Shawn O'Brien Town Tamer # 1

by W. , Johnstone, William

  Jasper Wolfden maybe? Or his body?

  Like a moth attracted to a flame, Shawn again walked toward the looming bulk of the rise.

  “I would stop right there, if I was you.”

  The voice came from his right. A woman’s voice.

  Shawn swung in her direction, his Colt coming up fast.

  “If you shoot, you’re dead,” the woman said. “Hank’s boys are on the prod and they’ll come after you.”

  His eyes probed the darkness and Shawn saw the upper part of the woman’s body silhouetted in the window of the nearest shack.

  He stepped closer, wary of an ambush, and then stopped when he was a few feet away.

  As far as he could tell in the gloom, the woman was young, with long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. The top buttons of her filmy robe were undone, revealing the white mounds of large, firm breasts.

  “Are you going to stand out there until you get shot, or are you coming in?” the woman said. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite.”

  The gunshots had roused people from bed and a babble of talk filled the street.

  Above the din, Shawn heard Cobb yell, “Damn you, find him!”

  And then a woman screamed loudly and in a hysterical voice yelled that she’d just seen witches and warlocks dancing with the devil on the ridge.

  Somebody fired, shooting at shadows, and Cobb called out, “Did you get him? Is it O’Brien or Wolfden?”

  Shawn’s narrow smile was grim. Jasper was still alive and in hiding, and he felt a surge of relief.

  But Cobb’s voice and the gunshots were too close for comfort and he made up his mind and quickly stepped through the open door into the shadowed, candlelit shack.

  The woman walked in front of Shawn and told him to close the door behind him. From the rear, she looked firm and round in all the right places, as though her body had been turned on a lathe.

  Shawn closed the door and then turned to talk to her . . . and found himself staring into the black, unwavering muzzles of a very fine L.C. Smith scattergun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  It didn’t surprise Jasper Wolfden that after he tipped the surrey over the rise, all kinds of hell broke loose.

  And he knew he was in big trouble.

  To the north was an ancient talus slope and Cobb and his boys were already slipping and sliding on gravel as they climbed toward him.

  The slope was the only way down, and Wolfden was trapped.

  The rise, really a weatherworn mesa, dropped off in sheer cliffs on its other three sides. In daylight, a careful man with good feet and hands could probably make it to the flat.

  But in darkness it was impossible.

  Damn!

  Wolfden swore as he realized that he’d emptied his Colt and hadn’t taken the guns of McCord and Hooper.

  He ran to remedy that mistake, but skidded to a stop when Shel Shannon stepped through the darkness like the specter of death.

  The gunman had a Colt in his hand and a grin on his cruel, thick-lipped mouth.

  Shannon raised the revolver.

  “Say good night, Jasper,” he said.

  Like a drowning man clutching at a straw, Wolfden made a desperate play for time.

  “Before you pull the trigger, how did you know, Shel?” he said.

  The muzzle of the Colt dropped an inch.

  “A man can change his appearance, pretend to have a hump on his back, but he can’t change his eyes,” Shannon said. “You got wolf eyes, Jasper. There ain’t no hiding those.”

  Another straw, another frantic grab.

  “I should’ve known I couldn’t fool you, Shel,” Wolfden said, his mind racing.

  Charge him. Try to get the gun.

  Better that than just inviting the bullet and dying like a dog.

  Wolfden tensed. Got ready.

  “It was Hank who pegged it, not me,” Shannon said. “Now, my bucko, you get it . . . right between the eyes. . . .”

  “Shel, no!”

  Hank Cobb stepped out of the gloom.

  “I want him alive,” he said.

  Shannon reluctantly lowered his revolver. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  Two other gunmen stepped beside Cobb and one of them said, “Hell, what happened to his hump?”

  Cobb grinned. “He isn’t a witch-finder, his name ain’t Starlight and he doesn’t have a hump. This here is Jasper Wolfden, a failed actor whose big mouth once caused me no end of trouble.”

  “Boss, didn’t you kill him already?” the gunman said.

