Broken Star (2006)

by Murphy, Terry

  Luckily for Vejar, Michael Poole was as shocked as he was by the unintentional shooting of the black woman. But, after a moment’s hesitation, he pointed his gun to where Vejar was lying on the floor. With his gunbelt out of reach, Vejar rolled swiftly to one side as Poole fired and a bullet ricocheted whiningly off the flagstones. Reaching out to grasp the carving knife, he threw it just as Poole was about to squeeze the trigger again. Seeing the knife coming at him through the air, Michael Poole did a rapid half turn. An evasive move that made it seem that the knife would pass by the tall Poole brother harmlessly.

  But the sharp blade sliced through Poole’s throat, opening a gash that pumped blood out like a fountain. The knife went on to bury itself in the wooden wall, creating a humming sound as it vibrated. Michael Poole’s legs folded under him and he made no more sound than an after-death gurgling as he fell.

  Going across the floor to the black woman, Vejar discovered that she, too, had died. Picking up his gunbelt and buckling it on, he rushed out of the room. The horse Michael Poole had ridden was hitched to a rail outside. Vejar untied the reins. He was pulling the horse around ready to mount, when Ben Poole came riding in at a gallop.

  Aware that Ben must have been close enough to hear the two shots his brother had fired. Vejar accepted that his intended ride to Yancey would have to be delayed. Leaping over the rail of the veranda he backed up against the door of the house. Drawing his gun, he reached behind him to find the door was securely locked. Ben Poole expertly dismounted on the move and dropped out of sight behind a trough opposite to the door. Vejar had no cover. He backheeled the door hard, but it was sturdy and he made no impression on it.

  Gun in hand, Vejar waited for Ben Poole to raise his eyes above the rim of the trough. When he did so, Poole would have the immense advantage of being a tiny, difficult target, whereas Vejar was fully exposed. But Ben, knowing that he held the winning hand, played a waiting game that tightened Vejar’s nerves to the extent that he could detect a tic fluttering at the right side of his face.

  It was a situation that Vejar had concluded could not be any more desperate, when there was the crack of a rifle and the doorjamb beside his head was shredded by a bullet. Lew Poole had to be somewhere on the scene, but Vejar had no idea from which direction the bullet had come. What he did know was that he wouldn’t survive if he stayed where he was for one more moment.

  The top of Ben’s head and his gun hand rose from behind the trough. Blasting away at Ben with his .45, Vejar ran for the horse he had abandoned a short while before. Running bent double to make himself less of a target, he saw Ben Poole duck down behind the trough. The rifle fired again and a bullet clipped the heel of Vejar’s boot, the force knocking his leg from under him. Another bullet whined past him as he fell. Then he was up on his feet and running again. Aware now that Lew Poole was shooting at him from a feed barn that stood at a forty-five degree angle to his left, Vejar used the horse as a shield while he hastily untied the reins from the rail.

  But Ben came up from behind the trough to open up at him with his handgun. A single shot in reply from Vejar and the huge Poole brother took cover quickly. Swinging the horse around, Vejar mounted on the side away from Lew Poole. Keeping low in the saddle, bent forward on the stirrups, he set off at a gallop with reins at the right tension.

  Ben Poole loomed up in front of him, confident that he could bide his time and pick off Vejar easily from close range. A rifle bullet from his brother changed his mind. Passing close to Vejar, the bullet continued on its way to whip the Stetson off Ben’s head. A startled Ben dropped rapidly back under cover.

  Unable to believe his good fortune, Vejar spurred the horse. He had passed Ben and the house and was within a few yards of being out of the range of Lew Poole’s rifle, when the horse gave what sounded like a cross between a deep cough and a low scream. Its pace faltered, but only momentarily. Relieved as his mount recovered its gallop, Vejar was shocked as the horse suddenly folded underneath him.

  Catapulted over the animal’s head, he sailed through the air, just managing to tuck his head into his shoulders before he hit the ground with an impact that jarred every bone in his body.

  *

  Looking out on to the street in the hope of catching sight of the still absent Fallon Vejar, Raya was surprised to see Carmel dismounting outside of the church, and reaching to pull her rifle from its scabbard. Raya opened the door and called to her, ‘Come in quickly, Carmel. You won’t need a rifle. We are just women and children in here.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Carmel asked, as she hurried into the church, bringing her rifle with her despite what Raya had said. They were in the foyer, from where the door into the main part of the church was open and the chattering gathering of women and children could be both seen and heard.

