Six Guns at Solace

by John Davage

  ‘I tell a lie.’ Floyd corrected himself after a moment. ‘Harvey Garrod’s just headed out of the bank as I speak.’

  Floyd watched the half-stooped figure of the owner of Solace’s only hotel walk across the dust-covered street, clearly deep in thought and moving like a man with the troubles of the state on his shoulders.

  ‘Prob’ly been to see Arthur Makin about tonight’s council meetin’,’ Floyd said. ‘Prob’ly been makin’ some excuse not to go, if I know Harvey.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Tom said, finally abandoning his book and looking up.

  ‘You noticed how distracted Harvey’s been jus’ lately?’ Floyd said. ‘Like he’s got somethin’ on his mind. Somethin’ that might be keepin’ him from his sleep most nights. An’ whatever it is, it seems to be agein’ him fast. Not a well-lookin’ man, our Harvey. Reckon he should pay a visit to Doc McFee.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve noticed,’ he admitted.

  ‘Seems to be since his daughter went to live with relatives up north someplace,’ Floyd said. ‘An’ that was some time ago.’

  ‘Guess Harvey misses her, him bein’ a widower,’ Tom said.

  ‘A headstrong kinda girl, Becky Garrod,’ Floyd opined.

  Tom laughed. ‘She sure is. Chased about every young man in town afore she left. Me included. And for a while there . . . she and I . . . well never mind. Becky sure is the biggest flirt I ever knew.’

  ‘Got too much for Harvey to handle,’ Floyd agreed.

  ‘Not a bit like my Meg,’ Tom said.

  Floyd turned away from the window and grinned at him. ‘Your Meg!’ he said, chuckling. ‘Well, I guess that answers my question about whether or not you two youngsters were plannin’ on gettin’ married sometime soon, don’t it?’

  Tom blushed. ‘Well, it ain’t really a secret. Half the town seems to know it. We’re thinkin’ about a spring weddin’.’

  ‘You expectin’ her to live in that tumbledown shack of yours?’ Floyd wanted to know. ‘She won’t take kindly to that after she’s been livin’ all nice an’ comfortable with her aunt an’ uncle over the mercantile these past months.’

  ‘Nope, as a matter of fact I ain’t,’ Tom said. ‘Accordin’ to Doc McFee, Lily Carver’s place will be comin’ vacant soon. He reckons she ain’t got more’n six months afore she goes to meet her Maker. An’ I’ll be lookin’ to buy her house for Meg an’ me. I’ve had a quiet word with Mr Makin at the bank, an’ he reckons he’ll be able to help out with some kinda loan or mortgage.’

  ‘That right?’ Floyd said. ‘So you’ve been savin’ your money?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said, quietly. ‘Started soon after Meg came to live in Solace. Knew straightaway she was the girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.’ He glanced up, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you all this.’

  ‘Didn’t need to. Guessed most of it for myself,’ Floyd said.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Sure I did,’ Floyd answered.

  ‘Well, like I said, it ain’t no secret,’ Tom said. ‘Like it ain’t no secret she’s the prettiest girl this town’s likely to see.’

  ‘Changin’ the subject an’ speakin’ of money,’ Floyd said. ‘Ain’t the cash for the mine’s wages due at the bank this week?’

  ‘Arrived yesterday afternoon, when you were takin’ your nap,’ Tom told him. ‘Ready to go to the Marston office on Friday.’

  ‘Oh, that right?’ Floyd looked suitably embarrassed at his oversight.

  ‘It’s OK, Floyd. I watched it go into the bank,’ Tom reassured him. ‘Not that there’s ever been any trouble.’

  ‘Always a first time,’ Floyd said.

  The Marston silver mine lay twelve miles outside of the town’s limits. It wasn’t the biggest of silver mines, but it was Solace’s biggest employer of men, together with the fifty or so more who lived in a camp on the outskirts of the town and brought vital business to the local traders. And whilst Solace’s two saloons and three cafés were usually quiet by day, at night and at weekends they came alive, and especially after the mine’s monthly payday.

  Floyd moved away from the window, the strong midday sun beginning to hurt his eyes. ‘Think I’ll get myself a beer over at the Crazy Dog. You gonna join me?’

