by Joe Slade
‘I assumed as much.’ His interest dwindled and he reached for the door.
‘Do you mind if I walk along with you?’ Maggie asked. ‘If Emma’s gone, there’s no reason for me to be locked up.’
He looked her over and frowned. ‘Like that?’
She looked down at the blue pants and shirt she was wearing. More than once, he had brought over a dress his wife thought she “might like”. Frank had been of the same mind, liked a “woman to look like a woman”. In view of all her other defects, Maggie didn’t see what difference it made nowadays.
‘Give me a minute,’ she said.
Upstairs she buckled on the Schofield and checked that it was loaded, even though she knew it was. The weather had been warm and there was no need for a coat so she grabbed the hat with the colored braid and without checking her appearance, headed back downstairs.
‘I’m ready.’
‘For anything, looks like.’
When they reached the jail a few minutes later, Maggie declined his offer to accompany her. The town was bustling as usual and with the sun still bright and warm she relished the idea of a leisurely stroll to order her thoughts.
‘If you see the others, would you tell them where I’ve gone?’ she threw back over her shoulder as she walked away.
The sun was in her eyes as she climbed the hill. In silhouette the house had a vaguely ominous look about it. A large painted sign had been tied to the gate. It read “Keep Out. Thieves will be prosecuted”. The creak of dry hinges as she pushed past added to the feeling of abandonment. She moved quickly past the dark stain on the trampled ground where she had met her first attacker, slowing her steps as she approached the dangling rose trellis where she had made her escape. Sadness encroached as she stopped to look up at the bedroom window where she had last seen her father. Behind the cracked glass, the curtains hung askew.
The front door was ajar and as she drifted towards it she heard someone call for her “to come on in”. Without the sound and movement created by servants, the building seemed cold and lifeless. Several doors off the large entrance were open and Maggie could see that inside some of the rooms were in disarray. Dirt and debris littered the marble floor and a mirror lay smashed and abandoned.
‘Where are you?’ Maggie called, wanting to get things over and done with.
‘I’m up here.’
Maggie mounted the stairs two at a time avoiding the treads where thieves had tried to pull back the thick red carpet. Upstairs, several family paintings had been slashed. Broken glass and china crunched underfoot. Dresses and shoes were strewn everywhere. Several doors stood open and cautiously she peered inside each as she passed.
As she approached the room that had been hers, she heard movement. Bringing up the Schofield, she edged forward reluctantly. ‘Are you there?’ she asked, loathe to step past the splintered frame.
When no one answered, she stopped, drew the Schofield and pulled back the hammer. ‘I’m not coming in until you answer.’
Someone chuckled. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t walk blindly into my trap.’
Emma.
Maggie kicked the door, standing to one side as it creaked open on buckled hinges. With a quick look, she took in the bed where her father had died. The blankets were scorched and burned where the fire had taken hold, as was the rug. Smoke had darkened the flocked paper on the surrounding wall and ceiling. Like the rest of the house, this room too had been ransacked. A pool of dried blood marked the spot where Maggie had last seen Lucille.
Emma stood by the window, half obscured by the drapes. Maggie noticed she wore the same black dress she had been wearing at their last encounter. Apparently the past few days had been hard on her. She looked dirty and unkempt, haggard. Her hair hung in loose tangles. Dark shadows ringed her eyes. Eyes that shone with madness and intent to use the gun in her hand.
Maggie pulled back quickly, silently cursing her own stupidity. If Emma had wanted to, she could have blown her head off.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ Emma said. ‘Did you know the note was from me?’
Maggie adjusted her grip on the Schofield. ‘I suspected it might be since Philips is still recuperating from his wound.’
‘And yet you still came. Did you think I wouldn’t kill you?’
‘I knew you’d try.’
Emma laughed, high and forced. ‘Then I won’t disappoint you.’
‘What do you mean Philips sent word he wanted to see her?’ Doc demanded.
He had spent half the night, all morning and most of the afternoon delivering a baby. Tired, hungry and more irritable than usual, he had groaned when the sheriff called out to him with a message.
