Ballard and McCall 1

by Neil Hunter

  It came in the form of Phil Lansing, driving a racing buckboard up from the north end of town. It hurtled along the middle of the wide street in a thud of horses’ hooves and a swirling cloud of dust, scattering men and horses that got in its way.

  Peckard suddenly said, ‘God, it’s Phil Lansing’

  He ran forward, off the boardwalk and into the street, waving his arms, shouting.

  The driver of the buckboard mast have seen the sheriff for he suddenly hauled in the reins, bringing the horses to a plunging halt.

  Peckard ran to the buckboard. McCall was close behind him.

  ‘Phil, what’s happened?’ Peckard asked. Then he saw the condition of Lansing’s face.

  Lansing didn’t answer as he threw himself from the seat and went to the rear of the buckboard.

  ‘Not Mary’?’ Peckard said, his voice taut.

  Mary Lansing lay on the wooden floor of the buckboard, covered by thick blankets. Her face was bruised, and her eyes were wide and staring, completely unseeing.

  Peckard grasped Lansing by the shoulders and turned him round.

  ‘Phil, what happened? Who did this to you and Mary’?’

  Lansing lifted his head. His face was one mass of ugly, bruised and cut flesh. ‘Sam Dugan,’ he said flatly, his voice without emotion. ‘Sam Dugan.’

  ‘One of Temple’s crew?’ McCall asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Peckard replied.

  A few onlookers had crowded round and one of them stepped up to Peckard. ‘Sheriff, over there,’ he said, indicating something with his arm.

  ‘What is it?’ Ballard asked.

  Peckard nodded across the street to where three men were standing at the edge of the boardwalk.

  ‘Know ’em?’ McCall asked.

  Peckard nodded. ‘Big feller in front is Sam Dugan,’ he said.

  At the sound of Dugan’s name being spoken Phil Lansing jerked his head round. He saw the three men on the far boardwalk. A cry of anger came from his throat as he threw himself towards the buckboard. His outstretched hands clawed beneath the buckboard’s seat, and came out grasping a heavy double-barreled shotgun.

  Peckard saw the rancher’s intention and he stepped in front of him. ‘Phil, don’t,’ he said. ‘Let me handle it.’

  But Lansing paid no attention to the lawman. It was as if he couldn’t see anything except the three gunslingers across the street.

  ‘Dugan, I’m going to kill you!’ Lansing’s voice was high with emotion. He pushed past Peckard hard, heading for the end of the buckboard.

  Peckard swung after him and grabbed Lansing’s arm. For a moment they struggled. Then Lansing swung the butt of the shotgun into Peckard’s stomach. The old man fell to his knees with a groan.

  ‘Hey!’ McCall yelled.

  Lansing cleared the end of the buckboard and headed across the street, swinging up the shotgun.

  Dugan and his companions saw the approaching rancher and realized he meant business. They split their group and went for their guns.

  As Lansing began to raise his shotgun, McCall, who had followed him out, ran at the rancher. He slammed his full weight into Lansing. The two of them hit the ground with a hard slam. Lansing’s finger jerked the shotgun’s triggers and both barrels fired. The blast of shot howled into the air.

  Before the boom of the shotgun had faded there came the heavy roar of handguns. Slugs kicked up spurts of dirt around McCall and Phil Lansing. McCall shoved Lansing away from him as he pushed to his feet. As his hand dropped to his holster, McCall felt a slug burn a line across the side of his neck. Then McCall swung up his Colt, thumbed back the hammer and touched the trigger. He felt the gun buck in his palm as it fired, saw one of the men on the boardwalk twist sideways and plunge forward onto the street.

  Behind McCall, Ballard was exchanging shots with Dugan. Unlike his opponent Ballard was forcing himself to stay calm. Without a second of haste the Texan drew a bead on Dugan and squeezed the trigger twice. Dugan uttered a scream of terror as Ballard’s slugs tore into him. He was swept back across the boardwalk, hitting the wall behind him. He hung there for a brief moment his eyes fixed on the spurting streams of bright blood that pumped out of the holes in his chest. Then he slowly toppled to the boardwalk, his head striking hard against the planking.

  In the momentary lull that followed, the surviving gunman did the wisest thing of his life. He threw aside his gun and raised his arms above his head, and began shouting, ‘I quit. Don’t shoot!’

