by Frank Callan
‘You’re guilty of assault, Ringo. Shut up and take it like a man!’ Elias snapped, throwing his coffee dregs towards the jail bars.
‘Oh, you’re the big man, aren’t you, Hole? That’s when you’re in that position, with me locked in here. But that ain’t always the case, and I’d back myself agin you in a face-off, mister, any time.’
‘He always did fancy himself as a gunslinger, didn’t he, Mister McCoy?’ Elias asked, then said that in a fist-fight, Ringo would beg for mercy. ‘You ain’t no real man, Ringo . . . you’re Carney’s little dog, the brute he kicks around. . . .’
‘Enough you two . . . enough!’ McCoy said, finishing his coffee and going to the door. ‘I have some business with Preacher Hoyt. He’s sent some message about the English Lord. Creggan’s coming to keep you company, Elias.’
As he walked out, Deputy Creggan came inside and winked at the prisoner. Creggan was a wind-lashed old cow-hand who had done the big drives north more times than he cared to recall, and he’d been a miner and a stage driver. Now he was wearing the tin star and his skill with a gun was highly valued by McCoy. On that fateful morning, neither of them had any idea just how tested that skill would be.
Chapter 16
At the Big Question, Itch Carney was cursing. ‘Damn it all, son, I told him to keep quiet, to listen and watch, to come back with no trouble hanging over him! It was such a simple instruction. But he had to go and trample down a sound plan. Never would have made a soldier, that boy. Now he’s in McCoy’s jail . . . where Red died.’ He was talking to a bunch of his hands, who were now close to mounting and riding out with him, to settle things with McCoy. They were waiting for Carney to join them, but he had stalled, because he was in pain again, and he didn’t want that to show. It was essential that the men saw him well and strong.
He took more coffee and a little laudanum. Since he had stirred that morning, all he could think of was his brother Red’s face in the coffin, and the rotten, scarred face of that animal, McCoy. Oh, this was the day of reckoning, and nothing could go wrong. It was with a supreme effort of willpower that he went out, showing the bravado of a much younger man. He grabbed hold of his rifle and aimed a bullet into the air. The horses stirred a little. The men shouted at him. Then he swung a leg up over the saddle on his pinto, his best and speediest mount, and screamed out, ‘Come on boys . . . let’s pay him back for my kid brother, yeah?’
There was a chorus of ‘yeah’ from along the line, and the massive force of men lined up in front of their boss.
Joe Dane had never before felt so much like a wounded animal hiding in its lair. In time gone by he had been compared to a predator – a hunter. A resolution man was a human hunter of course, and he had learned to know the scent of fear when he was in pursuit of a quarry.
Now, though, he was licking his wounds, and his beating at the hands of Elias Hole was smarting inside, even more than the stabs of pain he felt from the bruises. If the man hadn’t been Lydia’s new father, he would have ended him, as he had done her first and real pa. It had taken some effort of will not to pull a revolver on the man and bring him down. So here he was, squatting in some backyard on the outskirts of town, with wounds on arms, back and chest, but with a desire in his heart to get even with that giant block of muscle who was considerably overdue for a slice of humiliation, such as the ones he usually dished out.
It was now the deepest cloak of night around him, and even more, he had a frame of mind close to a coyote bleeding from a fight with a rival, than to a man. All he could think of was that thick-skulled chancer who had shamed him. Maybe the girl was doomed to be an orphan for a second time. He could do nothing but lie still and wait for the first sign of sun-up. Carney would be expecting him, to share the food and then take his place with the cattleman’s private army. What he kept telling himself was that, though Carney had any number of men who were useful with a gun, he had chosen Joe Dane to do the job. This was no ordinary assignment, as McCoy was always surrounded by deputies. He rarely strode out alone, and if he did, it was in the dusk or in the thick of night.
But the attack tomorrow would be head on. It would be a siege, and it would be won by volleys of rifle fire and sheer force of numbers, and with no set targets – except for McCoy, who would have to be his man.
Though he was hurting bad, Joe Dane knew that this was his best chance of making something of himself. The money would be enough to take him and Lydie away somewhere, for a new beginning. He could wash up some place where he was not known as a wanted man.
