Day of Rage

by William W. Johnstone

  Impatient footsteps approached the doors. John Henry stepped inside quickly, leveled his Colt at the startled face of Billy Ray Gilmore, and said, “Rankin can’t answer you right now, Billy Ray, but I’m here, and I’m shocked—shocked, I tell you—that it appears you were waiting to ambush me.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A couple of seconds ticked past tensely before Gilmore said, “I’d be obliged if you’d put that gun down, Sixkiller. I don’t take kindly to havin’ weapons pointed at me.”

  “And I don’t take kindly to people who lie to me,” John Henry said without lowering the Colt. “I thought I was meeting you tonight so we could talk about a truce, not so you could have your men bushwhack me.”

  So far John Henry hadn’t seen anybody else inside the barn, but he had no doubt that more of Gilmore’s men were hidden in the shadows. There was probably somebody up in the loft, too. John Henry made sure his voice was loud enough now to carry to all of them, just in case Gilmore hadn’t told his men the truth about what was going on here.

  To John Henry’s surprise, Gilmore grinned.

  “You think I’ve got men waitin’ to ambush you, do you?” he asked.

  “That’s what I just said,” John Henry snapped.

  “Yeah, but you’re wrong.”

  “There’s a fella out there in the corral with a goose egg on his head that says I’m right.”

  “You mean Rankin?” A look of concern appeared on Gilmore’s narrow face. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  “He’s just sleeping in a pile of horse manure. Other than that, he’s fine.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. When I asked him to come with me tonight, I didn’t tell him what was goin’ on. I’d hate to think that I was the cause of him dyin’.”

  “You’re saying you brought just one man with you?” John Henry asked.

  “It pays to be cautious. How was I supposed to know that you were gonna come alone?”

  “I rode into town by myself, didn’t I?”

  “That don’t mean a thing,” Gilmore insisted. “You could have a whole gang here in Purgatory, driftin’ in one or two at a time so nobody would notice ’em.”

  Gilmore was right about that, John Henry supposed. Just because he didn’t have any obvious allies didn’t mean he was alone, even though in truth he was.

  “I didn’t bring anybody with me,” he said. “Why would I do that?”

  “Maybe you figured on ambushin’ me. If we’re really after the same thing, it’d be a smart move for you to get rid of the competition, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’d rather get rid of the competition by making partners out of them.”

  Gilmore shrugged and said, “That’s a smart move if you can pull it off. But I’ve got no way of bein’ sure that you’re tellin’ me the truth.”

  John Henry took a step backwards, making certain that he was out of Gilmore’s reach. He hadn’t seen or heard any signs that more of the gang were here in the barn. Maybe it was time to take a chance. If he was wrong, Gilmore would be the first to die. John Henry would make sure of that.

  He holstered his Colt and said, “All right. We’ll talk. I haven’t forgotten that you brought Rankin with you, though, when you were supposed to come alone.”

  “Strictly a precautionary measure,” Gilmore said. “And seein’ as how you’re the one who snuck in here and buffaloed him, I’d say it wasn’t an unreasonable thing for me to do.”

  John Henry shrugged and said, “Let’s get down to brass tacks. We’ve both talked about the thing we’re after. We might as well put a name on it: gold.”

  “Gold,” Gilmore agreed with a nod.

  “Seventy-five thousand dollars’ worth of the stuff.”

  “With just a fraction of that, a man could live out the rest of his life in ease,” Gilmore said. A certain dreamy quality came into his voice as he went on, “Get a little hacienda somewhere south of the border, with some sweet Mexican gals to take care of me and keep me happy.”

  “I can help you get that,” John Henry said.

  “I don’t recall sayin’ that I needed your help, Sixkiller. I’ve got plenty of good men with me already. What do you bring to the table?”

  “I’m working for Cravens, the banker.”

  Gilmore was the sort of man who kept himself firmly under control all the time, but again John Henry saw a flicker of reaction in the outlaw’s eyes. After a second, Gilmore said, “Now that’s somethin’ I did not know.”

