Return to Blood Creek

by Frank Callan

  In seconds, as they gathered in the lamp light, Ben Stile’s inspection of the place found Cal. ‘So, Cal Roney . . . we meet again. Under that beard I can now see the eyes and the shape of your face and build! It’s him all right, Emilia. Cal Roney, it seems I owe you my life – twice over. I’d like to shake your hand and forget about the past, though Gibbs is of another mind. He doesn’t know you’re here, yet.’

  They shook hands. ‘Ben, your sister is the best nurse this side of the Mississippi!’ Cal said, putting an arm around Emilia. He couldn’t avoid noticing the look he got from Charlie, who was now introduced to him.

  ‘This is all very cheery and friendly,’ Sedge said, ‘But there’s a small army on its way to destroy us and flatten this place to the ground. Reckon we ought to do somethin’ afore we’re pushin’ up flowers in the churchyard, folks!’

  Charlie was now whispering something to Emilia, and Cy was reassuring Lizzie that all was well; Ben looked around the room, his mind thinking of defending the place, and Sedge was preparing bread and cold meat for all. A natural leader would have seen what was to be done, and that was Cal. In one corner, on the floor, was Jim Kenny, tied hands and feet, looking restless. Emilia had found an old shirt, torn some cloth from it and bound Jim’s wounded arm. The bullet had splintered the edge of a bone and gone through him.

  Cal instinctively stood at the end of the table, and had them all sitting down. ‘Look,’ he said, studying the faces of everyone there, ‘I was just passing through here. I should have moved on by now, but I can’t leave you here to face your Kenny brood, kid . . . big brother’s not too happy, I expect?’

  ‘You bet, mister. Eddie and Jake will slice you in two for this. I’d run if I was you, folks. You should let me go now and run for it while you have the chance.’

  ‘Ignore the man,’ Cal said, ‘Now look, this is gonna be a siege. Unless you want to ride back to town now, and chance meeting the gang there. Chances are that would happen and you would be caught in the open, and circled, then cut down, real easy. Now, I been an officer for the Union, and with your permission I’ll lead our defence. It’s a siege and we have the advantage. Believe me . . . outnumbered or not.’

  Sedge said, ‘I knew you was . . . I could tell. Where was you, mister?’

  ‘I was in most places with Sherman . . . my nightmares mostly concern the siege at Atlanta, and if I learned anything about standing with your tails up, it was there, as I faced the men who were doing just that.’

  Sedge dished out the food and for a few minutes they ate in silence, listening to Cal. Jim was given food as well, and took it like a ravenous hound, with no thanks.

  ‘We treat this as the first position to hold,’ Cal said, ‘But make ready another position behind to fall back into, and then a third. We keep moving back, and gradually Kenny’s men thin out, so in the end, we’ll have a real advantage . . . Cary Island. I see out there beyond the lean-to, Sedge, you have some old tables and chairs. That’s our barricade. We make that now, as soon as we’ve eaten. That’s where we fall back, because as sure as I know my horse likes sugar, Kenny’s gonna burn this shack. Maybe even blast it.’

  ‘He’ll surround the place and come at you from all sides, mister!’ Jim said, with the tone of a tormenter relishing seeing suffering in his victims.

  ‘Jim, you can answer a question for me. . . .’ Cal walked across to him. ‘The man in the white hat with the limp, who is he?’

  ‘Why that’s Coop, Wichita Cooper. His Bowie knife is waiting for your gizzard.’

  ‘Cooper? He’s mine, everybody. He’s mine. You hear?’ Cal looked around. They nodded and agreed.

  The next hour was a busy one. While Lizzie stood with a rifle pointed at Jim’s head, the others made the circle of furniture and old crates about a hundred yards from the back of the shack, at the edge of the creek. Cal checked all this and was happy with it. He then pointed out to Cary Island and said, ‘That’s the third position.’

  ‘Was you a good officer, Mr Boldwood?’ Sedge asked. ‘You sure seem a useful man to have around.’

  ‘I used my common sense, Mr Gulley. Now everybody, understand this . . . the aim is for us all to be safely at Cary’s Island. . . it’ll be dark. We’ll move under moonlight. But from there, we have the advantage. They’ll have to come through the water, and we’ll be under good cover!’

