by Tony Masero
“My, my, my!” he chuckled, his eyes wide. “Ain’t that the damndest thing you ever saw,” he rotated the limb in admiration. “Even shaped like a living leg. Looky here, I’ll be able to step out on any hoe-down dance floor now.”
Keb smiled up at Ahlen and Annie, who stood watching him at the open cell door. “I sure appreciate this, Ahlen. You thank your pa for me, won’t you now? He’s obviously a real Christian gentleman.”
“I reckon you could put that thing on under your pants, get some lace up boots on your feet and no one would know you’re missing a pin,” observed Ahlen.
“That’s the truth. Your pa’s even padded the cup and put leather belt straps on for me. That is something else. Now you folks excuse me and I’ll try on this new piece of hardware, see how she works.”
“We’ll be outside, you give us a call when you’re mobile,” grinned Ahlen. “Come on, Annie. Best you not see this no-good itinerant with his pants down.”
The office was empty when Ahlen closed the dividing door and Annie asked where Len was.
“I guess he’s out seeing Charlie Bob, they seem to be getting on a whole lot better now.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “They have a lot of catching up to do, I guess.”
“Things have certainly improved for them. Len’s straightened himself out and the same goes for Charlie Bob. Ever since the trial, he’s seen what Tyrone and his like are really about.”
“They’ve both got a better role model now.” She said it with an admiring glance in his direction.
“Who me?” Ahlen asked in surprise. “Hell no! I hope they don’t go taking me for any kind of excuse for a mentor, could be their entire downfall.”
“We’ve all done better since you came back to town, Ahlen.”
Annie screamed as the window behind her flew in with a sudden blast of shattered glass followed by the boom of a shotgun. Ahlen dived forward and grabbed Annie, throwing them both to the floor.
Bullets began to crash through the street door and thin plank walls, chewing great holes in the woodwork and blowing shredded splinters into the room. Within seconds, dust and smoke filled the room as the barrage continued. Annie screamed again and clasped her hands over her ears against the terrible noise. Ahlen pulled his Colt and holding it ready, drew Annie over behind the cover of the heavy office desk.
“Hey!” called Keb from his cell. “What’s going on out there? There’s more metal flying through here than all these iron bars put together.”
“Hold tight, Keb,” shouted Ahlen. “I don’t know who it is but we’re under attack.”
“Well get me out of here,” answered Keb. “All I got to defend myself is this here guitar and that ain’t much help.”
“You got that derringer hidden inside it, don’t you?” Ahlen called back.
Mystified, Keb answered. “How in the hell d’you know about that?”
There was a sudden moment of deathly silence as the firing ceased, almost deafening after all the shooting.
“You still living, Ahlen?” called a voice from outside.
“That you, Deed?” Ahlen shouted back.
“Sure is,” answered Deed Langstrom. “I come here to get back my tin star and I aim to do it over your dead body, Ahlen Best.”
Ahlen wormed his way over to the shattered window frame and peeked out. He saw Deed with his two deputies armed with rifles standing in the street. Deed was patiently loading a double-barreled shotgun. The men on either side of him dwarfed Deed in size. They were heavy set, bulky fellows with mean intent marked on their faces.
“Ty put you up to this?” asked Ahlen.
“Wherever it came from ain’t going to make no difference to the outcome, partner,” said Deed, snapping the shotgun closed. “I got two good men with me out here and we’re ready to blast you to Kingdom Come.”
“I got a woman in here, Deed. You want to let her walk free?”
Deed pondered a moment. “That would be Annie Caldense, I presume. I got no trouble with her; she can walk free if she’s so minded. I guess Ty Fells would appreciate her company again once you’re dead and gone.”
Ahlen turned to Annie. “Go, girl, find Pres,” he said. “He’s somewhere walking the town. Surprised he ain’t here already.”
“Give me a gun,” said Annie grimly. “I’m not going anywhere. I said I’d treat you right and I meant it. It’s together or nothing.”
“Annie,” Ahlen said, shaking his head. “I want you safe.”
“And I just want you alive,” she answered with a determined set to her jaw.
