Guns of Wrath
Will Comfort has a burning mission: to wreak vengeance on the man who had him incarcerated during the Civil War. The quest brings him to the river town of Cayuse Landing where he soon runs foul of the ruthless rancher, Rank Wilder. Comfort is increasingly drawn into the conflict between Wilder and the local townsfolk until he has to face the question: who is his real enemy?
Others are caught up, including Annie, the woman from his past, Corrina, the woman in his present, the oldster ‘Beaver’ Bannock and the Reverend Bent. Comfort is not the only one to have to confront what he believes in and where his loyalties lie, as violence continues to escalate.
By the same author
Pack Rat
Coyote Falls
Shotgun Messenger
Guns of Wrath
Colin Bainbridge
ROBERT HALE
© Colin Bainbridge 2011
First published in Great Britain 2011
ISBN 978-0-7198-2316-9
The Crowood Press
The Stable Block
Crowood Lane
Ramsbury
Marlborough
Wiltshire SN8 2HR
www.bhwesterns.com
This e-book first published in 2017
Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press
The right of Colin Bainbridge to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Chapter One
Sounds of laughter and broken snatches of conversation floated up from the garden as Miss Annie’s girls enjoyed their Sunday break. They had returned from church not long before; not the main church, which most of the respectable citizens attended, but the tent on the outskirts of town where the self-styled Reverend Abraham Bent held his weekly meetings. It was part of her care to ensure that they attended regularly. Today, they looked and behaved just like any other young women, Miss Annie reflected; dressed in their linen and gingham dresses, they were almost unrecognizable as the girls of the Crystal Arcade saloon. She smiled as she lit a cigar, turned away from the window above the garden at the back of the building, crossed the room and took a seat on the wooden balcony overlooking the street at the front. The house was on the edge of the settlement where the trail leading down from the high country abruptly became the main street of dusty false-framed structures that formed the town of Cayuse Landing. At the opposite side of town flowed the Old Muddy river. Miss Annie’s first establishment had been a floating hog ranch. The Crystal Arcade was arguably an improvement, but only just.
As she observed the quiet Sunday scene, a rider came into view down the trail. He was still quite a long way off and his horse, a sorrel gelding, was stepping slowly so that it took some time before she was able to see him more clearly. He wore a grey shirt with a waistcoat and dusty black chaps. He was not wearing a hat; his rumpled dark hair was streaked with grey and his sallow cheeks and chin wore a dark shadow. As he approached he caught sight of her and looked up. She gave an involuntary start. Surely there couldn’t be anyone else with those steely blue eyes? Had he recognized her? The only sign he gave was to touch the corner of his brow with his finger. It was a conventional greeting and the next moment he had passed her and was carrying on riding slowly and deliberately up the main street. She watched him till he passed the Crystal Arcade, and then she realized that the cigar was fixed in her mouth. She took it out and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. Could she have been mistaken? She didn’t think so. Unless she was way wrong, that rider was Will Comfort. It had been a long time. A lot of water had flowed under the bridge. She hadn’t heard anything of him for years. So what could have brought him to Cayuse Landing?
Will Comfort drew his horse to a halt outside the Crystal Arcade, dismounted and tied it to the hitch rail. With a glance up and down the street, he stepped through the batwing doors. The place was quiet. A few people sat at tables playing cards and there was a group of three standing at the bar. The bartender looked up at his approach and it seemed to Comfort that he looked more than a little apprehensive.
‘Howdy,’ he said. ‘What’ll it be?’
‘Whiskey.’
The bartender poured a glass. He placed it on the counter and Comfort slung it back.
‘Another,’ he said.
The bartender obliged. While he was doing so Comfort took the opportunity to take a close look at the place through the mirror behind the bar.
‘Kinda quiet,’ he said.
‘Yeah. It’s Sunday. The girls have a day off. It’ll get busier later.’ Comfort took another drink, but slowly this time. The man next to him glanced up.
‘Stranger in town?’ he asked.
Comfort turned as he put his foot on the bar-rail. The man was small and strangely wizened. Until he spoke, Comfort had barely noticed him.
‘Yup.’
‘Fixin’ to stay or just passin’ through?’
‘That depends.’
The man was about to reply when a deep voice from behind Comfort broke into the conversation.
‘Depends on what?’
Comfort looked in the mirror. The voice belonged to a tall, wiry individual with a scar running down his left cheek. He was wearing a buscadero gunbelt tied low with a thong and he carried two guns. Just behind him the third man at the bar began to move away. He was shorter and more stocky but he carried the same armaments.
‘I’d say that was my business,’ Comfort said.
‘I’d say not,’ the man replied.
The bartender looked more anxious than ever. ‘Why don’t you two gentlemen have a drink on the house?’ he suggested.
Nobody responded. Comfort raised his glass of whiskey to his lips and turned back to the little man who was just behind him.
‘Care for a drink?’ he said.
‘Why, sure.’
Ignoring the two men on his other side, Comfort turned to the barman.
‘Just give me the bottle,’ he said.
The barman glanced nervously at the two gunnies and then reached for the bottle and placed it on the counter. The deep voice rasped out again.
