by Frank Callan
Will eyed him, and his brain was busy with possible situations about the tall stranger. He decided to play a bold hand. ‘Mister Lacey . . . you here tomorrow?’
‘No. I’m catching the first stage west. Another job waiting. . . .’
‘Fine. I wish you good luck.’ He held out a hand and Harry shook it. Will was relieved that there was one less potential ally for McCoy and the officials of the town.
‘We’re gonna play some poker, Miss Perdy,’ Will said, ‘But I appreciate that you’re mourning a fine man, and we’ll be real orderly, that’s a promise.’
At that moment, in came McCoy and he heard the last words. ‘Oh, really? A Carney cowpoke promising good behaviour? Life has its surprises.’
‘I don’t want no trouble, Sheriff. Me and the boys . . . we’re playing cards and sipping cool beer. That’s all it amounts to.’
‘I expect respect for Mr Boodle and his good partner here, Miss Perdy. I know it’s a saloon bar, but some manners and quiet would be fine.’
‘Rest easy, McCoy. You just enjoy a placid sort of evening. You never know when you’ll have another.’
The Big Question boys knew the innuendo of that, and they couldn’t resist smiles, but nothing else was said.
Harry could never understand the appeal of gambling. As he sat with Perdy, Chet Two Winds arrived and it was clear that he was of the same mind. Chet came to offer help and support, and Harry soon came to see that there was more to the literary club than met the eye. Chet may have been one for tall tales, but he had seen life and he knew people. When he arrived, he saw straightaway that Perdy wasn’t really happy with the noise from the card players, who by that time had taken too much to drink along with the passions of the play – even Will, usually the foreman, was sounding off about something, and there was the kind of row you get from men who have been bored too long and need some kind of release.
Chet said, ‘I came to see if there’s anything I can do, Miss Candle, seeing as I’m verging on being the old timer around here, and as I was a friend to Mr Boodle, and him to me. Why we rode together once, all the way from La Junta, after he went to sell some valuables . . . he was raising cash to buy this place.’
There was a shout from the card table, and then some bad language. Chet stood up and strode across to the boys from the Big Question. He stood firm and spoke direct, ‘Now boys, you must see that openin’ the place today was a special concession to the town. Miss Perdita Candle by rights should be just mournin’ and be shut away to cope with her sorrow. So this kind of rowdy behaviour will just not do.’
‘Oh really? It won’t do? So suddenly you’re the man who runs the place, are you? Or maybe you’re the new sheriff, as the present one is a snivellin’ coward and a man who neglects his charges so that they die on him. Which are you, you pain in the backside?’ This was Will Ringo, and he had forgotten that he promised Carney he would behave and just watch things, so he could report back.
‘I think you’re rude and you need teachin’ some manners, Ringo.’ Chet showed no fear. But unfortunately the Carney boys had no regard for that, and the three men with Will got to their feet and started grabbing Chet. He hit one of them and then staggered back as another ran for his midriff. When Chet clattered against the wall and squealed in pain, it was time for Harry to act.
The gamblers were holding Chet still while Will Ringo was reaching to crack a fist across his face. ‘You no-good half-breed, with your fancy high-minded shams, you’re gonna pay for your damned cheek!’
But in a second, Harry took hold of Ringo’s arm and spun him round, then punched him hard in the face. He went down with a cry of pain. Harry ripped one of the men off Chet, who now struggled with odds of two to one. In the midst of all this Perdy shouted for Sheriff McCoy.
Harry saw that the man taking him on was about to reach for a knife, and as soon as he grasped the handle, Harry gave a strong kick at the blade and dislodged it so it spun across the floor. By now Perdy was yelling for them to stop, but Chet was losing against two men, and Harry had his man fast and secure, with an arm behind his back and giving threats of breaking the arm if he didn’t stop fighting.
Just as Will Ringo recovered and got to his feet, and swung a fist at Harry’s cheek, the voice of McCoy rang out across the room, ‘Stop this at once!’
The Big Question boys ran for the back door, throwing Chet to one side. But Harry grabbed Will Ringo, and McCoy took over, telling the two deputies who were following him to take Ringo into custody.
