by Jack Martin
Chapter Thirteen
It suddenly occurred to Bill that he didn’t even know the squat man’s name. Here he was about to engage in the ancient gentlemanly endeavor of boxing, and he didn’t know the name of his opponent.
Bill spat on the palms of his hands and then rubbed them together. He hopped up and down a little and then took two quick swipes at thin air, leading with his right hand. He then danced a little more, his upper body rocking gently with his legs seeming independent to the rest of him.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
The squat man was watching Bill in astonishment. During all his years boxing for the army, and in all the fights since, he had never seen a fighter dance in quite the same way as this Welshman.
‘My name?’ he looked at Bill.
‘I take it you have one,’
‘I have a name,’
‘Then what is it?’
‘What do you want to know it for?’
‘Well,’ Bill said and without warning moved forward, connecting a stinging left hook to the other man’s jaw, taking him off his feet. ‘It would be nice to know who I’m fighting.’
The effect of Bill’s blow was all but momentary, and the squat man shook off the surprise and leapt back to his feet.
‘Bear,’ he screamed. ‘They call me Bear.’
‘No doubt, named after your mother,’ Bill said and danced some more.
Bear lunged at Bill, keeping his head down and his arms upright, trying to use his own body as a battering ram, but the Welshman skillfully sidestepped him and delivered a chop to the back of the man’s neck.
‘Pleased to be of your acquaintance, Bear,’ Bill said and hopped from one leg to the other. He noticed the sheriff leaning forward in delight, his single tooth gleaming in the cavern that was his open mouth. The kid, too, looked pleased at this turn of events, amused even.
Bill cast a quick glance at Stanton and saw the look of anger on the old man’s face, the veins in his forehead looked fit to burst at any moment and his face had gone two shades of red. A crowd had gathered in the street and even although they kept their distance they were there, they were no longer hiding away from the Stantons.
Bill was quite pleased with that.
Bear rolled about on the ground and screamed out in fury. He scooped up a handful of dirt and thrust it into Bill’s face.
Momentarily blinded, the Welshman stumbled backwards, his hands rubbing the dirt from his watering eyes. That was all his opponent needed and Bear got to his feet and delivered a punishing blow to Bill’s stomach, doubling the Welshman over. He followed up with his knee being brought up into the Welshman’s chin. The blow crunched Bill’s jaw together and set off bells ringing inside his head.
And then it was Bill’s turn to hit the ground.
Bear wasn’t going to fight cleanly, then. Which wasn’t that much of a surprise to the Welshman and he cursed himself for losing his concentration and allowing the other man to gain the advantage. That stupid mistake was going to cost him heavy, Bill realized, as Bear bent over him and hammered a left into his face.
Bill knew that he had to get out of this or he was finished. His head was pounding and he tasted blood on the back of his tongue. He tried to roll and unbalance the other man, but Bear simply bent over and grabbed him by the neck, snaking his podgy fingers around the Welshman’s throat and starting to squeeze.
Bill gritted his teeth and with all his might brought his leg up, a knee connected with Bear’s groin. Bill hadn’t been able to muster that much force into the blow, but in such a sensitive area it was enough and Bear groaned, loosened his grip on Bill’s throat and fell over sideways.
It was the chance the Welshman needed and Bill sprung to his feet. He squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed them once again. His vision was all to hell but he could, at least, see his opponent.
Bear got awkwardly to his feet, and Bill immediately put him back down again with a combination of blows to the head.
Bill took the opportunity to step back several paces while Bear recovered and used the time to clear his eyes of the stinging dirt and grit. Bill noticed old man Stanton shift uneasily upon his horse as he looked at his man who was still sprawled in the dirt. It would be clear to the old man now that the outcome of the fight was not a certain thing. Once again he had underestimated the Welshman.
‘He getting up?’ Bill asked, smearing a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. ‘Or is he finished.’
‘I’m gonna’ kill you,’ Bear said as he looked up at Bill and tried to get to his feet, but all he could manage was to get to his knees. He knelt there panting like a dog while blood gushed from his smashed mouth.
