by Adam Brady
Shelton glanced at him without comment, but that was enough for Mitchener to move down the bar in his direction.
Neither of the two men spoke for some time. Mitchener now had a restricted view of the yard behind the saloon, but that was every bit as bleak and uninteresting as the almost-empty interior.
Shelton finally broke the silence when he drawled;
“Is the boss still upstairs?”
“All damn afternoon,” Mitchener said.
Shelton nodded in a reasonably friendly way, and Mitchener got the impression that he was loosening up a little.
“What do you figure he’s doin’ up there?” Shelton inquired after another pause.
“Hard to say. Layin’ his plans, most likely. I guess we’ll find out when he’s ready. I wonder who he’s gonna get to take Murchison’s place—did he tell you?”
Shelton nodded and looked pleased to be the one who knew.
“Ben Crowe,” he muttered.
Mitchener frowned and shook his head.
“Crowe’ll cost him plenty. That feller don’t come cheap.”
“Henley reckons it’ll be worth it to pull this town back into line. You know Crowe, do you?”
“Hard to say,” Mitchener shrugged.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I seen him cut down the Dakin boys at Indian Wells. That must be two years ago now. I was sittin’ with him one afternoon at the same table in the saloon, and he never said a damn word, hardly even grunted. It was like sittin’ with a dead man, only the ones that was dead was the Dakin brothers and Clem Grant who rode with them.”
“Fast, is he?” Shelton asked.
“Real fast. I was there to back him, but I never even had to draw my gun. Crowe just walked up to Jesse Dakin and told him to draw. Got him with one bullet. Bart Dakin come runnin’, and he never even had time to pull his trigger. Grant come at him with a shotgun, but Crowe beat him to the trigger, too. I’ll tell you one thing, Henley won’t have to spend much on bullets with that feller around. He got those three at Indian Wells with just three shots, no more.”
Shelton licked his lips and returned to the back door.
“He’ll be comin’ day after tomorrow on the stage,” he volunteered. “Henley says he prefers to travel in style.”
“Crowe don’t prefer nothin’ but killin’, believe you me. Take my advice and watch your step when he gets here. He don’t like nothin’ or nobody.”
Shelton nodded and went to sit on the back step.
Mitchener decided to follow him and keep him talking, but the young ranny had a moody look on his face now which seemed to be designed to discourage further conversation.
Mitchener sat down beside him anyway, and offered him the makings after he had rolled himself a cigarette.
Shelton shook his head and continued to stare blankly at the weed-grown yard.
“Somethin’ eatin’ you?” Mitchener asked finally.
It took so long for Shelton to speak that Mitchener was about to give up on him, but then he said;
“As a matter of fact, there is. It’s that Cowper girl. The way she struts around with her nose in the air, I figure she’s just askin’ for it. And I’d sure like to oblige her.”
“You and me both,” Mitchener replied, his voice tinged with a healthy dose of lust.
Shelton looked up at Jason Henley’s window.
“I sure am tired of doin’ nothin’,” he said. “How about you?”
Mitchener looked up at the lighted window, too, and then he shrugged.
“You wanna go callin’ on Beth Cowper, you mean?”
“Why not?”
Mitchener was thoughtful for a moment, then he grinned back at Shelton.
“Yeah,” he said. “Why not ...? Henley won’t mind. Tom and Ben can hold the fort.”
“Sure they can,” Shelton agreed as he got to his feet and settled the gunrig around his hips.
There were a couple of townsmen on the boardwalk, but when they saw Mitchener and Shelton coming toward them side by side, they judiciously crossed the street.
“The lights are still on,” Mitchener observed when the Cowper house came into sight.
“Good,” Shelton grinned. “It wouldn’t be polite to wake somebody up just to make a social call, would it?”
With a careless glance back at the street, Shelton opened the gate and stepped into the yard.
“You knock on the door and I’ll go around the back,” he said.
