Justice at Red River

by John Glasby

A blazing piece of timber fell from the roof, striking the ground only a few feet away and he yelled over his shoulder, ‘Get away from the buildings. They’re goin’ to cave in at any moment.’

  The men scattered as more burning debris fell. By now the barn and bunkhouse were virtually gutted and even as they watched, the walls collapsed inward, jetting sparks high into the air.

  *

  Frank Condor was in the small diner when a ranny from the grain store came into the room, looked about him anxiously for a moment, then hastened over to the table at the far side of the room, halting in front of Frank. The other glanced up from his food, chewed thoughtfully on a strip of bacon for a moment, then said softly, ‘Lookin’ for me?’

  ‘That’s right, Marshal. Thought you’d like to know that Frisco is in town. He’s over at the saloon right now, braggin’ it around that he aims to kill you if you’ve got the guts to step over there.’

  Frank nodded, went back to his meal. It was almost as if he hadn’t heard what the other had said. The man paused for a moment, nervously twisting his fingers together, then coughed, said: ‘Want me to tell him anythin’ Marshal?’

  Frank emptied his coffee cup, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Sure. Tell him I’ll be along to accommodate him in a few minutes. Reckon he can have another little while to stay alive.’ There was something in the quiet, level tones that sent a little shiver through the other. For a second, he stared down at the marshal, then turned sharply on his heel and hurried out.

  Frank ordered another cup of coffee, spooned sugar into it from the china bowl, drank it slowly. He was on the point of rising when someone else came into the room and glancing up sharply, he felt a moment’s surprise to see Atalanta Carson standing there. She came over to him, her face concerned.

  ‘You know that Frisco has just ridden in.’ She eyed him out of grave, grey eyes. ‘I saw his horse tethered outside the saloon.’

  ‘I know,’ he nodded, setting down the coffee cup. ‘I’ve just had word that he wants to meet me.’

  She saw his lips stretch very thin and tight as he got to his feet, hitched the gunbelt up around his waist. ‘You’re not going over there?’ There was a note of alarm in her voice.

  ‘I have to go,’ he replied firmly. ‘This is somethin’ between him and me, Atalanta.’ His voice took on a faintly rough edge. ‘I want you to stay here, where you’ll be safe. There may be some other Double Circle riders in town and if lead starts to fly, innocent people are likely to get in the way.’

  She wanted to say something more, to try to dissuade him from going, but the look of grim determination on his face was one which, she knew, would brook no argument, so she merely sighed, made a futile little gesture with her right hand and stood on one side as he made for the door.

  Outside in the street, Frank walked slowly along the dead centre of the road, his eyes seeming to see nothing, yet taking in everything with an unfocused glance. He walked with that unique look of grim confidence which seemed to set him apart from other men. He could sense that there were eyes on him as he walked past, observing him, maybe, knowing where he was headed, and why, but he gave no indication that he saw the onlookers. Glancing neither to right or left, he walked straight for the Fast Gun saloon, paused for a few moments, listening to the faint hum of conversation which came from inside, the occasional burst of raucous laughter.

  The exterior of the saloon consisted of the usual eight-foot high façade supported by four strong ironwood poles, a narrow veranda running all the way around the edge of the flat roof. The batwing doors were situated dead centre of the front of the building, with windows set on either side. As Frank paused, he noticed that there were faces pressed close to the panes of the windows, watching his every move, guessed that Frisco had posted a few of the men inside to watch for his coming. Maybe the other was not quite as confident as he had tried to sound.

  One of the faces suddenly withdrew. Inside the saloon, Clifford, a tall, sparse man with thin, greying hair, called over his shoulder. ‘Here he comes now.’ He moved away from the window as he spoke, back into the corner of the room where he figured he would be out of the line of fire if it came to gunplay.

  At the bar, Frisco tilted his hat back a little further on his head, but did not turn, content to watch the reflection of the door in the wide mirror along the back of the bar. The batwing doors swung open slowly, letting in a shaft of sunlight. Frank stood framed in the opening for a moment, holding one door in each hand. Then he let them go and stepped inside, the doors creaking shut at his back. He looked about him for a moment, then moved in slow, casual steps towards the bar.