  When all the preparations were done, they all sat down around the table again. Cal had brought Bella into better cover at the far side of the old rotting barn to the north; Sedge killed any hint of a flame or heat in his cooking lean-to, and all weapons were checked. All lamps were extinguished then, and it was quiet – apart from the commentary from Jim Kenny, still on the floor in the corner.

  ‘Now this is all a waste of your precious time, folks . . . don’t listen to this madman! Whatever you do, you face forty or fifty men! This here military man . . . he’s loco, I tell you. Stay here and die. I’ll enjoy watching you, folks!’

  Cy crawled across to the prisoner and stuffed a bandanna into his mouth, raising a laugh and improving the morale of the little group.

  ‘Now,’ said Ben Stile, ‘As I am the lawman around here, I have to say that my worry is for you ladies . . . we’re in a tight corner here, and we might not get out.’

  ‘I’m staying with you, Ben,’ Emilia said. Then came just a little observation, but it shattered Cal’s thoughts about the woman and what he had been considering saying to her. Charlie was sitting by her, and Emilia put out her hand and gently touched his. They looked at each other, and anyone could see that they cared, and that their feelings were sincere.

  Cal’s ruminations on what he felt about her and how she was the woman he had dreamed about, were crushed. He had nobody to tell about it, but since riding out of Long Corral, he had been unable to resist thoughts of her and how, after all his wandering years, she would be the perfect woman to settle down with, raise a family, stop drifting and do something else instead of chasing rogues and bandits across the plains and up the valleys. The thought of making justice happen was important to him, but maybe meeting Emilia was fate telling him that he had done more than his share of lawman work and that it was time to rest up.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a noise outside, and he darted to the window. Something or someone had moved across the undergrowth, and all the men were looking intently outside; then someone said, ‘Some kind o’ critter! Rest easy!’ It was Sedge, who had the best eyesight of them all, and also a sixth sense, which was why he always said he was still alive, as far as he could tell.

  Now only a few miles from Long Corral, Matt Calero heard the explosion and saw the smoke. He knew he should have dug in his spurs and raced to the scene. There was most likely some trouble and he was a Pinkerton man: he should be there. But it seemed probable that Cal Roney was not there, where the noise was, as his mission was to be at Blood Creek. He decided to ride around and miss out the town. Deep inside, he sensed that trouble was stirring, and like it or not, he would have to intervene. He would have to force himself to ride in and fight with, or fight for, Cal Roney. He owed him something, sure he did. He owed him a lot. But his conscience was nagging at him, telling him to take the easy way out, and that voice was fighting with the knowledge that he had to do the right thing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In Long Corral, Eddie and his men were inspecting the ruins of the jail, and a crowd had gathered; they were staring into the ruins and asking questions. There was smoke and dust everywhere, and the Kenny hands were stalking around, coughing and complaining. It had been a case of overkill. They had managed to shatter a wall of another building next door, part of a leather store. Dirt was blasted at passers-by a hundred yards up the road.

  ‘Damn me, you men . . . that corpse ain’t Deputy Stile . . . it’s that no-good drunk that curses the world and should now be glad to be free of it . . . we did him a favour! But where’s Stile?’

  His men shook their heads. One said, ‘He’s sure hard to kill, that
man, considerin’ he has no friends and walks alone, he’s no right to be still breathin’, boss!’

  ‘Yeah. Now we can only hope he’s over the road playin’ cards and so Jake’s like to take him out of the picture along with Gibbs. We’ll wait for the sound of a shot and then get over there.’

  But his men were out asking around to find where the lawman was, and they were told that he was seen riding out towards Blood Creek. Eddie commented that if he went out there he would only find bodies, as long as Jim and Coop had done the job.

  In the Heath Hotel, the card players were assembling again to play, and the musicians were back in their seats. The townsfolk had found out that deputy Stile had not been in the place, and Sonny Gibbs had noted that whoever had done it had done them a favour. It was only when someone ran in to say that Eddie Kenny and his men had blasted the place that he sat up, with the others, and wondered what should be done.

  ‘Well, if he’s here with his men, then he means business,’ Macky Heath said.

  ‘Sure . . . maybe this place is next!’ His brother added.

