The Streets of Vermijo

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Goddam lawdog.’

  His guns moved, again seeking a target.

  Out of sheer self-protection Luke opened fire, holding back the trigger and fanning the hammer until all five remaining bullets had been expended. Three of the five found their target, tearing holes in the long-johns. Blood welled from the punctures, staining the dirty garment red.

  Luke remained where he stood, gun arm extended. Smoke from the barrel drifted lazily. With the sound of the shots dissipating it became very quiet around Luke and he barely registered the sound of the dead man slumping to the floor.

  The sound of his own ragged breath brought Luke back. His arm dropped to his side and he took a slow look around.

  The long-john shooter lay where he had fallen, pistols still clutched in his hands. Eyes staring at the roof. His mouth was partly open, with a worm of blood running down his chin. When Luke crossed to lean across the bar he saw Burgough on his back, looking as if he was asleep.

  ‘You didn’t need to get involved,’ Luke said. ‘Hell no.’

  Propped against the bar he reached and picked up an untouched bottle of whisky. Luke pulled the cork and took a swallow. The coarse liquid burned his throat on the way down and lay heavy in his stomach.

  Luke didn’t take a second drink. A sudden urge made him hurl the bottle across the room. It sprayed whisky before it hit the far wall and smashed apart. The action didn’t make Luke feel any better. He leaned over the bar again and stared down at Burgough.

  ‘And I ain’t goin’ to pay for that either,’ he said.

  Feeling a little calmer Luke retrieved his Colt from the floor and reload both his weapons, surprised at how steady his fingers were. He would have expected them to be shaky.

  ‘Must be getting used to killing,’ he said out loud, and found he didn’t like the thought.

  Behind the bar he found the kitchen and located the steaming coffee pot. He poured himself a cup, taking a long swallow of the brew. When he had downed a couple of cupfuls he made his way to the door where the dead shooter had appeared.

  He checked out the short passage and saw three doors, one partly open. The room was small, holding a low cot with rumpled blankets. It smelled stale and sweaty. Clothes were scattered around on the floor. Luke saw the saddle bags and picked them up. He loosened the fasteners and shook the contents onto the bed.

  Cash money and silver nuggets spilled out among the other belongings. The man’s share from the Vermijo robbery.

  It wasn’t going to do him much good now, Luke thought.

  He replaced the items and took the saddlebags with him into the main room, stepping around the body. Beyond the room’s silence he could hear the rising wind. It was getting stronger. There was no way Luke could ride out while the storm raged. It was looking as if he would be spending the night at Burgough’s. Just himself and two dead men. It was not a prospect he looked forward to.

  Luke went back into the kitchen and helped himself to more coffee. He stood and listened to the sound of the wind, the harsh rattle of gritty dust scouring the outer walls. Come morning he would leave, storm or no. He had his job to do. Returning the dead outlaw to Vermijo. He would tie the body to the dead man’s horse and head back to town.

  Vermijo.

  And he found himself thinking about Eve.

  Eve Lockhart.

  The girl who had been instrumental in the downfall of the murderous Lockhart brothers. It had been her courage that had led her to shoot down the man who had made her life a living hell and when she had shot Ace, it had started the cycle that ended the Lockhart’s grip on Vermijo. With the town rid of the brothers it meant a rebirth. A time for Vermijo to rebuild its pride in itself. To regain its identity. It was taking time and when the bank was robbed and Sam Piggot cruelly murdered, Vermijo took a step back, unable to gather enough courage to go after the outlaws.

  Except for Ruby Tucker, who had already stood up and shamed the whole town by pinning on the badge and becoming Vermijo’s sheriff. The robbery, shocking as it was, had done nothing to stop Ruby carrying out her duty. She had ridden out after the outlaws, later followed by US Marshal Frank Tyler and his grandson and deputy Luke.

  The earlier troubles had brought Luke and Eve together for a brief time. On his return to the town he had faced her again and the connection they shared rekindled itself. Luke had been thinking about the young woman and meeting her again only increased his feelings.