  “True, Goodman, and Lacey have thrown in together to hire plenty of guards,” John Henry said, “but Cravens decided he wanted somebody working for him, too, looking out for the bank’s best interests. He got it in his head that since I’d tangled with your bunch twice and come out of it alive, I was that man.” He smiled. “So I guess I really ought to be grateful to your men, Gilmore. They helped get me a job.”

  “How much is Cravens payin’ you?”

  “A whole lot south of what a share of $75,000 would be.”

  “So you’re lookin’ to pick up somethin’ on the side.”

  “That’s the idea,” John Henry said. “I can’t do that by myself, and I can’t do it if I’m having to look over my shoulder all the time for you and your boys. That’s why I suggested we team up. I get some peace of mind, and you get an inside man.”

  Gilmore tried to look casually dismissive of the idea, but John Henry could tell that he was thinking about it.

  “My men wouldn’t go along with it,” Gilmore said. “You killed Junior Clemons and Jack Bayne, and Duke Rudd and Sam Logan won’t ever be the same after what you done to ’em. No, the gang wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “Who gives the orders?” John Henry prodded. “You or the bunch you run with?”

  “You’re tryin’ to get under my skin, Sixkiller, and I’m not gonna let you do it.”

  “It’s an honest question,” John Henry insisted. “If you tell them you’re working with me, and you’re really the boss, they won’t have any choice but to go along with it.”

  He could tell that he was getting to Gilmore. The outlaw was intrigued by the idea of having a spy who could tip him off about everything the mine owners and their guards planned to do. Of course, John Henry intended for the information to wind up working against the gang, but Gilmore didn’t know that.

  Gilmore was stubborn, though. He said, “I’ve got to show some loyalty to my men. You may not understand that, but I do. They’ll never trust you.”

  At that moment, John Henry heard a dragging footstep and a groan behind him. He took a fast step back and to the side, turning as he palmed out his Colt. He could see that Rankin had just stumbled back into the barn, hatless, and with manure smeared on his coat.

  John Henry had expected Gilmore to use that distraction to make a try for his gun, but the boss outlaw hadn’t budged. That was more evidence Gilmore actually was considering the proposal John Henry had made. John Henry was between the two men and didn’t particularly care for that position, but Rankin’s holster was still empty and he hadn’t picked up the rifle, which meant he was unarmed. They couldn’t catch John Henry in a crossfire.

  Rankin’s bleary eyes suddenly focused on John Henry.

  “You!” he exclaimed. “You son of a—”

  “Take it easy, old hoss,” Gilmore said. “Sixkiller and I are just talkin’.”

  “But the varmint hit me over the head! Knocked me out and dumped me in a big pile of horse apples!”

  “Actually, I thought it might improve the way you smelled,” John Henry drawled. “It doesn’t seem to have worked, but it was worth a try, anyway.”

  Rankin started toward him, but Gilmore lifted a hand to stop him.

  “Settle down,” he said sharply.

  Rankin didn’t look like he was going to settle down any time soon. He was a big man, broad across the shoulders, with a prominent jaw on which a dark, close-cropped beard sprouted. His arms were long and powerful. John Henry could tell that he wouldn’
t have had such an easy time with Rankin if he hadn’t taken the man by surprise and moved fast enough to take advantage of that.

  “What’re we doin’ here, anyway?” Rankin asked. “I thought we were gonna bushwhack this hombre!”

  “Only if he tried anything funny,” Gilmore said. “Turns out, he really did just want to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Now, see, that’s the really interestin’ part. He wants to work with us and help us steal that gold, Rankin.”

  A fresh surge of anger made Rankin’s face flush even darker with rage as he glowered at John Henry.

  “Work with us?” he repeated as if he couldn’t believe it. “He killed Junior and Jack! He crippled Duke and Sam!”

  “That’s what I just told him. I said that you and the rest of the boys wouldn’t be willin’ to work with him after what he done.”

  Rankin flexed his fingers, opening and closing his big, apelike hands.

  “That’s for damned sure,” he growled. “All I’d be willin’ to do is kill him.”

