Texas Iron

by Robert J. Randisi

  Sam fired, and the bullet struck the cat while it was in the air, jerked it as if it were a puppet on a string, and dropped it to the ground, dead.

  “You got it!” Jubal said, excitedly. “Just like Pa, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, feeling oddly proud of himself, “just like Pa.”

  Evan heard the shot and knew that he had no chance. He had just touched his gun when he felt the bullet punch him in the chest. His entire body went numb and he stood for a moment transfixed, wondering if Coffin would fire again.

  He didn’t have to.

  “Evan!” Serena screamed. She avoided her father’s grasp and ran out into the street, falling to her knees by Evan McCall.

  “Evan,” she said, lifting his head into her lap, but it was too late for any last words.

  Evan McCall was dead.

  She felt hands on her shoulder; her father was lifting her to her feet.

  “Come on, Serena,” Miller said, “come inside.”

  “All right,” the sheriff called, “some of you men lift the body and carry it to the undertaker’s.”

  Miller had gotten Serena up onto the boardwalk when she suddenly whirled around. She didn’t have to look for Coffin, he was still standing in the same spot.

  “You’re a dead man, Coffin!” she shouted. “When Sam McCall comes back you’re a dead man, I promise you that.”

  Coffin looked at Serena and although he spoke in a low voice, everyone heard what he said.

  “One of us is, I promise you that, ma’am.”

  Sam and Jubal waited for the brush to burn out and for the smoke to clear. It took nearly forty minutes for that, because there wasn’t much of a breeze to help it along.

  “All right,” Sam said, “let’s go in.”

  “I hope there’s not another cat in there,” Jubal said as they climbed up to the lair.

  “If there is,” Sam said, “the smoke killed it for sure.”

  As it turned out there were three more cats inside, all cubs. Apparently, they had been too young to escape and the smoke had killed them.

  “Damn,” Sam said when he saw them.

  “Couldn’t be helped, Sam,” Jubal said. “We didn’t know they was there.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, “yeah.”

  Jubal was carrying a makeshift torch they had fashioned from a branch they’d found nearby and now Sam lit it with a lucifer stick match, striking the match on his thumbnail.

  “Let’s look around,” he said.

  They each took one side of the lair, which was so low that they had to crouch down and, eventually, get down to their knees.

  “I don’t see anything…” Jubal complained.

  “Look for cracks in the wall,” Sam said, running one of his hands over the wall while he held the torch in the other.

  “Wait a minute,” Jubal said, “wait—bring that torch closer.”

  Sam turned and joined his brother, holding the torch as high as the ceiling would allow. The ceiling was so low they could feel the heat of the flames.

  Sam watched as Jubal tried to work his hand into a good sized crack.

  “There’s something here,” he said, “but I can’t seem to—wait, wait, I’ve got it—” He pulled something from the crack and said, “I’ve got it!”

  “Let’s look at it outside,” Sam said, and started backing out.

  When they got outside Sam dropped the torch and reached for the item in Jubal’s hand. It was some sort of a leather case, the kind his father used to keep letters in.

  “Open it,” Jubal said.

  Sam opened it. There were no letters inside, but there was one piece of paper which had begun to yellow around the edges. He took it out and saw the handwriting on it.

  “It’s Pa’s writing,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  Sam held the letter so Jubal could look at it and they both saw the word “Pa” signed at the bottom.

  “We’ve got it,” Jubal said, “but what’s it say?”

  “I’ll read it out loud,” Sam said, and proceeded to do so.

  After Sam read the letter they mounted up and headed back to town hell bent for leather. They wanted Evan to hear what was in this letter, and then they would all decide exactly what they were going to do about it.

  Part Four

  Siege

  Chapter Twenty

  When Sam and Jubal returned to Vengeance Creek they could feel that something had happened while they were gone. There were still people standing in groups along the street. When Sam and Jubal passed, people suspended their conversations to stare at them.