  He thought about her now, allowing himself to distance himself from his grim surroundings. It was a small comfort but at least a way to push aside the violent events that had just taken place.

  Luke added logs from the stack beside the stove, letting the warmth build. It was going to be a long night. He could take that because he had something ahead he could look forward to.

  He brought blankets from the rooms in back and covered the bodies so he didn’t have to see them. He spotted a ladder-back chair in one corner of the main room and placed it near the stove, resting against the arms, sitting with fresh coffee. He buttoned his coat round him, listened to the wind and waited. There was little else he could do.

  Luke snapped alert, startled by the silence. He had slumped down in the chair, the empty cup hanging from his chilled fingers, dozing fitfully. The stove had died down and the room was cold. Luke moved, body stiff from long hours on the hard chair. He had slept without realizing. On his feet he moved awkwardly, flexing arms and legs. He was surprised he hadn’t slid from the chair to the floor during the night. Luke went into the kitchen and found a water keg. He splashed cold water on his face, dipped a ladle into the keg and took a mouthful of water to remove the sour taste. The wide cook stove was still warm and after some effort Luke coaxed it back into flame. He fed in more wood from the stack nearby and got the stove fully alight. He spent some time refreshing the coffee pot and while it heated up he took himself across to the door and opened it.

  Pale dawn light was casting itself across the sky. Luke figured it would be around seven in the morning. Beyond Burgough’s the landscape looked no different. Wide and empty country, with scant and dusty vegetation. It had a brooding quality. Both beautiful and desolate in equal amounts. Luke’s country. Where he had been born. The place he had roamed, single and free, with little responsibility—until the day he rode into Vermijo—and everything changed.

  He met the Lockharts. Found himself in danger. Was pursued across country and dragged back to town as an unwilling prisoner, suffering at the hands of his captors. Imprisoned, beaten, and almost hung.

  Almost hung.

  His reprieve came when Eve Lockhart stood up to her brother in law and his kin and Frank Tyler, Luke’s grandfather cut down Jim Lockhart after a deadly confrontation that ended the grip of terror the Lockharts had over the town.

  It was a time Luke wouldn’t forget. It set him free. Gave him a fresh start alongside Frank and instilled in him a desire to give him purpose in life. And when Frank offered to bring him into the US Marshal service Luke sided him willingly.

  There was a certain irony in the events that led them back to Vermijo. Put them on the trail of the outlaw bunch that struck the bank and killed the owner. Luke and Frank rode out, searching for the bunch.

  Fate had forced them to ride separate trails in pursuit of the robbers, forcing Luke to stand alone against the desperate actions of the man he was chasing.

  He had his man after a kill-or-be-killed face off. To complete his quest he had to take the dead outlaw back, along with the recovered loot.

  Luke sighed as he thought of the ride back. It had to be done, so the sooner he got to it the better. He drained his coffee and walked across to the stable to check his horse. It greeted him with an impatient nicker. Rested it was eager to be on the move.

  ‘Me too, son,’ Luke said.

  He saddled both his horse and the dead outlaw’s. Luke pushed the stable doors wide. Took the dead man’s horse and led it across to Burgough’s door. Taking a saddle rope he went inside and wrappe
d the dead man in a blanket, looping cut lengths of rope to secure it, then hauled the body outside and, with an effort, draped it over the horse’s back, using more rope to tie the corpse across the saddle. The horse wasn’t too happy at first but after its protest stood still.

  Before he brought his horse out Luke removed the rope halters on the other pair of horses in the stable and left them to wander free.

  He went back inside Burgough’s and helped himself to more coffee. He refilled his canteen, dropped some food supplies in his possibles sack. He was aligning the sack over his horse’s back when he felt twinges of pain between his shoulders and felt warm blood slide down his flesh. With everything that had been happening he had forgotten about the shotgun burst that had raked his coat. He realized there was nothing he could do about it. No way he could get to the wounds to treat them. He was going to have to wait until he got back to town and let Vermijo’s medic take a look. Now he was aware of the wounds he could feel the sting they were producing. He was simply going to have to put up with the irritation until he could have it dealt with.