‘You been irritatin’ me for too long, Ringo. I’ve let too many things pass. But this time I’m lockin’ you up. Being first man to that son of Satan out there don’t give you immunity from the law. Take him away, boys.’
‘Not for long, McCoy. Your life is near its limit. Better fear the hours ticking away!’ Ringo spat out the words and gave McCoy a look of sheer contempt.
He was hauled away, and McCoy turned to Harry and Perdy, ‘Now you two, how about you close up and take some time away from the place, eh? You all right, son?’ He was looking at Harry, whose face was dribbling blood. ‘I can see your right eye is gonna swell something bad.’
Perdy said she would take care of him, and the sheriff left. But Harry was turning over in his mind what Ringo had said. It didn’t sound like a general statement: it was more like a threat, as if he knew there was a problem coming along, due soon like a loco expected along the line.
But Harry had no more time to think. Perdy called for some ointment and for her ‘emergency box’ as she always called it. One of the girls brought it, and in her other hand she had a small rock: ‘See, Miss Perdy, look what was in that drawer . . . the mad-stone!’
‘Of course, Lord Harry, I have to tell you that this rock was one of Happen’s most crazy little habits, and he was some eccentric I have to say! ’Twas the nearest thing to a weapon the man had . . . he was after your own heart, a man of peace. But he was known to have slammed it on to someone’s head, when roused.’ She managed a laugh, and Harry could see that she was bringing to mind a fine memory of Boodle.
‘I’m putting on my special ointment . . . that’s a hell of a bruise, Lord Harry . . . but I know all about looking after men. Years of practice have made me an expert at nursing. So sit down here, good . . . now lie back. This is called a chaise longue and it always added some class to the place.’
He did lie back, and she gently treated the bruise, and mopped up the blood. ‘Faces always bleed some, that’s for sure. But it looks worse than it is . . .’
His thoughts went to the next day, and what he was to do. Dusk had crept into the Colorado evening; there was barely any sound out in the street. His mind ranged over what he had seen since coming here: the girl being shot, and then a man killed in his own home. Now another brawl. Was it right to move on, to leave the town to its destiny? Harry Lacey had always believed that a man makes his own luck. Was the coming day the right time to test out that theory? But for the time being, the soft hands of a beautiful woman were gliding along his jaw, and then dabbing something that stung on a cut below one eye. Her perfume filled his nose, and then his whole sense of being.
By the end of the night, as a coyote bayed at the moon, and he and Perdy had been left alone, sitting in a corner seat, still sipping beer in his case, and in hers, more red wine drunk, to suppress the thoughts of the man she had lost.
‘You asleep, Miss Perdy?’ Harry asked, softly.
‘Very nearly. I think my mind is spinning . . . but you know, I have a welcoming bed upstairs. I could use some comfort.’
He accepted, but as they went into bed, and the woman nestled close to him, he sensed that she was slipping into a restful sleep. He just held her. Harry Lacey, he whispered, to no one but himself, how long since you had the warmth of a woman by you? Too long, Mister Drifter, too long . . . but goodnight lady.
Chapter 15
The literary club had barely started their conversation, and Chet Two Winds, in spite of cuts and bruises on his f
ace and a sore head, was in full flow recounting his days in the mines when the Chiracahua Apaches arrived looking for blood, with Alby Groot calling him a liar, when Hal Bornless rushed in, panting with his news.
‘Hey listen! I have something to tell you all. Lord Harry Lacey . . . he’s a killer!’
Heads turned and there were gasps. Mrs Hoyt was visibly shocked, and her husband had to stop her going into one of her fainting episodes.
‘The man of culture, the one who stood and talked about the need for peace and true justice, that man has taken lives! I thought you all should know.’
‘Well, we ain’t paid him yet. He’s due to come here any time now and take his dollars away with him to his next lecture date.’ This was Preacher Hoyt, and he spoke the words with a sense of grievance. It was the troublemaker, Alby Groot, who seized the chance to stir it up: ‘Right, I’m not going to be a member of a society that issues a contract with a known desperado. I knew as soon as he walked in that he was a refined and died-in-the-wool liar. Didn’t I tell you that, Mrs Hoyt?’
