by Adam Brady
“No!” Rogan hissed. “All I’ve learned is how you treat your friends. I’ll never forgive you for what you did to Melissa.”
“Then you’re even more of a fool than I thought!” Halliday snapped, and then he cursed as Melissa got past his guard and he felt the sharp sting of her nails raking his cheek.
Shoving the woman away with one hand, he lashed out with his fist and connected neatly with Rogan’s jaw. The hard shove lifted Melissa off her feet and forced her back.
With a grunt of surprise and effort, her father saved her from falling and then fastened a strong grip on her arm. The sheriff studied his daughter grimly for a moment, and then he asked;
“Is it true then, what McPhee said inside?”
Melissa tried to pull away from him, but Hahn hung on until she finally went quiet.
“Yes, pa,” she said. “He broke into my room and forced himself on me.”
Rogan was up and coming back for more, but Halliday stepped aside and let him charge on past.
“Dammit, Finch!” Halliday protested. “Can’t you wait long enough to get the facts straight?”
“I got all the facts I need, you skunk!” Rogan shouted. “And, by hell, I won’t quit until I kill you—”
Halliday hit him with a hard right and a left uppercut.
Rogan cried out when his bandaged shoulder hit the wall. He slid to his knees and stayed there, clutching at his shoulder. His face was so white that it seemed he was about to faint.
Luther Hahn had been waiting his turn. Now he pushed his daughter behind him and advanced on Halliday.
“Okay, mister,” he said thickly, “you’ve had your fun in this town. Now we’ll have ours.”
Halliday squared himself to face him, but then he saw that Hahn was going for his gun. For one brief moment, he expected he would have to draw on the sheriff to defend himself. He knew what that would mean—running fast and far, with a price on his head.
Halliday had forgotten all about Tom Mahoney, but now the old rancher was stepping into the thick of it with his six-gun drawn.
“Hold it, Hahn,” Mahoney said in a calm, determined voice. “This has gone just as far as it’s goin’ to.”
Hahn turned on the rancher, and his face was livid with anger. “Keep out of this, Mahoney!” he shouted.
“I been in it all along,” Mahoney said, “ever since McPhee decided to force me off my ranch. Halliday’s about the only one to stick up for me, and I’m damned if I’m gonna see him suffer for it. McPhee tried to get him with his hired gun. That didn’t work, and now here’s the goddamn law, tryin’ its best to do McPhee’s biddin’. You call yourself a sheriff ... you oughtta be ashamed of yourself, Luther.”
“I’m warnin’ you, Mahoney,” Hahn began, taking a step toward the old rancher. “You been another thorn in my side for too long ...”
“Do what you like,” Mahoney challenged, “but first, why don’t you explain why you stood back and waited while Rudder prodded this feller here into a gunfight. You was just hopin’ Rudder would gun Halliday down, weren’t you?”
“I’ll tell you nothin’, you old buzzard!” Hahn snapped. “Get that gun off me.”
Mahoney shook his head and stood his ground, his fierce determination showing in his weather-beaten features. The old man flicked a look Halliday’s way and told him;
“Best get goin’, Buck. I’ll be fine once these gutless wonders know they can’t get at you.”
Halliday turned a thoughtful look on Rogan, who was getting shakily to his feet. He reached out to Melissa for support, but she stepped away from him and folded her arms.
“Stay away from me, you fool!” Melissa snapped. “I can’t stand for you to touch me.”
Rogan gaped at her and then shook his head as though he did not believe his ears.
“Hell, Melissa,” he muttered, “you and me were—”
“You fool!” Melissa said again, and then she went to stand beside her father. Turning to face Halliday, she said, “Don’t you think for one minute that this is finished. I don’t care where you go, we’ll find you. Wes has a lot of friends. They’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
Halliday started to walk away, and that was when the shot rang out from the rooftop of the saloon.
