Wild Bill Williams (A Piccadilly Publishing Western #10)

by Jack Martin

  ‘You will remain here,’ the old man said. ‘You have caused quite enough trouble.’

  ‘I’m riding in with you,’ Caleb protested.

  ‘You will remain here,’ Abaddon said. ‘And that is final.’

  Caleb said nothing but his look spoke volumes.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Right,’ Bill said and climbed up onto the stool. ‘Let’s be having your full attention, please.’

  He looked around the saloon and supposed that, all things considered, given the hold the Stantons had on the town, this was quite a healthy gathering. There were maybe fifty of the town’s citizens crowded into the saloon.

  ‘I’m pleased you could all come,’ he said. He was aware that the town’s people, or at least those present here, were unsure of what was going on and, far from wanting to fight for their town, were only here out of curiosity. When the bullets started flying the greatest majority of those here would have taken flight before the smell of cordite settled on the air. He caught Sam’s eyes and gave him a slight smile. The old man had certainly whipped up a crowd, running around town, proudly wearing his new sheriff’s badge, and calling an extraordinary town meeting.

  ‘By now you are all aware of what has happened during the night,’ Bill said and noticed all eyes momentarily turn to the old man and the kid. ‘You all went to bed last night under a cloud of tyranny, but you have awoken to a new day and a new town. You have a new sheriff, no longer is an innocent young man waiting in your jailhouse for an unjust hanging. This town is now your town.’

  That received a light applause.

  ‘You, as free citizens of this town have a duty to stand by your new sheriff. You must all stand firm and fend off the evil that would attempt to force its will upon you.’

  The crowd were held rapt by Bill’s speech and the Welshman smiled inwardly. As he spoke he was thinking of his late da, of the speeches he had watched him give to the Miner’s Association gatherings back in the old country. This current situation reminded Bill of the struggles back home. Stanton with his iron grip on the town was not a million miles away from the mine owners who had sought to keep the workforce in its place. Their tactics were of intimidation and attrition, and were not that far removed from the methods Stanton used to maintain his control over the town.

  Bill had decided he would keep the news that Thomson, the newspaperman was currently riding for help, a secret unless it became absolutely necessary to share the information. He didn’t want Stanton getting wind of it and sending out men to stop Thomson. There was little chance anyone would be able to catch up with the newspaperman, he would have made good distance by now, but it seemed prudent to keep quiet on this point, at least until the man’s absence was noticed.

  ‘No doubt Stanton and his men will make an appearance in town today,’ Bill said. ‘But your sheriff here will stand against them and we, his deputies will be beside him. It is hoped that many of you will support us. For to back down to Stanton now means that this town, your homes, will never truly belong to you and neither will your hearts. Freedom comes at a price and it is a price you will all ultimately have to pay.’ And that, Bill thought, was bloody poetry.

  Poetic or not, the speech was met with a stony silence which was finally broken by a woman, small child in arms, who had pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

  ‘You speak well,’ she said and Bill, who had always been proud of his oratorical skills, smiled. ‘But your words, no matter how pretty, will not make our men bullet-proof.’

  ‘Martha,’ a bearded man shouted from the rear of the room as he climbed onto a table to get a better view of the woman. ‘This is a saloon, my wife. No place for a woman. Go home and take our child with you. Leave this to the men folk.’

  ‘Go boil your head,’ came the woman’s reply, which provoked laughter from the gathered crowd.

  The new sheriff, who was obviously very much of the old school, glared at the woman.

  ‘You disrespect your man,’ he said.

  ‘And I’ll disrespect you, you old coot,’ the woman retorted and once again her words received a wave of laughter.

  The sheriff didn’t seem to know what to do. From the look on his face it seemed the woman was about to become his first arrest. He brushed a hand over his badge as if to draw attention to his authority and glared at the woman.

