by Will DuRey
‘But Chet didn’t come back married.’
‘No. But by then Ma and Pa had had their accident. I was alone. Wade Barton came by with an offer for the ranch but I said I wasn’t selling. There were one or two hands around the place who’d been with us some time, men I could rely on, but I needed something more than that. Charlie proposed. I liked him and it seemed that Chet wasn’t meant for me. That’s how it happened.’
‘I think both your pa and Wade Barton were wrong. Duke would have been proud to have had you married to his son.’
‘Perhaps not now,’ she said.
‘You’ve got to sort out things with Charlie before you can think of anything else,’ I said.
By now we were approaching town. It was still early, I could see a couple of youngsters scuttling along, wrestling as they went, towards a small whitewashed building that had every appearance of being a schoolhouse. Along the street I could see the slim man from the store once again brushing his sidewalk. I had intended making my first call at the livery stable to see if there was a recently galloped horse there, but it wasn’t necessary. I saw it tethered outside the hotel, where the doors were open for breakfast.
I stopped the buggy and got off, took my rifle and slipped it into the saddle boot before untying Red. ‘Go along to the sheriff’s office,’ I told Annie. ‘Tell him what happened on the way here. I think, perhaps, I’ve found our man.’
‘Be careful, Wes,’ she said.
I tied Red next to the dull brown cow-pony with the Mexican saddle. I wiped my hand across its flank. It was hot and dusty from a long gallop. The storekeeper was watching me. I walked to the door of the hotel and looked in. A man in a brown coat and black hat leant against the bar. I knew him. It was the big man who had slapped the horse when they’d tried to hang Charlie Darke and who’d been anxious to see me and Charlie hanged for the shooting of Chet Barton. He turned his head, saw me, then threw back the shot of whiskey that was in his glass.
I turned away and went across the street. The storekeeper, who had resumed brushing the boardwalk, put up his broom as I approached him.
‘You look like a man who’d be a prominent member of the citizen’s committee,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Theo Dawlish’ He looked up at the paintwork on his shop front where his name was displayed in large, black letters. ‘What can I do for you?’
I removed the spent case from my gunbelt and handed it to him. ‘Examine that. Pay particular attention to that half-inch scratch.’ He looked at it as directed then at me with a question in his eyes.
‘Someone tried to kill Annie Darke on her way into town this morning. That shell was one of the bullets fired. Now,’ I dug deep into the pocket of my buckskin jacket, ‘I found these at the spot where the bushwhacker shot Chet Barton.’ I dropped them in his hand.
‘They’ve got the same mark,’ he said.
‘So been fired from the same gun?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘Well, keep those safe and come with me.’
Annie was approaching the sheriff’s office as I turned to retrace my steps towards the hotel. Theo propped his broom against the wall and followed. I pulled the rifle from the boot attached to the fancy saddle on the dull brown cow-pony, stepped away from the horses, pointed the rifle into the air and pulled the trigger. I ejected the shell and thrust the rifle back into the boot.
‘Do you want to check that one?’ I asked Theo Dawlish. He picked it up, turned it slowly in his long fingers then looked at me.
‘The same,’ he said. ‘We’d better get the sheriff.’ At that moment two things happened simultaneously. The big man stepped out of the hotel with a look that threatened violence, his right hand resting on the butt of his six-gun. Before anyone could speak a loud scream came from further down the street. It was Annie. Along with everyone else who had been drawn on to the street by the shot I’d fired in the air, my head turned towards the sheriff’s office where the scream had come from. Annie stumbled out into the street, eyes wide but seeing nothing other than whatever sight had caused her to scream. She cried again, an awful choking sound that couldn’t find a proper release, then she collapsed in the street.
I was the first to reach Caleb’s niece. She lay in the dust like a bundle of laundry, her face as white as death. I lifted her head but she had lost all consciousness. I looked up, pleased to see a matronlike woman bustling across the street. She knelt beside me and took over the task of reviving Annie.
When I got to my feet I saw Theo Dawlish in the doorway of the sheriff’s office. He beckoned me, urgently, then disappeared inside. Satisfied that Annie was in good hands I followed Theo Dawlish. Sheriff Bayles was face down on the floor.
