Blood and Bullets

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Behind Tamrack, the other cowboys smirked and chuckled.

  Eb frowned. “Come on, Ollie. I’ve asked you not to talk like that when you come around. Harley hears and he’s got feelings, too, you know.”

  “Does he? If he ain’t got all his marbles, how do you know he’s got any feelings?”

  “He’s my son.” Eb’s mouth compressed into a thin, straight line. “I’ve seen him hurt enough times. Believe me, he has feelings.”

  “If you say so.” Tamrack waved a hand dismissively. “All I care about is that he’s got a tub of hot water ready for me. I came here for my usual Thursday shave and bath and I’m already runnin’ late, so I ain’t in no mood for any lollygaggin’. The gals over at Miss Hollie’s get pure disappointed if I keep ’em waitin’ too long!”

  This last part he delivered with some added volume and he turned his head a bit as he said it, making sure the men behind him got the full benefit. They responded with raucous whoops and some laughter. “Those gals’ disappointment would be the only thing that’s pure over at Miss Hollie’s!” somebody said, and then there was more laughter.

  But Eb wasn’t laughing. He suddenly looked very sober and troubled.

  After clearing his throat, the barber said, “I’m afraid there’s, uh, going to be a problem with that, Ollie.”

  “What do you mean a problem?” Tamrack wanted to know.

  “With the bath . . . there’s not going to be one available for a while.”

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about? It’s a bath—soap and water. The crick run dry or something?”

  Eb swallowed, the Adam’s apple in his neck bulging. “No, there’s plenty of water. It’s all heated and ready, in fact. But . . . but these other gentlemen are ahead of you.”

  Tamrack, his face growing flushed to a shade of near purple, raked his eyes over Shaw and Hadley who had been standing quietly by, looking on with expressions of interest and a hint of mild amusement.

  “These duded-up varmints?” Tamrack snarled. “These are the ‘gentlemen’ who are standin’ in the way of me and my boys gettin’ what we came here for?”

  “They’re visitors from England, passing through on the El Paso to Presidio stage run,” Eb tried to explain. “The coach broke down on the trail, barely made it into town. It won’t be repaired and ready to roll again until sometime tomorrow. So these fellas are stranded overnight and they—”

  “I don’t give a damn about any of that!” Tamrack cut him off. “All I care about is that I’m bein’ put out by these nancy-boy lookin’ sons of bitches and I don’t like it one bit. Damn you, Eb, you know me and my boys come into town every Thursday for a few drinks and to have a romp at Miss Hollie’s. We give you our business every time, regular as can be, to get spruced up for visitin’ the gals.”

  “Yes, you do, Ollie,” Eb agreed. “And I appreciate it. But you don’t always make it in and never at a set time. You said yourself that you’re running late today, so how—”

  “Stubborn, stupid goddamn cows don’t exactly have pocket watches, Squires.”

  “I can’t help that,” Eb replied, growing indignant and starting to show some spine in the face of Tamrack’s bullying tone. “Just like I can’t be expected to wait around all day and keep a tubful of hot water ready for if and when you might decide to show up.”

  Tamrack took a step forward. “You’re soundin’ kinda mouthy, you little pipsqueak. Who the hell do you think you’re talkin’ to that way?”

  “Perhaps,” said Rupert Shaw, speaking softly yet with force from where he stood near the curtained doorway, “you’d like to hear my response to that question. Although, on second thought, I think you’re going to get it whether you wish to or not.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Tamrack stopped short, his mouth gaping open in disbelief. Under sharply furrowed brows, his eyes cut to Shaw.

  “Please,” Eb blurted nervously. “I don’t want no trouble in here.”

  “Too damn bad what you don’t want and too damn late for there to be no trouble,” Tamrack growled, shifting his weight and starting to take a step toward Shaw.

  But before he covered any ground, his way was blocked by Hadley. “I think ye’d best be standin’ where you are and havin’ a listen to the captain.”

  “I heard all I want and more out of that fancy-pants,” Tamrack responded. “He made the mistake of meddlin’ in my business and now he’s gonna pay.” Behind him, the other three cowboys crowded in closer through the door.

