Six Guns at Solace

by John Davage

  Riggens smiled. ‘Good thinkin’, kid. Get your things together an’ be ready to leave in half an hour.’

  And so began Clay Thornton’s association with one of the most ruthless and brutal gangs in the West.

  Chapter Three

  By the time they were ten miles outside of Weslake, the five riders had pulled down the neckerchiefs that had masked the lower halves of their faces, and slowed their horses to a canter: Eli Pike, his brother Silas, Ray Riggens, Nate Morgan, and the kid, Chet Adams.

  Becky watched them approaching as she stood in the shade of the porch of the Lazy O ranch house, out of the blistering mid-day sun. She had been standing, waiting for the men for some time and her facial expression was one of anxiety as she tried to assess their mood as they drew closer. She said a silent prayer that all had gone according to plan and that Eli’s temper would have calmed since the time he’d left earlier. She had become used to his violent mood swings, but she could read nothing from the expressions on the faces of Eli or the others.

  If any of her former friends in Solace could have seen her now, they would barely have recognized her. Whatever spirit for life, whatever sense of fun and daring Becky had once possessed, Eli had been beaten out of her, leaving a cowed, subservient girl who cringed at the slightest movement of his hand.

  Eli Pike was a big, muscular man, with a mop of shiny black hair that reached almost to his shoulders, and a black beard that hid two-thirds of his face.

  Silas had his brother’s swarthy good looks, but they were marred by a lazy eye and cheeks pocked by eczema. He was shorter, but built in much the same way as Eli. He sported a drooping moustache above a stubbled chin. His good eye had a mean glint in it, and for some unexplained reason his mouth was always twisted into a humourless half smile, except when he was angry.

  Morgan always stood out from the others due to the long brown riding duster that he wore no matter what the heat, together with his broad-brimmed black hat. He was tall and lean with a hooked nose like the beak of an eagle, and whenever he looked at you, his eyes seemed to penetrate your soul. Becky did her best to stay out of his way.

  Ray Riggens, the oldest of the bunch, was the cool, calm one, his face registering nothing, but his eyes missing little that happened around him. He had introduced Chet Adams – whom everyone called the kid – and, in his own fashion, had looked out for him.

  Adams had been with the gang little more than a few months, arriving less than a month after the stage hold-up when Becky herself had been taken by Eli. But today was the first time Eli had tested the kid’s mettle by taking him on a stage hold-up. Now he trailed behind the others, as though acknowledging his place in the gang’s hierarchy. He was a good-looking boy, Becky thought, apart from the scar over his left eye and the wispy beard he refused to shave off.

  The Lazy O wasn’t a working ranch, and made no pretence of being one. Most of the land, apart from that adjacent to the two-storey ranch house, bunkhouse and corral, had been sold off soon after Eli and his brother Silas had taken over the place a year earlier, having terrorized and driven out the previous owner and his wife and daughter.

  The house itself was in need of some serious repairs, but Eli and his brother showed no inclination to do anything about them. It was a temporary home (some folk in the nearby town of Weslake referred to it as ‘Pike’s hideout’) for Eli and his gang. It served a purpose, nothing more.

  Already Eli was talking about moving out of the territory. Some of the townsfolk were starting to get uncooperative, even troublesome, he had told Becky. Not Cord Lewis, of course, Weslake’s sheriff. Cord did as he was damn well told. But some of the others, that tiresome mayor for example, and the members of the town council, were getting to be a burr in Eli’s britches.

  The stage they had robbed that morning lay abandoned some twenty miles north of Weslake. When they had left it an hour or so ago, the driver and shotgun rider lay dead in the dust, the team of six horses were unhitched and scattered, and the four passengers were mourning the loss of their money and valuables, and scratching their heads wondering how they were going to finish their journey.

  Becky came down off the porch as Eli dismounted his horse.

  ‘Everthin’ go OK, Eli?’ she asked, a nervous edge to her voice. She was five foot tall and had been pert and pretty six months ago. Now her looks had faded. There were lines of anxiety on her face, and a purple bruise on the side of her neck. This was only the latest evidence of Eli’s rough treatment. Other, slowly fading bruises were covered by her clothing. She had learned not to complain.

