Legend of Keane O'Leary

by P McCormac

  ‘Goddamn bitch,’ he swore, as he tried to prise loose from those deadly teeth.

  Fortunately the overalls were a couple of sizes too big and the mule’s jaws clamped on what was mostly a wad of fabric. Nevertheless the skin was nipped painfully. To make the mule loosen its grip, Cogan had to batter the animal on the nose with clenched fist. When finally released, he hopped about rubbing his hip and swearing long and luridly. The mule bared its teeth in a wicked grin.

  ‘Goddamn bloody animal. I’d sell you for beef jerky only you’d probably poison anyone as chewed on it.’

  The mule made a strange whickering sound and Cogan could have sworn the animal was laughing at him. He now approached the beast with extreme caution. So occupied was he watching for those snapping teeth he was unaware that as he tightened the girth, the mule was busily inflating its stomach. When he had the girth fastened, his next task was to get the bit in position.

  Having considered the problem, Cogan edged round towards the rear of the animal. He had his knife in one hand and the bit in the other. Quickly he jammed the blade into the animal’s rear end. The mule jumped, kicked out and at the same time opened its mouth to bray its displeasure. By this time Cogan was by the head and he jammed the bit in position – not without some risk to his fingers.

  ‘Got you that time, you nasty little beastie,’ he gloated, but his heart sank at the thought of having to go through all this every time he had to saddle up. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to vacate California Crossing, he might have considered confronting the man who had sold him this beast from hell.

  From then on everything to do with the mule was performed while giving the wicked teeth and hoofs a wide berth. In spite of these precautions, the animal, at one stage, managed to stand on his foot.

  ‘Hell’s bells, if you ain’t Satan’s sister come to haunt me!’ Cogan hollered, hopping about in agony for the second time. ‘Hecate, that what I name you, Hecate. It was said of Hecate that even the wolves ran from her and the rats cowered in their holes when she came near.’

  About two miles out of California Crossing, the newly christened Hecate allowed its stomach to deflate. She did this to the accompaniment of a loud sustained fart. Cogan was chuckling at this performance when the mule abruptly changed direction. The saddle tilted and Cogan, arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance, fell heavily on to the trail. Hecate continued blithely onwards as if unaware of the catastrophe that had befallen her new master.

  ‘Goddamn it, maybe I should’ve faced down O’Leary,’ the bruised man groaned. ‘At least it would have been quick instead of this slow death by attrition.’

  He picked himself up and hobbled painfully after the mule.

  ‘Come back here, you harlot of Hades,’ he yelled.

  The mule let him almost catch it for a mile or more before she tired of the game and began to graze placidly on sage by the side of the road. Footsore and somewhat irked, Cogan warily approached the beast. He took out his revolver and placed the muzzle in the mule’s ear.

  ‘If you ever do that to me again I’m gonna blow your goddamn brains out of that evil skull of yours.’

  The mule regarded him calmly out of one jaundiced eye then pursed its lips and snickered. Cogan knew the mule was calling his bluff. The animal had set the limits of her new master’s dominance. Cogan realized he was in a no-win situation. Wearily he set about the arduous task of tightening up the saddle girth and remounting.

  ‘Hecate, only one of us will walk away from this here relationship and I ain’t sure I’m gonna be the one left standin’.’

  CHAPTER 5

  One of the hideouts used by the O’Leary gang was a horse ranch called Barren Drum, set way back in the hills. It may have been this ranch that gave Catlin and Frank the idea of setting up their ranch. It was a sprawling mess of buildings with extensive corrals used to contain the horses brought in for breaking. As well as being a hideaway, the ranch also furnished the outlaws with replacement mounts.

  It was here O’Leary had decided to retire after leaving California Crossing. He, and the few gunmen he retained as bodyguards, idled their time away either playing cards or hunting. It was late in the day after one of these expeditions that the gang rode into the yard. One of the riders hefted a small deer that had been lashed behind his saddle.

  ‘Ain’t much to show for a day’s hunting, Keane,’ the man commented.

  ‘Huh, I been out holding up a wagon train and got less than that for all my efforts. At least we can have that deer for dinner some evening.’

