Fury at Troon's Ferry

by Mark Bannerman

Angus drew a deep, fretful breath and stepped into the pharmacy to commence his work.

  All morning and during the early afternoon, he watched the clock inch away the minutes, the hours. It seemed the longest day he’d ever known. At last the hands pointed to five minutes before three. He strapped on his gun, having carefully thumbed five cartridges into the loading gate. He left the pharmacy and walked briskly along the street towards the marshal’s office, ignoring the inquisitive stares of several ladies who stood with their skirts hoisted above the mud. The time of truth was nigh – or so he hoped.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He found the door of the office closed, no movement showing from within. He recalled last time he had been to the place. Kypp hadn’t been there, now he hoped he was waiting for him – not with a gun in his hand, but with news of hope. On the other hand, was he walking into some fiendish trap?

  His grip closed over the knob, pushing the door open. If the place had looked deserted from the outside, he now found that it was not. A wizened, stumpy man was sitting with his bandy legs on the cluttered desk. He looked up bleary-eyed from his doze as the visitor entered, the knife-scars on his cheeks looking angry, his lolling mouth revealing a mass of blackened stubs.

  He was Linus Kypp, Johnny’s dwarf of a father. His eyes narrowed as he recognized Angus and he made no form of greeting. The hostility he radiated was reciprocated by Angus.

  ‘Johnny said you’d most likely call in,’ old Linus announced, speaking as if the production of words pained his mouth. ‘God a’mighty, I hoped I’d never set eyes on you again.’

  ‘Where is he – Johnny?’ Angus demanded.

  The old man feigned an indifferent attitude. He spat out a stream of brown liquid, missing the spittoon. He picked a shred of tobacco from the tip of his tongue with dirty fingers, taking an irritating length of time before answering.

  ‘As soon as he heard ’bout Marshal Terrill havin’ died,’ he said, ‘he set out to arrest his killer. Reckoned he’d be back before you got here, but it ain’t so. Maybe Bradshaw has objected to being arrested.’

  Angus sighed with frustration. ‘Did he ask you to pass on a message to me – anything?’

  ‘Nothin’,’ Linus Kypp grunted, enjoying the game he was playing. ‘Johnny and me have just resumed speakin’ terms.’

  Angus felt like grabbing the old man around the neck like a scraggy hen, shaking him until he was more informative, but he resisted the temptation.

  ‘Why are you here, anyway?’ he grunted.

  ‘Life got kinda miserable at home,’ Linus Kypp said. ‘Couldn’t stand it no longer. All your dawgone fault, mind.’

  ‘My fault – why!’

  ‘My woman, Arabella. She said I’d not treated Johnny the way a father should treat his son. Just ’cos I told him he wasn’t worth a pinch of dried owl-shit. She said I should come and make things up with him, ’specially since he’s taken up this deputy job. ’Course he never guessed he’d become full blown town marshal himself, which he now is. Mayor handed him the badge first thing this mornin’.’

  ‘You said it was my fault, all this trouble at home,’ Angus persisted.

  ‘Angus Troon,’ Kypp said, fresh anger bringing a flush to his cheeks, ‘if you hadn’t yapped off your mouth at that trial, Johnny would never have gone to jail. Furthermore, our family name would never have been dragged into the shit. That’s something I can never forgive!’

  ‘But why should that make you hard on Johnny?’ Angus asked in exasperation.

  Kypp licked the dried flakes of skin that were his lips.

  ‘Guess I’ve talked too much,’ he grunted. ‘Guess I should’ve kept my mouth shut.’

  ‘Just tell me!’ Angus shouted.

  Kypp turned his head, gazed out into the street, no doubt wishing his son would return and get him out of the apparent hole he was digging for himself. His eyes swung back to Angus.

  ‘Truth is,’ he went on, ‘I got real angry with Johnny. Told him to get out of our home. I told him he’d gone soft on you, that he owed it to me to make your life hell until Duquemain came out of jail and finished the job off. Yes, I kicked him out of our place, told him never to come back. That’s exactly what he tried to do, but as soon as I saw him I fired a couple o’ shots in his direction, not meanin’ to hit him, mind you. Just to let him know he weren’t welcome. Never thought his horse would rear up that way, throw him off and hurt his leg.’