Mitchener hesitated, but when Shelton disappeared around the corner of the house, he slowly mounted the front steps and rapped on the front door. He heard movement inside, and then Judge Cowper called;
“Who is it?”
Mitchener clapped a hand across his mouth and mumbled, “Got a message for you, Judge, from Mr. Halliday.”
There was a long moment’s silence, and Mitchener saw the curtains twitch at the front window. Taking care to stay out of the light, Mitchener said;
“It’s important, Judge.”
The curtains fell back into place, and Mitchener heard footsteps coming to the front door. He tipped his hat down to shade his face, and then he drew his gun and held it down at his side. When the door opened, he said quietly;
“Halliday said to tell you that ... he ain’t comin’ back!”
Mitchener then let out a raucous laugh and pushed the old man back inside. He kicked the door closed as Beth Cowper rose with a gasp from the chair in the parlor corner where she had been doing some mending. The sewing basket fell to the floor, spilling pins and spools of thread at her feet.
The judge put his hand against the wall to steady himself. He was trying to tell Beth to run, but then Shelton was running into the room from the kitchen and blocking her only avenue of escape.
She kicked out at him as he grabbed for her, but he only laughed and pinned her arms. She continued to struggle, but Shelton seemed to enjoy that.
“I do like a gal with spirit,” he grated. “Who would’ve thought this one’d be such a spitfire, huh, Lee?”
The judge tottered shakily toward his niece, but Shelton lifted Beth and swung her so that her thrashing legs collided with the old man and knocked him to the floor. Cowper got up again with surprising speed and reached for Shelton.
The young gunnie danced away, still holding Beth in front of him and laughing at the old man’s efforts to reach him.
Mitchener was simply watching it all with mild amusement, until he saw the judge veer away and reach for the top drawer of the cabinet beside Beth’s chair.
Mitchener dived after him and slammed the drawer shut on his outstretched hand. Then he raised his six-gun, butt-first, and brought it down hard on the judge’s skull.
Cowper grabbed for the cabinet as he fell, and the lamp Beth had been using for her mending, rocked and then toppled to the floor, the spilled oil igniting in a pool of flame.
Shelton threw Beth aside and swept up a rug to smother the flames.
“Dammit, Lee!” Shelton yelled. “Help me put the fire out!”
Mitchener ran for the kitchen and Shelton continued to beat at the flames with the rug until Beth jumped at him from behind, hitting and kicking at him with all her strength. Shelton shook her off, then turned to face her. She came at him again, reaching for his eyes, but he sent her flying across the room with one hard punch.
Mitchener was back now and beating at the last of the flames with a broom. When the fire was out, the two men stepped back and surveyed the damage. The room was filled with smoke. Everyone was coughing, even the old man and the girl although they both appeared to be unconscious.
“I reckon we need some fresh air in here,” Mitchener said, and he went to open the windows and doors.
“Yeah,” Shelton said, “now we can get back to the party. Let’s just see where the guest of honor’s gone ...”
He lifted Beth to her feet and carried her limp body to the sofa. Her eyelids fluttered but did not open.
Mitche
ner wiped his smoke-stained face on his sleeve and went to stand beside Shelton. He looked down at the girl and then said;
“We’re makin’ too much commotion, Luke. Somebody’s gonna notice.”
“So what? Who’s gonna stop us?”
Mitchener looked down at Beth again and saw that she was regaining consciousness. He wiped his hand across his mouth and said, “It looks like the little lady’s wakin’ up.”
“It’s a good thing, too,” Shelton grinned. “I sure wouldn’t want her to miss out on any of the fun—c’mon now, Miss Beth, open those pretty eyes of yours!”
He dragged her to her feet and shook her until he saw her focus on the horror that had taken over her parlor.
Shelton snickered in anticipation, but Beth suddenly broke away from him and clawed at his face. Shelton grabbed her blouse and tore it all the way down, leaving the girl’s naked shoulders gleaming in the room’s soft light.