He spat out several of his teeth.
‘Finish him off,’ the kid yelled.
‘Never hit a man when he’s down,’ Bill said. ‘That’s not the way we do it.’
Bear though had no such sense of fair play, and he used the opportunity when the Welshman was distracted to suddenly leap to his feet and charge him. Once more he tried to use his body as a battering ram but Bill, who saw him at the last moment, was too quick and he easily stepped aside and brought his boot into Bear’s backside to help him along. Once again Bear hit the ground, face first, eating dirt, only this time he didn’t seem to want to get back up.
‘I think he’s finished himself off,’ Bill said.
Only Bear wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot and once again he managed to find his feet. He snarled like a wild animal and again charged but there was no grace in his movement, and Bill was once more easily able to step aside. The Welshman stretched out a foot, tripping Bear and sending him back to the ground.
‘Stay down,’ Bill said and moved in closer to the fallen man. ‘Stay down and I won’t have to hit you again.’
Bear yelled something unintelligible and pushed himself back to his feet but the Welshman was too quick and a combination of blows finally finished him off. Bear’s eyes rolled back in his head, his legs buckled beneath him and he fell back to the ground, unconscious.
‘Stop this, stop this,’ Old man Stanton yelled, and then a look of sheer agony crossed his face. He gave a guttural groan, pitched forward in his saddle, and hit the ground hard.
Chapter Fourteen
‘It’s his heart,’ Doc Curtis said.
Bill looked at the sawbones and then at the figure of the old man in the bed. He looked so frail, a harmless old man. Was this really the man who had held the town in an iron grip for so many years?
‘Is he going to live?’ he asked.
The doc took a long look at his patient before answering. ‘Too soon to tell,’ he said. ‘He’s alive for now, at least.’
Immediately after he had collapsed Bill, Dutch, Henry and Stanton’s men, well the two that could still stand at least, had carried the old man over to the town’s hotel where a bed was immediately found for him on the ground floor, and the doctor sent for. The kid couldn’t see the point in all this, didn’t understand why they didn’t just let the old man die in the street, but as soon as he voiced these thoughts he was stopped dead by a look from Bill.
‘He needs rest now,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll look back in on him in an hour but for now he should be left alone. There are far too many people in this room. One of you should stay with him, but the rest of you had best leave.’
‘I ain’t leaving Mr. Stanton alone,’ said Jake Tanner. He was one of the men who had ridden in with the old man. His pard stood next to him and nodded in agreement.
Bill looked at the two men, and despite the fact that they were to all intents and purposes the enemy, he had to admire their loyalty to their boss.
‘There ain’t nothing you two can do for him,’ he said. ‘You’d be better off taking care of Bear.’
‘I ain’t leaving,’ Jake insisted and the tension seemed to grow inside the room. The man left his arms hanging, ready to draw should the need arise. ‘I ain’t leaving Mr. Stanton to you varmints.’
‘What
do you think we’ll do to him?’ Bill asked and felt the pain each time his jaw moved. He could feel the bruising coming out on his face. He supposed he could do with a little medical attention himself after the brawl with Bear.
‘I’ll take care of him,’ Martha, the hotel owner said and crossed the room to stand besides the doctor. She was a young woman, not yet out of her Thirties. She had been widowed when her husband died the previous summer after falling from his horse and splitting his head open like a ripe melon. Ever since then she had run the only hotel in town single handily, and done a damn efficient job at it. Far better than any man could, she liked to boast
Doc Curtis took her hands in his own and smiled. ‘Don’t bother him too much,’ he said. ‘Just keep an eye on him and if he wakes send for me at once.’
She nodded, ‘I will, Doc.’
Stanton’s two men still looked unsure of the situation and neither man wanted to be the first to leave the room. They stood there along with Bill, Sam, Dutch and Henry. Bear, as far as anyone knew, was still lying outside in the dirt.
‘Then if everyone else can leave. The patient needs his rest,’ Doc Curtis said and smiled at Martha before scooping his instruments from the bed and placing them into his Gladstone bag.
