by Adam Brady
Halliday stood up and walked across the room, keeping his back to the man. He was giving them both a chance to let their anger subside. This was a touchy business, and he was determined to have it settled before he rode away. He rolled and lit a cigarette and took a long drag before he turned back to face the man.
“A man’s got to be cautious, Finch,” he said finally. “That’s what you forgot when you got all tangled up with this town. Just because folks stay put in nice little houses and don’t always carry guns doesn’t make it any different from ridin’ a rough trail. McPhee played you for a fool, and he used Melissa to keep your brain addled. She’s mighty good at what she does—we both know that.” He paused, drew on the cigarette again, and said, “Are you starting to get the picture?”
“I’m startin’ to hate your guts,” Rogan retorted, “but say your piece. I’m broke and wounded, so you might as well take the chance to rub my nose in it. It won’t always be like this. One day I’m going to pay you back for what you’ve done.”
“Okay,” Halliday said wearily. “At least you’re listening, for once. McPhee used Melissa to get to you. All the time, that little lady was only interested in Wes Rudder, but she strung you along because McPhee told her to.”
Rogan opened his mouth to say something, but Halliday held up his hand and said;
“Let me lay it out for you the way I see it. It’s damn well time you listened. McPhee’s made a few mistakes along the way, but the one that really matters is that he didn’t read people right. Sure, it was easy enough to push around simple folks, but he tried to treat the ranchers the same way. They’re a different breed—we both know that, don’t we? Take Tom, for instance. He’s willing to die to hold onto what he has. If the drought beats him, he can live with that, but he won’t stand for being cheated out of a ranch he’s worked so hard to build.”
Halliday stepped forward and leaned on the desk, his forearms bulging with muscle.
“McPhee bought the sheriff and hired a gun hand to keep folks in line. That was bad enough, but for the ranchers, the worst thing he did was to stop them from selling their cattle when they so desperately needed to. He left them with no way out, and they hate him for it. You’ve seen cattle die of thirst and hunger, and it’s not a pretty picture. Making a man watch that happen to his herd is tantamount to slow torture. That’s why Mahoney and his neighbors are plannin’ to fight. They’ve got nothing left to lose.”
For the first time, it looked like Halliday’s words were starting to sink in.
“They’re really going to fight?” Rogan asked.
“And die, if they have to. Can you look me in the eye and say that’s no concern of yours, or mine? Think about it, Finch. This country can get along just fine without men like you and me ... but it ain’t worth a spit without men like Tom Mahoney and his neighbors.”
Rogan bit his lip and stood up slowly. He raised his good arm and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Can’t see what I can do about it, Buck,” he said slowly.
“You can organize the town, Finch. Tom and his neighbors are all set to fight. If they do it out of town, then I guess they have to accept the consequences. But if they ride in after Harp McPhee, then somebody has got to make sure that Jeff Leonard and his friends know the reason behind it. Otherwise, they’re likely to think they have to back McPhee and the sheriff just because Hahn is what passes for law and order in this town. All I want to do before I push on is make sure those towners understand what’s happening—that the ranchers’ troubles are their troubles. And I think you can help.”
Rogan pursed his lips and fidgeted with his string tie. After a moment’s reflection, he nodded and said;
“I’ll do what I can. Since you’ve been doing all this thinking, maybe you can tell me the rest ...?”
“Sure,” Halliday said. “Get the towners together and tell them the whole story. If they don’t want to buy into Mahoney’s fight, at least make sure they keep right out of it—no matter what Hahn does. That way, the ranchers will stand a chance.”
“All right,” Rogan said grimly. “Tom will get his chance.”
“That’s all we can do,” Halliday said, and then he let himself out the back door and headed straight for the saloon.
He pushed the swing doors apart and walked straight up to the bar, where the sound of a glass breaking was as loud as the crack of doom.
“Damn thing just slipped right out of my hand,” the barkeep muttered.
Heads turned to look at Halliday, but no man uttered a word.
“Whiskey,” Halliday said, and slapped his money down on the counter.
The barkeep served him and hurried away, leaving Halliday alone with empty space all around him.
Halliday took his time, waiting for word of his return to get to Harp McPhee and Luther Hahn.
He didn’t have long to wait.
Before the bartender could pour him a second drink, the saloon doors creaked and the subdued buzz of conversation died away again.
Without moving a muscle, Halliday lifted his gaze to the mirror behind the bar.
The barkeep scurried to the little gate at the end of the counter and let himself out. He seemed to have a sudden desire to clean the tables jammed up against the side wall of the saloon.
“You’ve got some nerve, Halliday,” McPhee said from the doorway.
“Yeah,” Halliday admitted, watching the two men approach the bar.
“What’s goin’ on in here?” McPhee said loudly. “Can’t a man get a drink anymore?”
“Be right with you,” the barkeep said hastily, but he retreated to the tables again as soon as he had supplied McPhee with a drink from his private stock.
Halliday turned to face McPhee, leaned his elbow on the counter and said quietly;
“Figure you have them where you want them, do you?”
