by P McCormac
A couple of days later, it was Turlough’s turn to stand watch. They were using an abandoned wagon which they dragged up to the summit of a low hill. From there, under cover, they could watch the activity going on around them and spot anything that might hint of an attack. A rider drew up at the cabin and sat his horse. Cyriac, who had been digging in the Benedict claim, recognized the owner of the dry goods store.
‘Howdy, Mr Richards, good of you to visit. Will you step down and share a coffee? Won’t be as good as that brew your own wife makes but it is all I can offer.’
Cyriac sensed the sombre mood of the man as he nodded his acceptance.
‘Thank you, I’d like that.’
‘Go on in. I’ll join you when I’ve cleaned up a bit.’
Cyriac rinsed his hands and face in a bucket on the porch and came inside, wiping his hands on a cotton towel.
‘Where are your companions?’ Richards asked as Cyriac poured coffee.
‘Oh, they’re around somewhere,’ Cyriac answered vaguely, not wanting to give too much away until he knew the reason for the storekeeper’s visit.
‘Mr Halkias, I got some bad news for you.’
Richards put his hands across his face and stayed like that for a long time. Cyriac waited. He had a sudden premonition of what was coming.
‘Elwood Black sent me,’ the storekeeper said at last, raising his face and looking at his host. He had a haunted look about him as he spoke. ‘At first I refused – so he had his men take my wife as hostage. Told me he would sell her to a cathouse if I didn’t do as he said.’ His voice broke then and he took a moment to compose himself. ‘I believed him. He is the very devil incarnate.’ Richards wiped at his eyes before continuing. ‘I am to tell you he has Doctor McCullough and his daughter Arlene as guests at the hotel. He invites you to join them.’
CHAPTER 32
Cyriac rode slowly, his scarred face impassive. He rode through the Gold Point diggings, past the hastily erected wooden shacks and tents that were the only shelter for desperate miners hoping to strike it rich and move into a life of luxury. Past the untidy spoil heaps, the mounds of trash scattered by scavenging dogs, empty cans, bottles, papers, scraps of old garments all mixed together like a statement of the various hopes of the men who worked ceaselessly, digging in the dirt like the human version of prairie dogs.
Some miners looked up from their tasks and called a greeting which Cyriac did not acknowledge. Others ignored him, intent only on grubbing in the earth, eagerly watching for that glimmer of colour that would buy them a night of indulgence amongst the fleshpots of Thomaston.
Cyriac knew as he rode into Thomaston he was under surveillance. Black would have men watching his movements. He would want to know what company he was bringing with him. But Cyriac rode alone. They would know he was coming and that he was coming alone.
He had lied to Turlough and Aimee, telling them Black wanted him, and only him to come, otherwise the vindictive mine owner might be spurred into doing something rash like hurting his hostages. He could see the building anger in Aimee’s eyes as she reluctantly accepted his pleas to go into town alone.
‘It’s the only way,’ he insisted. ‘As soon as Black has me he’ll release the doctor and Arlene and Mrs Richards. He only wants me. You hang on here and stay safe. If anything happens to me you will have to leave Gold Point like Turlough suggested and hightail it to California.’
‘He’s gonna kill you,’ Aimee insisted. ‘Black ain’t inviting you into Thomaston to have supper with him. As soon as he has you in his power he’ll let loose his animal friends on you and they will kill you. Have you thought of that?’
Cyriac had seemed engrossed in checking his weapons and had not responded.
‘What’s the point of all those knives and guns? He will strip them from you. There’s no way he’ll allow you to get near him armed.’
‘There was this guy called Samson,’ Cyriac said softly. ‘His weapon was his great strength which he lost when his enemies, the Philistines, shaved his hair off. They were so full of their own cunning they did not reckon on his hair growing back. Once that happened he regained his great strength and was then able to slay his foes.’
‘Yeah, I know that story, but didn’t Samson die along with them?’
Now Cyriac rode into Thomaston, knowing he was going into the lair of the Philistines. But what other options were there? A man had to hold to certain standards. At times it had not been easy but nevertheless he had stuck to his principles. It was what drove him in his efforts to rescue Turlough. And then he laughed.