  ‘No,’ Gibbs said. ‘Think about it, he has nothing to gain by flattening the Heath. The jail, yes, he maybe thought that Ben was inside, but he won’t touch this place – he wants to run it.’

  Then into the card room came Jake Kenny. He was flushed, excited, and he betrayed bad nerves in every little movement he made. The older men, severe and serious in their evening dress, looked him up and down. ‘You want something, son?’ Gibbs asked.

  Jake pulled out his pistol and stood with the barrel pointed at Gibbs. His hand was shaking and his voice trembled. ‘Mr Gibbs . . . you printed that paper . . . you told damned lies about us . . . your time has come!’

  The Heaths and their friends ducked, raising their hands, and all mumbled, ‘Easy now son. . . !’ But Gibbs never moved an inch, and he faced the barrel with equanimity, and his courageous stare unnerved Jake Kenny. This gave Gibbs just time enough to lunge forwards and make a grab for Jake’s leg. He had been told that, when faced with a gun, the best move was to dive forwards and head for the shooter’s feet, not to turn away and widen the scope for the shot. This was good advice, as Jake fired low and by the time he did, Gibbs had a hold of the younger man’s legs and wrestled him to the floor. The bullet ripped into the floorboards.

  The other men stood back as another shot was fired, this time into the ceiling, as Gibbs forced Jake on to his back and managed to punch him on the cheek. The gun fell to the floor, and Gibbs swung another blow at Jake’s face. This time he went out like a light. But a voice at the door said, ‘Oh dear, you just attacked my little brother. Shame. You have to die for that.’

  This was Eddie, who had come across with his men. He had Coop at his side, and Coop had all the information Eddie needed about the Creek and who was there.

  But Gibbs was not going to die that night. No sooner had he heard the words spoken than he snatched the gun from the floor and pointed it at Eddie before he could draw.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, Mister Gibbs. . . there’s no law in town, seeing as how Ben Stile has ridden out to Blood Creek. Stile is there, along with Cal Roney – back from the dead, I reckoned, when I saw him! We’re going out there to send them to Hell!’ Coop said this with a tone of cruelty.

  But he didn’t finish the sentence. Gibbs, pointing the pistol at him, had the drop on Eddie and his men, and he backed out, facing them until he reached the door, then he ran for the first horse in the stables.

  Out at the Creek, the waiting went on. It was a situation in which a man felt cornered, backed up in darkness and waiting for anything or nothing. It made fear, generated it so that in the mind, it was like waiting for a dam to burst or for lightning to strike. Cal, remembering the desperate confrontations in the war, walked slowly around, treating the men and women as his military company. They all had rifles and side-arms, and he had packed just the one room, with the lean-to open behind. There was a clear way through. The wait gave him time to think, and he knew that the one weakness was if Kenny’s men circled the place as soon as they arrived. He decided to tell Ben Stile this, and made it clear what was the only course of action.

  There was a hostage, of course. They had Jim Kenny, but he was wounded, and would slow them down when they moved. Locking him up was the safest bet, and Cy and Ben were assigned to gag him and shut him in the one place which had potential as a jail – Sedge’s pantry. He was hog-tied and couldn’t make a sound.

  ‘Ben, I’ll have to go and sit in place outside, just the other side of the circle of furniture, right? From there I’ll see any movement if they surround the place. . . and I’m sure they will. I’ll pick off anyone who slithers around there.’

  ‘Be careful Cal . . . and by the way, let’s forget what happened to Mrs Gibbs . . . in my book, you’re redeemed, my friend.’

  ‘I hope the other folk think the same,’ Cal said, and crouching low, headed off into the dark beyond the old barn.

  ‘You were supposed to have a reason to hand over this place to me,’ Eddie Kenny said to the Heath brothers. They were still in that back room, and Jake had made a mess of things again. Eddie’s patience was frayed, and he laid it on the line to the Heaths now.

