Clay Nash 7

by Brett Waring

  “I’m not goin’ to keep talkin’ about it!” he shouted over them. “You know the dangers and you know there’ll be at least twenty trail men on the loose. Four or five men, even with badges, ain’t anywhere enough to control them. You’ve got a rough element in town, anyway, and they’ll gladly join the herders for a wild night or two. I tell you, Socorro won’t be a pretty place come mornin’. Could be you’ll have a time recognizin’ it ... ”

  He paused, hoping the thought of destroyed property might bring a few more volunteers forward, but no one moved.

  “Come on!” Brewster yelled at the townsmen. “What the hell’s wrong with you hombres! We all get together, arm ourselves and march on the saloons. We send Macklin and his crew on their way at gunpoint, wait at the edge of town and turn back Regan. They ain’t gonna argue with a whole damn town full of guns!”

  “If they’re drunk, they might!” a man yelled from the center of the group. “And once they start shootin’ we wouldn’t stand a chance!”

  “How much of a chance have we got now?” countered Huxley. “They’ll be gone in a day or so. We’ve lived through it before. What’s so different this time?”

  “Difference is, we’ve got a chance to stop it!” the Wells Fargo agent said, raking his cold gaze over the men. “But it sure looks like we’re passin’ it up!”

  No one met Brewster’s gaze and he sighed and shook his head slowly as he turned back to Nash.

  “Sorry, Clay ...”

  Nash nodded. “Sure is disappointing. But I’ll hold you fellers to this, if you don’t mind. You’re sure better than nothin’ and I appreciate you steppin’ forward.”

  “Well ... I dunno as you can count on me, Nash,” one man said quietly, uncomfortably. He glanced towards the townsmen who were leaving the depot now. “I mean ... I figured at least half the town would be backin’ you. I—I dunno that I want to go into this with just four or five—”

  “Spit it out, Hailey!” growled the liveryman. “You stayin’ or not?”

  “Not, I guess,” the man muttered and turned swiftly and hurried out after the others.

  “Er—I reckon the odds are a mite too big for me, too,” said the other man, backing off. “Sorry ...”

  Nash, Brewster and Huxley watched him go.

  “Some town!” Brewster growled.

  “Can’t really blame ’em,” Huxley said.

  “No,” Nash agreed. “They’re not gunmen, but they can’t see that this time the trail men are really gonna cut loose, because they’ve already had a hard time since they arrived. It’s gonna be a hell town for awhile.”

  “Nash,” Brewster said suddenly. “Over in the law office, you said if you couldn’t get enough volunteers from the townsmen, you had another alternative, but you’d rather not try it till you had to.”

  Nash looked at him soberly, his jaw hard. “Yeah. Well, it’s a last-ditch thing. But looks like I’ll have to try it now, don’t it?”

  He nodded to the two men and, leaving them looking puzzled, walked out of the depot.

  ~*~

  Lint Regan was a sour-faced Texan with a lanky body and arms far too long. He shambled when he walked, looking like some lean chimpanzee with his lantern-jaw and jutting eyebrows. Sitting astride a horse, his long, thin legs stuck out from the sides, giving him a distinctive silhouette.

  Macklin recognized him through the pall of dust surrounding the trailhead as the Regan outfit drove it across the flats towards the Socorro holding pens. Macklin had most of his own men with him.

  Lint Regan came out of the dust, hazing several cows and reined down fast when he saw Macklin and his riders. He let out a piercing whistle, three times in swift succession, whipping off his wide-brimmed hat and waving it in a huge arc. It was some sort of signal, Macklin figured, and when Regan’s riders came thundering in from all points of the herd, he knew he was right. The lanky Texan was remembering their past clashes it seemed, and was playing it safe this time. Macklin smiled faintly as he rode forward, holding up his hand in the peace sign. Regan, grim-faced, surrounded by his hardcases, sat his mount easily and waited for Macklin to come closer.

  “Howdy, Lint.”

  “Howdy, Mack.”

  Both men were careful to keep their voices neutral and Macklin’s crew drew up in a line behind him, glaring at the other trail men.

  “How come the reception committee?” Regan drawled, nodding at the men behind Macklin.

