High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1

by B. S. Dunn

  After the lady had left, Richards closed the door, locked it, turned the sign in the window and pulled the blind.

  “This looks awful serious Sheriff,” Humphries said warily, then in jest, “You don't plan on robbing the place do you?”

  “I want to have a chat to you about what you saw last night, Will,” Richards elaborated.

  The store keeper's face gave into the distress that rested just below the surface of his false exterior, “Oh, God. I knew I shouldn't have told that damn Mose anything. I just should've kept my mouth shut. Now they'll kill me too.”

  “Now just calm down Will, they ain't goin' to be killin' anybody else. Now, Mose said you saw that young feller last night.”

  Humphries nodded,“Yes I did.”

  “Would you care to elaborate Will?” Richards urged.

  “It was late and I remembered I'd forgotten to lock the back door of the store. So I came out and checked it. Sure enough it was still unlocked,” he paused for a moment and continued, “Then I was just about home when I saw Judge Billings' door open. I was about to call out to him when I saw the young Coltrain feller come out.”

  “Did he see you?” Richards asked.

  “No, I don't think so. I guess if he did, I would have received a visit from them by now. Under the circumstances and all.”

  “Why didn't you tell Gunderson, or even me after you'd heard what happened?” the Sheriff asked tersely.

  “I'm scared Sheriff,” Humphries answered honestly.

  “Are you prepared to testify in court to what you saw?” Richards asked.

  “Do I have to?” Humphries asked stupidly.

  “Of course you damn well have to, he killed two people,” snapped the Sheriff, “did you think you could just mind your own business and it would all go away. Damn Will, I thought you had more respect for the law than that.”

  The storekeeper hung his head in shame, “I'm sorry Hank, I can't.”

  “Yes you can, and you will,” Richards gave the storekeeper no choice. “I'll arrest him and he'll go to trial. But I'll keep the witness' name secret until then. That way no one will know it was you until the time comes.”

  Will Humphries nodded, “Okay, it would seem I don't have a choice.”

  “No,” Richards confirmed, “you don't.”

  Chapter 16

  “I don't like it Laramie,” Sally's voice was full of concern, “he's just one man.”

  “What about his deputy?” Laramie pointed out, “He'll back Hank, won't he?'

  “Yes, but I hate to say it,” she stopped and thought about whether to continue or not, “he can look after a jail house, but as far as outlaws and such go, he just won't cut it. I've heard Pa say a number of times that he was concerned about how Lyle would behave when the chips are down.”

  “Your Pa will be fine,” Laramie tried to give her a boost, “I've seen him face down wild Indians with just a knife, and come out on top.”

  Sally smiled at him, “I think you stretched the truth a little there for my benefit.”

  “Well,” he said smiling, “maybe a little. But don't worry, I've seen your dad in some tight places before today and he's made out alright.”

  “But he was a younger man then,” Sally pointed out.

  Laramie smiled again, “Weren't we all.”

  Suddenly the sound of gunshots shattered the peaceful afternoon and Laramie was filled with dread. Something told him the Coltrains were involved and things were about to get much, much worse.

  He'd had enough and decided that it was time to fight back. Laramie rushed to the stairs with his Remington in hand.

  “Where are you going?” cried Sally.

  Laramie stopped, “It's time to settle it once and for all.”

  He took the steps two at a time and when he hit the floor at the bottom, Laramie hurried to the cupboard where his other Remington hung in its holster. He buckled it around his waist and checked both pistols over.

  The door to the jail burst open and deputy Lyle Gunderson rushed through the door to come face to face with one of Laramie's cocked six-guns.

  “Don't shoot!” he cried out, his hands shot straight up in surrender.

  Laramie let down the hammer on the gun and put it back in its holster. The look of dread told Laramie that something bad had happened.

  “What is it Lyle?” asked Laramie calmly.

  “It's the Sheriff,” he blurted out, “he was in the Gold Nugget. He's been shot.”

  “Oh good Lord, Pa,” Sally gasped, as she stepped from the stairs into the room.