‘What a hypocrite you are, Halkias,’ he said out loud. ‘Samson wanted revenge for the wrongs the Philistines had done him. Don’t fool yourself. You are a killer. Black and his pet dogs slew your brother and you will fill as many graves as it takes. They must pay, they must bleed.’
The township appeared ahead and Cyriac kept a steady pace towards the meeting with his enemies.
‘There will be blood,’ he muttered as he passed the town boundary.
There were four gunmen waiting on the porch of the hotel. They gave the rider hard looks through narrowed eyes; hands on gun butts.
Cyriac stepped down and took his time, pointedly adjusting his gun belt so it settled low on his hips. Then, ignoring the quartet of unfriendly gunnies, he strode up the steps and pushed open the door to the lobby.
Three more gunmen were sitting around, suddenly alert as Cyriac entered. Behind the desk was a nervous looking clerk. Cyriac strode over to him.
‘My name is Cyriac Halkias. I’ve an appointment with Elwood Black.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the man said with a trembling voice. ‘Mr Black is expecting you. Suite number seven. First floor.’
‘Thank you.’
Turning from the desk, he was aware of the mounting tension in the lobby. Paying no attention to the gunnies intently watching him, he strode towards the stairs. There were two more on the landing. He tried to ignore them but they barred his progress. All bore the hallmarks of gunmen with tied down holsters and mean looking eyes.
‘Halkias?’ one of them said.
‘I’m here to see Black.’
‘You gotta hand over your weapons afore you go in.’
Cyriac stared implacably back, not saying anything. It made the gunmen nervous. Slowly he undid his gun belt with the holstered Remington and handed it over.
‘The knife.’
Cyriac drew out the big Bowie, holding it a moment as if he wanted to stick it in something – preferably something living. The men before him tensed but in the end he handed it over.
‘Move your hands out from your sides.’
They thought for a moment he was not going to comply but slowly he lifted his arms. They lifted the Mook from his shoulder holster and the Starr from where it was secured in the small of his back.
‘You sure are loaded for bear, mister. Turn around.’
They made a thorough search before stepping aside and allowing him to proceed. He stopped at number seven, opened the door and entered.
Doctor McCullough and Arlene were seated opposite the door along with an older woman Cyriac took to be Mrs Richards. Their hands were roped together, resting on their laps. Two gunmen stood either side of them, their guns held casually – the threat obvious. Two more gunmen were standing either side of the door and turned to face Cyriac as he entered. Black was lounging on a chair with a smug look on his face.
‘You shouldn’t have come,’ Doctor McCullough said.
Cyriac said nothing but walked to the window and looked outside, noting the balcony running the length of the hotel. At last he turned back to the room and leaned against the window frame.
‘I was told you wanted to meet with me,’ he said. ‘What’s it all about?’
‘In order to make this a more amiable discourse, how about I ask you if you are armed?’ Black said. ‘Having witnessed you in action, I know how temperamental you can be.’
Cyriac held his arms wide. ‘Yo
ur hound dogs made sure of that. What is this about?’
With a slight smirk, Black indicated a chair in the middle of the room. ‘Sit.’
Cyriac pointed to the hostages. ‘Are these people necessary to our talk?’
‘I know from experience you are a very dangerous hombre, Halkias. These people have agreed to act as guarantors against any hostile action on your part. You cut up rough; your folk get roughed up, too. Maybe my boys might get carried away in the heat of the action and fire off a few shots. Anyone might get killed. You wouldn’t want something like that on your conscience now, would you?’
Cyriac said nothing, staring steadily at the mine owner.
‘Mr Halkias,’ Black continued, ‘ever since you came to Thomaston, you have caused me considerable inconvenience. Like I say, you are a very dangerous man. So instead of fighting you I have decided to give you an easy way out of this bind.’
‘That’s mighty big of you.’
‘I am willing to forget all the trouble you have caused me and extend the hand of friendship,’ Black continued. ‘Let bygones be bygones, so to say.’
