by Paul Bedford
Although their mule team was reacting nervously to the smell of fresh blood, the brothers glanced at each other and relaxed slightly.
‘Reckon you could have saved yourself some trouble, mister,’ Henry observed loudly over the constant creaking of the wagons timbers. ‘With the wind behind me, I could almost spit to the nearest town from here.’
Clemens affected a convincing display of stunned astonishment as he called back, ‘Sweet Jesus. You fellas are lifesavers. I thought I was miles from anywhere.’
Kyle offered an easy smile, his fears beginning to dissipate. ‘There’s a place called Roy, just over yonder a piece.’ As the wagons finally came to a halt next to the stranded traveller he continued in a quieter tone, ‘What brings you out here anyhow? You don’t look like a rancher to me and I can’t think of much else that’d bring a man out here in winter.’
The man hunter knew that this was his make or break moment. The shotguns were no longer pointed directly at him, but they were still cocked and ready. Consciously affecting an injured air, he smiled sadly and moved over to pat the nearest mule, but it shied away from the blood on his clothes.
‘Well, you seem like decent folks to me,’ he softly remarked. ‘So I’ll tell you the god’s honest truth. I’ve got a small spread up north, beyond the Breaks. My wife’s run off with a trader and I’ve come looking for them. I don’t want no trouble. Just to have her back would be enough. We are lawful wedded and I’ve missed her something terrible. I was away buying supplies and I guess his soft talk and lies must have turned her senses.’ With that, he shrugged and shook his head mournfully, yet all the time his sharp eyes never left the freighters.
The brothers stared at each other for a moment as though in silent communication and then nodded almost simultaneously. They carefully lowered the twin hammers on their weapons and placed them below the bench seat. It was Henry who had the words. ‘Sounds like your life has been all shit an’ no sugar lately. I guess the least we can do is give you a ride into Roy. There’s snow coming and a man could freeze to death alone on these plains. Heave your saddle and possibles on to the wagon, if you can find a space and then join us on the bench.’
As he did as he was bidden, Clemens’s smile was genuine and unforced. He made sure that the innocuous looking blanket roll was tucked under the saddle. Finally settling on the hard seat, he accepted a handshake from each man as they introduced themselves, before he responded.
‘I’m right glad to make your acquaintance. My name is John and I’m beholden to you.’
Before they could enquire after his last name, he quickly moved on. ‘If anybody should ask, I’d be much obliged if you’d tell them that I work for you. Just until I see whether my wife is in town. That way no one will ask why I am there, while I look for her. Would you do that for me?’ Then, before they could answer, he added, ‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to put me on wages. Ha ha.’
Henry and Kyle glanced searchingly at each other. They hadn’t been raised to lie and were not always that adept at spotting such things from others. Finally they shrugged in unison, because most of the time they seemed to function like two halves of the same whole. It was the latter that responded.
‘I guess it can’t hurt any. Just don’t put any drinks on our tab, huh?’
Taw Johnson glanced over at his sole remaining scavenger and favoured him with a weary smile. ‘That bull-necked marshal might think this is his town, but I reckon that sharpshooter’s going to be down our throats once it gets dark.’ He had deliberately waited until Cathy had taken her leave, before saying such. Since arriving in Roy, he had noticed a change in her that he didn’t like. Perhaps returning to civilization had altered her opinion of him or perhaps he’d just hoped for too much in the first place.
Jeb’s mean looking features twisted with a mixture of pain and anger.
‘After what he’s done to me, I’d just like to get that bastard close up. Busted leg or not, I’ll cut his liver out.’ Then he looked questioningly at his leader. ‘What are you thinking, boss?’
‘That we need some height,’ came the reply. For the first time since arriving there, Taw took a long, hard look at his surroundings. For such a small town, it was a very large building. Rectangular in shape, the rear two thirds of it had a long central isle with individual stalls on either side, many of which were occupied. Stretching above those was a hayloft, which was accessed by a wooden ladder in the big, open area at the front of the structure. Next to that was a rope and pulley system, used for heaving up bails of hay. Gesturing to the loft, he queried, ‘You reckon you can get up there if I help?’
