by Alan David
‘What for?’ Willard’s harsh gaze flickered to Netta’s face, as if he suspected that she had already mentioned him in connection with Annie Briscoe. But she would not look at him, and Willard, who could never look his father straight in the eyes, glanced at Chet. ‘I’m not a troubleshooter, Pa.’
Netta saw Chet smile disparagingly, and it pleased her to know that he despised Willard and made no secret of the fact. But Asa’s expression showed disapproval.
‘Son, you’ll do like I tell you with no argument. I got a reason for this. Netta!’ Asa paused, his dark eyes swivelling to her face, and she flinched as she looked up. ‘You help your Aunt Polly get them lunches ready. There’ll be a relief crew through here on the noon train to Gadson Flats. Right after breakfast you get along to the store and hand in the order I got. Tell Sandy Beeson I want them supplies fast, especially the cartridges, and I’ll have a couple of men with a wagon pick them up this afternoon in time to get them loaded on the six-ten to Mulejaw Creek.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ Netta spoke in hardly audible tones.
‘I have some business at the store before I pull out,’ Chet remarked, smiling at her. ‘Let’s you and me walk together soon as I get on the outside of this breakfast.’
‘More coffee?’ Aunt Polly queried, crossing to the stove.
A heavy fist pounded on the street door before anyone could reply, and Asa muttered to himself as he arose quickly.
‘I’ll get it,’ he rapped as Aunt Polly moved in the same direction. ‘With any luck it’ll be Hank Chilvers, I hope. He’s been over to the telegraph office for the past hour, trying to get some messages through.’
‘Was anyone killed in that shooting last night?’ Netta asked Chet as Asa went into the front of the house, and she saw a thin smile pull at his lips.
‘Two hardcases will be planted this afternoon,’ he retorted.
‘Did you kill them?’ She was fascinated by his calm acceptance of the grim situation. He was a target for any badman who decided to rob a train in the area, but there was no apparent fear in him.
‘Sure. They started shooting at me, so what you expect me to do, throw rocks at them?’ He chuckled as if it were a joke, and Aunt Polly clucked her tongue disapprovingly.
‘Don’t josh about it, Chet,’ she admonished. ‘Those poor, misguided men! May God have mercy on their souls.’
‘Amen!’ Chet grinned, looking around as Asa returned from the door. ‘Anything new?’ he demanded.
‘Sheriff Wade over in Salt Creek figures he saw Ben Yaro and a dozen hardcases riding south. They’re coming in this direction. Okay, Chet, we’re gonna have to be on our toes now.’
‘I always am!’ Chet countered.
‘I’d better get moving if you want me over at Broken Rail.’ Willard got to his feet and departed.
Netta relaxed slightly as his tall figure passed out of the room. She never felt at ease with him around and hoped he would have to stay in Broken Rail indefinitely.
‘Shall I go along to the store now?’ she asked Asa. ‘I’ll help Aunt Polly when I get back.’
‘I want to check through the list before you go, so pick it up on your way out,’ he replied.
‘I’ll do the chores around here,’ Aunt Polly said as Asa went along to his office. ‘But don’t you spend half the morning down at the store, child.’
‘I won’t, Aunt Polly.’ Netta was feeling excited at having the opportunity to walk with Chet, and hurriedly fetched her bonnet. Then she tapped at the door of Asa’s office and collected the list, her heart almost skipping a beat when he eyed her speculatively.
‘What you looking so pleased about?’ he demanded. ‘You ain’t having no truck with Chet, are you? I seen the way you’ve been eyeing him lately, Netta, but he ain’t for the likes of you. There ain’t a man in this country can touch him at his job, but he’s hell on women. I’ve warned him against looking twice at you, girl, and if he don’t keep his promise to walk wide around you I’ll make him wish he’d never set eyes on you, even though he is my chief troubleshooter.’
‘Uncle Asa!’ she protested, looking shocked. ‘Did you make Chet promise to stay away from me? Why, he’s almost one of the family!’