  The men were boisterous as they spilled into the ranch house. The main room was set out as a dining area with rough benches and tables.

  ‘Take that down to the cook and tell him we’ll have it tomorrow or the day after,’ O’Leary instructed the man with the deer. ‘And tell him to hurry up with dinner.’

  There was a crash as a fight broke out and one of the benches overturned. O’Leary banged on a table with his riding crop and called for order. But his men were crowding around the fighters and urging them on. No one heard the outlaw chief and in the end, he gave up his efforts and joined the onlookers. Someone tugged at his sleeve.

  ‘Fella here to see you here, boss.’

  O’Leary turned impatiently and Marcus Cogan was standing before him grinning broadly.

  ‘Yeah, what the hell are you grinning at like a loon with no brain?’ O’Leary asked, not recognizing his former scout and friend, now shorn of his long hair and beard and minus his animal skins.

  Cogan took a battered black hat from his head.

  ‘I need a job, boss.’

  ‘A job,’ hooted O’Leary, ‘what can you do?’

  ‘I can ride a she-devil of a mule, shoot a gun, bend a nail in my teeth, drink a gallon of whiskey at one sitting and keep a whore happy for half a night.’

  O’Leary laughed heartily at such blatant bluster.

  ‘OK, fella. If you can stop that fight I’ll give you a start.’

  By now they had to shout to be heard above the noise of riotous men. Cogan handed his hat to a bemused O’Leary.

  ‘I just rode thirty miles on the mule from hell. Compared to that, stopping these fellas will be easy.’

  Without more ado the newcomer waded into the crowd. Men were unceremoniously shunted aside until at last Cogan reached the fighters. He took out his gun and waiting for the right opportunity, cracked one of the fighters on the back of the head with it.

  The man staggered but did not go down. He turned indignantly to face his new attacker. That was a mistake. His opponent clubbed him and he sagged at the knees and collapsed on the floor. Cogan nodded to the second fighter who grinned back at him. O’Leary was laughing as Cogan returned to him. He handed the new man his hat.

  ‘You’ll do, fella, you’re hired. What’s your name?’

  Cogan grinned and bowed. ‘I’m called Hillard, boss.’

  ‘Well, I’ll call you Hard Hill for short,’ O’Leary told him. ‘How does that fit?’

  ‘The last time I got a new name the sky-pilot tried to drown me in a rain butt. As long as you don’t try to do the same that’ll do me.’

  O’Leary laughed again. ‘You’ll do, fella.’ He banged on the table with his crop. ‘Dinner, where the hell’s that dinner? I’m so hungry I could eat a skunk’s backside.’

  By this time the man who had taken the deer to the kitchens had returned.

  ‘Son of a bitch ain’t even started dinner yet,’ he complained to the bandit chief.

  In the midst of the clamour a big overblown man came into the room. O’Leary recognized him as one of his former riders now serving his daughter.

  ‘Lovell,’ he called, ‘where’s Gertrude? And what’s going on? My man tells me the cook hasn’t even started cooking dinner yet.’

  The big man eyed O’Leary coolly before replying.

  ‘You’ll have to get your own meals from now on. Lady Gertrude says cook has rebelled and refuses to cater for so many.’


  ‘Rebelled!’ O’Leary roared. ‘Send the son of a bitch up to me. I’ll soon put the rebellion out of him.’ O’Leary slapped the table with his riding crop. ‘A good whipping will soon knock the starch outta him. On second thoughts, staking him out on an anthill would be a more fittin’ punishment. Get him up here at once.’ He paused a moment. ‘What’s all this lady business? Since when have you been calling Gertrude lady?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr O’Leary, but I answer only to my mistress.’

  O’Leary’s eyes narrowed. ‘You what, you cur? You’ll answer me when I say so.’

  Lovell backed away, his hand on his gun. Before O’Leary could respond to this act of insubordination, someone pushed past him. His new hand flung himself at Lovell, taking the man by surprise. Cogan’s gun slashed across the man’s face. Lovell cried out and stumbled back, tugging at his pistol. Cogan was merciless. Again and again he beat the man across his head. Blood splashed onto his shirt and Lovell fell to the floor, cowering before his attacker.

