by Adam Brady
There was a crack in the old man’s voice, and he looked quickly away.
“Plumb finished,” he repeated, and then he downed the remains of his drink in one long swallow.
Halliday could think of nothing more to say, so he simply bought them both another shot and let his mind run over his own worries.
So far, there was no sign of Luther Hahn. Halliday had expected the sheriff would be coming after him with blood in his eye. He wondered if Melissa would simply keep quiet or whether she would spin her father a story about how she had been dishonored by big, bad Buck Halliday. His hand strayed to his shirt pocket. The note was still there in case he needed to prove that Melissa had invited him to her room.
He still could not understand what game the woman was playing. It seemed certain that she had expected Rogan to appear on the scene all along.
Maybe she was just one of those women who liked to see men fight over her, but Halliday didn’t think that was the case.
It was something else, something more complicated. There were all the signs that the whole sorry business had been planned in advance ... but why?
Minutes passed, and the oldster maintained a stony silence.
Halliday was about to take a walk to the livery to check on the sorrel, but as he turned to go, he saw Harp McPhee come into the saloon by the back way.
McPhee glanced at Halliday, but it was clear that he had come to see Mahoney.
He ordered a drink and waited until he had the glass in his hand before he approached the rancher.
“Mahoney,” he said flatly, “I hear you’re in some difficulty.”
Mahoney’s face flushed with anger and he stepped back from the bar so quickly that he almost stumbled. Then he turned on McPhee and rasped;
“You heard, did you? Don’t act like it comes as a surprise, mister. This is all your doin’, and I ain’t never gonna forget it.”
There was no change in McPhee’s expression. He took a sip of his drink and set the glass down as if it disappointed him.
“Like I said last night, it’s business. And nothing’s happened to make me change my mind. I loaned Rogan a lot of money, and he gave me mortgages for security. Now it turns out the bank can’t pay me what it owes me. That means I take over the mortgages. You can’t expect me to just say goodbye to what’s owin’ to me, now can you?”
“I expect nothin’ from you,” Mahoney spat.
“Now just hold on a minute and stop burnin’ all your damn bridges, Tom,” McPhee countered. “I’m a reasonable man and I’m prepared to help you out ... if you want my help.”
“How?” Mahoney said contemptuously. “With that damn fool offer you made last night?”
“Fool offer?” McPhee said with a faint grin. “I don’t see how you can call me a fool when I’m the only one around here that hasn’t gone broke. That isn’t somethin’ I mean to change, either, but I’m still willin’ to loan you another thousand dollars to meet the note the bank has against your place.”
Mahoney eyed him with distaste.
“Why? And what’s in it for you?”
McPhee shrugged his big shoulders and smiled openly.
“Money, naturally. The interest on a loan has to be bigger when the risk is bad, you know ...”
“Go to hell and stay there!” Mahoney snapped. “Get your damn stink outta here!”
McPhee still took no offense.
“Do it my way and you get to stay on your place for another three months,” he said. “If it rains before the time is up, you might save enough of your cattle to pull you through. If it goes that way, you can pay back what you owe me and everybody comes away happy.”
“What the hell do you take me for—some kinda halfwit?” Mahoney barked.
“No, Tom,” McPhee said, “not at all. I just take you for a man on his last legs.”
Halliday spoke for the first time.
“It’s a bad deal, Tom,” he said.
McPhee spread his hands.
“That’s the way life is a lot of the time,” he said. “Now please, leave us alone so we can come to a decision.”
“I’ve already come to mine,” Mahoney muttered, knocking over his glass as he lunged at McPhee.
For a big man, Harp McPhee was quick on his feet. He stepped neatly out of the way, but the buttons on the cuff of his coat sleeve dragged for a moment on the edge of the bar.
Halliday saw the wrist gun and so did Mahoney, who stopped dead in his tracks.