  “Figured to put you in the picture before you get to Socorro,” Macklin told him.

  Regan looked at him suspiciously. “So?”

  “Reckon we could all ride alongside your herd while we’re talkin’, if you like,” Macklin said. “We’re headin’ back into town ... even though the sheriff’s warned us to be on the trail by sundown.”

  Regan stiffened, stared hard at Macklin and then gestured to his men to take up their positions again. Macklin motioned to his crew to lend a hand and the two trail-bosses ranged their mounts alongside each other, drifting out to one side of the herd away from the pall of dust.

  “What’s wrong with Luke Enderby?” Regan enquired. “Holdin’ out for more of a pay-off?”

  “Enderby’s dead. Killed by a Wells Fargo man named Nash. Nailed Wheeler too. Now Nash is totin’ the sheriff’s badge in Socorro.”

  “And takin’ it serious, sounds like,” Regan opined.

  “He is. He killed one of my men, threw Red and Buck in the cells.”

  Regan spat, looking at Macklin contemptuously.

  “If any goddamn sheriff locked up two of my men, I’d have ’em busted out mighty soon.”

  “You think we didn’t try?” Macklin bristled. “Had ’em out, and the boys were workin’ Nash over when this damn gunfighter, Considine, stepped in and broke things up. I got three men limpin’ around my camp that he winged in the legs.”

  Regan suddenly laughed. “Woweee! You been havin’ yourself a time in town, ain’t you, Mack, old pard?”

  Macklin scowled. “You might figure it’s funny, Regan, but you’ll get the clock put on you too, soon as you arrive. Nash aims to keep the town peaceable.”

  “Who’s backin’ him? This gunfighter?”

  “No, strangely enough Nash told him to quit by sundown, too. Riled Considine some. He got a little drunk, more or less told us to leave Nash to him and have us a high time.”

  “Then there’s no problem.”

  “Mebbe. But my boys don’t want Considine to have Nash to himself, not after the way he came down on us. They want their share of the fun.”

  “I take it you ain’t movin’ along come sundown.”

  “What d’you think?” Macklin snapped. “Of course we ain’t. The whole damn town’s right smug with Nash ramroddin’ the law. Your boys and mine are usually at each others’ throats when we’re in the same town, Regan. This time I figured maybe it could be different.”

  Regan arched his jutting eyebrows. “You want us to be sidekicks, that it?”

  “Kind of. Well handle Nash, or Considine will; either way he ain’t no worry now. But I reckon the town has to be taught a lesson.” He glanced sideways at Regan. “You ain’t got any reason to love this place, have you?”

  Regan shrugged. “Got no reason not to. It’s just another trail town, far as me and my boys are concerned. We’ve had ourselves some high-ridin’ times, but we’ve had our troubles too. What’re you gettin’ at, Mack? You want my boys to side yours and we take the town apart?”

  “That’s it. I reckon we gotta show ’em once and for all that Texas trail men aim to have their fun, their way, when they want it. Besides, we don’t do it this time, we might not get another chance when the U.S. Marshal arrives. Them hombres ain’t like local law. He could swear in a whole slew of deputies.”

  Regan thought about it as they rode on, then suddenly bawled at two of his men to get after a couple of breakaways. He watched critically before turning back to Macklin.

  “Leave our mark on Socorro, huh?”


  “Once and for all! The Texan Touch!”

  Regan smiled crookedly, looking more like a chimpanzee than ever with his large, yellow teeth.

  “Sounds like a good idea, Mack. With a little careful plannin’ we can blow this town apart before we move on.”

  Macklin grinned broadly. “That’s just. what I wanted to hear!”

  The two men reached across and gripped hands on it. The deal was sealed.

  Seven – The Alternative

  The bar of the Hangtree Saloon was almost deserted when Clay Nash came in through the batwings. He paused while his eyes adjusted to the gloom and looked around, surprised at the quietness, expecting to see Macklin and his crew still here, drinking.

  But there were only a couple of cowboys at the bar who tensed when they saw Nash, but looked sober enough. Cavendish stood in the doorway leading to the rear of the saloon. Nash ignored him, glanced at the busy barkeep as he washed and polished glasses, noticed, two townsmen having a quiet drink at a corner table, then focused his eyes on the lone drinker against the rear wall.