The morning would bring his new life, he just knew. But first he would lie, look at the moon, and try to sleep. The folks out there had not the slightest inkling of what was going to hit them the next day. Yes, he thought, it was time for Joe Dane to make things happen.
By around eight, Will Ringo could stand the pretence no longer. Keeping quiet and going along with routine was impossible. He just had to tell McCoy and his men what was coming their way. Since a plate of cold beans and dry bread early in the day, he had held in all that tormenting detail about Carney’s plans for the jail. It was when he saw the three of them together around the big table – Creggan, Elias and the young one, Sims – that he let fly something to disturb the peace.
‘ ’Course, you know that come about noon, this place is certain to be flattened to the ground, and you men with it.’
‘Why’s that, gamblin’ man?’ Elias asked, lazily.
‘Because my boss and enough men to take on an army is gonna come stormin’ into Broken Man and wipe most of it out. All because of Red Carney.’
Creggan sat up to listen now. He knew more about that death than anyone else in the room. ‘Red Carney . . . awful shame. He died right there, where your feet are planted, Ringo. I saw him die.’
‘Really! Well, Mister Carney, he thinks that you and McCoy helped Red along the road to the next world.’
Creggan slammed the table. ‘He’s lyin’, and he’s just let all this eat away at him. Red Carney died of some sweatin’ disease . . . a fever. The Doc said so. Even his golden medicine couldn’t help. It was a natural death, I’m tellin’ ya!’
Will came to the bars and spat out his answer, ‘Sure, natural as a shot in the back! But in a few hours, you tin stars are due to be juicin’ up that dead soil at the bone-yard!’ He gave a deep, throaty laugh and waited for a response, but they ignored him.
They should have listened. A few miles away, Carney’s men were now ready to leave. They were mounted and armed, and Itch had finally fought off his feeling of weakness, though his chest, as he sat and gave out the orders from the back of his pinto, still felt tight and there were spasms of pain down his back. He forced a laugh and then spoke to them all.
‘Now boys, we’re missin’ Joe Dane and Will. I’m told that our Will is in the jail, so that changes the thinking some. Means we’ll have to approach this more careful like. I want twelve men to storm into the place through the back wall.’ He pointed at six men who were together at one end, holding lances, and another six with axes slipped into their saddles.
‘See Jem and the boys there . . . they have these lances like the British cavalry. Only these is from my wood-yard . . . tougher than any lat of wood on a wall. Jem and the boys will just crash through the walls with these, and then the others – that’s another half dozen – I want to have ready with axes. The rest of us will hit the front door. We have surprise on our side, there’s no time for them to think and react.’
What he meant was that Will could be a hostage. But the six men with the lances and the others with their axes would crack down the wall and be into the jail in seconds. He explained, ‘When you six take the cells, get out quick with Will and lie flat. See, we’ll all be annihilating the room. The thing is to make the holes with the points of lances, then get hacking straightaway with the axe blades. The sound alone will terrify the men inside, believe me!’
Everyone knew that there was some risk in this, and Carney spoke for them all when he said,
‘Will has let us down bad, boys, and so we’ll just have to risk him a mite. It’s his own darned fault.’
Chapter 17
Lydia was out early, before the family stirred, and she was dressed in anything but feminine attire. In fact, she was in a man’s clothes, and would have been mistaken for such until the onlooker was close up. She wore a loose shirt and trousers, taken from her brother, and wore high boots. Tucked into her belt was a .28 calibre pocket revolver. She had read about revenge: it was in the most exciting stories in the books and periodicals, but now it was a real emotion, wracking her body like a fever.
By the time she reached The False Start the workers were stirring, and when they saw who it was, asked her what she was doing there so early. Lydia explained that she was there to see Harry.
Knowing that Harry was in bed with Miss Perdy, the staff tried to lie that he had left town. They were sensitive to the young woman’s feelings, and everybody knew about her affection for the Englishman. But no sooner were the words spoken than Lydia saw Harry on the balcony, coming out of a bedroom, naked to the waist, stretching and humming a tune. Lydia called out his name and ran up the stairs.