  Climbing into the saddle Luke turned his horses away from Burgough’s and put them on the trail for Vermijo.

  ~*~

  Ruby hated mistreating any horses. Yet in her haste to get back to town she pushed both her animals to the limit, urging them to greater speed. To their credit the animals did what she asked of them. She had been forced to take shelter for most of the previous night because of the dust storm. By dawn the wind had subsided, the day bright and clear around her. Ruby rode hard, using her knowledge of the terrain to take shortcuts that would shorten her ride back to Vermijo.

  If the horses were feeling the pinch Ruby was faring no better. Her body was stiff and sore from the hard riding and if the truth were known she needed sleep. She fought off the signs of fatigue, stopping to splash water over her face and eyes. The single thought in her mind was to get back to town, hopefully ahead of the two men heading in the same direction.

  In the end it was her borrowed horse that quit in her. Despite her urging it slowed, trembling and set with sweat. She halted and slid from the saddle, the horse standing head down, panting. It had given her all it could. Feeling guilty Ruby stripped off the saddle and trappings, gave it water and turned it loose. She watered her own horse before climbing wearily back into the saddle and pushing on.

  Now she rode with deliberate intent, and an hour or so later she was beginning to recognize the landscape around her as she travelled. A couple of hours and she would reach Vermijo. Beneath her the game horse headed home, sensing where it was now.

  Ruby’s mind was working hard as she tried to think ahead. She was more than convinced that she had figured out what was happening. For some perverse reason the men she was trailing were on a direct course for the town.

  What was their plan?

  It couldn’t be to hit the bank again. The first robbery had cleaned out the safe, leaving little behind save coinage which would have only added to the weight they had to carry.

  Ruby dismissed that notion.

  So if it wasn’t robbery what other reason could the men have?

  Banker Piggott had died during the raid. Killed in a moment of wild rage. That only convinced Ruby of the outlaws’ violent intent.

  A vague suggestion entered Ruby’s mind and she almost dismissed it as pure foolishness.

  Were the two outlaws making their way back to Vermijo to commit an act of revenge? Retribution on the town because of the way they had been sent packing?

  When Jim Lockhart and his deputies, had held Vermijo to ransom and bled the town dry, they had considered themselves untouchable. That had changed dramatically in the wake of Eve Lockhart’s defiance stand against her bullying husband and from that act matters had escalated. In the end the Lockharts had been defeated, the brothers cut down and the men siding them had quit the town. The return to Vermijo had been an act of revenge—and so could this second visit if Ruby’s thought was correct.

  Revenge or no, the simple fact the pair were heading towards Vermijo gave Ruby’s suspicions a solid foundation. If she was right, then she had to be in town to face the threat. If she was harboring an incorrect notion, she would at least be guilty of nothing more than a wild guess. That she could take on board willingly.

  Even so Ruby felt an awareness of the need to see the matter through.

  Ahead she saw the stirring branches of aspen and conifer and knew she was closer to Vermijo than she realized. Ahead, on the broad semi-valley curve the town stood in a landscape that was distinctly more verdant than the arid terrain she had come through. This was her place. The territory she knew well.

  And Vermijo lay ahead.

  Ruby spurred her horse forward, eager to reach her destination. Hopefully to find the town going about its business in relative peace. Even as she thought about that there was a shadow invading her thoughts that suggested otherwise.

  It was telling her Vermijo’s problems were far from over.

  ~*~

  Charlie Seaburgh watched his partner close as they rode for Vermijo. He saw the signs. Ben’s fixed, unblinking stare. The way he held himself rigid in his saddle, left hand clutching his reins as his right lay on the butt of his holstered pistol. Hodges rode with the determined air of a man on a singular mission. One that would only resolve itself a burst of violent action. It crossed Seaburgh’s mind that his long-time partner had exhibited such a condition when he had wantonly killed Sam Piggot during the robbery. A terrible, fixed expression on his face as he wielding the bronze bust, smashing in down on Piggot’s face and skull. A wrenching release of pent of rage and a need to strike out.

