Guns of Wrath

by Colin Bainbridge

  She didn’t know what was happening. She managed to sit up, gulping great draughts of air, then she glanced around. Two men were holding her attacker and a third was laying into him mercilessly with his fists. The man groaned, hanging limply as blow after blow was delivered to his face and stomach. His features were an indistinguishable mass of blood and bone. She looked closely at the three men who were delivering the punishment and recognized them as some of her uncle’s men. One of them was Harlin. A horse snickered nearby and the sound seemed to give one of the men an idea.

  ‘OK, tie him to one of the horses and drag him.’

  It only took a matter of moments till it was done. Only then did the sense of what was happening register with Corrina.

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘That’s enough.’

  Either the men didn’t hear her or they were too intent on meting out the punishment they felt their victim deserved. Ignoring her, they slapped the horse’s rump and it started to move. One of them whipped out a gun and fired into the air while Harlin waved his hat. The frightened horse began to gallop. The men were whooping as the figure of the man who had attacked her was dragged face down over the rough earth. Only when the horses had charged a considerable way did Harlin seem to remember Corrina and run to her side.

  ‘Miss Corrina,’ he said. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Gathering her tattered garments about her, Corrina shook her head.

  ‘I’ll be OK,’ she managed to say, ‘but please see to my brother.’

  As if he had noticed Daniel for the first time, Harlin sprang to his side. He kneeled down and raised Daniel’s head. Then he rose to his feet.

  ‘He’s hurt but I don’t think it’s bad.’

  He ran to one of the horses and came back with a canteen from which he poured water over Daniel’s face. To Corrina’s huge relief, Daniel’s eyes flickered and then opened. Harlin held the canteen to his lips and he took a few sips. Corrina began to sob.

  ‘Better get him back to the Lazy Acre,’ Harlin said.

  She was about to reply when she was brought up short by a sudden burst of gunfire. She looked up. One of the Lazy Acre men was standing over the body of the dragged man with smoke issuing from the muzzle of his revolver. Corrina shuddered.

  ‘He won’t be troublin’ you again, ma’am,’ Harlin said.

  Corrina stood for a few moments rooted in horror and disbelief, trying to make sense of what she had just witnessed. Although she was hurt herself and shaking with the terror of what the man had done to her, she couldn’t believe the outcome. Even more powerful than the feelings evoked by the attack on her was the shock and revulsion she felt at what had happened to the culprit. It didn’t seem credible. She knew these men and Harlin especially. She had always thought of him as a good boy. He was just an ordinary young man who worked on her uncle’s farm. Whenever she had encountered the other two, they had always been pleasant and respectful. She just did not recognize them by their behaviour. At the same time she couldn’t help but feel gratitude towards them for rescuing her from a horrible fate and a small part of her even felt glad, telling her the man had deserved it.

  ‘Come on, Mr Stead is losing blood.’ Harlin’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘You two, help me get him on a horse.’

  Daniel was able to assist his helpers in getting him into the saddle. Presently they were on their way. It wasn’t far to the Lazy Acre. As she rode Corrina’s thoughts and emotions continued to shift and swirl. Amongst them another consideration raised itself, and that was how to reconcile what had occurred with her uncle’s kindly demeanour. They were his men. To some extent at least, they took their cue from him. How could that possibly square with life at the Lazy Acre, with her uncle’s considerate attitudes, her aunt’s gentle concern? A hole seemed to have opened beneath her feet and she had peered into a profound darkness, deeper than the glimpse even her attacker had given her.

  Comfort was up before the first rays of dawn, but even so Bannock had beaten him to it. He already had the fire going and a pot of coffee boiling on its tripod.

  ‘Ham and eggs OK?’ he said.

  Comfort nodded.

  ‘Just as well because we ain’t got much else.’

  Comfort poured himself a cup of coffee. He glanced over at the recumbent figure of Briggs, who still appeared to be asleep. There was no sign of Bent.

  ‘Where’s the reverend?’ Comfort asked.

  Bannock nodded towards the wagon. Comfort gave it a glance before turning back to Bannock.