  Considine.

  Nash walked slowly down the room towards him and stood in front of his table. Considine looked up, holding a half-empty glass of whisky. His eyes looked slightly out of focus but were still deadly.

  “How about that drink now?” Nash said quietly.

  Considine looked at him steadily for a long minute, then moved a chair out with his boot.

  “Why not? Sit.” He raised his voice. “Barkeep! Another glass.”

  The barkeep hurried across with a fresh shot glass, then went back behind the bar. Cavendish frowned from his position by the rear door as Considine poured Nash a drink. They saluted each other with their glasses and tossed down the redeye. Nash looked at the gunfighter.

  “Hear you’ve been askin’ about me.”

  Considine shrugged. “Like to know all I can about any man who’s likely to be goin’ up against me.”

  “You figure that?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you?”

  Nash shrugged. “Depends on you.”

  “Come sundown.”

  “Yeah. Come sundown. You got the choice.”

  “That’s right.”

  Nash gestured to the whisky bottle. “You need that?”

  Considine’s eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened. He glared coldly at Nash, abruptly picked up the part-empty whisky bottle and hurled it against the wall where it shattered. Every eye in the saloon was on them. Breaths were held. Muscles were tensed, ready to send their owners diving for cover should this come to gunplay.

  But Nash merely nodded. “Okay. You happen to know where Macklin and his crew have gone?”

  Considine grinned crookedly. “To meet Regan.”

  Nash arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Gonna hit us in a bunch. Well, that makes it just that much more necessary for me to get some backing to stand against ’em.”

  Considine was amused. “Don’t tell me the big brave men of this town won’t back you up? Don’t tell me they won’t make a stand to save their properties and families?”

  Nash shook his head. “They’re using a crazy kind of logic. Afraid they’ll get hurt and leave their families to have to battle for themselves. Can’t seem to savvy that they’re endangering them more by letting the herders cut loose. They figure it’ll only be for a few hours and then it’ll be over.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Mebbe. Even so, a few hours with two drunken trail crews rampagin’ through the town ain’t gonna leave a lot of the town come sunup.”

  “You took the badge. You had no need to.”

  “Yeah, I know. But, need or not, I’m stuck with it, and I’m the one who’s got to face Macklin and Regan and their men.”

  “Again, your choice.”

  “That’s right. And, could be, I have to face you first, from what I hear. That right?”

  Considine shrugged. “Wait till sundown and see.”

  Nash stared back at him soberly. “But there’s one other way we could do this ...”

  Considine frowned, then said, “I don’t see it. You called it, Nash, when you put the clock on me.”

  “I could take it off.”

  Considine smiled slowly, shook his head. “Too late.”

  “Not if you backed me against Regan and Macklin.”

  Considine stiffened, stared incredulously, saw that Nash was serious. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. The men in the bar watched tensely.

  “You got gall, I’ll say that!” the gunfighter said, controlling his laughter with difficulty. “You want me to side you?”

  “Against the trail herders,” Nash admitted, nodding. “The two of us could handle ’em. Likely better than a whole slew of townsmen who ain’t used to trouble.”

  “Like I said, you sure got gall.”

  “I wanted you out of town so there’d be less chance of trouble. Now there’s gonna be more trouble than any of us figured. Seems logical, to me, to have you on my side, Considine.”

  “I don’t owe you nothin’, Nash,” the gunfighter growled. “I squared away with you.”

  “Sure. I’m not askin’ you to pay off any kind of debt. I’m just askin’ you.”

  “You’re backin’ down on the sundown deadline?”

  Nash shrugged. “It ain’t my town. I dunno if I have the right to say you can stay on or not, but if you side me in this, you’ll have sure earned the right to stay, I figure.”

  “I reckon you won’t beg me.”

  “No.”

  Considine sat looking at Nash for a long minute, then abruptly stood up, shaking his head slowly as he looked down at the lawman, a crooked smile on his mouth. “The goddamn gall!” he breathed. Then, still shaking his head, he walked slowly down the room and through the batwings.