Harry darted back in the room, where Perdy lay under the sheets, about to move into her day’s activities, and he took his shirt and put it on, just as Lydia burst into the room. Her look was one of disgust, flashing her glance to each in turn, she pulled a sour face and lashed out the words, ‘Lord Harry . . . you have . . . you have . . . how could you do this?’
Her dream had cracked like an old mirror. Her Bonneville was just like all the rest. He was no better than Joe Dane. In her mind, she had marked him out to be her special man. Harry understood all this, but as Lydia ran out, screeching her anger, he stopped to put on his boots, and by the time he was ready to pursue the girl, she was out of sight.
Lydia was rushing around the side-streets, looking for some place to hide and cope with her feelings, which were like a storm inside her. Something in her wanted to take that gun and spray bullets around at all the high walls. But no, if Harry wasn’t the man to help revenge her father, then she would have to do it herself. It was a case of finding Joe Dane. Until she knew where he was, she would have to hide, and she headed for the Hoyts’ makeshift church. There she ran to a shaded corner and sat, nursing her grudge and the barrel of the revolver. When folk stirred, she would ask after Joe.
At the jail, Creggan had not ignored Will Ringo and he took his concerns across to The False Start. There, Harry and Perdy were now up and moving around, with Harry wondering where the girl would be. But all thoughts of her vanished when Creggan told his tale.
‘Perdy . . . Mister Lacey, sir . . . I think Will Ringo is speaking the truth. I think we should make ready for Carney and his men. It’s well known he wants McCoy dead. I guess this is the day he does something, rather than his usual talk.’
McCoy was also dressed now and walking towards the jail, so he was called across. There was a council of war. But Harry wanted no part of it. He went to gather his bags and belongings ready for the stage which would soon be there. He tried to push things from his mind. If he went looking to find and help the girl, he would be back in the thick of trouble again, and if he joined the lawmen, he would have to kill maybe . . . and carry a gun again. It was best, he reasoned, to get out of town.
As Harry was about ready to sit and wait for the stage outside the stores, he saw McCoy and his men walk across to the jail. Then there was a sound of voices and movement around the main saloon of The False Start. There was a commotion, and some worried noises coming from a gathering crowd. Other people arrived, walking across the streets towards the place, looking around furtively. But Harry sat apart and said to himself, ‘You are Lord Harry Lacey. You are not a gunman. You will move on and keep up the new life.’
But around him the familiar sense of panic was escalating: it was something he knew well from his former life, and he had prayed and sworn not to revert to the life of the gun. So many times had he sensed that shiver of expectancy which ran through anyone near to an imminent confrontation. It was almost as if there was adrenalin pumping through the general body of townsfolk, even the ones who never confront a criminal or respond to an open threat to their peace.
Still he sat there, like a statue, unmoved, or so it appeared – but through his mind there ran a storm of mixed images, from the shooting of young Lydia to the grey-faced corpse of Happen Boodle, who would now be at Doc Potworthy’s in his coffin, with the burial expected tomorrow.
Fate had other things in mind, though, for Lord Harry. He was suddenly aware of someone at the end of the side street a few hundred yards from where he sat, and then the voice of Chet Two Winds hollered out ‘Lord Harry . . . we need you!’ This was followed by the voice of Hal Bornless, ‘Yeah, I’m awful sorry I called you a liar. . . .’
Harry turned, still not saying a word. They both advanced towards him, then stopped close. Chet spoke first. ‘Lord Harry, the sounds around Broken Man say it all, more powerfully than any human voice: there’s trouble coming, big trouble. Sheriff McCoy and his men are holed up in the jailhouse, expecting Carney and a very large number of gunmen. Basically, I need to recruit as many useful men as possible . . . and in about ten minutes. Most of all, we need a plan. We can’t face ’em. We’re outnumbered real high. I can’t even tell you the figures. But Itch Carney, he’s got around maybe a hundred hands. . . .’
‘He’s stretching facts as usual, my Lord . . . there’s maybe fifty of ’em, all loco and boozed up.’
