Halliday 3

by Adam Brady

  “That goes for you, too, mister. Stay put.”

  Bosker’s head jerked up, and a flash of anger burned deep in his eyes.

  “Stranger, I don’t aim to—”

  “Stay put, I said,” Halliday repeated. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

  Bosker shrugged and went back to lean against the house, not for a moment letting his gaze leave Halliday.

  Donna put her hands on her hips and said, “Well then, Mr. Halliday, perhaps you’ll tell me why you beat up on my brother, a boy only half your size, and why you’re swaggering around here as if you own the place?”

  “I’ll tell you, ma’am,” Halliday said, and pointed the gun at Heller. “That brat you’re fussin’ over shot two cowhands when their backs were turned and when all they were doing was mindin’ their own business. I expect the rest of that bunch will be comin’ after him, and I reckon they have a right.”

  Donna’s eyes blazed with fury.

  “They’ve got no right to set foot on this land,” she said fiercely. “It’s ours. I told you so.”

  Halliday looked down at her and nodded gently.

  “Not that it matters much to me, ma’am,” he said, “but could I see that deed you mentioned?”

  Donna lifted her head and fixed Halliday with an angry stare.

  “It’s no business of yours,” she said icily. “If you’re the kind of man who runs away from a fight and knows nothing about obligations to people, then get off my land.”

  “Just what I figured,” Halliday said, and then he turned to her brother. “Kid, just stay outta my hair from here on in. You’re headin’ for Boothill, and I don’t aim to be dragged along with you.”

  “I can’t imagine how the little weasel lasted this long,” Bosker said dryly.

  “And who the hell are you?” Halliday inquired.

  Bosker shrugged and ran his fingers over the heavy buckle of his gunbelt. Then he saw the glint in Halliday’s eyes and dropped his hands to his sides.

  “Just a feller passin’ through, mister. Same as you, I guess. If you’re headin’ for Millerston, I don’t mind havin’ better company than I got here ...”

  “Well, I do mind,” Halliday told him coldly. “I’ve had all the company I need and then some.”

  “Don’t know what I did to rub you up the wrong way, mister,” Bosker told him.

  “Nothin’ yet. Let’s keep it that way.”

  The sorrel shifted slightly under him and brushed against Donna’s shoulder. She glared up fiercely at Halliday but stood her ground.

  Halliday looked down and touched his hat brim.

  “I’m obliged to you, ma’am ... for your hospitality,” he said. “But that ain’t enough to make me hang around and watch your brother turn this range into a battlefield. Looks to me like you don’t even own this place, and the best thing you could do is move out nice and quiet.”

  “I didn’t ask for your advice!” Donna cried. “I don’t want anything from you. If you ever come back here, I’ll see you dead for what you did to Kip. I swear it! If I can’t kill you myself, then I’ll find somebody who can.”

  “Try Sam,” Bosker said as he carefully rolled a cigarette.

  Donna glared at him but said nothing.

  Bosker chuckled and looked straight at Halliday.

  “If I was you, I wouldn’t waste any time in headin’ fer parts unknown,” he said. “Things are kinda pilin’ up on you, or leastways that’s how it strikes me.”

  Halliday turned the sorrel and dug in his heels.

  As soon as his back was turned, Kip Heller made a dash for the house. Donna rushed to the doorway and planted herself there with her arms folded. When Kip pushed her aside and entered the house, and then hurried out with a rifle in his hand, his sister wrenched the gun away from him and held it behind her back.

  “Give it to me, you bitch!” Kip snarled, but Donna stepped away from him and then Bosker reached out and plucked the rifle from her hand. He quickly shucked open the loading gate and emptied the cartridges onto the ground. He then closed the mechanism and tossed it at her.

  When he saw Kip Heller pushing past the woman, Bosker drew his six-gun. Jerking his head in Halliday’s direction, he said;

  “I don’t know what that’s all about, and I can’t say that I care. I brought you a message as a favor to Sam, just ’cause he asked me to. I won’t be stayin’ much longer, and I reckon I’ll be right glad to see the back of you two.”

