Vermijo

  Jim and Carl had no choice but to bury their brother in such foul conditions.

  Most of the town was there. They were given no choice. Attendance was by order of Jim Lockhart and it wasn’t healthy to go against him. So the townsfolk came to the funeral and did their enforced duty.

  Eve stood in her widow’s black, composed right up until the point when the coffin thudded into the bottom of the grave, oblivious to the torrential downpour that was soaking her. She had the look of a bedraggled devil: hair plastered to her head and clothes that clung cold and flat against her skin.

  Father Gandle kept a concerned eye on her. He watched her face redden, as though she was holding everything back. Then suddenly she let go and burst out crying. He was the first to reach her and wrapped her in his arms and Eve buried her face against his shoulder.

  ‘There, there, child,’ he intoned and held her close.

  At the end, Jim had a few words to say, mostly swearing that he was going to make Luke Tyler pay for what he had done.

  ~*~

  It had just turned midnight and still the rain continued to fall.

  The inside of the church wasn’t well lit. Normally there were plenty of candles set on the altar, and a mix of lanterns and candles would hang from the walls. On this occasion only six tallow candles provided light. Whilst it wasn’t pitch dark it was dim. That way it didn’t draw any unwanted attention to itself. The door was barred from the inside and the window shutters were closed.

  Father Aloysius Gandle looked through the gloom at the townsfolk gathered within. He counted twenty-five in all, and knew every single one of them. They were the backbone of the town – from Bob Miller the bartender to Liam James the doctor; from Josiah Ripley the general store owner to Mike Grafton who ran the hotel and dining room. Together they made up some of the influential people in Vermijo.

  He wasn’t surprised at the numbers, only the time it had taken them to get together and do something about the situation in which they found themselves. And that was down to one woman: Ruby Tucker, seated at the very front of the congregation looking mighty pleased with herself. Her husband, Hiram, was sat next to her like a faithful puppy.

  Ace Lockhart’s wake was being held in the cantina, so the individuals who favored the Lockharts were there, leaving the churchgoers to attend the house of worship. It presented an opportunity for Ruby to talk to people without arousing any suspicions.

  What did surprise Gandle was that Eve Lockhart wasn’t amongst the congregation. He wondered if she wanted to distance herself from the hastily called meeting. It was something he could understand. They had buried her husband today so it might just have been very painful for her to get mixed up with this directly.

  He had plenty of time for Eve. He considered her to be a remarkable young woman. She was of a strong nature; having lived with a drunk and womanizer these last four years, she had to be. But now she was free of that burden, he wondered how she would cope from hereon in. He mentally admonished himself – he had to stop thinking about her – it wasn’t the time nor place.

  Beside James at the lectern, stood Sam Piggot. Every head was turned in the banker’s direction. He could feel the tension in the room as though it were a physical thing. Everyone was seated and kept their voices down to a low murmur as they waited on him to address them. He looked at them for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. He felt uncomfortable, but he wasn’t nervous. He knew these people and they trusted him with their money and their mortgages and the thousands of acres of range they owned between them. He looked after their investments and tonight, he was looking after their physical interests as well.

  ‘Thank you all for coming tonight, and in such foul weather,’ Piggot said smiling. ‘I aim to cut to the chase and not keep you good folks from your beds for too long.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Gandle said automatically.

  ‘The question is,’ Piggot continued, ‘what are we going to do about the way the Lockharts have been mistreating us all?’

  It was Jack Montana, the blacksmith, a hard-faced man in his late thirties, sitting near the back of the church, who spoke first. ‘Those fellers are the law…what can we do?’

  Beside him, Ripley said, ‘Some law. Face it, people, these men have us over a barrel and they know it.’

  Someone said, ‘What about going to the real law over in Tombstone?’

  ‘Sure, look where that got old Jase Muller. You recall?’ A few heads nodded in remembrance. ‘He openly told them Lockharts that he was gonna write and complain about them raisin’ their taxes again. The next thing he knew was that his business got burnt to the ground. An’ it don’t take no genius to know who done that.’

  Piggot said, ‘There was a lack of proof to say it was deliberately done.’