  He stared at her momentarily, then said, ‘Yeah, it went OK.’ He smacked his lips. ‘I could use a drink though.’

  Becky pasted a smile on her face. ‘Sure, Eli. I’ll get you . . .’ she began.

  Eli waved away her reply, took her arm and led her inside the ranch house. Wincing at the tightness of his grip, she made no other reference to what he and the others had been doing that morning, even though she knew about the hold-up, having heard snatches of their conversation when they were planning it. Eli preferred to believe she knew nothing, and she was happy to keep it that way.

  For some reason any law-breaking activity always aroused his sexual appetite as well as his thirst. Today, she realized with a sinking feeling, was no different. After grabbing a bottle of whisky en route, he propelled her towards the stairs and their bedroom.

  Clay Thornton/Chet Adams watched them as he and the others entered the ranch house. ‘Bastard!’ he muttered under his breath.

  Even though he had been part of the gang for just a few months, for some weeks now he had been conscious of his own growing feelings towards Becky. It was a protectiveness that was rapidly developing into a fondness, or even something more. Consequently, the bitterness and resentment he felt at Eli’s assumed rights of possession burned his insides, not least because he felt helpless to do anything about it.

  To witness the cruelty with which the older man treated the girl and do nothing about it was an exercise in self-control on Clay’s part. His whole being wanted to strike out – even kill – the gang leader whenever the latter yelled at her or raised a hand to her. And the images that seared his imagination as he thought about what Eli probably demanded of her in the bedroom drove him crazy.

  For now, though, he fought down the urge to mount the stairs and drag her away from the older man. Instead, he joined the three others as they emptied the contents of their saddle-bags on to the pine table in the centre of the room. A mixture of banknotes, coins and jewellery spewed out, some spilling on to the ranch-house floor.

  Clay watched the others’ faces for their reactions. The take was clearly less than they’d hoped for. Silas swore as he looked over the spoils, scowling and pushing a hand through his thick black hair.

  ‘Jeeze, look it at! Eli ain’t gonna be happy with that measly haul,’ he said.

  Nate Morgan sniffed and said nothing. The skinny, hook-nosed thirty-year-old rarely spoke. But his reticence belied his mean and violent temper, and even in the short period he had been with the gang, Clay had learned to avoid him much of the time.

  Ray Riggens, tall and bald except for a few sparse greying hairs, shrugged and eased himself into a chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘There’ll be another day,’ he muttered.

  Silas glared at him. ‘That all you can say? Don’t you give a damn?’

  Ray shrugged again. ‘No sense cryin’ over it, is there?’

  ‘So maybe you’ll forgo your share, an’ we’ll make it a four-way split instead of five.’ Silas grinned nastily. ‘Maybe we should cut you out, Ray, seein’ as you’re so goddamned indifferent.’

  Ray gave him a cold stare, and as if to make a point, laid his hand over the holster holding his six-gun. ‘Don’t even think of ever doin’ that, Silas,’ he said quietly.

  Anger flared in Silas’ good eye, and the hatred that Clay had sensed existed between the two men became evident before Silas looked away.
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br />   The other three retreated to individual chairs and sank down into them. Ray and Silas began to drink steadily, and within less than half an hour both were sleeping. Nate took a knife from the sheath he kept inside his right boot and became absorbed in whittling a piece of wood, paring each slice with a fierce concentration.

  Clay observed them, ruefully reflecting his association with the Pike gang and what they expected of him. At first it had been simple things, like looking after the horses outside the bank or the mining office whilst the others robbed it. But today it had meant taking a full part in the stage hold-up to earn his share of the takings. And even though it had only entailed sitting on his horse and pointing his Winchester at the stage driver, it had been terrifying.

  But on the good side, in the time he’d been with the gang, Clay had never had so much money – never seen so much money. A lot better than the chancy, and sometimes just as dangerous, occupation of cheating at cards!

  But there was an extra price to pay, and Clay paid it every time he looked at the fear and shame in Becky’s eyes, and suffered the gut-wrenching feeling that went with seeing her at Eli Pike’s side.

  Chapter Four

  ‘You OK, kid? You look like you want to kill someone!’

  Ray’s voice seemed to come from nowhere, rousing Clay from his reveries.

