Six-Gun Nemesis
In Chaparral Bend a gallows is being raised for youngster Ty Garland, accused of bank robbery. But is he really guilty? His old ma claims he is innocent, and town tamer, Crossdraw Kitchenbrand, is inclined to believe her, especially as the notorious gunman Angel Addison and his gang, the Yuma boys, seem to be involved.
Crossdraw’s search for answers brings him up against big ranch-owner Landon Clovis and leads him to the outlaw roost of Addisonville. He can count on the support of the old woman and a girl he has rescued, but will that be enough to succeed against overwhelming odds? Will his six-guns finally bring justice?
By the same author
Pack Rat
Coyote Falls
Guns of Wrath
Six-Gun Nemesis
Colin Bainbridge
ROBERT HALE
© Colin Bainbridge 2012
First published in Great Britain 2012
ISBN 978-0-7198-2319-0
The Crowood Press
The Stable Block
Crowood Lane
Ramsbury
Marlborough
Wiltshire SN8 2HR
www.bhwesterns.com
This e-book first published in 2017
Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press
The right of Colin Bainbridge to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Chapter One
Kitchenbrand drew the roan to a halt and reached for his field glasses. Something strange had caught his eye. At first he had ignored it but, whatever it was, it kept popping in and out of his field of vision. It seemed to be some giant bird. It would appear for a moment and then vanish in the long grass, behind some bushes or a rock. The moments extended as he sat his horse and he was about to conclude that he must have been mistaken when he saw the object again. He clapped the glasses to his eyes and succeeded in getting a fleeting glimpse of something distinctly odd, but he still couldn’t make out what it was. Touching his spurs to the gelding’s flanks, he turned off the trail, reaching for his rifle as he did so. After riding for a time he stopped again. He could see no sign of the strange object but he thought he could detect a faint murmuring sound. He strained his ears as it came again, subsiding to a low mumble. The sound seemed to issue from a patch of vegetation and as he approached cautiously he began to pick out distinct words and expletives:
‘Landogoshen . . . Sassafras . . . Tarnation.’
If that’s a bird, he pondered, it ain’t much of a songbird.
The voice was high-pitched as it emerged from its background droning. Kitchenbrand slid the rifle back into its scabbard and dismounted. He walked towards the bushes and pushed his way through. In a small clearing there lay what seemed to confirm his impression that he had detected some unknown species of bird till he perceived a human figure covered with feathers. As he got close he saw that it was an old woman, and at the same moment in which he recognized her, the woman sensed his presence. She looked up at him through eyes which seemed preternaturally sharp and blazing through the black substance which smeared the rest of her features.
‘Consarnit, I ain’t scared of you,’ she hissed.
‘You ain’t got no cause to be scared, ma’am,’ Kitchenbrand replied. He knelt down beside her.
‘Don’t you go touchin’ me,’ she muttered. ‘I ain’t let no man touch me for thirty years and I don’t intend no-one doin’ it now.’
‘Ma’am,’ Kitchenbrand replied, ‘it was the furthest thing from my mind.’
‘I know your type,’ she replied. ‘Ain’t no woman safe no matter how she’s fixed.’
‘Ma’am, I can see you ain’t in the best of shapes. If you give me a moment, I have something which might help to restore you a little.’ He turned away and walked back to his horse. Tarred and feathered, he thought, but over her clothes. Still, it was a bad thing to do to an old woman.
In a few moments he was back with a flask of whiskey and a canteen of water.
‘Here, take a swig of this,’ he said. She didn’t offer any objections; sitting up straight, she poured a good draught of the liquor down her throat.
‘I got a canteen of water,’ Kitchenbrand said. ‘Maybe you could start tidying yourself up some.’ He passed her the canteen. She looked at him with her piercing eyes, then snatched it from his grasp. ‘I could help remove some of those feathers,’ he suggested.
‘Like I said, you just keep your hands off of me,’ she replied. ‘Your kind are always lookin’ for some excuse to start a-pawin’ at female flesh.’ She took another swig of the whiskey, which seemed to have a softening effect. ‘It’s good liquor,’ she said.
