by Neil Hunter
The piano fell silent.
The saloon was suddenly very quiet.
Behind McCall the bartender shuffled to one side.
‘No need for you to move,’ McCall said. ‘Just pretend you forgot about that scatter-gun you got there ’cause I still have two shots in the pot. You’re too big a target to miss and I ain’t forgot you said you didn’t know these boys.’
McCall moved forward and stepped around the table to hold his Colt on the shoulder-shot man. He stared up at McCall, sheer terror in his eyes. The hand held tight over his messed up shoulder was wet with blood.
‘You need the doc,’ McCall said, stating the obvious.
‘You going to send for him?’
‘If I get the right answer to a question,’ McCall said. ‘Otherwise we can just wait until you bleed to death.’
The man stared at McCall like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.
‘What?’
‘Where’s Ballard? And don’t pretend you have no idea.’
‘Son of a bitch.’
‘Ain’t I just. And you’re still bleeding pretty fast. Right now you need to figure if the pay you’re taking is worth dying for.’
The man debated that. Made a quick decision to cooperate because money was of no use to him if he bled to death on the saloon floor.
A couple of minutes later the bartender was on his way to summon the town doctor. He passed Ray Bellingham who had heard the shooting and was heading for The Golden Lady. Bellingham was carrying a Greener.
Customers were starting to slip out through the door. They flowed around Bellingham as he stood there. When he walked inside the saloon was empty save for the piano player motionless on his stool. A pair of the hostesses standing against the empty bar.
There was a body on the floor beside one of the tables. A bottle and broken glasses near him.
A second man, one shoulder bloody, slumped in a chair.
And Jess McCall standing over him.
‘This is starting to be a habit,’ Bellingham said, lowering the shotgun. ‘I’m getting the feeling you have something against Merrick’s crew.’
McCall stepped away from the wounded man, facing Bellingham.
‘Those two were the ones who grabbed Chet. Feller with the bullet in his shoulder, Yost, told me where they have him. Doc’s on his way.’
‘Tell me they did it on Merrick’s orders.’
‘Rafe Kershaw so it’s as good as.’
Bellingham shook his head. ‘This is all getting out of hand, Jess.’
‘Merrick is set on pushing his railroad deal through,’ McCall said. ‘Come hell or high water. And he wants the way open so he can cut across Lazy-C.’
The town doctor came into the saloon, the bartender behind him. He saw the shot man and went directly to him, shaking his head.
‘This used to be a nice, quiet town,’ he said.
He put his black bag on the floor and bent over the wounded man.
‘I need to go and talk to Henry,’ McCall said.
Bellingham noticed the urgency in his voice.
‘You better tell me the rest.’
‘Yost said something about Chris Conway being in danger. He was only too willing to talk when told him I wouldn’t let the doc tend him until he gave me what I wanted.’
‘Then you’d better get moving. I’ll deal with Yost.’
~*~
McCall cut across country. He had parted company with Henry Conway once they were clear of town. Conway was heading back to Lazy-Lazy-C and his family. McCall was searching for his partner. When he had told Conway what he’d learned the man’s face paled.
‘You believe that?’ he asked.
‘I figure Merrick is bound and determined to have that railroad push through. He’s in deep and won’t back down. Henry, he wants Lazy-C for a right of way. It’s why he’s been clearing the way taking over those other spreads. I did some checking. Bergmann’s place. Jay Tucker. Morrissey’s Tumbling-M. Every last one sits along the line the tracks will take. Lazy-C is the last one.’
‘And I’m too big to scare easy,’ Conway said.
‘So they hit you harder.’
‘Murdering my boy is the biggest mistake they could ever make,’ Conway said. ‘Now they threaten my daughter. Make Chet disappear.’
‘Henry, get to home. Lazy-C has protection for Chris. Chancery and the crew will watch out for her.’
Conway nodded. ‘Find Chet,’ he said.’
~*~
It was full dark when McCall drew rein in an untidy clump of trees and brush. He tied his horse, took his rifle and crouched in the deep shadow as he surveyed the Morrissey place. The sprawl of buildings had taken on a desolate look since the place had been abandoned. Grass and weeds had already taken hold. A couple of poles had dropped out of place in the corral fence. Though it was night there was a good moon casting cold light over the area.
A thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney of the small main house and a pair of horses stood where they had been tied near the water trough next to the corral. A third horse, rope tied, occupied the corral. The moment he set eyes on it McCall recognized it as Ballard’s.
‘Well that gives the game away,’ McCall muttered.
He eased out of cover, taking a wide loop as he approached the house, coming in from the rear. When he flattened against the back wall he could hear muffled voices coming from inside the house. Two voices, equaling the pair of horses he’d seen. McCall decided to move around to the front door, stepping carefully over the scattered rubbish that been dumped over the years. He made it to the front corner when he heard the house door open.
‘You get that coffee poured, Lew, while I go take a look at our guest.’