  “What the hell happened here while we were gone?” Jubal asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said, looking back at some of the people, “but I aim to find out. Come on. We’ll leave the horses in front of Dude’s store and find Evan.”

  They rode over to Dude Miller’s general store and tied their horses to a post. As they approached the store Sam suddenly stopped short.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “He closed early.” It was only three P.M., and Miller usually kept his store open at least another three hours.

  “You don’t suppose he got beat up again, do you?” Jubal asked.

  “We’d better check the house.”

  They remounted and rode to the house. When they dismounted they didn’t bother tying off their horses. They mounted the porch and Sam found that the door was unlocked. They exchanged glances and then hurried inside.

  They heard Serena crying as soon as they entered, and then saw her and Dude sitting on the sofa. Dude had his arm around Serena. Sam couldn’t see her face. If any of Burkett’s men had hurt her…

  “What’s going on?” Jubal asked. “What’s happening?”

  Both Miller and Serena turned to face them, and Sam was taken aback by the look of pure horror on Serena’s face.

  “Serena?” he said.

  All she could do was cover her open mouth with both hands and stare at him.

  Sam looked around and said, “Where’s Evan?”

  “Sam—” Dude Miller said, but he stopped short.

  “Dude, Serena?” Sam said. “Where is Evan?”

  Finally, Serena lowered her hands from her mouth and stood up.

  “Oh, Sam…” she said.

  “Serena?”

  “Sam, oh Sam,” she said, moving toward him slowly, “he’s dead.”

  “What?” Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard right—he hoped he had not heard her right. “What did you say?”

  “H-he’s dead,” Serena said again, “I still can’t believe it h-happened, but h-he’s dead, Evan’s dead…”

  “What happened, Serena?” Jubal demanded.

  “Tell us what happened,” Sam said, his face a mask of stone.

  Dude Miller rose and stood behind his daughter, his hands on her shoulders.

  “It was Coffin, Sam,” Miller said. “Coffin called him out into the street.”

  “And Evan went?” Sam said, in disbelief.

  “He’s dead?” Jubal asked.

  “He’s dead, boys,” Dude Miller said. “Coffin cut him down before Evan could even touch his gun.”

  “Evan was no gunman,” Sam said coldly, “he had no business facing Coffin.”

  “Sam…” Serena said.

  Jubal turned to bolt from the room and Sam grabbed him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going after Coffin!”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Then we’re going after him—”

  “You’re stayin’ right here, Jube,” Sam said.

  “Sam, he killed Evan!”

  “I know,” Sam said. “I know he did, and he’s gonna pay, but you’re stayin’ here.”

  “Like hell I am—” Jubal said, pulling free of Sam’s grasp. He touched his gun and said, “I’m gonna kill the son-of-a-bitch.”

  He started past Sam and Sam grabbed his arm, spun him around, and hit him. Serena gasped. As Jubal started to fall Sam
caught him, lifted him up and laid him on the sofa. Then he took Jubal’s gun from his holster and gave it to Dude Miller.

  “Don’t give it to him when he wakes up.”

  “Where are you going?” Miller asked.

  “I’m gonna give Coffin and Burkett what they want,”

  Sam said.

  “You’re going to let them kill you, too?”

  “I’m not Evan, Serena,” Sam said. “He didn’t belong out there. I do.”

  “Sam—” she said, reaching for his arm, but he was already on his way to the door.

  “Papa—” Her eyes and her voice beseeched her father to do something.

  “Honey,” he said, shaking his head, “it’s got to be this way.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then looked down at the unconscious Jubal. Lying there quietly like that, he looked like a little boy. She leaned over and touched his cheek tenderly.

  “And what if Coffin kills Sam?” she asked. “Does Jubal go after him next?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” Miller said, “I just don’t know.”

  True to his word, Coffin was not hard for Sam McCall to find. He was sitting in a wooden chair in front of the saloon. Standing alongside him was John Burkett and two or three Burkett men.

  Sam walked briskly toward the saloon, and Burkett and his men straightened up. Coffin continued to lounge in his chair, sitting with it tilted back against the wall.