‘Eight rattlesnake heads to the barrel,’ Kitchenbrand replied. ‘If your eyeballs don’t start bleedin’ soon, there’s somethin’ wrong with you.’ She didn’t hand the flask back to Kitchenbrand but placed it instead on the ground. She took the canteen and splashed some of the water over her face. ‘Here, take this,’ Kitchenbrand said, removing his bandanna and handing it to her. She took it and wiped it across her features. The tar smeared but some of it came off. As far as Kitchenbrand could tell, she hadn’t been burned.
‘Low-down murderin’ varmints,’ she snarled.
‘You’re alive,’ Kitchenbrand said.
She looked up at him again with her fierce eyes. ‘No thanks to those coyotes. And they still got my grandson.’
She began to wipe her face again but soon abandoned the attempt to clean it in favour of trying to pull some of the feathers from her clothes. Kitchenbrand looked up at the sky. The sun was well down.
‘Seems to me it’s goin’ to take a while for you to get anywhere near bein’ cleaned up. Why don’t I set up camp right here while you get on with the job and then you can tell me just what happened?’
She pulled a few more feathers from her blackened gear without replying. Looking at her, Kitchenbrand was torn between laughter and pity. She was thin as an abandoned cur.
‘Figure you could do with some chowder,’ he said. ‘I got beans, bacon and coffee. Oh, and I got some spare duds. I guess they’re maybe a bit large, but I reckon you could do somethin’ with ’em.’
She seemed to weigh his words. ‘You ain’t got tobacco?’ she replied. ‘I would surely appreciate a quirley.’
Kitchenbrand grinned. ‘Could use one myself,’ he said. He reached into a pocket and brought out his pouch of Bull Durham. He threw it to the woman. ‘Roll yourself a cigarette,’ he said, ‘while I get my horse.’
‘Hope he ain’t allergic to feathers,’ the woman said.
By the time Kitchenbrand had got a fire going and cooked the bacon and beans, darkness had fallen. The old woman had made a fair job of cleaning herself up, but she still presented a sorry appearance. When she had eaten and drunk a mug of coffee, she was at least feeling better. She and Kitchenbrand built smokes and leaned back against some rocks.
‘Since it seems we’re gonna be spendin’ the night together,’ Kitchenbrand said, ‘I guess some introductions might be in order.’
‘Don’t need to know your name,’ the woman said. He told her it anyway. ‘Ain’t you gonna tell me your name?’ he added.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Guess it don’t make any difference either way,’ she replied. ‘Folks call me old Virginy.’
‘ “Take me back to old Virginny”,’ Kitchenbrand quoted. ‘Like the song?’
She looked across at him with flashing eyes. ‘Which side were you on?’ she said unexpectedly.
‘If you’re referring to the War Between the States, ma’am, I was proud to call myself a Rebel.’
At his words her eyes seemed to soften and the flicker of a smile
touched the corner of her mouth. ‘You were in it all the way through?’
‘Certainly was, ma’am.’
‘Maybe you ain’t so bad,’ she said.
‘I recall how after the slaughter at Sharpsburg,’ he murmured reflectively, ‘General Lee ordered us back across the Potomac and the regimental band switched from playing ‘Maryland, My Maryland’ to ‘Carry me Back To Old Virginny.’ If we had only. . . .’ He stopped and looked into the old woman’s face.
‘It was a long time ago now,’ she said softly, and for a moment he felt as though their roles had changed, that he was the victim and she was the one offering solace.
‘You got a second name?’ he asked.
‘Garland,’ she said.
‘That’s a nice name. Virginy Garland. Sounds kinda fresh, like spring.’
His comment evoked a chortle from his com-panion. ‘Ain’t nobody said anythin’ like that to me before, leastways not in a long time. I figure that’s the Forty-rod speakin’ we both been drinkin’.’
Kitchenbrand blew out a long stream of smoke and looked up at the stars. Some emotion that he could not define was tugging gently at his throat and chest. Maybe it was something to do with the war. He hadn’t thought about it for many a long day. He leaned over and poured fresh coffee into their mugs.
