by Frank Callan
Will, still behind the bars inside, started laughing. There was Elias Hole and Creggan, with two other deputies, still at the table, but they heard the drumming noise too and they stood up and went to the windows. ‘See, I told you . . . prepare to exit the world, gentlemen . . . say some prayers!’ Will said this with torment, as if he were twisting a blade in a wound. Elias told him to shut up and dragged a small table across the door. Then he and the others took hold of the solid, long table in the middle of the room, and pushed that across one of the windows.
‘It’s a siege, like in the olden days!’ Elias said. ‘Remember that we got protection. They’re out in the open air. Numbers aren’t so crucial.’
There was one other observer of course: Lydia had moved silently and quickly out of the church, and she saw the sheriff fall as well, though she couldn’t see Joe Dane. But she went silently as a hunter, around the back of The False Start, climbing into a back room after smashing a small window. All she wanted was Joe, and she knew that by listening and watching, the time would come when he was in her sight.
She saw and heard Harry stand up now and carry on with his orders. ‘Right, we have three men armed at the windows. Perdy, you have no weapon?’
‘Oh yeah . . . a little pocket pistol. I can take one out if he comes a little closer.’
‘Now, look, there’s one obvious ploy here. Let me try it.’ Harry walked to the front door and slid a table out of the way, stepping outside. As he looked along the street towards the jail, beyond the barricade he could now see a line of hats, and the drumming of the horses on the move had stopped. Heads turned to look at him as he walked towards the wagons, and Chet shouted for him to get back inside. But he squeezed between two wagons and walked calmly out into the sun.
Harry had taken three steps when Carney shouted for him to freeze. ‘I don’t know who you are, but you’re more fool than a stage clown, mister. You wanna die today?’ Carney had just been ready to shout for the charge, and the men behind were riding very close to the back wall.
Harry had to raise his voice, as he was a hundred yards away from Carney. ‘Mr Carney, I have to tell you that Sheriff McCoy is dead. We believe that Joe Dane killed him. I think that’s all you wanted today. How about you turn around and go home?’
‘Well it used to be, and that’s the best news in years, if it’s true . . . but you see, first I have to see his body, and second, I need to destroy that damned jail anyway, so scuttle back inside, you madman . . . you have no weapons I see. Who the hell are you?’ He turned to his line of men and asked, ‘Anybody fancy an easy target?’ Someone fired at Harry’s feet, just out of bravado, and the bullet spit dust, but Harry never moved an inch.
This could have gone well, except that out of sight, behind the jail, the men with the lances and axes heard the gun shot and went into action. There was a noise loud enough to awaken the dead, as first the points smashed into timber, and then the axes followed, with a fusillade of rifle shots higher, over the barred window. It was an immediate sign for Elias and Creggan to open fire, and their bullets picked off two of Carney’s men.
There was no going back. The nine men opened fire with their Winchesters in return of fire, and a terrifying volley of hot metal thumped and crashed into the jail wall and through the windows. Two deputies and Creggan fell dead, leaving Elias alone, now cowering behind the big table, with shots ringing out in front of him and axes and bullets hacking and splintering the jail wall behind.
In another minute, Carney’s men were inside and they shook hands with Will Ringo. They all turned to look at Elias, who stood alone, facing them, a pistol in one hand and a hunting knife in the other.
‘Any of you men in the mood for a fight?’ he snapped out. They all knew it would have been wrong just to gun him down, and before they could do or say anything, the main door was smashed open and in came enough men to overpower even a giant of a man like Elias. Carney shouted, ‘Don’t shoot him . . . just tie him up.’ He was soon tied firmly at his wrists and ankles, and thrown into a corner.
Harry was back in the saloon now, and he was told that McCoy was most likely going to live. The sheriff was lying on Perdy’s chaise longue, bandaged, stinking of whiskey and mumbling something about ‘that bastard cattleman. . . .’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a sheriff who is very much alive, and an army out there who want him dead. . ..’ He rapped out more orders. ‘You men . . . get Chet and the others back in here, right now!’