Leaning out from the corner of the house McCall saw a long-legged man in range clothes emerging from the house. He wore a holstered handgun.
As he pulled the door shut the man made a casual gesture, his right hand touching the butt of his weapon.
Before he took a step McCall came around the corner of the house, swinging the Winchester round in a brutal arc that slammed across the back of the man’s skull. The sound it made was hard and meaty and the man belly-flopped to the ground. He jerked a couple of times before he became still and by this time McCall had moved to the door, raising a booted foot to kick it in. The door crashed open, McCall following and coming face to face with the second man who turned away from the stove where he was reaching for the blackened pot simmering on top of it.
‘Who the hell …’
The man snatched out the Colt he wore, fingers clamping around the butt as he lifted the weapon with lightning speed. The way he handled the gun told McCall he was dealing with an experienced hand, so he didn’t hesitate when he triggered the Winchester from hip level. The crash of the shot was loud in the confines of the house, the .44-40 slug catching the man in the left hip, tearing through to shatter bone and macerate flesh. The man fell back, clutching at the hot stove as he hit against it and suffering a burn to his hand. Yelling in pain and anger the man still maneuvered the Colt in his right hand, firing off a single shot that flipped off McCall’s hat. The Texan angled the .44-40 and put a second slug in the man, this time in his chest. The man went down hard, gasping against the oncoming pain in his body before he simply became still.
McCall picked up the discarded gun and threw it across the floor. He snatched up his hat, fingering the hole in the brim. He didn’t like to think how close it had been. Back outside he briefly checked the inert figure of the first man. The back of the skull was caved in and showed split bone under the blood.
McCall stood in the middle of the ranch yard, staring around. He saw the tack hut on the far side and walked in that direction.
‘Chet,’ he called. ‘You hear me?’
Ballard’s voice came from the hut and McCall crossed over and shot the bolts holding the door secure. Ballard stepped out.
‘That shooting down to you?’
McCall nodded.
‘Couple fellers over to the house. Had to bushwhack one and shoot the other.’ He saw Ballard touch a hand to the back of his head. ‘You okay?’
‘Apart from one hell of a headache.’
They trailed back across the yard. Ballard eyed the man McCall had gun-whipped, then went inside the house and searched for his weapons. When he came back out, buckling on his recovered gunbelt, McCall was on his way to the corral to free Ballard’s horse. Ballard had found his hat inside the house and he slapped the dust from it as he joined his partner.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Had words with Conner and Yost back in town. Managed to persuade Yost to talk. Seems Rafe Kershaw arranged to have you grabbed to keep you out the way.’
Ballard checked his rifle was still sheathed at his saddle. He settled his hat firm, wincing when it brushed the sore spot.
‘I can tell you got something else to say,’ he said.
‘There was talk from Yost about a threat against Chris Conway,’ he said.
Ballard was leading his horse as they made their way to collect McCall’s animal.
‘Sonofabitch,’ Ballard said. ‘Merrick is really bucking for trouble.’
‘When I rode out to find you Henry was on his way back to Lazy-C to make sure Chris was alright.’
When they were mounted up they cut away from the silent spread and headed back for Lazy-C.
So much was happening that seemed out of their control. One thing after another. All involving people they knew and cared for. And as Ballard had said it appeared that Yancey Merrick was the man behind it all.
Chapter Eleven
‘You sleep well?’ Merrick asked his guest. It was mid-morning of the following day and Merrick had allowed Orrin Blanchard to sleep late after his long journey from back east.
‘Yes,’ Blanchard said. ‘Extremely well.’
Merrick had been up for hours, seeing to the routine business of Diamond-M. A ranch as large as his took a firm hand to operate and Merrick was no slouch when it came to handling matters.
‘You sure you don’t want breakfast?’
‘After that meal last night I’m sure. I’ll take some of that whiskey you offered me. Never too early for that.’
Yancey Merrick handed a thick tumbler to Orrin Blanchard. The man took it in his big hand and held it up to the light, studying the mellow, amber whiskey with a connoisseurs eye. He sniffed the contents, a soft murmur of appreciation rising from his throat. Taking a sip he rolled the liquid around his mouth before he swallowed.
‘Very nice,’ he said in his throaty tone. ‘I will not stoop and compare it to a beautiful woman because that would be crass. They are two completely different things. Suffice it to say, Yancey, that your taste in whiskey cannot be faulted.’
Blanchard tilted the glass and drained it.
‘Another?’ Merrick asked.
‘Need you ask.’
Blanchard waited until he had the refill in his hand, settling back in the comfortable armchair that faced the window behind Merrick’s desk.
Orrin Blanchard, a big man in every way. Big but by no means obese. Standing he was near six foot tall, with powerful shoulders and chest. Little of the flesh that adorned his frame was fat. He was solid. A shade less than handsome, his mobile face showed the inner strength he possessed. Fifty years old, his fair hair thick on his head and reaching his collar. He studied the world through surprisingly clear blue eyes, intelligence lurking behind them. He was clean shaven, his mouth wide showing large teeth.
