by Sam Clancy
He found the saloon halfway along the street, and pushed in through the doors, finding the bar almost deserted.
As he crossed the floor, his boots clunked on the sawdust-covered boards. A round-faced barman approached Ford’s position at the end of the rough-hewn counter.
‘What can I get you, stranger?’
‘I want to see the judge.’
‘He ain’t in at the moment,’ the man lied.
‘Do you know where I can find him?’
‘Not as such.’
‘Would you give him a message for me?’
‘Sure.’
‘Tell him, Thomas and West are dead. Tell him Thomas talked.’
The barkeep frowned. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ll tell him as soon as he gets back.’
‘You do that.’
Ford turned away from the bar and walked out on to the boardwalk. He held up a hand to shield his eyes against the glare of the bright sun, and stared in both directions for any sign of the judge. Across the street was a hotel, and beside it was a store where he could get the supplies he needed. He figured that would be a good place to go first. He stepped down into the street and waited until a flat-bed wagon passed him before he crossed. He climbed the steps on the other side and entered the store. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before the judge came to find him.
The barkeep waited for Ford to leave, before going out to the back room of the saloon to find the judge, who was playing cards at a round table with his henchmen. He looked up and asked, ‘What is it, George?’
‘Just had a feller in here looking for you, Judge,’ George said to him.
Allen was a large man with grey hair and a flabby face. He liked to wear black suits but often got his sizes mixed up, and more often than not they were ill-fitting.
The judge looked up from his hand. ‘Who was he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, what did he want?’
‘He gave me a message for you. He said that Thomas and West were dead. And that Thomas talked.’
Allen froze. His face grew like stone. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing. That was it.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘He left. I presume he’s still in town.’
Allen stared at his three hired guns. ‘Find him, kill him. I’ll pay you double for it.’
He shifted his gaze back to the barkeep. ‘Go with them and make sure they know who he is.’
After they’d left, Allen reached across the polished tabletop and grasped a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a drink with a trembling hand and tossed it back. His men would take care of it, he was certain of that.
‘I thought that was your bad-tempered nag over there,’ a voice said as Ford left the store. He turned to his right and saw a solidly built man in his mid-forties, a touch over six feet tall, standing on the boardwalk. About his waist he wore twin Colt Peacemakers, and atop his head was a low-crowned hat. He wore dark pants and a red shirt, and his face was weathered from years of travelling many trails.
Ford shook his head. ‘Laramie Davis. It’s been a while.’
Laramie nodded. ‘It has. You still giving your old man grief?’
‘Every chance I get.’
‘I’d believe that. What are you doing in this dump?’
Across the street, four men emerged from the saloon. He saw the barkeep point in his direction and the three rough-looking men started over towards him.
‘If I live through this, I’ll tell you over a drink.’
He stepped down into the street, waiting for the men to draw nearer, then swept back his jacket to access his Colt. The trio of killers stopped no more than fifteen feet away.
‘You fellers looking for me?’
‘Uh huh,’ Lacey Harper said with a nod.
There was movement beside Ford as Laramie stepped up to his shoulder. ‘Got room for one more at this dance?’
‘Ain’t got nothing to do with you, stranger.’
‘It has now.’
‘You don’t have to do this, Laramie,’ Ford said.
‘Thought it might be fun.’
Ford rolled his eyes and stared at Harper. ‘I’ll give you boys one chance. My name is Josh Ford. I’m a deputy marshal. I’m here to see the judge.’
‘So?’ said Lacey Harper.
Ford shrugged. ‘All right. Call it.’
Hands flashed down and six-guns came up with deadly intent. They roared to life, and lead scythed through the air.
A slug from Ford’s Peacemaker slammed into Harper’s chest, rocking him violently. Another ripped into his throat, the ghastly wound spraying blood on to the street at his feet. He fell, twitching violently until he finally died, gasping for air.
Beside Ford, Laramie had his own guns out and working. The first of the two gunfighters on Allen’s payroll died when a .45 calibre bullet punched into his chest, a second one through his skull.
The next gunman managed to get off a shot that flew wide of its mark before bullets from both Ford and Laramie punched his ticket in a violent fashion. He died with his boots drumming the earth and two bullets in his chest.
The deputy and the gunfighter stood there, staring at the dead men before them. Gun smoke still trickled from the barrels of their guns. Laramie asked, ‘Are you going to tell me now?’
Ford’s face took on a grim expression. ‘Not yet. Come with me.’
As both men walked towards the saloon they dropped out the empty cartridges and replaced them with fresh loads. Ford stomped across the boardwalk with Laramie close behind. He crashed through the saloon doors and started towards the bar. He glared at the pale-faced barkeep and snarled, ‘Where is he?’
The man pointed towards a rear door and the two men changed direction. The door to the back room stood no chance as Ford gave it a savage kick. It smashed back against the wall and the angry deputy entered the opulent space.
Behind the table, Allen grew wide-eyed when he saw the strangers before him.
‘What do you want?’ he blurted out.
‘Answers,’ Ford snapped. ‘Right now.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Horseshit! Sure you do. Now tell me what you, your son, West and Thomas have in common.’