‘You can pour a drink for me and Jud before you walk back out the door.’
Comfort poured two drinks for himself and the oldster.
‘Sure appreciate it,’ the oldster said.
Comfort was keeping an eye on things in the mirror. Looking at the oldster’s reflection, he could see no sign of fear. Suddenly the gunnie lunged at Comfort and spun him round by the shoulder.
‘Start walkin’ now or you’re a dead man,’ he said.
Comfort stared at him for a moment and then turned back to the bar.
‘I said, start walkin’,’ the man snapped.
Comfort raised his glass and took a long swallow; the oldster did likewise. As he put the glass on the counter the gunnie’s hand swept to his holster but Comfort was too quick for him. Before the gun was in the man’s hand, Comfort’s Dragoon was spitting lead and the man was lifted back to crash against the bar. Almost in the same motion Comfort swung round; his third and fourth shots took the other man in the chest as his own gun exploded, sending a bullet thudding harmlessly into the ceiling. The next moment there was another stab of flame and the roar of gunfire. Comfort dropped instinctively to one knee; the oldster had a smoking gun in his hand and was looking towards a corner of the room. Comfort followed the line of his gaze to see another man clutching at his stomach and looking with a shocked expression at the oldster. For a few moments he continued to stand, then he fell face forward, clattering into the table at which he had been sitting and bringing it crashing to the floor with him. Comfort glanced at the oldster.
‘He went for his gun along with those two,�
�� the oldster said.
‘Thanks. I guess I owe you.’
He straightened up and stepped over to where the other two were lying. One glance told him they were both dead. He became aware of movement in the room. Some of the customers were coming forward and the barman seemed to have recovered his wits.
‘You saw what happened,’ Comfort said. ‘Somebody better go and get the marshal.’ He was placing his gun back into his gunbelt when the oldster grabbed him by the arm.
‘Never mind waitin’ for the marshal,’ he snapped. ‘Better get out of here.’
He tugged at Comfort’s arm and Comfort allowed himself to be led away. As they approached the batwings the oldster suddenly walked back and took the bottle of whiskey.
‘You paid for it,’ he said. ‘Seems a pity to let it go to waste.’
They came out into the sunlight. A few people had gathered on the opposite side of the street.
‘Where’s your hoss?’ the oldster said.
‘Right here,’ Comfort replied.
‘Mine too. Let’s get goin’.’
Matching action to his words, the oldster leaped on to the back of a skewbald Pinto. Comfort did likewise and they set off at a gallop, kicking up dust as they careered down the street. The oldster took a turning and Comfort followed suit, aware as he did so that somebody was shouting after him. He took a quick glance backward. A man who might have been the marshal had appeared on the scene and was waving a gun in the air. The next moment they had rounded another corner and were out in the open country, heading for the hills.
They continued to ride hard until they had put distance between them and the town, when at last they slowed up. The oldster came alongside Comfort; there was a big lopsided grin on his face which revealed for the first time a pair of prominent front teeth that rested on his lower lip.
‘Tarnation!’ he said. ‘I never expected nothin’ like that.’
‘Thanks again for backin’ me up,’ Comfort said. ‘I never took no account of that other one. If you hadn’t taken care of him they’d probably be cartin’ me off to boot hill as well as them.’
‘My pleasure,’ the oldster replied. ‘And I mean that. Those Drewitt boys been gettin’ away with it for too long. It’s about time somebody stood up to them.’ Comfort raised himself in his stirrups to examine their back trail.
‘No sign of anybody,’ he said.
‘The marshal ain’t likely to get up a posse,’ the oldster replied.
‘You seemed to be mighty keen to get away from the place,’ Comfort said.
‘Yeah.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Look,’ he continued, ‘it’s gettin’ dark. We’ll ride on further and make camp in a place I know where nobody won’t find us. Then I can explain.’
‘Ain’t got any better idea,’ Comfort said.
‘Before we go any further, maybe we’d better make some introductions. Name’s Beaver, Beaver Bannock. Leastways, that’s what they’ve always called me, for obvious reasons. Guess Beaver weren’t the name my mother gave me, but I’m plumb danged if I can remember any other.’ He grinned again, exposing again his two prominent front teeth.
‘And my name’s Comfort, Will Comfort. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
They shook hands and the oldster laughed.
‘Guess you didn’t make things too comfortable for those varmints in the Crystal Arcade,’ he said.
‘It was their doin’, not mine,’ Comfort retorted.
The oldster’s burst of merriment subsided. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We got more ridin’ to put in.’
It was dark and they were well into the hills before Beaver rode down into a hollow overhung with willow and cottonwood trees, where a narrow stream murmured in the undergrowth. They soon had a fire going and bacon and beans simmering in a pan. Comfort filled the blackened kettle with water from the stream. When they had eaten and were on their second cup of steaming thick coffee, Comfort produced his pouch of Bull Durham and they rolled cigarettes. The night was warm and a soft breeze rustled the leaves.
‘OK,’ Comfort said, lying back and resting his head against his saddle. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me just what that was all about.’
‘I take it you’re referring to that little altercation in the Crystal Arcade?’
