by Clive Dawson
Reluctantly, she pulled herself onto the stallion’s back, hands held tightly around her father’s waist. Taking the reins, Frank led the way onto the hard-packed trail. Already, the heavens were darkening and the first sky-sentinels were beginning to show.
Once the last of the reds of sunset faded, the temperature began to drop. For a little while, it made a pleasant change from the heat of the day. Then a cold wind came gusting from the north, hurling the irritating white grains into their faces. The temperature fell still further, congealing the sweat on their bodies.
The hot smell of the sparse vegetation soon gave way to that of bitter sage and dust. His head down, Frank struggled to keep the alkali out of his mouth. His lips were cracked and caked with it and his mouth was so dry that it was difficult to swallow.
Everley was swaying precariously in the saddle now in spite of all his daughter’s efforts to keep him upright. At times, he seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, his head dropping towards his chest, barely aware of his surroundings and what was happening. By the time they had progressed a couple of miles, Frank had to reach up and keep a tight grip on the man’s arm to prevent him falling from the saddle.
There was also an added danger. Even though the brilliant starlight gave them ample light by which to see, and the moon, round and full, had just risen in the east, the scurrying wind obliterated the trail in many places. The distant horizon still seemed completely featureless.
‘Are we lost?’ Anne’s voice reached him as if from a distance.
‘Not lost,’ he assured her. ‘But it’s difficult to pick out this trail in places. How is your father holding out?’
There was a pause, then her voice came back again. ‘I think he’s really bad. Do you reckon we should stop and take another look at his leg?’
Frank pondered that for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think that would be wise. So long as he can stay in the saddle, he ain’t doin’ much more damage to it. Getting him on and off the bronc could make it far worse.’
Two hours later, with still no sign of anything resembling a town on the distant horizon, Frank felt his earlier optimism begin to evaporate. The endless shuffling through the dust had turned his legs into leaden weights. Everley was still conscious but it was only sheer grit and determination that was keeping him going.
At his back, Anne stared straight ahead over her father’s shoulder, anxiously seeking some end to this nightmare trek through the wilderness. Somehow, she had managed to pull her coat more tightly around her shoulders without releasing her hold on her father.
Frank watched her anxiously. How much longer she could take this bitter cold, he couldn’t tell. Her face, limned in the yellow moonlight, was etched into contours of strain. Yet the set of her jaw belied the deep weariness.
The thick white dust, kicked up by the stallion’s feet, clung like a leech around them, clogging their nostrils and throats. There was only a little water left in the canteens and he knew that his mount was also tiring.
Then Anne uttered a low cry. With an effort, she lifted her arm and pointed. ‘There.’ Her voice was little more than a rasping croak.
Jerking up his head, Frank peered through red-rimmed eyes into the distance. At first, he made out nothing but the moon-washed alkali. Then, a little to the left, he spotted the lights. He judged they were at least a mile away but the sight brought a little of the feeling back into his limbs.
Drawing back his lips, he grated hoarsely, ‘I reckon we’re goin’ to make it, after all.’ He slapped the horse on the rump with the flat of his hand, urging more speed out of it.
Slowly, the lights drew nearer and soon he was able to make out the sprawling mass of the town, nestling in a low valley with hills on two sides.
As they made their way into the narrow street, a man stepped down from the boardwalk. The sign over the door behind him proclaimed it to be the Sheriff’s Office. Pulling hard on the reins, Frank hauled the stallion to a halt as the man came right up to them.
He was an old man, grey-haired, with a lined, worried face and Frank immediately noticed the star on his shirt.
‘Somethin’ happened along the trail, Jim?’ he enquired.
With an effort that sent a spasm of pain across his face, Everley gave a quick nod. ‘The stage was held up, Sheriff. Back there about ten miles. If it weren’t for this man, I reckon we’d all be dead by now.’
The lawman swung to face Frank, peering closely at him in the moonlight. ‘Seems Jim and his daughter owe you a vote o’ thanks, mister. Lucky for them you came along.’
‘Guess I did what any man would’ve done,’ Frank replied. ‘But right now, I figure we’d better get Everley to a doctor. He’s got a bullet wound in the leg.’
