by Art Isberg
‘Judd, what are you doing here? Put down that revolver!’ She crossed the room, as Miller held up his hand ordering her to stay back.
‘You stay out of this, Rachel. It’s between me and your father, if you can call him that. He’s as cold-blooded a bastard as the men he paid to murder my brother and me. Now he’s going to pay for it!’
‘A cold-blooded murderer? And you believe pulling that trigger doesn’t make you one, too? Think about what you’re doing, while you still can. Stop this right now!’
She boldly shoved Judd back, forcing her way between the two men. Cyrus grabbed her from behind with both hands, pulling her up against him, shielding himself shamelessly.
‘Get out of here, Rachel. I’ve waited too long for this!’ Judd tried pushing her aside.
‘No, I won’t. You want to kill someone so badly, go ahead and shoot, because you’re going to have to kill me too, to do it!’ Her voice rose to an emotional challenge.
‘He killed my brother, and the man you loved and planned to marry. Have you forgotten about that? Is it so easy for you to do now?’
‘No, I haven’t forgotten. But I know that you pulling that trigger won’t bring Randall back, and you know it too. Get out of here or you’ll be on the run for murder and will regret it for the rest of your life. I’m not going to stand here and watch you become judge, jury and executioner. If you loved your brother as much as I did, and still do, you won’t dirty his name and memory by doing this. Don’t, Judd. It’s wrong and you know it is!’
Miller’s eyes bored into the defiant young woman while she stared back without blinking. He knew she wasn’t going to move. The six-gun in his hand was still levelled waist high. Tense seconds passed as Rachel’s words sank in. Judd finally swallowed as if he was going to speak, but instead he took in a long, slow breath, then slowly lowered the revolver and holstered it. He struggled to keep his voice level from the rage of emotion churning inside him.
‘He’s going to pay for what he’s done, and you can’t stop it. I’m going to see to it, if it’s the last thing I do. You can’t protect him forever. I’ve got the proof I need in two ledgers, to put him behind bars or see a hangman’s rope.’
‘Then maybe a court will settle it. Haven’t you had enough killing using that six-gun of yours for answers?’
‘Maybe I have. But I didn’t start out this way, remember? All Randall and I wanted was to build our ranch, until your father and his crooked pals stepped in. He is the cause of everything that happened after that to me, you and everyone else.’
Judd stepped back, never taking his eyes off her, until he turned for the front door. Letting himself out, he disappeared into the cold starry night without another word, noticing for the first time that he was shivering with emotion. He’d come to kill Toomey, and now Rachel had suddenly stopped him. Why had he let her, he wondered to himself, after all his plans to get even. Was he losing the bitter edge of vengeance that he’d sworn to uphold. The only thing left that he was still certain of, was that if he couldn’t do it with a six-gun, he’d finish Toomey in a court of law. It could not end like this.
Rachel went to the door and closed it, while Cyrus collapsed back in the chair, burying his head in both hands, his shoulders shaking. She returned and stood silently behind him for a moment, summoning all the strength she had for what she was about to say.
‘I always wondered if you had anything to do with Randall’s death. Now maybe I’ll finally have to find out. If you did, Father, I’ll never speak another word to you, ever again. Do you understand me?’
He struggled to his feet, reaching out to grab her, but she pushed his hands away, starting across the room for the stairs – but she stopped before going up, and said ‘Tomorrow I’m going to pack my things and move out, until all this is over. I can no longer live here in this house with you, until I get some answers. I don’t have to explain why, after all this, do I?’
‘Wait, Rachel . . . I can explain everything. You have to believe me. None of this happened the way Miller says it did! He’s half crazy. You saw it. He meant to kill me!’
She turned away and made her way up the stairs, until the bedroom door closed behind her, leaving Cyrus Toomey standing there staring after her, still pleading to be heard, and lying to save himself.
