by Dale Graham
His right hand was still bandaged. The doc had sadly declared it unfit for purpose. He could shoot with both hands but the right had been essential for making a fast draw. Although it hadn’t done him much good against Lobo. That was because the guy played dirty by not offering his opponent an even break. Cal had been caught unawares and paid the price. A naïve assumption that would not be repeated. It was only through Doc Bailey’s quick-witted intervention that he had survived. He owed the guy a great deal. Nightjar too.
With his strength returning, Cal began practising with the left hand. He flexed the muscles, which felt stiff and awkward. ‘You are gonna have to do the business now,’ he quietly mumbled to the wriggling fingers.
Remote from the regular trail, Dead Man’s Draw was an ideal spot. It was tough going at first. His movements were slow and clumsy. But he soon became more adept, the accuracy of his shooting more centralized and on target. Shooting with the left hand could never match that of the right. So he could never hope to outgun Lobo in a regular shoot-out. Even Browny Jagus would now have the edge.
There had to be some other way of gaining the advantage. Avenging the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of these varmints was now his number one priority. ‘What’s happening in town?’ he asked the visiting doctor one day.
Bailey went on to elaborate how the town had reverted to its old ways. All the saloons had been forcibly grabbed by Cody Meek and his underlings. Ostensibly with legitimate deeds of transfer that weren’t worth the paper they were printed on. But with Lobo and Browny Jagus now in charge of law and order, the town had been opened up to all and sundry.
The old days of mayhem and riotous behaviour had returned with a vengeance. Respectable folks huddled inside their homes when the cowboys hit town. And that was most of the time. More and more herds were coming up the trail from Texas. And their primary destination was Wichita.
‘And what of my wife?’ Cal ventured. ‘How has she taken it? Does she miss me?’ Cal’s pleading eyes forced the medic to look away. This was the one question he had been dreading. The doc’s hesitation was not lost on the questioner. ‘If’n there’s something I need to know, then best spit it out, Doc.’
Bailey swallowed. ‘It ain’t good news. She’s decided that there’s no future for her in Wichita. Too many harsh memories. You can’t rightly blame her.’
Cal was devastated. Anger bit deep into his reaction to this dire revelation. ‘All this is down to Meek and Blaine, the conniving rats. When is she planning to leave?’
‘I tried to persuade her to stay on. But she figures to be on the next stage leaving at the end of the week.’
Cal’s head slumped onto his chest. Desolation etched a path across a face ravaged by grief. The doctor’s sympathetic gaze followed him as the distraught man walked away, contemplating a future where little now seemed to matter except making those critters pay. How that could be managed was to occupy his entire being for the next few days.
The key lay in removing the snake’s head. In this case, that was the hired gunslinger known as Lobo. Apart from his right hand, the damaged frame was now almost back to full strength. Flexing the left hand elicited a fractious scowl. It would never be the same as the right but would have to suffice. Going up against Lobo and his brother alone was not a sensible option. In normal circumstances he might have been able to take them both down, knowing how their devious minds operated. Lobo was fast, no question about it. So he would need to adopt a different tactic. Be as devious as he was.
But what could it be? The conundrum was still unresolved when he decided to let his mind rest for a spell. Reading might help conjure up some ideas. Skinny Jim seemed to have been an avid reader. Probably due to him living out here all alone. A stack full of well-thumbed tomes had been left behind. But none appealed to Cal’s restless spirit.
Then he saw an old newspaper. It was the Brisbane Herald, which appeared to infer that Jim Flint was from Australia. But what caught the reader’s attention was the main headline that read: ANOTHER BANK ROBBERY BY THE INFAMOUS KELLY GANG. Underneath was a pen drawing of the leader Ned Kelly clad in a homemade suit of armour. Cal was soon engrossed in the latest lawless undertaking of this notorious Aussie brigand. It was not the guy’s usurping of the law that held his attention, but his use of bullet-proof protection.