  ‘Nope,’ Tom said. ‘We’re needin’ more coffee. Think I’ll go get some.’

  ‘An’ I don’t need to guess where you’ll be gettin’ it,’ Floyd said, a twinkle in his eye.

  Chapter Six

  Chester Green’s mercantile was on the opposite side of Main Street, situated between the barber’s shop and the corn merchant’s. It was a medium-sized store, and in the happy position of having no competition, being the only mercantile in Solace. Chester Green and his wife, Carrie, owned and ran the store, more recently with the help of their niece, Meg, since the latter had come to live with them a year previously, a happy arrangement that suited all three of them. That hot, sultry afternoon, Meg was behind the counter, her clothes sticking to her, checking supplies when Tom entered.

  ‘Howdy, beautiful,’ he said, grinning. The aromatic smell of tobacco, coffee, spices and herbs filled his nose.

  She smiled at him. ‘Let me guess. You need more coffee. Never did know a pair like you and Sheriff Wickes for running out of coffee. What do you do, take baths in the stuff?’

  Tom looked sheepish. ‘Truth is, we ain’t run out. I jus’ needed an excuse to come an’ see my girl.’

  He vaulted over the counter and took her in his arms. ‘An’ is she beautiful? Yep!’

  ‘Shh!’ she chided him. ‘Uncle Chester’s upstairs taking his nap.’

  ‘An’ your aunt?’

  ‘Aunt Carrie’s at the church hall, helping to get things ready for tonight’s church social.’

  A lascivious grin spread across Tom’s face and he tightened his grip. ‘Then I think I’ll jus’ lock the door an’ . . .’

  ‘Tom Walsh, you’ll do no such thing!’ Meg said, pretending to be shocked and easing herself from his grasp.

  ‘Aw, now, don’t pretend you don’t like it when I squeeze you some,’ he chided.

  ‘Well, now you come to mention it, I reckon I do,’ she admitted, avoiding his eye. ‘But if you’ve got some time on your hands you can help me check these supplies we had delivered yesterday. Otherwise I’ll see you at the church social.’

  ‘Jus’ you be sure to keep every dance for me. No waltzin’ off with some other young buck.’

  Meg tossed her head, playfully. ‘Well, I’ll just have to see, won’t I?’ she said. She made a face. ‘At least Becky Garrod isn’t here any more to chase after every boy in town, including you! Reckon those relatives she’s gone to stay with will have their hands full keeping her out of trouble.’

  ‘Floyd an’ me were talkin’ about that earlier,’ Tom said. ‘We were sayin’ Mr Garrod looks as though he is missin’ her. Or that maybe somethin’ else was troublin’ him. We reckon he looks ill.’

  Meg nodded. ‘Uncle Chester was saying the same thing.’ She gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Anyway, I can’t stand here gossiping, I’ve things to do, seeing as you clearly aren’t going to help me check these supplies.’

  Tom sighed. ‘Guess I’ll have to be goin’ then.’ He kissed her firmly on the mouth, leaving her almost breathless, then vaulted back over the counter.

  ‘You don’t want any coffee to take back then?’ she said.

  ‘Coffee? Who said anythin’ about coffee? Pick you up at six.’ He winked as he went out of the door.

  A glow of pleasure spread through Meg’s body as she watched him stride across the street, arms swinging jauntily at his sides and a spring in his step. A year ago when she first came to live with her aunt and uncle, it would have seemed inconceivable that she could ever feel such happiness, such contentment.

  After Clay’s desperate leave-taking, followed by her father dying suddenly from a heart attack, after defying the doctor’s earlier predictions that he wouldn’t
last more than a few months after Clay went on the run, Meg had been at the lowest point of her life. The prospect of living alone and trying to scrape a living from the land had daunted her beyond description. And anyway, the place seemed to be haunted with her father’s presence, which only intensified the pain she was feeling each day.

  So when the letter from Solace arrived, reminding her that she had an alternative, she had been only too willing take up Uncle Chester’s offer to go and start a new life with him and her Aunt Carrie, living and working at the mercantile. Indeed, it had seemed – and had since proved to be – an answer to her prayers.