After leaving the Toomey house, Judd moved quickly. He knew Cyrus might try anything now. If he decided to run for it, it could take months or even years to catch up with him, if ever. He rode fast out of town and headed for the old hunting camp to pick up the ledgers he’d secreted there in the rock wall. He had to retrieve them, ride for the railroad and Thurston, and get the papers to the lawyers F.W. had promised he’d use against Toomey, if Judd could bring him proof. Judd meant to test that offer.
Miller had been right about Toomey’s reaction. Once the trembling fear of being executed had worn off, he quickly began taking stock of what options he had to keep that confrontation from happening twice. The answer always came up the same, and that was to kill Miller any way he could. The following morning Cyrus watched as Rachel marched out of the front door looking straight ahead and carrying two cloth clothing bags filled with her personal belongings. She neither looked at him, nor spoke a single word. After the door slammed shut behind her, he quickly went upstairs to dress and walk down to Main Street one block away. He had a new idea that might work to save himself.
The first saloon he came to, he pushed through the front door. Inside a dozen early drinkers were already at the bar, who turned to see who had come in. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Mike Gilles, owner of the Dry Mouth saloon, turned with a look of surprise on his face. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever seen you in here. I think I’ll give you one on the house, just for the hell of it!’
‘I’m not here to drink the swill you serve up. I’m here because last night that murdering coward, Judd Miller, broke into my house and tried to kill me! Most of you men know that just a days ago I offered any man, or men, two thousand dollars to run him down and kill him. Not one man responded. Now I’m upping that to three thousand dollars, and I don’t care how it’s done. Even if three or four men get together and do the job, that’s still a lot of money to split among them. I say, saddle up and find Miller. It’s open season on him. When he’s dead, there’ll be no questions asked by me or anyone else how it was done, or by who. Is there anyone in here with enough stones to take on the job? Speak up!’
Gilles looked at his customers leaning on the bar, and waited for a reply. No one uttered a word. Looking back to Toomey, he gave him an answer of his own: ‘Mr Mayor, let me tell you something that might save you a lot of time and money. There isn’t a man in Red Bluffs who will ride out after Judd Miller. He took down your top gun, Jared Bass, right out here on the street in front of my place, not to mention what the judge did to himself because of Miller. No one is going to out pull him, and he knows it. So does everyone else around here. You could offer four, five, or six thousand dollars. It won’t do no good. And I’d have to add, I’m a little surprised that the mayor of this town would come in here and even ask men to kill for him. All of a sudden you don’t sound much like a mayor, but more like a hangman.’
‘I’ve been driven to do this because of that rabid animal. He has to be stopped. And if none of you will, mark my words, he’ll come back here any time he pleases, and shoot down anyone who opposes him. Whether it’s men, women or children, won’t make any difference. Is there not even one of you who will do something about it?’
The drinkers only stared back, still in silence, until Gilles spoke up again. ‘Well, it looks like if you want Miller dead, you’re the one who is going to have to do it yourself. There are no takers in here, or I’d guess anyplace else around town.’
Toomey turned, red-faced, glaring back at the men before leaving the saloon, the fear of desperation beginning to slowly crawl up the back of his neck again. Reaching his house, Cyrus went in checking every door and window, locking himself inside – but it wasn�
��t enough to tamp down the crushing fear that Judd Miller would return and this time finish what he’d started before Rachel stopped him. Now Rachel was gone, and she wasn’t coming back – and everyone else who had protected him was dead.
All that long afternoon he paced the floor, pistol in his hand, trying to decide what to do next. No place in Red Bluffs was safe, not even here in his own home. With shaking hands he poured himself a stiff drink of rye whiskey from the glass decanter on the table, sitting down with sweat beading his lined face. There had to be some way out – and suddenly that word ‘out’ gave him the answer he’d struggled to come up with. He had to get completely out of town fast, and as far away as possible – so far that neither Judd Miller, nor anyone else, would ever be able to track him down.
He leaped to his feet, hurrying up the stairs to his bedroom, and began to pack as little as possible, in a large cloth travelling bag. When he had finished, he went to the wall safe and took out all the cash he’d retrieved earlier from his office, stuffing some in his pockets and the rest in the bag.
