Those awake in the village stood aside to let the machine have its way. Forward speed slowed as the craft tilted to one side before righting itself and dropping ever so carefully to the ground. The pilot swung the flying ship around and into the wind as he landed.
“The door is opening,” Curtis said, scanning the village with the field glasses, “One is stepping out. He’s big. I believe that it’s McDaniel.”
“And the other fellow,” Bardwell asked, looking down the hill in the dark. The turbine engine whine had ceased, but the rotating wings would continue for a few more rotations. This the lawman could see with all the fire and torches lighting the early morning scene.
“No,” Curtis said. “He must be inside?”
An electric glow was seen behind the eyes of the beast as its wings finally came to rest. A moment longer it was no more.
“The lights are off,” Curtis said. “Here’s our boy. It’s the same fellow that stepped off with McDaniel last week.”
Bardwell looked over at Curtis in the dark. “I don’t figure there are a whole lot of gentlemen that can operate one of those?” he said, spitting in the dirt nearby.
“I sure wouldn’t know where to start,” Curtis said, laughing. “Hell, Sir, I can barely operate my horse.”
It was Bardwell’s turn to laugh. “Ain’t that the truth,” he said.
The fires set to make the landing area had burned down in the last few minutes. There wasn’t much for wood in the area although it looked as though some of the residents were removing the siding from unused buildings.
“They leave the door on that thing open again?” Bardwell asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Curtis said, scanning the village below. “Just like last week. Everyone is walking south with McDaniel and another fellow in the lead.”
“Did they bring anything back with them?” Bardwell asked, filling in the blanks as he sat in near-total darkness up here on the hill.
“No,” Curtis said. “Some of the folks bringing up the rear are putting out the torches as they pass.”
“Good,” Bardwell said. “They’re creatures of habit, the easiest sort to deal with. In the time that we need to ride down to those trees we talked of and walk to the far end of the southernmost field, I reckon a full hour will have passed, maybe more?”
“That sounds about right,” Curtis said.
Bardwell was up on his feet now with Curtis tucking away the field glasses in his saddlebag.
“We might as well get moving and get this thing over with?” Bardwell said, walking down the hill to the horses tied nearby.
Curtis didn’t answer. There was no reason. They each knew the plan and what they would do once the horses were tied in a safe place and they started on foot. The young lawman wondered what it would be like to wake and find the fields outside ablaze in a thirty-foot wall of flame. He’d soon enough witness the event first hand. In less than an hour, they’d be putting the torch to Broken Hill.
The ride down to the trees where the horses would remain wasn’t far. All traveled in silence, although the lawmen didn’t reckon the sound of hooves on the hard packed dirt would carry far on a gentle morning breeze.
Bardwell had his pair of blue Navy Colts cinched around his waist with another pair of saddle guns over his shoulder. In a tarred canvas shoulder bag rested a half dozen of the flares and handheld bombs that fellow had called grenades. The gas canisters, he didn’t figure there’d be much use for, but they’d use them all if it meant putting an end to this madness called Broken Hill once and for all.
“Are you sure we can’t park the horses a little closer, Sir,” Curtis asked. “It would save a lot of walking after we get things started down there?”
“We’ll make one pass through town and circle around behind the fire,” Bardwell said. “Once we get going, no looking back.”
Curtis nodded his agreement removing the Winchester from his saddle. “Right,” he said. “No looking back.”
The dark morning remained quiet as the pair started in the direction of the desert settlement. All but a few of the lamps in the town ahead had been turned down now that an hour had passed since the flying machine had landed for the night.
Great stretches of sun ripened long grass swayed in the morning breeze. The lawmen continued to move quietly toward the far southern end of the fields. This late season crop was as tall as the field corn back home in places. Once the match was put to it, there would be no turning back.
Bardwell held up a hand in the dark. Curtis following stopped. “This looks as good a place as any to get started,” the lawman said, in a low voice. “You start down this side,” he continued. “I’ll start across midfield following in the same direction.”