  O’Leary’s men were crowding around the pair and cheering. Suddenly there was a commotion in the doorway. Men with drawn guns were spilling into the room.

  ‘Enough!’

  The shrill voice of O’Leary’s daughter cut into the noise like a whiplash.

  ‘Enough!’

  Gertrude pushed forward and looked from Cogan to the bleeding man on the floor. Her eyes, cold and hard, focussed on Cogan. She looked at the gun in the newcomer’s hand.

  ‘Put up that weapon.’

  ‘Gertrude, Gertrude.’ O’Leary confronted his daughter. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ He swept his hand round at the group of armed men. ‘Coming in here with guns! I’m your father, for God’s sake.’

  The cold eyes were turned on the old man.

  ‘Father, when you gave up your leadership you agreed to spend some time with me and time with Rachel. But we did not agree to have a mob of hellions rampaging through the place. I’ll not have your oafs fighting with my men. Look at the state of this place. It’s like a madhouse. I’m in command here. You obey my rules or face the consequences.’

  ‘Gertrude, what are you saying?’

  O’Leary had gone pale. His daughter looked at him, her face hard and unyielding.

  ‘If your men want to behave like animals then they can live like animals. From now on this trash can stay out in the stables. They will not be allowed inside the house again.’

  ‘And what about me, Gertrude?’ The old man’s voice trembled with anger. ‘Am I to be banished to the stables also?’

  ‘You, my dear father, may come and go as you please. But you will not order my men to do anything for you, nor will you abuse them as you have poor Lovell here.’

  ‘Your men . . . your men. . . !’ The words were spluttered out as the old man tried to rein in his growing anger. ‘You have these men ’cause I chose to give them to you. Up until that they owed their allegiance to me.’

  O’Leary stared round at the ring of Gertrude’s gunmen. Some looked away as if embarrassed by the plight of their old chief but most stared him out.

  ‘And what about Alec?’ O’Leary asked. ‘How does he figure in this?’

  It was then he noticed the blond gunman lounging in the doorway.

  ‘Alec, what way is this to treat me? I hope you haven’t got a hand in this.’

  Alec took the cigarette from his mouth and casually tapped at the ash. He looked coolly back at the old man.

  ‘It’s Gertrude’s call, Keane. She’s top bitch now. I’m only married to her.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll just have to back her play.’

  ‘A fiend. I have raised a fiend in my house—’ O’Leary spluttered before being interrupted by his daughter.

  ‘You men, out!’ she yelled. ‘From now on you fend for yourselves. I don’t care how, but my hospitality ceases as of now. Get them out, boys.’

  O’Leary stood helplessly as his men were herded out the doorway. They kept looking to him for guidance but the old man seemed dazed by the unrelenting swiftness of his daughter’s actions. Suddenly he snapped out of his bewilderment.

  ‘Saddle up, men,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll abide no more in this house. I have banished one daughter and cherished a viper. Saddle up.’ He turned and glared venomously at Gertrude. ‘I will go to Rachel. I will find charity with Rachel. I curse you, vixen that you are. I curse the day a she-devil entered into my home. You are a vixen that somehow crept into my household.’

  The scorn in his daughter’s eyes finally drove the old man after his men. Cogan warily watched his back as they left the room. As the routed men made preparations for their journey, O’Leary called Cogan to his side.

  ‘I want you to go on ahead and take this note to my daughter Rachel. Tell her we are for California Crossing and then on to her place to stay with her. Oh, the ingratitude of children. I tell you this, Hard Hill, don’t have children. They’ll cast you out in your old age.’

  Rachel’s share of the O’Leary inheritance was a way station called Pearly Gates. It was another of the bandit king’s hideouts. Though he knew quite well the whereabouts of the way station, Cogan feigned ignorance of its location.

  ‘Ride to California Crossing,’ O’Leary told him. ‘It’s on the way to Pearly Gates. Ask for Gallagher. He’ll give you directions.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Alward Gallagher acknowledged that Xaviera was exceedingly beautiful, but the shack she called home was decidedly slovenly. He rubbed a hand over his face and felt the three-day stubble.