  “Sam—” he said as Sam mounted the boardwalk, but he got no further. Sam hooked the front of the chair with his foot and pulled. Coffin went down on his back, the chair splintering beneath him. Sam quickly bent and removed Coffin’s gun from his holster, tucking it into his own belt.

  When he straightened Sam looked at John Burkett and his men and said, “Stand still and don’t interfere!”

  “You took his gun,” John Burkett said. “You can’t kill him in cold blood.”

  “I’ll kill the first man who touches a gun,” Sam said to them, and they all leaned away from him, holding their hands as far from their guns as possible.

  Coffin had struck his head when he’d fallen and had not yet fully regained his senses. Sam leaned over, grabbed him by the shirt front and hauled him to his feet. Holding him with one hand he began to strike him with the other, vicious forehand and backhand blows that jerked the man’s head right and left. Blood began to trickle from smashed lips, and then it flowed down over the man’s chin. Still Sam McCall held him by the shirt and struck him, back and forth, until finally he was too tired to continue. He turned Coffin around and shoved him out into the street, where he fell onto his back. He was conscious, but his eyes were glazed and the lower portion of his face was a mask of crimson.

  Sam went into the street after Coffin and hauled him to his feet again. Instinctively, Coffin covered up, fearful of more blows, but Sam was finished with him—for now.

  “Walk!” he said, pushing the man.

  “Where are you taking him?” John Burkett demanded.

  “To jail.”

  “For what?”

  “For killin’ my brother.”

  “It was a fair fight!” John Burkett called after them.

  “That the way you saw it, Coffin?” Sam asked as he continued to push the man toward the jail. People who were watching sidestepped to get out of their way.

  Coffin wiped his mouth on his sleeve and frowned down at the blood. He was only now beginning to understand what had happened.

  “Was it a fair fight, Coffin?” Sam demanded again.

  “He had a gun.”

  “Sure he had a gun, but he was no gunman and you knew it. Why’d you do it, Coffin?” He slammed his palm viciously into the man’s back, staggering him. “Why’d you do it? Did you get tired of waitin’ on me? Or did Burkett tell you to do it?”

  “The kid—” Coffin said through mashed lips.

  “What?”

  Coffin tried to speak more clearly, but his tongue had been cut against his teeth and was swelling up some.

  “The kid, he paid me.”

  “The kid? John Burkett?”

  “That’s right—”

  Sam turned quickly, just in time to see John Burkett aiming his gun at his back. He drew and fired, in fear for his life. In fear of dying the way Hickok had died. He fired by pure instinct, and the bullet sped straight and true across the street, striking John Burkett in the heart.

  Sam turned back to Coffin then, who was watchinghim. The man was grinning, and Sam could see the film of blood on the man’s teeth.

  “Oh, the old man’s not going to like that, Sam.” Coffin said. “You better give me my gun and let me kill you right now.”

  “Keep walkin’,” Sam said. “You’re gonna hang for killin’ my brother.”

  “Ha!” Coffin said. “Not in this town. Burkett owns the sheriff.”

  “There’s a federal marshal due here any day,” Sam said.

  “You’re gonna wait in a cell until he gets here, and then I’m gonna turn you over to him.”

  “The sheriff will never go along with it.”

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll kill him.”

  Coffin fell silent for a moment and then said over his shoulder, “You would, wouldn’t you? And what about Burkett? He won’t let me stay in jail.”

  “If he tries to get you out, I’ll kill him, too.”

  “All this killing,” Coffin said, “when the one you really want is me. Come on, Sam, give me my gun and let’s get it done.”

  Sam holstered his gun, spun Coffin around, and grabbed him by the shirt with both hands. He pulled Coffin real close to him so that he wouldn’t miss a word.

  “No gunplay for you, my friend,” he said evenly, coldly. “You’re not gonna get off that easy. I’m gonna watch you dance at the end of a rope, Coffin, kicking and screaming until you die. I’m gonna make sure your neck doesn’t break. I’m gonna watch you strangle at the end of that rope. Whataya think of that, Mr. Gunman?”