  Things were becoming clearer to Angus now. ‘It was just after I called on you, wasn’t it?’

  Linus Kypp nodded. ‘That’s why I was so damned riled up. It was you I should have fired at. Ever since, Arabella’s gone on at me, like as if she’s got a viper in her mouth – on and on and on. “You should say sorry to poor Johnny. You ain’t no right to treat your boy that way!” She nigh whipped me out of my own home with her doggone tongue.’

  Angus was growing tired of the man’s rambling, but at least things made more sense now.

  ‘You said Johnny was too soft with me,’ he said. ‘What did you mean?’

  Kypp hesitated, then his mouth opened to speak, but at that moment they both heard a commotion from outside. Kypp stood up and joined Angus at the window.

  Excited men were swarming like summer flies about the rider who had just reined-in his Morgan outside the office. Across the saddle of his horse was a body fastened on with a rope. Angus knew immediately that here was the corpse of the cowboy, Bradshaw – murderer of Marshal Terrill.

  Angus rushed to the doorway and stepped out on to the sidewalk. The crowd was increasing, unleashing shouts of congratulation.

  ‘Thank God we got law in town again!’

  ‘Well done, Johnny!’

  ‘Saved us the cost of lynchin’ the devil!’

  Johnny Kypp acknowledged their shouts with a nod. Still in the saddle, he unfastened the rope and allowed Bradshaw’s body to slide to the ground. It landed in a ungainly heap.

  ‘Take him away,’ he shouted out. ‘Take him to the morgue and put him alongside Fred Terrill so he can see that justice has been done.’

  There were several assenting cries, then numerous hands reached down to take hold of the corpse and convey it across the street to James Hammond’s Funeral Parlour. Angus noticed that Bradshaw had been shot in the back – and at close range because his shirt was powder-blackened. Meanwhile, Johnny Kypp dismounted, hitched his horse to the rail, climbed the steps to the sidewalk – and came face to face with Angus.

  Angus did not waste time. ‘You said you had news about my child,’ he said. ‘Where is she?’

  Kypp had had a half-smile on his face; now that disappeared. It seemed he intended to ignore the question because he reached out to brush Angus aside and continue on into the office.

  ‘I’m busy right now,’ he commented from the side of his mouth. ‘I got paperwork to fill in.’

  ‘Damn you, Kypp,’ Angus snapped out. ‘Quit playing games. Just tell me what you know!’

  ‘You let Johnny be,’ another voice snarled, ‘or I’ll shoot you where you stand!’

  Both Angus and Johnny turned to see old Linus Kypp standing in the doorway, the heavy artillery of his .50-calibre Sharps in his hands.

  Johnny nodded to his father, then continued to walk into his office. At that point Angus was unable to restrain his fury. He threw himself at Johnny Kypp, intent on twisting him around, but instead his weight plunged against his back, catapulting him forward into his father. Both men went down in a sprawling heap blocking the doorway. In the confusion Linus’s gun exploded with a deafemng roar. Johnny rolled aside, turning the air blue with curses, his shirt-sleeve showing the burn of gunpowder, the air thick with sulphur fumes.

  Angus immediately drew his own Navy Colt, covering the two fallen men. He could hear footsteps and shouting sounding in the street behind him, folks coming to see what was going on.

  ‘Where’s my child?’ Angus shouted. ‘Tell me!’

  The younger Kypp was stunned, but he found himse
lf gazing into Angus’s gun. He glared at his father, who himself was sitting up, wincing with the pain the fall had caused, wincing with the embarrassment of having nearly blown his son’s head off, this not fitting his current inclination.

  Johnny Kypp was seething with anger, his hand to his wounded arm. ‘Damn you, Pa,’ he cried. ‘Never could aim straight!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Johnny. It was the way I fell.’

  In his anger, Angus’s finger tightened on his trigger, sent a bullet whipping into the sidewalk a few inches from where Johnny had fallen.

  ‘I won’t ask you again,’ he snarled. ‘Where’s my child.’

  Johnny Kypp had flinched as the shot thudded close to him. For the first time a brief fear showed in his eyes. Instinct warned him that he was seconds away from another bullet, and next time Angus would aim to kill.

  His eyes flickered towards his father. ‘You better tell him, Pa. You tell him the truth.’