  The barkeep, his face pasty and grey, threw a quick, speculative glance at Frisco, standing a few yards away, then sidled over in Frank’s direction.

  ‘What’ll it be, Marshal?’

  ‘Make it whiskey,’ Frank said quietly. ‘I’m on duty.’

  A man at one of the tables suddenly rose to his feet and moved away to the side of the room. Frank poured himself a drink from the bottle which the barkeep slid across to him, tossed it down in a single gulp.

  ‘I see you’re still totin’ that badge around on your shirt, Condor,’ said Frisco softly. He spoke from ten feet along the bar without turning his head.

  ‘Reckon if you’re to get a bullet, it had better be done legal,’ Frank said. He saw the abrupt stiffening of the other’s shoulders, saw the killer’s face change, his eyes clamping down into slits, his lips pursed. Then he forced himself to relax as though recognizing that Frank was deliberately trying to rile him, force him into action before he was good and ready.

  Frisco smiled. He shrugged his shoulders, still standing with his elbows hard on the bar. He held his glass between both hands. ‘You talk big, Marshal. Reckon you’re forgettin’ that you’re a little out of practice with those guns of yours. You may have been fast a couple of years ago, down in Texas, but you haven’t handled ’em since then. That’s sure goin’ to cost you your life.’

  ‘Seems to me you’re all set to kill me by talkin’.’

  For a moment there was no sound whatever in the saloon. Outside, a horse snickered near the tethering rail and in the distance, a dog howled thinly, the weird cry wailing on the breeze that stirred the dust in the street.

  Frisco turned slowly to face Frank. His narrow, uncompromising mouth was drawn out, flattened down. He shifted his weight slightly, spread both legs a little, now standing clear of the bar to give plenty of room to his gun arm.

  ‘You’ve just talked yourself into your own grave, Condor,’ he said ominously. ‘You’re not buskin’ any of the Double Circle riders now.’

  Frank set down his glass, turned slowly. There was the promise of death in his eyes as he faced the gunhawk. ‘If you reckon I’ve slowed with the gun, then this is your chance to find out, Frisco,’ he murmured. He was watching the other’s eyes and mouth, looking for the faint change that would come over the other’s face in the split second before he made his play. ‘We’ve put up with your kind in Benton too long now and—’

  ‘Condor!’ It was the barkeep who uttered the single word of warning. Somehow, Frisco had felt his killer’s courage ebbing away from him as he had faced up to Condor. He had never come up against a gunman like this before and he no longer felt so certain that he was faster than the man who faced him. Deciding that he needed an edge to make sure of killing Frank, he had diverted the other’s attention long enough to get it. His hand moved down with a blur of speed, taloned fingers clawing for the gunbutt in his belt. The gun was about two-thirds clear of the leather when there came a deafening explosion, a glare of blue-crimson from somewhere in front of him and the smashing impact of lead, driving deep within his chest, thrust him hard back against the bar. For a long moment he hung there, his right hand dropping, the gun barrel tilted downward at the floor. Then, his knees seemed to spring outward as if they had been kicked from behind and he jack-knifed backward, his head hitting the top of the counter with a sickening
thud. The gun fell from his fingers and clattered to the wooden floor beside him.

  The barkeep had seen nothing of Frank’s draw. All he had seen was the sudden eruption of black powder-smoke and the faint crimson lash of gunflame from the long barrel of the Colt. Now he leaned forward, peering over the top of the bar, eyes popping from his head as he stared at the body lying just below him.

  Slowly, a look of stupefied astonishment written all over his fleshy features, he looked up, said in a faintly choking tone: ‘Somebody better go for Doc Fortune.’

  ‘Won’t be no need for that,’ Frank said confidently, scarcely looking at the dead killer as he pouched the gun. ‘He’s dead, Better get the undertaker.’

  Moving back to the bar, he tilted the whiskey bottle with a steady hand, refilling his glass. Outside in the street, he heard the commotion as the echoes of that single shot rattled among the buildings. There came the sound of running feet on the boardwalk outside and a moment later, Talbot came in, his gun drawn. He looked stupidly at the figure sprawled near the bar, then put the gun away.

  ‘Hell,’ he breathed. ‘I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. This is sure goin’ to rock Foran back on his heels.’