  Coffin stared into Sam McCall’s eyes and felt fear for the first time in years.

  “That’s no way for a man to die, Sam,” he said, softly.

  “You’re not a man,” Sam said, releasing Coffin’s shirt.

  “You’re slime, Coffin, and slime dies at the end of a rope. Now…walk!”

  Sheriff Kelly jumped to his feet when the door to his office slammed open. Coffin staggered through the door and Sam entered after him.

  “What’s going on here?” Kelly demanded. He noticed that Sam McCall had his gun out, and this did not please him. He started to sweat profusely.

  “I want this man in a cell, Sheriff!” Sam said.

  “You can’t just—”

  “This man killed my brother,” Sam said, cutting him off. “You know that. In fact, you might even have watched him do it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I have a federal marshal coming to town,” Sam said, although he still didn’t know if the man would ever really get there. “You’re to hold this man in a cell until he arrives.”

  “Look—”

  “You are not to let him out for any reason.”

  “Mr. Burkett won’t—”

  “If you let him out,” Sam continued, “I’ll kill you.”

  Kelly’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Is that clear enough for you?”

  Kelly tried one last bluster.

  “You c-can’t threaten an officer of the law l-like that.”

  “I’m not threatenin’ you, Kelly,” Sam said. “I’m makin’ you a solemn promise. If you let him out before I tell you to, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  Kelly nodded jerkily, his voice failing him.

  “Now, toss me the keys to the cells.”

  Kelly opened the top drawer of his desk and groped for the keys. Finally, he yanked his eyes away from Sam’s gun long enough to find them and he tossed them over.

  “Let’s go, Coffin.”

  Coffin, resigned to the fact

  Coffin, resigned
to the fact that he would be spending a short time in jail, obeyed. He knew Burkett would have him out in no time. After all, Coffin was the only man who could stand up to Sam McCall and get Burkett’s revenge. As they reached the doorway to the cells Coffin

  As they reached the doorway to the cells Coffin stopped short and said, “You’d better go and tell Lincoln Burkett that his son is dead, Sheriff.”

  “What?” Kelly said. “J-John’s dead?”

  “He tried to backshoot me while I was takin’ Coffin, Sheriff. There were witnesses.”

  Actually, Sam had his doubts about witnesses coming forward to back him up. They would, after all, be going against Burkett if they did that. Sam had decided, though, from the moment he learned that Evan was dead, that he would be taking matters entirely into his own hands. If he had to answer to the law later, so be it.

  He put Coffin in a cell, locked the door and came back out to the sheriff’s office. He holstered his gun and undid the gunbelt for a moment. Kelly watched as Sam looped the key ring through the gunbelt and then buckled it again.

  “Wha—”

  “I’ll hold onto the keys, Sheriff,” Sam said, “this way you won’t be tempted.”

  “Look, McCall,” Kelly said, “if you killed Burkett’s son—”

  “Oh, I killed him, all right. He’s still lyin’ out there in the street.”

  “Oh, Jesus—” Kelly said, rushing to the window. “I’ll have to have him taken to the undertaker’s—”

  “No,” Sam said, “you’ll stay right here with the prisoner.”

  “But the body—”

  Texas Iron “I don’t want John Burkett’s body at the undertaker’s while my brother’s body is there, Sheriff. Is that understood?” “But Mr. Burkett—”

  “I don’t care about Mr. Burkett.”

  “H-he’ll kill me!”

  “He’ll kill you later,” Sam said. “If you don’t do as I say I’ll kill you right now. You have a choice.”

  Kelly swallowed and said, “With a choice like that, I’ll take later—but who’ll tell Mr. Burkett?”

  “There were some men with John Burkett,” Sam said.

  “Lincoln Burkett will know about it soon enough.”

  “He’ll come after you.”

  Sam grinned coldly and said, “I’m countin’ on that, Sheriff.”