by John Glasby
Frisco said ominously: ‘Reckon there’ll be enough rope for you, Talbot, if that’s the way you want it.’
‘Now don’t let’s be like that, Frisco,’ said Foran smoothly. His gaze never once left Talbot’s face. ‘I’m sure that the sheriff isn’t so much of a fool that he doesn’t recognize his position in this matter. He’s paid to do as the law demands and if Fentry was here, he’d say the same thing.’ His tone hardened a shade. ‘Get the keys to the cells, Blackie. Talbot isn’t going to do anything.’
There was a sudden change in the atmosphere inside the tiny office. It was as if every man there recognized that this was the final showdown. Talbot remained without moving for a long moment, then his shoulders slumped. He made to move back towards the desk but he didn’t move quick enough for Frisco. Even as the sheriff steadied himself, the younger man’s bunched fist lashed out. Blood spurted from the lawman’s crushed nose as the blow connected. He staggered back with a bleating moan, put up a hand to his face, stared down incredulously at the wide smear of blood on the back of it.
Blackie had the keys by now. Swiftly, he moved towards the door at the rear of the office, opened it and went through. Foran said: ‘Frisco. Go and help Blackie get those men out. Pity but we’ll have to carry them out. I only hope they’re sufficiently conscious to know what’s going on — and why.’
Five minutes later, Enwell and Foster were carried out of the office and down the street. The rest of the Double Circle crew had already spilled out of the saloon and moved in a tightly-knit bunch behind them. Clutching his face, Talbot staggered after them.
The two men were taken to the big cottonwood that grew in the middle of the square. It was grey dawn now and there was activity in the street. Judge Fentry, who had not slept a wink that night, stood near his office door and watched the procession through veiled eyes. As they drew level with him, he turned deliberately, went inside the building and shut the door.
Out of the corner of his eye, Foran had noticed the other’s actions. He tightened his lips. I shouldn’t have allowed him to do that, he thought grimly. The day was coming soon when he would have to take care of the old fool. But now he was looking at the groups of townsfolk which had appeared on the boardwalks, attracted by the noise and activity. The more who came to watch, the better. By the time Carson and the others who were trying to stand in his way heard of this, they would realize he meant every word he said.
He strode to the head of his crew. ‘All right, men. Get a couple of riatas over that limb. We’ve been up all night and it’ll soon be sun-up.’
The ropes were brought and swung over the thick, out-jutting branch of the cottonwood. As the hempen rope struck Foster on the shoulder, he roused himself, seemed to realize what was happening, for his eyes widened in sudden shock, sweat standing out on his forehead, mouth twisting and working as if he was trying to say something.
Foran stepped forward. He stared down dispassionately into the other man’s face. ‘Reckon you’ve just got half a minute to say your prayers,’ he said grimly.
Frisco came around, tightened the knot in the noose, adjusted it around Foster’s neck. Foran jerked his head. ‘Get that other hombre up too,’ he ordered.
‘Now see here, Foran.’ Somehow, Ed Talbot had summoned up his courage. He came pushing his way forward, his face glistening with sweat just as Foster’s was. ‘You go through with this and you’ll have every rancher in the territory up against you.’
‘You really frighten me,’ Foran retorted. He nodded to Frisco. The gunslinger moved forward, his eyes venomous.
‘Reckon you ain’t learned your lesson yet, old man,’ he said thinly. Talbot made a move for his gun, but he was seconds slow. Frisco’s fist lashed out. The lawman’s gun was still half in its holster as the other hit him in the stomach, doubling him up with a sharp, explosive gasp of agony. Savagely, Frisco hit him again and again, driving him back against the railings; hard, punishing blows that left their mark on the unfortunate man. Desperately, futilely, Talbot attempted to fight back, his breath coming in hard, wheezing gasps. His vision was blurred by the blood which flowed into his eyes and against the superior speed and strength of the much younger man, he had no answer. Through the wavering haze of redness, he saw Frisco’s sneering face, saw the other brace himself for the final blow, tried weakly to shift his body in an effort to ride the force of it. But the gunhawk had a tight grip on his shirt with his left hand, setting him up for the kill. The hamlike fist caught him flush on the face, hurling him back against the wooden railings, which splintered under his weight, throwing him into the dust. Even as he lay there, struggling to draw air into his aching, tortured lungs. Frisco was not satisfied with the effects of his beating. Drawing back his foot, he kicked the fallen man viciously in the small of the back. Pain jarred redly through the sheriff’s body, lancing into his brain and, close behind it, came the blessed blackness of unconsciousness.