  Frank nodded, glanced at the sheriff over the rim of his glass, pushed the bottle towards him. ‘Maybe so. But while he still has the Macey brothers on his payroll, he won’t back off. He’s risked everythin’ now. He can’t go back on what he set out to do.’

  Talbot grunted. ‘This ought to make the other ranchers sit up, though. With Frisco dead, it means the end of Foran’s right-hand gun. He relied on him to back up his play.’

  Two men came into the saloon, went over to the body, lifted it unceremoniously and carried it out, the doors swinging shut behind them. Frank finished his drink, then excused himself, went out into the street. As he stepped down from the boardwalk, he could make out Atalanta Carson standing on the far side, a hundred yards away. She ran towards him as he walked towards her. ‘Is he — ?’

  ‘Frisco’s dead,’ he told her soberly. ‘But knowing Foran, it won’t stop him from going ahead with his plans. He still has more than forty men, and the Maceys are still with him.’

  ‘I want you to ride back with me, Frank,’ she said suddenly. ‘That’s why I rode into town. One or two of the other ranchers gave Dad their promise to come over tonight with their men. He’s planning to ride against the Double Circle spread. I know that nothing I can say will make him change his mind and maybe it’s the only thing for him to do, but I’d feel easier in my mind if I knew you were riding with him.’

  Frank nodded. ‘I’ll come,’ he said simply. ‘With Frisco dead, I doubt it there’ll be any more trouble here in town. Besides, I think that one or two of the townsfolk have already decided that there’s got to be a change around here. Foran has been havin’ it all his own way for too long now. They’ve just woken up to the fact that this is their town and it’s up to them to say how it’s to be run.’

  ‘I’ve got the buckboard waiting.’ She held his arm as they walked together along the boardwalk, the loud echoes of their footsteps preceding them. As they drew level with the sheriff’s office, Talbot came hurrying across from the direction of the saloon. He looked from the girl to Frank, then back again with a faint expression of puzzlement on his face.

  ‘Atalanta came to tell me that some of the others are joinin’ Phil at his place tonight. They’re gettin’ ready to move against Foran. I figure I should ride with ’em.’

  ‘You want me to come along?’ Talbot asked. ‘I could possibly round up a handful of men from town. After that exhibition of gunplay in the saloon there I figure there are a few who’ll throw in their lot with us.’

  Frank shook his head. ‘Better keep them here in town just in case Foran should manage to slip past us and try to get Carron out of jail again.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Talbot promised. He climbed up on to the plankwalk as Frank helped the girl into the buckboard, then got up beside her, taking up the reins.

  The sun was already low, weltering towards the distant hills as they rode out of town, keeping to the main valley trail. Ahead of them, the hills were silent against the heavens and far to the north, the tall peaks of the mountains were touched with a pale crimson, glowing with splashes of colour that blended with the deep-shadowed green of the pines on the lower slopes. Off to the south, the Red glittered in the late afternoon sunlight and — fifteen minutes later — they clattered over a long plank bridge which had been thrown over the river.

  This was a wonderful country, Frank thought musingly. The pity was that men with the habits of wolves, men such as Foran and the Maceys, had to move in and spoil it. He thought of the coming night with a faint dampening of his spirits. A lot of good men were going to die just to make this territory safe for decent men and women to live in.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Atalanta said, after the silence had grown between them. ‘Somethin’ on your mind?’ She was watching him in the same manner as he had noticed earlier, out of extremely grave eyes.

  ‘I’m thinkin’ of Foran and how we can fight him without too many men gettin’ themselves killed,’ he told her soberly. ‘I guess I’ve lived with violence for too long, I can’t help thinkin’ this way.’

  Atalanta pursed her lips. ‘I think I can understand how you feel, Frank. I was only a little girl when we came here. My mother died shortly after we arrived in Benton. It was hard in those days, fighting the outlaws, even the Indians, and there were always the bad years when the rains never came and the crops failed. But we managed to survive and for a while it seemed that we had beaten most things, that there would be nothing else to trouble us. Then Foran came along and it all started up again.’ She sighed softly, leaned against him. ‘I often wonder if there will ever be an end to it.’

