Matt tried to get up, and then everything seemed drowned in a thunder of sound that ended with the pop, pop, of guns, seemingly from far away.
*
IT SEEMED ONLY a moment later that he opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of the Bon-Ton, and from where he lay he could see Nathan Bly standing in the doorway with a rifle, and Tucker Dolan and Joss Ringgold were at windows. Matt looked up to see that his head was in Madge Healy’s lap. Mattie was cutting away his shirt. Sturd Fife, Zeller, Dan Cohan, and Felton were all in the room.
“How is it?” Matt asked. “What’s happened?”
“It’s quiet,” Fife said. “Seem to me she’s over. Somebody shot Kingsbury, killed him dead…stray bullet, more’n likely.”
Matt looked down at himself. Mattie was washing the blood away, and he could see a hole where a bullet had gone in.
“How bad am I?”
“You caught four slugs, Matt, and you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
He closed his eyes, feeling no pain, just weakness and the stiffness in his sore hands and face. Mattie was as good as most doctors, he knew that, and she’d had a lot of experience with gunshot wounds.
There was no sound in the room but the occasional creak of a board as somebody shifted his weight, or moved about. And for a long time there was no sound from the street outside. He could feel Mattie probing for a bullet now, and it was no longer just the stiffness that he felt. Suddenly he heard a call from the street. The voice was unfamiliar.
“You in there! We want to pick up Fletcher. Is it all right?”
“You can pick him up if you want to ride right out of town,” Fife bellowed. “We want none of you here.”
“Who’s that talkin’? Ain’t Matt Coburn in there?”
“Matt’s out scoutin’ for you boys,” Dolan said, speaking loud enough for them to hear. “My guess is he’ll pick up a couple of scalps before mornin’.”
There was a sound of whispers, then the speaker said. “Hell, we’re not fightin’ no more. We’re fresh out of work. Somebody shot Kingsbury.”
“He’s had it comin’,” Fife said, “and I’ll print that.”
“We’re pullin’ out,” the speaker said. “You call off Coburn, d’you hear?”
They rode away down the street, and there was silence again. After a while a cock crowed somewhere down the valley, and Madge spoke quietly. “If one of you boys will round up a buckboard we can take Matt to my ranch.”
Suddenly Matt gasped and Mattie exclaimed: “I got it! I got the slug!”
“We’d best keep him in town, ma’am,” Felton said. “There’s too many around still who don’t like him.”
*
IT WAS MORNING when Matt opened his eyes again. Somebody had brought a bed into the Bon-Ton and he was lying near the window.
Madge Healy was asleep in a chair nearby, and Joss Ringgold sat in the doorway with a shotgun across his knees.
Matt raised his head, and the effort turned him giddy. He let his head fall back, but Joss had seen his movement. He tiptoed over. “Don’t want to wake her,” he whispered. “She’s stayed right by you all night.”
“What’s happening?”
“It’s quiet. Some of the mines have gone back to work. Jim Gage has his store open. I think most of the rough crowd are gone.” Joss dropped to his heels. “I think you done it, Matt. I think you cleaned her up.”
“What happened?” He indicated Madge. “To her, I mean?”
“Fletcher used ropes. He snared the guards up there, dragged one of them to death, another almost. Madge, she broke loose and came down here in her buckboard and smashed it up, like you know.
“They roped Pike. Last thing he was lookin’ for, an’ it was just the way Fletch planned it. They dragged him down here. He broke loose, swung into the back of the buckboard just before she crashed. Then you threw down on them.
“Fletch was killed, Kendrick is dead, and Smoke is dead. Scarff is badly shot up, but he may pull through. A few more of those boys caught some lead, but they pulled out fast after Kingsbury was killed. Those boys fight for money, and when he went down and they found out about it, why, they just scattered.”
Matt closed his eyes. Outside, he could hear people passing along the street, and the sound of people working. It was all over, then…it was finished. He lay still, having no desire to move or to talk, only to rest, in that strange lethargy that had come over him.
But he opened his eyes. “What about the restaurant?” he asked. “I’ve got to get out of here, Joss.”