  ‘Oh come on, Sam,’ Montana snapped. ‘We all know who done it.’

  ‘Yeah, but proving it was a different matter back then.’

  ‘Muller tried and left town a couple of days after that with a broken jaw,’ Montana said, raising his voice in temper.

  Piggot held up his hand and said, ‘Look, it doesn’t do us any good to argue amongst ourselves. It won’t helping our current situation.’

  ‘But it does illustrate who we are up against,’ Ruby Tucker interrupted. ‘And just how far they are willing to go to protect their hides.’

  ‘You think these men are cowards?’ Piggot asked and shook his head. ‘Then you’re wrong. They’ll get their hands dirty if they need to. They’re not stupid.’

  ‘The reason why we are here,’ Father Gandle said, trying to calm things down, ‘is so we can try and come up with some…measures against them.’

  ‘Measures? Measures?’ echoed Ruby. ‘There’s a young man sitting in the jail across the way, and they’re fixing to hang him. They haven’t even given him a trial. For all we know that boy might be innocent. So what measures you talking about, Father?’

  ‘At this moment in time, Mrs. Tucker—’

  He wasn’t allowed to finish, as she spoke over him again, ‘You have no idea, do you?’ She twisted around in the pew and looked about her. ‘Do any of you?’

  Josiah Ripley spoke up, ‘We can’t run them out of town like they’re outlaws.’

  ‘Why not? They’re not far from it,’ rejoined Liam James. The man had a look of an ex-bare knuckle pugilist about him; a broken nose that was out of shape because it had been badly reset after breaking it in a fight, and the knuckles on his big hands were pronounced. At first glance you wouldn’t take him for either a doctor or undertaker. But for all that, including the fact that he stood well over six feet six, there was a certainly grace about him.

  ‘You heard what Jim Lockhart said today at the funeral,’ Ripley reminded them, bristling behind the massive mustache that hid his top lip. ‘That come hell or high water he was gonna make sure that drifter paid for killin’ his brother.’

  James said, ‘That could be grief talking.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t know for sure.’

  Ripley wagged his head. ‘That Jim Lockhart is a stone cold killer. In fact, Carl is as well. The pair of ’em are.’

  ‘Then what’s it to be?’ Ruby got to her feet. ‘Time has come to stop dilly-dallying. Time to clean out our house…just like it says in the Bible.’

  ‘Sit down, Ruby,’ said Gandle. ‘Fine words indeed, but who amongst us is willing to pick up at gun and turn on them?’ He was pleased with his own take on the Bible quote. ‘You?’

  ‘You want the truth? If it came to it I would.’

  James almost sneered. ‘You’re just a woman. Anything that needs to be done is man’s work.’

  ‘Well good luck with that, Mr. James, because that’s what this town seems to lack. Men who might stand up and face the Lockharts.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from some of the women in the congregation. The menfolk kept their heads down. Not wanting to get themselves involved.

  Sam Piggot felt as if the Sword of Damoc
les was poised over his head. There was a good reason why he didn’t want the townsfolk to pursue this route, and he was the only man in the church who knew it. He said, ‘We came here to find a solution as to how we are going to deal with the Lockharts, but all I’ve heard is that no one is willing to stand up against them. When we needed lawmen to clean up our town, we turned to them to handle matters.’

  ‘Because they are killers,’ Grafton opinioned.

  ‘Very possibly. I’ve been in the territory for a number of years now, and I think I know just how rough it can be.’

  ‘So you’re siding with the Lockharts. Is that what you’re telling us?’

  Piggot gave the hotelier a slight smile. ‘You’ll find that I am my own man. I don’t know how you operate your business, but you got to handle things just right. You know…keep the balance. That way you get to stay in business. And keep alive.’

  Grafton’s brown hair was messy and sprang out in all directions. It gave him the appearance of a madman but beneath that unkempt mop of hair there was an intelligent-looking face. He gave Piggot a slight smile in return, showing the powerful bank owner that he wasn’t intimidated, and said, ‘Perhaps we should get the county sheriff involved.’

  ‘Are you crazy, Mike?’