  ‘Wh. . . what. . . ?’ Clay started. ‘Oh, yeah, sure. I’m OK.’

  Eli and Becky had come down from upstairs. Becky had the usual whipped look about her that cut Clay to the quick. He stared at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes, looking at the floor instead. Did she know he felt about her? It was a question he asked himself almost daily without knowing the answer.

  Eli took one look at the spread of notes, coins, watches and jewellery on the table, cursed loudly and kicked Silas awake.

  ‘Is that it?’ Eli yelled. ‘Shee-it!’

  Silas awoke with a start, while Ray roused himself more slowly. Both men exchanged glances before looking at the irate Eli. Nate glanced up, then went back to his whittling, seemingly unconcerned.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it, Eli,’ Silas said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘Ain’t much, is it?’ He looked apologetic, as though he was personally to blame for the deficit.

  ‘No, it damn well ain’t! So it’s just as well we can expect more from the next job.’ Eli fingered a wad of notes before throwing them back on the table in disgust. ‘At least we can rely on the take bein’ a whole lot bigger.’

  Clay sat up straight, suddenly curious. ‘What job is that, Eli?’ he asked. He’d heard nothing about another hold-up or raid.

  Eli grinned at him. ‘You’ll find out soon enough, kid,’ he said. ‘You did good today. Anyways, right now I want you to take the buckboard an’ drive Becky into Weslake.’ He turned towards the girl. ‘We need some things from the mercantile. Make a list.’

  ‘S-sure, Eli,’ she answered, dully.

  He looked her up and down. ‘An’ wash your face or somethin’, you look a wreck.’ He turned to Clay. ‘What’re you waitin’ for, kid? Get movin’.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Clay was driving the buckboard out of the dusty ranch courtyard. Once beyond the limits of the ranch he picked up the old Indian trail that was the shortest, if not the most obvious route to Weslake. He was conscious of the nearness of the young woman beside him. He longed to reach out and put an arm around her shoulders but resisted the temptation.

  They sat in silence for the first part of the ninety minute journey, then Clay voiced his thoughts in an unrehearsed burst. ‘Becky, why don’t we just keep goin’, never go back?’

  Becky turned to look at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open in astonishment. ‘Chet! What you sayin’? You . . . you want to leave Eli an’ . . . an’. . . ?’ Her voice tailed off.

  He stared straight ahead. ‘Ain’t you figured how I feel about you yet?’ he said, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I’ve got to get you away from . . . him. I can’t stand how he treats you.’

  She stared at him. ‘Eli? I never realized. . . .’

  ‘Yeah, well, now you know,’ he said, still not looking at her.

  She sighed. ‘I can’t leave him, Chet, you know that,’ she said. ‘If I did, Eli’d kill my pa. He’s told me that more than once, an’ he means it.’

  ‘He knows your pa?’ Clay turned to her in surprise. ‘How come?’

  ‘I ain’t exactly sure,’ Becky said. ‘But when Eli heard I’d lived in Solace, an’ that my pa owned the hotel there, it seemed to set him thinkin’. Anyways, ever since then he’s threatened to kill Pa, if’n I should get any ideas about leavin’ the ranch. So, you see, even if you took off, I couldn’t go with you.’

  ‘Then I’ll just have to kill Eli first,’ Clay said.

  Even as he spoke the words, his gut told him otherwise. He would never be able to do it. To Clay, Eli was the personification of the devil, and just as terrifying.

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘He’ll tire of me, Chet,’ she said. ‘Then he’ll let me go.’ She looked at him strangely. ‘But I didn’t know you felt that way about me.’

  He avoided her eye. ‘Yeah, well, I do,’ he said. ‘An’ it’s drivin’ me crazy to watch him take you to his bed an’ . . . an’ to imagine what he does to you. Every time I watch him take you up those stairs, I want to kill him.’

  She stifled a sob. ‘I . . . I want to kill him sometimes, too,’ she said.

  They drove the next mile in silence, along the dusty rutted trail that snaked through the valley. On one side was a curving line of hills, half covered with pines, their aromatic smell filling Clay’s nostrils. Opposite, a wall of sandstone towered against the blue sky and scudding clouds.

