Ballard and McCall 2

by Neil Hunter

  As they gathered on the boardwalk Ballard said, ‘Time we put him right.’

  ‘Let’s go, Kershaw,’ McCall said, hauling the wounded man upright.

  ‘Jess?’ Bellingham said.

  ‘You think I’m going in there to shoot him?’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘Marshal,’ Chris said, ‘I want Yancey Merrick charged with kidnapping me. Kershaw here took me by force on Merrick’s behalf.’

  Bellingham rounded on Kershaw. ‘That true?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He slumped down on the bench set against the wall outside the saloon, hugging his bloody leg.

  Bellingham turned to his deputy. ‘Get doc out here to look at his damn leg. And don’t let him out of your sight.’

  With Ballard and McCall in the lead they pushed through the door into the saloon. It was relatively quiet inside, there were only a few customers. At the top end of the big room, at the table always reserved for Merrick, the man himself, accompanied by Orrin Blanchard, was bent over a sheaf of documents. When he became aware of their presence he sat back in his seat. The satisfied smirk on his face faded when he saw Chris Conway.

  ‘Surprised to see me?’ she said.

  ‘Why should I be?’ Merrick said.

  ‘Seeing as how you sent your men to Lazy-C to force me to go with them to the rail camp.’

  ‘I have no idea what this woman is talking about,’ Merrick said hurriedly.

  ‘Don’t say another word,’ Blanchard said. ‘My lawyers will deal with this.

  ‘Better make sure they have it all,’ Bellingham said. ‘Kidnapping. The attempted poisoning of Lazy-C water. The killing of Harry Conway.’

  ‘None of it is true.’

  ‘Not according to your man Kershaw,’ Ballard said. ‘He’s been talking pretty convincingly on the ride in from the rail camp.’

  ‘Kershaw? He—’

  ‘He’s outside right now and I’ll be getting a written statement from him as soon as the doc’s tended to him,’ Bellingham said.

  ‘Face it, Merrick. It’s done,’ McCall said. ‘Your scheme has been blown sky high – literally. Surprising what a few barrels of black powder can do.’

  ‘I’ll have my lawyers onto you,’ Blanchard threatened. ‘If any damage has been done the rail camp.’

  ‘You can guarantee that,’ Ballard said.

  ‘We will reorganise. Bring in more people. Now we have the rights to cross Lazy-C land you can’t stop us.’

  ‘What rights?’ McCall asked casually.

  Merrick pushed at the paperwork on the table and gave a harsh laugh as he lifted a legal document, brandishing it at them.

  ‘Here. All legal. Signed by Henry Conway a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘That right?’ McCall said. ‘Legal and binding? Seems he’s got you there, Henry. You want to show me that signature, Merrick.’

  McCall reached out and took the document from Merrick’s hand, studying it intently.

  ‘Signed and dated,’ Merrick said, ignoring the alarm that crossed Orrin Blanchard’s face.

  McCall nodded slowly as he examined the document.

  ‘What do you figure, Sheriff?’

  ‘Looks that way to me,’ Bellingham said.

  ‘You sign this?’ McCall asked Conway and Conway nodded. ‘Easy as that. Just one piece of paper and it’s done.’

  Orrin Blanchard pushed up out of his seat, his face dark with suspicion.

  ‘Give me that.’

  McCall had pulled a match from his shirt pocket. He thumbed it alight and held it to one corner of the document.

  ‘No.’ Merrick screamed.

  He couldn’t reach across the table as he saw the flame creeping across the paper.

  Blanchard lunged forward, pushing Helen Conway aside as he made a grab for the document.

  ‘Out of my way, you damned …’

  Chet Ballard caught hold of Blanchard’s shirt front and hauled him round, the swung his big right fist back. When he hit Blanchard the meaty sound could be heard across the saloon. Blanchard went backwards, bounced off the edge of the table and crashed to the floor.

  ‘Excitable sort isn’t he,’ Helen Conway said.

  Yancey Merrick, screaming with rage, pushed the table aside, reaching under his coat to drag out a stubby barrelled pistol as he made a futile grab for the burning document.

  The sound of a shot made them all step back.

  Merrick dropped his weapon and clutched at his right arm.

  Stepping forward Ray Bellingham, smoking pistol in his hand, yanked Merrick aside.

  ‘Way things are going,’ he said, ‘we’re going to need a bigger jail.’

  Merrick stared at the burned document as McCall let it flutter to the saloon floor where he ground the black ashes to dust under his boot.

  ‘So what document were we talking about?’ he asked finally.

  ‘Never seen any document,’ Bellingham said. ‘And you, Mr Blanchard, better be ready to climb on board the stage when it leaves in the morning.’ He shook Merrick by the collar. ‘All that talk of lawyers, Merrick. I suggest you get yourself a good one, ’cause by the time I work on the list of charges against you he’s going to be earning every penny you’ll need to pay him.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  They took rooms at Beecher’s Crossing’s best hotel. It was in fact the only hotel in town. Ballard and McCarter made a visit to a store where they bought fresh clothes to replace the filthy outfits they were wearing. After baths and shaves, dressed in their new finery they all congregated in the dining room and had a meal.

  Over a glass of wine Henry Conway had ordered they offered a toast to Harry Conway’s memory.

