Torture Town

by William W. Johnstone

  Matt raised up and fired three more times, primarily just to let them know that there was still someone left and that he still had ammo.

  He opened the cylinder and punched out the three empty cartridges, then replaced them. Now his pistol was fully loaded, but he had no more bullets except for those in his saddlebags, which were in the lean to out back. And there was no way he could get to them.

  “Looks like they still have some fight left,” Shardeen said.

  “Yeah, but it don’t seem like there’s as much shootin’ as there was,” Fillion said.

  “Coombs, there ain’t no windows on the back side of that cabin. You think you can get around behind it, and set fire to it?” Shardeen asked.

  “It depends,” Coombs replied.

  “Depends on what?”

  “On whether or not I get the twenty dollars that was goin’ to Finley.”

  “You get that fire goin’, ’n’ the twenty dollars that was goin’ to Finley will go to you,” Shardeen promised.

  Coombs nodded, then, carrying a can of kerosene with him, started out, running behind the ridgeline so as not to be seen from the shack. He lit the fire, then ran back around the ridgeline to rejoin Shardeen and the others. Now only Shardeen, Stoddard, Coombs, and Fillion were left of the seven who had come to attack the cabin. By the time Coombs got back, the little line shack was fully engulfed with flames.

  “Anybody come out yet?” Coombs asked.

  “No, but it’s only a matter of time,” Shardeen replied. “The way it’s burnin’, there can’t nobody stay in there now.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Matt was trapped. There were only three ways out of the shack: the front door and the two front windows. And he couldn’t go out that way without being shot. But it was equally obvious that he couldn’t stay in the house. By now, the smoke was getting unbearable and he had to get down on his stomach and keep his nose to the floor in order to breathe. He moved to the back corner of the house, though he knew there was no place he could actually go.

  Then, as he lay there, he saw an iron ring on the floor and, curious, he pulled on it, and was surprised to see that it was a trap door in the floor. Lifting it, he saw that was an opening to the ground underneath the house.

  Matt crawled back across the floor and, grabbing Jesse by his legs, pulled him back to the open hole, then pushed him through. He didn’t intend to leave Jesse in the house to burn, even though he was already dead. Matt dropped down as well. Then, wriggling on his belly, he dragged Jesse’s body out from under the house on the opposite side from where his attackers were, his escape from the burning house unobserved by them.

  The four attackers were standing in the open now, waiting for someone to come bursting through the front door, out of the smoke-filled cabin.

  There was a dry arroyo behind the house, and Matt pulled Jesse down into it. Then he stood up, the arroyo deep enough that he wasn’t exposed. He stayed there for moment breathing hard, not so much from the exertion, as from trying to replace the inhaled smoke with clean air.

  Finally, his breath recovered, Matt moved down the gully for some distance, then he climbed back up to look over the lip of the arroyo. From there he had an excellent view of the house, which was now nearly one hundred percent engulfed with fire. He also saw four men standing about fifty yards away from the house, watching it burn. All four were holding pistols in their hands, waiting for someone to try and escape.

  Matt dropped back down into the gully and moved farther down, then crawled up for another view. This time he saw that he was exactly behind the four men. He climbed out of the draw and, quietly, began walking toward them.

  “Think they’re dead yet?” one of the four men asked.

  “Ha. If they ain’t dead, they gotta be hurtin’ somethin’ awful.”

  “I think they must be dead. Else they woulda come out by now.”

  “I hope they ain’t dead yet,” Stoddard said. “I want ’em to burn.”

  “Yeah, like they’re in hell,” Coombs added.

  “Speaking of hell, that’s exactly where I’m about to send you four,” Matt said.

  Startled, the four men turned around.

  “Matt Jensen,” Shardeen said.

  “Hello, Shardeen,” Matt said. “I guess it looks like you and I may have that little showdown you ran away from back in Geseta, doesn’t it?”

  Shardeen smiled. “It looks like we might at that. Boys, put your guns away. I’ll handle this. You three can be my witnesses. Emmett Shardeen, the man who killed Matt Jensen.”