It didn’t take long for everyone to be inside, and for Carney and his men, along the street, to start dismounting and plan the next move. But before Carney himself had dismounted and could give his orders, riding up behind came Joe Dane.
‘Why, son, apparently you did the job. I’m told the swine who killed my brother is now lying in Satan’s clutches. Well done, boy! We’ve been wonderin’ where the hell you’ve been. Some of us thought you’d taken a bullet and was a dead man. I should have known my resolution man was bidin’ his time before a strike, eh?’
‘Sure. You hit it there, sir, that’s my thinking.’
‘Well, find yourself a spot, son. We need all available fire-power now.’
‘Good, Mr Carney, very good. I will, but first there’s our deal. I just need the rest of my money, and I’ll be moving on.’ Joe knew that he had been seen and that the law was now on his tail. He also knew that McCoy might not have died, and so did Carney. ‘Wait a minute there, my resolution man . . . I have to see the corpse of the man first.’
Joe knew that there was nothing else for it but to go along with Carney, pretend to co-operate, but he stayed mounted as Carney and the rest went towards The False Start. Joe shouted that he would follow them, but his mind was working out possibilities, and he trailed behind, on the mustang, ready for a quick exit.
He needed one. At the barricade, Carney and his men took positions, all their attention fixed on the saloon, and from there, Harry waved a white kerchief and was told to walk out.
He stood there, still a man with no gun-belt and no rifle in his hands. Itch Carney stared at him in disbelief, as he stood behind a wagon tailboard and said, ‘I have to ask again, who the hell are you, fella?’ As he said this, he felt the spasm of pain in his chest again, and he staggered against the board. Will Ringo was by his side again, and he knew the signs. ‘Hey boss . . . you sick again? You are, you got the heart trouble, I know it boss.’
But Carney, screwing up his face, listened to the stranger, ignoring Will.
‘I am Lord Harry Lacey, Mr Carney, and I have to tell you that the man you want is in here . . . but my earlier words were untrue. In fact, he lives. Sheriff McCoy is alive, though your man very nearly finished him, let me tell you.’
‘Yes, but who the hell are you?’ Carney clutched at his chest now. He had to sit, and Will offered some whiskey.
‘I’m a man of law. That sums me up, sir.’
Though sick and in pain, Itch Carney laughed. He laughed so much that his words could be heard some distance away, and in her back room, Lydia heard him say, ‘A Lord? An actual old-fashioned Lord, did you say? Well, I have to congratulate you. Somehow you stopped Joe Dane taking out the old sheriff. You hear that, Joe?’ He raised his voice even more. The pain was wearing off.
‘Yes, sir. Can I finish him now?’
Lydia heard that familiar voice, and her hand tightened on the grip of her revolver. Could she get around behind him? Maybe not.
Harry was still standing in the open. ‘Now Mr Carney, I’m told that McCoy was the target today. I understand that you would walk away from here if the man was dead. Is that right?’
‘That’s all I want, mister. But here ain’t no corpse in there you say, so I’m afraid my boys is gonna have to come in and plug the heathen.’
‘Like I told you, sir, I’m a man of law. That means I have to do my best to prevent you from committing such a heinous murder. You have to get past me.’
Carney laughed again, and so did the bunch of gunmen r
anged behind him, all behind the wagons. ‘Say, Lacey . . . how many guns you got in there then? Six? The women armed too? Now see, you ain’t even armed. I could finish you now.’
From behind came the distinct voice of Perdy Candle, who now walked out to stand with Harry.
It was all too much for Joe Dane. He could see that he was never going to get the man nor the money. His brain told him that the best move was to ride away, and he turned quietly around and cantered off, towards the Big Question, telling Carney that he was hurt – which indeed he was, as anyone could see. The old man didn’t care one rotten carcass about what Joe Dane wanted. No, it was time to take, not to wait around for the impossible.
His words were clear enough for Lydia to hear, and she stole away to borrow a horse from the stables behind. Never in her life did she ever think that one day she would be hunting Joe Dane – tracking him, and with a gun ready to use against him. Part of her was thinking that sometimes the stories in the books worked into life itself, and it was more scary than a disturbed grizzly.
