by Sam Clancy
Hollister ran a wary eye over them and nodded, ‘Sure. I think we can do that, Marshal. . . ?’
‘Roy Willis.’
‘Buck Hollister. Who’s our friend here?’
Willis shook his head. ‘I’m ashamed to say this feller is one of our own. Wanted for the murder of two people. His name is Josh Ford.’
Hollister froze. Surprise came to his face and he said, ‘One of your own, you say?’
‘Yeah. We’ll continue to Helena tomorrow and he’ll stand trial there.’
‘Climb down,’ Hollister said. ‘I’ll show you where the cells are, and you can lock him in.’
The manacles worn by Ford rattled as he climbed down. Both horses were tied to the hitch rail and Willis and Ford went inside. Behind them, Hollister gave his deputy a knowing look and he nodded his understanding. He turned and hurried along the boardwalk.
Once inside, Willis took the manacles off Ford’s wrists and mouthed, ‘OK?’
Ford nodded.
Once he was locked away, Willis turned to Hollister. ‘I’ll be back around dark to check on him.’
‘Sure, he’ll be right here. It ain’t like he’ll be going anywhere.’
‘If he does, it’s your head.’
Kemp sat on his verandah and looked out over the town before him. He noted the urgency of the approaching man and frowned. ‘Harper?’
‘Yes, sir?’ the bodyguard called from inside.
‘We have a visitor.’
The screen door squeaked as it opened and Harper stepped outside. He stared down the hill and said, ‘One of the sheriff’s deputies.’
‘Yes.’
The man stopped at the bottom of the steps. He puffed and blew while he tried to gather himself. Once he’d done so, he looked up and said, ‘He’s here.’
‘Who?’ Kemp snapped with impatience.
‘The marshal, Ford. He’s in the jail.’
Kemp sat up straight. ‘Keep going.’
‘He was brought in by another marshal. Has him under arrest for murder. He’s keeping him in the jail overnight and leaving tomorrow.’
‘Just the one marshal?’ Kemp asked.
‘Yes, sir. There was another feller come into town earlier but he’s just a drifter by the looks of him.’
Harper said, ‘I’ll go get him.’
Kemp wasn’t sure. They’d already suffered the interference of one marshal, now another just happens along with the man they require. And then there was the stranger.
He said, ‘Tell Hollister to bring them all to me. Get enough men and bring all three here. I won’t have everything undone now we’re so close.’
‘Are you sure, Mr Kemp?’ Harper asked.
‘Yes. Do it now. We’ll hang Reeves and his son tomorrow.’
The deputy nodded. ‘Sure, Mr Kemp. We can finish the gallows today.’
‘Good, see to it.’
The two men watched the deputy hurry down the hill. Kemp said, ‘This is it, Mr Harper. The moment we’ve waited for.’
‘Get up!’ the man standing before Willis said. ‘Now.’
The marshal stared at the guns pointed at him and then at the men holding them. He hesitated and then rose to his feet.
‘What is this?’
‘You’re to come with us,’ the deputy snapped.
‘You do realize that I’m a deputy marshal, right?’
A man moved around behind Willis and relieved him of his six-gun.
‘Let’s go.’
‘You won’t get away with this.’
‘The other deputy said something similar.’
‘Ford?’
‘No, the other one.’
‘Travers? Where is he?’
‘Boothill.’
Willis felt anger rise from deep within. He stared at the deputy. ‘What’s your name?’
The man frowned. ‘Brown.’
‘I’m going to kill you, Brown.’
‘Move.’
The cell door swung open and Ford stared at the gun in Hollister’s hand. ‘Out.’
‘So, you’re in it too, huh?’
Hollister stepped aside as the deputy marshal moved forward through the door. ‘Yeah, I am.’
‘What about your deputies?’
‘You’d be surprised.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To see Mr Kemp. You and your old man have a date with the hangman tomorrow.’
‘Bass is still alive?’