When he regained consciousness, his first impression was the awareness of pain. His body felt on fire and there was a sharp agony just above his kidneys. Weakly, he tried to lift himself, aware faintly of voices nearby. At first, they seemed far distant, so that he could not make out the words. Then, vaguely, he noticed the shadowy, blurred faces bending over him, opened his eyes wider.
‘Just lie still, Sheriff,’ said one of the voices. ‘We’ll soon have you fixed up.’
‘Those two men,’ he mumbled through swollen, bruised lips. ‘What — ‘ He shifted his gaze over Doc Fortune’s shoulder, winced involuntarily as he caught a fragmentary glimpse of the two shapes which still dangled at the ends of the riatas. ‘Guess it’s happened,’ he said dully. He pushed himself to his feet, holding on to the smashed railing for support, brushing off the doctor’s hand. ‘Ain’t no reason to hold any inquest now.’ He swallowed thickly. ‘My only concern is what Carson will say when he hears about this.’
‘Reckon you’ll soon be able to find out,’ Fortune said tightly. ‘He’s just riding into town now with a few of his men.’
Talbot’s shaggy brows drew across his battered features as he stared along the street into the brightening sunlight. There was a buggy coming slowly down the main street, and behind it, half a dozen men, kicking up the white dust from under their horses’ feet. He saw that the buggy was being driven by Atalanta Carson. Phil’s daughter.
‘She mustn’t see this,’ he mumbled thickly. Lurching forward, he tried to move towards the buggy, staggered and almost fell as the pain swept through his body and his legs turned to jelly. ‘Hold up there,’ Fortune said quietly. ‘It’s too late to do anything about it now. They’re here.’
Talbot saw the look of horror that was stamped on the girl’s face as she reined up hard. Phil Carson sat quite still for a moment beside his daughter, then got down stiffly and walked forward, his face suffused with a sudden anger. He threw a swift glance at the two bodies, then spun on Talbot. ‘Who did this?’ he grated harshly. ‘I came here to report that Foster and Enwell hadn’t showed up last night and I find — this.’ He jerked a thumb towards the big cottonwood.
‘Reckon you’ve got a right to feel angry, Phil,’ Talbot said hoarsely. He fingered his bruised, bloodied face. ‘I feel the same way, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop them.’
‘I asked you who it was.’
‘It was Witney Foran and some of his gunhawks,’ said Fortune thinly. ‘They brought your two boys in yesterday afternoon. They’d both been shot and Foran claimed they were caught rustling some of his beef. He forced the sheriff to lock them both up, then they held a mock trial in the saloon during the night, found them both guilty and strung them up at first light.’
For a moment, Carson said nothing. He was a big, solid man whose convictions were as cold as ice. His eyes grew dark, still and in their depths a deep-seated wrath grew swiftly, kindling into a flame. ‘And you all stood around and did nothing while he lynched two of my men.’
‘I think it might be best not to be too hasty, fath
er.’ It was Atalanta who spoke. She seemed the more composed of the two now. Slowly, she climbed down from the buggy, looped the reins over the pole. ‘From the look of the sheriff, I’d say he did everything he could to stop them.’
Carson stood quite still for a long moment, then he made a stiff gesture with his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Ed.’ He swung slowly, glancing at the townsfolk standing in little, silent groups on the boardwalks. ‘I guess it’s the town which is at fault.’ There was naked scorn in his voice. ‘Seems that Foran can come in here and ride roughshod over everybody and no one will lift a hand to stop him. Reckon it’s about time someone did.’
Fortune sighed. ‘You think that starting a range war is going to bring either of those men back, Phil?’
‘Maybe not. But it’ll let them rest easier.’