  ‘What else do you know about this man Clayburne?’ he asked.

  ‘Still thinkin’ about him? He’s been around awhiles. I bumped into him from time to time. Like I said, he’s a good man. Him and his wife run a farm they call the Lazy Acre. They grow soybeans and have a few chickens and pigs. It ain’t what you would call a major enterprise but it’s big enough for him to employ a few people on a casual basis. They do OK, even though Wilder’s been puttin’ pressure on some of the farmers around there to sell up.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘I dunno. Somewhere in his fifties, I would guess.’

  Comfort nodded his head.

  ‘That would fit,’ he said.

  ‘You referrin’ to this Laidler hombre?’

  ‘Yeah. I reckon he wouldn’t have been a lot over forty back in the War.’

  The bacon was sizzling in the pan and the sound seemed to arouse Briggs. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Coffee’s in the pot,’ Bannock called.

  Briggs came over and helped himself to a cup. He looked over at Comfort.

  ‘You still figurin’ on payin’ a vist to Clayburne?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then I’ll ride with you.’

  Comfort looked his surprise. ‘I thought you’d washed your hands of the matter,’ he said.

  ‘I think you’re doin’ the wrong thing, but I’m involved now whatever I think. I only hope some good comes of it all.’

  Bannock was shovelling bacon and eggs on to tin plates. As he did so the reverend’s face appeared at the opening in the canvas cover.

  ‘Somethin’ smells good,’ he said.

  ‘Come and join us,’ Bannock invited. He turned back to Comfort.

  ‘What Briggs says goes for me too,’ he said. ‘Just in case you was thinkin’ I might be plannin’ otherwise.’

  ‘You think I’m wrong about this as well,’ Comfort replied. ‘Briggs might believe he’s still got a part in it, but it never involved you.’

  ‘It involved me the moment I fired my gun and shot Wilder’s man. Besides, we done some travellin’ together since then and I figure that entitles me.’

  They were all silent for a while, tucking into their grub. As they scraped their plates Comfort looked towards the reverend.

  ‘What’s your plans?’ he asked.

  ‘Me? I was headin’ for Cayuse Landin’ when I came across you boys. Figure I’ll carry right on.’

  ‘We’re goin’ that way. We’ll ride along with you for a whiles.’

  ‘Glad to have your company,’ the reverend replied.

  Once they had finished eating and doused the fire, they were ready to ride. The reverend climbed to his wagon seat and the others sat their horses. Bannock looked back over the burnt-out ruins of his cabin. He ran his fingers over his stubbled chin, lost in thought for a moment. Then he turned to Comfort.

  ‘What are we waitin’ for?’ he said.

  The reverend’s wagon creaked as the wheels began to turn. The other three fell in behind. Alongside the track, the river glinted in the early sunlight.

  It was obvious to the patrons of the Crystal Arcade that both Miss Annie and Jenny had suffered abuse, and most of the patrons knew at whose hands. They also knew that the same person was responsible for forcing them back when they were so obviously in no state to be on duty. Nobody, however, was prepared to do anything about it, least of all the marshal. Miss Annie’s injuries were the more obvious. Her mouth was split, on
e eye was closed and her cheek was badly bruised. Her scalp was cut and swollen. She had tried speaking to Jenny but the girl seemed to have gone inside herself and did not respond to any of Annie’s attempts to communicate. She moved about like an automaton. Mercifully, the clients could not but be aware that something was badly wrong and made no efforts to approach her. Annie saw nothing, either, of Wilder or any of his men. They seemed to have temporarily deserted the Crystal Arcade.

  Then, after a week or so had gone by and Annie’s wounds were beginning to heal, Jenny disappeared. When she failed to appear in the morning, Annie thought nothing of it. Sometimes the girls overslept or did not feel well. There was little activity in the Crystal Arcade so it was of no consequence. Only as noon approached did she begin to grow concerned. Leaving a little group of drinkers she had been talking with, she climbed the stairs to Jenny’s room and knocked gently at the door. There was no response. She knocked again, a little louder, and called:

  ‘Jenny! It’s me, Annie.’

