by Adam Brady
“Told you to hobble that team,” Crowe said.
As they watched, the team veered off the trail. There was the sound of a distant crash as the stage struck a stump and toppled sideways.
Crowe appeared to lose interest and turned back to the two horses he was holding by their bridles. He chose the smaller of the two and pushed the other toward Henley.
“Maybe you’ve been noticin’ what happens every time you want to argue with me,” Crowe said in that soft, toneless voice. “When we get to Shimmer Creek, mister, you just do what I tell you. No more and no less. Understand?”
“When we get there,” Henley snapped, “all you have to do is take care of Halliday. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Mister, you’re a fool and a coward and a backshooter and I don’t like you. But since Buck Halliday is involved, I want to see this through. When we get to town, do exactly as I say.”
Henley was struggling to pull himself onto the broad back of the teamer. He was keenly aware that Crowe had given him the bigger horse and kept the only blanket for himself, to use as a makeshift saddle pad.
The big horse shied away from Henley again, and he turned to Crowe snapped irritably;
“Aren’t you forgettin’ who’s payin’ you?”
“You killed a man who didn’t deserve to die, Henley. Maybe you are payin’ me, but that sure doesn’t buy my respect. Now let’s quit all this jabberin’ and get ourselves into this town of yours.”
Crowe arranged the folded blanket on the horse’s back and pulled himself up. He spent a considerable time getting the blanket just right before he was satisfied. He clicked his tongue, and the horse started forward.
Cursing under his breath, Henley did his best to follow.
Buck Halliday was up before first light. A few farm wagons were rolling into town already, but Halliday was sure he could rely on Judge Cowper to have the streets clear before the stage was due to arrive.
He brewed himself a pot of coffee in the rough kitchen in the back of the saloon and took it up the stairs with the fingers of his free hand through the handles of three cups.
Beth Cowper was still sitting by Julie Henley’s bed, gently wiping the injured woman’s face with a damp towel.
“How is she?” Halliday asked quietly from the doorway.
Beth looked back at him, and shook her head. Then she tiptoed across the room before she whispered, “She had a bad night, but she’s sleeping now. I think a few more days of quiet will see her back to normal. My, but that coffee smells good.”
“Yeah,” Halliday said. “We can use it even if Julie can’t.”
They stood in the hallway, sipping the hot brew.
“I hope she thanks you for this,” Halliday said. “Now that she’s restin’ easier, I figure you should get on home. I can find somebody else to stay with her today.”
“I’d just as soon wait for the doctor,” Beth said. “Then I’ll go home and take a nap ... you know, she’s different than how I thought she was.”
“How?” Halliday asked.
Coloring a little, Beth said;
“She was so restless last night she talked a lot in her sleep. About the town, the worries she’s had, her husband, other men.”
Halliday said nothing. There was a little silence, and then Beth spoke again.
“And she talked about you, too, Buck. She knew you saved her last night.”
“She’s had a rough time,” Halliday said slowly, “but she’s brought a lot of her troubles on herself. She’s just that kind of woman, Beth ... if there’s no trouble about, she’ll go out of her way to stir some up.”
Beth was suddenly angry with him.
“Don’t talk that way about her when she can’t defend herself! It’s not fair. I tell you, she has a lot of good in her, and given the chance—”
“Okay,” Halliday muttered. “Thanks again for lookin’ after her.”
On his way down the stairs, he wondered why it was that he could never have even a casual conversation with Beth Cowper without it ending in an argument.
Then his thoughts turned to Ben Crowe.
It had been years since he had seen the gunman, but he had no reason to think the man had slowed down.
Ben Crowe was damn good with a gun.
Ten – A Long Time Comin’
It was past noon, and Buck Halliday was getting worried. From what he had heard around town, Dick Mason prided himself on keeping to a timetable, but for some reason, the stage today was well and truly late. Judge Cowper had been sure that the stage would roll in around noon, and now he was telling Halliday again that Mason was always on time.
Halliday shook his head and rested one foot on the judge’s front step as they talked.
“Somethin’ funny is goin’ on,” he said. “When Bassett came back last night, he’d been beat up worse than when he rode out. He ran foul of somebody—do you think it might have been Jason Henley?”
Cowper shook his head.
“Bassett’s so old I’m certain he would be no match for Henley.”
“What if Henley met up with Crowe someplace outside town?” Halliday suggested. “Let’s say that Henley stopped the stage and Crowe was a passenger. That could explain why the stage is late ...”
“What are you getting at?” Cowper asked.
“I have a nagging feelin’ that we’re gonna get a visit real soon from Crowe and Henley, and you can bet your bottom dollar they won’t come ridin’ in on that stage.”
“Are you worried about going up against Crowe?” Cowper asked.
Halliday shrugged.
“Let me put it this way,” the judge pressed. “Should we be worried for you?”
“There’s no way a man can be sure about a gunfight, not until it’s over,” Halliday said calmly. “It’s one man against another. One mistake, and it’s all over ...”
“Doesn’t it come down to how fast you draw?” Cowper asked, plainly disturbed more than he wanted to show.