‘You don’t stand a chance against Foran’s hired killers and you know it.’ Fortune took the other by the arm. ‘This is just what he wants you to do. You’re the biggest of the ranchers around Benton. You don’t have any note with the bank so he can’t get at you that way. With the little men he doesn’t have any trouble running them out of the territory and stealing their land and cattle. With you, he’s got to try different tactics. That’s the reason he did this. He knows your first reaction will be to declare war on him and he’s ready for you.’
‘I’ve got thirty good men who’ll ride with me,’ declared Carson stubbornly.
‘Thirty men.’ Fortune nodded. ‘But how many of them can handle a gun like the killers he’s got on his payroll, with more gunslingers riding in to join him every day? Come over to the saloon, Phil, I want to talk to you.’ He turned to Talbot. ‘In the meantime, you’d better go and clean yourself up, Sheriff. I’ll come along in a little while and take a look at you.’
Fortune did not say anything more until he was seated at one of the tables in the saloon, with Phil Carson seated opposite him. Then he rummaged in his pockets, until he had brought out his pipe, thrusting the brown strands of tobacco into the bowl, firing it up and sucking the smoke deeply into his lungs. Over the smoke, he studied Carson. ‘Like I said out there, Phil. You don’t have a chance against Foran on your own. You rush into this thing with your eyes shut and driven only by anger, and he’ll cut you and your crew into little pieces.’
Phil Carson did not move. His face might have been carved out of stone for all the emotion that showed on it now. Then, lowering his gaze, he stared moodily at the glass of whiskey in front of him.
‘You’re surely wise enough to see that I’m talking sense, Phil. If only we had seen this coming a year ago things could have been very different. We could have stopped Foran and run him out of the territory before he had a chance to build up his strength. But now he’s too big for anyone to handle alone.’
‘And you’re saying that the others will come in with me and finish this thing?’ Carson shook his head savagely. ‘You know damn well they won’t. They’re too busy looking out for themselves.’
Fortune peered into the glowing bowl of his pipe, his face tight and serious. ‘They might be prepared to do that if we were to find the right man to lead them.’
‘To do that you’d need a man as fast and deadly with a gun as Frisco and the rest of that bunch of hired killers.’
‘I know. I’m thinking about Frank Condor. They say he used to be a frontier marshal one time — about the fastest gun there was in North Texas. Now if he could only be persuaded to come in with us, we could get the backing of the others, band together, and force a showdown with Foran.’
Carson gave a hard, brittle, laugh. ‘The Lord only knows where you got that idea from. I’ve been watchin’ Condor ever since he arrived in town. He’s a man with a past. He doesn’t belong here and this town means nothin’ to him. Could be he’s got as much reason to hate it as Foran has. They may even be birds of the same feather for all we know.’
‘Once a lawman, always a lawman,’ put in Fortune sagely. ‘At least it’s worth a try.’
‘No. I’ll handle this my own way.’ Carson finished his drink, pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘You said only one thing I’d agreed with and that was we ought to have run Foran out of the territory a year ago. It may be too late now, but by God, I’m goin’ to have a try. Those cattle he reckoned Foster and Enwell were runnin’ off were mine. They were bringin’ them back off Double Circle range. I know that for a fact because I gave them the chore to do.’
‘And they’re both dead now,’ Fortune muttered harshly. ‘And that’s what will happen if you send any more of your men after Foran. He’s got the gunhawks to do it.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said the rancher sombrely. He moved past the doctor, paused, glanced down. ‘Thanks for the drink, anyway, Doc.’
*
Slim Edmond had a smallish shack on the eastern edge of town with a wide view towards the distant hills. It sagged a little around the roof and was quite old like most other similar shacks on the outskirts of Benton. Many of these buildings were abandoned, had not been lived in for more than ten years, while others had been taken over, without vested titles, by the more independent citizens, made habitable where their occupants could remain unmolested and with the maximum of privacy. Slim rose and breakfasted late. It was a fine, still morning and already there was the promise of heat in the air. Stepping out into the yard, he threw a quick glance along the main street. It seemed peculiarly empty for that time of morning and he fell to wondering about this. Shortly after dawn, he had heard the sound of riders moving fast out of town, but he had thought nothing about it then. Now he began to consider it and when he saw the tall figure of Frank Condor walking quickly in his direction, he knew by the other’s demeanour that there was something wrong. Even though he had known the other since Condor had arrived in town, probably knew him more intimately than anyone else in Benton, there were facets to this dark-eyed man which he felt he would never know or understand. There was a deep current that ran within Frank Condor which could not be fathomed by any man. Perhaps some day, a woman might do it, but even that was highly conjectural.