  “Who did it?” asked Laramie, as he looked from Sally to Gunderson, his anger started to bubble up.

  “It was the Coltrains, they did it.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “I think so. They were takin' him to the doc's.”

  “Are you goin' to arrest 'em?” Laramie asked the scared Deputy.

  “I...I...I can't,” Gunderson stuttered, “I'm not good enough.”

  Laramie looked at him in disgust, “You have that damn badge for a reason. If you can't do the job, take it off.”

  Gunderson looked solemnly down at the badge, reached for it, then unhitched the pin and took it off. He crossed to the Sheriff's desk and placed the star on top of it.

  The look he gave Laramie showed the pain in his eyes and Laramie almost felt sorry for him, but like he'd said, if a man can't live up to the job, he shouldn't be wearing the badge.

  Gunderson turned away and walked out the door.

  Laramie directed his attention to Sally, “Go and find Lonesome, I think he's at the hotel, resting, I'm not sure. When you find him, tell him what is goin' on. If anythin' happens to me, he'll take care of you.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, fear in her voice.

  “I'm goin' to kill the Coltrains,” he said savagely.

  *

  When Hank Richards had left Will Humphries' store, he'd gone straight to the Gold Nugget Saloon. When he pushed through the bat-wing doors he stopped and looked around to see if the Coltrains were there. He'd found them sitting at a table drinking whiskey, in a corner off behind the Blackjack table.

  Richards had walked up to the bar and signalled to Mose who was still working. The barkeep walked along the bar and stopped in front of the Sheriff.

  “Give me a whiskey, Mose,” he'd said as he reached into his pocket for some money and tossed it onto the counter top.

  The barkeep grabbed a half empty bottle from the shelf behind him and filled a shot glass for Richards.

  “Did you find out what you wanted to know?” the barkeep inquired.

  “Yeah, I did,” Hank tossed the drink back and turned the glass upside down on the bar, “Do you still have that sawed off Greener tucked away under the bar?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Go get it for me will you. And make sure it's loaded.”

  Mose walked back along the bar to get the shotgun.

  Richards turned and looked about the bar room. There weren't a lot of customers but he wanted to avoid shooting, just in case a patron took a stray bullet, hence the shotgun. He hoped it would make the Coltrains think twice about doing anything rash. If he could take Shell Coltrain in peaceably, then maybe the threat of a hang rope might make him a little more talkative.

  He picked out a path he would take, a short, direct route to their table to cut down their reaction time.

  “Sheriff?” Mose's voice was tentative.

  Richards swung around and took the gun Mose held out to him, “If this goes bad, keep your head down.”

  The Mountain Pass Sheriff strode quickly between the tables toward the Coltrains. Some men scattered out of his way while others stood steady to watch what was about to happen.

  Richards stopped in front of the table and cradled the shotgun in the crook of his arm.

  Jeb Coltrain sat still trying to read the Sheriff's face, “What can we do for you Sheriff? Are you here to tell us we can have Davis any time?”

>   “No, I came to tell you that we are goin' to hold a trial here in town,” the Sheriff smiled.

  “You're what?” asked Zeb Coltrain in disbelief.

  “You might find that a bit hard without a Judge,” Jeb pointed out.

  “No, I sent for another one,” Hank explained, “Should be here in a couple of days.”

  “The hell you say,” a cold smile spread across Jeb Coltrain's face.

  “I think you are forgetting that we have a wire informing you to hand Davis over to us,” reminded the Judge.

  “I'm not talkin' about Davis,” he informed them, “I'm talkin' about the young feller here, Shell.”

  Jeb Coltrain's voice grew cold and deadly, “Be careful with what you say next Richards. False accusations are liable to get a man killed.”

  “Well now, let's see. I have a witness,” he told them, “who saw the kid there comin' out of the Judge's house last night.”

  “Lies,” said Zeb Coltrain vehemently, “It's all lies. Shell has never been near that house.”

  “My brother is right Richards,” Jeb agreed, “he was with us all night.”

  “I suppose I have your word on that?” he asked skeptically.