‘Get out of here.’ He waved an impatient hand. ‘I got a lot to do. I’ll be heading out to Miller’s Crossing today and I don’t expect to be back for two, mebbe three days.’
She left him and found Chet waiting in the front doorway, his hat in his hands. He was talking to Aunt Polly, but broke off at her. approach and stepped outside, putting on his Stetson to shade his swollen face from the hot sunlight. Netta studied him for a moment, trying to analyse her feelings. He seemed so superior, so all-knowing, that she felt like a girl of fifteen instead of a young woman.
‘Don’t waste time along the street,’ Aunt Polly warned, and Netta nodded. She could feel a quickening of her pulses as she walked ahead of Chet to the gate, and they strolled along the sidewalk into the heart of the little town.
Buffalo Junction consisted of one street with no more than fifty buildings clustered along its length, and there was a creek beyond town limits which glinted in the sunlight. The buildings mainly belonged to the railroad, but there were also a freighting company’s office and barn, Sandy Beeson’s general store standing between the hotel and a saloon, a bank, several houses and the small school house. All the buildings were made of adobe, and looked dull and dirty in the glare of the sun.
Netta found herself tongue-tied now that she was alone with Chet, and gazed surreptitiously at him from time to time as they stepped through the dust to the store. His shaded eyes were never still and did not seem to fasten upon any object. He was as much interested in what was happening around him as in looking where he was going, and she noted that his right hand hung down at his side, unmoving, as if it were paralysed. He paid her no heed but was not lost in thought. It seemed that his every nerve was directed to one object — watching his surroundings — and when she spoke to him he apparently did not hear. Only when she repeated her words did he throw her a quick glance, but he was looking away again by the time he answered.
‘What was it you asked?’ he demanded, shifting his gaze to a rider coming along the street towards them. He half-turned and glanced behind them. He took a gentle hold upon her shoulder. She glanced up at him, a little surprised by his action, but his expression was closed although he was grinning in that devil-may-care way of his.
‘If Uncle Asa saw your hand on me he’d come for you,’ she observed.
‘I don’t doubt that, and he’s about the only man I would think twice about tangling with. Now, when we get in line with the alley on the left you jump straight into it you hear?’ He spoke without inflection, and because his tone was so conversational Netta missed the significance of his words.
‘What did you say?’ she demanded.
‘Hell, you ain’t deaf, are you?’ His voice changed then, revealing an edge of raw nerves, and she saw him stiffen. His jawline was bulging with muscle as he clenched his teeth. There was a flame burning in his narrowed eyes. For a moment she did not understand, but instinct warned her and she suddenly knew what his expression meant. It was the signal of death, a warning of the intention to kill, a rising up like a storm of every passion in his experienced body. Shock flooded her and she looked ahead, gazing at the approaching rider. Then she began to turn in an attempt to check behind them, but his gentle hand on her shoulder turned into a claw, the fingers digging cruelly into her soft flesh. ‘You show any interest in those two men behind us and we’re both dead,’ he advised softly. ‘Just do like I said. When we get level with that alley you make a dive into it. I’m cutting it fine as it is, so do exactly like I tell you, Netta.’
Blood pounded at her temples and she felt a wave of faintness surge through her. They were barely feet from the alley, but her legs were fast losing their strength and she did not think she could make it. His presence instilled confidence, but the man approaching on the horse seemed just a
bit too intent for her comfort and she knew they were in a gun trap, with one man in front and two behind.
‘Keep going,’ Chet encouraged. ‘When you get into cover, hit the dirt and stay there.’
She tried to reply but her throat constricted, but her over-riding fear was concern for him. Odds of three to one had to be fatal, but he was still acting naturally, although he must be fully aware that he was standing on the brink of hell. The rider was in gunshot range now, and Netta gazed at him, mesmerised by the knowledge that she was in the centre of a gunfight which was about to break. The rider was already easing his hand towards his holstered sixgun, and she wanted to cry out a warning to Chet, who did not seem to be aware of the danger. Outwardly he had not changed his manner, but his fingers were digging insistently into her shoulder and she knew her flesh would be bruised before the day was out, if she lived to see the sun go down.