  “The mistake will be yours if ye take another step,” warned Hadley.

  “I guarantee if you don’t get out of my way you’ll be makin’ a bigger one.”

  Then, without waiting to see if his words had any effect, Tamrack suddenly cocked his shoulders and swung his club of a right fist in a looping roundhouse aimed at Hadley’s jaw. Even quicker, the big Englishman thrust up his left forearm and blocked the blow. Sweeping Tamrack’s arm away and down, Hadley backed up a step, bent his knees and upper body slightly, then lunged forward. Putting the full weight of his body mass into it, he slammed hard into Tamrack’s middle and drove him backward.

  A great gust of air exploded out of the cowboy as he flopped forward over one of Hadley’s thick shoulders. Once he had his man going in reverse, the Englishman grabbed him securely by his leather belt, jerked upward, and lifted his feet off the floor. Now carrying Tamrack folded over one shoulder like a sack of grain, Hadley continued to rush forward, ramming into the knot of cowboys filling the doorway.

  As the staggering, stumbling, off-balance cowboys virtually exploded out onto the boardwalk and into the street, Hadley lumbered out through the doorway himself, still holding Tamrack in his grip. On the lip of the boardwalk, he stopped short and unloaded his burden, dropping Tamrack’s feet to the ground and giving him a shove that sent him stumbling drunkenly into the midst of his still-reeling men.

  Inside the barbershop, a stunned Eb Squires stood looking out the door with his mouth formed into a perfect “O.” “Good God!” he exclaimed. “I never saw anything like that in my life.”

  “Keep watching,” advised Shaw calmly as he moved past him, heading toward the front door. “It’s likely not over with.” Pausing, he said over his shoulder, “Do you have a law officer in this town?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  “Probably be a good idea to send for him. How about a doctor?”

  “Uh-huh. We got a doc, too.”

  “Send for him as well. In fact, it might be best to send for the doctor first.”

  In response, Eb made as if to go out the front door. But thinking better of that, he instead turned and hurried out the back way through the curtain.

  Shaw continued leisurely out the front and stepped onto the boardwalk next to Hadley. The latter had stripped off his suit jacket by this point and stood, slowly rolling up his shirtsleeves as he addressed the cowboys he’d scattered but who were now beginning to regroup. Though it was clearly visible to the men in the street, he seemed unmindful of the short-barreled, pearl-handled revolver that rode in a smooth leather shoulder holster formerly hidden by his jacket.

  “If ye lads have had enough roughhousin’,” he said, “it might be a good idea for ye to reconsider listenin’ to what the captain has to say.”

  Beside him, Shaw took note that all the cowboys wore guns holstered on their hips. In anticipation of this, as he exited the barbershop he had slipped a large bore, over-under derringer from his vest pocket and now held it at waist level, aimed in the general direction of the men in the street.

  “As far as any continuation of this matter,” he added to what Hadley had already said, “let me advise you that, in case any of you are considering reaching for the weapons at your disposal, my large friend here is every bit as capable with his own revolver as he is with his fists. Furthermore, as you can see, I am quite prepared to provide some assistance.”

  “How about you take that pea shooter and shove it up your rear end before one of us
does it for you,” snarled one of the cowboys backing Tamrack.

  “Stow that kind of talk, Nelson,” said a disheveled-looking Tamrack, still sucking hard to regain some of the wind that had gotten knocked out of him. “He’s already got the drop on us, you fool.”

  “That’s only a two-shooter he’s holdin’. Even if he can hit anything with it, he can’t get us all,” argued Nelson.

  “Very observant. Which barrel would you prefer to be emptied on you?” Shaw asked mildly.

  By now, several citizens and tradesmen who’d been going about their business on Sierra Blanca’s main street had halted what they were doing in order to more closely observe the scene that was playing out in front of the barbershop.

  “No need for that, no need for shootin’ irons at all,” said Tamrack, absently rubbing his bruised ribs. “But that don’t mean this is over. Not by a bucketful. No man puts his hands on me and dumps me on my ass without me gettin’ a piece of him in return.” He jabbed a forefinger in the direction of Hadley. “That means you, big fella. I say we go ahead with this but keep it between just you and me. You havin’ any?”