Ahlen compressed his lips in a tight smile, finding it impossible not to grin at her attitude despite the situation. “There’s pistols in the desk drawer but go let Keb out of his cell. My guess is, he’ll be on our side now as it’s his neck as well as ours.”
Ahlen turned back to the window and called to the three outside. “Hold on there, fellows. I’m trying to convince her to step out.”
“Well we ain’t waiting on that,” said Deed and the shotgun bucked in his hand as he loosed off both barrels, demolishing the upper frame of the window above Ahlen’s head. “Pour it on, fellows!” Deed ordered the others. “Riddle that place ‘til there ain’t a plank in place.”
Ahlen was quickly down on the floorboards again as shots cracked through the thin walls of the jailhouse. He worked his way back to the cover of the desk again and met up with Keb and Annie as splinters shot in long strips from the woodwork by his cheek. Sliding open the desk drawer he took out a couple of six guns and handed one each to Keb and Annie.
“They’re loaded. Can you handle this, Annie?” he asked.
“I can shoot,” said Annie. “Might not hit anything but I can pull the trigger.”
Ahlen turned to Keb, “That’s one thing I don’t have to ask you, is it?”
Keb looked back at him with a raised eyebrow in query. “How’d you know about that derringer?” he asked.
Ahlen grinned. “You think I just got off the boat?”
“I know you already did that, I was there, remember? But why’d you leave the little rascal where it was? I could have pulled it on you any time.”
Ahlen shrugged. “Call it intuition. I reckon you’re not the kind to back shoot nobody, Mister Hawkins.”
Keb ducked as a shell winged past. “Let’s get these suckers sorted then we can talk on this some more later.”
“How’s the new leg?” asked Annie.
“Works a treat, ma’am. You just watch.”
Without hesitation, Keb got to his feet and fearlessly made his way, hop stepping through a hail of bullets to the front door.
“Wait!” cried Ahlen in alarm. “Where the hell you going?”
But Keb ignored him and threw open the door. Swinging down in a gunfighter crouch he fanned the hammer and fired off the whole cylinder without pause. Ahlen jumped up and followed him over, his Colt at the ready.
The three men lay in the street and only Deed was moving. He sat up slowly in the dust, his thigh covered in blood as, grimacing, he raised the shotgun and aimed, about to blast Keb through the doorway. Leaning long armed over Keb’s shoulder, Ahlen fired. The slug caught Deed high in the forehead, lifting off the top of his head in a plume of blood, grey matter and hair. The ex-sheriff flopped over backwards and, spreading his arms wide, he lay still.
“Change of hat size for that brother,” Keb observed coolly.
“You’re one crazy fellow, you know that?” said Ahlen.
“Take the fight to the enemy,” Keb explained blandly. “They teach you nothing in that army?”
Citizens began to appear as the gun battle was over and a gawping crowd developed, standing in a circle staring down at the three dead gunmen.
“Some of you boys clean up the street,” Ahlen ordered. “Get them bodies over to the undertakers.”
“Seems like Deed Langstrom won’t be standing for sheriff no more,” a voice called from the crowd.
“Mighty fine shooting, s
heriff,” another praised.
“Don’t thank me,” said Ahlen. “It was Keb Hawkins here that shot them fellows down. Neatest bit of gunplay I ever did see.”
“You going to make him deputy now, Ahlen?”
“Now there’s a thought,” said Ahlen, turning to Keb. “How’d you like to turn the tide, Keb? I could use another good man.”
Keb shook his head. “Me, no. I don’t think so. I’m too much of a freewheeler, sheriff. Besides, I’m incarcerated here. Wouldn’t do to give a prisoner a tin badge now, would it?”
A frantic young boy came bustling through the crowd and interrupted them. “Sheriff, sheriff!” he called in a thin voice, full of excitement. “You’d best come quick, they bushwhacked your man.”
“Pres!” gasped Ahlen, leaping down from the sidewalk. “Show me.” he ordered and followed the boy at the run.
The boy led him to one of the many side streets that ran down from the lake’s edge, not far as it happened from the spot where Charlie Bob had been falsely mistaken as a murderer. Lying under piled fishing nets, lay Pres. His body hanging to one side and exposing the savage cut in his neck that had almost severed his head.
