Vejar unbuckled his gunbelt, rolled it around the holstered gun, and passed it to a shaking Dan Matthews.

  As Vejar stepped forwards, his powerful physique, though much lighter than Poole’s, was enhanced by gracefulness. A murmur rippled through the crowd, for there was a majesty about the two men. There was a primitive glory in a scene that had fearless gladiators facing each other, ready for combat.

  Ben Poole was known as a hardhitter and, when the fight began, Vejar sparred on the defensive as his giant opponent circled him looking for an opportunity to close. Aware that he could not match Poole in strength, Vejar knew that he must use cunning to gain an advantage. Deliberately creating a false opening, he was gratified when the gullible Poole rushed in. Relying on his speed, Vejar moved fast, extremely fast. As Poole surged forwards on the attack, he agilely ducked, took a short side step and did a violent half turn to drive his elbow hard into Poole’s midriff.

  Feeling ribs crack as his elbow drove in, Vejar turned as Poole’s breath escaped from him in an angry, hissing eruption. Turning to face Poole again, who was slightly bent forward, holding his ribs and stomach with both hands, Vejar delivered a rapid series of fast punches to Poole’s big face; left and right, left and right. His knuckles ripped open a long gash in Poole’s cheek. A power-packed blow from Vejar’s right hand completely split open Poole’s top lip right up to the nostril. Shaking his huge head, causing the two halves of his cut lip to flap and spray blood in all directions, Ben Poole brought up both hands to protect his terribly damaged face. Without a pause, Vejar changed tactics to launch a two-fisted attack on Poole’s body. Groaning in pain, the huge man brought his arms down again to defend his body. As Poole’s left arm came down, Vejar crossed it with a right-hand punch that landed on his adversary’s prominent brow, opening up a red, blood-gushing gash over the left eye.

  Poole took several steps backwards, and only colliding with the bar kept him upright. Some of the crowd, courageous at seeing the dangerous bully reeling all but helpless, started to cheer Vejar on as he stepped up to knock Poole’s head to the right with one punch, then knock it to the left with a blow from his other hand. Concentrating on ending the fight by completely demolishing his huge opponent, Vejar was oblivious to a sudden silence that descended on the crowd. Consequently, he didn’t know that Ben Poole’s two brothers had just entered the saloon.

  Something smashed against the back of his head, and the next he knew was that he was lying on the floor. Lew Poole was standing on one side of him and Michael Poole on the other. Both brothers were delivering vicious kicks to his head and body.

  The knowledge that he was about to be kicked to death galvanized the groggy Vejar into action. Using his left elbow to gain leverage, he rolled swiftly to his right, grabbing Lew Poole’s right ankle with both hands as he went. A tug from Vejar unbalanced Lew Poole, who staggered awkwardly but didn’t go down. But the diversion permitted Vejar to keep rolling and come up shakily on to his feet.

  Michael Poole was on him in a flash. The tall, lean Poole brother let go with a punch that caught Vejar flush on his left eye. The force of the punch sent Vejar flying backwards, he hit a table, overturning it as he crashed to the wooden floor. Coming up fast, he saw Michael Poole moving in on him, throwing another mighty punch. Vejar hoisted the table by its legs. Unable to stop the punch he was throwing, the tall Poole brother yelled out in pain as his fist crashed into the tabletop, crunching the bones of his hand.

  With his left eye rapidly closing, Vejar lunged at Michael Poole, who was holding his damaged hand, his face twisted in agony. He was unable to defend himself, and Vejar felled him with a terrific right-hand punch.

  Out of the fight completely, Michael Poole lay unconscious on the floor. But his brother Lew came up on Vejar’s blind side, using a bottle to club him to the floor. Fighting to remain conscious, Vejar scrambled away from the kicks Lew Poole was aiming at him. He rose up, ready to deal with Lew, but Ben Poole, his face a bloody pulp, came up behind Vejar to catch him in a bear hug, pinioning his arms to his sides.

  Grinning happily, Lew Poole stepped forward to smash punch after punch at the helpless Vejar. With blood from cuts inflicted by the punches completing his blindness, Vejar slumped and would have fallen if Ben Poole hadn’t been holding him.

  Exhausted by the non-stop battering he was giving Vejar, Lew Poole stopped and nodded to his brother, who let Vejar drop to the floor. Peering up one-eyed through a veil of blood, Vejar saw Ben Poole drawing his gun, aiming it at him.

  ‘You lived like a dog, Vejar,’ Lew Poole snarled. ‘Now you can die like a dog.’

  Cursing his stupidity in taking off his gunbelt in the first place, Vejar was watching Poole squeeze the trigger, when a shot rang out. Staggering sid
eways, Lew Poole dropped his gun and clapped his hand to his neck. A bullet had grazed him, drawing blood but otherwise causing no real injury.

  Unable to believe his luck, Vejar saw a smile tweak at the corners of Dan Matthews’ mouth. Then George Harker was reaching down to put a hand in Vejar’s armpit and pull him to his feet.

  ‘I guess that you’ll have company in the jailhouse tonight, Fallon,’ the sheriff quipped.

  FOUR

  ‘So you’ve heard of George Harker, Ken?’

  Gloria Malone asked the question as she sat in brilliant noon sunshine, cleaning and oiling her handgun. The gang had taken over an abandoned line shack in the foothills some thirty miles from Yancey. The shack stood on a grassy rise, alone and as desolate as a desert island. When she had told Klugg the name of Yancey’s sheriff, Gloria had noticed that the outlaw had shown not fear, which would have been out of character, but a certain apprehension that intrigued her. This Harker had to be some hombre to make Ken Klugg react in that way.

  Not answering until his daily period of quick-draw practice had been completed, Ken Klugg holstered his .45 and walked over to sit beside her on the grass close to one side of the shack.

  ‘You must be the only one who’s never heard of Harker, Gloria,’ he remarked.

  ‘He’s that good?’

  ‘Better than good, much better.’

  ‘How does that affect our plan for Yancey?’ Gloria enquired.

  She waited for a reply that she suspected would never come. Klugg had become unfriendly towards her in their present situation. She missed Fallon Vejar terribly. Since Vejar had left, Klugg had been trying to get closer to her. Having repelled him every time he made a move, she knew that he had grown increasingly angry at being rejected. She guessed it would have resulted in a showdown between them before now, except for the fact she had filled Vejar’s position as the most valuable member of the gang. Klugg just couldn’t afford to lose her. The other four, though competent with firearms and not lacking in courage, were incapable of performing without supervision. Maybe that wasn’t true of Richie Deere, the youngest of them, a kid who had become Vejar’s protégé, and who had been morose from the moment Vejar, his friend and idol, had ridden out.