Chapter 18
Harry Lacey’s head was spinning, as he racked his brain to think of the best strategy. But he saw that there was no other way than the way of the gun. He could see that Perdy had now distracted Carney, and he walked back inside, and asked for a belt and a Colt from Chet. ‘What? What you aimin’ to do, Harry?’
‘I’m aiming to trample on all my resolve, and try to save some lives.’
But Perdy’s appearance was having its effect, and Carney sensed the turmoil in his breast as the emotions swamped him. This was the woman he wanted to marry; now she was standing in his way, stopping him from doing what he had yearned to do for so long – take the life of the man who had killed his own kin.
‘Perdy . . . please go away . . . go somewhere else! I have to see that man die. I came here today with a battle in mind. I was prepared to kill anyone who stood in my way, but by God I can’t hurt you. . . .’
‘Itch, the man has only one lung. He’s still bleeding too much. The Doc’s maybe saved him, but he’ll never be a sheriff again . . . never be the same man at all. I’m begging you to forget all the rancour, all that spite and the hunger for vengeance, and turn around . . . go back to your home. Please, Itch . . . if you ever loved me!’
The words had some kind of effect. Carney softened for a moment. But before he could reply, a relentless, deep surge of pain shot through him. He dropped his rifle and both hands went to his chest, and he fell heavily to the ground. Will Ringo ran over and loosened his boss’s collar, asked if he was all right, but saw sweat pouring from the cattleman’s brow: his face seemed to change hue, and he groaned Perdy’s name. She heard this and ran to him, squatting over him, calling his name. There was a shudder through Carney’s body, and then he was still, his arms falling by his side.
‘Boss! Boss!’ Will Ringo yelled, and shook his master’s body, as if that would bring him back. Someone shouted for Doc Potworthy, and he was soon there, standing over Carney; then laying a finger on the man’s wrist, he said solemnly, ‘He’s dead, Perdy, he’s dead.’
‘What about Joe Dane?’ Chet Two Winds asked the world in general, ‘and come to that, what about Elias – where’s he? What happened in the jailhouse?’
‘Joe Dane went out to the Big Question,’ Will said. Harry knew that it was his job to bring the man in. ‘I’ll go get him,’ he said, ‘I’ll bring him in. He almost killed McCoy.’
Chet brought up his own horse. ‘I’ll come with you, Harry . . . take my mount. I’ll get another and follow you . . . get going before the man heads out for that endless plain out there!’
‘Sure. I think it’s time we had Preacher Hoyt here, folks. It’s his turn now.’ As he rode off, Harry could see poor Perdy, still weeping over Itch Carney’s body.
Joe Dane had gone out to the Big Question, and his plan was obvious to anyone who might sit down and think about the man and what he was like. His reasoning was predictable: if he wasn’t going to have the rest of the money, then he was going to take what he could. He knew, with the instinct of a die-hard rogue, that as the private army of cowpokes was in town, the place would be all but deserted – and sure enough, as he rode in, an old-timer came out to greet him with, ‘It’s you, Dane . . . is it all over in town? Did he git McCoy?’
Joe followed his instincts. There was no time for chatter and pretence: that was too risky. He pulled his gun out quick as a whip and shot the man dead in a matter of seconds. Another man inside the house came rushing out, pointing a rifle at him, but Joe shot a bullet into his head before he could find the trigger with his finger. After that everything seemed dead still, like a grave-yard.
He tethered the horse, and with his rifle ready to fire, he walked steadily through the rooms of the main house, looking for a safe and for any valuable that might be apparent to a trained eye like his. Thieving came as naturally to him as taking lives. It was all part of being a man untroubled by scruples – indeed, scruples were the heaviest burden a man could have weighing on him, far more irksome than a pack or a sack.
Dane looked hard wherever he found himself, but there was no sign of any safe. Where would a man with all the wealth of Itch Carney keep his money? Maybe, he thought, he was one of the careful types who bought diamonds and stored them. His head was full of maybes.