‘Damn right I can,’ Jeb snarled. ‘It’s time we were on the high ground!’
Taw peered over at the simple looking stable hand, who had somehow managed to keep clear of them ever since their arrival and was now lethargically raking some hay at the far end of the livery.
‘We’re going up into the loft for some shuteye. You got a problem with that?’
The pimply young man quickly shook his head. He had no desire to tangle with those two ornery-looking fellas, wounded or not.
Jared Tunstall had returned to his primary occupation of blacksmith, albeit with his gun belt still buckled on. The bitter cold front was keeping Roy’s citizens off the street and the sneaking assassin could literally be anywhere, so there was little point in patrolling some invisible perimeter. He would dearly have enjoyed visiting Missus Clemens again, in an unofficial capacity of course, but unaccustomed nerves had so far prevented that.
His hand had just grasped the bellows to pump up the furnace, when two things happened almost simultaneously. He heard the rumble of massive wagon wheels approaching and it began to snow, this time with serious intent. Propelled by a freezing north wind, big flakes whipped through the town. The blizzard effectively reduced visibility to a few feet. As the vague outline of a mule team came into view, Jared commented to himself, ‘I’ll bet those freighters are damn glad they’ve made town!’
He watched as the huge ethereal shape of the land train pulled up in front of McLean’s General Store. Three ghostly shapes clambered down and moved under the awning of the building. It occurred to him that the Timmons brothers must have taken on some help, but saw nothing odd in that. As with everyone, they weren’t getting any younger. With work still to finish, he vigorously pumped on the bellows and felt the heat increase in the furnace. No matter how much snow came down, he knew there was at least one man in town who would be keeping warm that night. Or so he thought!
A good few minutes would pass before he was assailed by a nagging doubt that was sufficiently strong to persuade him to follow in the tracks of the new arrivals.
Chapter Twelve
The three men clustered under the awning, glad of the temporary reprieve from the weather.
‘No point in trying to unload in this,’ Henry commented . . . or was it Kyle? Poor visibility or not, it was hard to tell between them. ‘I don’t know about anyone else, but I need a drink to cut through the phlegm.’
John Clemens had deliberately left his possessions on the wagon. He wanted to keep the Sharps out of sight and in any case, it was in his interests to stick with the freighters for a while longer.
‘And I’m buying,’ he proclaimed. ‘It’s the least I can do for you fellas. But for you two, I’d be stranded out on the plains in this, freezing my nuts off.’
There could be no argument with that and so the brothers led him along the street to Roy’s only saloon. The cheery, comforting glow of lamplight seemed to draw them towards it like a magnet. As the three snow-covered men erupted into the smoke-fogged warmth, all heads turned to view the new arrivals.
‘Well, hell, if it ain’t the Timmons brothers,’ proclaimed a pockmarked, beefy individual behind the bar. The grin that crossed his features was genuine and unforced. ‘You sons of bitches certainly brought the weather with you and that’s no error.’
There followed the usual exchange of friendly ribald banter
, common amongst long-term acquaintances on the frontier. The saloon, with its two big iron stoves and tobacco-laden atmosphere, was quite obviously the focal point of the town. Only when the bonhomie had subsided slightly, did the tall and rangy, blood-spattered newcomer step from behind his employers to claim the room’s full attention. Before anyone could comment, he sharply tapped the bar.
‘Three whiskeys, bartender. And not the shit you serve tame Indians. The good stuff, down back of you.’
The Timmons brothers blinked with surprise, whilst the proprietor coloured angrily. Such confrontational talk was uncommon in a sleepy little town like Roy.
‘For a stranger around here, you run your mouth kind of reckless, mister!’
Clemens leaned forward and for an apparently endless moment, fixed his hard eyes on the man. There could be no mistaking their latent menace, so much so that the recipient began to feel his palms growing clammy. The saloon-keeper had been around long enough to recognize the mark of a very dangerous man. He tried in vain to meet the stare.