  ‘Those of you who wish to join the fight and can handle a firearm will be most welcome,’ Bill said, grinning despite the gravity of the situation. ‘All we ask of anyone else is that you stay out of harm’s way until this works itself out. I believe that the Stantons operate on the assumption that no one will dare to go against them. If the town stands together then I do not believe it will come to a fight. I do not think the Stantons have the stomach for a real fight. It is one thing to push men about when you come in force, but quite another thing to stand against equal numbers.’

  ‘That’s brave talk for a newcomer,’ the woman said and shifted the baby in her arms. ‘You do not know the situation around here, nor do you know the Stantons. What does this town matter to you? You have no roots here and you will be gone soon enough.’

  This time the woman’s husband didn’t intervene and what’s more her latest outburst elicited murmurs of agreement rather than laughter from the crowd.

  ‘What is it you all want?’ Henry yelled, lifting himself up and sitting on the long counter than ran the length of the saloon. ‘Do any of you enjoy paying the town tax to the Stantons? Do any of you think I deserved to hang for challenging Caleb Stanton? Do any of you think my trial was legal? The sentence not already decided before even one word was uttered in my defense? I’m not afraid of the Stantons and I will stand beside this man,’ he pointed towards Bill. ‘And what’s more I shall be proud to do so.’

  An almost imperceptible applause.

  ‘Whatever happens,’ Bill said, knowing that he was losing control of the meeting, that the agenda was heading in a direction he hadn’t planned for. ‘It’s as simple as this. I am not going away until the Stanton problem is over. It is true this is not my town but the Stantons have wronged me. Only yesterday I had to kill two men, deputies of this town nonetheless, who had been ordered to kill me. Shoot me in the back most likely.

  ‘I do not enjoy killing but what’s been done cannot be undone and, like it or not, this town is heading for a showdown between myself, those who stand beside me, and the Stantons. Being in the crossfire would be dangerous and that’s all I want to say.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked a man, whom Bill recognized as Dutch Carter, one of the men he had been playing poker with that afternoon when this all started. It seemed like a million years ago now.

  ‘Go about your business as usual,’ Bill said. ‘But when Stanton turns up either get behind me or get hidden.’

  ‘I’ll be with you,’ Dutch Carter said and a few people murmured in agreement.

  ‘Good,’ Bill said. ‘And I’m pleased to have you.’ He could see it in the eyes of the people gathered here that many of them would have liked to make a stand against the Stantons, but a pragmatism born of fear stopped them from stepping forward. He could understand that, but he knew from experience that one day a person had to face up to that which oppresses them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Incredibly, with the threat hanging over the town, the likelihood of extreme violence at any moment, the people went about their day-to-day business. The saloon was opened at ten am as usual, the school took in its students, and the general store, bank and hotel were all trading. The main street, as always was a hive of activity and to the casual onlooker it would seem that all was as it should be in the small town, but anyone attuned in such a way would have detected the hint of trepidation in the air, noted the look of fear in the eyes of the citizens.

  Bill was sat in the sheriff’s office, knitting, while he waited for the inevitable. He had expected the Stantons to have already arrived in force, but as it fast approached noon all was quiet. The new sh
eriff sat dozing behind his desk, his feet up on the finely polished surface and his tattered hat pulled down over his eyes, only Henry seemed tense and for the last hour he had been pacing the room, twice he had twirled on his feet and pulled iron to practice his draw. The Welshman found this very distracting as he tried to work on the horse blanket.

  ‘Why don’t you go and get some rest,’ Bill said and skillfully closed another stitch, knotting the wool.

  ‘I’m staying with you,’ the kid retorted and continued with his pacing.

  ‘Bloody marvelous,’ Bill said and went back to his knitting.

  ~*~

  Moments later Dutch Carter, who had elected himself lookout man, came tearing down the main street on his Cayuse Pony. He pulled the horse to a dead stop outside the jailhouse and positively leapt from the saddle. For a moment his feet did a comical jig but somehow he managed to remain on his feet and not fall arse over elbow into the dirt.