No one made any sign of moving.
Martha frowned and then clapped her hands together. ‘No come on,’ she said. ‘You heard the Doc.’ She ushered the men out of the room. At first it seemed Stanton’s men were about to object but once Bill, Dutch, the sheriff and Henry had gone they followed behind.
Once outside the men split into two camps.
Bill, Dutch, Sam and the kid on one side.
Stanton’s men on the other.
Up the street Bear had now gotten to his feet and as soon as he saw them he walked, stumbled really, towards them. Bill noticed the stocky man looked a wonderful sight after their fight – both his eyes were blackened, his lower lip had swollen to such an extent that it seemed to take up half his face, and there was fresh blood trickling from his nose. Blood had also congealed at the side of his head, and in his hair. Dirt and grit clung to the dried blood. He looked as if a horse had kicked him...several horses.
‘How you feeling, boyo?’ Bill asked as the squat man approached them.
Bear’s reply was a guttural growl as he ignored Bill and looked at his two comrades for enlightenment. Bill was sure that were it not for all the bruising and dirt, a puzzled expression would have been visible upon his face. One moment he had been fighting and the next everyone’s standing around jawing.
‘What’re we gonna’ do now?’ The sheriff asked. The old man wasn’t at all sure of this situation. He had understood the fight and the need to stand firm against Stanton, but now that the head of the Stanton clan was laid up in the hotel, likely as close to death as he’d ever been, he had lost the thread of what was going on. The situation seemed a twist more complicated than it had been only moments ago.
‘You’re the sheriff,’ Bill watched Bear for fear that he would want to resume the fight, but the squat man had no fight left in him.
‘And just what would you do if you were sheriff?’ the old man asked.
‘Guess I might tell these men to leave town,’ Bill said. ‘They might want to convey the news about old man Stanton to the rest of the clan.’
The sheriff considered that and all its ramifications and he realized that they would have been better off had Stanton ridden out of here in the peach of health. He was the only one of the clan who had any kind of control over that hothead, Caleb. There were two other members of the immediate family but neither Dismas nor Eder Stanton were anything to worry about, they were fat little men with, if one believed the rumors, dubious tastes for young cowhands. No it was Caleb who was the loose cannon.
‘Guess I might do that,’ the sheriff said and slid his ancient Dragoon from its holster.
Stanton’s men immediately cleared leather but they held their hands when they saw the two other guns held on them. Both Bill and the kid had drawn with a blur of speed, and held their own Colts deadly level. Dutch at first seemed unsure of what to do but then he too drew his gun. It wasn’t exactly a fast draw but then end result was very much the same and Stanton’s men now found themselves with four guns trained upon them.
The sheriff, realizing that he was now in a position of power, felt mighty proud of himself and his lone tooth gleamed in a mouth stretched wide.
‘Now you best go riding on out of town,’ he said.
For several tense moments Stanton’s men held the ground, but then, as if realizing they had no chance, they turned away. They had to support Bear between them as they made their way to their horses.
Chapter Fifteen
‘You can’t go riding in without any men, without any guns,’ Caleb said and looked at his uncles. Jake Tanner, who had brought the news from town stood next to him. He obviously felt awkward and kept his gaze directed at the floor. The altered power dynamic around here seemed to confuse him and he wasn’t at all sure if his loyalties should be with Jake or the elder two Stantons.
‘You heard what Jake said,’ Caleb continued. ‘They’ve taken over the town, beaten Bear to a pulp and they’ve got my grandfather.’
‘Your grandfather,’ Dismas said. ‘He’s also our father.’
‘And no one’s got him,’ Eder said. ‘He’s had a heart attack and is being cared for by the town doctor.’
‘They’re laughing at us,’ Caleb positively snarled. ‘We jail Henry Carthy, sentence him to be hung, and now he’s prancing about town as bold as you like. And that Welshman beats Bear to within an inch of his life. That’s probably what brought on Grandfather’s heart attack. We should ride into town, take a posse of men in with us and kill them bastards and bring my grandfather home.’