  McCall glanced behind him. Ernie Peckard was leaning up against the side of the buckboard and Ballard was moving across the street toward the surrendered gunslinger. Holstering his gun McCall helped Lansing to his feet. The rancher ran a hand across his battered face.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled faintly.

  McCall rubbed the spot on his neck whore the slug had burned him.

  ‘Don’t let it worry you none,’ he said

  .

  As McCall and Lansing reached the buckboard, Ballard joined them with his prisoner. Peckard nodded in the direction of the two bodies.

  ‘Both dead,’ Ballard informed him.

  ‘You all right, Sheriff?’ McCall asked.

  ‘I’ll live,’ Peckard said. ‘Teach me not to get in the way of a man’s gun butt.’

  Lansing cleared his throat uncomfortably. He raised his eyes to meet Peckard’s unflinching gaze. His swollen lips moved slowly. ‘I...I…don’t know how to apologize, Ernie,’ he said.

  Peckard chuckled gently. ‘Hell, Phil,’ he said, ‘if I thought you’d really meant that punch, I’d have put a slug in your leg.’

  ‘You want this in jail?’ Ballard asked, indicating his sullen prisoner.

  ‘Give him the best cell we got,’ said Peckard. To the gunman he snapped, ‘You’ve just left Temple’s payroll, Tanner.’

  Tanner gave a crooked grin. ‘Listen, old man, you won’t have me in that place long enough to lock the door. You carved your own headstone when you tangled with us.’

  ‘Hey, this feller scares me,’ McCall said soberly.

  Ballard gave Tanner a not too gentle push towards the jail. ‘Move out, mister.’

  ‘Somebody help Phil and Mary over to Doc Burkett’s office. He should be back from Joe Haskell’s place by now.’ Peckard turned to the gathered crowd as he spoke.

  Two men stepped forward. One helped Phil Lansing onto the front seat of the buckboard. The other climbed in the back with Mary Lansing. Phil Lansing sat still and erect as the buckboard moved off up the street towards the end of town where Gunner Creek’s doctor had his office.

  A familiar figure appeared in front of McCall. It was Dicken Hodges. He reeked of whisky and carried a bottle in each hand.

  ‘Hey, boy,’ he said loudly, ‘you sure are one big hell raiser. Wherever you go you stir up trouble.’ He grinned up at McCall. Then he turned to Peckard. ‘Hey, Ernie,’ he shouted, ‘you done got you a couple of dandy deputies.’

  Peckard nodded. ‘Seems so, Dicken. Say, do something for me, huh. Go tell Jerry Sol there are two customers for him.’

  Swinging his whisky bottles Hodges made off up the street.

  ‘Who is Jerry Sol?’ McCall asked, already guessing the answer.

  ‘Undertaker,’ Peckard replied. Then he said, ‘Let’s go see how our one-and-only prisoner is doing.’

  Chapter Eight

  Temple was in his office, going through his accounts when the door burst open and Dutch Canfield came in.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ Temple snapped. He was in a touchy mood. He’d had very little sleep the previous night, due to the fact that the problems of Peckard, his two deputies and now Dugan, were constantly at the forefront of his thoughts. ‘Well?’ he asked again.

  ‘Trouble,’ Dutch said. ‘Dugan, Tanner, and Wylie have gone out.’

  ‘What!’ Temple exploded, his anger bursting free. ‘I told them to keep out of circulation until I got everything sorted out about Lansing.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Dutch said.
‘But Dugan don’t like to be shoved around too much. He said he wasn’t going to stay inside for you or anybody. Not while he has anything to say about it.’

  ‘That ignorant bastard could make big trouble,’ Temple said. ‘Get Rio up here. Fast!’

  As Ditch turned towards the door there came a sudden outburst of gunfire from the direction of the street. Temple ran to the window, pushed it open and leaned out. Dutch joined him. They were in time to see the end of the fight. Temple watched in bitter silence as Chet Ballard escorted Vic Tanner over to the jail. He saw Ernie Peckard and Jess McCall standing beside a buckboard, saw them turn towards the jail as the buckboard moved off.

  ‘Seems like that old law dog ain’t as useless as we been imagining,’ Dutch remarked.