‘Sure. Doc Penrose will soon have him fixed up. Once that’s done, there are some questions I’d like to ask of the three o’ you. We ain’t had anythin’ like this happenin’ around Condor for quite a while.’
Studying the sheriff’s face, Frank had the impression he was not telling the full truth. There was something at the back of the lawman’s eyes which he couldn’t quite analyse.
Then the sheriff’s face changed slightly as Everley’s words sank in. ‘Ten miles back along the trail, you say? Did you walk all o’ that way across that wilderness?’
Frank thinned his lips back across his teeth. ‘Weren’t any other way o’ getting’ here, Sheriff.’
Taking up the reins again, he led his mount along the street, stopping outside the building which Anne indicated. Helping her down, he waited as she went to the door and knocked loudly. The door swung open, sending a swathe of light across the street.
She said something and then the doctor came forward. A short man in his early sixties, Penrose took one look at Everley, then said crisply, ‘Help me get him down and into the surgery.’
Inside the small room, they laid Everley on the low couch against one wall, his injured leg thrust out straight in front of him. Straightening, Penrose said, ‘You know where the kitchen is, Anne. Get me a basin of boiling water.’
When she had gone, the doctor said in a low voice, ‘You know who did this to him, Mister—?’
‘Frank Kelsey.’ Shaking his head, he went on, ‘I came across the stage ten miles back. It was obvious what had happened. At first, I thought they’d all been killed, but he was still alive. Somehow, his daughter was thrown clear and I found her at the bottom of a slope.’
‘And the others on the stage?’
‘Two passengers had been shot, together with the driver. Weren’t anythin’ I could do for them.’
Penrose’s brows came together in a straight line. ‘Does Sheriff McDonald know?’
‘He met us just as we came in.’
Penrose pursed his lips. ‘Reckon he’ll just send a couple o’ men to bring the bodies in. Ain’t much more he can do.’
Anne came back with a basin of boiling water. Reaching into a drawer, the doctor took out a bottle of whiskey and handed it to Everley. ‘Better take a few swallows o’ this, Jim.’ He glanced down at the leg. ‘At least I won’t have to dig for the slug although it’s made a mess o’ the bone.’
Ten minutes later, the doctor had cleaned the wound and put a tight bandage around it. ‘I wouldn’t put too much weight on it for a week or so,’ he warned, as Everley hobbled towards the door. ‘I hear you’ve got some men workin’ for you. Let them do the chores until that leg is fully healed. Otherwise, I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’
‘All right, Doc. I’ll do that,’ conceded Everley grudgingly. ‘But it ain’t goin’ to be easy.’
‘I’m here now, Father,’ Anne put in. ‘It’s time I did my bit on the spread.’
Outside, on the boardwalk, Frank said, ‘I guess I’d better stable my mount and then get a room for the night.’
‘You’ll find the livery stables at the far end o’ the street.’ Everley pointed. ‘The hotel is yonder, opposite the sheriff’s office. Guess we’ll have to s
pend the night there, too, and ride out for the spread in the mornin’. The sheriff will want to ask some questions before we leave.’
Everley thrust out his hand as Frank moved towards the stallion waiting patiently by the rail. ‘I ain’t thanked you properly for all you’ve done for us, Kelsey. I guess we both owe our lives to you.’ He shook Frank’s hand warmly.
As he turned to make his way towards the hotel, he said, ‘If you’re here lookin’ for a job, you’ve got one any time on my ranch. After what happened today, I’m afraid the lawless bunch might be movin’ in on Condor.’
Frank gave a quick nod. ‘Just before you go, I’d advise you not to say anythin’ to anyone about recognizin’ those four killers. If they ever get word you’re still alive, my guess is they’ll come after both o’ you.’
‘If they do, they’ll get more than they bargained for,’ Everley said through his teeth. ‘I’d like nothin’ better than to get them all at the end of a gun.’
‘Don’t be too confident. I’ve had dealings with such men before.’