‘Howdy, Frank,’ he said as the other opened the gate and walked into the yard. ‘You look like a man with all the worries of the world on his shoulders.’
Frank’s face had shed its customary good-humoured expression, had now become sober and perhaps a little dangerous. He leaned against the nearby post and built himself a smoke, rolling the tobacco with expert fingers. Once it was lit, he said tonelessly: ‘Two men were lynched this mornin’, Slim. Foran and his boys strung them up from the cottonwood.’
‘Two of Phil Carson’s boys?’ Slim’s face was expressionless.
‘That’s right. How’d you know?’
‘Reckon I’ve seen this comin’ for a long time. Phil’s spread is one of the biggest in the territory and he’s the one man that Foran can’t buy out. So he has to do things this way.’ He cocked an inquisitive eye at Condor. ‘You ain’t thinkin’ of sidin’ up with Phil, are you?’ He made it a hopeful question.
‘I’m not thinkin’ of sidin’ up with anybody. I’ve already had Judge Fentry to see me, askin’ me to side up with the ranchers and lead ’em against Foran.’
‘And you don’t cotton on to that idea?’
‘I’ve finished fightin’ other people’s battles for ‘em,’ Frank replied. ‘There comes a time when you reach a fork in the trail. Then you either go on in the old way, killin’ and waitin’ for the time when you bump into a man who’s a shade faster than you are, or you turn off the trail at that point, put it all behind you and hide yourself away in some place where nobody knows you.’
‘And that’s what you’re tryin’ to do here in Benton.’ Slim shook his grizzled head slowly. ‘You can’t do it, Frank. I guess I know you better than most. You won’t stand by and see a man like Foran take over the town and drive all of these honest folk off their land by the law of the sixgun. If you did just stand by and watch that happen, then I figure there’d have to be a damn goo
d reason.’
‘Could be there is,’ said Frank enigmatically. He did not look at the other as he spoke. ‘My guns are locked away in a drawer in my room. I don’t intend to fasten them on again.’
Slim was silent for a while. Presently, he said: ‘I figure it may not be any of my business, but if it’ll help to talk about it, I’m always ready to listen.’
Frank gave him a bright-sharp stare. ‘There’s nothin’ much to talk about, Slim. You’re imaginin’ too much.’
‘I can tell when a man is runnin’ away from somethin’ and nobody shucks their guns just like that. You’ve got somethin’ eating at you and if you don’t let it out, it’s goin’ to destroy you. Somethin’ happen down Texas way? Somethin’ you’ve been keepin’ inside you for so long that it’s made it impossible for you to see things straight?’ He eyed Frank shrewdly. ‘They say you were a good marshal once. Then you just threw up everythin’, rode out of town and kept on ridin’ over the hill. Don’t make sense to me.’
‘Quit riding me. Slim. I’m in no mood for it right now.’
‘I’m danged if I will,’ declared the oldster stubbornly. ‘I don’t like to see a good man go off on the wrong trail. What was it? You shoot an innocent man? It happens, even to the best lawman.’
A flicker of expression came to the other man’s face and lit the back of the dark eyes. He laid his glance on Slim and it was like the edge of a knife, sharp and ready to cut. Then, softly, he said: ‘He wasn’t innocent, Slim. He was once a good man, but he turned killer. He rode with Quantrill and he didn’t have his fill of killin’. So he had to team up with a bunch of outlaws. One day they rode into town and decided they’d hold up the bank. I called on him to throw down his gun and give himself up, but he drew first and I had to shoot him. There was no other way of stoppin’ him. If I hadn’t done it, he’d have ridden out and killed more innocent men before somebody else got him in the end.’