by Adam Brady
Halliday slipped out of bed and pulled on his clothes, and left the room on the run. He hesitated when he reached the street, and listened to another burst of gunfire.
The wind was cold against his sleep-warmed body as he headed toward the jailhouse, which seemed to be the source of all the noise.
As he trod the shadowy boardwalk, he saw a rider tear past the law office, firing into the front wall as he went. The door was open and light spilled out into the street.
Jeb Sharp was using the door for cover while he fired after the rider.
Halliday broke into a run, but then he saw another horseman coming out of the alley beside the jail and coming straight for him. Bullets zipped around his head and shoulders in the second before he threw himself flat and rolled across the boardwalk. He came up on his elbows with his six-gun belching flame.
The rider let out a cry of pain and pitched forward onto the neck of his startled horse. The horse shrilled and balked and then launched itself into a wild-eyed run as the rider dropped helplessly from the saddle. The man landed hard on his shoulder, and Halliday kept him covered while a third rider galloped past, spraying the boardwalk with lead.
The first horseman was back again, and Jeb Sharp ran out into the street to intercept him. Halliday was about to shout a warning when Sharp went down. Although wounded, the deputy was still trying to continue the gunfight. Then he slumped forward on his face and didn’t move.
Joe McCallum came running from the other side of the street, and when Halliday caught a glimpse of his angry face in the light from the law office lamp, it was clear that the sheriff was shooting to kill.
The horsemen bunched up at the other end of the street and appeared to have a brief consultation. Then they turned their mounts around and thundered out of town.
Halliday sprinted to the old deputy, McCallum only a moment behind him.
Ignoring Halliday’s presence, he dropped down beside the white-haired lawman and gently lifted his head off the ground. One look was enough to tell them that Jeb Sharp was dead.
When McCallum looked up, his face was white with shock.
The street was empty now, but dust was still drifting on the wind from the hasty flight of the killers.
Halliday walked toward the door of the jailhouse and looked inside. Cole Turner was still in his cell, standing expectantly at the cell doors.
“Too bad for you, Turner,” Halliday told him. “You’re still here and your pards killed Jeb Sharp.”
Turner gulped and muttered something Halliday did not catch. He was no longer the dapper, cocky character who had first entered Sheriff McCallum’s cell. When he returned to McCallum, Halliday said;
“I got one of the bastards.”
“I saw that, Mr. Halliday, and I’m obliged. We didn’t have the slightest warnin’, and one of ’em winged me first.”
Halliday noticed the blood on McCallum’s shoulder, but when he tried to inspect the wound, the lawman brushed his hand away.
“Ain’t no more’n a scratch,” McCallum said. “I’m more interested in seein’ the one that didn’t get away.”
Between them, they dragged the dead man into the lamplight. Jay McNulty’s eyes were wide open but glazed in death.
McCallum cursed and turned away to stare at Jeb Sharp’s lifeless body. Halliday realized that the sheriff was on the verge of breaking down, and averted his gaze to leave him to his grieving.
People were running toward the law office from all ends of town now. McCallum drew in a ragged breath and squared his shoulders. As the first of the townsmen approached him, he said harshly;
“Stay back. There’s nothin’ you can do now. It’s too late.”
The bitterness in his voice brought the towners to a halt. The barkeep was there, stuffing his shirt into his pants. A man from the rooming house was right behind him, clad in long johns.
Halliday recognized one of the card players from the saloon and a couple of others who had been drinking at the bar. But he was more interested in Ed Rainer, who was hurrying toward the crowd, his uncombed hair standing out in all directions. The old man stopped short as the crowd parted and left him alone under Joe McCallum’s icy stare.
“What ... what happened, McCallum?” Rainer faltered.
McCallum pointed to the dead deputy.
“That happened.” Then he jerked his head contemptuously at the corpse of Jay McNulty, and said, “That, too.”
Rainer looked at each of the dead men in turn, and then his eyes settled back on McCallum.
“No,” he said tightly.