  ‘You’ve arrived at the wrong time, Carmel,’ Raya said worriedly. ‘A little later and you could have been in real danger out on the street. A gang of bank robbers is heading into town right now.’

  ‘Really,’ Carmel exclaimed mildly, puzzling Raya with her coolness in so dire a situation. Then she enquired conversationally. ‘Is your friend here, Raya?’

  ‘Mary? She’s in the church.’

  ‘Would you mind asking her to come here?’ Carmel enquired.

  ‘Of course,’ a mystified Raya said, as she went off into the church.

  When she returned with Mary Alcott at her side, Carmel greeted the other girl with a quick smile, then nodded at the door Raya had left open. ‘Please close that door, Raya.’

  Obeying, a frowning Raya came back to question Carmel. ‘I don’t understand, Carmel.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Raya, but my name is not Carmel Morrow.’

  ‘Then what should I call you?’ a bewildered Raya asked.

  ‘If you want to call me anything after I’ve said what I have to say,’ answered the woman, who in the past few minutes had turned into a somehow frightening stranger to Raya, ‘Gloria will do. Please believe me when I say that I really enjoyed our short friendship, Raya. I am one of the outlaw band about to rob the bank here at Yancey. Until my friends are ready to leave town, I have to hold you and Mary here as hostages.’

  Understanding came suddenly to Raya. ‘It’s Fallon Vejar, isn’t it? You believe that Fallon won’t take any action while you are holding me.’

  ‘I am sure that he won’t risk you being harmed, Raya.’

  ‘But why Mary?’ Raya noticed that Gloria’s dark complexion had paled at this question. That made her terribly afraid for Mary.

  Turning to walk away to the door of the church, Gloria didn’t answer. Pushing the door ajar, she swiftly beckoned Raya to her side and asked, ‘Who is that important looking hombre going into that place where you and me had tea?’

  ‘That’s Walter Randall, Yancey’s mayor.’

  ‘Go back over and stand where you were,’ Gloria ordered.

  Raya meekly did as she was told.

  With their horses at walking pace, they rode into town three abreast. Klugg was in the middle, and he and his two outlaw companions were vigilant. Their eyes continually flicked from left to right, checking out the buildings on either side of them as they moved up the street.

  ‘Quiet,’ Mitchell Staley remarked unnecessarily.

  ‘Don’t let that fool you,’ Jack advised.

  ‘Quit talking and keep watching,’ Ken Klugg snapped at them. Then he relaxed a little and pointed up the street. ‘Everything’s real purty, boys. There’s Gloria up at the church door.’

  Continuing at the same steady rate, they reached the church where Gloria Malone now stood waiting inside the partly open door.

  ‘You have the girl, Gloria?’

  ‘Yes, she and the other girl are here with me.’

  ‘Vejar?’ Klugg asked in a tight voice.

  ‘I haven’t seen him,’ Gloria said. She nodded her head at the Chinese teashop across the street. ‘The town’s head honcho is in that place. His name is Randall.’

  Without a
nother word, Klugg pulled on the reins and headed across the street. His two gang members followed loyally. When Klugg dismounted, so did they. All three stepped up on to the boardwalk together. As Klugg drew his Colt from its holster in preparation for entering the teashop, Jack and Staley took up positions, one each side of the door. Rifles held obliquely at the ready in front of them, they kept watch.

  The gang leader opened the door, stepped inside, closed the door behind him and waited for a moment, listening. Hearing a low murmur of voices coming from behind a closed door, he walked over stealthily. Pulling back his right leg, he kicked the door open so violently that it shattered. Framed in the doorway, he covered those in the room with the gun held at his hip. A Chinese man and a woman stood nearest to him, alarm on their faces. Looking shocked at the dramatic entrance were four men who were standing round a bed. A man lay propped up on the bed, his upper body swathed in bandages.

  ‘Ken Klugg,’ the injured man weakly identified the intruder.

  Ignoring this, Klugg asked, ‘Where’s Vejar?’