‘Maybe you’d better tell me what happened to you,’ he said.
‘Can’t you see?’ she replied. ‘Ain’t it obvious?’
‘I can see you’ve been tarred and feathered some, but that don’t tell me why.’
She was silent for a while and then suddenly the fire in her eyes blazed up again.
‘They wouldn’t have been able a few years ago,’ she snapped. ‘I can still take care of myself, but they caught me cold.’
He waited for a few moments before replying. ‘Who were they?’ he said. ‘And why did they do it?’
‘I might be an old worn-out woman,’ she replied, ‘but I ain’t finished with ’em. I’ll make ’em pay for what they done.’
Again he allowed time to pass before responding. ‘Maybe I can help you there.’
She twisted her head sharply to give him one of her penetrating glances. ‘Why do you say that?’ she said. ‘You don’t know nothin’ about me. You don’t owe me nothin’.’
‘Let’s just say I don’t like to see old ladies tarred and feathered,’ he replied. He blew out another ring of smoke. ‘Beggin’ your pardon for callin’ you old, ma’am, but I guess you know what I mean.’
After a moment her face relaxed. ‘No need for apologies,’ she replied. ‘Like I say, that’s what folks call me. Hell, I weren’t never any kind of calico queen.’ She sat back again, seeming to ponder the situation. ‘OK,’ she said at length. ‘If you really want to know, I’ll tell you the story.’ She coughed and spat into the fire. ‘I reckon you’re a stranger to the area?’ she said.
Kitchenbrand nodded in agreement. ‘Sure am. Passin’ through. Leastways, I was.’
‘Then you won’t have heard of the Yuma gang?’
Kitchenbrand’s hand paused on its way to his mouth with the cigarette. ‘The Yuma gang?’ he repeated.
‘Yup. That’s what I said.’
His hand resumed its motion and he took a drag. ‘Matter of fact I have,’ he replied. ‘If it’s the same bunch, I helped to put a few of ’em behind bars. But that was some time ago.’
‘Well, looks like some of ’em musta either busted out or got released and taken to their old ways again.’
‘Like I say, if it’s the same bunch.’ He turned his head sideways. ‘Are they the ones responsible for doin’ this to you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. The ones that did the tarrin’ and featherin’ did it because they claimed my grandson Ty is one of ’em. They held up a bank in Chaparral Bend. Some people got shot and the manager, Tom Farley, was killed. Folks reckoned Ty was the one responsible. They come for him and took him away.’
‘Who took him away? Some of the townsfolk?’
‘I reckon so. I thought I recognized one or two of ’em. Don’t get up to town too often. The only one I recognized for certain was a man name of Clovis. Landon Clovis. Runs a spread called the Latigo north of Chaparral Bend and owns property in town.’
‘Then it weren’t no sort of legal posse?’
‘Nope. Wouldn’t have been. Marshal Purdom is a decent man. He wouldn’t hold no truck with somethin’ like that.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘About a week ago.’
‘And where is Ty now?’
‘They got him in the jailhouse. I know that because I rode in and checked. Figured they might have lynched him. As it is, they’re buildin’ a gallows high.’
‘They took him a week ago,’ Kitchenbrand mused. ‘So they didn’t tar and feather you at the time?’
‘Nope. A bunch of ’em came back and did that to me later. I figure they thought I deserved a little punishment too, just for havin’ brung him up.’
Kitchenbrand leaned over and absent-mindedly poured himself and Virginy another cup of coffee. He swallowed a mouthful before turning to her. ‘And what makes you think he wasn’t involved?’ he said.
‘You mean with the Yuma gang or the bank robbery?’
‘Both.’
She hesitated for just a moment. ‘I ain’t disputin’ he was once involved with those Yuma boys. He didn’t make much of a secret of it. But that was a whiles ago. I know he come to see the error of his ways. And I know he weren’t involved with no robbery because he was home with me at the time it occurred.’
‘You sure about that?’ Kitchenbrand said.