  “Sam’ll kill you,” Kip Heller snarled. “By hell, if he don’t do it, I will!”

  Bosker shook his head.

  “Sam won’t and you can’t, boy. And whoever that Halliday feller is, he sure read you right. You oughtta think about what he said. The way you’re goin’, Boothill ain’t far off fer you.”

  Bosker put the cigarette to his lips and walked lazily toward his horse. Kip Heller bristled and took a step forward, but his sister shook her head.

  She followed Bosker to the corral where he was whistling up his horse.

  “You’re sure?” Donna said. “He’ll be coming here within a week?”

  “So he said, ma’am. And Sam don’t ever say anythin’ he don’t mean, does he? He’s comin’ up from the Platte and he’s real anxious to see you. I reckon it’d be wise to get yourself prettied up and to make damn sure that it’s nice and quiet around here when he comes—no drifters under the bed and no range war goin’ on in the front yard, if you know what I mean.”

  Donna Heller’s lips tightened, but she held her tongue.

  The lean man grinned and climbed into the saddle. He was scarcely out of the yard before Kip was scooping up the cartridges on the ground and reloading the rifle.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Donna snapped. “He came here at Sam’s request. Now come into the house and let me see what I can do for that face of yours.”

  They went into the kitchen, and the kid threw himself into a chair.

  “I’m gonna kill ’em all,” he muttered. “I’ll show Sam what I’m made of ... I’ll show him ...”

  If Donna heard what he said, she chose to ignore it.

  “Howdy, stranger.”

  Buck Halliday looked at the old man in the sagging bib overalls and then past him to the crowded horse stalls.

  “Howdy,” he said. “You got room for one more?”

  “Always,” the old man said, showing his broken teeth in a grin. “What’s he like to handle?”

  “Never gives me any trouble,” Halliday told him.

  He slid out of the saddle and tossed the reins to the old man, who immediately began to rub the sorrel’s shoulder.

  The sorrel submitted calmly to the handling.

  Halliday waited until the man returned from stabling the horse at the far end of the long row of stalls.

  “Somethin’ else you want, stranger?”

  “I’m lookin’ for a feller by the name of Nathan Dean,” Halliday said.

  The old-timer gave Halliday a hard look, and said;

  “He’s in town right now. In fact, most of them hosses ya see belong to his outfit. I heard them boys is all stirred up ’cause some stranger sided with the Heller boy in a fight and gunned two of Dean’s men down.”

  Halliday shrugged and looked casually across the yard, watched a puff of wind send a tumbleweed bouncing over the hard-packed ground. Then he said;

  “After somethin’ like that, I guess it’s likely they’d all be in the saloon.”

  “More’n likely,” the old man agreed.

  Halliday began to walk away, and then the old man added;

  “Nate Dean’s gen’rally a pretty reasonable feller, but I figure the whole bunch will be on the prod today ...”

  “Thanks for the advice, old-timer,” Halliday said over his shoulder as he headed for the main street.

  The street was shaded by the long shadows of the afternoon, and although there were few people on the boardwalks, the stores had their share of customers and the saloon was downright crowded.
<
br />   Halliday looked over the batwings for a minute or two before he went inside. A long line of cowhands monopolized the bar, and three men occupied a table just behind them.

  A small, dapper man was doing all the talking at the table. He wore town clothes, and a heavy gold watch chain served to accentuate the quality of the fabric and the cut.

  He leaned back in his chair as he talked, and his two companions listened intently.

  It was clear from the look on all three faces that this was no idle saloon conversation.

  Halliday sauntered to the end of the bar that was nearest to the door and dropped a handful of loose change on the counter. When the barkeep came down the duck walk to him, he ordered a whiskey. The bartender poured and Halliday drained the glass and shuddered.

  “Let’s try that again,” he said.

  The barkeep tilted the bottle, filled the glass and sorted out the change on the bar.

  “I’m lookin’ for Nathan Dean,” Halliday said, and the barkeep’s eyes went to the men at the table.

  “Obliged,” Halliday said, picking up his glass and walking behind the cowhands lining the bar.