  “You sure about this, Shardeen?” Fillion asked.

  Shardeen’s smile turned into a chuckle. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure. You see, I’m going to keep a little edge here. I’m not going to put my gun away. I’m just going to keep it handy. What do you say about that, Jensen?”

  “I say it doesn’t matter whether you put your guns away or not. I’m going to kill all four of you.”

  “Well now, would you like to tell me just how the hell you are going to do that, with your gun still in your holster?” Shardeen asked.

  “I think I’d rather show you,” Matt replied.

  Before the last word was out of Matt’s mouth, the gun was in his hand. Not one of the four had even raised their pistols yet, thinking they had the advantage. Not one of them managed to get off a shot.

  Morgan and Nate Poindexter, as well as Gabe Mathis, Strawn, Meeker, and Wallace were at the burned-out line shack. Except for Jesse’s body, which had been pulled out of the arroyo and covered with canvas, the bodies of the men who had come to attack Jesse and Matt lay where they had fallen.

  It was dark, but Gabe had brought a kerosene lantern, and he carried it with him as he examined the bodies.

  “I’ll be damn,” Gabe said.

  “What is it, Gabe?” Nate asked.

  “I know these men. I know all of ’em, Gabe said. “Except for that pasty-faced son of a bitch there.”

  “His name is Shardeen,” Matt said. “Emmett Shardeen.”

  “The way they’re layin’ here, looks like all four of ’em was killed at the same time,” Gabe said.

  “Nearly the same time,” Matt agreed.

  “They all got their guns in their hands, and they was all shot in the front. You done this, didn’t you?”

  Matt didn’t answer.

  “Yeah, well, my question is, what were these men doin’ out here? There don’t none of ’em ride for the BR, and I know that to be a fact.”

  “No doubt they were hired by the BR,” Strawn suggested. “Give me the word, Poindexter, and I’ll pay ’em back in kind.”

  “It would look to me like they’ve already been paid back in kind,” Morgan said. “There are seven bodies here. And, like Gabe said, not a one of them came from the BR.”

  “We don’t know that they didn’t come from the BR.”

  “No, but what we do know is that you and your men weren’t doing the job I hired you for, though, were you?”

  “Poindexter, you’ve got two hundred and fifty thousand acres here. How the hell do you expect just three of us to be everywhere at once?”

  “Strawn, did you kill MacDonald and Butrum?”

  Strawn looked over at Matt, who was looking directly at him, waiting for his response.

  “No,” Strawn said.

  “Well, whether you did or not, I won’t be needing you here, anymore. I want you and the two men you brought with you off the Tumbling P by tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re making a big mistake, Poindexter,” Strawn said. “Especially after this. This here feud you got with Ross has turned into a war, and you are goin’ to need someone like me more than ever.”

  “I’ve gotten along without anyone like you for twenty-five years,” Poindexter said. “I think I can do without you a little longer.”

  Wedge Hill Ranch

  Although Rex and Sylvia were lying together on the small bed that was in the springhouse, they were both fully clothed. Sylvia’s h
ead was nestled on Rex’s shoulder.

  “Maybe the fact that not one of the men came from our ranch will prove that we had nothing to do with it,” Rex said. “Just as I believe that nobody over at the Tumbling P had anything to do with killing MacDonald and Butrum.”

  “Rex, I know there has long been a feud between Papa and your father. But it was never like this. What happened while I was gone? When did all this start?”

  “It just started,” Rex said. “And I don’t have any idea what started it.”

  “What’s going to happen?” Sylvia asked.

  Rex tightened his arm around her shoulders.

  “To us,” she said.

  Rex kissed her.

  “Are you going to town for Mr. Billings’s funeral?” Sylvia asked.

  “I would, but I’m sure I wouldn’t be welcome.”

  “Please come,” Sylvia said. “If you aren’t welcome, then neither am I.”