  Temple wasn’t impressed by the observation. ‘Damn that stupid old fool. Does he think he can make a stand against us?’

  ‘He’s made a good start,’ Dutch said.

  ‘Whose side are you on?’ Temple asked, his face darkened by an angry scowl.

  Dutch pulled his head back into the office. He waited until Temple had closed the window.

  ‘What now?’ he asked.

  Temple picked up his hat and strode to the door.

  ‘Bring a couple of the men. And find Rio. We’re going to pay a visit to the sheriff’s office. It’s about time I had a talk with the law of this town. Someone seems to have the wrong impression as to which hand holds the whip around here.’

  It was only a few minutes later that Temple, along with Rio, Dutch Canfield, and two more of his hired guns, left the King High and made their way up the street towards the town jail.

  Rio walked alongside of Temple. The expression of cynical amusement on Rio’s face annoyed Temple. He had the feeling that Rio was only along for the ride. Just lately he had been pushing a little too hard. He never passed up an opportunity to make one of his biting comments at Temple. The man seemed to take delight in taking sharp jabs at Temple’s pride. Temple put it down to the fact that Rio was getting tired of the set-up here in Gunner Creek. Maybe he was thinking of moving on.

  If he was, Temple thought, there was a way it could be arranged.

  Temple pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as he found himself standing before the jail. He glanced over his shoulder. Dutch stood a few feet to one side with his two men. Rio was on Temple’s left, still with a cold glimmer of a smile on his face. Temple’s mouth stiffened for a moment. Then he looked away and faced the Jail.

  ‘Peckard,’ he called, ‘come out here. I want to talk to you.’

  The jail door opened before Temple had finished speaking.

  Ernie Peckard came out and walked to the edge of the boardwalk. He was followed by Jess McCall and Chet Ballard. Both of the Texans carried rifles.

  For a moment Temple forgot his reason for coming as he gazed up at Chet Ballard.

  ‘Nice day, gents,’ Ballard said pleasantly. But he was looking at Temple as he spoke, and his words brought a sudden chill that made Temple’s flesh creep.

  Chapter Nine

  Ballard had Tanner locked in one of the cells by the time McCall and Peckard got back to the jail.

  ‘Man, what a day,’ McCall said as he shut the door.

  Ballard was sitting on the edge of the desk thumbing shells into a rifle. He glanced up and said, ‘You wanted the Job.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ McCall indicated the rifle. ‘You expecting more?’

  ‘I don’t think Temple is going to let this go unheeded.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Peckard said. ‘If we can get away with a thing like this, it’s going to show the folks in town that Temple isn’t untouchable. They might get the notion to start something, too.’

  McCall got himself a rifle and began to load it.

  For a few minutes the office was silent, save for the sound of guns being checked and loaded. Each man looked to his weapon with the almost religious reverence of men who know that their lives depend on the perfect working of their chosen gun.

  From outside came the sound of Wade Temple’s voice.

  Peckard made for the door. As he began to open it he spoke over his shoulder.

  ‘Keep your eyes open. Don’t trust a single one of Temple’s crew.’

  The Texans were close behind Peckard as he stepped out of the office. The sheriff walked to the edge of the boardwalk and stopped. McCall and Ballard flanked him, their rifles held relaxed but ready to be swung into use.

  When Ballard broke the premature silence that hung over the two groups Peckard was swift to take notice of the effects that his words produced.

  Temple’s reaction was plain to see. Noticeable too was the hard smile on Rio’s face. He seemed to be totally indifferent to the fact that he was facing a man who had witnessed him commit murder.

  ‘You want to see me?’ Peckard asked sharply, making the most of Temple’s momentary contusion.

  Temple turned his gaze on Peckard. He drove back the eddying waves of fear that were threatening to break his composure. With a firmness come of long practice he forced himself speak steadily.

  ‘What’s this game you’re playing, Peckard? Two of my men dead and another in Jail. And Quince shot yesterday, by a saddle tramp now your deputy.’

  McCall stepped up to the edge of the boardwalk. His face was hard as he said, ‘I’d watch that loose mouth, mister. Could get you in a lot of trouble.’

  Peckard said, ‘Your man, Tanner, is in jail because he drew down on me and my deputies. Dugan and Wylie are dead because they tried the same thing, only they chose the hard way out. Quince, well he got what he’d been working towards for a while.’