  Hadley smiled. “It’s mighty kind of ye to extend that invitation before I had me shave and bath, lad. I’d’ve been most annoyed to have gotten all cleaned up and then had to scuff about with ye. So, to show my gratitude, I promise to try and keep from hurtin’ ye too bad.”

  “Don’t do me any favors and for damn sure don’t expect the same kind of promise in return. I aim to break you in two!” With that proclamation, Tamrack stripped off his gunbelt and handed it to Nelson, adding to him and the other cowboys, “This is strictly between him and me, you understand? The rest of you stay out of it.”

  Acting in kind, Hadley pulled the revolver from his shoulder rig and held it out to Shaw, saying, “This won’t take long, Captain. We’ll have ye in that tub before the water gets too cold.”

  He stepped off the boardwalk then, and the two big men met out in the dusty street. Tamrack led it off, not waiting and quickly demonstrating that he had learned very little from their encounter inside by immediately throwing another whistling roundhouse right. Once again, Hadley blocked it. Only this time he followed up by landing a sharp right hook to Tamrack’s ribs and then a slashing left cross to the jaw.

  Tamrack staggered back but stayed on his feet. His expression looked stunned, though, as much from surprise as from the power behind the rapidly landed punches.

  The men closed again, colliding like two warring bulls, trading a series of in-close punches. Tamrack threw his fists like heavy clubs, pounding blindly, on instinct, while Hadley’s return blows came quicker and with greater accuracy, landing jarringly each time.

  They separated and circled one another warily. Tamrack was breathing hard, beginning to drip sweat. A thick stream of blood poured from one nostril. A sheen of sweat shown on Hadley’s face, but there were no other marks and his breathing seemed only slightly elevated.

  Along the street, on either side, more people were gathering to watch.

  Tamrack made another rush, this time leading with his left. The move came quickly enough that Hadley was unable to block it. Instead, he twisted his body away and took only a glancing blow to the side of his head. It still had some sting to it, but the overall result turned out to be more costly for Tamrack. Not landing the punch as solidly as intended threw him momentarily off balance and exposed to a quick retaliation from Hadley. The big Englishman swung a smashing backhand with his left fist, followed almost instantly, as his body twisted around, by a hammering right.

  Tamrack was knocked staggering, his legs wobbly, streams of blood gushing from both nostrils now as well as from his mouth.

  Hadley went after him, throwing jabs to his face and hooks to his body. Tamrack was driven back, managing to block a few of the blows but taking the brunt of most of them while unable to throw anything of his own in return. Then, with a surge of desperate strength, Tamrack planted his feet and halted himself. Dropping his head and shoulders, he ducked a pair of punches and rammed forward into Hadley’s middle. Now, suddenly, it was Hadley being backed up with Tamrack relentlessly driving into him.

  They reached a hitch rail just off to one side of the front of the barbershop. The small of Hadley’s back slammed hard against the rail, and he was forced to bend backward over it by a flurry of blows from Tamrack, hammering down on his chest and face. An excited ripple went through the cowboys in the middle of the street.

  Wanting to finish it, no matter what it took, Tamrack leaned close over his opponent and slammed upward with his knee, aiming for Hadley’s groin. But the big Englishman twisted his body at the last second, and the knee pounded into his hip instead. As part of the same movement, Hadley jerked his right arm free, pulling it momentarily across his chest, then he slammed back with the elbow, driving it hard into Tamrack’s chin.

  The big cowboy staggered to one side. Hadley finished twisting free and suddenly he had Tamrack in his grip and was forcing him facedown over the hitch rail, raining double-fisted sledge-like blows onto the back of his neck. Tamrack’s body sagged and started to go limp. Hadley brought it to an end by jerking his own knee upward to Tamrack’s face where it hung down on the back side of the hitch rail. The big cowboy recoiled from the blow, straightening up but then immediately falling over backward and landing flat on his back in the dusty street. It was clear to all watching that he wasn’t going to be getting up under his own power anytime soon.