Mitchener closed in from the other side, no longer uncertain. He felt a stirring in his loins at the sight of Beth’s nakedness, and he reached for the flimsy lace that still covered her breasts. The garment came away in his hands, and he looked lasciviously at her as she tried to cover herself with her arms.
Shelton pushed her toward Mitchener, and they began to pass her back and forth between them, groping at her flinching body whenever she came within reach.
Beth found that she could not scream. Her throat seemed paralyzed by terror.
Then Mitchener put both arms around her and held her tight as he clamped his wet mouth over hers.
Beth struggled weakly in his grasp, but then Shelton dragged her clear and started to complain.
“Now hold on there, Lee—just remember, I’m in on this, too.”
“You bide your time, mister. There’s enough of her for both of us.”
They returned to the game of jostling and pushing her from hand to hand. The room stated to spin in front of her eyes, and she would have fallen if they had let her.
She struck out blindly at them, but they only continued to fondle her and tear at the remnants of her clothing.
Finally, she was naked and so exhausted that she could no longer stand. She closed her eyes to blot out their leering looks, and her flesh shrank in terrified expectation.
Seconds passed and nothing happened. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
They were crowded close around her, devouring her with their eyes.
Shelton wiped his hand down his face and found blood on his stubby fingers.
“By hell, that’s it, girl. You been paradin’ yourself around for months, and now you’re gonna get what’s comin’ to you!”
His breathing became harsh and rapid, and Beth cowered against the wall in the fetal position.
“You know what’s going to happen to you?” Beth hissed. “They’re going to butcher you like the pigs you are!”
“Only if they catch us,” Shelton sneered. Then he turned to Mitchener and said, “Lee, get on the other side and hold her.”
Mitchener moved in hesitantly and Beth turned her attack on him, raking her broken nails down his face until he grabbed her and forced her up against the wall. Then he slapped her twice so that her head rocked on her shoulders and her eyes began to glaze.
Shelton pushed in, grabbed her throat and forced her head up. He clamped his mouth over hers, but with the last of her strength, Beth sank her teeth into his lower lip.
“Hellcat!” Shelton yowled as he jumped back with blood pouring from his lip.
Then he hit her with his closed fist, and all the noises began to recede—Mitchener’s rough laughter, Shelton’s cursing and Beth’s own whimpering.
“So, who’s gonna be first?” Mitchener was asking as Buck Halliday stepped through the open doorway.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Halliday snarled, and the six-gun bucked in his hand.
He fired twice, slicing a furrow along Mitchener’s neck and shattering the bones in his gun hand.
Mitchener bellowed like a branded maverick and fell to the floor at Beth’s feet. The wound on his neck was projecting a steady flow of blood several inches into the air. Shelton jumped sideways, with his hand slashing down for his gun.
Contemptuously, Halliday waited for him to clear leather. Then he pumped three bullets into him, punching a neat line across his chest. Shelton was dead before he hit the tangle of charred rugs on the floor in front of him.
Halliday stepped forward and inspected the two bodies, his face twisted in disgust.
Then he turned to Beth and bent to touch her gently on the shoulder. When she did not stir, he picked her up and carried her down the hall to the room where she had gone on his first visit to the house.
He placed her on the bed and covered her bruised body with the blanket which had been folded over the back of a chair.
Quietly, he retraced his steps to the parlor and went to judge’s side. He was surprised to find that the old man was still alive.
Five – An Angry Town
Jason Henley rolled off the bed at the first sound of the shooting in the street. For a moment he was unsure of its direction, but by the second burst of gunfire, he knew that it was coming from the eastern end.
He grabbed his gunbelt, fastening it around his thick waist as he hurried down the stairs.
He found Tom Bassett and Ben Albert standing together at the bar, an empty bottle between them, and said;
“What the hell was all that shooting?”
Both men shrugged, and then Bassett muttered;
“Sounded like it come from down by the store.”
“Then go check it out—and where did Shelton and Mitchener go?”
