Halliday 2

by Adam Brady

  “Never said I couldn’t handle it.”

  “You didn’t need to,” Halliday told him, drawing on the cigarette and putting one foot up against the table. “What is it that folks in this town have against you?”

  “The problem is that they’re all fools!” Rogan barked. “They all want what I haven’t got.”

  “Money?”

  “Money! They want bucket-loads of it, and I can’t help them anymore. I’ve done all I can.”

  Halliday pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  “The bank’s run out of money?”

  “Cleaned out. Worse still, it’s in debt. I’ve dredged up every cent I could find—my own money and everything my father left me. You’d think that would satisfy them, wouldn’t you? But no. They want more.”

  Halliday pinched his cigarette out and tossed the butt into the waste basket.

  “They know all that, Finch?”

  “Sure, they know. I’ve told them often enough. I’ve even opened the books for them to examine. Anybody who wanted to look at the ledgers was welcome to do it. All the bank holds is some useless mortgages on properties of no value. If the drought doesn’t break soon, this whole town will be finished. I’ve slaved for four years trying to make a go of this bank. I can tell you, it was no fun being penned up in here day after day, trying my damnedest to do everything right. I was mighty careful not to take on any bad risks, and I protected people from borrowing more than they could afford to pay back. I listened to their stories and kept their secrets and did everything I could for this town, and now they turn around and want to spit in my face. I’ve had a bellyful, Buck. I’m sick to the teeth of the whole lot of them!”

  “Have you tried to get some backers from the big cities back East?” Halliday asked him. “There must be money men back there who can see the possibilities. Droughts do break, you know.”

  Rogan got to his feet so fast that he banged his hip on the side of the table. Rubbing his side and cursing to himself, he said, “I’ve tried everywhere. I had a source of funds right here in town, but it dried up on me ...”

  “Let’s have a drink and think about it,” Halliday suggested. “Maybe we can come up with a name or two. There’s always someone who can benefit from hard times such as these, and that’s who you want.”

  “Not in this town,” Rogan muttered. “I’ve got every dollar of investment I could wheedle out of folks, and I’ve handed it on. I’ve taken up mortgages for a client who is left with nothing himself if things don’t improve. This whole part of the country is flat busted, Buck. The people here know it, and they’re blaming me for everything from dry wells to their sick kids. They took a risk listening to my advice, and it didn’t pay off for them.”

  It still seemed to Halliday that Rogan was holding something back from him, but he made no further comment.

  They went out onto the boardwalk together, but when Halliday headed down to the street, Rogan said;

  “I’ll catch up with you later, Buck. Maybe one more try won’t hurt.”

  “Suit yourself, Finch,” Halliday said, and watched Rogan go off alone.

  Halliday had just reached the hitch rail when he heard a gun bark. He looked up in time to see the shape of a man, bent over and running across the roof.

  The bullet had come within an inch of his head, and nowhere near Rogan’s.

  His hand flashed down and then he drew a careful bead. It was a long shot, but he was satisfied to see that he had clipped the man.

  Now he heard a startled cry from Rogan further down the boardwalk. With the six-gun still in his hand, Halliday sprinted in the banker’s direction.

  At first, he could see nothing on the street. He stopped at the mouth of the first alley and heard running footsteps. He decided to keep to the main street, and he finally caught sight of movement overhead.

  Starlight gleamed on the barrel of a gun and then came the red flare of the gunshot.

  Halliday dived sideways and came up shooting at the sniper who was almost directly above his head. He heard the grunt and then the desperate scrambling as the man struggled to keep his footing but eventually lost his balance. The man’s body bent forward, head lowered, and hung for a moment from the eaves before he fell, an empty boot still dangling from the edge of the roof.

  Dead or alive, the man was showing no signs that he was conscious. Halliday turned him over onto his back, but it was too dark to see the face, and now someone was running in his direction.

  Sheriff Hahn and Finch Rogan arrived almost at the same time, as a curious crowd began to gather.

  Three – Harp McPhee

  “Halliday!”