‘Is he dead?’
‘No. But he’s taken quite a blow to the head. Gun-whipped, I suspect.’ There was a mass of congealed blood on the back of Dan Bayles’s skull, and a fair amount of it in a pool below his head. ‘Someone must have sprung Charlie Darke,’ said the storekeeper.
‘The sheriff kept him here overnight?’
‘Hadn’t been able to find the men who were Charlie’s witnesses. Couldn’t let him go until he did.’
The door that led to the cell block was open. There was no noise coming from there so I figured Theo Dawlish was right: someone had helped Charlie escape. I went through to be certain about that. The keys to the cells were attached to a big ring and were lying on the floor, as though discarded by someone in a hurry. There were three cells. All the doors were open but Charlie Darke was blocking the way into the middle one. His head hung to one side, his face was dark and his eyes and tongue were swollen. His body was stiff and unyielding; his feet several inches from the floor. The high frame of the iron-bar door had become a scaffold. Cruelly, he had been hoisted off his feet and left to choke to death, his feet, no doubt, desperately seeking the solidity of a floor which, to the end, he must have known was close at hand. There was no movement now. He hung there, ugly and disfigured. Whoever had been trying to kill Charlie Darke had now succeeded. The fact that he deserved to die prevented any feelings of remorse that I might have had for him, but, undoubtedly, Annie had found him like this, and I would have saved her that ordeal if I’d been able.
There were a number of men in the front office when I went back through. Dan Bayles was on a chair, the top half of his body slumped forward, the pain and dizziness too great for him to hold his head up. A short man with a moustache, busy eyes and a stern expression had taken charge, alternately firing questions at the sheriff and trying to organize a posse to catch Charlie Darke.
‘Charlie Darke hasn’t escaped,’ I said. ‘He’s still through there.’ I jerked my head towards the cells. ‘Someone needs to cut him down.’ That silenced the room. Even Dan Bayles turned his head in my direction though the action made him grimace with pain.
Two men went past me into the cell block. I heard one of them swear when he saw the body. ‘Go get the undertaker,’ I heard one of them say, and the other came back through the front office and hurried off down the boardwalk.
‘What can you tell us, Dan?’ the short man with the moustache asked the sheriff.
‘Give him a few minutes, Lew,’ said Theo Dawlish, ‘he’s taken a mighty blow. Somebody brew up some coffee and the rest of you get out of here. We’ll let you know when we need you. For the present we’ve got to let Dan get himself pulled together.’
Although I wanted to be around when Dan Bayles began talking I accepted the sense in Theo Dawlish’s words. Also I was concerned about Annie. No matter how tough she was, the events of the morning were bound to have affected her.
‘Do you know where they took Annie?’ I asked Theo Dawlish.
‘Try my store,’ he said. ‘I last saw her in the care of my wife.’ He grabbed at my arm to prevent me leaving. ‘What are we going to do about these?’ He held the shell-cases in his hand.
‘You can wait until the sheriff is able to arrest that big fella, or gather a posse of citizens together and do it
now.’ I opened the door to the street and paused. ‘I’d like to hear what the sheriff has to say about the hanging of Charlie Darke. Perhaps we can get to the bottom of all the trouble that’s been happening around here.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
To the obvious distaste of Theo Dawlish’s wife, Annie was unable to hold back a demonstration of her grief when I entered the back room of the store. She threw her arms about my neck and pressed a wet cheek against my chest. I could feel her entire body quake as great, gut-wrenching sobs escaped her mouth. She was unable to frame the questions she wanted me to answer, just clung to me as though I was the last refuge in a torrent. Not that I knew the answers; who had hanged her husband I couldn’t say, why it had been done I could only guess at. Someone wanted Annie’s land, at least they wanted the money the railroad were prepared to pay for the northern strip. I didn’t tell her that, nor that Charlie Darke had deserved to hang for the murders of the Silver Star foreman and her parents. Someone would have to tell her one day, I hoped it wouldn’t be me. I promised her I’d be around until the killers were caught. Mrs Dawlish, meanwhile, was trying to prise us apart like a sheriff with two barroom brawlers, and the scowl on her face told me that my behaviour was not that of a gentleman. None the less, I held Annie until the initial wave of her despair had passed, then led her to a sofa where I left her to recover until I was ready to return to the ranch.
