The Hanging at Leadville / Firefall

by Cameron Judd

  “Get on, then,” the man in the mask said.

  The vigilantes filed past on both sides. One stopped and looked at Gunnison for a couple of moments. Like the others, he was masked, but Gunnison knew beyond question it was Mark Straker, looking at him, thinking he looked familiar. Gunnison rubbed his hand over his face as if he were scratching it. Straker looked a moment longer, then went on. He had a coil of rope over his shoulder. Ironic, but not surprising, that he should be the one to carry it.

  The last of the vigilantes went past. Perk drew up the lines and prepared to start off again. At that moment, Mary Deverell gave a loud, feminine moan from beneath the piled feed sacks.

  “What was that?” one of the vigilantes asked. The entire group had heard it. They wheeled, came back toward the wagon.

  The leader came to the side of the wagon and looked at Perk. “That was a woman’s voice, and don’t deny it. Who else you got under there with you?”

  He reached into the wagon.

  “No!” Gunnison bellowed, totally at a loss about what to do. Mary Deverell moaned again.

  “Pull back those sacks!” the man ordered.

  “I can’t…she’s…”

  Perk cut in. “She’s a little short of clothes if you gotta know. Willie’s a little too respectable to flat out shay something like that, but thash what it comes down to. She kind of, huh, well, somehow lost ’er skirts today.”

  Gunnison could almost read the disgust on the man’s face right through his mask. “Drunks and harlots. We ought to hang you all right here. Pull back those sacks like I said.”

  “You might not oughtta do that,” Perk said. “This gal ain’t no harlot.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just that she comes from one of yer good Leadville families. Her daddy, he’d be right embarrashed if this here situation got out in public. We pull them sacks back, and one of you very gentlemen is liable to look here in this wagon and see his own little girl, drunk as a shailor and missin’ her skirts.” He paused and looked over the now-silent group.

  “Pull those sacks back!” came a voice from farther back. It was Mark Straker’s.

  Perk shook his head resignedly. “If you gentlemen are sure…” He reached into the back of the wagon.

  “Leave it be,” the leader snapped quickly. “Get out of our sight, get back into town and try to find forgiveness for your evil ways.”

  Perk put on a bright face. “Now I shee! You gents are in some sorta church! Them ma-masks, they something you wear when you’re doing holy things?” He grinned as if oblivious to the irony of his own words.

  “Get out of here—and forget you saw us. Otherwise we’ll come looking for you, and we won’t be lenient.”

  “Good evenin’, genmun.”

  The wagon lurched away. Perk burst into a chorus of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” Gunnison lay back, gasping in relief, saying a prayer of gratitude that Perk was so quick a thinker and convincing a liar.

  When the wagon had gone a sufficient distance, Kenton rose. “I hope you realize how close we came to a noose right then,” he said. “Perk, let’s get a move on. When they find that cabin empty, they’ll come back looking for us.”

  Mary Deverell moaned again,. Squire Deverell rose and pushed away the sacks. Mary Deverell did not rise; she moaned all the louder.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Kenton asked crossly. “She almost got us killed back there!”

  Deverell was in tears. “It’s not her fault,” he said. “Mary has a bad heart, and I think this has been too much for it. We’ve got to get her some help, or I’m afraid I’ll lose her!”

  Kenton said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Deverell—I didn’t know.”

  Gunnison said, “Kenton, if it’s her heart—”

  “Ella Chrisman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good thinking, Alex. Perk, we’ve got to go to the house of Ella Chrisman, Chestnut Street. If there’s any way to approach from behind, or by some less obvious way…”

  “I can manage that,” Perk said. “You folks hang on—we’re going to speed up now, and it may get bumpy.”

  He snapped the lines and sped down the road.

  Chapter 34

  Ella Chrisman’s well-featured face was golden in the lamplight as she leaned back in her chair. She wiped a strand of gray hair from her forehead and stood. Before her on a high-backed bed lay the frail form of Mary Deverell.

  “She’s going to be fine, I believe,” she said. “Her heart doesn’t appear to be the problem. An emotional collapse is a more likely explanation.”