Then Tom Mahoney’s gun flew out of his hand and he was reeling back with blood streaming from a furrow in his forehead. Halliday saw the sheriff use the commotion to go for his gun, but he still managed to beat the lawman to the draw. When he saw Hahn drag the hammer back with his thumb, he fired and got the lawman’s gun hand. Hahn yelped and staggered sideways into his daughter, knocking her off her feet.
Melissa was screaming and Hahn was roaring with anger, but another burst of gunfire silenced them both.
This time, someone was firing from the doorway of the saloon.
Halliday turned with the six-gun smoking in his hand as his eyes searched for the gunman, but now there was no one in the doorway.
Leonard and a few others had come running, and now they were clustered around Mahoney as he lay on the ground.
“Git out while you can, Buck,” Mahoney said hoarsely, but Halliday was running for the batwings where the last shot had been fired.
A bullet tore a hole through Halliday’s shirt, burning across his chest. He glanced up in time to see the man on the roof, a small man entirely intent on edging back from the false front. Halliday lined him up in his sights and allowed for the angle. He fired only once, and the man pitched face-forward against the corrugated iron and then came sliding down the metal and thudded into the street.
Halliday hurried back to Mahoney and was relieved to see that the old rancher was on his feet again and holding a bandanna to his head.
Rogan, Hahn and Melissa were still there but all standing at a distance from one another like they’d been in a heated argument.
“I guess that’s about it, Hahn,” Halliday told the lawman who was nursing a broken hand. “You tried to do your best by Harp McPhee, but it just didn’t come out right, did it? When he comes out of hidin’, tell him he’ll get more than he bargained for if he keeps on the way he’s been doin’.”
Easing Mahoney along in front of himself, Halliday started for the alley.
“Halliday,” Hahn rasped, “I’m chargin’ you with murder.”
“Of him?” Halliday asked, jerking his chin at the dead man in the street.
“Yeah,” Hahn said grimly. “Will Cross was only doin’ his duty by this town, protectin’ a lawman from assault by that old coot. You killed him, mister, and you’ll hang for it.”
Halliday shook his head.
“I don’t think so. I sure don’t see anybody here that’s good enough to put a rope around my neck. Do you?”
Halliday gave Mahoney a gentle push and then looked back at Rogan.
The banker held his stare but said nothing.
“Some other time, Finch,” Halliday said as he followed Mahoney into the alley.
Both the rancher and Halliday collected their horses, and then Mahoney led the way out of town—the back way.
“This sure is a town for backshooters,” Halliday answered as they rode away.
Harp McPhee was pacing the room and cussing to himself in a steady mumble. Every time he looked up at his company, the cussing intensified.
With his gun hand bandaged, Luther Hahn stood against the wall like an overgrown school kid sent to stand in the corner.
Covered by a stained horse blanket, the body of McPhee’s hired gun lay on a table at the end of the room.
Crying fit to break her heart, Melissa grieved over the failed gunfighter.
“What a useless bunch,” McPhee said in disgust, and then his attention settled on Melissa and he said, “Can’t you stop that caterwaulin’? Have I got to put up with that, too?”
Melissa continued to wail, and McPhee went on pacing the floor.
“Nice mess we’re in, thanks to that second-rate gunman,” he said tightly. “You told me Wes Rudder w
as the best, Luther. Remember?”
“I figured he was,” Hahn said in a subdued voice. “Down on the Platte, they reckon—”
“This ain’t the Platte, dammit! This is Redemption. I’ve done everything right so far, except for pickin’ the people to work with. You had Halliday and you let him get away.”
“I wasn’t the only one that messed up, and you know it,” Hahn protested. “How come you missed him from the saloon? That should’ve been a real easy shot, and he sure was a clear target.”
“I’m not a gunman,” McPhee scowled. “That’s why I shell out good money for men like Rudder ... and you.”
He went on walking until he came to the window, and then he pounded his fist on the sill in sheer frustration.
Hahn wiped his face with his sleeve and inspected his bandaged hand again.
Then McPhee put his back to the window and said more quietly, “Well, there’s no sense in blamin’ each other ... and cryin’ over what’s gone. What we need to do now is take stock of how we stand. What do you reckon about the folks in town?”