  “You may get your chance,” Gilmore said, “because I’ve got an idea.”

  John Henry didn’t like the sound of that. Any idea Gilmore had probably wouldn’t be good for him. But there was nothing he could do except ask, “What’s your idea, Billy Ray?”

  “I was thinkin’ that nobody gets into this gang without a little . . . trial by fire, let’s call it. You gotta earn your way in.”

  “What do you want me to do?” John Henry asked derisively. “Go steal an apple from the general store to prove that I’m worthy to be one of you?”

  “No, I was thinkin’ more along the lines that you’d fight Rankin here.”

  John Henry shook his head and said, “He doesn’t have a gun.”

  “I’m not talkin’ about guns. I’m sayin’ that you should take him on barehanded.”

  A grin suddenly spread across Rankin’s ugly face. Clearly, he liked that idea.

  “If I do that, he’s liable to break my neck,” John Henry objected.

  “Break your back, that’s what I’ll do,” Rankin said with his teeth bared in a snarl. “I’ll tear you plumb in half!”

  “You survive, you’ll have proved your courage,” Gilmore went on to John Henry. “Anybody who can stand up to Rankin, well, I reckon I can talk the rest of the boys into acceptin’ him, no matter what else he’s done. Sound like a challenge you’re willin’ to accept, Sixkiller?”

  “It sounds pretty loco to me,” John Henry said, although he was starting to see that there might not be any way out of this if he wanted to proceed with his plan.

  “You already said yourself that you can’t hope to steal that gold on your own,” Gilmore pointed out. “You need some partners . . . and we’re the best ones you’re gonna get.”

  John Henry wasn’t sure about that. He still had Sophie Clearwater and Doc Mitchum to consider. But this was the main part of his plan, right here.

  “How do I know you won’t try to gun me down as soon as I pouch this iron?” he asked.

  “Well . . . if we’re gonna work together, I reckon you’re gonna have to start trustin’ me sometime, aren’t you?”

  Gilmore was right about that, at least as far as appearances went. In reality, John Henry didn’t intend to trust the wiry little outlaw for even a second.

  If he could pull this off . . . if he could survive a tussle with Rankin . . . he would have the in with the outlaws that he needed. So there wasn’t really any choice, he told himself.

  He lowered his Colt, slid it into leather, and started to unbuckle the gun belt.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he told Gilmore, figuring there would be a few more preliminaries than that.

  But as soon as the gun belt came loose around John Henry’s hips, Rankin bellowed, lowered his head, and charged like a maddened bull.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  John Henry dropped the gun belt and tried to brace himself to meet Rankin’s attack. He wasn’t quite fast enough. Rankin slammed into him and drove him backwards, off his feet. John Henry’s hat went flying in the air.

  If he’d landed on the hard-packed dirt with Rankin’s weight smashing down on top of him, the impact probably would have cracked some of his ribs and maybe ended the fight then and there. As luck would have it, they toppled onto a pile of straw instead, and that cushioned the landing.

  Even so, that was enough to knock all the air out of John Henry’s lungs and leave him gasping for breath.

  Dust from the straw filled his nose, along with the stench from Rankin, made worse by the manure smeared on his clothes. John Henry gagged and coughed. The stable seemed to spin crazily around him for a second. When he looked up, he saw Rankin’s face, leering with hate as it loomed over him.

  Rankin lifted his right fist high above his head, ready to bring it down in a pile driver punch that would crush John Henry’s face. John Henry didn’t give him a chance to launch that blow.

  Instead, he shot a straight left up into Rankin’s jaw. That rocked Rankin’s head back and drew his throat tight. John Henry whipped the edge of his right hand across Rankin’s throat in a slashing thrust.

  Rankin clutched at his neck and fell back. John Henry heaved and bucked and sent the bigger man flying off of him. As Rankin tumbled to the right, John Henry rolled to the left to put a little space between them.

  John Henry made it to his feet first with room to swing a fist. His right looped around and caught Rankin on the cheekbone just as Rankin surged upright. The punch staggered Rankin but didn’t knock him down. He got his boots under him and charged again, trying to curse but unable to get anything through his damaged throat except some incoherent croaks.