  Not much chance of a shave in this pigpen, he thought ruefully. He would have to wait until he got back home. Still, it had been a wonderful couple of days’ indulgence with the young Mexican dancer.

  Idly he wondered how his father and Monday were coping without him. Alward sighed and decided he would have to make the effort and return home. The girl buried under the skins covering the bed stirred.

  ‘Señor Alward,’ she murmured sleepily.

  Her hand came across and stroked his bare chest and he became instantly aroused.

  ‘Xaviera, your name is as exotic as your lovely self.’

  He rolled on top of her. Her hand came up and stroked his bristles.

  ‘My skin, is she rub raw. But I not mind my preetty boy, Alward. You good loveer. We make pleenty good happy together.’

  The black eyes that smiled up at him were sunk beneath slender eyebrows. Tousled jet-black hair made a perfect frame for clear olive skin. Her blood-red lips were inviting him to sink his tongue into the juicy rich plumpness. Hardened nipples pressed against his chest as he lowered himself on top of her.

  ‘Mmmm . . .’ she moaned, ‘my beautiful Alward.’

  Afterwards, in the warm glow of intimacy, the youngster lay back in the bed, suffused with love for his lovely companion.

  ‘I make the breakfast for my beeautiful man.’

  She kissed him on the nose and looked longingly into his eyes.

  ‘You the best loveer for Xaviera,’ the young woman murmured. ‘I love you always, my beautiful Alward.’

  ‘Don’t worry none about breakfast, Xaviera,’ Alward told her. ‘It’s OK. I really gotta go.’

  ‘No. My man weel not go hungry. I not allow you leeve here with empty belly.’

  He lay lazily in the bed and watched the voluptuous Xaviera as she busied herself preparing corn tortillas for his breakfast.

  ‘I weel feed my man and make heem strong. You weel need plenty strong to look after your Xaviera.’

  Alward grinned. If the last three days were anything to go by, he certainly would need stamina.

  While Alward Gallagher whiled away his days in lovemaking, Monday Gallagher was rummaging around in his brother’s living quarters. He was humming gently as he searched.

  Now the coyote hunted wide that night.

  An’ as he hunted he prayed for light.

  With many a mile to go that night,

  Before he caught a bobwhite,

  Bobwhite, bobwhite.
r />   He’d many a mile to go that night,

  Before he caught a bobwhite.

  ‘Ah!’

  Monday held up a blue, silk shirt. Neatly embroidered on each pocket in shining red thread were his brother’s initials. Rolling the distinctive shirt in a bundle, he stuffed it inside his jacket and left the room, still humming the hunting song.

  When Alward rode into California Crossing, he was unaware his half-brother watched for his return. Once Monday had spotted him and knew his brother was returning home, he saddled his own horse and rode out of town. Monday had told his father he did not know where his brother had been. However, Monday knew exactly where his sibling was.

  Monday kept track of Alward’s comings and goings and was well aware that his brother spent his time in the Mexican village with a young woman. Now he retraced Alward’s route back to the shack of his Mexican lover.

  Outside the village, Monday hid his horse in a group of trees. He took the silk shirt he had purloined from Alward’s room from his saddle bag and changed it for his own. Attired in the silk shirt, he made his way cautiously towards the girl’s shack and after making sure no one was about, he stepped inside. At first he thought the place was empty. Then the bed covers heaved.

  ‘My beeautiful Alward, you have return.’

  Xaviera’s tousled hair emerged and she stared sleepily at the man standing by the bed.

  ‘Alward?’ Suddenly her eyes widened. ‘Monday! Is Alward . . . he is OK?’

  ‘Yes, your beautiful Alward is fine – for now anyway. He asked me to come and sample your delights. Said as you were great fun in the bedroom.’

  The blue silk shirt almost glowed in the dimness of the shack as she glared at him.

  ‘Alward, he would not do that,’ the girl said, in a low distressed voice.

  As the man made an effort to get in bed with her, she clutched the covers to her.

  ‘Get out!’ she hissed, anger beginning to take over from her bewilderment. ‘Get out!’