  Temple’s eyes narrowed and his face darkened. ‘How long do you expect to keep Tanner locked up?’ he demanded.

  ‘As long as it takes to get the circuit judge to come and try him.’

  At this Temple gave a grunt of annoyance. ‘Now look, Peckard,’ he snapped, ‘I don’t think you realize what you’re doing.’

  Peckard smiled tiredly as he said: ‘Temple, I know what I’m doing. It’s something that should have been done a long time ago. And it’s the matter of cleaning this town of you and your crew of no-good, bullying scum. Now, I’m an old man, but as long as I wear this star I’m the law. And from now on I’m going to do everything I can to get rid of you, Temple, any way I can.’

  Rio suddenly stepped up to the boardwalk, his face devoid of any expression.

  ‘Old man, why don’t you put away the badge and join the rest of the old timers in the sun.’ His voice was low and goading.

  Out of the corner of his eye McCall saw Peckard stiffen. He saw the sheriff’s hand moving toward his gun butt. He realized that this was what Rio wanted Peckard to do. Go for his gun and be dropped by Rio, who would then claim self-defense. McCall didn’t hesitate. He took one step forward, off the boardwalk and onto the street. As he came alongside of Rio the Texan swung his rifle in a short, swift arc. The hard barrel came down on Rio’s gun hand with a sharp crack. Rio’s lips drew back in a grimace of pain and his head swung round.

  ‘Careless of me,’ McCall said apologetically.

  Rio made a sound deep in his throat. His face showed every last vestige of hate he carried. If looks could kill, McCall thought at that moment, I would be one dead Texican boy.

  Peckard broke the silence then.

  ‘Temple, if any of yours boys even look at me wrong, I’ll put them away.’

  Temple seemed lost for words. ‘You won’t be able to hide behind that badge for long, Peckard,’ he blustered.

  He turned and walked away, followed by his crew. Only Rio remained. He stood for a moment, nursing his hand.

  ‘This isn’t over,’ he said.

  McCall nodded. ‘Damn right it isn’t.’

  Rio looked as if he might still be going to go for his gun, but he thought better of it and withdrew.

  McCall took off his hat and wiped his face on his sleeve.

  ‘Close enough there to shave,’ he said.
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  ‘Too close,’ Ballard agreed. ‘Next time won’t finish so quietly.’

  Peckard nudged McCall’s arm ‘Thanks for getting Rio off my back.’

  McCall grinned. ‘Only did it ‘cause it’s your turn to buy the coffee.’

  ‘Okay,’ Peckard said, ‘let’s go before I change my mind.’

  Chapter Ten

  As Wade Temple strode back to the King High after his meeting with Ernie Peckard he felt flickering’s of fear. His mind was in a turmoil as he strove to find a solution to his problems.

  He realized that Peckard was in complete earnest about getting tough. And having those deputies was in Peckard’s favor. Ballard would stick with the job till he saw that Temple was either finished or dead. The other one, McCall, was one of those Texans who loved a fight, and loved it more if it was for a cause. Temple swore silently as he reviewed the incident with the Lansings. The attack itself was bad enough. But what Temple was perturbed about was the way that Peckard and his deputies had taken on three of his crew and come out of it unharmed.

  Temple entered the saloon and straightaway went up to his office. To be alone was what he wanted just now. He found his hands were trembling as he went over to the cabinet where he kept his drink and poured himself a large shot of whisky.

  Sitting behind his desk Temple took a long swallow from his glass. The whisky coursed down his throat, making his eyes narrow as it burned a searing path through his body. This time though the effect was not the usual one that whisky had on him. Instead of making him feel secure and optimistic, the whisky became a damper, lowering his morale and leaving a bitter tang in his mouth. With a sudden outburst of frustration Temple hurled the glass across the room. It shattered against the far wall and the whisky stained the wallpaper, running down to the carpet in long glistening streaks.

  Temple pushed to his feet and strode over to the window. He gazed down on a near-deserted street.

  Damn this town, he thought savagely. He began to realize just how much he really hated Gunner Creek. His grip on the town had become so tight that he was slowly strangling it. The place was becoming a tomb, a dead town filled with frightened, dumb sheep. He shouted, they jumped. He demanded something, they gave it without a murmur.