  After the decision had been made, things had moved quickly. Within a few days, the Adam’s Creek bank had taken the homestead in payment for Matthew Thornton’s outstanding mortgage, Meg had sold their few sticks of furniture to friends and neighbours, and she was boarding the first stage out of the town, ready with excited anticipation for the two-day journey north to Solace.

  Not everything was picture perfect. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep or when she had time on her hands, she thought about her brother, Clay. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, whether or not he missed her. They had been close right up until the time he’d gone on the run.

  But for the most part she immersed herself in the everyday business of helping her aunt and uncle to run the store, enjoying the social life of a small western town, and dreaming of a life married to the man she loved.

  Just one small shadow came between her and complete happiness with Tom. She hadn’t told him about Clay. As far as Tom knew, she was an only child, a fiction she had persuaded her aunt and uncle to go along with, against their better judgement.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Meg?’ her aunt had said. ‘Tom’s an understanding young man. He’s not the sort to hold a wayward brother against you.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll tell him at some point,’ she had replied. ‘Not just yet. Let me pick the right moment.’

  It was a moment that had yet to arrive.

  Chapter Seven

  At eleven-fifteen the next morning Harvey Garrod sat in a swivel chair behind a large walnut desk in his office downstairs in the Solace Palace hotel in Solace’s Main Street. He was trying to steady his nerves. He poured himself a third glass of whiskey from the bottle on his desk, his hand shaking. The chair he was sitting in creaked under his weight as, restlessly, he swung it to and fro, unable to concentrate on the accounts book in front of him. None of the columns seemed to add up right. Each time he totted them up, the figures seemed to blur in front of his eyes.

  For the umpteenth time he took the silver timepiece from his vest pocket and checked it. Sometime between ten and eleven had been the arrangement, so where was Eli Pike’s man?

  ‘He’ll be here,’ he told himself. ‘He has to be here!’ Yet at the same time, part of him hoped the man wouldn’t show up; that he wouldn’t have to go through with the plan.

  But where would that leave Becky? In the hands of the Pike Gang!

  He had learned of Becky’s fate ten days after the stagecoach hold-up. The aunt to whom his daughter had been sent had wired Harvey when Becky hadn’t arrived.

  Then he’d had the message from Eli Pike.

  It had come in the form of a scribbled note, shoved under his outside office door late one night four weeks after the kidnap. He had discovered it the following morning.

  IF YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER BACK, BE AT CROCKER’S PASS 6AM WEDNESDAY. MAYBE WE CAN DO A DEAL. TELL NOBODY, OR SHE’S DEAD MEAT.

  A horrified Harvey had complied – and learned the identity of the gang leader who was holding Becky. Eli Pike! It was Harvey’s worst nightmare come true.

  Pike, together with two of his cohorts as back-up, had arrived at Crocker’s Pass fifteen minutes after Harvey. A deal had been struck. A deal that would make a criminal out of Harvey but might – just might – save his daughter. Always assuming Eli Pike could be trusted.

  And even Harvey had to admit that that was a bold assumption.

  Now everything was ready. Earlier Harvey had unlocked the door at the rear of the hotel, leading into the passage outside his office. Later he would ‘confess’ to having forgotten to lock it the night before, should anyone question it. And he was sure the sheriff would question it. Floyd Wickes was no fool, and neither was that deputy of his. He would have to be convincing.

  Harvey’s office was well away from the lobby of the hotel, so there was no danger of the desk clerk hearing anything. It would be just bad luck if the clerk decided to pay him a visit to make some query during the next half hour or so. Harvey glanced back at the safe in the wall behind him. Earlier, he had removed most of the cash – $250 – and secured it in one of his desk drawers. It wasn’t important to the plan that Pike’s man got away with any money, only that he appeared to have done so, he told himself.

  It was then that he heard the familiar creak of the passage floorboards and knew that the time had come.

  He swallowed the rest of the glass of whiskey – and waited.

  ‘Just stay calm,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Think of Becky.’

  Seconds later, Garrod’s office door eased open and Nate Morgan stood, unsmiling, in the doorway. He wore his usual long brown riding duster, and after glancing around, pushed back the rim of his hat and stepped into the room. He moved unhurriedly across to the desk.

  Harvey stared at him, his mouth dry ‘You’re . . . you’re late.’