  ‘That useless sonofabitch?’ another man piped up. ‘You can forget him. Might as well load up your wagon and head east. Only shows his face come election time. I mean where is he now.’

  ‘Let’s not fall out here. We’re all on the same side,’ Piggot said.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter—’ Grafton spoke up

  Hiram Tucker interrupted Grafton. ‘Sure it makes a difference. It does to me.’ It was the first time Tucker had spoken. Even Ruby showed a trace of admiration.

  ‘This town is our home,’ Montana rallied behind the barber. He stood and looked around him, trying to come up with an idea. ‘We’re all decent folk here and because of the way the Lockharts are treating us we got to do something. Anything.’

  ‘The Lockharts are runnin’ wild,’ Tucker said. ‘They’ll block anythin’ we try to do.’

  ‘I agree with you there, Hiram.’ Ripley said. ‘They can’t continue. But damnit, how can we beat them at their own game? They have those hired guns on their side.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Grafton. ‘You’re all right.’ Then, as if a thought had suddenly come to him, he said, ‘Say, Sam, why don’t you represent us? Go talk to Jim Lockhart.’

  That sounded like a bomb going off in the room and the bank owner swayed on his heels. He hadn’t seen that coming.

  ‘Well…I…’ he stammered and was unable to keep the shock from his face.

  They looked across at each other, and even in the dim light their eyes locked. Piggot was flustered and tried hard not to show it. The old animosity between the men had risen to the surface again. Grafton had never forgiven Piggot becoming the owner of the First National over him.

  Grafton went on smoothly, ‘You wanna sit, Sam? You look like you’re gonna fall down.

  ‘No…I’m…fine…’

  Grafton’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Was it something I said?’

  With a great effort of will, Piggot straightened up. He played with his tie and brushed down his lapels before responding with, ‘I’ll handle it, if that’s what you want.’

  He eased back on the pew.

  ‘We want something done, Sam,’ Grafton said. ‘Appreciate you stepping up to the plate.’

  Piggot hated to eat crow but Grafton had outmaneuvered him and gave him no choice. ‘Fine,’ he said to placate him but even then he was thinking of how he was going to solve this matter. He struggled to contain his anger. ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

  Then suddenly everyone was talking at once, thanking the bank owner and congratulating each other.

  Mike Grafton stood with a shadow of a smile on his face and turned on his heels. He couldn’t see Piggot’s stupefied expression as he walked to the main door. Neither could Piggot see Grafton’s face break into a beaming smirk as he left.

  In the event it turned out that Piggot wasn’t required to make his play. Matters took a different turn and it resolved the problem for them all.

  Eight

  Frank Tyler came into Vermijo with the storm following him. Dark clouds spread across the sky and rain fell. It increased quickly, heavy drops pounding his back through the long weatherproof coat he was wearing. Bouncing off his sodden hat. By the time he was skirting the edge of town the downpour was full on, sheeting rain bouncing off rooftops. It cleared the streets, sending the townsfolk scurrying for cover.

  Frank spotted a livery close by and edged his horse across to it. The big doors stood partway open. When Frank dismounted and led his mule inside he saw straight off the place was deserted. Rain was already leaking in through a roof that needed repair.

  ‘Hell, son, looks like we picked the worst stable in town.’

  At any other time Frank might have abandoned the place and gone looking for something that would suit him better. That would have been if he’d had the strength. Right now the old, abandoned stable would have to do.

  ‘Mule, I promise next time I’ll do better.’

  He led the mule to one of the stalls and settled it. There was some straw in the stall and when Frank searched around he found a half-bag of oats that might not have been the freshest but would serve for now. His mule dipped its muzzle in the trough when he tipped in the oats.

  ‘Okay for some,’ Frank grumbled. His own stomach was grumbling through a lack of food.

  About to go and search for water Frank heard a sound from the far end of the stable. He slid his rifle from the scabbard before he moved along the dirt floor, looking to locate the sound.

  A figure materialized from the shadows at the far end of the building, plainly searching for whoever had come into the stable. When he saw Frank he paused, moving into a patch of light.

  Frank Tyler recognized him straight off.