  Linus cursed. ‘Can’t do that, Johnny. I promised Arabella.’

  Johnny Kypp gazed at Angus. ‘You got no cause to hate me, Troon. I never did you no harm, well not much, anyway.’

  Angus flexed his gun, his finger taking up the trigger slack, his patience exhausted. ‘The child … or you die!’ and he meant it. Johnny knew that.

  ‘Tell him, Pa,’ he repeated, his tone desperate. His arm was paining him. ‘Tell him!’ The whole situation had turned sour for him.

  Old man Kypp hesitated, cursed again and drew the back of his hand across his dribbling lips. ‘Arabella will never forgive me for this,’ he muttered. ‘She’s taken to that kid like her own, ever since Glaswall brought it in….’

  ‘The child’s at your place?’ Angus demanded.

  The old man’s nod was almost imperceptible.

  ‘Who’s Glaswall?’

  At that moment other men had joined them, enquiring what was going on. Somebody grabbed Angus’s arm, but he shook himself free. He had no time to explain: let the Kypps do that. He holstered his gun, turned and strode away. The incandescent glow of hope was burning inside him. Little Anna was alive … alive!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A powdery snow was falling as he went to the livery to fetch Judas, but everywhere was locked up and there was a note pinned to the door saying Back five minutes. Abe Simmons.

  He tried the door. It was firmly bolted. Five minutes came and went, became ten, then twenty. Angus cursed. He debated whether he should kick the door down, but decided to check the saloon for Abe Simmons first. When he entered, a few of the drinkers looked up.

  ‘Where’s Abe?’ he enquired. ‘I need my horse.’

  One man nodded towards the upper floor. ‘Better ask Squirrel Tooth Sally,’ he grinned.

  Angus grunted with impatience and went and sat on the bottom stair, hoping Simmons was shortly to come down. He kept hearing the high-pitched laughter of Sally coming from upstairs. It seemed that she and her guest were nowhere near reaching a culminating moment. He decided to wait no longer. He returned to the livery. It took half a dozen hefty kicks to force a panel out of the door. And thereafter it was easy to reach up inside and slide the bolt back.

  As he was getting a saddle across Judas’s back, Elizabeth Clayton entered the livery. He quickly told her what had occurred.

  ‘I’ll come with you, Angus,’ she stated.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘It’ll be too dangerous.’

  ‘But you’ll need somebody to look after Anna.’

  ‘No, Elizabeth. I appreciate your offer, but no, no, no! Your dad would never forgive me if anything bad happened. Go on home.’

  He saw the hurt moisten her eyes.

  He climbed into his saddle and heeled the sorrel through the livery doorway into the street. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Elizabeth’s slight figure and her face awash with disappointment – but he was sure he’d done the right thing. He gave her a wave.

  He looked up the street towards the marshal’s office. The crowd had dispersed. He wondered what lies Johnny Kypp and his old man had told. He dismissed them from his mind. He had the most important business in the world to attend to.

  The wind was getting up, the cold biting into him as he rode but he did not care. His entire body was throbbing with excitement. If only Leah could be with him. Thought of her started a circle of pain in his belly. Maybe the joy of finding her lovely babe would have restored her sanity, but now he must act for both of them.

  He kept Judas at a brisk trot, skirting the out-of-town homesteads and shadowed forest before moving northward into the series of sprawling valleys, signs of civilization fading behind him. He reckoned it would take him a couple of hours to reach Kelly’s Hole. Another twenty minutes would see him at the Kypps’s wretched homestead.

  Only once, when he looked back, did he imagine that he saw a rider on the trail far behind him, but later, when he crossed over higher ground, a further glance revealed nothing to arouse his attention, apart from the flapping of a distant crow. The image of Anna’s little face, her blue eyes, her fair hair, so like her mother’s, remained in his mind.

  He recalled how the little family had sometimes picnicked in the grass, with the sun shining and the flowers smelling so sweetly. Oh, Leah, if only you could be with me now on the way to reclaim our lives. And he felt tears on his cheeks, brushed them away. He rode, revelling in the warmth of his memories, bending low in the saddle so that the brim of his hat deflected the snow from his eyes.