Hollister gave him a mirthless smile. ‘Sure he is. Not like that other marshal, Travers. We kinda had to do away with him.’
Ford ground his teeth together. A curse formed on his lips.
‘Come on,’ Hollister said. ‘We can’t keep Mr Kemp waiting. This has been a long time coming.’
Ford nodded. ‘You’re right. Let’s not keep the son of a bitch waiting for his death any longer.’
From up in his cramped single room, Laramie watched the street below. He’d seen the deputy hurry along the street and up the hill towards the double-storey mansion atop it. Then he watched the man come back down and walk into the jail.
Soon after, he’d reappeared and walked along to the saloon. He was in there for around five minutes before he came out with four other men. They’d headed for the hotel.
Then two other things happened. Three more men emerged from the saloon with Willis, and across the street at the jail, the sheriff and his other deputy emerged with Ford.
A grim expression appeared on Laramie’s face. ‘It didn’t take long.’
Then he realized what the other men were doing, the five he’d observed coming towards the hotel: they were coming for him.
Time to go.
He remembered seeing a door at the end of the hallway. Hopefully a way out. He scooped up the Winchester from his bed and moved quickly towards the door. When he emerged from his room, the gunfighter could already hear their approach as boots clumped up the stairs.
Laramie hurried along to the door and tried it. It swung clear of the jamb and he’d been right: it opened out on to a landing with stairs that led down into the alley beside the hotel.
When the door snicked shut behind him, the deputy and his makeshift posse had just started to make their way along the hallway.
They burst into the room but found it empty. One of the men said, ‘He was supposed to be here.’
‘Yeah,’ said the deputy. ‘That means he saw us coming.’
Chapter 17
Laramie descended the steps two at a time and walked along the alley towards the rear of the building. The back street was almost deserted. He turned in the direction of the mansion on the hill and jogged along until he figured he was ahead of the two escorts. Then he found an alley and headed back to the main street. Before he stepped out into the advancing crowd’s path, he drew his right-side Colt and thumbed the hammer back on the Winchester.
‘That’s far enough!’ Laramie’s voice brought them to a halt. ‘Time for you gents to make a choice. Make the right one and you might just see the sun go down.’
Hollister stepped forward. ‘You are interfering with official law business, friend. Step aside.’
‘Two things, friend! First thing first. I ain’t your friend. Second, if you don’t turn them loose, I’m going to put a .45 slug in your fat guts. Make your decision.’
‘Five against one. I like them odds.’
Ford shook his head. ‘Hell, just shoot the tub of lard, Laramie.’
The sheriff paled. ‘You’re Laramie Davis?’
‘Surprise!’ Laramie said and squeezed the trigger of the Colt.
There was a hollow thunk as the slug buried deep into the rolls of the sheriff’s middle, driving the air from his lungs.
‘Josh!’ Laramie called out, and threw the Winchester in his direction. The deputy marshal caught it and swung it around. He fired the weapon at the man nearest him and the bullet hammered into his chest.
Two men down.
Laramie fired at Hollister’s de
puty, who cried out. The man had been moving and was only wounded in the left arm. Chaos started to reign, and the good citizens of Rock Flats began to scatter and find cover.
Roy Willis dropped beside the man Ford had killed, and with swift movements, unbuckled the gun belt. He drew the sidearm and came erect, sighted on the first fleeing form he could see, and let the hammer on the six-gun drop.
The man cried out and was thrust forward as though shoved by an invisible hand. He sprawled in the dust of the street and didn’t move.
Willis whirled around, ‘Josh, go find Bass.’
Ford shot another of the escort men and called across, ‘You be all right?’
‘Laramie and I got this.’
‘What about them?’
Willis saw the five men advancing on them from down the street, the deputy called Brown at their head.
‘Oh, yeah. I’m sure.’
As Ford raced along the street towards the mansion on the hill, Laramie fired three shots at the wounded deputy, who sought shelter behind a water trough. The first two bullets smacked into the thick timber, the third was lucky enough to strike the man as he came up to fire his gun.