Even as he said it, he knew he did not want to move, and he closed his eyes again. At this moment he felt as if he never wanted to move again.
Yet after a few minutes he opened his eyes and looked out into the sunlit street. It wasn’t much of a street, and it wasn’t much of a town. Fifty years from now there probably would be nothing here…maybe a foundation or two, some holes in the hillside, and markers up there on the graves of the men who had died.
Felton would have his church and his school, and for a few years the town would have a life, and then it would fade, and the coyotes would howl on Boot Hill, the buzzards would swing idly above, and maybe a chipmunk would dig where the miners had been and gone.
“Joss, it isn’t much of a town, is it?” he said.
“They never are, not when they’re startin’. But this one’s a better place today than it was yesterday.”
Matt turned to look at him. “You got away from the wild life, Joss. Do you ever get the feeling you’d like to go back to it?”
“Who doesn’t, sometimes? The wild night rides, the sudden raids—oh, it was excitin’ and all, but mostly it was hidin’ out in some place unfit for man or beast, goin’ without proper food or drink, never goin’ to sleep without expectin’ to jump up and run for it if a posse came. No, Matt, I’m a comfort-lovin’ man today.”
“Are you going back to the ranch?”
Joss stirred uneasily. “I ain’t sure. Miss Shannon, she came over here to help—we all did. But somehow…well, she don’t hold with killin’ and it sort of got to her. Folks like that, they just figure there’s got to be something wrong with you if you’ve killed that many men. They never seem to figure that those men were tryin’ to kill you, an’ you just happened to be faster or luckier, or something. Anyway, she got upset and went back to the ranch.”
When Matt woke again, it was already night, and lights had begun to appear in the buildings along the street. Madge was beside his bed.
“I’m worried about the Bon-Ton,” Matt said. “They’re losing business.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Madge said. “I bought it. All you have to do is get well.”
“What about the town? They’ll need some law.”
“They’ve got it. I told them what you said about Dolan. Oh, I know! You didn’t really tell me, but you muttered about it, and I told them and they’ve hired him.”
“Where’s Joss?”
“He rode out to the ranch to pick up his gear. He will be back tonight.”
“Pike?”
“He’s coming along. He’d been wounded before we left the mine, and then they dragged him. He’s in bad shape, but he’ll pull through.”
For a while they sat silent. Matt felt better, although he was weak. “Where’s my gun?” he asked suddenly.
“Hanging right beside you.” Madge pointed to the gunbelt and holster hanging on the bedpost. “Tucker put it there. And incidentally, Pike sent you back your spare…with thanks. You’ve no idea how impressed he was at your tossing him that gun. He’s a strange man, Matt, and I doubt if anybody ever helped him out in his life before. He’s mentioned that gun five or six times. Can’t seem to get it out of his head.”
Matt shrugged. “He needed it, I had it. It was as simple as that.”
She went to the table and picked up the gun and brought it to him. “It’s loaded, Matt. Pike said you’d want it that way.”
Madge turned away. “I’ll make
coffee, Matt. You just rest a little and try to sleep.”
Matt took the spare gun and pushed it down under the covers beside his leg. He had lived too long with a gun not to feel helpless without one. He closed his eyes and rested.
He could hear vague sounds from the kitchen, and occasionally somebody passed along the boardwalk. It was very quiet here, and he dozed. Only a few minutes could have passed, he supposed, for Madge Healy was still in the kitchen.
She would be coming back soon. He heard a soft, ever so soft footstep. Vaguely he felt a strange disquiet, a restlessness, but not enough to bring him awake. That step sounded again, very gently.
Out on the street somebody was running. He heard a heavy fall, a cry, and then a scrambling of feet.
Then came a cry: “Matt! Matt! Look out!”
Suddenly Matt was wide awake, his fist closed on the gun butt. Had he been dreaming?
He heard another, more feeble cry: “Matt! It’s Cal…”
The voice faded, and Matt lay wide-eyed in the dark room. A board creaked, and Matt turned slightly to his right side to face the door in the back wall. One door led to the kitchen, and the other, in the back wall, opened into a hallway that led to two rooms of living quarters and to a back door.