Both Dismas and Eder shook their heads.
‘Father had an heart attack,’ Dismas said. ‘Least it seems that way from what Jake’s told us. He’s in the hotel bed with the town doctor taking care of him. He’s in no danger and going in there shooting is likely to put him in danger.’
Dismas had spoken to him as if he were a child and that enraged Caleb.
‘You’re a coward,’ he said. ‘You’re both cowards. Fat little cowards.’
‘We shall ride into town,’ Eder said, firmly, looking to his brother for support. ‘We’ll see how father is and decide what to do then. Caleb you remain here.’
‘I’m coming,’ Caleb said. ‘I’m the only Stanton with the sand to stand up to these varmints.’
‘You stay,’ Dismas said. ‘You don’t think before you act which is the reason father went into town without you in the first place. Eder and I will go in alone.’
‘Cowards,’ Caleb spat the words out. ‘You’re nothing but cowards. ‘And with that he swung on his feet, brushed past the three men and went out into the pale afternoon sunshine.
Caleb spotted Clemens standing over by the corral fence. The one time lawman was chewing on a large cigar, which Caleb guessed he had taken from his grandfather’s supply. It certainly had an aroma like the pungent variety the old man often smoked.
‘What you gonna’ do about all this?’ Caleb asked as he approached Clemens.
Clemens spat into the dirt and shook his head.
‘I ain’t sheriff no more,’ he said.
Caleb took his makings from his shirt pocket and made himself a quirly. ‘What do you think will happen if Grandfather dies?’ he asked and drew hard on the smoke.
Clemens shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t rightly know,’ he said. ‘These days I don’t seem to know much at all.’
‘You let that Welshman get the better of you,’ Caleb said. ‘That’s what started this all off.’
Clemens wanted to point out to Caleb that it was he who has set this thing in motion. If he hadn’t done whatever it was he had done in the first place, and riled up the Carthy kid then none of this would have happened. Instead he remained silent, nodded and puffed some more on the
cigar. He stood there, both feeling and looking like a broken man.
‘Yeah,’ Caleb said and threw his smoke away, watching as it hit the ground in a shower of sparks. ‘And you’re gonna’ help me undo it.’
‘Am I?’
Caleb reached out and grabbed the older man by the shirt collar, unbalancing him despite his considerable bulk. The older, and much bigger man, did nothing and simply stared at Caleb as the much smaller man manhandled him. There was a sad realization in the onetime lawman’s eyes and maybe a little resignation too. The realization that he was finished with the Stantons, and that no matter how this thing went, regardless of whether Abaddon Stanton lived or died, it was all over for him. He’d had a position of standing in town and people looked up at him with some sort of respect. The fact it was built on a fear of the Stantons meant little to the man. It was respect nonetheless, but that could never be returned to him. Even if the Welshman was run out of town, or better still killed, and his badge and office returned to him, he would never demand that same respect again.
‘Before this day ends,’ Caleb said. ‘You’ll be wearing your badge again.’
‘I’d like that,’ Clemens said, meekly. There was no real hope in his voice and he knew that there was more to the position of sheriff than pinning a badge to a man’s shirt. Caleb needed to face facts – something had been done here that couldn’t be undone.
‘My uncles are riding into town,’ Caleb said. ‘They’re gonna’ check on Grandfather. They think they’re gonna’ ride into town and everything will be fine and dandy. They think the town’s people and that damn Welshman will take care of the old man, that he won’t be harmed.’
‘That maybe so,’ Clemens said.
‘My Grandfather sentenced Henry Carthy to hang; he fully intended to have the Welshman killed. There ain’t any chance they’ll leave him unmolested. The town’s named Stanton for a reason and I’m going to take it back.’
Clemens said nothing, simply nodded.
‘We’re gonna’ take it back,’ Caleb insisted. ‘As soon as Dismas and Eder return from town, and we find out what the true situation is we’ll pull together our best men. We can call it a posse. After all, you’re still legally the sheriff and you’re gonna’ help us get our town back.’
