Ballard and McCall 1

by Neil Hunter

  Temple spun away from the window and began to pace back and forth across the carpeted floor.

  To Temple the situation was worrying. He was a man who liked all things to go in his favor. If things began to move along the wrong road, Temple would not, like most men, make a fight. His way was to take what could be salvaged and go before he was pushed against a wall and forced to fight to keep his own. That was not Wade Temple’s way. Because if one got involved in a fight, there was only one outcome. One side would emerge victorious, the other would carry the burden of defeat. And defeat could mean death to the loser.

  In a single word lay the point to which all Temple’s fears and thoughts were channeled. Wade Temple was a men who loathed the thought of death with a deep-rooted revulsion. His life was the most precious thing he had and he intended to keep it for a long time. Therefore, he was ready to do anything to protect it. He would stop at nothing if it enabled him to go on existing. And here was the reason for Temple’ current concerns. He was now realizing the situation that was developing looked like the start of something liable to spread. Let the town see the effect of Peckard and his deputies, and they too might get the courage to fight for their freedom. Whatever the size of his crew, Temple knew it would be the finish of him in Gunner Creek. When that time came, Wade Temple would not be around to feel the fury of a town’s revenge. He had no desire to end up dangling from the end of a rope. Before that time came he would be long gone from this place.

  His decision made, Temple swung into feverish action.

  With his mind made up settled, he became his calm self again as he crossed his office and opened the door. He stepped across the corridor to the railing that edged it. He looked down into the saloon below, to where Rio sat at a table. With Rio was Dutch Canfield. Over at the bar were the two gunslingers who were with Dutch constantly, Hal Weston and Burt Nels.

  As he stared down at Rio’s slim back, Temple was reminded of the man’s actions earlier. Temple couldn’t make any sense out of Rio’s behavior. He couldn’t decide whether Rio’s move had been a desire to help, or just to hinder matters. Of late Rio had been a definite thorn in Temple’s side. So Temple made another decision. This one concerned Rio. With cold, deliberate intent Temple made the disposal of Rio one of the things to be done before he left Gunner Creek. And, Temple thought, he would do it himself. Now he leaned over the railing and called, ‘Dutch, come up to the office. Something I want to see you about.’

  Dutch glanced up at Temple, then across at Rio. The gunslinger ignored him. Dutch got up and headed for the stairs. Temple waited a few seconds then turned and went back into his office.

  They were in the Bonanza restaurant. Ernie Peckard placed his empty cup on the table and leaned back in his chair. He gazed at the faces of Ballard and McCall for a few moments. Then he gave a slow smile.

  ‘Hells fire, I never seen Temple as rattled as he was today,’ he said.

  McCall nodded. ‘He don’t like being pushed, that’s his trouble. He wants to be to be top of the heap all the time.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a sour face,’ said Ballard, ‘but Temple ain’t the sort to be told what he can’t do or have. We might have had a small victory today, but I wouldn’t count on it lasting too long. With a feller like Wade Temple it’s impossible to determine what he’ll do next.’

  Peckard said, ‘I agree with you. That’s what makes this mess hard to figure. Not knowing what’s going to happen.’

  ‘Well why not have some more coffee while you’re waiting,’ said Connie Ward. She had come up to the table without them hearing. In her hand she held a large coffee-pot.

  ‘That’s for me,’ McCall said.

  Connie filled his cup, then Ballard’s. Peckard declined more as he stood up.

  ‘I’ll make tracks back to the jail and see how our boarder is,’ he said. ‘You boys finish your coffee then join me. Connie.’

  Peckard put on his hat and left the restaurant.

  McCall leaned back in his chair and gave a contented sigh. He saw Connie watching him and grinned.

  ‘Where did you learn to make coffee like that?’ he asked.

  ‘Old family secret,’ Connie said. She gazed round the empty restaurant and shook her head. ‘Maybe I’m losing my touch. Place is usually full about this time.’

  ‘Blame us for that,’ Ballard said. ‘Since that fracas with Temple’s men the town’s been very quiet. I reckon we must have upset some folk.’