For now I had more pressing business. The horse with the fancy Mexican saddle was no longer hitched in front of the hotel, which probably meant that the big man, too, had gone. I checked inside. A handful of men were gathered at the bar, disturbed from their work by the ruckus in the street and happy to discuss the matter with a glass in their hands before returning to their labour.
The desk clerk, a well-groomed man, looking cool despite the three-piece suit he wore, watched me as I paused in the open doorway. I crossed to him. He gave me a wary, professional smile.
‘Yessir,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘A few minutes ago there was a big man in here. Taking a drink at the bar.’
‘Been a few men in here this morning,’ he said. ‘All the activity at the sheriff’s office. Got people curious.’
‘This man rides a Mexican saddle. Fancy silver-work embedded in the leather.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That would be Mr Grant. One of our guests.’
‘A guest?’ That seemed strange to me. He’d been prominent in the earlier bids to hang Charlie Darke and if he wasn’t a resident of Beecher’s Gulch he had to have a reason for wanting Charlie dead. Only two offered themselves to me. Either Grant had trailed Charlie here seeking revenge for some previous wrong, or Grant had been brought here specifically to get Charlie. ‘How long has Mr Grant been in town?’
‘A few days. Let me see.’ He ran his finger down the register book and stopped at an entry that only had three others below it. ‘Cole Grant,’ he said, ‘from Virginia City. Came here Tuesday.’
I knew the name. Cole Grant was a hired gun. I hadn’t run into him before but I’d spent enough time in Virginia City to know his reputation. He was a killer. It seemed probable that he’d been hired to kill Charlie and Annie Darke, and anyone else who got in the way.
‘Do you know what business Mr Grant has here in Beecher’s Gulch?’
‘No sir. He didn’t say.’
‘Any idea where he might have gone?’
‘Lit out of town riding east. That’s the trail to Rapid City. Or,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘out to Duke Barton’s spread.’
‘The Silver Star?’
‘That’s right. Seen him drinking with some of Mr Barton’s boys.’
I was confused. This information had brought me round in a full circle. When I’d arrived in Beecher’s Gulch the Silver Star outfit looked to be Annie and Charlie’s likely persecutors. But the shooting of Chet and the talk I’d had with Duke Barton had convinced me otherwise. Now, if Cole Grant was in the pay of the Silver Star, a grab for more land and more power seemed a likely motive for the happenings hereabouts.
I left the hotel and went back to the sheriff’s office. Apart from Theo Dawlish and the man called Lew who had assumed responsibility while the sheriff was incapacitated, another man, slight and elderly, hovered near the sheriff. The wound in Dan Bayle’s scalp had been cleaned and covered with a sticking-plaster. I could tell by the glassy look in his eyes that there was still pain when he moved his head and his senses hadn’t fully cleared. The newcomer kept glancing at Dan Bayle’s face and letting small noises escape from his mouth as though surprised that the sheriff was still sitting upright.
‘That’s the best I can do for you,’ he told Dan. ‘I’ll send someone for Tom Cartwright. He needs to take a look at you. That’s a mighty whack you’ve taken. Yessir, a mighty whack.’
‘You a doctor?’ I asked.
‘Nosir,’ he said. I noted his quick speech, his habit of running his words together like the hotel clerk. Perhaps they were related, perhaps it was merely a local idiosyncrasy. ‘The name’s Harthope. Most of my customers usually have wings when I get to them. I’m the undertaker. Still, in the absence of a proper doctor in town, I try to do what I can to patch up people ’til the doctor from Blackwater gets here.’
‘He ain’t coming,’ I told him.
‘What d’ya mean, ain’t coming?’
‘Doc Cartwright’s dead.’ When the shouts of disbelief ended I told the four men how Cartwright had been ambushed on his way to Annie Darke’s ranch. ‘I asked the riders who went for his body to have a look around for spent shells. My guess is,’ I said to Theo Dawlish, ‘that they’ll match those that you’re holding.’
