by Adam Brady
“It’s a damn shame, Ed, but it seems like old age is startin’ to addle your brain.”
Rainer eyed him uncertainly, and before he could come up with a reply, McCallum had him by the collar.
He lifted the old man off his feet, turned him around to face the street, and set him down outside his office door.
“Now go on home,” he said. “All of you.”
Rainer turned, tucking in his shirttail and glaring up at the sheriff.
“Now you’ve got me good and mad!” Rainer bellowed. “This time—”
“This time you better shut your mouth and try to act reasonable for once!” McCallum snapped. “Who the hell do you think you are, bustin’ into my office and tryin’ to tell me what to do?”
He stepped onto the boardwalk and fixed his gaze on one citizen after another.
“Battersby, Young, Smith, McNulty—what the hell do you think you’re doin’? Did this old fool promise you free drinks, or a free night with a whore? Cole Turner’s locked up in a cell for a reason, and the next feller that wants to argue about it better be good and ready to do more than just talk. Now go find somethin’ sensible to do ...”
The townsmen bunched together just out of McCallum’s reach, and a few of them turned to leave.
“Hey!” Ed Rainer hollered after them. “Are you gonna let him get away with this? Next he’ll be tellin’ you when you’re allowed to pee! My boy didn’t do a damn thing wrong. He’s been down on the border, drummin’ up business that’ll keep men in this town in jobs. Do you mean to let him down, just because some no-good drifter rides in and—”
McCallum gave Rainer a shove, not hard but enough to make him lose his footing. The old man shook himself and reached immediately for his six-gun.
McCallum was amazed at the speed of Halliday’s draw, covering Rainer before the old man even had his gun clear of leather.
“Ed,” McCallum said, “you keep askin’ for trouble and you’ll sure as hell get it. Now git!”
The crowd began to disperse, but Rainer’s hand hadn’t left his gun butt.
“No!” Beth called from the other side of the street. “Mr. Rainer, please don’t!”
Rainer turned and eyed her sourly for a moment before he lifted his hand away from his gun and grumbled;
“You ain’t heard the last of this, McCallum. I’m tellin’ you, your time is just about up in this town, and I’m gonna be the man who takes away your badge.”
McCallum said nothing as he watched Rainer strut away.
“Sorry I’ve brought all this down on you,” Halliday said quietly.
“It ain’t your doin’,” McCallum said. “This has been comin’ for quite awhile. Most of them fellers get a little work from Ed Rainer now and then, but that don’t mean they’re willin’ to stick their necks out too far for him ... say, Halliday, what are you aimin’ to do right now?”
“I’ll have that drink and take a look around your town, Sheriff. I figure you want me to stick around until you find out more about this mess, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” the sheriff agreed. “It shouldn’t be more than a day or so. It’d be best if you can kinda keep to yourself in the meantime, if you know what I mean.”
“I know how to watch out for myself,” Halliday told him. “And thanks.”
“No need to thank me, mister. I’m just doin’ my duty.”
Halliday nodded and walked slowly away with McCallum’s calm gaze following him. It was a nice-looking town with well-kept front yards, paint on the store fronts and shade trees on both sides of the street. The water troughs looked clean enough for a man to drink from.
When Halliday had seen enough, he turned in at the saloon.
The barkeep was a big man with an easygoing manner and an eye on everything that was going on in and around the saloon.
“Rye, double.”
The barkeep nodded and fetched the drink. When he set it down, he muttered;
“Don’t let what just happened bother you, Mr. Halliday. There’s plenty of us in this town who don’t side with the Rainers, although Ed can’t be blamed for everythin’ Tom does. Sometimes it ain’t much fun, havin’ to put up with all the guntippers that turn up lookin’ for that murderin’ brat of his. In a job like mine, a man’s got to be careful how he acts, if you know what I mean.”
Halliday nodded, but he was not in the mood to listen to town gossip and it looked like the barkeep had his mind set on dishing plenty of it up. Without further comment, Halliday took his glass and drifted over to the card tables.