“Yes,” McCallum said, “and you can stay right here so we can get a statement.”
The lawman then took a step toward the silent crowd, and said;
“The rest of you go on home. There’s nothin’ any of you can do here.”
When they were gone, McCallum lifted Jeb Sharp’s body and carried it into the law office.
He hesitated in the middle of the room for a moment, and then he went to an empty cell and lowered the body gently to the bunk. He stood there for several minutes, and then he shook out the blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bunk and used it to cover the body of his friend. As he passed Turner’s cell, he said;
“You’re gettin’ so deep in this you ain’t ever gonna find a way to dig yourself out.”
Sweat ran down Turner’s face and he gulped for air like a stranded fish.
Halliday dragged McNulty’s corpse to the yard behind the jailhouse and returned to the law office. Ed Rainer was standing near the sheriff’s desk, waiting uncomfortably for the lawman to speak to him. He seemed to be trying to catch Halliday’s eye, but the big man busied himself cleaning and reloading his six-gun.
“It weren’t my boy,” the old man muttered to no one in particular. “He knew how much I thought of Jeb. He never would’ve done a thing like this. I just know he wouldn’t. Why, Jeb and me, we been friends ever since we was little shavers, and—”
“Jeb can’t hear you, and nobody else much cares what you have to say,” McCallum said coldly. “Jeb’s dead—at the hands of that scum you sent to bust Cole out of jail.”
Rainer’s eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously as he insisted;
“No, Joe! This ain’t my doin’. So help me, you got to believe that. Sure, it was my idea to go after Halliday in the saloon, but not this ...”
“Is that so?” McCallum snarled. “Maybe Jay McNulty just decided all on his lonesome to organize a jailbreak, huh? That how it was? Look, Ed, we both know that McNulty didn’t have the brains to decide anythin’ in his whole damn life.”
“You’ve got to believe me, Joe,” Rainer persisted. “I wouldn’t have done anythin’ to hurt Jeb Sharp. Ever.”
“Well, he’s dead, and friends of yours did the killin’,” the sheriff said coldly. “Now get the hell out of my sight, and for once in your life, mind your own damn business. I’m gonna see that Cole goes to trial, if it’s the last thing I do. If anybody tries to stop me, they’re gonna end up in more trouble than they ever dreamed of. That goes for you and your boy, and any scum you drag in to help.”
Rainer took an involuntarily step back as McCallum’s fury mounted. He chanced a look in Turner’s direction and saw the fear in the dude’s eyes.
“Were you there like Halliday said, or not?” Rainer asked.
“I told you already, Ed,” Turner answered. “I wasn’t there. I don’t know what the hell this is all about.”
“It’s about somebody wantin’ to break you outta my jail!” McCallum snapped. “If it wasn’t Ed Rainer, then who else could it be? We hear Tom’s been around, so maybe this is his doin’. Is that it, mister? Was Tom tryin’ to do a favor for an old friend?”
“You’ve got it all ass up,” Turner stated. “I’ve never had a thing to do with Tom Rainer!”
Ed Rainer gave Turner a thoughtful look, and then he turned on his heel and walked out of the law office with his shoulders drooped.
When the ol
d man had gone, Halliday said quietly;
“I’ll get the sawbones to look at that wound, Sheriff. We can’t leave it unattended.”
It was daylight now, and Buck Halliday found someone on the street who directed him to Doc Wisher’s house. He soon returned with the grim-faced medic, who cleansed and bandaged the wound on the sheriff’s shoulder.
Halliday then brewed up a pot of coffee, and he and the sheriff each drank a cup in grateful silence.
“This town’s always been too small for an undertaker ... till now,” McCallum said finally. “You feel like givin’ me a hand with McNulty, Mr. Halliday? He’ll be planted in a pauper’s grave but the town’ll pay for a decent funeral for Jeb—he was well respected.”
“Somebody should help you, Sheriff,” Halliday said, “or you’ll have that shoulder bleedin’ again.”