‘So now you got me here helpless as a hogtied calf ready for branding, why don’t you send these good people home.’
‘All in good time. We got some talking to do first. As we know, you got a claim out at Gold Point, in joint ownership with a wanted murderer, Turlough Benedict. I need you to sign over your share of the mine to me. Once you do that we let these people go.’
Cyriac bent his head and stared at the floor for what seemed a long time. He could feel that familiar coldness rising up in the nape of his neck. The icy calmness spreading through his body. He made an effort to dampen it but it was growing and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Only violence would exorcise it. Eventually he raised his head.
‘I guess I got no other choice,’ he said tightly. ‘You have me over a barrel. You got anyone as can draw up the agreement?’
CHAPTER 33
Black picked up a document from a table and handed the paper to Cyriac, who took it and scanned the writing.
‘Looks like you hold all the aces. What happens to me after I sign?’
‘You promise not to make any more trouble and you ride outta here and never come back, we lose interest in you.’
Cyriac nodded thoughtfully. ‘You got a pen?’
Black picked up a pen, dipped it in an inkpot and handed it over. Holding the paper on his knee, Cyriac started to write, stopped and examined his efforts.
‘Hell, I need something to lean on.’
He got up and moved over to the table, that coldness inside his head slowing everything around him. His muscles, shards of ice, were aching to explode and he had to prevent himself from bellowing out loud. Instead he swivelled on one foot and stabbed Black in the throat with the pen and at the same time, reaching out with his other hand and pulling the businessman into him.
The pen was rammed so hard it went in under Black’s chin and up into his mouth, jamming his tongue into the back of his throat. Cyriac threw himself back, still holding the stricken man, reaching over and finding Black’s gun in the shoulder holster. The gun came away easily and he sighted on the other gunnies and began firing. Black was gagging and gasping for breath, blood and snot blocking his damaged airway as he struggled futilely in Cyriac’s fierce grip.
Cyriac’s shots blasted out extraordinarily loudly in the confines of the room. The two gunmen guarding the hostages cried out as bullets hammered into them. Someone was rashly firing back – the bullets striking Black. The businessman arched his back and shuddered as he was hit. Cyriac, with a massive effort, pushed him on to his feet. Still holding Black, he rushed across the few feet and cannoned into the one gunman still standing – pushing Black into the man and knocking him off balance. By now Cyriac’s gun was empty and he used it to lash out, catching his new opponent across the face with the barrel.
With Black thrashing about, hindering him, the gunman couldn’t bring his gun to bear and Cyriac used his empty weapon to smash it from his hand. He then dived to the floor, grappling for the fallen gun. One of the wounded gunmen was angling to get his weapon lined up on Cyriac.
He rolled over and fired at the same time. The slugs took the man in the eye and he jerked back, blood and brains spilling on to the carpet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another man bringing up his gun and got off a shot, putting a bullet in his gun hand. The injured man yelled and tried to swap over to his uninjured paw. It was a futile effort as one of Cyriac’s shots hit him in the shoulder and the slug tossed him sideways. Another shot hit him in the head and he stopped moving.
Cyriac scrambled across the floor, picking up a chair and jamming it under the door handle. He was just in time as he heard men from outside shouting. Someone banged on the door.
‘Mr Black, Mr Black, what’s going on?’
‘It’s all right,’ Cyriac called in what he hoped was an imitation of the mine owner’s voice. ‘Everything’s under control.’
He found a knife on a gunman’s unconscious body and began sawing at the captives’ bonds.
‘Climb out the window on the veranda,’ he hissed as he worked. ‘There’ll be a stairway down to the street.’
The hammering on the door was getting louder, the yells from the corridor becoming more insistent.
‘Mr Black!’ called a voice.
Mrs Richards was staring in horror at the blood stained bodies strewn across the room.
‘Go on – get,’ Cyriac urged as he freed the doctor.
‘Goddamn you, Cyriac, you sure are hell on wheels when it comes to killing.’