Propping himself against a wall, he watched a poker game. A few players glanced his way, but when he made no move to join the game, they went back to concentrating on their cards.
Six – ‘You Got That?’
The loud voice and the swaggering walk were enough to tell Buck Halliday that the hulking individual was trouble.
“You must be the joker what’s got ev’rybody all fired up,” the man said, hooking his thick thumbs in his belt.
“What the hell’re you talkin’ about?” Halliday said evenly.
“About how my friend Cole Turner got to be locked up in a cell.”
“Maybe you should ask Sheriff McCallum about that,” Halliday said.
He placed his glass on an empty table and watched the first glimmer of uncertainty take shape in the big man’s eyes. Then he nudged his elbow into the man’s ribs and eased him away. He walked slowly past him, noticed the two heavy-set men standing by the back door, looking his way through slitted eyes. At the bar, Ed Rainer had a glass of whiskey in his hand and a crooked smile on his lips. Rainer gave Halliday an evil grin, and then he said;
“Now is when we’ll see who runs this town, mister. Take him, Mac.”
Halliday heard the heavy footfall behind him, and the blow came a split-second later. He was ready for it and he rolled with the punch, ducking and turning and coming up with a hard right. Even though the pain shot all the way up to his shoulder when his knuckles struck a bony jaw, he couldn’t help but smile. He watched the big man fall across the poker table, upsetting the game, and then he turned to Rainer and sneered;
“Why send a boy on a man’s job?”
Rainer threw his glass and Halliday deftly caught it then let it shatter on the floor. Then he grabbed the skinny old man and pinned him back against the bar.
He was expecting a rush from the back door, and when one man came at him, he let the oldster go and turned to land a hard punch on the point of an attacker’s stubbled chin. The man stumbled back and knocked over the second man who was coming up behind him.
Halliday strolled toward the back door as casually as a man stepping out for a breath of fresh air.
“Dammit, McNulty!” Rainer was screaming. “Are you gonna let him get away with that?”
Halliday waited out in the littered yard. He was there out of deference to Joe McCallum, thinking that he would draw the brawlers outside where there would be less damage to people and to property.
When the first man came lumbering out the door, Halliday neatly tripped him and tapped him none-too-gently on the jaw with his boot. Planting his boot heel in the middle of the man’s broad chest, Halliday said;
“Stay down there, mister if you know what’s good for you.”
He grabbed the next man by the arm and flung him across the yard just as casually, sending him crashing into the woodpile. He turned back at once to take on the next attacker, but the doorway was empty.
His first attacker still lay on the ground where he had fallen. Halliday reached down and pulled him to his feet, then he shoved him up against the wall of the saloon. The man simply stood there meekly and appeared to be relying on Halliday to support him.
“What’s your handle?” Halliday demanded.
The man sleeved his bleeding nose and muttered;
“Jay McNulty.”
“Well, McNulty, I’m gettin’ a little of tired of your antics,” Halliday said, and then he hit him again and stood back to l
et him fall.
McNulty’s pard was dragging himself out of the woodpile now. Halliday waited for him to straighten and said;
“Do Tom Rainer and Cole Turner really mean that much to you? Or were you just lookin’ for an excuse to start a fight?”
“They’re friends of mine,” the big man mumbled.
“You’re not very selective,” Halliday observed.
When the man lunged at him, Halliday gave him a knee in the belly and then a roundhouse punch to the side of the head. The man ended up in the woodpile again, groaning and making no attempt to move.
Halliday wiped his knuckles on his shirt and walked back inside the saloon. Rainer was leaning against the counter, talking animatedly and throwing the whiskey down his throat ... until he saw Halliday.
“Rainer,” Halliday said, “you’ve had more chances than you deserve already, and I don’t aim to give you more. Now stay outta my way, or I’m gonna have to forget that you’re a dried-up, old has-been.”