Ahlen sunk to his knees and clasped Pres’ body to him, resting the bald head against his shoulder.
Keb was standing over him. “That’s bad,” he said. “They took him from behind by the look of that cut.”
“Only way they could have done it,” growled Ahlen grimly. “They’ll pay for this.”
“But ‘who’ is the question? Was it that ex-sheriff lying out there in the street, d’you think? Or was it one of Ty Fellow’s boys?”
“My guess is that blade wielder, Chad Barker, who backs up Tyrone,” said Ahlen, laying Pres down gently. “Ty is making his move. Deed was the start and this next. We’d better warn the others.”
“Who’s this ‘we’, we’re talking about?” asked Keb. “I never heard no one say, ‘we’ was doing anything. You, my friend. You is doing things. I’m just a civilian bystander.”
“Is that right?” Ahlen looked up at him. “Tell that to Ty Fells when they let him know who it was shot down Deed Langstrom and his men.”
“Umm,” muttered Keb, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Now that is a point I hadn’t considered.”
“Better think on it now.”
“Guess you’re right. We’d better get on it, before we all get our damned throats cut.”
Chapter Twelve
Pa Best was out at the corral with his ponies when Tyrone walked up swiftly behind him and pressed the barrel of his pistol into the back of the old man’s head.
“Speak soft,” whispered Tyrone. “Or you lose it.”
Slowly, Pa raised his hands. “What you want?” he asked.
“Who’s in the house?” Tyrone bored the gun barrel in a little deeper. “Tell it true.”
“Best you go find out for yourself,” answered Pa, apparently unfazed by the pistol.
“You want to die, old man?” growled Tyrone. “I ain’t messing around here.”
“We all die in the end, friend,” said Pa.
“Yeah but some sooner than others,” grated Tyrone and he swept back the pistol and struck Pa a blow across the back of the skull with his gun. Pa staggered a few paces forward and clutched at the corral bars. Tyrone hit him hard again and the old man dropped to the ground and lay still.
Tyrone turned to the other four, who crouched in position around the yard. Without speaking, Tyrone waved Ly and Manuel around to the front of the house as he, Chad Baker and Cole Sester moved up to the veranda.
“The old man?” whispered Chad.
“He ain’t going nowhere,” answered Tyrone as he stepped lightly up the veranda steps. His hand was reaching out for the back door handle when the door suddenly opened inwards and Len stood there a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.
“Pa –!” he started to call, then his eyes rounded as he saw Tyrone leering at him.
“Get inside” Tyrone ordered, thrusting the pistol in Len’s chest.
Without pause, Len threw the hot coffee in Tyrone’s face and slammed the door.
“Get out everybody!” Len shouted, running into the kitchen. “They’re here!”
Loup sat at the table, his cheeks full of apple pie and he looked up startled. Behind him, Ma turned quickly from the stove, a frying pan in hand.
Len ran on past them as Tyrone burst through the back door and fired a wild shot that chipped a hole in the doorframe as Len made it through safely into the passage beyond.
“Don’t you move, any of you!” Tyrone ordered loudly.
Loup, half out of his seat, sat down again and raised his hands. He gulped loudly as he swallowed the portion of pie he was chewing on.
“What are doing in my house?” snapped Ma angrily, ready to swing the frying pan.
“You do that lady and I’ll shoot you deader than a turkey at Christmas,” warned Tyrone, his face reddening already from the scalding coffee. Behind him Chad and Cole Sester followed, Chad drawing the long machete blade from its scabbard.
“Get the others,” Tyrone ordered his men, moving around and relieving Loup of his revolver. “You two stay quiet. Woman, put down that pan and sit here.” Tyrone pointed at the spare chair next to Loup at the kitchen table.
“Where’s my husband?” asked Ma. “What’ve you done to him?”
“He’s got no more than a lump on the head, so shut up and sit.”
Chad and Cole moved purposefully past him following Len into the house. Tyrone went over to a bucket of water beside the sink and, dabbing a cloth in, he held it against his burning cheek.