‘I just saw Philips coming out of The Fools Gold and he looked like he’d been there for a while. Are you sure that’s what she said?’
The sheriff ignored his gruffness. ‘Yep, right after I gave her the note Philips’ errand boy brought around this morning.’
‘And you let her go?’
‘Why would I stop her? She’s a grown woman. A grown woman carrying a .45, I might add.’
Doc didn’t care for the sheriff’s disapproving tone but with Maggie unaccounted for and a killer on the loose, he chose to ignore it. Dismissively, he threw up his hands and strode off the plank walk.
‘Where are you going?’ Anderson called.
‘To find out if Maggie is at Philips’ office. God help you if she’s not.’
She wasn’t. As Doc had surmised, the attorney had spent all day in the saloon, “drinking away the pain of his gunshot wound”. Standing on the street outside the newspaper office above which the attorney worked, Doc was wondering what the note could have said, when Rick tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Ben told me you’d be here. Maggie?’ he asked.
Doc shook his head. ‘You know I’m thinking the worst, don’t you?’
‘You think Emma sent the note.’
‘Who else? Any ideas where they might be?’
For a few minutes they stood in silence. Behind them, the door of the newspaper office opened and a tall, thin man wearing a stained apron over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up stepped out. His perfunctory smile widened when he recognized them.
‘Gentlemen, what a stroke of luck,’ he said, thrusting out an ink stained hand. ‘I’ve been hoping to get a word with you but with everything that’s been going on, you’ve been rather elusive.’
‘Can we do something for you?’ Doc asked without conviction.
The man pulled his hand back awkwardly. ‘My name is Marvin Goodly and I’m the editor of the Flamstead Junction Chronicle. I was hoping to get an interview with Miss Stanford. A story like hers would sell hundreds, maybe thousands of copies from here to New York. Of course, after what happened to her father I didn’t want to intrude but when I saw her earlier, I thought—’
Rick grabbed him by the apron. ‘Where did you see her? Was she alone?’
The editor jerked away, affronted, maybe even a little shaken by Rick’s ferocity. ‘Deputy, please.’
Doc stepped in. ‘I apologize for my friend. Did you happen to see which way Ma—Miss Stanford was heading?’
Goodly straightened his apron, scowling at Rick while keeping his distance. ‘Up the hill towards the Stanford house. I guess she’ll be moving in once she claims her inheritance. I’d love to spea—gentlemen?’
Neither man was listening. Rick darted ahead of an ore wagon earning a stream of expletives from the hostler, although he didn’t bother to slow his mules. Doc pulled up short, teetering on the edge of the plank walk as the slow moving rig grumbled past. Down the street he glimpsed the sheriff coming out of his office.
‘If you want that story,’ he threw back over his shoulder to Goodly, ‘tell the sheriff what you just told us and tell him to meet us at the house.’
He made to duck behind the wagon but instead collided with a man stepping off the road. For a moment, they tussled, neither one able to give way to the other in
a bizarre dance. Finally, each stood firm, glaring at the other. The curly haired man, wearing a shabby suit and with his gun slung low down his leg, looked familiar but Doc didn’t have time to put a name or a place to him. There were so many people in Flamstead, unless he had treated the man then the chances were that he was just another face in the crowd. Certainly, now was no time for introductions.
‘Watch where you’re going,’ the man growled.
His piercing green eyes held a challenge but Doc refused to rise to it. ‘My apologies, sir.’ He tried to side-step.
The man grabbed his arm. ‘Ain’t you that doctor feller that travels with that ugly bitch Maggie O’Bannen? Where’s she at, eh?’ He rubbed his groin. ‘Me and her got unfinished business.’
Now Doc remembered him. He had been locked up in the cell next to Maggie’s back in Flitwick. The marshal there had said that by all accounts he had been looking for a fight with her. If the marshal hadn’t arrived when he did, one or other of them would have ended up dead.