“Up to a point,” Halliday said. “Havin’ your gun clear of leather is an advantage I always like to have. But Crowe’s no slouch. It’s been a long time since I saw him, but he’s still alive. That stands for somethin’.”
Halliday seemed to be hesitating, and Cowper felt that he had something else on his mind.
He cocked his head to listen to the clink of glasses coming from the back of the house, as if he wanted to be sure that Beth was out of earshot.
“Like I said, Judge, you can never be sure until it’s over. Men are just flesh and blood, and they can make a mistake or look away at just the wrong time. Guns ain’t perfect, either. They can jam or misfire or just plain fall apart. I’ve seen it happen.”
“What are you trying to say?” Cowper asked gravely.
“If somethin’ goes wrong, the important thing is to get Henley. Crowe’s only interested in me. He won’t want to tear the town apart just for the fun of it. He doesn’t have a taste for that kind of thing. Probably wouldn’t even do it on Henley’s orders. Even if things go wrong, all you and your friends have to do is stay out of Crowe’s way and get Henley. Don’t forget that, Judge. You won’t be able to help me, and you shouldn’t even try. Understand?”
Cowper’s mouth closed in a thin, tight line. He was considering Halliday’s words as solemnly as he had ever considered any case when he was on the circuit. Finally, he said;
“But we couldn’t let him get away with killing you. I’ve come to like you, young feller, but it’s more than that. You’re the law in this town now. There has to be respect. No one knows that better than me ...”
“When it comes right down to it, what happens between me and Crowe has nothin’ to do with Shimmer Creek or the law,” Halliday told him. “Crowe’s wanted me for a long time. He didn’t come all this way just for the money. He wants my blood. Now you just remember what I said. Give him a way out of town, and he’ll take it. But get Henley. When it’s all boiled down, he’s the one to blame for every drop of blood spilled so
far.”
The judge started to speak, but Halliday interrupted him.
“Just one more thing. Give Julie Henley a chance. Who knows, she might just make it with a business to run. That saloon could be just the thing she needs.”
With that said, Halliday shook the old man’s hand and went on his way. He walked up the deserted main street and chose his spot outside the jailhouse. He could see all the way to the town limits and beyond to where the wasteland shimmered in the heat.
It was almost one o’clock when he saw two dark blobs wavering in the heat haze and growing steadily larger.
Jason Henley was hurting and sweating, but most of all, he was worried sick. Fear clawed at his stomach and left a sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to turn tail and run so bad that it felt like something was physically dragging at him, but he still wanted one thing more than his own safety. He wanted his town back and under his thumb.
Ben Crowe reined-in slightly and waited for Henley to range up beside him. When the two teamers were plodding side by side, Crowe began to lay the whole deal out in that toneless, nerveless voice.
“The way I’ll do it, Henley, is ride straight in and call Halliday out. By the looks of the empty streets, the town’s expectin’ us.”
Henley had wondered if Tom Bassett had come back to blurt out his story.
“Pay attention, mister!” Crowe snapped.
“I’m all ears,” Henley insisted. “You say you want to go straight in? Isn’t that a risk we don’t need to take?”
“It’s how it’s gonna be,” Crowe said flatly. “Halliday is no backshooter. I’ll get my chance at him, and that’s all I’ll need.”
Henley dragged out his sodden handkerchief and mopped his brow.
The closer they came to the edge of town, the clearer it was that the town was waiting for them.
“After all that’s happened,” Henley said carefully, “there might be some folks in town who figure they’ve got guts all of a sudden ...”
“It’ll be just Halliday and me,” Crowe insisted. “That’s how it goes, and we both know it. You just have my money ready. I’ll want it as soon as this is over, and then I’ll be on my way.”
Henley’s eyes narrowed.
“No,” he said with all the firmness he could muster. “I want you to stay around for awhile, so I’ll have time to get some more men. If you ride out and leave me with no one to back me—”
“That’ll be your problem,” Crowe said, and there was a hint of feeling in his voice at last. “I’ll give this town back to you. What you do with it after that is up to you.”
He gave Henley an icy look as he added;
“There’s only one thing that’d bring me back this way again—if I start hearin’ stories that I was the one that killed that stage driver ...”
They were two hundred yards from the place where Main Street started, and Crowe could see one lone figure standing outside the jailhouse.
He pulled out his gun, checked it and dropped it coolly back into the well-oiled holster.
“Now git away from me,” he said absently to Henley, and the frightened man immediately veered away from him but followed at a distance.
Crowe’s eyes were fixed now on that tall figure in the street.
He knew it had to be Buck Halliday, and he was completely immersed in the challenge.
Which man was better? Who had the luck today?
It was the great gamble. Ben Crowe lived for it. He knew full well that one day he would die for it. To Ben Crowe, the gamble was worth it.
Henley hesitated at the top of the street, and his eyes skimmed nervously along both sides of the boardwalk. There was absolute silence and nothing to suggest that anyone was holding a gun on him, but his belly still churned with fear. He dragged out the damaged six-gun that had belonged to Dick Mason, checked yet again to see that it was loaded and then held it down against his leg.
A tiny breeze came out of nowhere and seemed to travel right down the street, stirring a line of dust and then rattling against a derelict shack on the edge of town.