  When no answer was forthcoming, Klugg grinned and said, ‘That’s the way Vejar likes to play his hand.’ Then he glared at the four men before asking, ‘Which one of you is Randall?’

  ‘I am Walter Randall,’ responded a man with a hawked-nosed, lean face and a body that had run to fat. He struck an arrogant pose with both thumbs hooked into the small pockets of his vest.

  ‘Well hear me, Randall, and hear me real good,’ Klugg said. ‘Tell Vejar we’re holding Raya Kennedy over at the church—’

  ‘Good God!’ Randall exclaimed as realization hit him. ‘That woman we sent to the church.’

  ‘I do the talking, Randall, and you do the listening,’ Klugg said menacingly. ‘Tell Vejar what I’m telling you. Our business in your town will be over quickly unless someone tries to interfere. If that happens, then the girl will die. That’s a promise, Randall. But I don’t hold with unnecessary killing, so let Vejar know that he can find me waiting for him outside the church. Tell him that we can do a deal so that nobody gets hurt.’ He walked over to the bed and looked down at the man on it. ‘I guess that you’re George Harker.’

  ‘You guess right.’

  ‘Hopefully we’ll meet again one day, when you are well enough to strap on your gun.’

  ‘I’d like that, Klugg,’ Harker agreed, his voice fading from weakness. ‘But I sure as hell believe that Fallon Vejar will rob me of that pleasure.’

  Dismissing this with a derisive, mirthless chuckle, Klugg brought his attention back to Randall. ‘I’m leaving you all now, but be warned, Randall. If any one of you as much as pokes his nose out into the street, then he will die where he stands.’

  ‘No one will give you any trouble if you will just release the girl,’ Randall pleaded.

  ‘You ain’t in no position to bargain, Randall,’ Klugg snarled. ‘Remember, you and Vejar have been warned.’

  With that, Klugg backed out of the room. Silence prevailed until the street door closed noisily behind him.

  Badly shaken, Vejar lay on his side where he had hit the ground. Close to him he heard the last breath leave the horse in a prolonged gasp. With the spinning in his head slowing so that he was able to grasp something of what was going on around him, he saw Ben Poole approaching him slowly and cautiously, a six-gun aimed at him unwaveringly.

  Reaching under himself, Vejar discovered thankfully that his own .45 had not been jolted from its holster when he had been thrown from the horse. Keeping his movements to a minimum, he drew the gun and tucked it in close to his chest. Then he played dead, hoping the moronic Ben would lack the good sense to put a bullet in him before coming too close.

  ‘Vejar?’ Ben had stopped to call questioningly.

  Lying absolutely still, Vejar continued to feign what could be construed either as unconsciousness or death. It was a perilous ploy. Should Ben Poole decide it was the former, then he would put a bullet into Vejar before taking a risk in coming closer. Even if undecided as to Vejar’s state, it would be logical to take the same precaution.

  But Ben was a thug, not a thinker. Waiting a little while longer for a response from Vejar, he came on to stand over him. Hearing the click as Poole thumbed back the hammer of his Colt, Vejar knew the time had come. Opening his eyes, he fired from where he held his .45 in close to his body. With Vejar deprived of the opportunity to take aim, his bullet hit Poole in the stomach. Going backwards for some distance without his feet touching the ground, Ben crashed down onto his back, shrieking loudly as the sheer agony of a stomach wound kicked in. His six-gun flew out of his hand, firing a shot harmlessly when it hit the ground.

  Knowing that Lew Poole would have by now moved in closer, Vejar sprang up and ran to crouch behind a water butt. The injured Ben was writhing on the floor, bending and straightening his legs in a vain attempt at easing the excruciating pain of his wound. His screaming was harrowing to hear, and Vejar felt sorry for the stricken man.

  A flurry of movement caught his eye as Lew Poole ran towards cover provided by a corner of the house. Vejar had no time to get off a shot. Ben’s horrific screaming went on. In between screams, he cried out, ‘Help me, Lew. Please help stop the pain.’

  There was no response from Lew Poole, and the injured man’s screams continued to rip through the air. The need to ride into Yancey had Vejar racking his brain to come up with a way of breaking the deadlock. The principal factor against him was that Lew had a rifle. Were it simply an equal contest limited to sidearms, then it would be easier for him to find a solution.