Then, unexpectedly, the intimidating newcomer abruptly displayed a broad grin. ‘Aw heck, mister. I’m just funning with you, is all. Me and my employers here have struggled across all of God’s creation bringing supplies to this town. We must deserve some quality bug juice, don’t you reckon?’
The other man had been desperately reaching for the shotgun under his counter and he heaved a sigh of relief at the sudden change of mood. Glancing around him at his regulars, he wondered how to hide the fact that he’d been serving them cheap ‘rot gut’ for so long. Grabbing another bottle from under the counter he announced, ‘Well, the least I can do is open a fresh bottle for you boys.’ After rapidly filling three glasses, he continued with, ‘And don’t pay me no mind. We’re all a bit jumpy around here, what with two desperados holed up in the livery and a certain maniac on the loose out there with some kind of buffalo gun.’
As Henry and Kyle exchanged startled glances, Clemens smoothly replied, ‘Wouldn’t want to meet up with him then. All I’ve got is this old Schofield.’ Even as he spoke, his right hand abruptly streaked down to pat the butt of the well-worn weapon. That action was enough to drain the colour from the saloon-keeper’s face. Clemens chuckled as he threw the whiskey down his throat. ‘That’s pretty good stuff, barkeep.’ Turning to the Timmons brothers, he noticed that they were deep in thought and had barely touched theirs. ‘You see a finish to those?’ the assassin forcefully enquired.
Startled, they both gulped down the strong liquor.
‘Set them up again, bartender,’ Clemens demanded. ‘I was aiming to bed down in the livery, if I can find it in all this snow. Will I have anything to fear from these desperados?’
A scrawny fellow in a black frock coat spoke up from across the smoke-filled room. ‘My name’s Doctor Curren. I’ve been seeing to their injuries and I’d say they’ve got quite enough to worry about at the minute. If you walk soft, I’m sure they won’t bother you.’
Clemens chuckled. ‘Obliged to you, Doc. All I want is a quiet life.’ Turning to the brothers, he went on, ‘I’m about tuckered out, fellas. I’m going to head over to the stables and get some shuteye. Where are they, anyhow? You couldn’t see a barn door in front of your face out there!’
The two freighters were quite obviously struggling with mixed emotions. They could feel that there was something badly amiss, but their sluggish minds just couldn’t latch on to it. If the marshal had been present, they would have confided in him, but he wasn’t. Suddenly very keen to be rid of the bloodstained stranger, Kyle blurted out, ‘It’s directly across the street. Just keep walking and you won’t miss it.’
Oblivious to the renewed tension, the bartender added, ‘The owner’s out of town at present. There’s a young lad, name of Nathan, looking out for it. He’s a bit slow, so don’t pay him no mind.’
John Clemens drained his second glass and licked his lips appreciatively. ‘Obliged. Oh, and that really is good sipping whiskey. Your regulars must truly enjoy drinking here.’ With that he winked slyly, turned away and made for the door. Nobody had made mention of a female arriving in town, but that was of no account. When he’d attended to business, he would find her and settle matters one way or another.
As he stepped out on to the street, the blizzard hit him like a wall. A biting wind tore into him and it was all he could do to stay upright. Shielding his eyes, Clemens braced himself and thrust forward. The rudimentary thoroughfare was a sea of white, which should have helped in a town without any form of street lighting, but so fierce was the storm that he could no longer make out a single building. It was also the reason that he missed the huge figure of Marshal Tunstall, as that individual ploughed up to the saloon door.
In all his years, Clemens had never experienced such a tempest. His weathered face stung from the snow’s biting impact. He knew that he would have had a hard time of it out on the plains. To avoid colliding with his destination, he plodded on with his left arm outstretched until at last his gloved hand connected with something solid. In the lee of the building, the wind eased slightly, but even so he felt it best to hug the timber wall. After shifting to his left a few paces, he reached one of the main doors. Drawing his revolver, the man hunter beat on the door for a moment before easing it open slightly.