McPhee pursed his lips.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Everythin’s turning out just fine,” he said. “You made a helluva lotta noise, but you were never more than just a nuisance.”
“Why send the girl to seduce me, then?” Halliday asked.
McPhee smiled and shrugged.
“Thought it was a good idea at the time, I guess,” he grinned. “I wasn’t sure how things would go, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to stir up a little trouble between you and Rogan.”
“Your plan nearly worked,” Halliday said.
The first hint of uncertainty showed in McPhee’s fleshy face.
“Nearly worked?”
“Finch knows the whole story now,” Halliday said calmly. “He’s even come to realize that Melissa is nothin’ but a tramp who does what you tell her to do. I doubt if he can do much to stop you legally, but he’s of a mind now to do whatever he can.”
McPhee frowned.
“I’m not exactly shaking in my boots over that news,” he said. “I don’t see what he can do. Nobody in this town would give him the time of day after he’s sold them out. Even if folks would listen to him—and they won’t—he can’t say I’ve done anything illegal. I put some pressure on folks, sure, but my business is a tough one. I’ve lost out before, many times, but this time I’m plannin’ to win big.”
“I don’t think so,” Halliday said flatly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out in good time, McPhee,” Halliday told him. “You spent plenty of time checkin’ on ledgers and bank balances, but it strikes me that you fell down by not checkin’ up on the people themselves.”
“Like who?” McPhee demanded.
“Tom Mahoney, for instance.”
“Then Tom Mahoney will be ridin’ on the wrong side of the law!” McPhee snapped. “His fight will be with Luther Hahn, not with me ...”
Halliday’s lips broke into a wide grin.
“Keep talkin’ like that, mister, and you might convince yourself even if you don’t convince anybody else. The only friends you have in this town are a lawman who you have on your
payroll and his wanton daughter. You might have the legal right to take over a lot of businesses and land, but if you try to do it, this town is just goin’ to dry up around your ears and leave you with nothing.”
“Who cares?” McPhee said confidently. “It’ll rain some day, and when it does, there’ll be plenty of buyers to start it all up again.”
Halliday shrugged.
“I sure don’t see how all this is gonna work with nobody but Luther Hahn to back your play—how’s his gun hand anyway, still stiff and sore?”
Halliday was surprised to see a spark of amusement appear in McPhee’s eyes.
“Who’s relyin’ on Luther Hahn?” McPhee chuckled. “He’s a good man, but don’t think that I’m leaving it all up to him.”
“Far as I know, your hired gun’s dead meat,” Halliday said tonelessly.
McPhee could restrain himself no longer.
“Wes Rudder’s dead, all right, but now I have his brother. Bob is a better gun than Wes could ever be, and he’s goin’ to take it personal that you killed his only brother!”
“He’d need to be better than Wes. So when’s he due?”
McPhee’s knew at once that he should have kept his mouth shut. Without replying, he finished his drink and pushed his bottle back from the edge of the bar. He was turning to leave when Halliday dropped a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“When?” Halliday asked again, and the coldness in his voice sent a shiver down McPhee’s spine.
McPhee shook his head.
Halliday released him with a shove.
“Never mind,” he said casually, “it don’t matter. I’ll be waitin’ when he comes.”
Now McPhee seemed rooted to the spot, struggling to think of something to say. It was Halliday who left first, sauntering out onto the street as if he were Redemption’s favorite son.
Jeff Leonard studied Finch Rogan sourly as the banker followed his wife into the room, and demanded;
“What the hell do you want here?”
“I came to have a talk with you, Jeff,” Rogan said.
“If we ever were on a first-name basis, we sure aren’t now.”
Rogan shrugged and dropped his hat on the table. Leonard had just finished his supper, and now he got to his feet.
His wife began to clear the table, and Leonard waited until she had gone off to the kitchen and he could hear the rattle of dishes. He then said;
“I can’t imagine what we have to talk about.”
“About the town,” Rogan told him. “About the ranches that keep this town alive. And about how Harp McPhee has made a fool out of me.”
Leonard’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“You admit that?”
“I just about have to, don’t I?” Rogan replied.
“You sure do, but I never thought you would,” Leonard said. “We all trusted you, and look where it got us!”
Rogan nodded gratefully as Leonard pointed to a chair and said;
“Well, now you’re here, you might as well sit down and say your piece.”
“Tom Mahoney figures I’ve let him down twice now,” Rogan said. “I thought I could get him another loan, but the deal fell through. I was counting on the wrong person for help.”
“Who was that?” Leonard asked.
“Melissa Hahn.”
Leonard seemed surprised. He said nothing for a time, and then he asked, “You know then?”
“I believe I do.”
“Well,” Leonard said carefully, “I guess it’s good to see you’ve opened your eyes at last. Maybe it’s not my place to say it, but a lot of folks figure that girl was two-timin’ you. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to what they were sayin’—figured they was just jealous. But the more I saw ...”
“What did you see?” Rogan asked tightly.
Leonard shook his head. “I’d rather not say.”
“It’s best you do. I’ve already lost a good friend over her, a man I’ve liked and respected for most of my life.”
The two men looked up when they heard footsteps behind them, and Rogan saw the annoyance in Leonard’s expression.