  Sheriff Luther Hahn spat the name like a curse as he came to a halt with his big hands on his hips. Halliday pointed to the dead man and said;

  “He fired at me from the roof. I managed to wing him but he kept after me. That didn’t leave me much choice, Sheriff.”

  “Just like that, huh?” Hahn growled, scowling blackly at him. “You’re just strollin’ down the street, mindin’ your own damn business, and a stranger climbs up on the roof to take a potshot at you?”

  “Just like that, Sheriff,” Halliday said, “unless you can tell me who the feller was and come up with a better explanation—”

  “That’s how it looked to me,” Rogan cut in quickly. “We left the bank soon after you did, Luther, and we each went off in our own direction. Then I heard the first shot and saw the man running across the roof of the store.” He pointed to the building and added, “Buck shot back at him. I thought he missed, but he started down the street toward me and I couldn’t see the sniper on the roof anymore. When Buck fired again, I saw this feller fall.” He looked down at the man at their feet and added, “I don’t see how you can possibly blame—”

  “Nobody’s askin’ you to see anythin’!” Hahn growled.

  Rogan wanted to take it further, but Halliday looked at him slyly and shook his head. Touching the man on the ground with the toe of his boot, Halliday said;

  “Seems to me it’s about time to give some thought to what’s goin’ on around here. This was no drunken cowboy havin’ some harmless fun, and it sure wasn’t a stray bullet that almost split my skull open like a watermelon.”

  Hahn’s face showed his reluctance to follow the advice, but after a moment’s struggle with his temper, he called for a light. Someone brought a lantern, and Hahn held it down close to the dead man’s upturned face.

  The sheriff frowned. Rogan looked puzzled.

  Although Halliday was the most surprised of all, he kept that to himself. The dead man was the engineer from Harp McPhee’s cattle train—the train that would not carry cattle unless it was at McPhee’s say-so.

  “You know him, Sheriff?” Halliday asked.

  Hahn shook his head and said, “Nope, I sure as hell don’t. How about you?”

  Halliday shook his head and shrugged.

  “You real sure about that?” Hahn persisted. “Maybe you recollect just some little thing like where you locked horns with him last time ...”

  Halliday shook his head again.

  A short silence followed, with the whole street so quiet that Halliday could hear the lawman’s heavy breathing through his nose, like a bull preparing for a charge.

  “Then why the hell would he want to take a shot at you?” Hahn exploded.

  “Maybe he mistook me for somebody else,” Halliday suggested.

  He was asking himself the same question the sheriff had posed when a little man pushed past Hahn and bent over the dead man.

  “Why, damn you?” the little man said thickly with his eyes turned up to Halliday. “Why’d you kill him?”

  “Self-defense,” Halliday told the man flatly.

  The little man straightened and lunged at him, but Halliday coolly caught him by the shoulder and spun him around toward the sheriff.

  “Self-defense, like hell!” the little man shouted. “Jake here was never one for gunplay. You killed him, so it’s murder!”


  Halliday looked over the little man’s head at Hahn.

  “Seems you’ve got somebody who knew this feller, Sheriff,” he said.

  The crowd had doubled in size and was pressing in close to hear what was said.

  Hahn noticed the growing crowd, too, and without releasing the grip he had taken on the little man’s shoulder, he swung around and bellowed, “Get away from here, all of you! Give us some damn room!”

  The crowd moved back but did not disperse. Hahn glowered at Halliday and said;

  “And you keep quiet, mister. I’m the one that’s gonna do the talkin’ to this feller!”

  “I wish you’d get on with it then, Sheriff,” Halliday said innocently.

  The sheriff turned his cold stare on the little man, who was squirming in his grip now.

  “Who the hell are you?” Hahn snarled.

  “Name’s Will Cross.”

  “And him?” Hahn asked, pointing to the dead man.

  “Jake Sharp,” Cross said.

  Hahn nodded as if at last he was getting somewhere.

  “Okay, now what about Halliday? You ever see him before?”

  Cross looked bleakly at Halliday, and swore.