  Every so often, Becky glanced across at him, trying to fathom how she felt about him. Was he in love with her? Or did he just want to bed her, the way most men did? It had come as a shock to hear him express his feelings. But what did it matter? There was nothing either she or he could do about it. Not while Eli Pike was alive. Would the kid really kill Eli?

  ‘You’d have to kill Silas, too,’ she said at last. ‘An’ maybe Ray and Nate. They ain’t likely to just stand by an’ do nothin’.’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t even try it, Chet. Like I said, he’ll get tired of me. Then, who knows, maybe we could go away together.’ She put a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. She knew he didn’t really believe her, but it was nice to dream.

  ‘How did you get hooked up with Eli an’ the others, Chet?’ she asked. ‘I never knew the whole story.’

  Clay shrugged. ‘Nothin’ secret about it.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I was on the run from the law after shootin’ a barkeep in a town called Adam’s Creek. Had to leave fast. Drifted a time, an’ took whatever work I could get. Taught myself to use a gun an’ cheat at cards. Then I managed to get into an argument with some hombres over a game of poker in Weslake. One of the other guys had a sawn-off shotgun an’ would’ve killed me, given half a chance. But Ray was across the room an’ heard the argument. He butted in an’ got me out of trouble.’

  ‘Then got you into a whole heap more by “persuadin’” you to join up with Eli,’ Becky guessed.

  Clay nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Bet you’ve had second thoughts about hookin’ up with him since then.’

  Clay made no reply, and they spoke no more for the rest of the journey into Weslake. At some point, Becky put a hand through Clay’s arm and snuggled closer.

  Back at the Lazy O, the four men had finished dividing up the take from the hold-up and were sat around the room drinking.

  Silas was questioning his brother. ‘You sure you can trust Garrod, Eli? He looks as sly as a fox, an’ we’re countin’ on him, ain’t we?’

  ‘He’ll do what he’s said he’ll do,’ Eli said.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Silas said.

  ‘We have a deal, for one thing, and he knows I won’t take kindly to him double-crossin’ us,’ Eli said. ‘ ’Sides, he’s mighty anxio
us to get Becky back, ain’t he?’

  ‘He’s gonna get her back, is he, Eli?’ Ray Riggins put in. ‘I mean, you’re gonna let her go, are you?’

  A half smile twitched at the corners of Eli’s mouth. ‘Ain’t decided yet, have I?’ He turned towards Nate Morgan. ‘You clear about what you gotta do tomorrow, Nate?’

  Morgan looked up from his whittling and shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘We need a good coupl’a hours,’ Eli reminded him, ‘so be sure to lead ’em far enough away afore you lose ’em.’

  ‘How can you be sure they’ll form a posse an’ go after him?’ Ray wanted to know. ‘There’s no guarantee.’

  ‘ ’Cause Garrod’s been told to raise hell if’n there looks like bein’ any question of it, that’s how,’ Eli said. ‘An’ he’s got influence in Solace. Now quit worryin’, Ray.’

  ‘You plannin’ on hurtin’ Garrod any, Nate?’ Silas asked. ‘’Cause that’d look more . . . what’s the word?’

  ‘Realistic,’ Ray supplied.

  ‘Yeah, realistic,’ Silas said. ‘Gotta look real, ain’t it?’

  Nate sniffed. ‘It’ll look real.’

  Chapter Five

  Seven hours’ ride away from the Lazy O, the town of Solace lay hot and airless, a brassy sun fixed in a cloudless blue sky. Sheriff Floyd Wickes stood by the window of his office and peered up Main Street, stroking the grey stubble on his chin. Floyd only visited Parnell’s barber shop for a shave twice a week, and he wasn’t due to stop by for another two days. Gaunt of face and thin as a rake, Floyd favoured a quiet life. He wasn’t married, and rarely sought the company of a professional lady, preferring the comforts of a bottle of red-eye of an evening.

  ‘Not a thing happenin’,’ he said, a satisfied expression on his face. ‘Not a damn soul to be seen.’

  Tom Walsh, his twenty-two-year old deputy, was sitting in the sheriff’s chair reading a dime novel, his feet perched on the desk in front of him. He was lean and wiry, with a shock of straw-coloured hair and honest brown eyes. His addiction to dime novels was something Floyd failed to understand but tolerated, as Tom was a reliable deputy and a good friend.