  That mood had Hodges in its grip now. It would not be sated until the man had his way with the town. Seaburgh could imagine all kinds of things going wrong with Hodges’ plan. Things that could backfire on them and place them in danger. Yet despite his reservations Seaburgh rode by Hodges’ side and would be on his side whatever happened.

  The loyalty men had towards each other. It would stay with them regardless of the risk. A foolishness some would say. That would come from men who had no conception of the bond between Hodges and Seaburgh. The invisible tie that bound them, and others of their breed. Hard, tough, self-sufficient men who rode the lonely trails of the outlaw. They were bound together in a way most others would never understand. Through good and bad times. Through adversity, through calm and storm, the link was unspoken but stronger than a steel chain. They backed each other, never walked away. And stepping into reckless situations was simply a way of life for them.

  Seaburgh might have thought Hodges’ plan was pure craziness and might easily get them killed. But he would ride into Vermijo alongside him ready to face the consequences for a simple reason.

  Ben Hodges was his partner.

  More than that he was his friend.

  They came in towards Vermijo clear of the defined trail, angling across country until they were able to see the town’s hazy outline from the safe cover of an aspen grove, the branches overhead shading them from the sun’s glare. Their horses plucked contentedly at the grass that grew in amongst the timber.

  Hodges eased himself in his saddle, studying the way ahead as he quietly checked his guns. That action prompted Seagrove to do likewise. They both took extra pistols from their saddlebags, fully loaded them and tucked them behind their belts, giving them added firepower.

  ‘You remember Janos Salo?’ Hodges said. ‘Runs the supply company on the edge of town?’

  ‘Surly son of bitch. Always had a bad word to say when we collected his monthly payment.’

  ‘That’s his warehouse in back. Stores the bulk of his merchandise. Including cans of coal oil.’

  ‘Yeah. I recall. You could smell that stuff before you went inside.’

  Hodges chuckled. ‘It’ll do a damn sight more than just smell when we start it burning.’

  ‘Whole damn place will go up.’

  ‘We need a few cans for our own us
e,’ Hodges said. ‘Once we set that warehouse to burning we ride in along the backlots and douse a few more buildings. Town’ll be busy trying to douse Salo’s place so we should be able to fire up half of main street before they know what’s hit ’em.’

  ‘Hell yes.’

  ‘Payment for what Vermijo did to us and Jim Lockhart.’

  ‘You got that right, Ben.’

  ‘You got Lucifers in your pocket?’

  Seaburgh nodded. ‘Enough to set the town burnin’ and more for my stogies.’

  Hodges gathered his reins.

  ‘Early enough so there won’t be too many folk around. Give us the chance to make our mark before they know what hit ’em.’

  ‘Let’s do this, Ben.’

  They eased out of the timber and set their horses across the beaten trail leading in Vermijo, cutting over to the bulk of Salo’s store house.

  ~*~

  Linus Penny, emerging from his watch hut, saw a pair of riders heading directly for the warehouse. If he had been a younger man with sharper eyes he might have recognized the riders. The trouble was he was over seventy years old, with aging eyesight and he couldn’t identify them until they were almost on him due to not having pulled on his spectacles yet. He fumbled them from the pocket of his crumpled vest, adjusting them over his ears and blinking to clear his vision. By the time they came into focus one of them had reined in and dismounted, stepping up to Penny.

  ‘That you, Ben Hodges?’

  ‘Damn shame you had to go and recognize me,’ Hodges said.

  He took a final step up to the old man, his right hand striking forward to bury the blade of his heavy knife deep in Penny’s chest. The thick steel sank in up to the handle. Penny experienced a burning sensation as Hodges twisted the blade, too shocked to make a sound. Hodges pushed the old man backwards until he was pressed against the side of the warehouse and held him there until Penny stopped moving, blood bubbling out from around the knife blade. As Penny slumped, a wet patch forming across the front of his pants as Hodges let him fall.