Back downstairs he stood behind a curtained window, watching the sun slowly go down until early evening shadows crept up the street outside. Edging out of the front door, he hurried back to Main Street and the Alexander & Banning stagecoach office. Stepping inside, he found the small waiting room empty, except for the clerk, Harley Tuttle, at the counter, going over paperwork. Tuttle looked up through wire-rimmed glasses. The surprise on his face obvious.
‘Why, hello Mr Mayor!’ He forced a small smile. ‘What brings you here at this hour, sir?’
‘I want to know if there’s another stage due out of here tonight?’
‘Ah, yes there is. The last one should be in for the final run to Canyon City, in about one hour, if they’re on time. Why do you ask?’
‘Because I’m going to be on it. How much for a ticket?’
Tuttle stared back. It took a moment for him to recover from such a surprising request. ‘Well, would it be just for you, or do you have freight of any kind, too?’
‘No, just for me, and this clothing bag.’
‘I see . . . we can put that on top along with other gear.’
‘No. I want it inside the coach with me. I don’t want it on top of anything.’
‘If you insist. I suppose you want a round trip ticket?’
‘I do not. Make it one way. And the stage does run further west, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes sir, it does. How much further west are you considering going?’
‘Never mind that. Just mark up my ticket for Canyon City.’
‘That’ll be twenty dollars, sir. Do you mean to wait here for the stage to come in?’
‘Yes, I’ll stay right here. I just hope that whip man is on time.’
Later that evening a scimitar-like crescent moon slowly carved its way across a starry night-time sky, while the A & B coach rocked and rattled its way down the narrow mountain road west towards Canyon City, with just one passenger.
Judd Miller rode under that same thin moon but in the opposite direction, east, heading for the railhead and Thurston’s promise of legal help to finish off Cyrus Toomey in a court of law, instead of his own justice with his fast six-gun spitting fire, lead and vengeance. It was a race that one of them had to win, and neither could afford to lose.
Somewhere far ahead, Farris Whitmore Thurston stepped outside his private railcar, lighting a cigar to the flare of a match, slowly blowing out a big puff of smoke. In these few quiet moments, his mind began replaying all the wild events of recent weeks, and his chance meeting with the strong-willed cowboy, whose story fascinated him endlessly. Now he’d heard even more from Lacey and Moses, who had used Judd’s hand-drawn map to find the railroad magnate and spill out their story of what Judd was trying to do next, plus give him the deed records. After a sumptuous dinner cooked by F.W.’s private chef, and the long, evening conversation that followed, Thurston had offered both of them two spare bedrooms at the other end of his railcar, where they’d turned in for the night.
But Thurston could not sleep. He had too much on his mind. Besides, he did some of his best thinking alone at night. He knew Miller was out there riding fast to reach him with the damning personal records that Lacey and the tall preacher had told him about. Since he’d last seen Judd, his rail gang had forged their way further west, mile by back-breaking mile, to the ring of spike mauls laying down more shining steel rails over rough-hewn wooden ties. He took in another long, slow, deep puff of the cigar, blowing it out, stroking his thick beard, whispering to himself once again as he often did.
‘If you’re out there, cowboy, ride fast and don’t stop. Time is of the essence, for both you and me. Neither of us have much of it to spare.’
His unheard wish was being answered, as the dim shadow of horse and rider made its way across tall prairie grass, Judd Miller pushing his tired horse at a steady pace east where a new sun would rise. But that light was still hours away. For now, the stars and a gentle east wind were his only guides, and he followed them without question.
Six exhausting days and nights later, the unmoving image of that same horse and rider stood out on a low rise, as a new sun lit the endless sea of grass in a golden hue. The pair seemed bronze statues, for neither moved. Judd had finally given in to the overwhelming urge to stop and sleep. Head down, leaning forward on the saddle horn, he’d fought off the constantly increasing demand until he no longer could, and had finally fallen asleep. He dreamed in wild images, until the tiny sound of something far away kept interrupting him. At first it seemed a distant shriek he could not recognize, and he mumbled under his breath for it to go away. But it came back again, this time more whistle than wind.