  Lew Poole called his name. ‘Vejar.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We have to help Ben.’

  ‘You have to help Ben,’ Vejar replied. ‘He’s your brother, Lew.’

  Ben’s distress had become even more disturbing now, and he was sobbing as he cried out for someone to help him.

  His brother shouted, ‘In the name of all that’s holy, Vejar, we can’t leave a man to suffer in this way. Where is Michael?’

  ‘In the house, dead,’ Vejar answered bluntly.

  A prolonged silence followed. When Lew Poole called out again it was in a conciliatory tone. ‘Listen to me, Vejar. What was between you and me is finished as far as I’m concerned. I’ve lost one brother today, and I don’t want to lose another.’

  ‘What do you suggest, Lew?’ Vejar enquired.

  ‘You holster your gun and I’ll throw out my rifle. We’ll do what we can for Ben, and then you’ll be free to ride out of here. I’m speaking the truth, Vejar. Here’s my rifle.’ Lew’s arm came out from behind the house to toss his rifle into the dust. ‘Now I’ll count to three and we’ll both step out with our hands up. I can’t say fairer than that.’

  Turning the proposition over in his mind, Vejar reminded himself that only a fool would trust a Poole. But the situation was an extraordinary one. He found Ben’s screaming difficult to bear. It was highly unlikely that Lew would try to double-cross him, as the eldest Poole brother could never beat him on the draw. The pressing situation in Yancey was the deciding factor in Vejar calling out that he agreed.

  ‘One … two … three …’ Lew Poole counted.

  They both stepped out, guns holstered and hands above their heads. Vejar said, ‘Lower your hands, Lew, and we’ll do what we can for your brother.’

  When they got to Ben, both of them knew that he was beyond help. The screaming had ebbed to become a low groaning, and the huge body was convulsing. Looking up at the older brother, Vejar advised, ‘All you can do for Ben is say adios, Lew.’

  Close to tears, Lew nodded. But then the unexpected happened. Ben Poole opened eyes that, though glazing over, were filled with hatred for Vejar. Amazingly for a man on the edge of death, Ben flung out a massive arm to grab Vejar by the ankle. Trying to free himself and remain upright, Vejar was aware that Lew Poole was going for his gun.

  Drawing his own .45, Vejar fired and Lew dropped with a bullet hole between his eyes, his own gun unfired. To get hi
s leg free, Vejar was ready to shoot Ben. But then the thick fingers holding his ankle relaxed, the heavy arm fell away from him. With nothing more than a slight rattling in his throat, Ben Poole died.

  Holstering his gun, Vejar sprinted to where Ben’s horse stood docilely with its head down. Vaulting up over the rear of the horse into the saddle, he reached for the reins to pull the horse round hard and set off at a gallop along the beaten track that led to Yancey.

  NINE

  With those around him protesting, George Harker struggled to sit upright on the bed and swing round to place both feet on the floor. In obvious pain and with his forehead beaded with sweat, he reached for his clothes. Refusing help, it took him a long time to get dressed. His first attempt at getting to his feet was a disaster. Randall rushed to his aid.

  ‘Leave me, Walter,’ Harker ordered, as he sat back down heavily on the bed.

  ‘You are his doctor, John,’ Randall pleaded with Thurston. ‘You must put a stop to this.’

  With a negative shake of his head, Thurston explained, ‘The sheriff is simply a patient I am treating for a gunshot wound, Walter, nothing more than that. I would not take it upon myself to tell a man what or what not to do.’

  ‘What I have to do is go across to the church to help Raya,’ Harker said resolutely.

  ‘We can’t permit you to even try such a thing,’ Henry Drake protested.

  ‘You had better not try to stop me, Henry,’ Harker warned. His eyes scanned the room. Then he said, ‘Pass me that broom, Wu.’

  Obediently, the Chinaman fetched the soft sweeping brush with a long handle that Harker had pointed at. He passed it to the sheriff, who turned it upside down and placed the head under his left armpit. Using the broom as a crutch, Harker eased himself upright off the bed and stood for a moment to allow his sense of balance to settle. Next, still supported by the broom but with both hands free, he picked up his gunbelt and buckled it on.