‘You gonna tell me or do I have to—’
Doc didn’t consider himself to be a fighting man but even he had his limits. He struck without thought or warning. When the heel of his hand connected solidly with Curly’s chin, his head hinged backwards with a crack that sounded like a breaking twig. His eyes rolled in their sockets and he fell like a dead weight. Nimbly Doc stepped over him. He heard the sheriff calling him but didn’t wait. Rick was already clear of Main Street and Doc doubted he had any chance of catching up with him before he reached the house. As it was, a sea of pedestrians, horses and wagons seemed intent on thwarting his attempt. By the time Doc fought his way through, Rick had reached the gate. He looked back, seemed about to stop and wait while he caught his breath.
But then the shooting started.
Chapter Twenty
Emma’s bullet tore into the wall and burst through the other side. Maggie screeched as hot lead ripped into her back. The Schofield slipped from her hand as she groped instinctively for the source of the intense pain. Blood seeped through her fingers and her legs folded. The next slug embedded itself in the wooden paneling of the opposite wall.
‘Are you dead?’ Emma shouted.
Maggie heard the light pad of bare feet travelling over a wooden floor. She grabbed for the Schofield, biting into her lip as her body screamed in agony.
‘Why don’t you stick your head round and find out?’ she offered through gritted teeth.
The threat was enough to buy her a precious few seconds. Snatching up the gun, she backed along the hallway, doubled over and unsure how far her legs would carry her. At the first glimpse of movement, she fired at nothing. Emma laughed. Again Maggie heard the gentle pitter-patter of footsteps, only this time they seemed to recede.
She kept moving until she felt the top of the stairs under her heel. Carefully, she stepped off then stopped to get her balance. Over the sound of her own labored breathing, all she heard was the ticking of a clock. She retreated another step. Then another.
‘Maggie!’
‘Rick.’ She sagged with relief. ‘I’m up here.’
Before Maggie could turn towards him, the faintest thud drew her attention back along the hallway just as Emma burst through a different doorway not five feet away. Sure that she had the element of surprise, Emma sneered triumphantly as she aimed the .45 with both hands, pausing to adjust her stance, certain of victory.
Instinctively, Maggie brought up the Schofield.
The shots sounded simultaneously.
Maggie saw blood on Emma’s dress, saw her grasp at her stomach with both hands as she fell to her knees before keeling over. Then, Maggie realized she was falling. The Sbofield slipped from her grasp, clattering as it hit the banister and fell away. Arms flung wide, hands grasping at nothing, she tried to grab at anything as the world skewed around her. Inevitably, she hit hard, her shoulders and upper back taking the brunt of the fall, momentum carrying her legs over her head again and again in a tumble she had no chance of controlling.
‘I’ve got you, Maggie.’ It was Rick.
Strong arms caught her and dragged her down the last few steps. She heard footsteps coming towards her, heaving breathing.
‘Lay her down easy.’ It was Doc.
The coldness of the marble floor contrasted sharply with the warm blood seeping from the wound in her back and she arched away from it. Doc grasped her hand, holding on tight until the agony subsided. When she opened her eyes, the room still seemed to be moving, disorienting and strange. She tried to focus, choosing a bright spot in the otherwise dull surroundings, but even that seemed to darken. As everything started to settle, she soon realized that the light was a doorway and the encroaching shadow, a man with a gun.
‘Look out!’ Maggie yelled.
Rick had often wondered if his hours spent practicing a quick draw was time wasted. It was true that he had once shot a man in the back but that didn’t make him a natural killer. It took sand to stare down the barrel of a gun and keep your head and he hadn’t known if he could. Until now. He didn’t recognize the curly haired man who strode purposefully towards him, but the bucking six-gun in his hand needed no introduction.
He thought all this in the seconds it took for him to register Maggie’s warning, lay eyes on the danger, and reach for his gun. It slapped against his palm like it had a hundred times before, coming smoothly out of the holster even as he felt the heat of a bullet tearing through his opposite arm. It tipped him off balance and he twisted when the .45 kicked against his palm sending his first shot wide. He dropped to his knee and fired again.