It moved him to struggle out of his dark world of sleep, slowly straightening up in the saddle, forcing his bloodshot eyes to open. Peering through dark slits, he tried to focus on the world around him. Nothing but blue sky, wind and grass surrounded him. He rubbed aching eyes with both hands and tried again. Far off to the northwest, he thought he made out a tiny tendril of black smoke curling slowly up on the horizon. Reaching around behind him he pulled up a canteen. Opening it, he poured water in one hand, splashing it across his face. When he looked again, the smoke column rose higher, followed by the whistle of a steel locomotive. Judd Miller had finally found the railhead at last!
F.W. was standing on a flatbed railcar ahead of his personal car, ready to begin another new day laying steel rails. The Chinese work gang hauled long, heavy steel rails past him using rail tongs – eight pigtailed men opposite each other, straining their backs at Y-shaped tongs hooked under the lip of the rail. Behind Thurston’s private car a wood-burning engine had the boiler gauge up, as more black smoke billowed out of its bell-shaped stack. F.W. raised his hand to speak, ready to order his men to start, when he suddenly spied the tiny image of what looked like a horse and rider slowly approaching. He shaded his eyes with both hands, trying to get a clearer view, as the rider came closer. Now he recognized that image: it was Judd Miller! Thurston turned to the engineer, signalling to him to blow the whistle again and again as he pumped his arm in unison, the loud blast drowning out every other sound.
Inside Thurston’s fancy railcar, eating breakfast, Lacey and Moses heard the commotion, then saw F.W. leap off the flatbed, before seeing why, as Judd rode in. They both jumped to their feet and rushed out of the door and down the steps, running to meet the cowboy reining to a stop, calling for help to get him down. Farris yelled for men to help him until a dozen hands reached up and Judd collapsed into them.
‘By God, I knew if anyone could do it, it would be you!’ Thurston shouted, pulling Judds’ arm over his shoulder, helping to support him to stand up.
‘My . . . saddle-bags,’ Judd barely got the words out. ‘The ledgers are . . . in there.’
‘Get this man into my railcar!’ Thurston shouted, leading the way while Lacey and Moses tried supporting Judd at the same time. But all the excitement was only a jumble of words a
nd faces swirling around him, because Miller was out on his feet. Only a long sleep, rest and food would make him whole again. The last thing he remembered was being laid down on soft cushions and a feather pillow being pushed under his head, while Lacey pulled covers over him, the tears running down her cheeks.
Judd slept all that day and half the next night, before waking to the soft glow of lanterns inside the warm interior of Thurston’s private car. It took a moment for him to remember and realize where he was. Slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position, he saw Lacey on a couch, and the preacher sound asleep in a big chair. At a table next to the couch, F.W. sat poring over Cyrus Toomey’s personal papers and records, before he realized Miller had woken up.
‘Well, you’ve had yourself quite a little nap,’ he smiled, turning in the chair. ‘I trust you’re in better shape now than when you rode in?’
Miller rubbed the back of his neck, working out the kinks. ‘You have any hot coffee?’ He asked.
‘I do. Right over there in that silver pot. Would you like me to get it for you, or can you do it yourself? My chef is asleep.’
‘No, I’ll get it. I need something to wake me up. How about the ledgers, have you looked them all over?’
‘I have, and once my lawyers get their hands on them, Mr Cyrus Toomey is going to be measured for a new suit with stripes on it. For how long and in what degree of severity, I can’t say. Suffice to say he’s going to jail, and maybe far worse than that, on multiple charges, thanks to your unrelenting diligence. If all this works out as I believe it will, it would be well for you to remember it did not take your six-gun to put him behind bars. I realize that in some situations you had no other choice, but nevertheless the law can work for you when it’s given the chance.’
‘Yea, maybe it can. But for that to happen they’ll have to find Toomey first. By now he might not be in Red Bluffs any more. And he has the money to run as far away as he can.’