“How do you mean, Mr. McPhee?”
“I mean how they feel about us. Your girl played a pretty fair hand for awhile, but Halliday was wise to her. Then—”
“Yeah,” Hahn interrupted, glaring at his daughter. “My girl played a pretty fair hand for somebody layin’ on her back—by hell, Melissa, if your ma could see what you’ve been up to, I don’t know what she’d say!”
“She would have understood,” Melissa snapped. “She would have thought the same way, felt the same way and acted the same way.”
Hahn strode across the room and slapped his daughter hard across the face.
“I reckon I shoulda done that a long time ago, before you had a chance to make a fool of me in front of the whole damn town,” the sheriff snarled at her. “Now set there quiet, dammit. We’ve got worries of our own.”
“The biggest worry I have right now is you,” McPhee admitted. “And getting in touch with Bob Rudder and telling him he can have his brother’s job if he wants it. If he says no, I guess you better start doing some target practice with your one good hand. The thing is, I don’t reckon we’ve seen the last of Halliday, and we have to be ready for him.”
Hahn sucked in a long breath.
“That’s a pretty tall order,” he said.
“We’re not playin’ some penny-ante game here. This is high stakes—mighty high. The first thing you have to do is get a fresh grip on this town. You tell folks whatever you want, but just make sure they don’t get any fancy ideas about standin’ up to me. If a few of them start to step out of line, it could be they’ll be too hard to handle. I’ve figured everything out so it’s legal, but that won’t be all it takes unless you come down hard on anybody with a mind to argue. We did a good job of bustin’ Rogan, but we can’t stop now.”
McPhee picked up his hat and headed for the door, stopping on his way to pat Melissa on the shoulder.
“Don’t take on so, little lady,” he comforted her. “You just do what I ask of you, and I’ll see that you’re looked after. Who knows? It might even be that the two of us could get together once this is over ...”
Melissa gave him a speculative look, and seeing the expression on her face, her father cursed her.
“You goddamn alley cat,” he muttered.
McPhee shot him a severe look, and Hahn stormed out of the room.
When he’d gone, McPhee turned back to her and regarded her thoughtfully.
“You think about it, Melissa—about us gettin’ together. It might work out.”
His eyes ran up and down her body and Melissa tossed her head.
“I don’t know,” she pouted. “You never showed much interest in me before.”
McPhee laid a hand on her shoulder again and held it firmly.
“I could give you lots of pretty things, and good times in big towns—maybe even back East. I always figured Rudder was too rough for a gal like you. I reckon I could give you just about anything you’d ever want.”
Melissa’s eyes gleamed with a new excitement.
“A big house and servants to look after it?” she said.
“Not till it’s all over, Melissa, like you said. Just so you do what I ask,” McPhee emphasized.
He left her standing at the door watching him go. Harp McPhee might have had his worries, but no one would have known it from his jaunty stride.
He had the liveryman hitch his horses to the rig, and then he started off in the noonday heat. When the liveryman remarked that it was too hot to move, McPhee only smiled and said;
“Business is business, mister, and it doesn’t wait for cooler weather.”
His first call was on the widow Mary Harper, who stood on her front porch with three children peeking shyly from behind her dusty skirts.
Squinting into the glare of the sun coming over McPhee’s shoulder, she gave the man a reluctant greeting.
McPhee removed his hat and mopped his brow with a wadded bandanna as he smiled at her.
“Did you do what I asked?” he said.
The woman pursed her lips and looked away.
“I just couldn’t, Mr. McPhee. Tom has always been a friend to this family, and a real good neighbor.”
“He’s beat, ma’am,” McPhee said. “Now you can be beat with him or not. Suit yourself.”
She shook her head again and said, “I can’t do it.”
“Well, then, you better start packin’,” McPhee said sternly.
A curly-haired little girl began to toy with her mother’s apron, but the woman slapped her hand away. The round face reddened and a fat tear formed in her eye. Then the mother was crying, too.