“Guess you’re right,” the sheriff said. “Besides, I better not leave Cole here with nobody guardin’ him. There’s a pick and a shovel in the lean-to out back. It’s not far to Boothill.”
When Halliday returned some time later, the lawman thanked him and then beckoned him to step out onto the porch.
“I’m thinkin’ the safest thing is to get Cole out of here right soon before that scum makes another try for him. In fact, I’ve already got the horses saddled. How do you feel about comin’ with me to Wild River?”
“That sounds like a sensible thing to do, Sheriff,” Halliday admitted.
When they stepped back into the law office, Turner looked up and glared at Halliday.
“I’ll get you for this and no mistake,” he hissed. “I’ll get you if it takes the rest of my life.”
“The rest of your life might not be all that long,” Halliday told him. “Think on that, mister.”
“I’ll beat this thing,” Turner raged. “It’s still only your word agin mine. I got plenty friends in this territory, and all you are is a footloose drifter. You’ll never make that charge stick.”
“It’ll stick, just as soon as we get to Ben Hillary’s Rocking L!” Halliday snapped. “And we’re leavin’ soon.”
The color immediately left Cole Turner’s face, and his grip tightened on the bars of his cell.
“So help me, Halliday, I’ll—”
“Save your breath,” Halliday told him as he walked away.
The thought of pretty Beth Wrigley briefly crossed his mind as he rolled a smoke on the boardwalk. Like Dora Hillary, she was a woman who deserved better from life. He felt a twinge of sorrow for her.
Then McCallum was back and making ready to leave. He crammed his paperwork into a desk drawer and locked the front door of the office, and then he opened the door to Turner’s cell.
“I hope you try to make a run for it,” the lawman said as he tied Turner’s hands and shoved him toward the back door. “I really do.”
“You won’t know when I do,” Turner said.
Turning to Halliday then, McCallum said;
“Keep an eye on our prisoner for a minute or two, huh?”
Halliday saddled his sorrel, never taking his eyes off Cole Turner.
McCallum seemed more settled when he walked back into the yard.
“All set,” he told Halliday. “I just organized a couple fellers to keep an eye on the law office while we’re gone, and I paid the preacher to see Jeb gets a decent burial. All we’ve got to worry about now is gettin’ Cole to where we’re goin’.”
“There’s no need to worry about that,” Halliday told him. “He’s already thinkin’ how it’ll feel to get a bullet in the back if he tries to run.”
Eight – As Far As It Goes
There was a final fringe of brush before the trail opened up into a wide clearing and daylight began to brighten the terrain around them.
After giving the creek ahead of them careful scrutiny, Sheriff Joe McCallum turned in the saddle and studied their surroundings. As far as he could make out, they were safe from all but one direction.
“We’ll stop a couple hours and rest the horses,” the lawman said, and then he rode into the shallow water.
All three riders followed so their horses could drink.
When the sheriff came up on the bank, he dropped from the saddle and stretched his aching limbs. Then he led his horse into the timber, grunting when he bent down to ground hitch it. It had been a long time since he had been on such a long ride, and his muscles were feeling the effects.
Halliday hitched his horse and then helped Cole Turner down to the ground. The prisoner lifted his roped wrists and asked;
“You gonna loosen these ropes for awhile so a man can at least scratch himself?”
“You got an itch?” McCallum asked with a cold grin. “That sure is too bad.”
The sheriff went back to the creek then, where he drank from his cupped hands and splashed water over his face and neck. Then he removed his hat and filled it with water which he took to the prisoner.
“What the hell do you take me for?” Turner complained.
“A goddamn criminal!” McCallum replied, and then he threw his hatful of water into Turner’s sweating face.
They stayed by the creek for two hours, and nobody said a word the whole time.
Finally, McCallum led the way when they left the creek, climbing and looking for and finding a rugged trail before meandering down to the open range, where the sheriff stopped and asked Halliday;
“What do you think? It’s already hot as hell, and we got the whole afternoon ahead of us.”
“No shade out there that I can see,” Halliday replied.