Rainer gaped at him, and then his gaze shifted to the empty doorway. He wanted to slink quietly out of the room, but Halliday caught him by the arm. Loud enough for the whole barroom to hear, Halliday said;
“Cole Turner’s a no-good rustler, and maybe worse. And your boy is nothin’ but the scum of the earth. Maybe that’s hard for you to swallow, but it sure won’t help to go layin’ the blame on me. I’m tellin’ you for the last time—leave me be. As for the girl, the best thing she can do is find herself another man. Turner won’t be around to take part in any wedding.”
Rainer stood quietly for a moment, and then he laid into Halliday with all the strength he could muster.
Halliday simply held him at arm’s length, despite the old man’s flailing fists.
“The same goes for everybody else in this town,” Halliday announced. “The only feller around here I need to answer to is Sheriff McCallum. You got that?”
In the silence that followed, Halliday shoved Rainer away. Then he planted his feet and stood there, his hand resting on his gun butt.
“Hell, mister,” one of the card players protested lamely, “cain’t you let us get back to our game?”
“When I’m good and ready!” Halliday snapped.
“Make it soon, will you? All we wanna do is play cards.”
“Then do it.”
The gambler nodded.
“I mean to, Halliday. All of us do. We don’t want no part in all this.”
Buck Halliday’s bleak look swept over the crowd around the room. Men who might have wanted to buy into the argument now made sure that they did not catch the big drifter’s eye.
Halliday had them where he wanted them. He walked back to the bar and tossed some coins on the counter.
“So, barkeep,” he said, “is my money still good here?”
“It sure is, Mr. Halliday,” the man said as he reached for a full bottle on the shelf.
After pouring a double shot into a glass, he slid it toward Halliday and filled a glass for himself, then he said;
“This one’s on the house. It’s not every day we get a good wind blowin’ through this town to clean it up.”
Ed Rainer was the only man in the saloon who wanted to go on with the fight. He had been staring out the back door at the men he had paid to do his fighting for him. Now he turned back to face Halliday, his thin face purple with rage.
“Okay,” he said. “If you want a fight so goddamn bad, I’ll see that you get one. I’m gonna send for my boy. Then we’ll see how good you are.”
Halliday picked up his glass and took an appreciative swallow, liking what he’d just heard. Then, as the old man stormed out into the yard, the barkeep wanted to add something more, but Halliday waved him to silence.
It would suit him just fine if Tom Rainer came looking for him.
He finished his drink, thanked the barkeep for the free drink and strolled out through the batwings.
“Got a minute, Mr. Halliday?”
Joe McCallum was calling to him from the boardwalk outside the law office where he was talking to an old man with a worried look on his face.
“Sure, I do,” Halliday said, eyeing the stranger with mild curiosity.
The old man was lean and tall. In his prime, he would have been somebody to reckon with, and even now, he had the look of someone who knew how to handle himself.
“This here’s Jeb Sharp, my deputy,” McCallum said, and Halliday nodded in acknowledgment.
“He’s been outta town checkin’ the ranches out on the prairie,” McCallum said. “We been havin’ trouble with some cowhands fightin’ over a couple ladies out there.”
“Ladies?” Sharp grinned.
“Well,” McCallum said, “I guess we can give ’em the benefit of the doubt, at least till we know for certain just what they really are. No sense listenin’ to rumors.”
“They ain’t ladies,” Sharp said dryly. “If I had my way, I’d send ’em packin’ on the first stage outta here. It ain’t right for two women to be campin’ out at the creek and prancin’ around the way they do. They’re stirrin’ up trouble on purpose, and enjoyin’ every minute of the attention.”
“Maybe so,” McCallum agreed, “but ain’t it better to have ’em out of town than in it?”
Sharp shrugged and returned his gaze to Halliday.
McCallum gave the street a quick appraisal and then scrubbed a hand across the back of his bull neck. He drew in a long breath and said;
“We heard some ruckus down at the saloon awhile back. Couldn’t be that you’d know somethin’ about it, I suppose, Mr. Halliday?”