“Hell! I’ll make that boy pay for this,” he promised.
“You got no right,” Ma complained belligerently. “Coming in folk’s houses like that. No right at all.”
Fuming with anger at his raw face, Tyrone swung out and hit her across the side of the head with the barrel of his pistol, knocking the old woman off her chair.
“What the hell are you doing?” burst out Loup, hurrying to help the old lady up.
“Sit her down,” roared Tyrone. “And don’t say another word if you want to keep on living.”
Petey was playing in the front parlor when he heard the shot ring through the house; he got up from his toys and innocently made for the front door. Manuel was waiting for him, blocking the little boy’s escape with an ugly leer splitting his scarred face.
“ ‘Allo, little one. May I come in?”
Petey’s face crumpled and he backed away nervously.
“You jus’ get inside, thass right,” said Manuel pushing the child in front of him and heading towards the kitchen.
Chad Baker and Ly Bedstone burst through the kitchen door and ran for the stairs to the upper story.
“Anyone pass you out front?” asked Ly.
“Jus’ this kid,” answered Manuel.
“We got one on the loose,” said Ly as he bounded for the staircase.
“Don’ worry,” Manuel reassured. “Cole is waitin’ outside for anyone who makes a break.”
“We’ll go flush him out,” growled Chad as he bustled past, the menacing looking machete gleaming in his hand.
Len was in their front room upstairs, rushing to get Charlie Bob out of an upper window.
“Run for it, Charlie Bob,” he said. “Go fetch Uncle Ahlen, tell him what’s happening here.”
Charlie Bob had half his body over the window frame, balancing himself on the pitched roof of the porch.
“What about you, pa?” he asked.
“I’ll hold ‘em, until you’re clear. Now get on, we don’t have time.”
Len heard the pounding of boots on the stairway and he pushed Charlie Bob clear and turned to face the room door. The chair-back was in his hand before he even realized it and as the door swung open, Len threw the simple round-backed chair two-handed. The chair crashed against the doorway and Ly jumped back startled. He fell into Chad who was following fast behind and the two e
nded up in a cursing tussle in the narrow corridor outside the room.
Len made the most of the moment and grabbed for his gun belt hanging from the bedstead, drawing his .45 from the holster as he swung it up. Wishing he had obeyed Ahlen’s advice to wear a weapon at all times, he levered back the hammer and loosed off a quick random shot at the open door, which opened inwards and stood between him and the corridor. The sound was loud in the enclosed room and a splintered hole appeared in the door’s brittle paneling.
“You come in here and you get more of the same!” he shouted nervously, hoping the fear did not sound in his voice.
Ly kneeling behind the open door poked his gun around and fired blind into the room, his bullet exploding a hole in the wall close beside Len’s body.
Len fired rapidly in answer. Too rapidly. Two, three, four times. His bullets pattered the open door, shattering large holes from the thin panels. He was gratified to hear a scream from the corridor.
“You sidewinder!” Ly bellowed. “Here,” he said, turning to Chad, looming behind him. “Get these out of me.”
Chad looked at the five long and sharp splinters of wood sticking from Ly’s shoulder and grasping them in a meaty hand he jerked them free.
“Easy, you ape!” yelped Ly. “That hurts.”
“Man, you are one sissy girl,” growled Chad. “Get in there and winkle that fool out and stop complaining.”
“You get in there,” bitched Ly. “You’re bigger than me anyway.”
“Hell!” spat Chad, swinging up his machete and squeezing past Ly. “I swear, Ly, you got about as much sand as a gopher in a sailboat.”
Cornered in the gun smoke-misted room, Len could hear everything and he knew the big man was coming to get him. He held the revolver in both his shaking hands and pointed its wavering barrel at the doorway. As the big body of Chad rammed into the room, the blade of his machete raised high. Len fired his last bullet.
He had not expected to hit anything, his hands were shaking so much, but fortune was with him. It was hard to miss such a large advancing target in the small room.
A corona of blood splattered the wall behind Chad and he staggered back in surprise. Then, rebounding off the wall he took a few steps forward into the room, machete raised high and his glowering eyes fixed intently on Len.