  John Henry was ready for this assault. He went low, tackling Rankin around the knees. Rankin’s weight and momentum sent him toppling over John Henry’s back. John Henry scrambled out from under Rankin’s legs before he could be trapped there and pushed himself up again.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Billy Ray Gilmore standing off to the side, watching the battle. Evidently, Gilmore intended to stay out of this fight, making it a fair match between John Henry and Rankin. As fair as it could be, anyway, considering that Rankin had a couple of inches and probably forty pounds on his smaller opponent.

  But size wasn’t everything, John Henry knew. He had been in a lot of fights, all the way back to when he was a boy, and he had won most of them through a combination of speed, strength, and the ability to think clearly even when he was in the middle of a desperate struggle.

  Rankin was still trying to get up. John Henry clubbed his hands together and brought them down on the back of Rankin’s neck. That drove Rankin’s face into the ground. When he lifted his head again, blood was pouring from his nose. His throat had started working again; the roar of mingled pain and rage he let out was proof of that.

  His hand shot out and fastened on John Henry’s left ankle. A hard jerk upended the lawman. John Henry fell on his back and kicked out, driving the heel of his other boot into Rankin’s shoulder. That held off the bigger man and prevented him from getting on top of John Henry and pinning him down.

  As John Henry scrambled backwards, he ran into one of the beams that supported the hayloft. He grabbed hold of it to brace himself as he climbed to his feet.

  His heart was pounding and blood hammered in his head. He was out of breath. The fight hadn’t lasted long so far, but it had been fierce and had taken a toll on him.

  The good news was that Rankin appeared to be in just as bad shape, if not worse. Blood from his broken nose was splattered across the lower half of his face. His jaw was already bruised and swollen.

  He wasn’t ready to give up, though. He got to his feet and bulled in, swinging wild roundhouse punches.

  John Henry ducked. Rankin’s left fist hit the beam on which John Henry leaned. A knuckle broke with an audible pop! Rankin howled in pain.

  Boring in, John Henry hooked punch after punch into Rankin’s midsec
tion. The bigger man was forced to give ground. With his left hand now broken, he could only punch with his right, and his defense was awkward. In desperation, he lurched forward, got both forearms against John Henry’s chest, and shoved as hard as he could. John Henry went backwards and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught himself against the beam.

  With his back braced, he lifted his right foot and sunk the toe of his boot deep in Rankin’s belly as the man attacked again. Rankin doubled over. John Henry laced his fingers together and clubbed Rankin on the back of the head again.

  Rankin went down. He was able to catch himself on hands and knees for a second, but then his strength deserted him. He sprawled on his belly and groaned. His fingers dug into the dirt as he tried to push himself up and failed. After a second, he slumped again and then lay still except for his back rising and falling as he heaved in breath. The air made ugly bubbling sounds in his nose.

  John Henry leaned against the post and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. His hair had fallen across his eyes. He tossed his head to throw it back and clear his vision.

  He saw Gilmore standing several yards away. The outlaw had picked up John Henry’s gun belt and stood there holding it with a smile on his face.

  John Henry wondered if he could get the knife out of his boot and use it in time to stop Gilmore from killing him, if that was what the outlaw had in mind.

  That didn’t seem to be Gilmore’s intention, though. As he came toward John Henry, he said, “That was just about the most entertainin’ fracas I’ve seen in a long time.” He held out the gun belt, which he had coiled around the holstered Colt. “Here you go, Sixkiller.”

  John Henry took the belt and buckled it on. He asked, “So, are we partners now?”

  “I don’t think Rankin’ll be too happy about it, but yeah, I reckon we can work together. I’ll be keepin’ an eye on you, though. If I get the idea that you’re tryin’ to double-cross us, you won’t live very long after that.”

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  “I’d be disappointed in you if you didn’t feel that way,” Gilmore replied with a chuckle. “Reckon I’d better get a bucket of water and dump it over Rankin, see if I can bring him around. That was some thrashin’ you handed him.”