  ‘An end to what?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘To all of this shooting and burning and killing. Why do men have to act like animals?’

  ‘I guess it’s a law of nature,’ he replied. He felt a little out of his depth at the turn of the conversation. ‘There are always some men who want a little more than what they’ve got. They covet their neighbour’s land and cattle and when they can’t get them by fair means, they resort to the gun. It may be that one day, there’ll be peace here, but I don’t know when.’

  ‘Surely this territory is big enough for everybody to get as much as he needs?’

  ‘There are always some who want more than they need. I’ve seen them come and I’ve seen them go. Most of them end up in Boot Hill with only six feet of earth to their name.’

  The girl shivered as if a cold breeze had touched her, although the air was uncomfortably warm. She fell silent, engrossed in her own private thoughts as Frank brought the reins down hard on the rumps of the horses, urging them forward at a faster gait. The country around them now was flatter than before. They had left the rolling hills behind and less than five miles away lay the lush grass which marked the perimeter of her father’s spread.

  Six: Night of the Long Shadows

  There were a few motionless silhouettes of men standing in the shadows around the ranch house as they drove down the hill trail into the courtyard. Elsewhere, judging by the look of activity that was going on around the place, it was evident that Phil Carson had meant every word he had said about attacking Foran. Frank noticed there were plenty of new horses in the corral, indicating that some of the ranchers had responded to the call to join together to fight the Circle boys. He stretched his stiff legs as he climbed down from the buckboard, turned as Phil Carson came out of the shadows.

  ‘I’ll see that you get a horse if you’re joinin’ us, Frank,’ he said calmly. He stretched out an arm to embrace the scene. ‘We’re gettin’ ready to finish this chore. We’ve stood by long enough, watchin’ Foran ride in and grab all he wants. Reckon you can push men so far, but no further.’

  ‘Atalanta has told me what you intend to do,’ Frank nodded. ‘Could be tho
ugh that this is what Foran is wantin’ you to do, ride in to him so he can pick his own ground.’

  Carson drew heavily on his cigarette, then dropped the glowing butt and ground it into the dirt with his heel. ‘I’ve thought about that, Frank. Maybe there is some truth in it, but we’ll gain nothin’ by waiting for him to come to us. All the time, he’s growin’ stronger, bringing in killers like the Maceys from as far away as Texas, payin’ them blood money to kill innocent men and women, while we’re simply standin’ still. If you’ve got some other plan, I’m mighty willin’ to hear it though.’

  ‘No, I’ve no other plan. One thing in our favour though. Frisco’s dead.’

  Carson’s face mirrored his surprise. ‘Frisco dead,’ he repeated. ‘You sure about that? How’d it happen?’

  ‘He called me out in the saloon in Benton,’ Frank replied calmly. ‘He maybe figured he was faster than he really was.’

  ‘Hell,’ breathed the other. He whistled thinly through his teeth. ‘I wonder if Foran knows.’

  ‘I guess that Foran sent him into town in order to kill me. Frisco had no personal quarrel with me. He was just a gunslinger ready to kill anyone, so long as the price was right.’

  ‘And the Maceys?’

  ‘They’re no doubt still around. They’ll back Foran to the hilt.’

  ‘How can you be so sure of that? If they suddenly discover that they’re on the losin’ side, they’ll pull out faster ’n a bronc with a rattler on his tail.’

  Frank shook his head. ‘I don’t think they will. You see, they’ve both got a personal score to settle with me. I reckon they’ll stick around even if Foran pays ’em nothin’.’

  ‘So it’s like that.’ Carson gave a brief nod. Turning, he led the way into the house. ‘Better get a bite to eat before we ride out. It’s goin’ to be a mighty long night for all of us.’

  With the meal soon over, Frank made his way out into the yard again. There were several men there now, tightening the cinches under their horses’ bellies, or checking their rifles. Frank recognized men from some of the other outfits, reckoned there were perhaps thirty-five men or so riding with them. At least they would meet Foran’s gun crew on virtually equal terms. Whether that would be enough, he was not sure. These men were not professional killers as Foran’s men were and he was uncertain how the majority of them might react when the shooting started. Still, it was the only course open to them and if they managed to get the advantage of surprise on their side, it might swing the fight in their favour.