Halliday told the two lawmen the story of the fight. McCallum didn’t seem to care, but Sharp said;
“So you’re the one that told the sheriff about Cole Turner, huh?”
“I am.”
Sharp glanced at McCallum, and the sheriff said;
“Jeb’s got some news for you, Mr. Halliday. When he was out on the range, he ran across a couple cowhands who claim they’d seen Tom Rainer and three other hardcases. They figured Rainer and his bunch were headed this way.”
“So?” Halliday said.
“So Tom ain’t gonna like it when he finds out that Cole’s in jail—not if Cole is what you claim he is.”
“He’s a rustler that’s thrown his hat in with Tom Rainer,” Halliday said flatly.
Jeb Sharp muttered something to himself, and then he said, “You’re sure, Halliday?”
“Dead sure,” Halliday told him. “It wasn’t hard to recognize that dude when I saw him again.”
To his surprise, Sharp accepted this without argument.
“Then the biggest trouble we’ll have is keepin’ Ed out of this,” the deputy said. “Hell, I guess he has a right to love his boy—but he’s just plain blind where young Tom’s concerned.” He shook his head and added, “It ain’t Cole we got to worry about, it’s Ed. If his boy gets in on this, so will Ed.”
“I guess it’s long past the time when Ed should start facin’ the facts,” McCallum said.
“Sure,” Sharp agreed, “but we both know what he’s like. I still figure we have to protect him if he likes it or not.”
“We’ll do what we can,” McCallum said.
The statement told Halliday what he wanted to know about this sheriff and his deputy. They were pards, he decided, men who backed each other to the limit.
“But we have to remember just how things stand, Jeb,” the sheriff insisted. “From the start, Cole has been real friendly with Tom ... and he’s invested so much money in Ed’s business that he’s the next best thing to a partner. I figure at least some of that money had to come from Tom, who probably figures that’s the way to clear his conscience with the old man.”
“Ed don’t know that, though,” Sharp said. “I’d bet my next year’s pay on it.”
“Maybe not,” McCallum conceded, and then he gave a heavy sigh. He turned and peered through the doorway to check on his prisoner, and then he said, “The thing is, if Tom is
on his way here, it could be that he’s only comin’ ’cause he knew Cole was plannin’ to get hitched.”
Sharp nodded.
“So what you got in mind, Joe?”
“You watch Cole, I’ll keep an eye on the Rainers. One way or another, Tom will show his hand. When he does, we’ll grab him. Right, Jeb?”
Sharp’s eyes went dark with thought. He ran a hand through his thin gray hair, and said;
“I guess so, Joe. Only old Ed, he don’t—”
“Can’t be worried about that, Jeb. You’ve got to forget your feelin’s for your old friend. This ain’t about Ed. It’s about a feller that’s been accused of rape and murder.”
McCallum turned to Halliday. “How about you, Mr. Halliday? What’ve you got in mind?”
“Sleep, I guess,” Halliday told him.
McCallum’s eyebrows arched.
“You don’t expect any more trouble from that bunch at the saloon then?”
“That’s for them to decide,” Halliday said with a shrug. “If more trouble comes, I’ll just have to handle it.”
“McNulty’s always been a sour kinda feller, Mr. Halliday—a man who can’t forget a wrong. He fancies himself as a big man in town, and he won’t like the way you cut him down to size.”
“That’s for him to decide,” Halliday repeated. “Okay for me to leave my sorrel in your yard till mornin’?”
“Sure,” the lawman said. “There’s feed back there, too.”
“Obliged,” Halliday said as he nodded good night and headed for the yard.
The rooming house down the street was tolerably clean, and Halliday took an upstairs room. He knew it was possible that he might have uninvited guests during the night, but it seemed more likely that any trouble would come in the morning.
Even so, he slept soundly, with his six-gun resting lightly on his chest.
Seven – Night Raiders
Buck Halliday was suddenly awake, his hand closing over his gun butt and his eyes staring into the darkness.
The echo of the gunshot died away, but another burst of gunfire followed almost immediately. It seemed to be coming from the far end of town.