Curtis struck a sulfur match to light a cigar and absentmindedly squashed the match in the dirt after. “I guess that I could have just let it burn, huh?” he said laughing.
Bardwell already had one of the red flares out inspecting the device. He snapped the cap from the end and struck it afire. Fluorescent red flame shot from the candle of the elders producing a good bit more heat than the lawman expected. He nodded to the boy as he stepped off a few paces to begin the early morning affair.
Curtis struck the device and the pair started to the north setting flame to the tall dry grass. A morning breeze blew down from the range to the south and east keeping the smoke away for the time. The lawmen moved quick and quiet. It was ten minutes in getting back to the far north end of the settlement. Behind them, the morning breeze was beginning to whip the flame into a dangerous conflagration. Heat from the grassland fire swirled into great vortexes and eddies as it danced across the early morning scene, painting the desert floor in yellow, orange, and red.
The devices continued to burn as the lawmen rounded the north end of the fields. Both continued to touch the flame to anything that would burn. There was no noise from the village. The residents still had no idea what had settled down upon them, but they would and soon now that the plan had been put into action.
Through two big glass eyes, the ancient flying machine watched over it all. The design of the craft seemed to give the appearance of a smile. Maybe it was pleased that its days of hauling innocent children to their deaths was nearly over.
Nearing the end of the field, Curtis raised the stub of his flare and sent it further into the field. Bardwell did the same.
They had made the secluded desert complex proper now without being questioned. Bardwell stepped up into the flying craft for a look. There were dials and gauges and levers like he had never imagined. How any one man could operate such a device, he wondered. No wood, no cloth, nothing that would burn, only glass and steel and plastic. Inside of the beast was a tank full of kerosene, but where and how to get it ignited?
Outside of the landing area, wood and bundles of long grass were piled for the fires that would light the area when the ship operated. Bardwell began to haul the few sticks that he reckoned would provide enough heat to damage the beast from within.
“Try this,” Curtis said, handing up a bucket full of distilled petroleum. “This should help. They’ve got a whole bunch of it in the shack.”
Bardwell splashed the raw kerosene about the cabin and stepped out for more of the bundled grass. “Fetch us another bucket,” he said. “That should do it?”
Curtis started for the shack. Bardwell continued to pile anything that would burn inside of the open airship door.
Another bucket of fuel was splashed inside. Curtis went for a match.
“No,” Bardwell said. “Not yet.” He continued to the shack leaning with age where McDaniel stored the distilled fuel that he carried in from Los Angeles to keep the flying machine fed.
The lawman stood looking around the inside of the leaning shack. Wind blew in from cracks between the boards, but it did nothing to wash away the raw fuel smell within. Bungs in the barrels twisted out easily. Bardwell began to remove those from the steel drums nearby.
“Help me lay a few of these
over will you?” he asked. He and the boy each took sides as they tipped the heavy steel barrels to the dirt floor. Fuel sloshed and spilled and ran in rivers out from under the dry board walls of the shack and to other parts still unknown in the dark.
Once several hundred gallons of kerosene were spilled Bardwell nodded at their effort. “I think that should about do it,” he said.
Curtis surveyed the edge of the sleepy village. Beyond, great fires burned in the fields between the desert settlement and the range of mountains to the west. Here and there dim yellow light escaped from a bubbled glass window as an oil lamp was turned up inside.
The call went up FIRE.
Residents began to stir at the alarm glancing out the window and watching their livelihood going up in flame. FIRE, they shouted.
Bardwell held up a hand. The boy waited.
Men—some only half-dressed—ran to the fields grabbing for shovels and other farm implements along the way. THE FIELDS ARE AFIRE.
“Run for it,” Bardwell said, removing another of the flares and igniting it.