Matt passed the pistol from his left side over to his right, taking it in his right hand and easing back the blankets a little.
Where was Madge? He found himself praying that something would keep her in the kitchen.
But who had warned him? Who could have called out, and what had happened out there?
He waited, his mouth dry. He felt as weak as a cat. Turning on his side had been an effort.
A figure loomed in the doorway, the dark figure of a man holding a gun.
“Hello, Matt.” There was confidence in the tone, confidence and triumph.
“Hello, Cal,” Matt said. “I wasn’t really expecting you, now that Kingsbury’s dead.”
“He paid me in advance, Matt. You know that’s the only way I’ll work. And besides, this is one I would have done just for the pleasure of it. I never liked you, Matt.”
“No reason why you should…or shouldn’t. Unless you figured I was better than you. If you believed that, I can see why you might not like me.”
Calvin Bell laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “You? Better than me? We’ll never know, will we, Matt? Because I’m going to kill you.
“In a way,” Bell went on, “I like it this way. Kind of galls you, doesn’t it? Lyin’ there helpless, and not a thing you can do.”
Outside there was a dragging sound on the boardwalk, and what might have been a groan of both helplessness and anger.
“You always were a talking man, Cal, and you jump to conclusions. I wouldn’t fool you, Cal. I’ve got a gun.”
Bell chuckled. “Still bluffin’. I got to hand it to you.”
“Well, suppose you loan me your spare, Cal? You always carry insurance on you, so loan it to me and we’ll shoot it out even…or are you scared?”
Somebody was at the front door now, somebody who was trying to get up, to reach the door knob. Calvin heard it, too, and he lifted his gun.
At that moment Madge stepped into the room. “Matt, don’t touch this coffee until I get a light. I’ll—”
Calvin Bell swung his gun toward her, then realizing it was a woman, he started to swing it back. And Matt shot him.
He thought the shot missed, and lunging up as Bell fired, he heard the bullet smack into the bed where he had been, and then he fired again. Bell half turned toward him, and Matt held the gun steady with both hands. Bell lunged at him, striking the gun aside and jamming the muzzle of his own gun against Matt’s belly.
At that instant, Madge spoke. “Mr. Bell? If you’d like to sit down, you may join us for coffee.”
The sheer incongruity of it stopped him. Calvin Bell, about to kill a man, heard that cool, quiet voice suggesting that he join them for coffee. For a moment his mind was blank, struggling to adjust itself, and in that instant Matt Coburn came to his feet and shoved Bell away from him.
As he did so, both men fired. Bell was falling away, and his shot missed. Matt, braced on his feet, held the gun steady and shot into Bell as fast as he could work the hammer under his thumb. He knew he would never get another chance, for in a moment he himself was going to fall. He could feel his knees trembling with weakness, and he fired so fast that it sounded like one continuous roll of sound. Then the hammer fell on an empty shell, and the thunder was gone from the room, leaving only the acrid smell of gunpowder. Madge Healy was on her knees, crying.
He swayed as he heard shouts outside, and running feet. They were at the door, and then the door burst open. Matt sat down abruptly, but with the gunfighter’s instinct he began thumbing the loading gate open and pushing the empty shells out onto the floor.
Madge caught his arm. “Matt, are you hurt?”
“What happened?” It was Fife’s testy voice. “What’s going on here, anyway?”
“Strike a light.” That was Felton.
Matt fumbled for his cartridge belt. He was scarcely conscious of anything; he only knew that he wanted a loaded gun in his hand.
“It’s Calvin Bell,” somebody said, “shot to doll rags.”
“What’s Pike doing outside there?”
Matt looked up. “He tried to warn me—he did warn me. I was asleep, but I heard him. He was yelling, and it jarred me awake, so I was ready when Bell came in.”
“Pike’s in bad shape. He fell more than once, and dragged himself.…I guess he saw Bell coming and knew what he intended to do.”
“Are you all right, Matt?” That was Madge again.