  He was aware that a few of the drinkers were watching him curiously in the mirror.

  When he reached the table, he simply pulled out a chair and sat down.

  The three men looked at him immediately in annoyance.

  A man in work clothes opened his mouth to say something, but Halliday kept his eyes on the dapper little man in the fancy duds.

  “Nathan Dean?” Halliday guessed.

  The other two at the table exchanged a glance before one of them said;

  “This is a private confab, mister. You got a nerve, ain’t you?”

  “Got lots of them,” Halliday said. “And they’re all on edge on account of how folks keep takin’ shots at me.”

  The challenger’s eyebrows shot upward, and then he squinted hard at Halliday.

  “You!” he hissed, and then he pushed his chair back and reached under the table.

  Before he could go any further, he saw the six-gun that had appeared in Halliday’s hand, the gun that was pointing straight at his heart.

  “Let’s keep it friendly, mister,” Halliday said in a voice that had no need to be loud.

  “What the hell is this?” Dean demanded.

  “My name’s Buck Halliday, and I figure you must be Nathan Dean ... and I recommend you tell this feller next to you to put his hands on the table where I can see ’em.”

  The burly cowhand made no attempt to lift his hand. Halliday snagged back the hammer of his gun. The men at the bar were all watching now and beginning to bunch up and talk among themselves in low whispers.

  “Dean, if this gets out of hand, a lot of people are gonna get hurt for no good reason,” Halliday said flatly.

  “Halliday, huh?” Dean said. “You must be the feller that’s been sidin’ with the Hellers.”

  “This ain’t gonna be much of a conversation,” Halliday told him, “unless that feller gets his hand away from his gun.”

  “Okay, Red, ease off. Ben, you take it easy, too,” Dean said to the men beside him, and then he lifted his hand and waved the cowhands from the bar away.

  “All right, Halliday,” he said, “say your piece, and you better make it good.”

  Sticking to the essentials, Halliday told the man about the day he rode unknowingly into the middle of a gun battle, and then about how Kip Heller had involved him in the attack on the branding outfit.

  “Twice, Halliday,” Nathan Dean rasped. “You bought into my fight twice, dammit! Anybody can make one mistake, but twice means it’s gettin’ to be a goddamn habit.”

  “Kip Heller tricked me,” Halliday admitted. “I was on my way to town and mindin’ my own business, but once the shootin’ started, there was no way I could stop and explain myself.”

  Although Red Barrett kept his hands carefully on the tabletop, he grunted with anger and disbelief.

  “I ain’t swallowin’ that for one minute,” he drawled. “I was there the first time anybody laid eyes on you, and I saw how you gunned down three good men.”

  “It was them or me, mister,” Halliday said calmly.

  Barrett gave him a dirty smile.

  “You hooked up with them nesters real quick, Halliday. It sure didn’t look like no accident to me.”

  “I rode into the middle of a gunfight, mister, and I was gettin’ shot at from both sides,” Halliday said flatly.

  Barrett gave a disgusted snort. His companion had sat quietly through the discussion so far, but now he said;

  “It don’t smell right to me, Mr. Dean.”

  Dean said nothing for a time, but then he muttered;

  “He could be tellin’ the truth, Ben. I figure we can give him the benefit of the doubt ... for the time bein’. Remember, he came here under his own steam.”

  “Only ’cause he’s lookin’ for a way out, I bet,” Ben Wright grumbled.

  Halliday sighed wearily. He could understand how the cowhands felt.

  “Like you said, Dean, I didn’t have to come here,” he told the man in charge.

  “So now what?” Dean asked quietly.

  “Now, you go your way, and I go mine. This never was my fight.”

  “What about the Hellers?” Dean persisted. “They must mean somethin’ to you ...”

  Halliday shook his head and got out of his chair. He looked down on the two cowhands at the table and said;

  “Listen to your boss. I’m sorry some of your friends got killed, but it was no fault of mine.”

  Halliday was starting to back away toward the doors when Dean said;

  “What do they aim to do, Halliday?”

  “The Hellers?”