She had no time to reply.
‘Just one blamed, dashed minute!’ said Doc Potworthy, ‘Mr Bornless, you need to substantiate this wild claim . . . we all know you’re a romancer and like to spin a three-volume novel out of a dime yarn!’
‘Substantiate! Why, it’s here in print. I combed the press for this scandal and you know what? He had blood on his hands . . . the blood of seven men, now under the sods, and him a self-proclaimed man of peace!’
‘Maybe we withhold the payment?’ Mrs Hoyt said.
‘No way can we do that. Word will get around that Broken Man folk are two-faced crooks! Anyway, I like the man. He saved me from a beating yesterday . . . I mean, a worse beating, or worse. . . .’ Chet said this with his usual tone of passionate dissent.
The Doc raised an arm for quiet and Preacher Hoyt called for hush. Then Mrs Hoyt, recovered from the shock now, said, ‘Now listen, fellow authors and people of culture and learning, we have had an impostor amongst us, a charlatan, but he’s moving on today, and we’re well rid of him. Consequently we pay up and say nothing.’
‘But Lord Harry Lacey is lying to us . . . he’s a rogue. Probably not even a Lord anyways,’ shouted Hal, and waited for a response. But at that second, Lord Harry walked into the room.
Preacher Hoyt took it upon himself to explain. ‘Lord Harry, Mr Bornless here is claiming that you are a murderer. Would you care to defend your reputation?’
‘No sir, I would not. My life is my own business. Bornless, do tell us more.’
Hal went to stand before the group, and Harry stood with one long leg resting on a chair, listening, but knowing exactly what was coming.
‘Lord Harry Lacey, as you see him standing there, shows no sign that he has been a man of violence. You’ll note that he carries no gun. The belt around his waist has no sheath and knife. This is the man who spoke to us lately of what justice was, and how firearms bring nothing but death and suffering. Well, the periodicals do not lie, and I have here, copied from a number of such, proof that he was a gunfighter, and he did time in jail. Isn’t it typical of this wild place, way distant from the reach of true values, that a no-good bounty hunter should blow in like a weed?’
‘Stop!’ Harry shouted at him. ‘Enough . . . I’ll explain, now that I have to.’ The listeners turned to look at Harry now, and he had their full attention.
‘Every man changes his values through his life, and I changed mine. When I first crossed the ocean and put my feet down on this new world, I had to find ways to survive, to feed myself, and the time came when a bullet or a blade was necessary or I would have perished. I never enjoyed it. The fact is, I stooped pretty low and I took lives. But I paid for that and I became a different man. The man in those stories, Mr Bornless, is a stranger to me.’
‘So you’re asking for forgiveness, Lacey?’ Preacher Hoyt asked.
‘No. Only God can do that. All I want from you people is some understanding. Now, I’m going to leave my fee with you. Give it to the needy. I’ll be across the way, stepping on to the stage west by the late morning. Until then, I’m resting and writing my journal of travels taken. It’s the pen, not the gun, today.’
He stopped talking and left the room, leaving behind him an uneasy silence. This lasted for a while, and then the literary types all rattled off their moral opinions, none of them, as usual, agreeing with any of the others. But Chet Two Winds did say again:
‘That man probably saved my life yesterday. That’s all I can say, folks. Anyway, since when did Hal Bornless do anything upright and moral? He’s a darn scribe, a tale-teller down to his marrow. You believe what he says, after the Oxbow Valley fiasco? You’ll recall that he came home from that and reported that a thousand Apaches had taken over the valley and murdered every man and woman in sight? Turned out to be three men died in a drunken brawl.’
Nothing else was said. Even Bornless was stuck for words.
The night before, at the Hole house, Lydia and her family were still worried about the bullet wound in the girl’s arm, and about the recent trouble from Joe Dane. Ma Lil was tucking up the patient in bed, but sleep was not going to come so willingly. Lydia was troubled, and she asked, ‘Ma, I need to ask about my real Pa, about Rico.’