  The three cowboys bunched in the middle of the street stood poised, uncertain, finding it hard to believe what they’d just witnessed and not quite sure what to do next.

  A spare, leathery-faced man, wearing a walrus mustache and a marshal’s star on his chest, stepped out of the crowd and spoke in a deep, calm, authoritative voice.

  “Just stand easy, boys,” he advised. His hand rested casually on the butt of the Colt riding in a holster on his right hip. Holding it there, his seen-it-all-before pale eyes swept slowly over the whole scene. They paused for just an extra beat on Shaw and Hadley. “Everybody can take it easy. You had your show. It was a fair fight—and a pretty good one from what I saw—but now it’s over. So you can break it up and go on about your business . . . Go ahead. Like I said, the show’s over.”

  As the crowd began to disperse, a second man came out of it. He was a plump middle-ager with a pair of round spectacles perched on the end of his nose, carrying a well-worn doctor’s bag.

  “If you’re looking for a patient, Doc, I’d say you’ve got a pretty good candidate right there,” said the marshal, jerking his chin toward Tamrack.

  The doctor walked over, adjusting his spectacles for a closer look. “Well now. What have we here . . . Ollie Tamrack?”

  “What’s left of him.”

  The doctor looked around. “Who do we have to thank . . . er, I mean, who’s responsible for this?”

  “That would be me, sar,” spoke up Hadley from where he stood, once more on the boardwalk, using a handkerchief handed to him by Shaw to wipe the sweat from his face and dab at the trickle of blood leaking out one corner of his mouth.

  “What of your injuries?”

  “Nothing an overdue barbering and a hot bath won’t take care of,” Hadley told him. “Best see to that lad there. He wouldn’t go down easy. I had to be a mite rougher on him than I intended.”

  “Yeah, Doc. Quit wastin’ time and take care of Ollie, damn it. He looks like he might be hurt bad,” said one of the cowboys in the street.

  The doctor smiled. “Oh, I’ll take care of him alright. I’ll savor every minute, every stitch, and hopefully a cracked bone or two. After all the times I’ve been called upon to treat the victims Ollie has beaten down and stomped, I’ve been looking forward to the day when I could treat him for a taste of the same.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “So you can see the fix I might end up in if I allow myself to get caught in the middle.”

  Firestick shrugged. “Then the simplest answer, it see
ms to me, is to avoid the risk of gettin’ caught in the middle by steerin’ clear of the whole thing. Just tell Frenchy you’re not interested.”

  “But I am interested. That’s the problem. I’d be a fool not to be. Think of the added business she could bring to my place.”

  “Yeah. And the added trouble when the whole works blows up . . . which it’s pretty much guaranteed to do, sooner or later.”

  Dan Coswick—commonly referred to as “Irish Dan” even though he’d never been any closer to Ireland than Galveston Bay—sat slumped in a straight-backed wooden chair hitched up in front of the marshal’s desk. He was a man in his late forties, craggily handsome, with eyes that always seemed to have a hint of sadness about them, and a lantern jaw set with a wide, expressive mouth. His thick, curly hair, once fiery red in color and the source of his nickname, was nowadays shot with enough gray to dilute the redness considerably. And the expressive mouth was presently turned down at the corners in a frown of consternation.

  “You really figure it’s that much of a guarantee?” Coswick said, questioning Firestick’s assessment. “I mean, there’s at least a chance it might work out, don’t you think?”

  “Always a chance, I reckon,” conceded Firestick. “But I think there’s a bigger one that Frenchy will end up goin’ back to Sterling by the time it’s all said and done. Then where will that leave you?”

  “Depends,” Coswick said stubbornly. “I could be out the expense I go to build her a proper stage. But if she sticks with me for even just a few weeks, the increase in business would probably be enough to cover that. Hell, with the big spring festival coming up in just a couple days and all the cowboys who’ll be flocking to town for that, I might break even in one big night if I was able to advertise having Frenchy performing at my place then.”

  “So you break even, money-wise, and in the meantime grow an ulcer wonderin’ if and when Sterling might retaliate somehow.”