  “Nobody else.”

  “They reckon they’re just protectin’ their own land, and they’re both spoiling for a fight.”

  “They’re still singin’ that same old tune, are they?” Dean said tiredly. “All I can say is they must be loco. I’ve got deeds to that place—had them ever since their old man died. I let them stay on for a time because I felt sorry for them. This is the thanks I get ...”

  Halliday shrugged and said;

  “Young Kip Heller’s so damn full of hate that a bullet might be the only way to stop him. I sure wouldn’t shed a tear for him. Whatever’s going on out there has nothing to do with me. Well, Dean, I’m glad we could have this talk. Now I’m gonna get myself another drink.”

  Halliday was halfway to the bar when the bullet buzzed by his head.

  He whirled toward the batwings, and his gun was in his hand as he searched for the sniper. Someone fired again from the boardwalk and ducked back behind safety.

  Halliday stood his ground and waited, and then the big man came lunging through the batwings.

  Halliday’s finger tightened on the trigger, but Nathan Dean was on his feet and bellowing;

  “Stop it, Finn! You, too, Halliday!”

  Halliday kept his finger on the trigger, but he eased back on the pressure as he studied the big man over Nathan Dean’s shoulder.

  Finn was still edging forward with the smoking gun in his hand.

  “Get out of the way, Mr. Dean,” he said. “This is ’tween him and me, and I’m takin’ him—now!”

  “You’ll do what I say!” Dean said firmly. “I told Halliday he’d come to no harm from us.”

  Finn’s face went chalk-white and his jaw dropped in amazement.

  “How could you say a thing like that? Don’t it matter to you what he did to Joe?”

  “Sure, it matters,” Dean said evenly, “but there’s been too much killing already. Now put that gun away and listen to what Halliday has to say.”

  Finn shook his head.

  “Just you get out of the way, Mr. Dean,” he said stubbornly. “That saddle tramp killed my brother.”

  “Goin’ against Mr. Dean would be a real bad idea, Finn,” said a voice from behind Buck Halliday.

  It was Red Barrett, and now
he was on his feet with his gun in his hand. At the same time, several of the men at the bar were stepping up behind Barrett in support.

  “Y-all agin me now, are you?” Finn snarled.

  “We’re all against the idea of you doin’ something foolish,” Dean said reasonably.

  “It don’t matter what you say!” Finn insisted. “I’m gettin’ Halliday for what he done to Joe!”

  He stepped around the end of the bar and went into a crouch. Dean glanced back at Halliday and muttered;

  “Maybe it has to be like this after all.”

  Halliday said nothing. His attention was fixed on the man crouched at the end of the bar.

  “Oh, hell,” Barrett said with unconcealed amusement. “Luden ain’t never once listened to reason, Halliday. If you don’t settle it now, he’ll just keep after you till it comes down to the same thing somewhere else.”

  Ben Wright was quick to agree.

  “Yep,” he said, “there’s no way you can reason with any of them Finns.”

  Dean was glaring at them, but he seemed to have given up on the attempt to avoid further gunplay.

  Halliday sighed.

  “And that’ll be the end of it?” Halliday asked without taking his eyes off Finn.

  “Sure, it will,” Barrett grinned.

  Nathan Dean noisily cleared his throat.

  “All right, Finn,” Dean said, “but this is gonna be a fair fight. Put up your gun and come out from behind that bar.”

  Luden Finn licked his lips, and his eyes darted to his former saddle pards. His lips curled back in a sneer.

  “I’ll take him,” he said. “You’ll see. Ain’t nobody gonna kill my brother and get away with it.”

  “First, put up your gun,” Nathan Dean insisted.

  Halliday watched the big man holster his gun, and then he dropped his own weapon into its holster and wiped his hand down his thigh. Dean moved slowly to the side, to stand with Barrett and Wright. The other cowhands edged out of the line of fire.

  “Now remember,” Dean said, “this is between the two of them. Everybody else stay out of it.”

  Halliday looked into Luden Finn’s eyes.

  “Your brother tried to kill me,” he said. “There was only one way I could stop him.”