Bassett looked stupidly at Albert, and when Albert failed to answer, he said;
“We ain’t seen either one of ’em for awhile now. They went outside and never come back ...”
“If they’re behind that shooting, I’ll skin them alive!” Henley said coldly. “Find them and bring them back here.”
Bassett worked his gunbelt into a more comfortable position and reached for his glass, but Henley yelled;
“Dammit, leave that whiskey alone and get goin’—and don’t cause any more trouble than you have to.”
Bassett heeled around and Albert slouched after him, both men displaying little enthusiasm for the chore.
The street outside was quiet, with a single knot of curious townsmen grouped in front of the general store. Bassett made his way across to them and asked roughly;
“Who was makin’ all the noise?”
Nobody answered, but he caught the attention of two men whose gaze was fixed on the distant Cowper house.
“In the judge’s place, was it?” Bassett growled.
Without answering, the townsmen began to drift away.
Bassett cursed them and started walking with Albert just behind him, checking his gun as he went.
“You smell smoke?” Bassett asked his companion.
“Yeah,” Albert said, “but I sure don’t see any.”
“I don’t like this one damn bit,” Bassett whispered.
They were at the Cowpers’ gate now, and Albert wiped his hands on his pants and drew his six-gun.
The two men went up the path together. When they saw that the door was open, they stopped and looked at each other. There was no sound coming from inside the house, but a lamp was burning somewhere down the hall.
“What the hell’s goin’ on, you think?” Bassett whispered.
“Only one way to find out, I guess,” Albert responded.
Halliday had helped the judge into a chair, and he was just bringing him a glass of brandy when he heard a foot scrape on the front porch.
He went quietly across the room to the wall beside the doorway and waited. He heard footsteps again and then a hesitant voice say;
“Lee? Luke? You boys in there?”
From their conversation, it appeared that the two men were unwilling to fully enter the house.
“Don’t look l
ike they’re here, Tom. Let’s take a look in back and get outta here. I don’t like this one bit.”
“Looks like they ain’t here, Ben.”
They were moving again to the edge of the porch when Halliday stepped into the doorway.
Bassett turned and lifted his gun. Albert was only a step in front of him, and he turned with a look of profound surprise on his stubbled face.
“That’s as far as you go, boys,” Halliday said quietly. “Drop those guns right now or you’ll die where you stand.”
Bassett’s mouth hung slack.
“Halliday,” he grunted.
“Yeah, it’s me. Now drop those guns.”
Bassett looked sidelong at Albert, who threw his six-gun into the yard. Instead, Bassett simply dropped his Colt back into his holster.
“We weren’t makin’ any trouble, Mr. Halliday,” he said reasonably. “We’re just out lookin’ for Lee and Luke. Thought they might be here, but I can see we’re wrong.”
“You weren’t wrong,” Halliday said icily. “It’s just that they’re dead.”
Bassett’s jaw dropped, and finally he managed to ask, “Both of ’em, you mean?”
Halliday nodded.
“Yeah, both,” he said. “They beat up the judge and tried to manhandle his niece. Then for some reason, they tried to set fire to the house.”
He moved forward without further comment and plucked Bassett’s Colt from its holster. He emptied it and threw it into the front yard alongside Albert’s gun.
Quite a number of neighbors had gathered at the gate now, and they heard Halliday ask;
“What’re your names?”
Bassett looked to where his gun had been thrown and cursed under his breath.
“I’m Tom Bassett. This here’s Ben Albert.”
“You must be just about the last of Henley’s bunch, I’d guess?”
The two men nodded miserably, and then Bassett said;
“We never hurt anybody, Mr. Halliday. Hell, all we was doing was earnin’ an honest livin’.”
“There are other ways, you know.”
“Yeah, guess there is ... but we was down on our luck, and all we been doin’ for Henley is lookin’ after the saloon. You can’t blame us for all this other stuff. We never had a hand in it, and that’s the truth.”