Leonard’s wife nodded grimly at Rogan and said;
“I couldn’t help overhearing what was just said. I feel it’s only fair to tell you what most of this town already knows. If there was more talk than usual in your case, it’s because a banker means something special to a town. Folks look up to men who hole those sort of positions and trust their judgment—or at least that’s how it generally goes.”
“So you started worrying how somebody who could be fooled by a pretty woman could be expected to have enough sense to look after your money,” Rogan said flatly.
The woman seemed both embarrassed and relieved.
“Well, yes,” she said. “Melissa is just no good, and I doubt she has it in her to change.” She hesitated for a moment, and then added, “There’s only one kind of woman who’d hang on to a man like that terrible gunman.”
Leonard gave a despairing sigh and said, “I think you’ve said more than enough, Lottie.”
To his surprise, Rogan took the news gracefully, saying only;
“You were right to tell me. Thank you.”
Lottie shot a triumphant look at her husband and left without another word.
After an uncomfortable silence, the storekeeper said;
“Well, what now?”
“Tom is going to fight,” Rogan said. “I don’t know what McPhee will do, but if the fighting spills over into Redemption, I think it’s plain what the rest of us should do. It’s going to boil down to whether we support the law we voted for, or whether we side with what’s right.”
“That’s goin’ to take some careful thinkin’, Finch,” Leonard said.
“People here respect the law out of habit, but if they stop and think, they’ll see that in this town, the law has turned against them. Only one man saw through that, and even he was too late.”
“Halliday?” Leonard guessed.
“Yes. If I’d listened to Buck right from the start, I wouldn’t be in this mess now.”
“What’s Halliday up to now?” Leonard asked as Rogan started down the front steps.
Rogan shrugged and said, “That’s hard to say. One thing’s for sure. He’s got a perfect right to ride out of here and leave me in the middle of the mess I made for myself.”
Rogan returned to the main street, and as always, his eyes strayed to the bank of which he had once been so proud.
His shoulder was still aching, and he took his arm out of the sling and flexed his muscles to see if it would help.
His mind was filled with thoughts of Melissa and the plans they had made. He remembered lying awake at nights, unable to concentrate on anything because the image of her would not go away. He tightened his lips, realizing that all his dreams were gone now ...
Rogan swung toward the bank, but then he paused as he heard the jingle of harness. Melissa drove past without seeing him, and he was close enough to smell her perfume.
She was still a sight to take his breath away, Rogan had to admit. It was not until she had gone from sight that he began to wonder why she was taking the road to Red Rock, all alone and in the dead of night.
Much as he knew it was true, he did not want to believe what he had heard from Buck Halliday and then from Lottie Leonard.
Before he stood up to fight McPhee, he still needed to hear Melissa herself confirm what he knew to be the truth.
Suddenly, his mind was made up. He hurried to the yard behind the bank and saddled his horse.
Rogan had no way of knowing that Halliday had been watching him all along, and was getting his sorrel ready for the trail.
Nine – One Man, One Destiny
Buck Halliday trailed Finch Rogan all through the night. The sorrel was rested now, but he held it to an easy lope that would overtake neither Rogan nor the girl driving the buggy.
It was in the early hours of the new morning that Halliday rode quietly into t
he small settlement of Red Rock.
Only the saloon was open, and the light from its windows was the only illumination for the street.
Halliday spotted Rogan’s horse hitched down from the saloon, a considerable distance from Melissa Hahn’s rig. He chose a different spot, hitching the sorrel to the tie rail outside a millinery store.
He took his time covering the distance to the saloon and kept to the shadows when he got there, so that he could look in through the dusty windows without being seen from the interior.
The saloon was small and narrow, with tables at the back and a curved bar just inside the batwings. A young barkeep was serving a drink to Rogan, who was the only customer at the counter.
There seemed to be a private space beyond the tables, separated from the main room by a curtain, a lamp back there throwing shadows.
Wondering if Melissa was behind that curtain, Halliday walked toward the batwings. He was reaching out to push them apart when he noticed Rogan set down his shot glass and work his bandaged shoulder a little to relieve the stiffness. Halliday saw that Rogan had abandoned the sling he had worn since the shooting, and now he was setting his gunbelt more comfortably on his hip and adjusting the position of the holster.
Something about it all made Halliday remember the time when he had seen his friend take on four men and hold his own. But, of course, those were days when Rogan practiced every day and was not struggling with the stiffness of an injured shoulder.
Rogan was walking away and did not see Halliday enter. The barkeeper raised an eyebrow at the newcomer and held up a bottle, but Halliday shook his head and kept his eyes on Rogan.
He was wondering if he should speak up so Rogan would know he was there, but it appeared that the banker was attempting to talk to Melissa in private.
Something about Halliday’s behavior was making the barkeeper nervous—maybe the fact that he had so far refused a drink.
“I sure hope you ain’t bent on trouble, stranger,” the young man commented quietly.
“Not unless somebody else starts it,” Halliday replied. “If anybody does start shootin’, you just hit the floor and keep your head down till it’s over.”