Curtis started for the edge of town on the double-quick. Bardwell touched the flare to the spilled petroleum and started for the open door of the flying ship where he tossed the burning device inside. Flame took to the fuel within the craft setting it ablaze from the inside. Bardwell ran to put distance between him and what was expected sooner rather than later. The shack was fully engulfed when he paused to catch his breath as McDaniel’s evil flying machine ignited.
Fluorescent red burned ahead in the street. Curtis was already busy putting the torch to as many of the dry board buildings as he could before their mischief was uncovered.
THE HELICOPTER, someone yelled from one of the dwellings nearby. Bardwell turned back for a look and the ship was now fully engulfed in flame. If the whole thing came to screeching halt right here, most of what he had hoped to accomplish this morning was done with both the crops and the machine ablaze.
“Black McDaniel,” Bardwell shouted, in a loud firm voice. “Lay down your weapon and raise your hands where I can see them.”
“And just who in the fuck do you think that you are coming in here during the dark of night and laying waste to all that I’ve worked for?” the shadowy figure standing in the door replied.
Curtis turned to see the shadow man with a lever action rifle trained on his superior. Flames from the fires nearby cast the gentleman in a wicked light. The once peaceful morning quiet was shattered into a million pieces as the barrels heated and let go in a fireball to the north blowing the roof off the leaning shack .
“We’re the law, McDaniel,” Bardwell said, in the even tone that he was known for. “By the power vested in me by the state of Sacramento, you’re now under arrest. Lay down that weapon.”
“Like fuck, I will, Marshal,” the shadow man yelled back.
Bardwell stood his ground. Curtis had seen the man in action before. Bardwell could give hell about as well as he could take it. “It’s all over McDaniel,” he said. “Drop the weapon.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“You and your nigger thinking to arrest me?” the shadow man answered laughing. “You’d better ride into town and bring back an army, cause the two of you ain’t got the balls to get me out of here. I like it here, Marshal and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.” McDaniel paused looking around at the rundown remnant of the village. “I’ve got fields of long grass and Heroin from Mexico.” He paused, “Why, we’re even cooking methamphetamine in the old mercantile.” McDaniel continued to laugh. “Yes, Sir,” he said. “It would take a hell of a lot more than the two of you to get me back behind those cold iron bars.”
Not wanting to deal with those gathered, Curtis pulled the pin on one of the gas canisters and sent it over, spewing noxious yellow fumes. “I’ll be damned,” he said, more or less under his breath. The mindless souls of Broken Hill got a whiff and backed away to fresh air.
Steel flashed from a broken window across the street. Without giving it much thought, Curtis reached into the worn leather bag tied over his shoulder and activated one of the heavier devices the merchant back in Desert Spring had sold them.
Before the opposing gunman could get off the shot that would have taken Bardwell’s life, his was taken in a bright flash that sent iron shrapnel throughout.
“Drop the weapon,” Bardwell said again.
“Fuck you, Marshal,” McDaniel yelled back, cycling the lever for a go at the gentleman dead set on taking him in.
Bardwell drew one of his converted Colt pistols, thumbing the hammer. The shot found McDaniel high in the thigh. Blood spurted as the outlaw fumbled to get his first shot off.
Seeing the determination in McDaniel’s eye, the lawman sent another in his direction, but purposely into the sagging door frame behind.
Shots were fired from further down the street. Curtis started in that direction using another flare and raising a little hell as he did, by returning fire.
“Give it up, McDaniel,” Bardwell said. “There ain’t no use anyone else getting hurt this morning.”
“You’ll just kill us all Marshal,” McDaniel said, with a steely determination. “I’ve heard about your kind. You’ll chase a man halfway across hell just to say that you did with no intention of taking him in. No,” he said. “Your orders say dead or alive and I reckon that a dead man is easier to deal with than a live one?”
“You reckon right, McDaniel,” Bardwell said. “Where’s the gentleman who operates that machine?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the outlaw said, standing in defiance as the small fires the lawmen had set began to spread. “You plan on killing him too?”