What he did not know was that Lydia Santo had arrived at the ranch as well, and she was on his trail. After finding the second body, she sensed that, strangely, she was hunting the hunter. Every tissue in her body, every sense, strained as she listened for the slightest sound. She was racking her brain, wondering why he would come there. It had to be that he was owed, that there was something for him. But that was not the most important thing for her: no, the man who had killed her father was now somewhere in these buildings. That was all that mattered.
Finally, Dane reached a wide sitting room, and there were shelves and classy looking armchairs and stools; there were paintings on the wall, mostly of horses, and there was a portrait of Richard Carney, most likely Itch Carney’s father, looking as though he owned more land than he could ride over in a day; he was dressed like a state governor or some big noise back East.
For a while he was distracted by this, but then he noticed the safe in the corner, on a stand below a cupboard. It had some kind of double lock, and that was, or could have been, a problem. But not for Joe Dane: for him, bullets solved just about every riddle that fate put in front of a man. With no hesitation, he fired three bullets into the lock. There was a shattering of metal and some shards flew across the room, just missing his cheek. With a satisfied smile, he went down on his knees and wrenched the door open. There were several piles of notes and some rings in there, and he almost whooped with delight when he saw them. But he suddenly started back, like a rabbit hearing the fox breaking sticks as it walked up behind. In this case, it was a trigger being cocked.
‘So, Joe Dane is as skilful a robber as he is a killer. Take the guns from both holsters and throw them across this lovely rich carpet, mister.’
He didn’t turn, but did as she asked. The best option in a tight corner like this was to shut up, sit tight and bide your time. He had always been slippery enough to wriggle out of most tight corners, and this was only a girl who threatened.
‘Now turn around, with your arms up in the air, and get to your feet.’ He did as he was told, and as he turned to look at her, he smiled. ‘Why, Lydie . . . you know I’m all mixed up in my head now. You see, I thought you was thinkin’ to run off with me . . . as my wife. That was always our plan.’
‘Shut up, Joe. I know what you did. It’s time to pay.’
‘Ah now, Lydie, it was never meant to come to this! Don’t you believe in destiny? We were destined to be man and wife, with our own land . . . children, money . . . you see what’s in this safe? I reckon there’s around six thousand dollars in there. Enough for you and me to live like rich folks . . . you always like the opera, the poets, all that nonsense. Well, you could have
all that. Just put the gun down.’
She ignored every word and simply spat out the words that had nagged and tugged at her since she ran from home with the gun, ‘Joe Dane, you killed my father. Justice has caught up with you.’
He was now thinking that his chances of surviving this were thin. It was an animal response. He threw himself at her, and her finger pulled the trigger as he flapped an arm at her and then slammed into her roughly, knocking her to one side and flat on the floor. The bullet went into the ceiling.
The sound of the bullet brought the other hunter to the room too: Harry Lacey was only a minute’s walk away, and he rushed to the source of the shot. But caution was built into him as natural as blood and he paused outside the room, as he heard voices and then the sound of a struggle. As he reached the door, Lydia fell through the doorway and he caught her. Before she could say a word, Harry saw Joe Dane ahead of him, bending to pick up his revolver. He had grabbed it and was pointing the barrel at Lydia when Harry saw the situation and she was shoved aside out of danger. The bullet hit Harry in the arm. Lydia screamed, ‘Watch out, Harry!’
But Joe Dane stopped for a second and said, ‘Ah, I heard about you. Harry, eh? Lord Harry Lacey? Well now, I killed so many varieties of men you know, but never no blue-blooded English fancy Lordy type of dude. There’s always a first time.’
He stepped backwards to the end of the room and asked Harry to come in. Harry, his hand hovering over his Colt, went in carefully.
‘Now, Harry Lordy man, we’re gonna have a traditional shoot-up. That is, I have two revolvers here and I see that you are armed also, so we’re gonna draw. You a handy type with a gun, Harry Lordy? I hope so, or there’s likely to be a noxious stink of death in this very nice, civilized room.’