As he read on, an idea began to form in the avenger’s brain. Could this be his answer to thwarting the gunslinging prowess of his main adversary? He would need to acquire a suitable chest plate to wear beneath his jacket, thus protecting his vital organs. Most killers aimed for the heart. It was a natural target. There was no reason to suppose that in a showdown, Lobo would not do the same yet again. It was pure luck last time that the gunman had only missed the old ticker by a whisker.
With his mind made up, and fully enthused by his plan, Cal filled Nightjar in on the scheme. ‘You should have access to a suitable piece of strong metal. All I’ll need to do is hammer it into shape then hang it around my neck. A buttoned-up jacket should hide it so as not to give the game away.’
The old guy was less enthusiastic. ‘You sure about this, Marshal?’ the ostler cautioned. ‘That guy is more slippery than a wet trout.’
‘I’ll never beat him in a straight gunfight,’ Cal snapped back, irked that the livery man had poured cold water on his plan. ‘Not with my left hand. And this one will never be the same again.’ He held up the right that was still bandaged. A look akin to that of a cornered puma was reflected in the glittering eyes.
‘You’re taking a big chance. These guys play for keeps.’
‘And so do I, Nightjar. So do I,’ came back the tetchy retort. ‘Don’t forget that I’ll have surprise on my side. It’ll knock the stuffing out of him knowing I ain’t pushing up the daisies after all. That should give me an edge.’ Cal smiled for the first time following his near-death experience. He was convinced that he had struck upon a solid plan. It felt good to have a purpose once more. And this time he would make sure to come out the winner.
On his next visit, Nightjar presented him with a couple of possible choices, only one of which was suitable. The metal of the other was too thin. The intended apparatus needed to be capable of stopping a .45 bullet at close quarters. He had also borrowed some cutting tools from the local blacksmith. ‘Don’t worry,’ he mollified the younger man. ‘I told him they were for some work I was doing in the stable.’
Cal was exceedingly grateful for the old timer’s help. ‘Don’t mind me if’n I seem a mite tetchy at times,’ he apologized, knowing some sharp words had been exchanged during his enforced recuperation. ‘Don’t know what I’d have done without your help. It’s feeling so helpless. That’s what gets a fella down.’
‘Use me as a punch bag all you want, Marshal. I can take it,’ Nightjar replied. ‘Just so long as you know what you’re doing.’
‘Reckon this will be my best hope of cutting those varmints down to size.’
Over the next few days, Cal hammered and bent the hunk of metal – in essence an old water pail – into the right shape to fit his lean frame. Holes were drilled in the corners for the rope fastenings to keep the makeshift armour in position. The dress rehearsal was a total success.
Nightjar expressed a positive verdict on how the hidden protection looked. ‘Nobody will be any the wiser that you’re wearing a reshaped bucket under your coat. How does it feel?’
Cal walked around the clearing. ‘A bit heavier than I expected but nothing I can’t get used to. And I’ve shaped it for easy access to my shooting irons.’ He drew one of the Navy Colts in a cross draw with his left hand.
Nightjar gasped in unashamed awe. ‘Gee, Marshal, that was fast. Reckon Lobo and his danged brother are in for the surprise of their lives.’
A look of restrained enthusiasm played across the other man’s lined face. ‘That’s slow compared to what Lobo is capable of. That’s why I need this back-up.’ He tapped the protective steel beneath his coat. It rang out, a clarion call to arms
.
‘So when’s the big day?’ Nightjar’s tentative enquiry held a note of uncertainty.
‘Reckon there’s no time like the present. Best to get this over with as soon as possible.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ the willing participant eagerly asked.
‘Keep out of the firing line,’ Cal cautioned his loyal supporter. ‘You done more than any guy could ask of you. Just sit back and watch a magician at work as he transforms a town back to what it should be. Those conniving chisellers are gonna receive the shock of their lives.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Lion’s Den
Adele had risen early that final morning in Wichita. This was the day she would finally leave the town, never to return. There were still a couple of hours before the noon stage departed. And she intended to be on it. But first she wanted to pay a last visit to the one person in town who had shown her kindness with no ulterior motive. Marge Gillett had proved to be a true friend in need.