  Rex raised up on his elbow and stared down at Sylvia. “Are you sure you want me to come?”

  “I think it’s time we told Papa,” Sylvia said.

  A broad smile spread across Rex’s face. “I’ll be there,” he said.

  Tome

  At the same moment that Rex and Sylvia were together in the springhouse on Wedge Hill Ranch, Bodine, Strawn, Dooley, Massey, Meeker, Wallace, Cates, and Dagan were gathered in the Vaquero Cantina.

  “It was Matt Jensen that kilt Shardeen and the others,” Meeker said.

  “One man kilt all of ’em?” Dooley asked.

  “I don’t know about all of ’em, but he kilt at least four of ’em. We found Shardeen and three more of ’em lying out together, like they was all shot down at once. And get this . . . all four was holdin’ guns, and all four had only one bullet hole in ’em.”

  “There ain’t nobody that good,” Massey said.

  “Matt Jensen is,” Strawn said. “I seen him in action when he kilt my pard, Vargas. I’m afraid Jensen is goin’ to cause us problems.”

  “No he ain’t. He ain’t goin’ to cause us no trouble at all.”

  “What do you mean he ain’t? How can you say that, Bodine? Hell, so far he’s kilt seven of our men,” Strawn said.

  “I can say that because tomorrow is the day we finish this. And my name isn’t Bodine. It’s Rufus Draco.”

  “Draco? I thought you told us you didn’t want to use that name no more,” Meeker said.

  “That’s behind me now,” Draco replied. “Tomorrow, Matt Jensen dies.” Draco’s lips stretched into a demonic smile. “And I want the son of a bitch to know who killed him.”

  “You said we are going to finish this tomorrow. How are we going to do that?” Strawn asked.

  “Tomorrow is the buryin’,” Draco said. “We’re goin’ to be in town early, before anythin’ starts, so that we can get into position. Strawn, you, Meeker, Wallace, and Cates are going to be in position on the south side of the street. Dooley, you, Massey, and Dagan will be with me on the north side. Spread out all up and down the street, and find you some place where you can’t be seen, on top of buildings, behind corners, anywhere that keeps you out of sight. Then, once you have your place, just wait for my signal.”

  “Wait for your signal to do what?” Meeker asked.

  Draco smiled again. “To start the war,” he said.

  Thirty Four Corners

  “No!” Morgan Poindexter said, resolutely, when, just before Jesse Billings’s funeral the next morning, Sylvia approached him with the information that Rex Ross was going to attend the funeral with her.

  “I can’t believe you would even ask that.”

  “Papa, I love Rex.”

  “What?” Morgan gasped. “How can that be? You’ve only been home for a month! You haven’t had time to know whether or not you love anyone, let alone Rex Ross.”

  “Papa, how long did you know Mama before you and she were married?”

  “What? That . . . that has nothing to do with this!”

  “It seems to me like it has everything to do with this,” Sylvia said. “Is, or is not, the fact that you ran away with Mama—on the very day that she and Mr. Ross were to be married—the cause of this twenty-five-year-long absolutely foolish feud?”

  “You don’t understand,” Morgan replied. “I tried to make up with Ben. I went to him, hat in hand, apologized for what I did, and offered him my continued friendship. He is the one who said no.”

  “Nevertheless, that was your generation. This generation belongs to Rex and me. We are in love, and we intend to be together.”

  Morgan closed his mouth so tightly that his lips formed only a thin line, and his temple throbbed in anger.

  “Then you’ll be together somewhere else,” he said. “Not in my house, and not in this funeral.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Then so be it. Good-bye, Papa,” Sylvia said, spinning on her heel, then walking away, quickly.

  That conversation had taken place in front of the church where Jesse Billings’s funeral was to take place. Landers was not conducting the funeral; it was to be conducted by a Catholic priest who had come over from Tome. Morgan had made the arrangement to use the church by donating five hundred dollars to Lander’s discretionary fund.

  “Where is Sylvia going?” Nate asked, coming out of the church just in time to see Sylvia walking away.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Morgan said. “Let’s get inside. The priest can’t stay here all day.”