He flailed back with a bullet in his throat, blood spraying out of the ghastly wound. A storm of lead cracked close to the gunfighter and he saw the five men who had joined the affray. He moved to his right and up on to the boardwalk. He found shelter in a recessed doorway and went to fire again.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber and the gunfighter cursed. Laramie dropped the gun into its holster and drew the left one. With his back to the rough surface of the door, he edged out cautiously and snapped off two more shots.
By now, Roy Willis had found cover behind a water barrel at the mouth of an alley on the far side of the street. A couple of slugs whacked into the timber before him and splinters sliced through the air.
As he rose from behind his refuge, he saw a clear target and fired two shots at the chosen man, watching him fall as the wounded leg gave out. It was then that he saw Deputy Brown disappear along an alley near the saddlery, trying to circle around and get behind him and Laramie.
‘Not today, you son of a bitch,’ Willis growled, and came to his feet. He fired a couple more shots and ducked down the alley nearest him.
He ran past a set of steps and an open window, and then as he left the alley, Brown was there before him. Both were surprised at their proximity to each other, and their guns blazed wildly.
In their desperate haste, shots flew wide as they tried to kill one another. A slug scored the flesh of Willis’ side and brought forth a curse from the lawman. He fired again at Brown and heard the man grunt as the bullet tore through the gut just above the belt buckle. Brown sank to his knees and dropped his six-gun.
Brown stared up at Willis with pain etched on his face. The deputy marshal raised his gun and said, ‘I told you I’d kill you, you son of a bitch.’ Then he squeezed the trigger.
Meanwhile, back around the front, Laramie had depleted his loads and thumbed in fresh ones before closing the loading gate. He peered around the corner of the recess and saw at least four bodies on the street. A man started a dash across the street and the gunfighter fired at him but missed.
A storm of lead came his way, gouging timber splinters from the framework and scything them through the air. Another shattered the large front window.
He ducked back and waited for the firing to die down. Once it had abated some, he eased forwards once more and this time saw two men coming towards him. With practised skill, he fired at them. One dived to the street, while the other screamed and clutched at his arm. He ran off to the side and found an alley to duck into. The sound of distant gunfire sounded which stopped him in his tracks, and he staggered and fell dead on the ground.
Willis emerged from the alley and started firing at an unseen target. Suddenly the man in the street cried out, ‘Don’t shoot! I’ve had enough!’
He climbed to his feet and raised his hands. Soon more men appeared, even more than had started out. And just like that, the battle on the main street was over.
With the gunfire still sounding behind him, Ford jogged up the hill towards the house. Maybe if he’d had more time he might have stopped to admire its magnificence. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked through the gate and up on to the veranda.
Ford tried the door and it swung open a fraction. On the other side, a gun opened fire and small needle-like slivers of wood sprayed outward as the bullets smashed through it.
The deputy marshal felt a sting on his right cheek as a splinter sliced at the flesh. Blood flowed freely and Ford cursed when more bullets crashed through the door. As soon as the staccato drum stopped, he kicked the door open and fired the Winchester. Then he levered and fired again.
The man on the other side of the door in the entrance hall, shuddered as the two bullets struck home. The dark suit he wore showed twin holes where the slugs had torn through it and his life-giving blood flowed freely.
Ford levered a round into the breech of the Winchester once more and fired again. Tennison lurched back and slumped to the floor, his rifle clattering when it landed beside him.
The deputy marshal edged into the cavernous hall and listened. The silence within was almost deafening. Ford’s heart beat a loud drum in his ears. Then, ‘Down here! Down. . . .’
Ford moved towards an open doorway. When he reached it he saw the stairs that led down into the cellar. He took a couple of tentative steps down, one of the treads creaking under his weight. In the silence it was loud enough to make the deputy marshal wince.