Before he could stop her, Arlene threw her arms around him and squeezed him hard.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ she murmured in his ear, her soft breath caressing him at the same time. He pushed her towards the window now lying open with the doctor waiting beside it.
‘Just get away from here,’ Cyriac told them. ‘Go somewhere safe.’
He turned and scanned the floor where the bodies of the men he had just shot were lying. The hammering on the door was becoming persistent.
‘Mr Black, what the hell’s going on?’
‘It’s all right, we’re coming out,’ he called back.
He had collected three guns from the floor and was rapidly reloading them. As a bonus he discovered a Colt .45 fully loaded.
One more glance out of the window and he could see no sign of Doctor McCullough and the two women. There was a noise from Black. The mining boss was gazing up at him, his hand clasped to his throat. He was trying to say something, the pen embedded in his throat preventing him from speaking and hindering his breathing. Cyriac bent over the injured man.
‘I can’t make out what you are saying,’ he said. ‘I gave you that pen so you could write to me when you get to hell. Let me know what it’s like. Say hello to Old Nick for me. Tell him I’ll be along sometime soon.’
Slowly the light faded from Black’s eyes and he was left staring up accusingly at Cyriac.
‘You sent out the men who slew my brother and now you have paid for that. However, it was your hound dog Carter who beat him so badly he died. When I catch up with him he’ll be following you to hell.’
Cyriac stood and turned to face the door. He had a fully loaded Colt in each hand – his face set in a bleak mask.
‘I guess there is some accounting still to be done in that respect,’ he whispered into the empty room as the door shook under the hammering of the gunmen outside.
CHAPTER 34
‘We can’t just sit here and let him go in there all alone to face those coyotes,’ Aimee said to no one in particular.
‘It’s what he wanted,’ Beth said. ‘I feel as helpless as you but what can we do?’
‘We could go in and lend him a hand,’ Aimee persisted.
‘That would be a dumb move,’ Turlough said. ‘We go in after him and spook Black into doing something really bad. You heard what Cyriac said. This thing is betwe
en him and Black.’
‘You poor, pathetic piece of yeller dung,’ Aimee sneered. She got to her feet and picked up her shotgun. ‘I’m going into Thomaston. Maybe I can help Cyriac and maybe not but I sure as hell ain’t going to cower here like no cowardly whipped dog and let him face them hell hounds all alone.’
Beth stood, too.
‘We ought to go, I reckon,’ she said. ‘Poor Arlene and Mrs Roberts may need our help. What a snake that Black is, using females to blackmail Cyriac. There’s every chance he’ll murder all of them. Black’s like a mad dog that’s lashing out at anyone as comes near him.’
‘We hurt him where it hurts most by wrecking his mining operation,’ Aimee attested. ‘He’s a dog that needs putting down. The time for talking is over.’
Aimee stalked to the door. Beth threw on her coat and followed. Muttering under his breath, Turlough grabbed up his gun belt and went after them. They saddled up the horses and took the road into town, riding in grim silence. On the outskirts of Thomaston, Turlough drew rein.
‘We don’t know what we are riding into,’ he said. ‘All we know is that Cyriac was told to go to the hotel. Maybe we should leave the horses here and go in on foot.’
It was then they heard the gunfire.
‘To hell with that,’ Aimee yelled. ‘We go straight in.’
And suiting action to words, she dug heels into her horse and set off at a run into the town.
‘Hell, damn it, wait!’ Turlough yelled but was forced to follow with Beth trailing behind.
Aimee hit the main street at a run and saw the gunmen on the hotel porch with their backs to her. Their attention was on something in the hotel. Then she saw the men all had shooters in their hands.
Not stopping to think, she dragged her shotgun from the thong on the saddle and as she rode past, she fired off both barrels into the crowded porch. Not waiting to see the effect of her actions, Aimee kept going and rounded a corner before anyone could react to her attack.
She left behind complete chaos as the buckshot splattered into the gunmen. Men fell, though none were fatally hurt. Some tried to get inside the hotel while others swung around, seeking their assailant and firing into the street.