  ‘Tomorrow, Mr Holden is going to bring a bill of sale here, a bill accepting that I have paid you five hundred dollars for this place . . . You will sign this and give it to Mr Holden. If you refuse to sign, then you will both be shot dead by sundown, wherever you are. I been a patient man far too long. Now, if you think I’m being too extreme and unreasonable about this, then you have the option of leaving town. If you get lost and keep ridin’ till you reach the sea or the northern wilderness, you might survive, but to be honest, if you stay here and sign, I’ll keep you on as bar staff. Deal?’ He held out his hand and put on the kind of smile that would annoy even a drunk preacher, it looked so falsely pleasant.

  The Heath brothers looked at each other. For so long they had sat tight and refused to co-operate with Kenny. Now he had lost patience and was doing things the old-fashioned way, how they did things before anyone wore a tin star or called himself a mayor.

  Doc Heath was the first to react. He held out a hand, and Kenny shook it. Macky followed. But to Eddie’s mind, it had all been too easy – suspiciously easy. He gave them a sideways stare and frowned. ‘Pleasure doin’ business with you, my friends. You’ll not regret this.’

  Macky knew, from long experience, that his brother was not serious in what they had done, and that there was a plan in his head. He played along, and when Doc invited Eddie to play a hand, it was irresistible.

  ‘But we have to get out to Blood Creek, boss!’ Coop complained.

  ‘You men go. I’ll follow, when I’ve won this game.’

  Eddie and the Heath brothers settled in for a game. ‘I got a neat notion to put to you, Eddie Kenny,’ Macky said. ‘How about we play for real money . . . say a thousand bucks first?’

  ‘We could, only I can’t lose you see, because I don’t obey no rules. If you win, I’ll just take the money back, with a gun barrel stuck on your jaw.’ Eddie smiled.

  ‘Fine . . . just a little bit of pleasantry, Mister Kenny. We are gentlemen after all, and if you do assume ownership of the Heath, I’d like to think you will maintain its dignified and cultured nature.’ Macky put on the front he had always used in his rise, as a gambler on the river, when he was raising funds to buy a place of his own. It impressed Kenny.

  ‘You know, Heath, you’d better sign that bill, as I need a man like you to run the place . . . a man of culture, of refinement. Now tell your man here to deal.’

  It took some time for Macky to win the imagined amount of cash they were pretending to play for. He couldn’t resist taunting Eddie a little as he won each hand. And every time he teased and ribbed his opponent, Macky took another glass of whiskey, and in spite of his brother’s whispered advice to slow down, he kept on, and Eddie followed suit. After half an hour, they were both the worse for drink, and D
oc was sensing the beginnings of an idea at the back of his mind. It was a mistake. He saw that only a few men had stayed behind after Coop and Jake had left for the Creek, and he looked at Eddie’s pistol in the holster, so close that it could easily be snatched. As Eddie’s words slurred and he swayed in his seat, his men behind urged him to pack it in and get out of town.

  ‘Ah, Coop and Jake will have taken the place by now. You boys be patient, huh?’

  He delayed, and took even more drink. When Doc Heath saw the Kenny men relax and walk out into the main bar, he seized his chance and took the gun. But Eddie shouted, and it was loud, so loud that Doc soon saw his mistake. His mind was set on using Eddie as a hostage, but Eddie’s men were quick: before Doc could take hold of him, half-a-dozen of his men were firing at him and at Macky from the door, and Eddie rolled on to the floor, coming to rest under a long side-table. One of the bullets hit him in the leg.

  In the volley of bullets that were shot into the room, Macky was hit in the face and chest and he fell back, dead. The dealer crawled to the floor and begged for mercy as the men advanced towards them, and Doc screamed his brother’s name and shuffled across to him, some shots still coming his way. But though he had lost his brother, he was saved, as Eddie, behind, shrieked out that he needed the doc.

  ‘Don’t hurt Doc Heath . . . I’m hit, I’m hit, boys!’

  The shooting stopped and the Kenny boys lifted their boss on to the side table, where there was enough room for the doc to look at him. But Doc was crouching over his brother, cursing Eddie Kenny. ‘He’s dead . . . he’s dead, you murdering bastards . . . this is all you know, killing! You can rot, Kenny . . . I’m doing nothing!’

  Eddie Kenny had a problem. He had a major bleed as the bullet had hit an artery and his life blood was spurting out like a fall over a mountain course. He yelled for a tourniquet and one of the men grabbed a cloth from off the table and wrapped it around the leg.