Suddenly, at the bottom of the stairs, a man with a six-gun appeared. He fired three rapid shots and Ford felt one of them rake his ribs. The lawman bit back a pained curse and fired a shot at the man who reeled away out of sight.
Ford kept his forward motion down the steps until he reached the bottom. The room was lit by a large lantern which cast a shadow-dappled orange glow throughout. The wounded man squirmed on the cold, hard floor.
Against the far wall, he could see two figures. One was seated and appeared to be chained. The other, a well-dressed man, held a gun to the figure’s head.
With the Winchester canted across his body, Ford said, ‘You OK, Bass?’
Bass raised his head. His face was covered in grime and a full beard, his eyes weary, hair a dirt-ridden mess. ‘Knew I could rely on you, boy. Now kill this son of a bitch and let’s get out of here.’
‘Just hold it, marshal,’ Kemp snapped. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I have the upper hand here.’
‘Shoot him!’ Bass hissed.
Ford ignored him. ‘Tell me, Kemp. I can understand the others, but why Bass? He had nothing to do with the death of your daughter.’
‘He was involved. He let them get away with it. He knew that the witness was false and did nothing.’
Bass’ eyes blazed. ‘I could do nothing, damn it. Yes, I knew. But by the time I got there for the trial, it was over and my hands were tied.’
Ford nodded. ‘There you go.’
‘He could have done something. Which makes him responsible. And for that, he should die like the rest of them.’
Ford sensed rather than saw Kemp’s finger tighten on the trigger. He swung the Winchester around and squeezed the trigger. The man lurched under the impact of the slug and Bass shrank back as he waited for the slug to burn into his brain.
Kemp fell to his knees, the six-gun slipping from his grasp. Ford heard a single word escape his lips as he fell to his side and died: ‘Maria!’
‘Get me outta these damned chains, boy,’ Bass growled. From behind the deputy, Harper moaned. ‘Come on, I’m going to kill his ass. He shot Ben Travers right here in this room.’
‘Let it go, Bass, there’s been enough killing here today.’
‘The hell there has,’ Bass hissed. ‘You ain’t been chained up down here for months.’
Ford turned away from his father and started to walk towards the steps.
‘Where the hell are you going?’
‘There’s still one person left on the list.’
‘Get me outta the chains, Josh. Now!’
He kept walking.
‘Josh!’
Kept walking.
‘Josh!’
He passed Willis on the steps. ‘Let him loose, will you?’
Ford finished climbing the steps and stared around the entry hall. For the first time he saw it for what it was. An empty shell of grandeur. It was obvious that all the money in the world couldn’t take Kemp’s pain away.
Laramie entered through the front door. ‘You OK?’
He nodded.
‘What about your old man?’
‘He’s still breathing fire, as always.’
Laramie smiled.
Behind him, Ford could hear the angry footsteps as Bass stomped up the stairs. ‘Where the hell is that boy?’
When he came out, he was surprised to see Laramie standing there. ‘You!’
‘Howdy, Bass.’
‘Are you mixed up in this mess, too?’
Laramie nodded. ‘You might say that I’m along for the ride. Thought Josh might need a hand seeing as he’s wanted for murder and prison break.’
Bass glared at his son, eyes sparked. ‘What?’
‘It ain’t what you think. Besides, it was all in the name of saving your sorry ass.’
‘That’s why you left me chained up down there.’
Ford shook his head. ‘It’s got me beat why they didn’t just let you go of their own free will. I bet if they had their time over again they’d do just that.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Nothing, Bass. Nothing at all.’
Chapter 18
A week later, four riders rode into Helena on a final mission. Bass, after a bath, fresh clothes, a shave and haircut, looked to be back to his old self. Even his temperament seemed to have returned.
‘I can’t believe you were going to leave me chained there,’ he growled for the hundredth time. ‘Your own flesh and blood.’
‘Maybe I should’ve let him shoot first,’ Ford commented.
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I think maybe I should send you back to Texas. Or better still, a stint in the Nevada desert. That might take some starch outta your pants.’