‘What’s all this about?’ Dan Bayles asked. I told him about the earlier attack on Annie and the experiment with the rifle from Cole Grant’s saddle.
Theo Dawlish spoke. ‘Reckon we need you to arrest him, Dan.’
‘He’s a hired gun,’ I said. ‘Better not tackle him on your own with that lump on your head. Besides, he’s already skipped town.’
‘Well he can’t have got far,’ said Theo. ‘Let’s get after him.’
‘We’ll get a posse together,’ said Lew. ‘Which way did he go?’
‘It’s only a guess,’ I said, ‘but I think we’ll find him at the Silver Star ranch.’
‘Duke Barton’s spread!’
‘The Silver Star seems to be involved in all of Annie’s troubles and Cole Grant has been drinking with Duke Barton’s hired hands.’
‘Duke wouldn’t bring in a hired gun,’ said Dan Bayles.
‘Charlie Darke killed his top hand,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he thought he was too good with a gun to get rid of him any other way.’
‘You’ve got Duke figured all wrong,’ he said. Perhaps I had, and perhaps if Dan Bayles was in Duke Barton’s pocket he was just trying to put me off the scent. There again, there had been nothing sham about the blow the sheriff had taken. It didn’t seem likely he’d defend a man who’d been instrumental in cracking open his head.
‘Come on, Theo,’ said Lew, ‘let’s get a posse together and we’ll ride out to the Barton spread.’ When they left Harthope, the undertaker, went with them, assuring the sheriff that the body of Charlie Darke would be collected from the cells.
Dan Bayles was staring into the tin mug of coffee he held in his hand. I figured the news about Doc Cartwright wasn’t what he wanted to hear. ‘Ain’t there a doctor in Beecher’s Gulch?’ He looked at me, confused by my question. ‘Duke Barton told me about your blackouts,’ I said. ‘You’ll be needing someone else to treat you.’
‘Reckon so,’ he said. ‘Real neighbourly of Duke to discuss my problems with a stranger.’
‘Just explaining why you hadn’t been around to stop the attempt to lynch Charlie yesterday.’
‘I don’t need him or anyone else to defend my actions. Besides, he’ll miss Doc Cartwright more than me. Don’t suppose he told you about his own problems.’ I shook my head. ‘He’s dying. Something
growing inside him that’s eating him away.’
‘Cancer,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Ain’t got much longer. Don’t suppose he’ll see the start of another year.’
I remembered the man’s scrawny neck, how my first impression had been of a man who’d lost a lot of weight. It also explained Hawk’s decision to leave and his satisfaction at repaying his debt before it was too late. At the time I’d wondered at the meaning of his words, now it was apparent that he knew that Duke was dying. ‘How long has he known?’
‘Just a few weeks for certain. Took a trip back East a while ago. Him and Chet. Duke spent some time in a hospital but they had no cure for what ails him.’
‘That the time their foreman was killed? And Annie’s parents?’
‘That’s right. Weren’t a pleasant homecoming for them.’
‘I’ve heard it said that Chet went East to find a wife.’
‘Hell no! It seemed pretty clear to most folks hereabouts that Chet would many Annie.’ I was puzzled by Annie’s sudden decision to marry Charlie Darke, but, at times, grief makes people act strange. Dan Bayles was still talking. ‘No, Duke needed a travelling-companion.’
‘I suppose Wade was the better able to look after the ranch in his absence.’
The sheriff shook his head. ‘I’m not saying Wade ain’t a good cattleman, ’cos he is, but Chet is more like his old man. Thinks about things and puts the ranch first. Wade can be a bit on the wild side. Drinks and gambles and can’t foresee any threat to the domination of the Barton family in this valley.’
‘Can you?’
‘Not while Duke’s around.’
‘After that?’
‘I can’t tell. I don’t know what plans the brothers have for the Silver Star.’
‘You think they might sell it?’
‘They might split it. They’re brothers. They don’t always see eye to eye.’
I remembered the first time I’d seen Wade Barton. He’d thought his brother dead and his desire for revenge against the man he thought had killed him seemed genuine.