He thrust her violently just before they reached the alley’s mouth and she went sprawling unceremoniously into its cover, hitting the ground with an impact which winded her. Manning was already sending his right hand into action, his muscles like wire and a cold stream pouring down his spine, blocking his nerves. It took nerve to ignore the two men at his back, but he could see the rider in the act of drawing his sixgun and went for him. The blast of shots hammered through the town, shattering the peacefulness of the early morning. The rider had thought himself to be in command of the situation, but when ‘he saw Manning’s gun clearing leather his eyes widened in devastating fright as he realised that he had somehow thrown away the edge. He looked down at his gun, which he had been drawing almost leisurely, and tried to lift the weapon with fingers turned unaccountably numb. Then Manning’s first bullet smacked into his chest, ripping through his right lung to end up lodged against his spine. He jerked under the impact, started to curse, and died in the act, pitching lifelessly to the ground.
Manning dropped to one knee as his gun bucked, and twisted on the ground. More shots blasted and he turned to see both men at his back coming into action, the one on the right slightly ahead. But the man’s first shot had been aimed at Manning’s standing figure and the bullet clipped the big troubleshooter’s hat brim instead of punching through his ribs.
There was a snarl of defiance on Manning’s lips as he triggered the smoking Colt. He fired instinctively, not aware of taking positive aim. They were not men now, but targets, and he let his experience govern him. The man on the right dropped his gun before he could fire a second time, then followed it down into the dust with blood pumping from his shattered throat. He sprawled in an ungainly, careless posture which informed Manning that he was dead before he hit the ground. But urgency was filling Manning’s mind by then. The third man had been given too much time to make his play.
Obeying his instincts, Manning threw himself full length in the dust, and his hat was whirled off his head as if invisible fingers had grasped it. Gunsmoke was clogging his nostrils and he slitted his eyes to get the remaining man in focus. He saw the figure before him drop to one knee, and his finger eased on the trigger, preventing a shot which would have missed. When he saw the man’s gun muzzle lifting for another shot a lance of panic hit him and he emptied his pistol in a frenzy, forgetting everything he had been taught. The man dropped instantly, but Manning knew with a growing coldness that most of his shots had missed their mark, and his fingers trembled as he quickly reloaded, lying in the dust, snatching fresh shells from the loops on his belt.
Netta lay crumpled where she had fallen, her wide eyes taking in everything that happened, although she did not grasp the full significance at that moment. The sound of the shooting was amplified by the confines of the alley, and she was horrified when she realised that the dust spots being kicked up in the street around Chet were caused by striking bullets.
Then the echoes were fading and she saw Chet glancing around swiftly, reloading his gun before pushing himself to his feet. She was breathless, could feel the need to cry, but her emotions were frozen by shock and she could only lie where she had fallen and gaze at this competent killer who appeared to lead a charmed life.
Chet rose when his gun was ready for further action and eased backwards into the alley. He recovered his poise, although that moment of panic had left a nasty taste in his mouth. He had never experienced anything like it before, and tried to shrug it off. He knew there came a time in every man’s life when fear became too much, but it was not happening to him. His nerve was intact. He had been rattled because Netta was with him and in danger.
Netta tried to speak but her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. Her ears were ringing from the thunder that had exploded so violently. She was unable to make any move to arise and could only gaze up at Manning, who was studying the street. When he was satisfied that the danger was over he holstered his gun and turned to her, his face set in grim lines as he grasped her shoulders and gently drew her upright. But there was no strength in her and she sagged against his arm.
‘You did just fine, Netta.’ Chet’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, and she blinked her eyes until his battered face slipped into focus. He was grinning in his old fashion but his dark eyes seemed to burn with a terrible inner flame. He was exalted by his swift brush with death. ‘It’s all over now and I’m mighty proud of you, doing exactly what I said.’