  “Nope, I ain’t seen him before, but by hell, I’ll see him later! Ain’t nobody gonna shoot down a friend of mine in—”

  “Enough!” Hahn rasped. “Did Jake Sharp ever mention Halliday to you?”

  The little man shook his head.

  “Then why do you suppose this pard of yours was up on a roof in the middle of the night tryin’ to shoot Halliday’s lights out?” Hahn asked. “I can smell the whiskey on your breath—does that mean the two of you were drinkin’ together, and Sharp mistook Halliday for somebody else. Is that what happened?”

  “Don’t know,” Cross said. “Jake only had one drink, and then he told me he had somebody to see, was all. Next thing I heard was the gunshots, same as everybody else.”

  Cross pulled himself away from the sheriff, glaring up at Halliday as he strode away.

  Hahn wiped sweat from his brow and confronted Halliday again.

  “Okay, mister, seems you’re in the clear—this time,” he growled. “But the fact remains that you’re the one that drew this trouble here, one way or the other. You just got into town tonight, and you’ve already got yourself into two gunfights. I want you gone before mornin’, or I’ll lock you up for disturbin’ the peace.”

  “To tell you the truth,” Halliday grinned, “your town isn’t the kind of place I’d choose to stay any longer than I have to, Sheriff.”

  As he sauntered off with Rogan beside him, Halliday said;

  “I think we’ve earned a drink, and besides, I think it’s a good idea for us to talk to you some more. How about you line us up a nice big glass of beer while I see to my horse?”

  Rogan gave him directions to the livery stables, and Halliday went back to the bank where the sorrel was still tied to the hitching rail.

  When the horse was stabled, Halliday took a shortcut through the alley that came out beside the saloon. As he walked beside the vacant lot behind the saloon, he saw a tiny red glow near the saloon’s back door.

  Maybe somebody had stepped out for some fresh air ... or for some peace and quiet ... or to take another shot at him ...?

  With a sigh, Halliday slid his six-gun up and down in its holster and then he cut across the yard until he was only a few feet from the man with the cigarette.

  “Howdy, Rudder,” he said.

  “I hear you been cuttin’ up rough in this town,” Rudder smirked.

  “It’s been a busy night, true enough—too bad about that friend of yours.”

  “Ain’t you had enough for one night without pushin’ me?” Rudder said tightly.

  “I didn’t go lookin’ for any of it, mister,” Halliday replied flatly.

  He was surprised to see Rudder hold back. It seemed that for some reason, the gunman did not want more trouble tonight.

  Halliday knew that Rudder was not afraid of him, and he knew for a fact that the man had no aversion to spilling blood. Once he had seen him cut down three men in a saloon and chase the fourth outside to fill him with lead while the fellow was running for his life.

  Whatever Rudder was up to now, it suited Halliday to give him some breathing space.

  “Sharp worked for the railroad, not for me,” Rudder said as Halliday stepped past him to get to the back door of the saloon. “I take care of my own business.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Halliday muttered.

  “You figured right then.”

  Halliday found Finch Rogan surrounded by angry men who all seemed to be talking at once.

  With his back against the bar and his hand wrapped around an empty glass, Rogan was listening in tight-lipped silence.

  Halliday moved straight to the back of the crowd and said quietly, “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  He forced his way between the shoulders of two of the men and elbowed them aside. Then he pushed forward, making the tightly-packed bunch give him room.

  He took money from his pocket and placed it on the counter near Rogan’s elbow and took Rogan’s glass from his hand.

  “Refill, Finch?”

  The crowd had gone quiet and now there was a cleared circle around Halliday and Rogan as the two men tasted their drinks and talked quietly between themselves. Finally, someone behind Halliday asked;

  “What’s your game, mister? We seen you ride in, we seen you outside the bank, and we seen you where that feller got shot dead. Are you tryin’ to see how many enemies you can make in one night or what?”

  Halliday glanced casually over his shoulder to look at the red-faced individual he had been watching all the time in the bar mirror.