  ‘Stanton’s coming,’ he yelled as he burst through the doors and into the jailhouse, waking the old man and causing the kid to draw iron.

  ‘Put that away,’ Bill said to the kid as he calmly and carefully placed his knitting into his saddlebags. ‘Right then,’ he said, finally. ‘No doubt a merry dance awaits us.’

  ‘I won’t be dancing,’ the kid said. ‘I’ll be shooting.’

  ‘As useful a musical accompaniment as any for the tune we have in mind,’ Bill said and walked out onto the street. He no longer carried the rifle in the pouch behind his back, but he still wore the twin Colts low on his hip.

  The street was as it had been only moments ago with no sign of any of the Stanton clan.

  ‘There,’ Dutch said, pointing to the far end of the street and sure enough the unmistakable form of Abaddon Stanton came into view followed by three other riders. People crossed the street quickly as they sought cover.

  From this distance Bill couldn’t put a face to any of the men, with the exception of Abaddon who was unmistakable in his black frock coat and white Stetson, but the rider bringing up the rear looked to be the short, stocky man who had aided Caleb Stanton in giving the kid such a beating in the saloon. Bill frowned. He had expected a bigger show of force than this and he wondered if Stanton had men placed all around them, keeping themselves out of sight until they were called upon. Did gunmen in Stanton’s employ already surround them? Were gun-sights already trained upon them?

  The Welshman stood there, the other three men bunched up closely behind him.

  ‘You gonna’ handle this, Sheriff,’ Bill said with more than a hint of black humor in his voice.

  ‘I sure am,’ the old man said and pushed forward to stand besides Bill. He ignored the looks Dutch and Henry shot at him. ‘You gonna’ aid me, Deputy?’

  ‘I sure am,’ Bill said, smiling.

  ‘We’re all in this,’ the kid said and then looked at Dutch. ‘Ain’t that right?’

  ‘Sure is,’ Dutch said, though he didn’t sound too sure of himself.

  Bill knew that the three men, with the possible exception of the kid, who was hotheaded enough to face the Hounds of Hell, were relying on him to take the lead. He was the one who had whipped them up, and it sure wouldn’t do for him to lose his resolve just yet. He had started the wheel spinning and it had to follow its inevitable course, even if that course did lead to bloodshed.

  ‘Don’t anyone get jumpy and pull iron,’ Bill said directing his words at the kid more than any of the others. ‘Stanton may consider this his town, but it’s unlikely he’ll want to shoot us down in broad daylight with so many witnesses. My guess is that before there’s any lead flying, Old Man Stanton will be nowhere in the vicinity.’

  ‘If they don’t want to fight then why are they here?’ the kid asked.

  ‘Likely to access the situation,’ Bill said. ‘All they know is what Clemens would have told them. The fact that the old man’s leading them suggests this ain’t gonna’ become a gunfight.’

  ‘Sure would be a good time for your Calvary to arrive,’ the sheriff said and Bill shot him a glance.

  ‘We keep that to ourselves for the moment,’ he said. ‘Let’s just see what Stanton has to say for himself.’ It was extremely unlikely now that anyone would be able to catch up with Thomson, and by first light tomorrow, if not sooner, the newspaperman would have reached Fort Hood.

  ‘What Cavalry?’ the kid asked, and Dutch echoed the question with his eyes.

  Bill looked at the kid and smiled. ‘Must have forgot to mention it,’ he said. ‘Let’s just say I’ve stacked the hand in our favor, but I’d like to keep that particular ace up my sleeve for the moment.’

  Dutch breathed a sigh of relief and all of a sudden he seemed to grow ten feet.

  ‘Let’s show them they ain’t running this town no more,’ he said.

  ‘Bloody marvelous,’ Bill said, and now that the riders were close enough, he made eye contact with the man who had presided over the shambles of a trial. The man who had, in one way or another, sentenced both Bill and the kid to death. If things had gone the old man’s way they would both be dead now, and yet they were both standing here, ready to face him down. That must really be sticking in the old bastard’s craw.