  “You do,” the Judge said firmly.

  “I think that I would believe the word of my witness over you three any day of the week,” Richards said, brushing aside their alibi for Shell, “so this is what is goin' to happen. I'm goin' to arrest him on suspicion of murder. We are goin' to have a trial and let the jury decide if he did or did not murder Judge Billings and his wife. If I were a bettin' man, I think he'll stretch rope.”

  Shell shot a glance at his father, “Pa?”

  “It's okay Shell, he's got nothing on you,” Zeb said to calm his son.

  “Get up boy,” the Sheriff ordered, “You're comin' with me.”

  “No, he's not,” the Judge said defiantly as he rose to his feet.

  Richards moved the shotgun and pointed it at the Judge, “Don't do anythin' stupid Judge. This here scatter gun will make a fine mess of them clothes you're wearin'.”

  Suddenly Hank Richards realised he'd made a mistake. He'd taken his eyes off Jeb Coltrain. He swung the scatter gun back to cover the Rock Springs Sheriff but was too late.

  The table top exploded as the .45 calibre slug punched through it in a shower of wooden splinters and hit Richards in the chest. It knocked him back and in a reflex action, Richards' finger squeezed the triggers of the shotgun and it discharged its lethal load into the ceiling.

  Jeb Coltrain lurched to his feet and tipped the table over as he went. He brought his cocked Colt up for another shot but it wasn't required. Hank Richards was down on the floor and remained unmoving.

  The Rock Springs Sheriff moved his point of aim to cover the room but there was no threat from any of the men who just stood and stared at the still form of their peace officer.

  Mose came out from behind the bar and hurried across to the fallen Richards. He knelt beside him to check his condition, all the time covered by the gun of Jeb Coltrain.

  The bat-wing doors were thrust inwards and the doctor hurried into the bar room.

  “You were quick doc,” a cow hand observed.

  “I just happened to be passing by when I heard the shooting,” explained the medico.

  The three Coltrains watched in silence as the doctor checked out Hank Richards, then he picked out four cow hands who stood watching the scene, “Get him over to my office, before he dies.”

  The doctor gave the Coltrains a disdainful look and followed the others out the doors.

  It was out on the board walk that Deputy Gunderson ran into them and was filled in on the details. Instead of going into the saloon, he hurried forthwith to the jail.

  Chapter 17

  When Laramie stepped off the board walk into the dusty main street of Mountain Pass, he did so with purpose. Long strides kicked up small puffs as he walked past the town's citizens who milled in the roadway and talked, in shock, about what had just happened to their Sheriff.

  Then a man said loudly, “Look, it's Laramie Davis. He's out of jail.”

  “Oh lord,” said a woman worriedly, “he's wearing his guns.”

  Another man's voice spoke up, this one he recognised as the hostler, “Now them Coltrains are in for it.”

  People started to clear the street. They knew instinctively what came next. Men were about to die and they all secretly hoped it would be those murderers, the Coltrains.

  Laramie was twenty yards short of the Gold Nugget when the doors swung open and the three Coltrains walked out onto the board walk. The gunfighter halted and stood rock steady, his eyes turned cold. The three men paused for a moment, spotted their quarry, then stepped down into the street. They fanned out and faced Laramie.

  “Well, well,” sneered Jeb Coltrain, “I guess you saved us the trouble of comin' to get you.”

  Laramie said nothing.

  “I see you have your guns too,” the Rock Springs Sheriff continued, “Now what man in his right mind would let a wanted murderer like you have his guns back?”

  Still Laramie said nothing.

  “I guess brother Jeb, that he will just have to be shot, trying to escape. I would have preferred hanging but, this will do.”

  “Sorry about your friend Richards,” Jeb's apology dripped with sarcasm, “but he had some fool idea that Shell here killed the town Judge. It took a little convincin' but he saw the error of his ways in the end.”

  Jeb Coltrain smiled wickedly. Laramie studied the situation. The Sheriff was his main threat so he had to be taken out first. The kid needed to be next. He couldn't see the overweight Judge being too much of a problem.