‘I did?’ she demanded, shaking her head doubtfully. She began to look towards the fallen men and he held her tightly so that she could not move.
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You’ve seen and done enough for one day. Come on into the store and sit down for a spell. I got some more work to do that won’t wait.’
He led her out of the alley and into the store, but Netta could not resist the temptation to look around the street. She saw the horse standing patiently beside its downed rider, and, back along the street, two other men were lying motionless with bright blood staining them. She swallowed the bile which rose in the back of her throat and fought against encroaching weakness. So this was what it was like to be in a gunfight! She had been caught up in it, had experienced the uncertainty and the deadly fear. Death had reached out above her, and the relief she felt at having been passed over was tremendous.
Chet sat her down upon a bench in the store and looked into her eyes for a moment. ‘Stay here until I come back for you, savvy?’ He held her gaze until he was satisfied that she did understand, then departed.
Netta was badly shocked and could only sit and gaze silently after him. But one clear thought was stabbing through the mental haze. All the admiration she felt for Chet Manning had undergone an instant and startling metamorphosis. Sharing the dangers of the gun trap with him had forged her emotions into something deeper and more lasting than mere hero-worship. She would need time in which to consider, but she was in love with him and instinctively wanted the opportunity to prove it. They had something in common at last, a bond which could hold them together much closer than any spoken vow would have done. The knowledge gave her comfort and eased her shock. Such was the strength that flowed through her that she was compelled to arise and cross to the door.
She peered out at the street. A group of men had gathered near the alley and Chet was in their midst, talking to her uncle, and the tall figure of Marshal Chilvers was present. The bodies crumpled in the dust were mute testimony to the terrible incident, and she shuddered as a figure which she recognised as the doctor appeared and bent over the two men. He wasted no time on one of them but immediately began to treat the other, working with a fine economy of movement which bespoke of great experience and skill.
Acting upon an impulse, she left the doorway and walked towards the group. There was excited chatter and Chet seemed to be the only one unaffected by what had occurred. She noted that he was still looking around, even while making a report to Uncle Asa. He could never relax, and she wondered how he could tolerate such a way of life, where his survival depended upon his vigilance and the speed and accuracy of his gunplay.
&
nbsp; She halted on the edge of the group and listened to Chet’s casual voice.
‘I don’t recognise any of them,’ he was saying, ‘so it’s a good thing one of them is still breathing. Mebbe we’ll get something out of him when the Doc has patched him up.’
‘They got to be some of Yaro’s men,’ Asa said, his heavy face lined with concern. ‘It’s obvious they want you out of the way, and fast. Chet, I figure we’ve got more trouble than we can handle. If Yaro is behind all this then we’ll really be up against it. He’s run other railroads ragged.’
‘He won’t beat us,’ Chet retorted. ‘The Railroad is too big to be busted by tinhorns. This whole country will be tamed some day, but that time won’t come until the last mile of track is laid and the last spike driven.’
‘All I need is a man with vision!’ commented Asa. ‘But the hell of it is that you’re right, Chet. We’re gonna tame this country with iron rails, not guns, and it’ll take years.’
‘Iron rails and iron men,’ Chet said harshly, and sweat trickled down his tanned face.
Netta’s imagination was fired by Chet’s words. Iron rails and iron men! She caught her breath as her quicksilver mind added to the phrase. And passionate women! No matter who the tough men were, there was always a woman behind each one of them, and she wanted desperately to become part of Chet Manning’s life, no matter what Uncle Asa said. The idea caught her imagination and began to enlarge, and she realised that all her restlessness and unconscious desires were wrapped around Chet. But the dreadful incident which had drawn them together also opened her eyes to reality and she began to doubt if her dream would come true.
Chapter Five
Willard was in a foul mood as he walked along the street to the store to get some cigars before heading for the depot. He passed several men standing on the sidewalk at the mouth of the alley beside the school and paused to hear what was being said, although he knew what the subject would be. He was not really interested in whether Louise Judd had survived his rough handling or not, but it was possible that she had caught a glimpse of him and he wanted to find out.