“We’re not here to kill anyone,” Bardwell said. “We’re here to arrest you Black McDaniel and I wouldn’t be hurt if I took that pilot of yours in also.”
“He’s probably between the legs of one of them zombie girls right about now?” McDaniel said. “Old Buster likes his pussy, Marshal.”
Curtis was closing in from behind. “There’s a whole bunch of pissed off looking people coming this way, Sir,” he said.
McDaniel racked a round. “It’s been good of you to visit, Marshal,” he said. “But your company really wasn’t requested.”
The outlaw fired. The lawman returned lead. McDaniel went to his knees in the dirt with Curtis coming up behind him and the Peacemaker pointed dead center of his back.
“Cuff him,” Bardwell said. “And let’s find this pilot.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Curtis said, getting the iron shackles about McDaniel’s wrists. “Anything you say can be used against you.”
The outlaw interrupted. “Fuck you, nigger,” he said, breathing hard.
Curtis slammed the grip of his Peacemaker into McDaniel’s jaw to make his point. “Now really, Mister,” he continued. “You can say any fucking thing that you want, but I just might do that again.”
McDaniel shot a glance up at the young lawman and turned to spit blood at his feet.
Those barns where Bardwell had believed the long grass was cured were still a good piece down the street and those that had been combating the fires were returning to offer a hand.
Bardwell struck one of the flares and continued up the street setting flame to each of the buildings on his side of the street. Curtis understood what was expected of him and did the same from the other side after setting McDaniel up.
“Sir,” he said, from his side of the street, “You might want to see this.”
The lawman ran across the street to where the boy now stood. To the north, the daystar was beginning to make itself known. It would be morning soon.
Oil lamps burned in the old saloon. Inside a handful of McDaniel’s zombies were making the illicit pharmaceutical products the outlaw had spoken of.
Bardwell removed the pin from one of the grenades and tossed it inside as he and the boy ducked behind a low board wall.
The device exploded shooting iron through the place. A
second explosion from the chemicals inside leveled the building as the lawmen ran for cover.
“Marshal,” McDaniel yelled. “You, son of a bitch, I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing that I do.
“Huh,” Curtis said, smiling.
“What is it?” Bardwell asked.
“I cuffed him to the porch,” Curtis replied.
“And…?” Bardwell asked.
Curtis smiled again. “You set the house on fire.”
The lawmen were silent for a spell as they pondered the fate of Black McDaniel and the predicament they’d left him in.
“You want me to go and fetch him?” Curtis asked.
“Son,” Bardwell said. “As much as I’d like to tell you otherwise, you’d better go and get him.”
Curtis started back across the ground they had already covered to where the outlaw had been left.
A man ran out from one of the houses nearby with a shooting iron in hand. Bardwell didn’t give the man the option of putting it down, he thumbed the hammer and the man dropped without a word.
Curtis returned with a limping McDaniel. The outlaw spat blood at the lawman.
“What happened to him?” Bardwell asked.
“He got a little mouthy,” Curtis answered.
“You’re going to pay for this, Marshal,” the outlaw yelled taking in the destruction on a much grander scale.
“Want another one,” Curtis asked, raising the weapon in his hand.
McDaniel lowered his head. The outlaw had lost a lot of blood. Color was retreating from his face in the morning light.
“Black,” a man yelled, pulling his braces over his shoulders. The man had a firearm in the other hand. “What the hell is going on? Who are these fellas?”
“Buster,” McDaniel said, sealing the man’s fate as the morning sky grew brighter in purple and pink.
“Put it down,” Bardwell said. “We’re the law and you’re under arrest.”
“Like hell I am,” the man in suspenders yelled back, as he raised his piece.
Both lawmen placed a round in McDaniel’s pilot, one in the gut and one between the eyes.
Ain't No Law in California Page 21