  “Sure I did, but it didn’t take,” Cobb said. His eyes met Wolfden’s in the darkness. “I’m going to bury you alive all over again, Jasper.”

  “Gun me, Cobb,” Wolfden said. “Shannon wants to put a bullet between my eyes, so get it over.”

  “You just don’t listen, do you, Jasper?” Cobb said. “Let me say it again: I’m gonna bury you alive. Then I’m gonna piss on your grave and I won’t move from there until the piss dries. This time I’ll make sure you’re dead, dead, dead.”

  Cobb stepped closer to Wolfden. Without warning he raked the barrel of his heavy revolver across the other man’s face, opening a cut on Wolfden’s cheekbone that instantly spurted blood.

  “Who’s down there?” Cobb said. “Is it O’Brien? Is it the pretty boy?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Wolfden said. His swollen right eye cried scarlet tears.

  “You have an accomplice, Jasper. Who is he?”

  “You go to hell.”

  A man stepped beside Cobb. “Lewis is dead.”

  “Who the hell killed him?” Cobb said.

  “I don’t know boss.” The man hesitated. “Some ranny that knows how to shoot. Lewis took two rounds in the chest and he was dead when he—”

  “Damn it, don’t draw me a picture,” Cobb said.

  He was irritated beyond measure.

  He’d lost three good men, his money was scattered to hell and gone and it would take days to recover it all, if ever.

  Now he was down to five men and, apart from Shannon, they were the least of them.

  A curse died on Cobb’s lips, replaced by an order.

  He pointed at Wolfden. “Shel, take that man to the damned jail and lock him up. Then join me at the spot where Lewis was shot.”

  He answered the question on Shannon’s face.

  “We’re going to search for O’Brien. And when we find him, we’ll kill him.”

  “Maybe he’ll find you first, Hank,” Wolfden said. He smiled and blood ran over his lips and into his mouth. “He can shade you on your best day.”

  Cobb’s only reaction was a smile of his own.

  “Damn you, Jasper, I’m gonna bury you so deep, you’ll shake hands with the devil. And maybe I’ll have O’Brien join you. You two can rot in the grave together.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “So it was a trap,” Shawn O’Brien said. “I should’ve known as much.”

  “I’ve never seen you before,” the woman said.

  “I’ve been around.”

  “Are you one of Hank’s men?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then who are you?” She corrected herself. “What are you?”

  “Do you really care who or what I am? Call Cobb and get it over with.”

  “I’m not your enemy,” the woman said.

  She was beautiful in a dark, flashing, Mexican way. Her eyes were as black as midnight, her glossy hair even darker, if that were possible. But her skin was creamy white and her voluptuous figure was the kind that keeps a man awake o’ nights, remembering.

  “If you’re not my enemy, are you my friend?” Shawn asked.

  “Maybe.”

  The shotgun still pointed at Shawn’s belly and he knew he was only a finger twitch from getting cut in half.

  “My name is Shawn O’Brien, out of the Glorieta Mesa country in the New Mexico Territory,” he said. “How’s that for starters?”

  “You kill
ed a man tonight, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. One of Cobb’s men.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he wanted to kill me. Hank Cobb is my enemy and I aim to see that he pays for his crimes.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “And I’ll make this town pay as well.”

  “And he’s also my enemy,” the woman said. “And this town is my enemy.”

  “So maybe we can be allies,” Shawn said. Then, smiling, “You know my name but you didn’t give out yours.”

  “My mother’s name was Rodriguez. My father was Irish but my mother never said his name aloud. He left us when I was three, went to the goldfields and never came back.”

  “So what do you call yourself? Rodriquez?” Shawn said.

  “Ruby La Monde. At least that’s what I called myself when I met Hank. I was working the line in Dodge before he brought me to Holy Rood.”

  The woman propped up the shotgun in a corner.

  The cabin was tiny, barely large enough to accommodate a brass bed, an armchair by the potbellied stove, a small dresser and a clothes closet.

  “I wouldn’t have shot you,” she said.

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “I could sure use one.”