“This place is all we have,” she said, “and it surely cannot be much use to you. There’s nothin’ here but dust and loneliness. The well’s about to run dry, and everythin’ in the garden’s burned up in the heat. Please, Mr. McPhee, just leave us be.”
“All you have to do to stay on here is tell the sheriff that Mahoney ran off your cows, ma’am. Sheriff Hahn will do the rest,” McPhee said soothingly. “Do that, and you get to keep your place, mortgage free, and maybe I’ll even throw in some stock when the drought breaks. You got three nice children there, ma’am, don’t they mean more to you than Tom Mahoney?”
“They do,” she exploded tearfully, “they’re all that matters.”
“Well then, you know what you have to do.”
“I can’t lie,” she insisted.
“Then I guess you better get ready to watch these brats of yours starve. You sleep on it, Mrs. Harper. I’ll be back in the mornin’.”
The woman pushed her children into the house and closed the door behind them. Then she quickly followed McPhee to his rig, noticing with something like wonder that the buggy was so highly polished that the dust could hardly settle on it and the horses were so fat and frisky that they seemed eager to run in the traces.
“You have Tom Mahoney down on his knees as it is,” she said. “Why do you have to do this, too?”
“Not takin’ any chances, ma’am,” he replied. “Mahoney’s given me plenty of trouble. He spoke against me after all I ever did was help him out. I can’t be blamed for this drought, now, can I? Now you think some more about all this, and maybe you’ll decide to let me be your friend.”
McPhee turned the rig and drove away, looking back just long enough to tip his hat.
The widow let out an exhausted sigh. It had been four lonely years since her man was shot, and the struggle had left its mark. She had kept going with the help of neighbors, to whom she could offer no repayment. The place was now mortgaged to the hilt and the money was all gone.
She stood there in the dusty yard for a long time, looking blankly at the dead bush beside the gate. That rose had been her pride and joy, and the only thing that reminded her of a gracious life. The children had toted water to it faithfully, but now there was barely enough in the well for the family and the old horse and the last of the sc
raggly chickens.
When she finally turned back toward the house, there was more purpose in her step. She was thinking what her husband would have done to a skunk like Harp McPhee, but she was a woman after all—she would have to find another way to fight.
“Jimmy!” she called to her eldest boy. “Get the trunk down from the loft in the barn, and then get the buckboard ready. You’d best feed the horse. We’ll be leavin’ soon.”
“Where we goin’, ma?” the boy asked as he headed for the barn to hitch up the horse.
“To Red Rock,” she said. “We’re goin’ to visit Aunt Thelma.”
Seven – The Meeting
Tom Mahoney nursed his throbbing head and cussed at the inconvenience of it all. The pain itself did not worry him unduly, for he had been hurt too much in his life not to know that wounds healed in time and healed quicker if a man did not dwell on them.
He rode onto his own land in the middle of the afternoon, and almost at once, he and Buck Halliday spotted three horses loping toward them.
Mahoney stopped and shaded his eyes with his hand.
“Bosker, Milligan and Thomas,” he muttered. “What the hell could they want?”
“I guess they’ll tell us soon enough,” Halliday said, and then he reined-in beside Mahoney and waited for the three horsemen to reach them.
As the men came closer, Halliday saw that the three were ranchers with faces every bit as grim as Mahoney’s. Then the old rancher introduced Halliday to his neighbors.
Cole Bosker studied Halliday for a minute or so, and then he asked, “Are you the one that did for Wes Rudder?”
“He sure is,” Mahoney answered quickly. “You heard about it already, huh?”
“Johnston from the Bar-Double-K happened by,” Bosker informed Mahoney. “He said you were hurt and that a feller name of Halliday cut Rudder down. Said he tangled with Luther Hahn, too. That so?”
“In a way,” Halliday said in a noncommittal tone of voice.
Mahoney could see that Halliday was uneasy with the conversation.
“Well, Cole,” he said, “I guess you folks didn’t ride all this way to talk over news you heard already ...”