“I could do with some coffee.” He rolled his legs back onto the bed and stretched out slowly, painfully. “This place isn’t exactly restful.”
“Matt, I’ve got a ranch in Colorado,” Madge was saying. “When you’re well we’ll go there—if you’ll make an honest woman of me.”
“I’d like that,” he said, and eased his tired body on the bed. He was breathing heavily, and one of his wounds felt as if it were bleeding again.
*
FOR A WEEK then, he slept, wakened, drank a little soup, slept again. People came and went, but he was scarcely conscious of them. When at last he felt like sitting up, he moved outside into the sunlight.
The town was busy, and it was growing. There was a new general store, a new café, and a hotel was going up. Several of the claims had failed to prove out, but Discovery and the Treasure Vault were showing good values per ton. The Treasure Vault was working forty men in three shifts, the Discovery about the same.
Dick Felton and Dan Cohan stopped by to talk with him. “How’re you feeling, Matt?” Cohan asked.
“Better.” He looked up at Felton. “I hear you’re going to have your school.”
“We start building tomorrow.”
They talked a while, and then the two men walked away up the street. Matt was feeling restless. When Madge came out, he looked up at her. “Are you tied to this place?” he asked.
“No, Matt. I’m ready when you are.” She stood beside him, looking up the street. “You did it, Matt. Confusion has settled down. It’s going to be all right.”
He nodded. “But they’d like me to leave,” he said. “I can see it in their faces. I’m what they don’t want around now, Madge. I stand for what they want to forget.”
“Shall we start tomorrow, Matt? Shall I bring a rig around?”
“I think so. And Madge, hire Joss, will you? I like him.”
“So do I. He’ll be driving us, Matt.”
He stayed there dozing in the sun, and presently he heard the light quick steps coming, and the swish of skirts. The steps stopped beside him, and he opened his eyes. It was Laurie Shannon.
“You’re looking better, Matt.”
“I am better. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Her face seemed to stiffen a little, and there was loneliness in it, and sadness. “Is it
Madge, Matt?”
“Yes. We’re two of a kind, Laurie. We’ve both been drifters; we’ve both seen this country grow.”
“Matt, I—”
“Don’t say it, Laurie. I killed another man…seven it was, I think. You could never live with that.”
“No.”
“Tomorrow they’re starting to build a school, Laurie. The town’s going to grow. Sitting here, I see women and youngsters walking by along a street where they never dared walk before. And the town might have gone up in flames.”
“And it might not. And seven men are gone who can’t be brought back.”
“You could have them, Laurie, if you could bring them back. But I think they’re better off on Boot Hill.”
“I think the town would have lasted. I think those men needn’t have died.”
“Well—” he shifted his seat—“we’ll never know, will we?”
She left him then and walked up the street, and he listened to her footsteps as she walked out of his life. One thing he could give her, though. She sure could make good doughnuts.
He settled back in his chair, enjoying the sun. He’d better rest. It was a long way to Durango.
Author’s Note
*
SLANTING ANNIE, SO called because one leg was shorter than the other, Rocking-Chair Emma, and Mattie were all widely known “madames” in the mining-camp towns and cow towns of the West.
The large lady referred to in the story who assures Matt Coburn that she can handle her own trouble was actually Madame Bulldog, a huge and muscular woman who weighed over 200 pounds, and very little of it fat. She once whipped Martha Jane Canary, better known as Calamity Jane, in a free-for-all fight. She commented afterward that it was no harder than whipping two husky men.
The peak referred to as “Jeff Davis” has since been named Mt. Wheeler and rises above the Snake Range to a height of over 13,000 feet. The peak and the neighboring ranges are heavily forested. There is a glacier on the peak, and a lovely mountain lake high up on a shoulder of the mountain.
The Confusion Mountains are crossed by Highways 50-6 east of Ely, Nevada, and west of Delta, Utah. This is still a wide-open, lonely country where the highway is patrolled by aircraft. The reason for this patrol is simple: if you break down out there, without water on a hot summer’s day, you will last no longer than a pioneer in a covered wagon.
Novel 1969 - The Empty Land (v5.0) Page 17