  ‘It’ll do them good,’ Connie said sharply. ‘It’s about time the people in this town realized that Wade Temple has had his way for too long. It makes me mad when two complete strangers have to help because a bunch of people are too frightened to fight for their own town.’

  McCall said, ‘That was some speech. Hey, you should do that more often, Connie, you look good when you’re angry.’

  ‘Can’t you ever be serious, Jess?’

  ‘Not for long,’ McCall admitted. ‘Only when I’m playing poker or kissing a pretty girl.’

  ‘If your kissing gets the same results as your poker, you’re going to be buried laughing your head off,’ Ballard said.

  ‘You two are just making fun of me,’ Connie said.

  McCall suddenly asked, ‘When did it rain here last?’

  ‘Six, seven months ago. Why?’

  McCall pointed out of the window. Off to the north they saw dark angry clouds rolling towards the town.

  ‘They look like storm clouds,’ Ballard remarked.

  ‘Maybe a good storm is what we want,’ said Connie. ‘Might cool off some of the hot tempered folk around here.’

  Ballard said, ‘We better get back on the job, Jess.’

  ‘Okay,’ McCall replied. He finished off his coffee and rose from his chair.

  ‘Watch out for yourselves,’ Connie called as the Texans headed for the door.

  ‘Sure thing,’ McCall said.

  Out on the boardwalk they stopped and took in the completely deserted street. No horses stood at the hitch rails. The place looked as though it had been deserted by people for a long time. It was quiet. Too quiet. An ominous, deadly silence that put Ballard and McCall on edge.

  Dropping his hand to the butt of his Colt McCall loosened it in its holster.

  ‘Maybe I’m just a mite nervous,’ he said, ‘but I get the feeling that we’ re sitting targets for anyone who cares to try.’

  Ballard’s face was turned away from the street. He said, ‘Hang on to that feeling, Jess. There are around half-a-dozen rifles kind of aimed this way right now.’

  As he spoke there came the sharp, spiteful crack of a rifle. The slug tore into the boardwalk at Ballard’s feet. Then a number of guns added their deadly sound to the echo of the first.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Dutch Canfield entered the office Temple was waiting with a couple of glasses of whisky.

  ‘Close the door, Dutch,’ Temple said.

  Dutch shut the door, then crossed the office and took the glass that Temple offered him.

  ‘Sit down,’ Temple said.

  Dutch sat down as Temple cleared his throat, then said, ‘Dutch, I’m getting out of here. Going a long way. I’d like you along. And I can make it worth your while.’

  Dutch drained his glass and wiped the ends of his mustache with the back of his hand.

  ‘Sounds promising,’ Dutch said. His eyes were fixed intently on Temple. ‘Who else you want to come along?’ he asked.

  ‘I was thinking about Nels and Weston. You think they’ll come? It means running out on the rest of the crew.’

  ‘Hell,’ Dutch laughed, ‘who gives a damn about them. If they get the wrong end of the stick it don’t mean a thing to me. That’s what Burt and Hal will tell you, too. Why, if they got a chance to make a buck they’d gun each other.’

  Temple smiled. He took Dutch’s glass and refilled it. Then he perched himself on the edge of his desk.

  ‘If we work this right we can live high, Dutch. The way things are going we
haven’t any future here in Gunner Creek.’

  ‘So we go while we still can, huh?’ Dutch finished.

  ‘Precisely.’

  Dutch got up from his chair and crossed to the window. He gazed out for a while, then turned, rubbing his jaw.

  ‘How do we do our vanishing trick without everybody noticing? I don’t reckon anyone’s just going to let us go without trying to stop us.’

  ‘I been thinking on that,’ Temple said. ‘If there was a gunfight going on, I don’ t think anyone would notice us riding out. And if we took off across the valley from behind the saloon, the chances of being spotted would be lessened even more.’

  ‘It’d work, alright,’ Dutch said. ‘But how about the fight?’

  Temple gave a quick smile. ‘Easy enough, Dutch. Since those two deputies gunned down Dugan the rest of the crew have been itching to get at them. The only thing stopping them is my say so. If I let them loose, I’ll guarantee all hell will break free.’