‘Nathan,’ he bellowed out. ‘Lend a hand here. The lady sent me over with some vittles for the wounded, but it’s blowing worse than a blue norther out here. I can’t even get the god damn door open.’ With that, he let the door slam shut and stepped to one side. Despite the atrocious conditions, a smile of anticipation spread across his hard features. Somebody was about to get one hell of a shock!
‘He said he was searching for his wife, but since arriving here he hasn’t even mentioned her. Don’t that seem odd?’ Kyle asked of the frowning lawman.
‘Just where is he now?’ Jared demanded.
‘Said he was going to the stables for some shuteye.’
The marshal grunted and rubbed a meaty hand over his face. ‘What iron was he toting?’
‘Just a revolver, but he left a saddle and some belongings on our wagon,’ Henry helpfully volunteered.
‘Go get them, now!’
‘But, Marshal, it ain’t fit for man nor beast out there,’ Kyle protested.
Jared leaned forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with the startled freighter. ‘I know. That’s why you’re going and I’m staying here in the warmth. You brought this son of a bitch into my town and now I need to find out just who he is.’
After only a short delay, the heavy door opened. Nathan, young and seemingly permanently bewildered, poked his head out into the raging blizzard and recoiled slightly. The conditions were so fierce that he couldn’t even see anybody and so, very reluctantly, he stepped outside.
As the door closed behind their reluctant young host, Taw Johnson glanced sharply over at his companion. He could hear the wind whistling outside, but that wasn’t what bothered him. The two men were comfortably ensconced in the hayloft, only too happy to be under cover on such a dreadful night, but the outlaw boss never completely relaxed his guard.
‘Get over here and cock your piece,’ he barked. ‘Something just ain’t right down there.’ So saying, he drew his revolver and crawled awkwardly over to the edge of the boarding. Dust and bits of hay showered down to the dirt floor below. Horses in some of the stalls began to stir uneasily, as if they too sensed something amiss.
As Nathan’s vision adjusted slightly, he suddenly noticed, off to his left, a grim-faced individual holding a gun. The impressionable young man’s eyes opened wide, like saucers. Thoroughly alarmed, he squawked, ‘I don’t know you!’
‘Ditto,’ was the baffling response.
‘And you said you’d brought food,’ the young man continued petulantly.
John Clemens surged forward. ‘I lied!’ he stated coldly and then rapped the barrel of his Schofield up against the side of Nathan’s skull.
The blow was just suffi
cient to inject an uncomfortable blend of pain and fear into the young man. As tears welled up in his eyes, his assailant roughly yanked him around, so that he was abruptly facing the stables. Clemens spoke clearly into Nathan’s left ear. ‘You try to run or shout any warnings and you won’t see another sunrise. Savvy?’
As the terrified youngster nodded, he was suddenly shoved towards the door. ‘And where are those two tarnal cockchafers hiding?’
Nathan gulped. He’d never heard such words before, but their meaning was apparent, even to him. ‘Up in the hayloft,’ he blurted out. ‘I don’t think they’re very nice men. Just like you.’
‘Huh, reckon you’re just about to find that out, sonny,’ the terrifying stranger muttered. Then he jabbed his gun muzzle into the small of Nathan’s back and barked out, ‘Get that door open!’
Up in the hayloft, Jed groaned and reluctantly joined his leader. His splinted leg was throbbing like the devil and he just wanted to be left alone.
‘Now what’s occurring? I’m beginning to wish we’d stayed in Canada,’ he grumbled. ‘At least it was only the law that used to hunt us up there!’
‘Shut up and watch the door,’ his leader snarled. ‘That little shit’s up to something!’
At that very moment there was movement at the main entrance and the two men aimed their revolvers.
Marshal Tunstall unrolled the blanket and peered at the rifle and bandoliers in utter dismay. Of all those in the saloon, he alone immediately grasped their significance. ‘Sweet Jesus, it’s him!’
‘Him what?’ queried the barkeeper grumpily. He was aggrieved at the scratch that the Sharps had made on his tabletop.
Jared glanced wide-eyed at the others. His habitual calm had momentarily deserted him. ‘The bastard that killed those two men. He’s here to finish the job and by all accounts he’s the very devil!’