‘Yes, my love?’
‘I’d like you to tell me how he died.’
‘I’ve told you. Your new Pa told you as well, girl.’
‘Yes, but I don’t think I have the whole story.’
Ma Lil stroked Lydia’s forehead, and then ran a hand through the girl’s long hair and told her how beautiful she was, and how men would long for her, better men than Joe Dane.
‘You’re not answering! You’re not listening!’ Lydia pushed Ma Lil’s hand away and sat up. ‘I’m not a child. I need the truth.’
Ma Lil sighed and sat down to face Lydia, looking her straight in the eyes. ‘Now, Lydie, your father was caught in a stampede. He was trying to cut out some steers during the worst of it and his horse’s hoof caught in something. He was crushed by the beasts. . . . You were told that, and it’s true.’
Lydia decided to come out with her worry, and put the question boldly, ‘So Joe Dane had nothing to do with it?’
She could see from Lil’s face that this was near the mark; it had some truth in it. But then her expression changed and Ma Lil said, ‘He was there, with Rico, that’s all. He was, they said, lucky to escape the same fate. There was some talk . . . some talk about Joe falling out with your Pa over some kind of gambling debt. Just talk. You get that on the trail.’
Lydia was left to sleep, but her thoughts turned to that fatal drive and the stampede. Time passed, and restlessly she turned and turned in her bed, finally getting up and going for some water. It was then that she heard the voices: it was Ma Lil and Elias talking, and she caught the word ‘Dane’.
She was flat against the wall, in shadow, so no glow of light from the oil lamp could catch a flicker of her movement. Now she could make out every word.
‘She’ll go on asking, Lil. She knows there’s Joe Dane in the picture somewhere.’
‘Sure Elias, you know and I know, that he pushed Rico off the chestnut. He had every reason, mainly that hundred bucks he owed Rico. You can’t pay cash to a dead man.’
Elias answered with a sigh, ‘I knew when that stray dog showed up again here that there would be trouble. . . . Just when the girl was leavin’ all the pain behind, that little rebel turns up.’
‘Yes, but at least she sees him for what he is now – no good, a waster and a man fated to dance on the end of a rope!’
‘Right, Lil. You couldn’t prove it in a court of law, but I’d bet my last nickel that Dane shoved Rico to his death.’
‘She’ll keep on asking, Elias, she’s worse nor a prairie dog for digging out, and she’ll drag out the truth like a stored carcass.’
Lydia had heard enough. All her suspicions had been proved. They had been keeping the truth from her. Now, it
was time to do something about it. Back she went to bed, her heart thumping and a wave of passionate hate running through her. What she had been suspecting was the case. Why didn’t they tell her the facts? Why was the entire world poisoned by the bad blood of lies and deception? It could only be that they feared she might do something extreme. Well, they were right in that, she thought. Something extreme was going to happen, and nothing would stop her doing it. She had always thought that love and hate were two sides of the same coin. The love shone and dazzled you, but the hate was always in the dark side, like there was shame involved. Not this time, though. No shame in wanting Joe Dane dead.
Harry Lacey would help. He was her Bonneville after all. He was a gentleman of the kind you never saw around Broken Man. No, he was like a medieval knight. Back in the time of chivalry, like it said in the school-books, he would have been jousting, with her standard over him and her favour tucked in his armour. Yes, she would find her Bonneville and together they would find vengeance.
In the jailhouse, the day began with coffee and with Will Ringo ranting and shouting to be sent home. McCoy and Elias enjoyed the coffee, and they both grinned at the sight of the Big Question man in such a state of panic.
‘Hey, this ain’t like you, Ringo, acting like a stuck hog and whinin’ like some mother-seeking calf.’ This was Elias, who had nothing but contempt for the man. McCoy, though, was interested in the undercurrent of Ringo’s threats. ‘If you don’t let me out and send me home, McCoy, well, let’s just say that the law might change sides, if you get my drift.’
‘Change sides?’
‘Well, maybe it’s better to say it could cut the cards in favour of the smartest player. Life is like that poker game, McCoy, and you’re a less than average player, we all know that.’