  Nash sighed and rose, staring at the swinging doors. Mouth grim, he walked towards them, not hurrying. He knew there was no point in trying to catch up with the gunfighter.

  ~*~

  Lynn Enderby entered the law office quietly, startling Nash. He looked up swiftly from where he sat at the desk, dropping a hand to his gun butt. He relaxed when he saw the girl but she did not answer his smile of greeting. She looked worried.

  “You look very jumpy, Clay.”

  “A mite edgy,” he admitted. “The Texans are drifting in, fillin’ the bars, and the sun’s goin’ down. So far, all I’ve got by way of backing is Brewster and Huxley. And I’ll let them off the hook if they want. No sense in gettin’ ’em killed.”

  “And what about yourself?” she asked. “You’ll be committing suicide if you go out and try to face those cattlemen alone.”

  “I took the badge, Lynn. I made the rules, and now I’m stuck with ’em. No one to blame but myself.”

  She sat down in a chair opposite him, leaned forward with her forearms on the desk edge, her face earnest.

  “Clay, you don’t owe this town anything. No, wait, let me finish. Lucas was a bully, corrupt, a terrible lawman. Folks here just figured he was better than none at all, for sometimes he did enforce the law and prevent trouble ... usually with trail herders who refused to pay him what he asked for allowing their crews to have a wide-open town during their stay. But folks had long since come to the conclusion that it was a big mistake putting Lucas and Morgan Wheeler in the law office. Mitch was no better; he was a drunken bum, picking fights all the time. Considine certainly wasn’t the only man he’d gone up against with a gun. He just happened to be the only one who was faster. So, far from leaving this town in the lurch, or causing it harm by inadvertently killing Lucas and Wheeler, you really did Socorro a favor. This town knows it; they have sent for a U.S. Marshal, after all. You really had no reason to feel guilty and to take the sheriff’s badge, Clay.”

  Nash leaned back and rolled a cigarette, looking at the girl soberly. “You miss the point, Lynn. Don’t much matter whether I needed to take on the law job or not. I felt I had to at the time, but the
point is, I did accept that badge, and I took an oath of office. I swore I’d do my best to uphold the law in Socorro until the U.S. Marshal showed up and that’s what I’ve got to do. I can’t back down now, can’t run out, no matter what.”

  The girl studied his face as he lit the cigarette. She sat back slowly in her chair and sighed. “Yes,” she said very quietly. “I see that. I knew, deep down, it was your code, Clay. It’s an honorable code, but it can also be a foolish one if you become too stubborn about it.”

  “It’s not a matter of being stubborn, Lynn. I took an oath and I have to stick by it. If I started compromising now, to other folks it’d look like I was just plain yellow, no matter how I tried to rationalize it. And I’d rather die than have that happen.”

  Her mouth tightened and she rose swiftly. “What a stupid, typical male attitude! You’d rather die foolishly, so some people would see you as a hero, than stay alive and have an equal number of people think you a coward!”

  He met her gaze steadily. “That’s right.”

  She stamped her foot in frustration. “Oh, you make me mad, your kind, Clay Nash! My father was like that. ‘Code of Men’ he called it, the way he lived. He refused to back down to a bunch of hardcases because he was afraid folks would think he was yellow. He died a hero’s death, but the point is, he died! When he didn’t have to!”

  “I’m not askin’ you to understand, Lynn,” Nash told her quietly. “I’m just tellin’ you how it has to be with me. I can’t change the way I am at this stage. I’m not sayin’ I want to take on Macklin and Regan alone, or even face up to Considine, but the way I figure it, I don’t have any choice.”

  “You do! You could show some common sense! You could ... Oh, what’s the use! You’ll go out and get yourself killed and you’ll likely die with a smile on your face. A stupid smile!”

  She whirled and stormed out of the office. Nash sat in his chair quietly smoking, staring at the doorway. He hadn’t known she cared that much about him.

  ~*~

  Lint Regan’s crew were rougher and tougher than Macklin’s. They were the scum of the trails, some on the dodge from the law or other men who wanted their blood. Regan had picked them up because he could get them cheap. He knew they would quit him at trail’s end but that was okay; his habit was to pay off all his riders, anyway.