  “She had grounds for one,” Kenton said. He nodded at Deverell, who stood on the other side of the bed. “Well, sir, things appear brighter. I’m glad for it.”

  “I must speak to you, Kenton,” Ella said.

  “Of course.”

  Gunnison had also been in the room and now left with them. Ella gave him a look that said he was not invited to listen to what she had to say. “I think I’ll take another look in the library, if it’s all right,” he said, then excused himself.

  Ten minutes later, Kenton also came into the library. Gunnison put down the book he had been flipping through.

  “Ella is concerned about the danger of keeping the Deverells here. I can hardly blame her,” Kenton said.

  “So what will she do?”

  Kenton smiled. “As I’ve said before, she’s quite a lady. She’s decided to let the Deverells stay anyway. No one knows they’re here except those of us here, and Perk. They should be safe enough for now. In the meantime, we need to find Marshal Kelly, tell him what happened with Currell, and show him the body.”

  “You think the vigilantes are still out looking for Deverell?”

  “By now they’re probably returning to town. Straker is likely pretty mystified about where his intended victims went.”

  Gunnison smiled at the thought. “I’d say it won’t take them long to think back to that wagon with the two drunks and the hidden ‘girl.’ I’ll bet they—”

  Gunnison stopped talking, for a look of horror had just come over Kenton’s face. “My God, Alex,” Kenton said, “we’ve been fools! We should never have let Perk leave here!”

  Perk had in fact left shortly after sneaking his wagonload of passengers to the Chrisman house. At the time none of them had thought better of it, distracted as they were by the condition of Mrs. Deverell. But now Gunnison realized, as Kenton already had, that Perk could be in significant danger, for he had identified himself by name to the vigilantes. Probably at least some of them already had known him anyway and that he served as night watchman at the James Stable.

  “What can we do, Kenton?”

  “Go find him, of course. Marshal Kelly will have to wait until we know Perk is safe.”

  They stayed in the darkest places and avoided the open street as they headed toward the stable where Perk worked. When a fire wagon came clanging by, they ducked into the inky blackness of a recessed doorway. When the wagon had passed, they stepped out again and looked in the direction it had gone.

  “Look!” Gunnison pointed toward the sky.

  The clouds were lighted by flames. A house was burning, and from the amount of fireglow, it appeared to be a big one.

  “Deverell’s house, blast it!” Kenton said. “I’d say Straker set it himself after he got back into town. He’ll blame it on nameless vigilantes, of course.”

  “But in the meantime he’ll have destroyed Currell’s body,” Gunnison said. “Still covering his tracks.”

  When they reached the stable, all was dark. “Maybe Perk realized they would come looking for him and went elsewhere,” Gunnison said.

  “We can only hope. But let’s look inside to be certain. Look—the gate is unlocked. I don’t like that. I don’t believe Perk would have left it that way.”

  It was so dark inside the stable that Kenton and Gunnison almost stumbled across each other twice. When they were in far enough that a light would not be read
ily noticeable from outside, Kenton struck a match.

  Immediately Gunnison recoiled and let out a yell.

  Perk was hanging in front of him, not a yard away. At first he thought Perk had been lynched but then saw he actually was hanging by one arm. His feet were bound, and below his bootsoles the rope was looped in a slipknot. Just to the side lay a feed sack that obviously had just been removed from the loop. Perk’s eyes were closed, and he hung limp, unconscious or dead.

  Kenton said, “Let’s get him down from there.”

  From around the corner came Mark Straker, a pistol in his hand. With him were two other men, both with the look of men accustomed to the cut of life’s roughest edge. One of them held a pistol; the other had a knife sheathed in his belt. Gunnison figured them for two of the footpads Straker had on his hook. One of them lit a lantern and held it up.

  “Don’t worry about your friend, Kenton,” Straker said. “He’s unconscious, that’s all. Hanging by one arm with a sack of feed tied to your ankles generates quite a lot of pain, I assure you. But he didn’t snap, this one. He wouldn’t say where he took Deverell. Denied ever having him, though I don’t believe that for a moment. That feminine moan—I have no excuse for not recognizing it as Aunt Mary’s. A clever liar, this watchman is.” Straker looked at Gunnison. “Hello, ‘Willie Smith.’ I thought that young drunk in the wagon looked familiar.” His eyes shifted over to Kenton. “Were you in that wagon too?”