“Just a precaution against hotheads,” McPhee said softly. “But no matter, I’m sure you will learn to control yourself. Why don’t you come back and get yourself another drink? My offer still stands, you know. You can have three months of hope ... or years of misery.”
Mahoney stepped back, and Halliday saw the anguish in his eyes. He knew that this time, the rancher was down for the count and it was all going according to plan for McPhee. Just as it had also done last night, when Melissa went straight from McPhee to the rooming house and into Halliday’s arms. That had to be another plan. Or part of the same plan that was dragging the whole town to the edge of ruin ...
“McPhee,” Halliday said, “you’re ridin’ this town too hard, and your turn’s coming.”
McPhee’s smile faded.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?”
“No, you ain’t worth that, mister. You’ll get yours soon enough, and when the time comes, nothin’s going to help you—not your foolish little sneak gun or your hired gun or anything else you got to protect you from the decent folks who’ve had a bellyful of you.
“Just do like Sheriff Hahn said and git!”
McPhee’s mouth worked soundlessly for a time before he pulled his sleeve down to cover the wrist gun. Glancing quickly around the room, he stepped back from the bar.
Jeff Leonard and four other businessmen were just coming in the door, and they looked at him with hatred as they crossed to the bar.
McPhee turned back to Mahoney then and raised his voice in a way that made it clear he was addressing everyone in the room.
“When I make a deal, I stick to it,” he said. “I expect everybody else to do likewise. If they don’t, too bad ... for them.”
Leonard’s head swung around angrily, and one of his companions made a point of projecting a thin stream of tobacco juice onto the floor only inches from McPhee’s shiny boots.
“None of that’s going to change a thing,” McPhee said, and then he sauntered across the room and out the door, leaving the batwings trembling behind his back.
Mahoney muttered a curse, but Halliday touched him on the shoulder and said;
“Gettin’ mad can only do you more harm than good, Tom.”
“I know that,” the rancher growled.
There was a short silence before he spoke again.
“Somethin’ I don’t know, though ...”
“And what might that be?” Halliday asked casually.
“I can’t figure why you’re still here. Why buy into this mess when it’s got nothin’ at all to do with you?”
“You’ve got a point,” Halliday said. “I’m kinda wondering the same thing myself ... but I figure you’d do what you could if you were in my place. McPhee seems to affect everybody the same way. He just about turns my stomach.”
“He does at that,” Mahoney mumbled, reaching for his drink.
Halliday leaned back against the counter and glanced at Leonard and his friends. The strain was showing in all their faces. This was a town with no joy, and only one man was responsible.
The barkeep was working his way back down the bar, leaving a damp smear on the countertop with his rag. His eyes kept darting in Halliday’s direction as though he expected some kind of mayhem to erupt at any minute.
His apprehension seemed to grow when Luther Hahn looked in over the batwings and then sauntered inside.
When the sheriff left soon afterward without incident, Halliday was every bit as surprised as the bartender.
A
few more customers ambled in, paid for their drinks and settled into their usual places.
Halliday decided that it was just another ordinary day—for a town that was slowly dying on its feet.
He drained his glass and set it down, and then he turned to face Mahoney and extended his hand.
“Well, Tom,” he said, “I’ve had enough of Redemption. I’m on my way. I hope somethin’ turns up for you.”
Mahoney reached for Halliday’s hand and shook it firmly.
“It’s a shame there’s nothin’ to keep you here,” he said. “In better times, I reckon we would have worked damn well together.”
“No doubt about that,” Halliday said as he tilted his hat brim in preparation for stepping into the bright sunlight outside.
He was turning to go when the batwings creaked again.
Wes Rudder stood just inside the room, scanning the drinkers slowly until his eyes found Halliday.
There was no trace now of that faintly mocking grin. The lean, dark face was set like stone, and both hands were hooked in the double gunrig.
“Glad you ain’t run off, Halliday,” Rudder said in a voice that carried to every corner of the suddenly silent room. “Too hot a day to have to hunt you down.”