  Matt Jensen was in the Black Bull Saloon, nursing a beer, when he saw a big man coming toward him. The man was Frank Carter, the same man Matt had fought with several days earlier. Matt tensed as Carter approached.

  “Jensen?” Carter said.

  Matt turned to face him. “What do you want, Carter?”

  “You’ve been lookin’ for a man named Draco?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Bodine.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Bodine. His real name is Draco. And he plans to start somethin’ today.”

  “What do you mean he plans to start something today? And how do you know this?”

  “I know it, ’cause I was in Tome ’n’ I heard him ’n’ Strawn and some others talkin’. They said they was goin’ to start a war today. And Draco said he was goin’ to kill you.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Carter?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s cause when me ’n’ you fought, you whupped me fair and square. And you coulda done more. You coulda kilt me, but you didn’t. You treated me right, so I figure I owe you.”

  “Thank you, Carter, I appreciate that.”

  Carter nodded, then looked toward Hodge. “I’ll have a bottle of whiskey,” he said.

  Hodge handed him the bottle, and a glass.

  “I won’t need no glass,” Carter said, pulling the cork with his teeth, then spitting it out. He carried the bottle with him to a table in the back of the saloon, then sat there.

  Rex Ross was waiting for Sylvia just inside the Birdcage Theater. He didn’t have to ask how Sylvia’s meeting went. He could tell by the tears in her eyes, and the look on her face, that it hadn’t gone well.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, opening his arms to her.

  “It doesn’t matter. I belong to you now. Forever,” she said, and they shared a deep kiss.

  Jesse had a funeral, but there was no funeral for the seven men who had come to kill him. Clergymen weren’t present for their burials, nor were they asked for. Because of the uniqueness of the situation, being that the pallbearer would be burying Jesse Billings, as well as the men who had killed him on the same day, he kept some separation between the actual burials. Jesse’s funeral concluded with graveside rites. Then, even before the mourners left the cemetery, the mass burial of the seven other men began. It was preceded by a somber cortege of four wagons, two bodies in each of the first three wagons and only one body, Shardeen’s, in the last wagon.

  Six of the men were well known in town, having lived in Th
irty Four Corners for some time. Because of that, the entire town turned out to watch the doleful parade of charnel wagons.

  “How come Billings got a funeral, and our men didn’t?” someone shouted from the south side of the street.

  “Because your men are murderers!” the shout came back from the north side.

  “Like your men weren’t when they kilt Miller, MacDonald, and Butrum?”

  The man who yelled the last remark stepped down from the boardwalk on the south side of the street and lifted his clenched fist over his head to express his anger.

  Draco was lying of the roof of the leather goods store, and because of its location, it gave him a field of fire to either side of the street. He aimed his rifle at the man who had yelled, and pulled the trigger.

  The man Draco shot went down. That was just the opening shot. It was followed immediately by other shots as, up and down Central, on both sides of the street, gun fire erupted. Bullets flew, windows crashed, women screamed, and men, women and even children went down under the fusillade.

  The drivers of the charnel wagons jumped down and ran for cover, The horses pulling the first two wagons were hit and they fell, but not before they staggered off, effectively blocking the street.

  Sunset Lil had been standing on the balcony of her Parlor of Delight watching the burial procession when the shooting started, and Matt Jensen, who had left the Black Bull after hearing the first shot, saw a mist of blood from the side of Sunset Lil’s head. She fell over the bannister, and landed in the street below. Matt also saw where the shot came from that killed her, and aiming his pistol, he fired. The man who had shot Sunset Lil had been standing on top of a mercantile store on the south side of the street, and dropping his gun, he clutched his chest, then tumbled down from the roof.

  Even as that man fell, Matt saw someone with a gun peer around the edge of the false front of the North Star Saloon, and one more shot dropped him. Matt ran down to the livery, thinking that if he could get up into the loft, he would be able to see where all the shooting was coming from.