  She pushed at the door and it opened slightly. She had expected it to be locked. Opening it further, she stepped inside Jenny’s room. The place was empty. The bed was a tousled mess and a wardrobe door hung open. The few clothes that it had contained were absent. She stood, puzzled for a moment, but then it was obvious that Jenny had gone. She must have slipped out sometime during the night. Annie moved to the bed, thinking that Jenny might have left a note, but there was no sign of one.

  Annie’s first thought was that the girl must have run away. Then she remembered what had occurred at her house. Could something similar have happened and could Wilder have taken her again? She tried to recall the events of the previous night but there had been nothing unusual, nothing untoward. If Wilder was responsible, he had been more discreet about it this time. She stood for a while with her head bent in thought. Then she sat down by Jenny’s dressing-table and looked in the mirror. Her bruised features looked back at her with a mute appeal. She looked at the reflection of her satin dress and glanced down at it. The image of her mouth drew taut and she stood up.

  Quickly now she moved down the corridor to her own room, the one she used when at the Crystal Arcade, and went inside. With sudden energy she undid the fastenings of her dress and stepped out of it. She changed into riding gear and then went quickly down the stairs. A few heads turned as she strode across the room and out through the batwings. Without hesitation she made her way to the gun store and purchased a rifle and a Smith & Wesson .44 six-shot revolver. Then she made her way to the livery stable where she had an arrangement with the ostler to stable her horse and saddled it up.

  ‘Goin’ somewhere, Miss Annie?’ the ostler said.

  ‘Yeah. Goin’ to do somethin’ I shoulda done a long time ago.’

  The ostler looked puzzled and scratched his head. Miss Annie pulled the girths tight.

  ‘You can tell the boys at the Crystal Arcade I might not be back,’ she said.

  She led the horse down the runway and climbed into the saddle. Touching her spurs to the horse’s flanks, she rode out into the dusty street.

  Rank Wilder was sitting in the living room of his ranch house talking with Sabin. On the whole he was feeling pretty good about things. The Black Stirrup was doing fine and he had plans to extend his domain. It wouldn’t take a lot of pressure to persuade some of the surrounding farms to sell to him. At the same time, he owned a good part of Cayuse Landing and the town and its marshal were in his pocket. He controlled the flow of river commerce on the Big Muddy.

  On a more personal level, he had had his way with Jenny and the girl had been taught a lesson. He had some doubts about Sabin’s treatment of Miss Annie but when all was said and done she was only a whore. At times she had shown signs of standing up to him; it wouldn’t do any harm for her to be brought to heel and taught the advisability of obedience.

  Only one cloud hung like a pennant of smoke from a riverboat funnel on the smooth blue surface of his prospects, and that was the continuing irritant of the oldster Bannock and the stranger he had taken to riding with. His plan to kill them both at Bannock’s cabin had failed and more of his own men had died in the process. His foreman, Kilter, had been one of them and that was certainly not good for morale. He had ordered the cabin to be burnt down but Bannock and the stranger still remained unaccounted for. It was only a minor affair, but anything, no matter how small, which challenged his authority was to be ruthlessly resisted. He looked at Sabin over a glass of whiskey.

  ‘This Bent hombre,’ he said. ‘What do we know about him?’

  Sabin had a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cheroot in the other.

  ‘I don’t know nothin’ more than you do, boss,’ he replied.

  Wilder gave him a quick, piercing look and then drew on his own cigar.

  ‘That ain’t the answer I’m wantin’,’ he said.

  Sabin sat up straighter. ‘He’s got a wagon. He spends his time travellin’ up and down the river. He used to hold a lot o’ meetin’s, hot gospellin’, but he don’t seem to bother too much now. Folks have kind of got used to him.’

  ‘He’s been around a long time.’

  Wilder meant it as a statement but Sabin took him up on it.

  ‘I reckon so. A local landmark, I guess you might say.’

  Wilder got to his feet and began to pace the floor, talking to himself as much as to Sabin.