She was passing the Crystal Chandelier when Perry Blaine emerged. Adele cut him short before he had a chance to speak. ‘Don’t even try to persuade me to stay, Perry. There’s nothing between us, and never was. It was all in your mind.’
‘You could have had it all, Tilly. Fame, fortune and enough dough to buy you the world.’ The impresario sneered as he continued. ‘But you had to choose a no-account badge-toter like Bonner. And now the skunk’s dead. There’s still time for you to change your mind.’
‘Cal was more of a man than you’ll ever be,’ the woman lambasted the squirming libertine. ‘And for your information, I told him straight that we had no future unless he abandoned this life. Your hired killer took that decision away from him. And for that I could never forgive you.’ She turned her back and walked away. ‘Don’t bother to see me off. You won’t be welcome.’
Halfway down the street, Doc Bailey intercepted her. ‘I have something important to tell you,’ he declared in a clandestine manner, taking her arm and leading her out of earshot down a side road. ‘It’s about Cal.’
‘What could you possibly have to divulge at this late hour?’ the woman stated impatiently. ‘I’m busy. There’s a lot to be settled before I leave town.’ Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be detoured.
‘You need to prepare yourself for a shock,’ the medic whispered. Bailey looked around, wary that unwelcome ears might be flapping. Only the creaking of a loose door disturbed the tense silence.
‘What’s so important then?’
‘Cal is still alive!’ The woman blanched. Such a blunt statement was certainly a bolt from the blue. ‘And he’s coming to town this morning for a showdown with Lobo and the others. I couldn’t tell you before because we needed to keep a lid on things while he recovered from the shooting in the Prairie Dog. But he’s better now, and eager to put things right.’
Adele stopped and stared at the medic. The ashen look on her face betrayed a disquieting uncertainty resulting from the startling revelation. For a moment she was too stunned to respond. Bailey gave her time to assimilate the momentous tidings.
‘So why tell me now?’
‘Everybody knows you are intending to leave Wichita today. So I felt it only right that you should reconsider such a drastic step now you know the situation.’ Bailey was sure in his own mind that Adele would be overjoyed on learning her husband was still in the land of the living.
Her stony regard was not the reaction he expected.
‘What’s with the glum face, Adele? Anybody would think you didn’t welcome your husband’s resurrection from the dead. It’s a miracle that should be celebrated.’ His own response was terse and held the hint of accusation. ‘Is it Blaine? Have you already accepted his offer of marriage?’
Such an allegation brought the colour back into Adele’s face. She bristled with indignation. ‘If you must know I’ve given that manipulative toad the brush-off. Cal was only ever the one for me. But if he isn’t prepared to walk away from all this, there can be no future for us. I’ve had enough waiting up for a man who seems intent on forever putting his life on the line. My mind is made up.’ She looked directly at the medic, challenging him to dispute her decision. ‘Sure, I’m relieved that he’s survived. But it doesn’t change anything for me. And I aim to be on the stage when it leaves today.’
Bailey was equally forthright. ‘You disappoint me, Adele. I had you down as a loyal wife, a woman with backbone and the guts to stand up for what is right. A woman who was prepared to back her man to the hilt no matter what the outcome. All you’re doing is running away. You’ve done it before. So go on, leave. You don’t deserve a man like Cal Bonner.’ And with that final denunciation, he walked away without looking back.
Adele just stood there, perplexed and hesitant. The doctor’s curt indictment had left her questioning her actions. Was she being disloyal? A timid mouse rather than the feisty strong-willed performer she portrayed on stage? Wrapped in a cloud of wavering vacillation, she wandered aimlessly eventually arriving outside Marge Gillett’s rooming house.
Here was one woman who might understand her plight. She knocked on the door. The lady in question opened up and let her in with a smile. ‘I was hoping you’d come by afore shipping out,’ the widow enthused, ushering her guest into the parlour. ‘I was just gathering Cal’s things together. Maybe you can tell me if’n he had any kin who might want them?’
‘There won’t be any need for that, Marge.’
‘What do you mean?’ the older woman asked quizzically while pouring the tea.