  Nate ignored this and nodded towards the safe.

  ‘Open it.’

  Harvey took a key from one of his desk drawers and heaved his corpulent form out of his chair. With his hands still shaking he managed to unlock the safe. Inside were a few dollar bills and a sheaf of documents tied with a ribbon, nothing else. He turned to face the other man.

  Nate smiled a crooked smile. ‘What’s the matter, Garrod? Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘It only has to look like you robbed me, that was the arrangement,’ Harvey said, trying to maintain a modicum of dignity but aware from the feeling in his gut that he was suddenly in urgent need of a privy. ‘Did . . . did you bring some rope to tie me?’ he asked, sitting back in his chair again.

  Nate shook his head. ‘Won’t need it,’ he said.

  And with that he removed his six-gun from its holster, and taking hold of it by the barrel, slugged Harvey across the head.

  Harvey collapsed unconscious, corkscrewing on to the floor in a heap.

  Nate stared at him for a moment, then smiled to himself.

  ‘Not ’xactly what you expected, was it, Garrod?’ he muttered, grinning.

  He decided to use the hotel owner’s own belt to tie his hands behind his back. Next he moved to the desk and began systematically opening drawers and tossing them and their contents on to the floor until he found the wad of cash Harvey had taken from the safe earlier.

  ‘Nice try, Garrod,’ he muttered. ‘Reckon I’m due a bonus.’

  Grinning to himself, he stuffed the banknotes into his shirt, snatched up the bottle of whiskey from the desk, glanced around for a final time, then left, leaving the office door open behind him.

  He walked swiftly to where his piebald gelding was waiting at the back of the hotel, mounted up and headed out of town.

  Minutes later, a groggy Harvey Garrod came to, his head throbbing like a jack hammer. He groaned and looked up at the ransacked desk, then saw the drawers scattered around him on the floor, including the drawer where the money had been.

  Empty.

  Harvey swore. He looked for the bottle of whiskey and found that it, too, had vanished. Not that he could have reached it with his hands tied behind his back.

  ‘Bastard!’ he said, before passing out again.

  Nate Morgan made a wide but clearly visible trail as he left Solace, heading towards the hills and travelling the best part of fifteen miles before turning off amongst a thick stand of pine trees, the fallen needles softening the sound of his horse’s hoofs.

  He rode at a stea
dy pace, calmly and with little thought beyond the trail his mount was laying for others to follow. It was exactly what Eli had told him to do.

  After taking several swigs of whiskey, he made sure he left signs of his passing before entering a narrow canyon with huge overhanging boulders. A mile further on, he turned off again. After this, he made certain his tracks were erased before taking his horse along a dry, stony riverbed, then seeking out a trail that led to a derelict trapper’s shack.

  Once there, and comforting himself with the stolen bottle of whiskey, he spent the next couple of hours counting the money he’d stolen from Harvey Garrod, well satisfied with his morning’s work. Now it was up to Eli and the others to make the most of his diversion. Nate had no doubts that they would.

  Chapter Eight

  It was shortly after midday before Louie Smart, the hotel desk clerk, got to wondering why he hadn’t seen Harvey that morning. Usually the manager came to see him with a list of instructions for the day. Worried, Louie decided to pay a visit to Harvey’s office.

  He entered the room just as the hotel owner, still on the floor with his hands strapped behind his back, seemed to be coming to.

  ‘Jeeze, Mr Garrod,’ the clerk said, hurrying to undo Harvey’s belt and free his hands. ‘What happened?’ Then he saw the open, empty safe. ‘Jeeze!’ he said again.

  A still semi-dazed Harvey heaved himself up into a sitting position with difficulty, touched the side of his head and stared at the blood on his fingers. Then he threw up over the floor.

  ‘Guess I’ll get Doc McFee,’ Louie said, edging towards the door.

  ‘And the sheriff,’ Harvey said, weakly.

  After the clerk had gone, he tried to collect his thoughts. What the hell had happened? There had been nothing in the plan about hitting him over the head. He stared again at the empty safe, then at the scattered empty drawers, including the one in which he’d put the money. Nor about stealing any money. It was only supposed to appear as if a robbery had taken place. Harvey was supposed to back up the fiction that he’d had several hundred dollars in the safe.