For a moment the fire blazed up in her eyes but it quickly died down again. ‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I know it because the robbery took place on the anniversary of the day he first come to me: June the seventeenth. I’m not likely to forget it. I made us a cake. Besides, I reckon I know my own grandchild. I ain’t blind to his faults. I knowed when he was runnin’ wild. But I know he’s a good boy at heart and that he come to see just where he was goin’ wrong.’
‘Sounds reasonable to me,’ Kitchenbrand replied. He drank some more coffee. ‘You say they got him in jail in Chaparral Bend?’ he resumed.
‘That’s right. They won’t let me see him, though.’
‘You say they’re buildin’ a gallows. That ain’t encouragin’. Sounds like maybe they already made their minds up about him.’
‘That’s what I figure. They didn’t need no other excuse to come tarrin’ and featherin’ me.’
‘Where exactly do you and your grandson live?’ Kitchenbrand said.
‘We got our own little place,’ she replied. ‘Name of the Chicken Track. Don’t amount to much, not more than just a shack, but we got us a nice parcel of land. We used to keep some hens. That’s why we called it the Chicken Track. We did all right.’
‘Is it far from here?’ Kithenbrand said.
‘Why, no. Those rattlesnakes that run me off didn’t carry me too far.’
Kitchenbrand had finished his coffee and threw the dregs on to the fire. ‘Seems to me like I need to pay a visit to Chaparral Bend and real quick,’ he said. ‘We’ll start early in the mornin’. I’ll take you back to the Chicken Track and then head for town.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘I think I already said: I got some objections to an old lady bein’ set on.’
‘You gonna help my grandson get justice?’
Kitchenbrand shrugged. ‘Somethin’ like that,’ he replied. ‘Gonna see for myself what’s goin’ on.’
‘Well, that sounds fine so far as it goes.’
‘What are you suggestin’?’
‘Nothin’. Only I ain’t gonna be left out when you hit Chaparral Bend. I’m comin’ with you.’
Kitchenbrand thought over her words for a moment. He looked across at the determined set of her features. ‘Yup,’ he said. ‘I reckon you are.’ For the second time Virginy’s face relaxed into the semblance of
a smile. ‘Besides,’ Kitchenbrand added, ‘I guess I’m gonna need you around to identify those low-down buzzards that tarred and feathered you.’
Kitchenbrand was up before the dawn, awakened by the smell of fatback sizzling in the pan.
‘You’re awake mighty early,’ he said.
‘Ain’t one to lie abed,’ she replied.
When they had eaten they wasted no time in putting out the fire and clearing the camp, leaving as little trace as possible of their occupancy of the site. Kitchenbrand helped hoist the old woman on to the horse’s back and then swung up behind her.
‘Kinda cosy, ain’t it?’ she said.
Now that he was close to her, he noticed for the first time that she smelled and he wasn’t sure whether it was entirely on account of the tarring and feathering. She’s had a mighty rough time of it, he reflected. The smell was no worse than a night in the bunkhouse after a hard day on the range and a lot better than riding drag on a herd of longhorns.
They hadn’t gone too far when she pointed out a side trail.
‘It’s a short-cut,’ she said. ‘The cabin is just on the other side of those low hills.’
He turned the horse and they carried on riding till, coming to the crest of a long rise, she startled him by giving a sudden gasp. ‘The cabin,’ she exclaimed, pointing ahead. ‘It ain’t there no more!’
As they rode down the opposite slope he could see the remains of what had been a cabin standing in front of some trees with a trampled vegetable garden in front. His first thought was that the cabin must have been razed but when they got close he could see that it had been physically knocked down. Parts of it still stood upright. Coming to a stop, Kitchenbrand slid from the saddle. He made to help his companion but she had already got down too.
‘Goldurn stinkin’ coyotes,’ she muttered. ‘They didn’t need to do this.’
Kitchenbrand walked round the piled up layers of debris, pausing at intervals to examine the wreckage. To his practised eye there was plenty of sign indicating that a group of at least half a dozen riders had been that way.
Six-Gun Nemesis Page 1