‘Nothing.’
The Peacemaker came into Ford’s hand and roared to life. The bullet took the judge in his left shoulder. He cried out in pain as blood began to appear from the wound.
‘Let’s start again,’ Ford hissed. ‘Or the next one goes in your head.’
Chapter 12
As Ford started to question Allen, Travers rode into Rock Flats. He figured he’d check in with the sheriff, as a courtesy more than anything. He found him at the jail, drinking coffee, perched behind a battered desk. Sheriff Hollister was a fat, slovenly man with unkempt hair.
‘You’re back, Marshal. What can I do for you this time around?’ he asked Travers.
‘I’m interested in one of your citizens,’ Travers explained.
‘Oh yes? Which one?’
‘Oliver Kemp.’
‘Mr Kemp? What did he do? Rob a train?’ Hollister chuckled, and the rest of his body did too.
‘Why do you laugh?’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that if you knew Mr Kemp, you’d know there isn’t a more gentlemanly man in the whole town.’
Travers nodded. ‘Tell me about his daughter.’
Hollister’s expression changed. He sat forward in his seat and said, ‘Maria? Yes, a terrible, terrible tragedy. She was such a lovely young lady.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘She was murdered by a young man three years ago. The marshals caught him, and the case went to trial.’
‘You didn’t catch him?’
Hollister shook his head. ‘Maria was over in Westlake when it happened. The young man was put on trial there once they brought him in.’
‘Do you know who it was caught up with hi
m?’
‘Yes, a marshal by the name of Reeves.’
‘So, they hung him then? The young man?’ Travers inquired.
Hollister snorted. ‘Not likely. The trial was a farce from the start. The presiding judge was the young man’s father.’
‘How does that work? I would have thought he would have been excused?’ Travers asked.
‘Not likely when your name is Judge Millburn Allen. The sheriff found a witness who came forward and gave his son an alibi. That was it. The witness swore he was fifty miles away at the time of the murder. Case closed.’
‘Was he?’
‘Didn’t matter.’
Travers nodded. ‘I bet Kemp took that pretty hard, huh?’
‘We all did. Like I said. Maria was lovely. Around here she was a ray of sunshine.’
‘What happened to the young man after that?’
‘Last I heard, he was working up in Helena.’
Travers stared at Hollister with a puzzled expression on his face.
‘Oh, dear,’ Hollister said, almost apologetically when he realized he’d slipped up. ‘Did I say too much?’
When Travers looked, the sheriff had a six-gun in his hand, pointing toward him. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Like I said, Marshal, Maria was a wonderful girl, and we all liked her. Now, what to do with you?’
‘You won’t get away with this.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Let’s lock you up and we’ll see.’
The cell was small, not much bigger than some of the prison ones he’d seen. The cot was iron-framed, and the mattress was lumpy and full of bugs. There was a window in the rear wall about six feet up.
Two men came into the office, both with badges on their shirts. One was solid, the other thin and willowy.
‘What’s going on?’ they asked Hollister.
‘The marshal here came nosing around asking questions. Had to put him up for a while. I was about to go up the hill and see the man.’
‘Want us to come with you?’
Hollister nodded. ‘Sure, why not. Get him out.’
‘I don’t think that was supposed to happen,’ Laramie remarked.
‘Damn it!’ Ford cursed out loud. He hadn’t even got around to asking Allen about his son when his heart gave out.
‘You want to tell me what all this was about now?’
Ford sighed. ‘Someone’s got Bass, and if I don’t do as they say, they’re going to kill him.’
‘And Allen had something to do with it?’
‘As far as I know he’s a big part of it.’ He went on to tell him about the prison, West, the sheriff, and everything else that had happened.
‘And you have to kill all of them?’
‘That’s what the messenger said. So far, I’ve only done for West, and that was self-defence.’
‘You did break that Thomas feller out of prison, though.’
‘Yes, there is that.’
‘How long before they figure out that it was a lie?’
Ford shrugged. ‘They probably already know. But I can’t worry about that. I have to find his son. I still have no idea who’s behind all of this.’
‘Last I heard, his boy was up in Helena,’ Laramie said.
Ford stared at the gunfighter. ‘How do you know?’
‘Man in my profession hears things. You have to worry about how you’re going to get to him.’
‘Why?’
‘He works for the governor.’
‘Son of a bitch!’
‘Exactly.’
Travers was escorted to the mansion on the hill by the lawman and his two deputies. Arriving at the opulent home, they were greeted by a well-dressed doorman who ushered them into the lavish study.
Kemp sat in a comfortable leather chair in the centre of the room, a glass of brandy in his hand. Beside him stood Harper, his bodyguard. Kemp studied Travers for a while before speaking.
‘It would seem to me that Marshal Ford is as good an investigator as I predicted. I take it that you are working with him?’
Travers remained silent.
Kemp sighed. ‘Never mind. I know that Thomas is dead. As is Sheriff West. I have also been informed that there have been inquiries concerning myself. By you, I assume, as you are here before me.’
Silence.
‘Your silence is admirable but unnecessary. No one will be able to prove anything.’