  The four riders, Abaddon in the lead, stopped their horses a few feet from the men outside the jailhouse. Abaddon looked each of the men over in turn and then smiled.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he asked. ‘And why is that old fool wearing the badge of law?’

  ‘Ain’t no fool about it,’ Sam said and held Abaddon’s gaze. ‘I’m the new law in these parts.’

  The provoked laughter from the three men with Abaddon, but the old man himself didn’t even blink. He glared at the man wearing the badge and then his eyes locked on Bill.

  ‘You instigated all this,’ Abaddon said. It wasn’t a question.

  ‘No,’ Bill shook his head. ‘You did. ‘You charged me with being a vagrant, took my money and ran me out of town. Those deputies you sent to escort me, to kill me, their blood is also on your hands. It was you that started all this off and the only way it’s gonna’ end is with you gone or in the ground.’

  For a moment a look of pure fury crossed Abaddon’s face but then he simply smiled and shook his head.

  ‘I did nothing but my duty under law,’ the old man said.

  ‘Celwyddwr, celwyddwr ‘ch re bum acha danio,’ Bill said and didn’t bother translating the insult, feeling its meaning would be conveyed by the tone of his voice.

  ‘We’re going to ride out of here today,’ Abaddon said with a frown. ‘And if, when we return, you and these three fools have left town then that will be the end of it. If you’re still here then I shall be forced to remove you.’

  Bill stepped forward and allowed a hand to brush the heel of one of his Colts. ‘Like your fat sheriff, you’ve already been removed, and are in no position to make demands,’ he snapped back. ‘. This town no longer answers to you.’

  ‘You’re a big man with those guns,’ the man Bill recognized as the squat man who had been with Caleb Stanton, said. As he had been then, he appeared to be unarmed. He simply sat there upon his horse, staring at Bill.

  ‘I don’t need my guns to whip a fool like you,’ Bill said. ‘Back home I fought bigger and better.’

  ‘You don’t want to be doing that,’ the sheriff said, grabbing Bill by the arm. ‘He used to box for the army; he’s killed men with his bare hands. He’s got a head like a rock and fists like hammers.’

  ‘Don’t look much to me,’ Bill said and reached down and unhooked his gun belt. He handed it to the sheriff and noticed the smile cross Abandon’s face when he did so. Once again he wondered if there were gunmen stationed around town, but he put the thought out of his mind. It was more likely that Stanton didn’t think anyone would be able to best his man in a fistfight. Well, once again, Bill was going to show him how wrong he was.

  The squat man jumped from his horse and the beast seemed to sigh its relief as the weight was removed from
its back.

  ‘You’re a darn fool, Welshman,’ the sheriff said. ‘But I sure do admire your grit.’

  Bill smiled and then looked at the remaining riders before turning to the kid.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ he said. ‘If any of these gentlemen so much as twitch you blow Stanton away. Otherwise hold you fire while I treat this fool here a lesson,’ he pointed to indicate the squat man who had removed his shirt and was now ready for a fight.

  ‘You gonna’ fight or you gonna’ talk?’ the squat man prompted.

  ‘Oh, I’m most certainly gonna’ fight you,’ Bill said and smiled. ‘But just give me a moment.’ He looked at old man Stanton. He was sat upon his horse, a grin plastered across his ugly face. ‘You tell your men to hold their fire.’

  Stanton nodded.

  ‘You have my word,’ he said.

  ‘Bloody marvelous,’ Bill said and once more turned to the kid. ‘Now do as I say and hold your fire. Do not shoot unless any of these men make a move to do so.’ He indicated to Stanton and the riders.

  ‘What if he beats you?’ the kid asked.

  ‘That ain’t bloody likely,’ Bill said and stepped out into the street. ‘ I used to box for Glamorgan when I was a schoolboy.’

  The kid nodded, said nothing.

  ‘Gentlemen give us room,’ Bill said and removed his shirt, stripping down to his vest.