Henley reined-in quickly and lifted his gun.
Crowe looked back at him and shook his head.
“Get a hold of yourself,” he said disgustedly. “If they meant to cut you down, you’d be dead by now.”
Henley nodded agreement, but his nervousness remained and grew with every yard they advanced.
He would have liked to fire his gun at anything or nothing, just to relieve the tension.
It was not until he passed his own saloon and saw the doors shut tight that he began to feel hopeful. He nudged the horse into the shade of the overhang from which he had often surveyed his town.
When Ben Crowe drew rein in front of him, Henley stopped in the mouth of the alley which ran down the side of his saloon. He reached out and touched the side wall of the building as if it could give him comfort, or maybe courage. His head had been aching all the way from the creek, and now the pain was pounding so hard in his temples that it made him dizzy. Sweat ran down his face and under his collar.
For the life of him, he could not understand how Ben Crowe could go on looking like a man with nothing on his mind and no fear in his heart.
Then Crowe brought the horse to a halt and let the reins go slack. He was watching Halliday with interest, and Halliday was sizing him up with equal attention.
The only difference was that Halliday was watching Henley, too.
“Buck,” Crowe called suddenly, “I reckon one of us has seen his last sunrise.”
Halliday straightened and stepped out into the harsh sunlight. He smoothed his hands down his shirt front.
Henley spotted the tin star on his shirt.
“They made him a lawman, Crowe,” he called hoarsely.
“I can see that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know, but what difference does it make?”
“Henley,” Crowe said heavily.
“Yeah, Crowe?”
“Shut up.”
Halliday came slowly toward Crowe now, walking with the measured tread of a man who knew where he was going and why. He stopped fifty feet short of Crowe and said;
“This town has nothin’ against you, Ben. You’re welcome to turn around and ride out with no trouble from anyone.”
Crowe dropped from the back of his horse and gave the animal a slap on the rump. He watched it until it disappeared behind the depot, then he turned his eyes back to the man he was here to kill.
Crowe showed Halliday something few others had ever seen—the ghost of a smile playing across those cold, somber features.
“This sure has been a long time comin’,” he said. “But here we are. Ain’t that somethin’?”
“I’ll say it again,” Halliday told him. “The trouble in this town has nothin’ to do with you. It’s between Henley and the folks he’s been fleecin’. And it’s my job to protect them. I don’t reckon either of us would dirty our hands with the kind of things Henley’s been doin’. That’s why we don’t have a quarrel, Ben.”
“You’re right about that, Buck,” Crowe said. “To tell you the truth, Henley turns my stomach.”
“I guess you know he’s payin’ you with money he took from these decent folks.”
“You know the money doesn’t have a thing to do with this,” Crowe said, and the grin widened.
Henley was down from his horse now and shifting impatiently from one foot to the other as he stood in the mouth of the alley. He strained to hear what was being said, but the two voices came to him only as a quiet murmur like the easy talk of two men sharing a drink or two at the end of a hard day.
He wanted it to be over. He felt like yelling at Crowe or maybe at the two of them to get on with it, but of course he didn’t dare let out a peep.
“So what’s this all about?” Halliday asked quietly.
“I thought you knew. It’s about you and me.”
Halliday nodded and spread his feet. Ben Crowe’s face went calm a
nd still as a statue.
Henley knew that at last the time for talk was over. He gulped uneasily and checked the street around him. He saw that curtains were drawn back in almost every window, and he felt the weight of all those watching eyes.
He was so certain that the next sound he heard would be the roar of two six-guns that it took a moment or two to realize that footsteps were coming his way.
When he turned to look, Judge Cowper and four men from the town were tramping purposefully toward him.
Crowe flicked an angry look at Henley, and then he turned his face to Halliday and gave a slow, grim nod.
Halliday gave no sign of recognition, but his eyes were fixed on Crowe with deadly concentration.
The silence returned, and the tension held for one brief moment more.
Crowe’s hand swooped in toward his thigh. His right shoulder dipped slightly and his gun cleared leather. The gun came up in a blur, and now the gunfighter’s cold eyes sparked with the fire of life.
For the briefest of moments, his lips parted in a smile.
Halliday had matched his draw, and both their guns rose together. The roar of a single shot ripped through the heat-seared silence.
Henley licked his lips and wrapped his sweating hands in the mane of the big horse beside him. He craned his neck and started to grin like a winner in a poker game when he saw Halliday bend until his hand touched the ground ... but only to retrieve his hat.
Then he noticed something else—Ben Crowe’s gun was falling to the ground.
Crowe still stood with his feet planted wide and there was no change in that stern, proud face.
For a fraction of a second, Henley wondered if his gunman had thrown his weapon down to show that the job was done.
Then Crowe stumbled sideways, as though attempting to restore his balance. His right leg buckled, and he went down on his knee. He still held his head high and his back straight, but something was very, very wrong.
It was only then that Jason Henley saw the blue-black mark on Crowe’s neck and the blood welling out to stain the collar of the gunman’s black shirt.
Crowe was down on both knees now like a man in fervent prayer, but the look on his face had nothing to do with faith. He could not believe that he had lost.