Harry was not going to shift on this. His face was stony, resolved. He had made a vow. But then there was another voice – the voice of a woman. From behind, he heard Perdy Candle say, ‘Harry, I need you to stop a mess o’ killing! I need you to stop this town slidin’ into chaos. There’s two men there hate each other, and dozens are likely to die if they’re not stopped!’
She walked closer and now he saw her face clearly. The sun was rising now, and it was close to mid-day. Before Harry could answer, he was aware of a whole crowd of folks now, down the street, coming his way. In seconds they had huddled up into a crowd in front of him, and now the literary club looked more like a bunch of school kids than a gaggle of culture fiends.
‘You know why I’ve brought everyone out to you here, Lord Harry!’ This was Preacher Hoyt. ‘We can’t talk any longer . . . there’s no time. I only want to say, I know you have told your soul that there is a bond that you will not kill again . . . after Hal told us about the pieces on you in the papers, I read them. There’s a lot more to it than a change of heart, Lord Harry . . . you had a Road to Damascus moment, sir!’
‘Now don’t press it too far. That’s not the case. I’m sorry to say that the Lord had nothing to do with my shooting of that girl . . . and the men. That was down to the man who used to be me. . . .’
‘For heaven’s sake . . . are you going to help us or not?’ This was Mrs Hoyt.
‘Fine. These are my terms. I will not carry a gun. But I want you all to obey orders and get started on it now.’ They nodded. Something inside Harry Lacey had prompted him to act, to stick to his principles but to do the right thing now.
‘OK. I want Sheriff McCoy in The False Start. Chet . . . do that now. You have a silver tongue, and also, tell him a small army is coming to crush his jail and that should persuade him. Perdy . . . get in the bar and barricade the front door with tables and chairs. Mr Bornless and Doc . . . get some men and have three wagons driven across the street at this side of the jail . . . I want a complete barricade there.’
Everyone darted around like rats scurrying for cover. McCoy was half-way back to his office when he was collared by Chet and some others. By now it was bright and warm, and everything was easy to see around the town. Joe Dane had now crept out of his dark corner of a yard, and was moving along the sides of the buildings along the side streets leading to the main road. From there he saw the wagons being driven into place, and after a quick look around, he saw a horse tether
ed nearby. That would be his best move, he thought, to ride around the long route to the other side of the jail, and meet up with Carney when he and his men arrived.
But then the unexpected happened: there was McCoy, striding across the street towards The False Start. It was the kind of luck that comes a man’s way when things seem desperate.
It was an opportunity not to be missed. To make things even easier, McCoy stopped to talk to a deputy, with Chet Two Winds still there, nagging at him to get out of the street. It was going to be one of the plainest resolutions he had ever done – plain and simple. Dane took his revolver and aimed for McCoy’s belly, but in a split second, the sheriff turned around and his back suddenly became the target. It would have to do. Two shots there should puncture both lungs. He would have no chance of survival.
Crouching behind some steps, Dane levelled the barrel at McCoy and pulled the trigger, and that hit home, but before he pulled again, his hand hit a railing and the second shot only hit the man’s shoulder. Heads turned towards where the smoke had been seen, and he knew he would have to move real fast. He sprinted for the tethered horse and dug in his heels, turning it around ready for a swift exit. It was a beautiful young mustang, and its owner was now running out of the stores, cursing him.
In half a minute Joe Dane was urging his mount to full speed, heading out of town to the south, away from the trouble; he would arch around, as he had planned, and turn up in the right place.
McCoy was now bleeding and struggling to breathe, but Chet and two other men carried him inside the saloon to the Doc. Chet could see that there was a chance he would survive and he told him so. He knew that encouraging words were essential in that kind of situation. By now, the barricade was in place and Hal Bornless gathered some townsfolk to stand along the carriages and wagons. He shouted for some rifles, and the store-keeper brought some out, just in time to hear the sound of horses’ hoofs coming closer, on the San Pedro road. It was a drumming, threatening noise, like something that would usually be heard on a battlefield. Everyone strained to listen at first: Perdy and Harry in The False Start, now with the Doc working hard on extracting the bullet from McCoy’s shoulder, and the deputies in the jailhouse.