  “I came to Redemption to look up an old friend,” he said casually. “Now I’ve found him, and all I want is to chew the fat with him and maybe get a little drunk. Does that bother you in some way?”

  “Yeah, it does,” the man snapped. “My name’s Jeff Leonard. I run the Mercantile.”

  “If I need anything, I’ll come see you,” Halliday said quietly.

  “Don’t you sass me, mister!” Leonard said loudly. “I can see you’re here to side with Rogan, but you don’t scare me one bit. Rogan sold us out, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “By lendin’ you money when you asked for it?” Halliday asked.

  Leonard snorted and two of the other towners began to speak, but the big man silenced them with an impatient gesture.

  “No, let me handle this,” he snapped as he pointed a thick finger at Finch Rogan. “He loaned us money, all right, and he also tied us down so tight that we had to sign over everythin’ we owned to get it. Now all we got is debts and a whole lot of bloodsuckers gettin’ ready to foreclose on everythin’ we’ve worked for.”

  Halliday looked at Rogan to see if he had anything to say, but Rogan kept his back turned and his hand on his glass.

  “Leonard,” Halliday said, “you tell me you’re a businessman, ain’t that right?”

  “I am,” the big man confirmed for him with a trace of pride.

  “So I guess you know enough never to sign anythin’ without readin’ it first ...”

  Leonard scowled blackly.

  “Well?” Halliday prodded.

  “Yeah, I read it,” Leonard muttered.

  “So you know what would happen if you couldn’t come up with the repayments. Right?”

  Leonard’s face went white and he nodded grimly.

  “What that says to me,” Halliday continued, “is that you were in deep trouble a long time before today, and you came runnin’ to Rogan askin’ for his help. He got you the money you said you needed. You’re the ones that went back on the deal, not Rogan. You signed a paper, promisin’ to pay back what you owed ... but you didn’t keep your promise, did you?”

  Leonard flashed a sullen look Rogan’s way.

  “He loaned us money and said there’d be more. He said all we had to do was
stick together—for us to back the cattlemen and farmers and for him to back us. Okay, so we gave credit to anybody who wanted it, and borrowed money to stock up again, and now that stock’s about gone. And we ain’t been paid, so we can’t meet the damned loan. They’re gonna close this whole town down ...”

  “They?” Halliday asked quietly.

  Leonard pointed at Rogan again, and said;

  “The bank! Who else do you think? He’s the one that’s got our mortgages.”

  “I’m only holding them, Leonard!” Rogan snapped in his first show of defiance. “The bank’s cleaned out. I had to act in the interests of a customer.”

  “And who might that be?” Leonard sneered. “Just give us his name. Maybe we’ll go see him.”

  Rogan shook his head.

  “I’m afraid I can’t divulge the man’s name, Leonard. I told you that before. I have an agreement with him that holds me down to—”

  “Then you’re lyin’,” Leonard jeered. “There ain’t nobody in this but you. You tricked us with all your big talk and fancy promises. You’re nothin’ but a goddamn thief, and I’m sayin’ it loud and clear.”

  Rogan lunged forward and socked Leonard on the jaw. The big man rocked back on his heels, more shocked than hurt as he stumbled into three of his companions.

  “You damn well asked for that, Leonard,” Rogan muttered. “My hands are tied, and you’ll just have to think what you like—think it, but don’t say it. I’ve had about all I can take of your ranting and raving, and your endless complaints. Leave me be!”

  Leonard rubbed his jaw. The other towners seemed to be watching his lead.

  “Okay then, Rogan,” Leonard said. “I guess it’ll all come out in the open soon enough. But there’s one thing you oughtta know. I don’t intend to sit still and get cheated out of everything I’ve worked for. I’ll fight you down to the last floorboard before I give up my store. I’d do it alone if I had to, but the difference between you and me is I’ve got friends in the same sticky mess. We’re gonna fight this all the way. We’ve got no damn choice.”

  Leonard wiped sweat from his face, turned on his heel and strode noisily across the room. The others quickly followed.