Travers spoke, ‘They won’t have to prove anything. Once Ford finds you, he’ll kill you. No second chance.’
Kemp laughed.
‘You think it’s funny?’
‘I died the day they told me my daughter had been murdered.’
‘And you’re after everyone involved?’
‘That’s right. All of them.’
‘What gives you the right. . . ?’
Kemp lunged to his feet and threw the glass to the floor at his feet. It shattered and sprayed shards and brandy across the cowhide mat.
‘I have every damned right!’ he screeched. ‘They were all responsible for the injustice that occurred after my daughter was murdered!’
‘Even Bass?’
‘Yes. Even him.’
‘You’re crazy.’
Kemp gathered himself. ‘Sheriff Hollister, thank you for your loyalty in this matter. Mr Harper will take it from here.’
Hollister and his men left, and Harper crossed to Travers, a Colt in his right hand. ‘Move.’
‘Might help if I knew where to.’
Harper gave him a shove. ‘Get going.’
‘Couldn’t have been that stubborn son of mine, could it?’ Bass growled.
‘Good to see you too,’ Travers said. ‘Next time, I’ll come shooting.’
‘Might be best.’
‘How wonderful,’ Kemp said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Make the most of it. It won’t last.’
‘What?’ Travers asked, a frown on his face.
Kemp nodded to Harper and the bodyguard raised his gun and shot the marshal in the head.
‘You son of a bitch!’ Bass roared as he came off the floor. He lunged at Harper and caught the man by surprise. Harper had strayed within the radius of the reach of the chain and, although Bass was weakened by his time in captivity, he hit him hard. Harper staggered as the marshal grappled for his gun. A clawed hand wrapped around it and Harper cursed as he tried to wrench the weapon free.
But Bass wasn’t about to let it go without a fight. Harper’s face drew within range and the marshal snapped his head forward. The blow missed its intended target of the bridge of Harper’s nose, but caught him flush on the forehead.
Instead of bringing the bodyguard to his knees, it rattled the weakened marshal to his core. His legs buckled and his grip on the Colt loosened.
Harper felt triumphant through his anger as he ripped the weapon free and aimed it at Bass’ head.
‘Hold it!’
Harper held his fire while Bass stood before him, growling a deep, guttural noise. The marshal spoke in a low voice, ‘I’m going to kill you, you bastard.’
Harper smiled at him. ‘We’ll see.’
Chapter 13
‘Just keep your hand away from your gun, Marshal Ford,’ the steady voice cautioned him. ‘I don’t want to have to shoot you.’
Ford kept his hands out from his side and turned slowly from the counter of the store.
‘Just take it easy, Lem,’ he said. ‘I ain’t going to pull on you.’
Lem Bates was sheriff of Chester, a small town some twenty miles south of Helena. Ford and Laramie had stopped off to get some supplies to tide them over the rest of the way.
Laramie was off to the side and dropped his hand to his right-side six-gun.
‘Wait, Laramie,’ Ford told the gunfighter. ‘Let’s see if we can talk it through.’
The deputy turned his attention to Lem. ‘What’s going on, Lem?’
‘Word came that if you were sighted, you was to be arrested,’ the sheriff explained.
‘Wh
y?’
‘Story is you busted a feller out of the pen. Killed him and a guard who came after you.’
‘Not true.’
‘Not what they say. The wire’s singing for anyone who comes across you to lock you up for murder.’
‘Come on, Lem, you know me.’
‘I do, but it don’t make any difference.’
‘Call it, Josh,’ Laramie said from the side.
‘Wait.’
Laramie shrugged.
‘Where am I to be sent?’ Ford asked.
‘I guess I’ll find that out when I wire them that want you.’
Ford nodded. The last thing he wanted was to have a confrontation with Lem. After all, he was just doing his job. ‘All right, I’ll come peaceable.’
Relief flooded the sheriff’s face. ‘Thanks, Josh.’
‘They’re going to send some marshals for you,’ Lem told Ford. ‘They should be here tomorrow.’
‘Did they say who?’
‘Feller called Willis.’
‘Roy Willis?’
‘That’s him. You ain’t the only one they’ll be here to get though.’
Ford looked at the cell beside him. ‘Who is he?’
‘Brick Carlisle.’
Ford nodded. He’d heard of Carlisle. Mean killer from Kansas. Wanted for murdering a bunch of people. ‘Going for a rope date?’
‘Sure is.’
‘Go to hell,’ the man snapped.
‘I guess you’ll be there before me,’ Ford pointed out.
Carlisle muttered something under his breath that Ford ignored. Then the outlaw said, ‘I won’t be here long enough anyway.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Lem.
‘Yeah, we will.’
‘What do you want me to do, Josh?’ Laramie asked, and his question put the sheriff on edge.
‘We wait for Willis and the others to get here tomorrow. In the meantime, do you think you can stay out of trouble?’
Laramie snorted. ‘The name’s Davis, not Ford.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Honest Jim Manson halted his horse on the edge of Chester just as the orange fingers of the sun’s last rays reached out across the western sky. Behind him were five others, all here to break their boss out of jail.