Blood flared on the stranger’s lapel as Rick’s second bullet knocked him back sending his next shot high. Rick fired two more, each as deadly as the first. The stranger slumped and fell, the gun slipping from his dead hand. For a few seconds his foot kicked and then he was still.
Rick noticed Doc had thrown himself across Maggie, shielding her body with his. He stayed that way long after an eerie silence replaced the crash of gunfire.
‘Doc, are you all right?’
The medic straightened up. ‘Jesus, Rick,’ he said, looking around through the gunsmoke, ‘when did you get to be that good with a gun?’
‘Not that good.’ Rick felt sick, shaky. ‘He managed to put a bullet in me before he went down.’
When Doc’s weight shifted, Maggie glimpsed Rick down on one knee and clutching a hand to his bloody arm. His face was ashen but he managed a smile when he noticed her watching him.
‘Sheriff Anderson coming in,’ the lawman sang out.
He walked in clutching the Greener across his chest. As he passed the body, he dug a toe into the dead man’s side before joining the others. When he saw the blood on Maggie’s shirt, he dropped down on one knee beside her. For once, his expression showed genuine concern.
‘You seem to make a habit of getting shot, young lady,’ he said with a glint in his eye. ‘If you’re going to stick around, we’re going to have to do something about that.’
She glanced towards Rick. He hadn’t moved. Against the dark blue of his shirt, his face looked ashen. He didn’t try to hold onto the gun as it slipped from his fingers.
‘Could you take a look at Rick? This is his first time being shot and he doesn’t look too good.’
Anderson put the shotgun down and made a grab for Rick as the younger man keeled over. ‘Would you look at that. He’s fainted clean away.’
‘Please, Doc,’ Maggie urged.
He glanced over to where the sheriff was laying Rick down. ‘He’ll be all right. The sheriff seems to know what he’s doing. Right now, I need to stop this bleeding before we move you. Roll onto your side.’
Maggie braced for a fresh bout of discomfort, but as she changed position that was the least of her worries. In all the excitement, it seemed everyone had forgotten about Emma and now suddenly she had the drop on them. Doubled over and hurting, she might be, but sheer hatred was keeping her from toppling down the stairs and the gu
n in her hand was wavering in Maggie’s direction.
The shot missed but not by much.
Maggie grabbed the shotgun, hauling it around before she cocked both barrels and pulled the front trigger. For a second, Emma didn’t seem to know that she had been hit as she struggled to pull back the hammer of the .45 but Maggie’s aim had been true. Shin bone tore through Emma’s blood soaked skirt as her lower leg fractured. As the shattered limb collapsed, she pitched forward screaming, unable to save herself. Her neck snapped with a decisive crack as she ploughed face first down the steps. Her limp body continued to thud and roll, coming to rest at the point where the carpet had been pulled loose.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two weeks later.
The cellblock stood empty and Ben Anderson sat alone in his office, feet kicked up on the desk, a cup of coffee cradled between his hands. Flamstead Junction had been reasonably quiet the past couple of weeks and he had to admit, he liked it that way. When the door swung open, he barely opened his eyes, but the taut look on Rick’s face brought him fully alert.
Rick tossed him a telegram.
Ben dropped his feet to the floor and leaned his elbows on the desk while he read it. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘There’s a train pulling out for Durango in a couple of hours.’
‘Have you told Maggie?’
Rick’s chin dropped. He shook his head.
‘Are you going to tell her?’
‘I don’t know how.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I was hoping you could explain it to her, after I’m gone.’
‘Are you afraid she’ll try to stop you?’
Rick chuckled. ‘I’m more afraid she’ll try to come with me.’
‘She is good in a fight,’ the Sheriff conceded.
‘No. She’s just got her life back. I can’t ask her to risk it for me.’
Ben shoved to his feet and walked around the desk. ‘I know it’s going to be hard for you going back, but if you want my opinion, you’re doing the right thing. Your ma’s not getting any younger and from the letters she’s sent me over the past few months, I understand things aren’t getting any easier down there. Maybe you’re just what the place needs to put an end to it.’