No one moved. All eyes watched the beginning of what looked like a drama of life and death. Halliday saw Mahoney stir beside him and said;
“Stay out of it, Tom.”
Then he moved slightly toward Rudder, regarding him with a steady look that refused any distraction.
“I don’t run, mister, and you sure ain’t the man to make me start.”
Rudder’s lips peeled back in a snarl.
“You got good reason to run, mister. Real good.”
“I do?”
Rudder thumped his chest.
“I’m it, Halliday. From the time you bought into that business at the freight yards, I’ve been strainin’ at the bit. Now you’ve gone too far, the way you talked to Mr. McPhee. You shoulda shown him more respect ...”
“I’m not much good at pretending,” Halliday said slowly, “and respect just doesn’t come easy when a man’s looking at a cockroach like Harp McPhee.”
Mahoney shifted noisily away from the bar.
“Now just a damn minute,” he said. “Halliday never said a thing to McPhee. It was me that called him scum and tried to take a swing at him. I shoulda known that even with that sneak gun up his sleeve, it’d come to nothin’ and he’d send you to fight his battle for him.”
Rudder heard the little rancher out, then rasped;
“Like Halliday said, stay outta this.”
Without taking his eyes from the gunman, Halliday gave a barely perceptible nod and motioned Mahoney to step away.
“I’ll get Hahn,” Mahoney said. “We ain’t standin’ by and seein’ you cut down an innocent man, Rudder. We ain’t about to let you call the tune on this.”
“Back off, Tom,” Halliday told the rancher gently. “This has nothin’ to do with you or Luther Hahn.”
He stepped into the center of the room, still facing Rudder.
“Still mighty sure of yourself, ain’t you?” Rudder sneered in an attempt to goad Halliday into making a wrong move.
“Sure enough, mister. I don’t see anything to change my mind.”
Rudder’s face did not alter, but there was an almost imperceptible change in his eyes.
Halliday saw it and knew that Rudder was about to go for his gun. He waited with his hands hanging loosely at his sides.
Both men heard the faint scrape of feet at the back of the room. Rudder was the first to look that way, and then Halliday cut his gaze in the same direction.
Melissa Hahn was standing there, with Harp McPhee beside her, leaning against the wall.
A moment later, Luther Hahn marched into the room without giving a glance to either his daughter or Harp McPhee. He stood there with his feet planted wide and his chin jutting out aggressively as his eyes swept over the room and then settled on the two men who were facing each other down.
“Buyin’ in on this, are you, Hahn?” Rudder inquired.
Luther Hahn shook his head.
“Nope,” he said. “The way I heard it, Halliday tried to lean on Mr. McPhee. You work for McPhee, so I reckon you got a right to act on his behalf—just so’s it’s a fair fight, of course.”
Hahn moved a little closer to the bar and studied Jeff Leonard and his companions, and then he turned slowly and ran his eyes over the rest of the customers.
“The rest of you, keep your noses outta this,” the lawman commanded. “Halliday killed a man in the street as soon as he rode into this town, and he’s been makin’ trouble ever since, but he ain’t done nothin’ I can jail him for. If Wes wants to take care of this, that’s fine by me.”
Hahn nodded in Rudder’s direction and the gunslick returned the gesture. Halliday set his feet and fixed his attention completely on the gunman facing him.
“Well, Rudder,” he said quietly, “you called it, so I guess you’d best get on with it.”
Without taking his attention away from Rudder, Halliday sensed that Melissa had moved away from McPhee’s side. He knew then that she would be trying to get a better view of what was probably the most exciting event in her life.
Rudder’s whole body went rigid. There was not a single sound in the room.
Mahoney was watching Halliday and thinking that this was no longer the man he had come to count as a friend. This was the stranger he had seen for the first time at the railroad siding—the man with no friends other than the gun on his hip.