  Ed Deville, one of Jim Lockhart’s posse men. A part-time deputy from the badge pinned to his wrinkled shirt. The man had a part-used bottle of liquor in one hand and a quirley in the other. It seemed he was taking a break from his duties. Hiding away in the deserted stable while having a drink with his smoke. He stared at Frank, a frown creasing his unshaven face as he studied him, not certain who he was looking at…until recognition set in after a few moments. He knew who Frank was then and it came to him as a shock.

  ‘You. We left you for dead.’

  ‘Next time make sure, boy, ’cause when you don’t it’s liable to come back and bite you in the ass.’

  ‘Damn you,’ Deville said angrily. ‘Hellfire, old man, I won’t make the same mistake a second time.’

  ‘You didn’t manage it with your buddies around you. What makes you figure you can do it on your ownsome? Where are they anyhow?’

  ‘Bastards are over to Benito’s cantina, holding a wake for Ace. I got the losin’ card and have to do the patrols tonight.’

  The admission plainly didn’t sit well with Deville.

  ‘So you’re going to put me down, huh?’ Frank said.

  ‘I can oblige iffen you want.’

  Tyler walked slowly but surely towards him saying, ‘Mighty big talk coming from a feller on his own…with no grown-ups to help him out.’

  ‘I’m warnin’ you, you cantankerous old coot!’

  ‘Son you had better watch that mouth of yours. You have no idea who you are talkin’ to. Now just back away and let me go about my business.’

  Deville threw his bottle aside. There was a nervous bravado in his voice when he responded said, ‘I’m putting you under arrest.’

  The very idea brought a smile from Frank. ‘You? Arresting me? Why? For bein’ alive?’

  Deville’s mind was whirling. What could he actually arrest the man for? He hadn’t broken any law. But he was determined to make a stand now that he had opened his mouth. He moved his right hand to his hip, and hooked a thumb in his belt
. That left his hand closer to the Colt strapped to his thigh. He wasn’t a fast-draw gunman so he needed every advantage he could get.

  Although Frank was trying to keep things light, he hadn’t failed to notice Deville’s movement and he became tense. He had no reason to believe the man would draw down on him but he wasn’t about to be so casual about it.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, son?’ Frank prompted. ‘What’re the charges?’

  Deville did not move. He remained stock still and kept his hand away from the pistol. He spent a minute in silence, thinking of how to respond. Frank Tyler simply waited and said nothing. Deville’s mouth was dry, like he had not had anything to drink for a day, and when he finally got some spittle going, he found he couldn’t speak.

  It was right at that moment when Frank instinctively knew it was all going to Hell in a handcart.

  Deville reached for his sidearm. In a swift move, and without thinking, Frank reversed the Winchester and drove it into Deville’s midsection. Winded, the deputy dropped his gun and fell to his knees. He looked up at Frank in surprise.

  ‘Goddamn it. You sneaky sonofabitch,’ he yelled.

  Then he was suddenly back on his feet, throwing a straight punch to Frank’s jaw. The older man hadn’t expected the maneuver and took the full force of the blow that rocked his head. He staggered back, lost his hat and dropped his rifle. Although it was a fierce punch, had Deville delivered a right hook instead of a jab, Frank knew his jaw would have been broken by now. Feller is strong, he thought.

  Both men were disarmed and Deville was confident that he could take the older and bigger man so advanced towards him. Frank shook his head to clear it. When Deville swung a haymaker, Frank easily avoided it, then another which he simply ducked away from.

  Frustrated, Deville said, ‘Stand still and fight.’

  ‘Then best improve your aim, feller.’

  Frank moved in and punched Deville in the midriff, then moved out of reach and waited. It wasn’t a particularly heavy blow but forceful enough to stop him in his tracks. Deville let out a kind of woof noise but quickly gathered himself, then charged Frank – head down. It was a foolish move. Anyone who knew anything about fist fighting would never leave themselves so exposed. A fighter who puts his head down can’t see where he’s going or what was coming his way. So for Frank it was an easy option and he sent a solid uppercut that came in low that caught Deville full in the mouth. It split his skin open and he tasted blood on his damaged lips.