‘He’s still alive. The bullets missed his heart by a whisker.’
Adele’s astonishing pronouncement left Marge bewildered. But she soon recovered, declaring excitedly, ‘So you won’t be leaving after all. I’m so glad. The pair of you were made for each other. . . .’
A raised hand cut off the woman’s gushing flow. ‘I still intend to be on the stage at noon. Doc Bailey has told me Cal is itching to settle the score with Cody Meek and his bunch. I want no part of any more gunplay.’
The widow’s beaming smile fell away like melted ice cream off a spoon. ‘I’m sorry about that, Adele. You’re letting yourself down. But more importantly, you’re letting Cal down. He does this job to keep the rest of us safe from harm. That’s all he has ever wanted. It’s the lawless elements, the gunslingers and carpetbaggers who want to take over and create mayhem. Cal and those other brave souls like him have made the West a place to call home, where people can be happy and set down roots without fearing for their lives. He has placed his life on the line many times to keep this town safe for good-living folk.’
Adele raised her hand to stop the reproving flow.
But Marge was not to be silenced. Her voice rose as the tongue-lashing reached its climax. ‘Land sakes, girl,’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘Have you no shame, abandoning the guy in his hour of need?’
Adele was visibly shaken by the outburst. She had listened intently. Never previously had she thought of it in those terms. Perhaps as Marge Gillett inferred, she was being selfish. She sat down and drank her tea. There was much to think on. Much to mull over. This woman and Doc Bailey had placed their faith in Cal Bonner to bring order out of chaos, harmony out of discord. Didn’t such a man deserve her full support?
‘You have certainly given me a lot to think about, Marge,’ she pondered, standing up to depart. ‘Maybe I have been looking at the world from the wrong angle, one of self-interest instead of considering the common good. And what that means to Cal.’
Her mind a welter of confused feelings, Adele wandered back to her room at the hotel. Her bags were packed. The rest of the entourage had already left for the next engagement in Hayes City. Would Tilly Dumont be joining them?
Normally discreet when it came to confidences, on this occasion Nightjar felt the marshal was taking on more than he could chew. The stableman had ridden hard back from Dead Man’s Draw. Cal Bonner needed help if’n he was to turn the tables on Lobo and the others. Challenging a who
le town on his ownsome was asking for that wooden overcoat he had barely avoided the last time they met. There were others in town who would back his play. But only if’n they thought there was a good chance of ousting the lowlifes and chisellers who had taken over.
Argo Creede was always grumbling. Now was his chance to do something about it by supporting the marshal. Then there was the expelled mayor, Henry Wishart. He would surely want to even the score with those skunks who so humiliated him. Doc Bailey was also an obvious supporter. And others would surely come out of the woodwork when word got around that Bear River Cal was back.
Nightjar wasted no time in putting his plan into action. Doc Bailey was his first port of call. Once apprised of the situation and knowing that time was of the essence, the medic quickly summoned a meeting of all those he knew were of a like mind.
And so it was that when Cal Bonner arrived on the outskirts of Wichita he was met by a small deputation numbering ten supporters. The marshal was visibly moved by the show of collaboration. He had been prepared to go it alone. But knew that he was placing his head in the lion’s mouth with every possibility of having it bitten off.
Nevertheless he still wanted to prove he had the courage and guts to face down any opposition; be seen as the man in charge. ‘I sure appreciate you folks backing me up,’ he declared, noticeably enthused by the presence of these people. ‘But I don’t want anybody putting their lives in danger for me. Only make your presence felt if’n these rats decide to play dirty. It’s important that I make them see who’s in charge. Not Blaine or Meek, but Cal Bonner. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. Remember, if’n we succeed, I have to make it stick in the future.’
A sigh of relief issued from a few of the more wary supporters, men who hated the current rule of anarchy but felt inadequate when it came to a physical confrontation. Cal didn’t blame them. Not everybody was as mule-headed as him. So he offered them an olive branch. ‘I’m more than grateful for your presence. Just showing these jaspers that there are still plenty of decent folk living in Wichita is enough for me.’