Frank watched as they made their way across the street, Everley leaning on his daughter’s shoulder. Then he made his way along the street towards the stables, finding them still open. An old-timer was seated on a rickety rocking chair just outside the door. He glanced up quickly as Frank approached.
‘You got a place for my mount?’ Frank asked, as the hostler eyed him with open curiosity. ‘He’ll need feed and water too.’
‘Sure thing, mister. We don’t get many strangers in Condor.’ He led the stallion away, placed it in one of the empty stalls and then came back. ‘My name’s Ben Sheldon, but most folk just call me Old Ben. You stayin’ long in town?’
‘Guess that depends on how things work out. You had any other strangers here lately?’
The other man pondered the question for a few moments, then shook his head. ‘Can’t say I’ve seen any around town. You got some reason for askin’ that?’
‘I came across the stage just after midday, back along the trail a piece. It’d been held up and the horses spooked. Two o’ the passengers and the driver were dead, all shot. Weren’t no sign of any o’ the critters who did it.’
‘You told the sheriff?’
‘I told him as soon as I rode in.’
‘It ain’t likely McDonald will do anythin’.’ Taking out a wad of tobacco, the oldster bit off a piece and chewed it methodically. Speaking out of the side of his mouth, he went on, ‘McDonald is a good man but he’s too old for the job. As for that deputy of his, Clive Hawkins, I’d watch him if I were you.’
There was a shrewd gleam in the groom’s eyes which Frank noticed at once. ‘You know somethin’ about him?’ he asked.
After a moment’s silence, Sheldon said in a low voice, ‘Hawkins is well in with Curt Bellamy, the banker. There’s been talk that some outlaw band have their hideout somewhere in the hills. Could have been them who held up that stage.’
Puzzled, Frank enquired, ‘So what’s the connection, Ben?’
Sheldon gave a knowing grin. ‘Mebbe you think I’m just an old fool, like all the rest, talkin’ about things like this. Sure, I’m old, but my eyes and ears are just as good as they ever were. These gunhawks seem to know whenever the stage is bringin’ in gold and money for the bank and that’s when they make their move.’
Frank nodded. ‘So someone in town is passin’ along this information?’
The old man held Frank’s glance levelly. ‘And who knows just when a gold shipment is comin’ into Condor? Only the sheriff, that deputy of his – and Bellamy.’
The old man spat the tobacco wad into the straw beside him. His grin had vanished to be replaced by a serious expression. ‘I know the sheriff and he’d have no part o’ this. But my guess is that Bellamy is behind it all. Somehow, he gets word to these outlaws in return for a share o’ the gold.’
Frank moved towards the door. Pausing, he turned. ‘Why are you tellin’ me all this?’
Sheldon walked up to him. Lowering his voice still further, he said, ‘Maybe I’m the only man in town who knows who you are. You’re Frank Kelsey. Last I heard, you were marshal o’ Dodge, a straight-shooter if there ever was one. I don’t know why you’re here and why you’re carryin’ no guns, but that’s your business.’
Tightening, his lips, Frank said softly, ‘Better keep this to yourself, old-timer. If anyone else should know who I am, it could be dangerous.’
Nodding, the hostler moved back into the shadows of the stalls.
After signing the register and booking a room for the night, Frank went through into the small dining-room. Everley and his daughter were seated at one of the tables. Going over, he pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Everley was the first to speak. ‘Have you thought about my offer, Frank?’ he asked.
‘I’ll think it over,’ he replied, ‘although it wasn’t what I had in mind when I rode out this way. Guess I intended to keep on ridin’ until I hit the California border and then try to make a life there.’
From across the table, Anne eyed him closely. She seemed to have something on her mind, but was unsure how to put her thoughts into words.
Finally, she said, ‘There’s something worrying you, Frank. Mind telling us what it is?’
At that moment, the proprietor came in with a plate of beans, bacon and potatoes, together with more coffee.
Between mouthfuls, he related all he had been told by the hostler. Everley listened in silence until he had finished.
Then, leaning forward, the older man said, ‘From what little I know of Bellamy, I figure that old man was tellin’ the truth. But the way things are in Condor, it won’t be easy to prove. Bellamy is a big man in this territory and you can be sure he’ll cover his tracks well.’