  ‘A fella like that, he’d be bound to know what’s goin’ on. Couldn’t be otherwise.’ He stopped and turned his attention on Sabin. ‘You find this reverend fella and find out from him what’s become of that old fool Bannock. I figure he’s got to know. And if we locate Bannock, chances are we’ll find the other coyote right alongside.’

  ‘What do we do then? I mean, if the reverend tells us where Bannock is?’

  ‘Then you do somethin’ about it.’

  Sabin still looked a little uncertain.

  ‘Do I need to spell it out? I want those two hombres dead. Just make sure there are no mistakes this time.’

  Sabin removed the cheroot from his mouth and stubbed it out in an ashtray. He finished off the whiskey and then stood up.

  ‘Who should I take along with me?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t care,’ Wilder snapped. ‘Take who you like. Just don’t come back until the job is finished.’

  Sabin nodded and went out through the door. On the veranda he paused for a moment. Evening was approaching. A breeze was blowing up from the direction of the river. He spat a gob of phlegm across the yard and began to walk towards the bunkhouse.

  Comfort, Bannock and Briggs left the reverend a few miles out of Cayuse Landing, where an intersecting trail would lead them around the town and on towards Tidesville. They watched the reverend’s wagon as it continued along the river road till it was obscured by trees, then they swung their horses inland. Bannock took the lead because he was familiar with the route. Comfort and Briggs rode just behind him. None of them spoke as they let the horses go at their own pace. After a time they passed a signpost pointing to Cayuse Landing on their right. Bannock drew his horse to a halt and pointed down the rough trail.

  ‘Someone’s come up from there recently,’ he said.

  He pointed to the ground and as they moved on they could all see clear traces of a rider having continued in the direction they were going.

  ‘Don’t mean nothin’,’ Bannock said. ‘Anybody could have come this way.’

  ‘Is it a regular trail?’ Comfort asked.

  ‘No. In a little while we’ll come to a cut-off. This trail continues in the direction of Tidesville, the other leads towards the Black Stirrup spread.’

  ‘I guess we’ll see which way the rider went when we get there,’ Briggs commented.

  When they reached the cut-off, it was apparent that the sign led in the direction of the Black Stirrup.

  ‘I wonder who would be headin’ that way?’ Bannock mused.

  ‘Probably some cowpoke goin’ back from town.’

 
‘Maybe, but then Wilder’s boys usually ride in packs.’

  ‘It don’t signify,’ Comfort said. ‘We got our own business to tend to.’

  As they carried on towards Tidesville, Bannock dropped back so that he rode close to Comfort.

  ‘Funny ain’t it,’ he said.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘The way your business became mine and now my business has become yours.’

  ‘I don’t get your drift.’

  ‘The Black Stirrup is Wilder’s spread. Got me sort of thinkin’. I reckon sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal with him.’

  ‘Wilder ain’t my priority. That’s Laidler.’

  ‘I got a burned-out cabin says Wilder’s our real concern now. Not to mention a little matter of bein’ thrown into the Big Muddy and nearly eaten by an alligator. Oh yes, and—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Comfort said. ‘Didn’t anybody ever tell you, you talk too much?’

  Bannock grinned and moved on ahead. The day was advancing and the sun was growing hot. As they crested a long rise the oldster drew to a halt and pointed off to his right. Looking in that direction, Comfort could see in the distance a glint of water and a hazy suggestion of buildings. He drew out his field glasses and took a look through them. The buildings were those of Cayuse Landing.

  ‘Wonder if the reverend has reached there yet?’ he said.

  ‘If he has he ain’t likely to stay long,’ Bannock replied. ‘He sure is a wanderer.’

  Comfort turned his head and looked the other way. They had topped a ridge which dropped away on that side into a valley beyond which were some low hills with scattered trees, mainly cedar.

  ‘Wilder’s spread starts somewheres beyond those hills,’ Bannock said.

  ‘Is that so?’ Comfort replied.

  He swept the country with his glasses and was about to put them down when he suddenly stiffened. Holding them steady, he peered closely at the scene they revealed. Protruding from behind a bush in the middle distance he saw what looked like part of a leg and a foot. Briggs, waiting for a turn at the glasses, noticed Comfort’s intense scrutiny.