  So immersed in his thoughts was he that he was hardly aware of how the day had darkened, how the temperature had plunged even lower. It was growing gloomier by the minute, but the excitement within him pounded. How would Anna have changed over the weeks since she had been snatched from her family? Had she been injured at all? Had she cried for her mama and papa. So many questions.

  And then Judas stumbled into the rope strung across the trail!

  It had been no more than an evil eighteen inches above the ground, nigh invisible, stretched taut, enough to have the horse somersaulting and Angus flying from his saddle. He was dimly aware of hitting the ground with a bone-jarring impact, landing on his left shoulder and everything seeming to whirl about. He was stunned, convinced that he was terribly injured. For the moment, all he could do was remain still, unable to restrain his groaning, dimly aware of Judas stomping and snorting off to the side and of snow coming down – and pain, hard pain, throbbing through him. He wondered if his back was broken.

  And then he heard footsteps shuffling towards him, and something poked him roughly in the side. It was a dwarf-sized boot.

  ‘Still alive then,’ Linus Kypp’s voice crackled. ‘Was hopin’ you might’ve cracked your damn skull open. Then you’d have been done for. Everybody would’ve figured you’d been thrown by your horse.’

  Angus was beginning to sort his brain out, shaking his head to dispel the daze.

  ‘I’ve had to wait out here a long time in the snow,’ Kypp went on. ‘Thought you was never gonna show up. I wasn’t gonna let you outfox me again, though.’

  ‘What are you after?’ Angus gasped. He tried to move, to raise himself up, but his back hurt too much.

  He had no clear view of the old man; he was standing behind him, but he knew he had his big rifle trained on him; he could smell its oil.

  ‘First thing,’ Kypp said, ‘is that you’ll never take that kid from Arabella. She’ll never give it up. She absolutely dotes on it. It would kill her if you snatched it away, and she’d take it out on me, that’s for sure. Anyway, she looks after it a darned sight better’n than you would.’

  Angus tried to move again and got his shoulders slightly off the ground. This situation was crazy.

  ‘How did she get hold of her?’ he managed to ask.

  He heard Kypp spit. ‘Glaswall knew she was down-right broody, said he’d get her a baby, seeing her husband couldn’t oblige.’

  ‘Glaswall?’ Angus gasped. ‘Who’s he?’

  The old man snarled with impatience. ‘
If anybody knows Silas Glaswall, you should!’

  ‘Well, I don’t. Who the hell is he?’

  ‘Thanks to your big mouth,’ Linus Kypp explained, ‘he got shut away in prison along with Johnny. He got five years as well. He got set free with Johnny.’

  Recollection of Glaswall was filtering into Angus’s dazed mind. Glaswall had been Duquemain’s secondin-command.

  ‘Glaswall said he’d get Arabella a baby to repay us for accommodatin’ him. More likely he was trying to bribe her into opening her legs for him. He was with Johnny at first, when they got out of prison, you see. Then we had the big bust-up and I told Johnny to get out, wouldn’t let him back. Arabella said I was too harsh on him, nagged me to hell. Maybe she was right. But now we got some talkin’ to do, some bargainin’. That’s if you want to stay alive.’

  Angus could sense testiness increasing in the old man.

  ‘So what do you plan to do?’ Angus spoke slowly, trying to calm him and formulate some plan to extract himself from the threat of the gun. But options seemed limited.

  ‘I guess I don’t have any choice, Mr Angus Troon. You’ve been a right pain ever since Johnny and his pals crossed on your ferry, blackening the name of Kypp like you have. Anyway, you won’t do it no more!’

  Angus was suddenly conscious of Kypp’s breathing, conscious of the fact that it would take a mere second for his finger to tighten on his trigger.

  ‘I got an offer to make you,’ Kypp wheezed.

  ‘What offer?’

  ‘You wanna live?’

  ‘Just so long as I can wring your neck!’ Angus grunted.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll offer you good money for that kid. I’m not a poor man, neither will you be if you take up this offer, clear out and leave us alone. The child won’t want for anythin’. Arabella loves her crazy. I’ll give you hard cash on the nail. You name the price.’

  ‘Go to hell!’ Angus said.

  Elizabeth Clayton, having disregarded Angus’s advice to remain behind, had been watching, biding her time, until alerted by the pandemonium of Judas’s tumble. Now she spoke up with all the forceful urgency that her young voice could muster.