When it came, Rudder’s draw was smooth and fast. His teeth flashed in something that was almost a smile. He was so sure that Halliday was yet another who could not match that lightning draw.
Then he saw the gun in Halliday’s hand, and the bullet had shattered something in his chest and knocked him sideways before his finger touched the trigger.
The bullet meant for Halliday smashed into the wall a yard from Luther Hahn.
The sheriff jumped and swore and then looked around quickly to see who in the room may have noticed his fear.
Rudder was still on his feet and glaring at Halliday with the hatred of a beaten man. He shook his head in disbelief and muttered something no one could hear. A trickle of blood ran down his chin, and he compressed his lips in a thin line as though he was scared of dying.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
Rudder began to fall to one side but everything in him strained to keep him on his feet. He seemed to be suspended, like a puppet hanging from slack strings. Then whatever puppeteer guided a man like Wes Rudder simply discarded him.
The killer had been killed.
Everyone knew by the way he fell that McPhee’s hired gun was dead.
“Judas!” Mahoney whispered hoarsely, and then there was a murmur of many voices.
“They both drew so fast I never even seen it!”
“I figured Rudder got his gun out first, didn’t you?”
“What’s McPhee gonna do now?”
“I’ll never be able to come in here again without I remember this ...”
Then Halliday holstered his gun and turned toward the back of the saloon.
The silence descended as heavy as a deluge.
The sheriff, Melissa and McPhee were bunched close together by the back door, and Halliday had them transfixed in a gaze as cold as winter snow.
“You better be damn sure to call this the way it was,” he said. “Too many other folks saw it for you to try anything else.”
Halliday began to back toward the batwings, his gun hand loose at his side near the holster.
Hahn was scowling and breathing noisily through his nose like an enraged bull, but Melissa was the first of the spectators to make a move. She let out a cry and broke into a run. McPhee reached for her but was too late to stop her from running to what was left of a gunman who had finally met his match.
Six – No Dust, No Distance
; Tom Mahoney followed Buck Halliday out onto the boardwalk, and then turned and stood on his toes to take one last look over the batwings.
He saw Melissa Hahn cradling Wes Rudder’s head on her lap, her face smeared with his blood where she had kissed him.
“Judas,” the old rancher said in wonderment, “everybody figured she was gonna get hitched up with Finch ...”
Halliday wasn’t listening. He was watching the banker rushing toward the saloon.
“What have you done now?” Finch Rogan asked bitterly as he reached Halliday.
“See for yourself,” Halliday told him.
“What you gonna do now, son?” Mahoney asked softly when Rogan had gone.
“Well,” Halliday said with a ghost of a grin, “I’d get myself a drink if that wasn’t the only saloon in town.”
“I don’t suppose you want my advice,” Mahoney said, “but if you did, I’d say get the hell out of this hole and don’t come back. You don’t owe this town a damn thing, and it’s clear that damn near everybody is in on what’s goin’ on, includin’ the sheriff and maybe Finch Rogan, too.”
Halliday shrugged and said, “Maybe you’re right at that, Tom. If I hear you got rain in time for it to do you any good, I might come back and give you a hand with the drive.”
“The easiest trail out is toward Moondance,” Mahoney said, pointing the direction with a stubby finger.
Halliday nodded and headed for the alley by the saloon, on his way to the stables.
He was just turning the corner when he heard the creak of the batwings at the front door to the saloon. The next thing he heard was Finch Rogan’s voice and light footsteps on the boardwalk behind him.
Melissa Hahn was running at him with her hair flying and her arms outstretched. He grabbed her as she rushed at him with her nails tearing at his face, and he held her at arm’s length as she kicked and scratched with all the ferocity of a wildcat.
Halliday looked past her and saw Rogan and Hahn rushing toward him.
When Rogan reached him and grabbed his shoulder, Halliday shook him off and snapped;
“Ain’t you ever gonna learn? Can’t you see they’ve made a fool out of you?”