Blanchard was dressed, for him, conservatively in a finely cut white shirt, open necked, and dark gray pants pulled over polished flat heeled half-boots. A hand-tooled leather belt showing a heavy silver buckle.
‘You really have an impressive home, my boy. Befitting a man of your standing,’ he said.
His voice held a trace of his Southern heritage, pronouncing his words with a tempered drawl.
‘I like to think so, Orrin.’
Merrick, seated behind his desk again, studied his guest with more than a little interest. He reached out and took a couple of large cigars from the box on his desk. He clipped the ends of both and handed one to Blanchard, then struck a Lucifer and leaned over to light it. When they both had the cigars burning satisfactorily Merrick sat back and studied Blanchard.
‘I think it’s time we got to the real reason you’re here, because it isn’t just to make small talk about my home.’
Blanchard drew on his cigar, blowing blue smoke at the ceiling.
‘We were expecting matters to have progressed further than they have, Yancey. A few of the investors have been expressing a little disquiet at the delays.’ Blanchard spread his arms. ‘Now I stand in your corner. You know that. But with the kind of money involved, not to mention the future potential of this project, some of our more nervous friends are starting to show their true colors. Just remember, Yancey, that there are influential men behind this venture. They get uncomfortable if things don’t go their way.’
He watched for Merrick’s reaction, his face impassive. Blanchard had a habit of stretching the moment, letting the other man sweat if need be. Merrick had realized this earlier in their relationship and understood the game. So he returned the favor, not allowing what he was thinking to show.
‘Henry Conway is more than simply a small local rancher,’ he said. ‘The man has a spread that matches Diamond-M. A large crew behind him. And he is a well-respected member of the community. I can’t ride in and wipe him out with a single raid.’
‘Easy questions, Yancey. Do you want to make money? Do you want the power this deal will bring?’
Merrick waved a hand around the room. ‘Look at what I have here. Does it look like I’m a man who settles for second best?’
Blanchard gave that sly smile. He drained his tumbler and indicated he wanted more. Merrick obliged, filling the tumbler and passing it back.
‘I was born into a comfortable life,’ Merrick said. ‘Nothing fancy but from the time I was old enough to understand I knew it wasn’t enough. I moved on. Worked damned hard and took every opportunity I could. It paid off. That’s why I’m where I am today.’
‘But you want more,’ Blanchard said. ‘A lot more.’
‘Damn right I do.’
‘The line has to go through. All the way to Beecher’s Crossing. And once we reach it there’s no reason the tracks can go further. Lots of land out there. The railroad will bring in even more business. Railroads are the lifeblood of a growing country, boy. They bring people. Business. And they bring success to the people who have the vision to build them. Lazy-C stands in our path. Can’t let that happen. Too much has already been invested. You have a foothold. Stay the course and you’ll have a damn sight more.’
Merrick saw the vision through the haze of rising cigar smoke. His vision for the future of the basin. In which he was part of.
Blanchard said, ‘Conway has already been affected. We need to hit him again. Before he can recover. We lose the chance now we might not get a second one.’ He leaned forward, face tight. ‘Money. Men. Anything you need. It’s there for the asking. And if people standing in our way get hurt, well it’s the price for getting what we want.’
Chapter Twelve
They saw the fire well before reaching the ranch. The blaze lit up the night sky. Spurring their horses the Texans covered the last mile to Lazy-C in quick time. As the came into the yard they could see that one of the big barns was well ablaze, sparks jumping out of the flame and smoke. Conway’s on hand crew were dousing the flames as best they could with buckets of water from the deep well in the yard.
Out of their saddles Ballard and McCall joined Henry and Helen Conway as they stood watching. Laney Chancery saw them and came across.
‘They took Chris,’ he said. ‘Must have been watching and when she come out to feed her horse they rode in across the yard and grabbed her. Riders just came in out of the dark. Couple were shooting off guns like bullets were going out of fashion. T
wo others rode by the barn, dousing it with oil. One had a burning torch and he set the fire before they just went hell for leather.’
‘We couldn’t shoot back for fear of hitting Chris,’ Conway said.
‘Anybody hurt?’ McCall asked.
‘Jim Coolidge was hit in the leg,’ Chancery said. ‘He’ll be okay. He’s just mad he won’t be able to ride when we go lookin’ for Chris.’
‘Recognise any of them?’ Ballard said.
‘Rafe Kershaw was riding with them,’ Helen Conway said. ‘I saw his face when they rode by the burning barn.’
‘See which way they rode out?’ McCall said.
‘Cut off to the west,’ Chancery said.
McCall nodded to that. ‘Had a feeling you were going to say that.’
‘It mean something?’
‘It does.’
‘Henry?’ Ballard said.
‘We have to get her back, Chet. We already lost our son. Can’t allow it to happen to Chris.’