Pushing the empty plate away, Frank poured out more coffee, then built himself a smoke. Lighting it, he leaned back, aware that the girl’s gaze was still on him.
After a moment, she said quietly, ‘Even if all of this is true, stay out of it.’
Frank gave a grim smile. ‘I intend to. It’s no concern o’ mine. Sheriff McDonald is the law in Condor. It’s up to him to do whatever he thinks is right.’
Ten minutes later, Frank left the hotel and made his way along the boardwalk to the nearest saloon. As he had expected, almost all of the tables were occupied. Most of the men there he took to be either ordinary townsfolk, or riders for the various small spreads around the town.
Three men were standing at the bar as he walked up to it. None of them glanced at him but he knew they had seen him in the back mirror and were appraising him closely. He recognized their type instantly having come up against such men in the past.
All three carried their guns low on their hips. Renegade riders, he decided, ready to sell their guns to the highest bidder if any trouble should break out. One was much taller than his companions, broad and coarse-featured with a mop of unruly black hair showing just beneath his hat.
Allowing his glance to pass on to the man in the middle of the trio, Frank’s instincts told him that this was the most dangerous of the three. He was thin, almost to the point of gauntness and his eyes were a pale grey, flat and empty. A pencil moustache, drooping a little at the sides, rested above a tight-lipped mouth. The third was undoubtedly a Mexican half-breed, his gaudy sombrero tilted on the back of his head, held by a thin strap under his chin.
The barkeep sidled over. ‘What’ll it be, mister?’ He seemed unduly nervous and his glance kept flicking towards the three men standing just a few feet away.
‘Whiskey,’ Frank replied. He waited until the ’keep brought a bottle and glass, setting them down in front of him.
‘You just ridden into Condor?’ The bartender spoke in a low voice as if afraid of being overheard.
Pouring whiskey into the glass, Frank nodded. ‘Got in less than an hour ago,’ he said evenly. Watching the three men from the corner of his eye, he went on, ‘I ran into a spot o�
� trouble along the trail.’
‘What sort o’ trouble, mister?’ It was the thin man who spoke, easing himself a little way from the counter, one arm resting negligently on the bar.
‘Stage hold-up,’ Frank replied, not turning his head to look at the other. ‘I reckon you got some trouble with outlaws in these parts.’
‘We ain’t heard anythin’ about it,’ put in the barkeep hastily, ‘have we, boys? Far as I know, that stage ain’t due here until tomorrow.’ He turned to the three men. ‘That’s right, ain’t it, Jeth?’
The tall man gave a ponderous nod. Now he turned and stared directly at Frank. ‘Somehow, I don’t like the way you’re talking, friend. You got some idea we had somethin’ to do with that hold-up?’
His glance dropped towards Frank’s waist. ‘I see you ain’t carryin’ any guns. What did you do – leave ’em behind somewhere so nobody would tie you in with the robbery?’
Frank held his anger under tight control as he said, ‘Nope. I don’t have any guns. Matter o’ fact, I brought two survivors back with me into town less than a couple of hours ago.’
Inwardly, he wasn’t sure whether these three had hit the stage, or whether they didn’t like strangers riding into town. Either way, it was clear they were hellbent on making trouble.
The half-breed uttered a harsh laugh, his lips twisted back across his teeth. ‘You know what I think, Jeth? I reckon this hombre is some marshal figurin’ on cleanin’ up the town.’
The tall man nodded. ‘Then maybe we ought to teach him that we’ve already got a sheriff in town and we don’t like anyone from outside pokin’ their noses into our affairs.’ He stepped well away from the bar, his right hand hovering close to his gunbelt.
Straightening a little, Frank said harshly, ‘This how you’ve earned your reputation as a gunman, shootin’ unarmed men?’
The man muttered something in Spanish to the half-breed. A moment later, the latter pulled out a Colt and slid it along the bar top in Frank’s direction. His teeth showed whitely in a snarling grin. ‘There, señor. Now you have a gun. Let’s see if you have the guts to use it.’