  ‘I would like to say thank you,’ Helen said. ‘To Chet and Jess for their help. We owe you both.’

  ‘I’ll second that.’ Henry agreed.

  ‘We couldn’t do anything else,’ McCall said. ‘You pay our wages, boss man.’

  ‘And don’t forget what they did for me,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll own up to being frightened by that man Collhurst.’

  ‘Well he isn’t going to …’ Ballard began to say.

  At that moment the peaceful atmosphere was shattered by a couple of shots that came from beyond the hotel

  As Ballard and McCall came to their feet, making for the exit, more gunfire erupted. The pair went through the hotel lobby and out the door.

  ‘That came from the jail,’ Ballard said.

  ‘Not wrong there, son,’ McCall agreed.

  He had snatched his Colt from its holster as he exited the dining room. The hotel rules decreed that all gunbelts be hung from the hooks provided on entering the dining room.

  It was still light enough on the street – with additional illumination coming from the lamps lit – to see a lone figure on hands and knees crawling across the boardwalk outside the jail’s open door McCall recognised Ray Bellingham’s deputy, Cyrus Makin. There was a discarded shotgun on the boardwalk a few feet from the deputy.

  ‘A guess,’ McCall said, ‘but I figure we’ve had a breakout.’

  He moved in the direction of the jail as he saw movement at the wide open door.

  Ballard was annoyed with himself for not grabbing his own gun. He turned as a figure appeared at his side. It was Chris Conway. The young woman raised a hand, showing what she was holding.

  ‘You forgot something,’ she said.

  ‘Obliged,’ Ballard said. ‘Now you step back inside.

  He took off after his partner who had already covered half the distance to the jail.

  ‘Behind you, Jess,’ he called.

  There was more movement in the light of the jail door. Someone called out. An angry voice. A gun crashed and a figure spun out over the boardwalk and onto the street.

  Ray Bellingham.

  ‘Ain’t keepin’ me in your damn jail,’ a man screamed defiantly.

  A figure silhouetted in the light blocked the jail door, a gun in his hand. He fired at Bellingham, a gout of flame
shooting from the muzzle. The marshal was half turned by the force of the striking slug and started to fall. A second shot drove at his slumping figure.

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ McCall shouted, still moving forward.

  The shooter was joined by a second man and they burst out of the jail door, parting as they came onto the boardwalk. In the spill of light McCall was able to recognise Rafe Kershaw, lean face taut with anger, and close by him Yancey Merrick. They were both armed with rifles, with handguns pushed behind their belts.

  ‘Give it up.’ McCall called as he barrelled along the street. ‘Nowhere to go.’

  ‘That so,’ Kershaw called back. ‘We’ll see …’

  He brought up his rifle and levered off a trio of shots that punched into the dirt around McCall - who kept coming – his big Colt steady in his hand. It was almost as if time took a pause as McCall threw out his arm, drew back the hammer and triggered a shot that hammered home in Kershaw’s chest. The impact brought Kershaw up short, his face expressing shock. McCall came to a stop, fisting his pistol in both hands and put two more .45 slugs into Kershaw. The man went down on the boardwalk, his body rolling over onto the street.

  Ballard had moved up behind his partner, taking a step to one side as he saw Yancey Merrick levelling his own rifle at McCall. The Texan brought his pistol into play, hammer clicking back even as it centered on Merrick. The shot punched in through the side of Merrick’s head, coring through and blowing out in a burst of bloody debris. Merrick stiffened briefly, then toppled back and slid down the wall of the jail to curl up against the boardwalk.

  In the following silence came a soft groan. It came from Cyrus Makin. When McCall bent over him he saw the bloody wound in the deputy’s left shoulder. The slug had burned its way from back to front, leaving behind a mushy hole.

  ‘My fault,’ Makin whispered, face wet with sweat. ‘I turned my back for couple of seconds when I went to pick up Kershaw’s empty plate. Never expected him to move so fast, what with him having that wounded leg …’

  ‘We called for the doctor,’ Chris Conway said from behind McCall.

  Helen Conway appeared. She bent over Makin. ‘You set easy there, Cyrus.’

  … my fault,’ he was mumbling. ‘My fault.’

  ‘You hush now. Nobody’s fault but those two.’

  ‘How’s Ray?’ Henry Conway asked.

  Ballard was kneeling beside the lawman, checking him over.

  ‘Be close, but I think he’ll come through.’

  Bellingham stirred. Looked up at Ballard.

  ‘How’s Cyrus?’

  ‘Blaming himself for it all.’

  ‘Oh hell,’ Bellingham said, ‘that boy allus’ was a worrier.’ He reached out a hand to grasp Ballard’s arm. ‘Kershaw. Merrick. You get her done?’

  ‘All the way,’ Ballard told him. ‘Sorry about the mess on your boardwalk.’

  They heard the doctor coming and Ballard told Bellingham to rest easy. He pushed to his feet and crossed to where McCall was quietly standing clear of the growing crowd.

  ‘Son, how come we got half the town here now the fuss has died down? Where were they a few minutes ago?’

  ‘Got me there, partner.’

  ‘Be glad to get back to the Lazy-C,’ McCall observed. ‘In general moving a herd of cows around tends to be a whole lot more peaceable.’

  Ballard had to agree to that.

  ‘So let’s get back to home,’ he said.

  And they did…

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