  Dutch asked, ‘When do we start?’

  ‘Right now,’ Temple said. ‘When you get downstairs you can tell the men that Ballard and McCall are all their very own. Peckard, too, if they want him. Then take Nels and get four good mounts from the livery stable. You’d better get food and water too. When it’s all ready, get round to the rear door of the saloon and pick up Weston and me.’

  ‘Okay,’ Dutch said. ‘You want Hal up here?’

  ‘Yes. He can give me a hand with the money.’

  As soon as Dutch had left the office Temple headed for the iron safe that stood behind his desk. Swiftly he worked the combination and swung open the heavy door. The interior of the safe was stacked with neat piles of banknotes. Almost two-hundred thousand dollars. The wealth of Gunner Creek. But Temple had no time to dwell on the methods he had used to get it at the moment. He rose and turned to his desk. From a bottom drawer he took two sets of saddlebags. Returning to the safe he began to pack the money into the pouches. When the last bundle of notes had been put away he strapped up the saddlebags and lifted them onto the desk.

  A sudden knock on the door sent him clawing for his gun. He checked himself and ran his hands through his hair. Temple found he was sweating heavily.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked, trying to sound calm.

  ‘It’s Weston,’ came the reply.

  ‘Come on in.’ Weston came in and closed the door. He waved an arm in the direction of the window.

  ‘You seen the sky?’ he asked.

  Temple looked out of the window, up at the dark clouds that were blotting out the normal blue of the sky.

  ‘Looks like we may be going to have some rain. I hope so. Be in our favor if it does. Tracks soon get washed away in a rainstorm. It would help us a lot.’

  ‘Dutch gave the crew your orders. They sure seem anxious to get at them Texans.’

  ‘Good. It looks like we’re going to make our move without anyone noticing.’

  Weston indicated the saddlebags on the desk. ‘Those what you want me to take down to Dutch?’

  Temple nodded. He handed one of the strapped up sets to Weston.

  ‘Get yourself down the rear stairs and wait for Dutch.’

  ‘What about you?’ Weston asked.

  Temple smiled. ‘I’ll be down as soon as I get a matter settled. We wait for the shooting to start, then we ride.’

  Weston nodded. He slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and opened the office door. As he went out a shadow fell across the floor from out in the corridor. Temple glanced up and saw Rio standing there, an odd expression on his lean face.

  ‘I want to see you,’ Rio said. He came into the office and shut the door with a crash.

  Temple forced himself to be calm as he faced Rio.

  ‘Sure, Rio. What is it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ Rio said. ‘I’m wondering what the hell is going on around here. I hear you let the crew loose on Peckard and his deputies.’

  ‘That’s right, Rio. Since you failed to get rid of Ballard I’m doing it my way.’

  Temple went across to the cabinet and poured two fresh glasses of whisky. He handed one to Rio. The gunman took it and stood watching Temple closely.

  ‘What are you trying to pull, Wade?’ he asked suddenly.

  For a moment Temple had to fight back a rising tide of panic. He took a long drink from his glass and allowed the whisky to settle the churning in his stomach.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Rio,’ he said calmly.

  Rio leaned against the edge of Temple’s desk. His lean face held an expression of contempt. He shook his head slowly, saying: ‘You can’t fool me. You’re pulling some stunt. And you’ve got Dutch, Nels, and Weston in on it. What is it? Are you lighting out?’

  Temple didn’t answer the questions. Because at that moment the thing he’d been hoping, almost praying for, happened. The explosive roar of many guns. It seemed that his plan was working. Sooner than he’d expected. But at the most opportune moment.

  At the sound of the gunfire Rio’s head jerked round towards the window. Temple used this moment to spring his trap. His right hand, moist with sweat, swept down for his gun. His clawing fingers curled around the butt and the .44 came up smoothly, the hammer going back with an oiled click.

  Rio’s head swung back at the sound. His mouth narrowed as he saw the black muzzle aimed at him.

  ‘Double crossing…’ Then his own hand released the whisky glass and streaked down to his holster.