  Laramie took a deep breath.

  “Coltrain,” he said coolly, “You talk too much, have at it.”

  The smiling light in Jeb Coltrain's eyes extinguished and turned to a dark, sinister glint. All along main, the street was empty. Eyes peered out through small gaps in curtains, a macabre fascination with not wanting to miss the deadly action that was about to take place.

  There was a moment when time stood still, a pregnant pause and then the four men went to work.

  Jeb Coltrain's hand flashed down to his gun butt and his fingers wrapped around its walnut grips. In one fluid motion, his Colt was out and levelled at Laramie, but his finger never depressed the trigger.

  Laramie's draw was still the fast, flowing motion that had made him legend throughout his time with the gun. Both Remingtons were out and dealing death in the blink of an eye.

  Jeb Coltrain went down with a bullet to his throat. He dropped his unfired Colt and grabbed at the ghastly wound, blood flowed freely over his hands.

  Shell Coltrain died on his feet when a slug burrowed into his chest, through his heart and ripped a gaping hole in his back.

  That left the Judge. Surprisingly for a man of his stature, Zeb Coltrain was a lot quicker than he'd expected and had his Webley out and snapped a shot off in his direction before he knew it.

  The slug tore into Laramie and he went down, the air knocked from his lungs and the Remingtons spilled from his grasp. Zebulon Coltrain cried aloud with glee, the lust for revenge blocked out the carnage that surrounded him. He walked slowly forward, gun pointed at Laramie, as he savoured the moment.

  Laramie tried to move but his body was numb from the hammer blow of the Judge's bullet. If he could just reach one of his guns, but no matter how he tried, was unable to move.

  The Judge stood over him, his eyes filled with tears of joy. He would finally get what he wanted. To be able to kill the man who'd murdered his son.

  “How does it feel, killer?” the Judge asked happily, “how does it feel to know you're about to die?”

  Laramie could do nothing. He was helpless.

  Thunder rolled once again down Main street and a third eye appeared in the centre of Judge Zebulon Coltrain's forehead. The heavy calibre ball from Lonesome's Hawken sprayed blood and brain tissue as it caused the back of the
Judge's head to disintegrate upon its exit.

  The Judge fell to the ground, the smile he wore became his death mask.

  Lonesome's shadow fell across the wounded Laramie, “Damn it son, I guess you're slowin' down in your old age.”

  Laramie tried to smile but his wound hurt too much, so closed his eyes in grateful relief and passed out.

  *

  For two days, Laramie was laid up in a bed in the Doctor's residence. Across from him was a slowly recovering Hank Richards. His daughter Sally sat at his bedside and Lonesome sat in a chair by an open window. Both men were on complete bed rest for two weeks and at this point Laramie was ready to ride.

  “Look at you two,” the old Mountain Man smiled, “not as young as you thought you were, are you? One of you gets hisself shot by bein' careless and the other needs an old man of my age to pull his chestnuts out of the fire.”

  “Don't you ever stop old man?” Hank Richards mumbled.

  “Sally,” said Laramie, drawing her attention, “go get me my gun will you, so's I can shoot this damned old varmint and get myself some peace. Hell I might even shoot myself just to make sure.”

  “There we are,” the old man crowed, “I save your life and not even a thank you. No sirree, you'd think that he'd be grateful, me bein' there for him and all.”

  “Go away will you, head back to your cabin or somethin'. Just give us some peace,” pleaded Laramie.

  Sally and Lonesome burst out laughing.

  There was a knock on the door and the doctor entered, “There's a young man out here wants to see you gentlemen.”

  “Send him in Doc,” Richards said.

  The doctor left the room and a couple of minutes later a tall man, wearing a United States Marshal's badge entered.

  “Howdy Walt,” greeted Richards.

  The man saw Sally sitting by her father and took off his hat, “Hank, Miss Sally.”

  “Hello Walt,” she greeted.

  “Walt, this is Laramie Davis and Lonesome Lane,” Richards introduced them to the Marshal, “this is Walt Jones. He usually stomps around this neck of the woods.”