  “Yes I was. Under the sacks.”

  “You’re a brave pair, that I grant. Let’s hope you’re as talkative as you are courageous. Tell me what you’ve done with Uncle Squire.”

  “We took him back to his house. If that’s his place burning out there, likely he’s burnt up with it,” Kenton said.

  Straker smiled and shook his head. “A nice bluff, but it doesn’t wash. When we came back from the Darwin shack, the group went to look for Uncle Squire. I went back to the house and set it afire.”

  “To cover your killing George Currell?” Gunnison said.

  Straker’s face darkened, and Gunnison knew he had made a mistake. Now Straker would have even more reason to get rid of him and Kenton.

  “No more bluffs; no more games,” Straker said. “Tell me where you’ve taken Squire Deverell!”

  “You won’t get that out of us any more than you got it out of Perk here,” Kenton said. “I’ll not betray a man to be murdered just because you threaten me.”

  Straker’s eyes narrowed; he was obviously studying Kenton. “You know, I don’t believe you would, Mr. Kenton.” He holstered his pistol and reached to his boot. From it he drew a long knife. “Let me tell you what my offer is, Mr. Kenton. You tell me where you’ve stashed Uncle Squire, and I’ll use this knife to cut down Perk Starlin. You don’t tell me where he is, and I’ll cut Perk open like a slaughtered beef, gut to gullet. I’ll spill his innards right on this floor. Now—what’s your choice?”

  Kenton had always been a fast reflexive fighter, and though Gunnison had often heard him complain that middle age was lessening his speed, he surely gave no evidence of it with his next move. His foot shot up and kicked Straker’s knife hand; the move reminded Gunnison of an oriental fighting style Gunnison had once seen demonstrated at an exhibition in New York. Straker didn’t let go of the knife, but he would have been smarter if he had. His hand flew up and back, and he actually stuck the blade into his own right shoulder. He let out a scream.

  His assisting footpads, fortunately, were not fleet fellows. Gunnison whirled and grabbed the pistol held by the closer one. The footpad lost his grip on it, but Gunnison had jerked it so quickly, he couldn’t keep his either. The pistol flew from his grasp and straight into the lantern held by the second footpad. The lantern shattered and spilled burning fuel down the man’s legs.

  The man screeched pitifully, flung the shattered lantern into an empty stall, and took off on a run for the door. His flaming legs were crisscrossing streaks of glowing orange. He cut around the edge of the door, still screeching. Making for the closest water trough, Gunnison figured.

  Kenton, meanwhile, had his arms wrapped around Straker, who had dropped his knife and was trying to reach his pistol. Kenton was keeping him from it, but looked as if he were losing his advantage. Straker was younger and not nearly as fatigued as Kenton.

  “I’ll help you!” Gunnison yelled, and darted forward. But the other footpad grabbed his collar and pulled him back. His head thudded against a post.

  Next thing Gunnison knew, he was rolling over and sitting up, rubbing his head. His vision was cloudy water slowly going clear. When the clouds were gone, there was Kenton, backed up against a wall, pinned by the footpad while Straker thrust his pistol under Kenton’s chin.

  “Where is Squire Deverell?” he demanded.

  “Go to blazes,” Kenton spat back. Straker thumbed back the hammer.

  “Wait,” Gunnison said, struggling to his feet. “Wait. I’ll tell you.”

  “Don’t do it, Alex,” Kenton said. “Don’t tell him!”

  Gunnison stood, faltering, wanting to save Kenton but also loath to betray the location of the Deverells. In only a moment, however, the decision was taken out of his hands, for from the doorway came a feminine shout: “No!”

  Gunnison wheeled. It was Roxanne Chrisman.

  “Roxanne! Get away from here!”

  “No, Alex! I’ll not see you or Mr. Kenton killed.” She faced Straker. “If you want to know where Squire Deverell is, I’ll tell you. He and his wife are both at my mother’s house. The house of Ella Chrisman.”