  Shawn glanced out the open window, but saw only a rectangle of blackness.

  “Will Cobb look for me here?” he said.

  “Maybe. But I doubt it,” Ruby said.

  She poured whiskey into glasses and handed one to Shawn. Then she picked up the makings from the table and held them up where he could see.

  “Smoke?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Ruby tossed Shawn the makings and said, “Back in the day, I learned the habit from the Texas cowboys who came up the trail.”

  “And they learned it from the vaqueros who are much addicted to tobacco,” Shawn said. He smiled. “As I am.”

  He built a cigarette and Ruby thumbed a match into flame and lit it for him.

  “Those punchers taught you a lot, huh?” he said. “I’ve only seen a man light a match like that.”

  Ruby nodded. “They taught me stuff, all right. Both good and bad. I was a prize package back then.”

  “You still are, Ruby,” Shawn said, meaning it.

  The shouts of men echoed loud in the darkness and the glow of lanterns danced in the street like fireflies.

  The woman closed the window and pulled its ragged curtain closed.

  “I only have one chair, but you’re welcome to sit in it,” she said.

  “I reckon I’ll stand,” Shawn said.

  Ruby understood the implications of that statement and said, “Once the search dies down, you can get away from here.”

  “Cobb still visit you?” Shawn said.

  “Now and again. He says a man has his needs.”

  “I understand there were other girls in Holy Rood,” Shawn said.

  “Whores like me, you mean?”

  She saw Shawn fumble for the right words and let him off the hook. “Yes, there were. The miners used to come in and a few cowboys. But then Hank got his brilliant idea to drain this town dry and he killed all the girls or forced them out of town. Killed a fair number of their clients too. Now nobody visits Holy Rood and I don’t know how the town survives.”

  “Buy and sell among themselves, I guess,” Shawn said. “Cobb didn’t kill you? Why not?”

  “Only because I was his property, bought and paid for. A man like Hank doesn’t destroy something he owns.”

  Ruby took the makings from Shawn and expertly rolled a cigarette. After she lit it, she said, “When I saw what was happening, I tried to escape. But Hank came after me and brought me back.”

  Her cigarette trailed blue smoke as Ruby pulled back her hair and revealed a white, twisted scar where her left ear had been.

  “He took my ear as a punishment and told me that if I tried to run again, he’d cut off the other one.”

  She let the hair fall back in place. “I’m Hank’s prisoner and he’ll kill me soon, I think.”

  “You better come with me,” Shawn said. “I have a camp near here and there’s another woman with us.”

  “Your wife?”

  “No. Sally Bailey is just another of Cobb’s victims.”

  “I haven’t been out of this cabin in months,” Ruby said. “The sky might fall on me.”

  “The sky will fall on you for sure if you don’t get out of this town,” Shawn said. “Cobb is fixing to leave.”

  “And he won’t take me with him?”

  “What do you think?”

  “As I said, I think he’ll kill me. Tie up all his loose ends before he rides out.”

  Shawn said nothing. Now it was up to the woman.

  It didn’t take long for Ruby to make up her mind.

  “I’ll come with you,” she said. “I can’t stay locked up in this town any longer.”

  Ruby blew out the candle and plunged the shack into darkness.

  “You ever watch a woman get dressed from the skin out before?” she said.

  “I was married once,” Shawn said.

  “Well, you weren’t married to me, so turn around anyway.”

  “I’ll stand at the door,” Shawn said, grinning.

  Then, as though she felt he was due an explanation, Ruby said, “I was a modest whore.”

  “I never met one of them,” Shawn said.

  After Ruby rummaged in her closet, she dressed hurriedly and the result, even in the gloom of the cabin, was pleasing.

  She wore a tan canvas skirt, split for riding, a white shirt and over that a vest the same color as her skirt. She wore boots and a flat-brimmed, low-crowned black hat tied under her chin.

  “So how do I look?” she said.

  Shawn smiled. Even facing mortal danger, it was a question only a woman would ask.

  “Real purty,” Shawn said. “Like an English lady.”