‘What else?’ Comfort replied.
The oldster took a long drag on his cigarette and sighed with satisfaction as he blew the smoke out.
‘That sure feels good,’ he said. ‘I ain’t had a decent smoke in months.’
‘You hit hard times?’ Comfort asked.
‘You could say that, except I been hittin’ ’em for years now.’
‘You live in Cayuse Landing?’
‘Much as you could say I live anywhere. I got a little shack on the other side of town. I do a bit of work at the saloon, swampin’ out, runnin’ messages for the girls, that sort of thing. It ain’t much of a livin’.’
‘You were pretty good with that gun.’
The oldster looked animated.
‘Yeah, it wasn’t always this way. I got you to thank for gettin’ me to do somethin’ for a change.’
‘Like I say, you’re pretty good with a gun.’
‘I practise. Helps put in the time when I’m out at the shack and I ain’t seen nobody for awhiles.’
‘So who were those varmints? Seems like it didn’t take much to upset ’em. They were just lookin’ for a fight.’
‘Those three don’t count for nothin’. There’s plenty others just like them. They ride for an outfit called the Black Stirrup. It’s run by an hombre name of Rank Wilder. Him and his gang just about run the town. The marshal is nothin’ but a stooge. That’s why I had to get you away from there. You’d have been thrown straight in the slammer if they hadn’t of lynched you.’
‘Doesn’t anybody do somethin’ about it?’
‘Folks is too scared. Hell, I’ve been runnin’ scared myself until today.’
‘From what you’ve said about the marshal and all, you ain’t gonna be able to go back.’
The oldster looked slyly at Comfort.
‘Guess not. Less’n maybe you’d consider ridin’ back too.’
Comfort laughed.
‘Me! Nope, whatever’s goin’ on in Cayuse Landing, it ain’t none of my business.’
The oldster drew another cloud of smoke into his lungs.
‘So what is your business?’ he said. ‘What was it brought you to Cayuse Landing? I seem to remember you sayin’ about it dependin’ on something.’
‘Yeah, but it ain’t nothin’ for you to concern yourself about.’
‘Reckon I’d like to know just the same. Maybe I could help.’
Comfort leaned forward and poured himself another cup of coffee. He sat up, placing his back against the saddle.
‘Now you come to mention it,’ he said, ‘maybe you could.’
‘Go ahead, I’m listenin’.’
Comfort spent a moment gathering his thoughts.
‘You fought in the war?’ he said at length.
The oldster nodded.
‘Sure did. Seen plenty of action. Got invalided out after Murfreesboro.’
‘You were the lucky one,’ Comfort said. ‘I spent two years in a prisoner of war camp. Name of Jasperstown.’
The oldster looked closely at Comfort.
‘Hell,’ he said. ‘Don’t know about that place, but I heard Andersonville was real bad.’
‘Hell’s the right word,’ Comfort responded. ‘It was hell on earth. I don’t want to talk about it. The commandant was a man called Laidler. I knew a lot of good men that never came out of that place alive. Some did but they might as well have been dead. To cut a long story short, there were two people come out swearing revenge on Laidler. Their names were Briggs and Comfort.’
‘The war was a long time ago,’ Bannock said.
‘That don’t mean Laidler ain’t got it comin’ to him. Just means it’s been kinda delayed.’
The oldster glanc
ed again at his companion. His lips were curled almost in a snarl and even in the flickering light of the fire he could see a nerve twitch in his cheek.
‘What took you so long to catch up with him?’
‘Ain’t caught up with him yet, but it won’t take much more time.’
‘So why the delay?’
Comfort shrugged. ‘You know how it is,’ he said. ‘Things get in the way.’
The oldster nodded. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ he replied. ‘Look at me. I wasn’t always swampin’ out in some two-bit saloon.’
Comfort shifted his position once more.
‘Wasted years,’ Bannock mused, more to himself than to Comfort. ‘Best not to think about ’em.’ He looked across at his companion again. ‘Still don’t explain what you were doin’ in Cayuse Landin’.’
Comfort seemed to make an almost physical effort to draw himself together.
‘Like I was sayin’,’ he continued, ‘the two of us swore an oath we’d get even with Laidler. We went our separate ways once we got out of that camp, but we swore we’d meet up after six months and set about trackin’ Laidler down once we’d kinda got our affairs back in order.’
‘Track him down? What happened to him? Ain’t he doin’ time for what he did?’
‘He was too clever for that. He got away just before the Federals liberated us.’
‘What happened when you met up?’
‘We didn’t. That was my fault. I was the one missed the rendezvous. There was nothin’ I could do about it.’
‘Let me guess. You were servin’ time yourself?’
Comfort summoned a wan smile.
‘Not on that occasion,’ he said. ‘No, I was laid up with a bad bout of fever. Guess I was lucky to pull through. Couldn’t have done it without a lot of help. By the time I got back on my feet the chance was gone. After that, like I say, things got kinda complicated and I lost touch with Briggs. Just recently I got information concernin’ him. I had reasons for thinkin’ he might have been in Cayuse Landin’ quite recently.’
Guns of Wrath Page 1