  Chapter 35

  Straker smiled.

  “You’re most cooperative, young lady. You can co-operate even more by stepping further inside—else you’ll see this man die.” He gestured at Kenton.

  “Don’t do it—run!” Kenton directed.

  She did not seem to know whom to obey. She hesitated, then came inside. Meanwhile, flame was spreading all around the stall into which the footpad had thrown the shattered lantern. Choking smoke billowed.

  Straker grabbed Roxanne when she drew close. “You’re hurting me!” she protested, struggling in his arms.

  Kenton, meanwhile, was still pinned by Straker’s remaining crony. Gunnison, though unrestrained, could do nothing as long as Straker threatened Kenton. Perk Starlin still hung by his dislocated arm in the center of the stable. Now he groaned, beginning to stir back toward painful consciousness.

  “I seem to have the advantage here,” Straker said.

  “I don’t think so,” Kenton replied. “What are you going to do with us? Kill us all? You can’t afford that kind of risk, and you know it. The stable is burning—one man has already run out of here with his legs afire. You think we’re not going to draw attention within moments?”

  Straker was angered. “Shut up!”

  “Not until I tell you something you need to know. George Currell lived long enough to give a full report on the murder of Jimmy Rhoder and all your subsequent doings.” At first, Gunnison was surprised Kenton had revealed that information to Straker, but his next words made clear the bluff he was pulling. “He talked to Marshal Kelly before he died—he knows everything now. They’ll be looking for you. You’ve worked yourself into a corner you can’t get out of. Give it up.”

  “I said shut up!” Straker yelled. “I’ll kill you here and now!”

  “No you won’t. It would only make it worse for you.”

  “I will kill you—the girl too!” Straker returned. He was obviously losing control of his temper and common sense.

  The footpad holding Kenton suddenly let him go. “You ain’t paying me enough to step into something this deep,” he said to Straker. “I’m getting out.”

  Straker’s eyes were wild. Without a word, he lifted his pistol and shot the footpad through the head. The man fell in a dead heap. Roxanne struggled harder.

  “Brilliant—a gunshot!” Kenton said. “Now I know we’ll get lots of attention. And look—the flames are climbing the wall.
Fire fighters and police will be here at any moment. You’re through, Straker. Give up and they’ll go easier on you.”

  Straker swore and waved his pistol about. “Burn! All of you burn! I’m taking this one and getting out while I can!”

  He dragged Roxanne on her heels to the outside, then swung the door closed. The fire had spread into two more empty stalls and now was crawling along the underside of the roof. Horses kicked and struggled as the heat grew more unbearable.

  Kenton bolted for the door Straker had just closed and found it jammed tightly shut from the outside. Suddenly Perk Starlin fell to the dirt floor, the rope trailing after him. The end of it had been tied to a wall post in one of the stalls that had caught fire, and the flames had eaten through the hemp.

  The jolt of the fall knocked Perk awake and popped his dislocated shoulder back into place at the same time. He let out a fearsome yell, grabbed the shoulder, then rose to his knees, looking around in incomprehension.

  “Alex, come help me with this door!” Kenton yelled. The smoke was growing thick. Horses stamped and screamed louder than before, pounding themselves against the sides and doors of their stalls.

  Gunnison joined Kenton, and together they pounded the jammed door. It began to yield. Whatever Straker had jammed it with cracked and broke. The door swung open.

  On the other side of it stood Straker, his expression that of a man who had just looked his own death in the eye. He stumbled forward toward Kenton. “Help me,” he said. “Help me.”

  Into his back was deeply thrust a broken-handled three-tine pitchfork. The handle bobbed up and down each time he moved. He collapsed facedown, the broken end of the handle pointing straight up.

  “Kenton…” The voice was Perk’s and sounded weak.

  Kenton and Gunnison ran back and helped Perk to his feet. Through the black smoke they made it out of the stable. Then Kenton turned and disappeared into the hot murk again.

  Perk collapsed outside. “Save the horses,” he said. “Get somebody…pull down the back wall and save the horses!”