  Wade Temple’s finger tightened on the trigger he was thinking, He’s still going to beat me! He’s going to fire first!

  Then the .44 bucked and roared. Flame lanced from the muzzle and Rio was slammed backwards by the impact of the slug. Temple fired again. Rio slid across the top of the desk, then fell out of sight behind it, overturning the chair as he dropped to the floor.

  Temple stood motionless for a moment. Then he heaved a great sigh and ran his hand across his eyes. He dropped his gun back in its holster. He picked up the remaining pair of saddlebags, put on his hat, and went out of the office. He closed the door behind him, then made his way along the corridor to the door that led to the rear stairs.

  He made his way swiftly to the bottom to where Dutch, Nels, and Weston were waiting on fresh mounts. Temple secured the saddlebags on the fourth horse, then mounted up.

  ‘Let’s ride,’ he said.

  The four moved out at a gallop, heading for the empty flats that lay beyond. town, and the range of hills that lay in the distance.

  Not one of them was aware that they had been observed as they rode off, by old Dicken Hodges, who had been sleeping off the effects of a big bottle-party. The old man had been awakened by the sound of their departure. Hodges stood watching the four riders as they headed across the wide flats. Then he turned and stood listening to the rattle of gunfire from the other side of the saloon.

  Before the splinters of wood ripped up by the first volley of shots had reached the boardwalk again McCall had given Ballard a shove.

  ‘Head for home,’ he yelled.

  Ballard took the advice and broke into a run, McCall close behind. They kept close up to the walls of the buildings, hoping to get some sort of cover from the shadows that lay there. Howling slugs followed their progress as they ran almost on all fours. Ballard felt a slug tug at the sleeve of his shirt.

  Then McCall lost his footing and fell. He came to his feet in time to see three men running out of an alley across the street. The three had guns in their hands, and they were using them.

  ‘Chet, watch it!’ McCall yelled.

  Ballard swung around and saw the three.

  As McCall drew his Colt he felt a slug tear into his left arm. He thumbed back the Colt’s hammer and let go a shot. Beside him, Ballard had added his own Colt. Between them the Texans set up a hail of lead that put the three gunslingers down before they were halfway across the street.

  Further down the street men came out of the King High. McCall saw them. He prodded Ballard and indicated th
e men.

  ‘Time to retreat,’ Ballard said.

  They reached the jail with lead snapping viciously around them. As they came up to the door it swung open and a rifle poked out and began to spit flame and smoke from its muzzle. Keeping low the Texans went in fast. They heard the door slam shut with a heavy crash.

  Ernie Peckard, rifle in his hand, leaned against the wall beside the door. He had a smile on his face when he said, ‘When I was a young’un we ran a lot faster than that when somebody shot at us.’

  McCall was ripping away his blood soaked sleeve.

  ‘I ain’t exactly built for runnin’. Sooner have me a good horse any day.’

  Outside the firing had died away. For a while it seemed that they were to have a brief respite.

  Ballard set himself the job of loading the guns while Peckard cleaned up McCall’s arm. The bullet had only left a flesh wound.

  ‘Well,’ McCall said, ‘it seems you were right about not knowing what to expect from Temple.’

  ‘I knew he’d make some move,’ Peckard said. ‘But this is one I didn’t expect.’

  Abruptly the light began to fade and darken. Beyond the office windows the empty street took on the desolate look of a ghost town. The sky above Gunner Creek was black from the storm clouds that had been moving that way most of the morning.

  The first raindrops fell and were sucked away by the parched, dry earth. But in the next few seconds the full power of the storm unleashed itself on the town. The rain came in solid, blinding sheets. Bouncing and drumming off the rooftops and gathering in ever widening pools in the streets and alleys.

  ‘Does it always rain like this around here?’ McCall asked.

  Peckard glanced up from the strip of cloth he was wrapping round McCall’s arm.

  ‘Hell, no,’ he said, ‘this is nothing but a heavy dew.’ McCall grinned and Ballard gave a deep chuckle. The steady hiss of the rain was suddenly shattered by the unmistakable boom of rifle fire.