  “I’ve never seen an English lady. Or any other kind of a lady, come to that.”

  “If you ever did, she’d look you up and down and then eat her heart out with envy.”

  It wasn’t the most elegant of compliments, Shawn decided, but he meant every word of it.

  Ruby smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but as footsteps shuffled outside Shawn put a forefinger to his lips and drew his gun.

  The steps stopped at the door. Then after a few moments a man whispered, “Ruby, darlin’, you awake?”

  Shawn recognized the voice. It was Shel Shannon.

  The woman stepped closer to him, her eyes wide with apprehension.

  Shawn put his finger on Ruby’s mouth, and then pointed to the bed.

  She caught on quickly and said, “Shel, I’m in bed, half asleep. All the shooting kept wakening me.”

  “In bed is where I was hoping I’d find you, darlin’,” Shannon said. “I’m coming in and we’ll talk, maybe have us a drink or two, huh?”

  Shawn moved behind the door and at his nod, Ruby opened it wide.

  Shannon grinned his words, “Want it as bad as me, huh, little gal?”

  “Come in, Shel,” Ruby said. “Quickly.”

  Laughing, Shannon stepped into the dark cabin . . . and then his voice became a growl. “What the hell, Ruby? Why are you dressed like that? You maybe planning to—”

  Shawn swung his Colt. He hit the gunman on the right side of his head, just under his hat, and Shannon fell to his knees. But a buffaloed man with a thick skull can drop from the blow yet still hold on to consciousness.

  Shannon cursed and groggily reached out for Ruby and Shawn hit him with the heavy Colt again.

  This time Shannon fell on his face and lay still, but the O’Brien brothers had not been raised in the ways of trusting men.

  Shawn’s booted toe kicked Shannon’s head hard and when the man groaned, he kicked him again, harder.

  When he was satisfied that Shannon wasn’t going to get up again, he jerked the gun from the unconscious man’s holster an
d tucked it into his waistband. He grabbed Shannon’s ankles, dragged him into the cabin and told Ruby to shut the door.

  Shawn let Shannon’s ankles drop, then stepped to the window.

  He pulled back the curtain an inch and stared outside. He saw only darkness and a bobbing lantern in the distance as the crowds of townspeople thinned.

  “I don’t think anybody saw Shannon come to your door,” he said.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Ruby said.

  “I want to kill him, but I won’t. At least, not yet. If Jasper Wolfden’s been captured by Cobb, maybe I can trade Shannon for him.”

  “We can’t stay here much longer,” the woman said. “There’s only a couple of hours left until sunup.”

  “I know. We’re getting out of here and good ol’ Shel is going with us. Any of those Texas cowboys you entertained leave you a rope?”

  “No, only money,” Ruby said. There was strange hurt in her eyes.

  “Sorry,” Shawn said. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Then, because he felt his apology was inadequate, “I’m on edge, I guess.”

  “And me too,” Ruby said. “I guess.” She motioned to the bed. “Tear up my sheets for a rope. I won’t have any use for them again.”

  It was only the work of minutes for Shawn to rip the sheets into strips and knot them together to fashion a rope, except for two pieces he used to gag Shannon and tie his hands behind his back.

  The gunman stirred, cursed, and made a grab for Shawn. He again got thumped on the head for his trouble and flopped like a rag doll into unconsciousness.

  Shawn held up his revolver for Ruby to see. “Full factory-engraved Colt, the barrel cut back to four inches and the action tuned by Hermann Ulrich, the El Paso gunsmith, and I’m bending it over the head of this idiot. It would make a grown man cry.”

  The woman seemed unimpressed by the Colt’s pedigree or Shawn’s grief over its abuse.

  “We’d better get to your horse,” she said. “Shannon’s a tough man and he could give us trouble when he recovers.”

  Shawn nodded. “Now’s as good a time as any, I reckon.”

  He coiled the sheet rope and looped it over his left shoulder. Then, a strong, well-muscled man, he effortlessly hauled Shannon to his feet and grabbed the gunman by the back of his shirt.