The heat did not worry him, but he could see that the ride was taking its toll on McCallum.
“No damn cover for miles,” the lawman grunted. “But I don’t reckon there’s anybody on our tail ...”
“They’d have their work cut out to catch us if they were,” Halliday said. “You set a hard pace, Sheriff.”
McCallum nodded and looked into the distance where the horizon danced in the heat.
“I’m for pushin’ on,” he said. “How far do you figure it’ll be to those hills yonder?”
“We could make it before dark,” Halliday decided.
“Okay,” the sheriff said. “And then if we start out early in the mornin’ again and step it out, we oughtta make Wild River early tomorrow afternoon. How’s that sound to you?”
“Just about right,” Halliday confirmed.
They pushed on into the heat, McCallum becoming increasingly preoccupied with his own thoughts. Mile after mile, their horses plodded on with their heads down and the hot wind in their faces.
Twice, Halliday saw a snake curled up and watching a few feet away, but he let them be. This was their domain, after all, and the sound of a gunshot would carry for miles.
By mid-afternoon, Joe McCallum had slowed the pace. Without comment, Halliday edged his sorrel up ahead to maintain a steady pace.
From time to time he looked back to check on the others. McCallum always gave him a smile and a nod.
Cole Turner sat slumped in the saddle, his face red with sunburn and his eyes dull and gritty.
The shadows were lengthening by the time they reached the hills, and as soon as McCallum called a halt, Halliday started to collect firewood.
“Best not do that,” the lawman cautioned. “No sense in lettin’ them know where we are ...”
“They’ll know by now, if they’re watchin’ for us,” Halliday said, “and I reckon we all need some hot food in our bellies. Besides, if I start now, we can be finished and have the fire out before dark.”
“Maybe you’re right,” McCallum admitted. “I guess I’m a touch outta practice.”
The hot food and coffee soon brought McCallum’s strength back. He had loosened the ropes on the prisoner to allow him to eat, but as soon as Turner’s plate was empty, he tied the man’s hands behind his back again and tied him to a tree.
“There,” he said, “you’ve had somethin’ to eat, and now you’ve got somethin’ to lean against. I do
n’t expect to hear nothin’ more from you till mornin’.”
When he returned to Halliday, the sheriff tilted the coffeepot and found that there was another half a cupful for each of them. As they savored the dregs, McCallum turned to Halliday and said;
“Tell me somethin’, Mr. Halliday. Are you always so damn sure of yourself?”
Halliday gave him a grin as kicked dirt over the fire.
“It don’t pay to have too many doubts, as a rule.”
“I agree,” McCallum said gravely. “Who do you think was behind that attack on the jail?”
“It wasn’t Tom Rainer,” Halliday told him.
McCallum looked surprised.
“What makes you say that?”
“They gave up too easy for that ... but I do think they were tryin’ to get in Rainer’s good books. Seemed to me that McNulty was that kind of jasper.”
“Maybe so,” McCallum said slowly, “but I didn’t figure McNulty had it in him to risk his life like that.”
“From what I saw, they didn’t take too many risks. They figured they only had you and Jeb to deal with. It was the dead of night, and they snuck up on you from behind.”
“I guess Tom Rainer will hear about it soon enough, even if the raid wasn’t his doin’,” McCallum mused.
“I reckon so,” Halliday said, “and it’s gonna make him mad. Which suits me fine.”
McCallum studied Halliday intently.
“You really want to get that bastard, don’t you?”
Halliday’s face hardened.
“Yeah, Sheriff,” he said softly. “I really do. I don’t even want to think about what he did to Dora Hillary. I’ve got no doubts that he did it. Turner knows he did it, too, and he’ll sing like a bird sooner or later.”
“You reckon so?”
“I know so. Don’t you?”
McCallum scratched at his brow. He was dog-tired and sore as he could ever remember being.
“Guess so.”
“I’m sure of it,” Halliday said. “Nothin’ matters as much to that dude as savin’ his own skin.”
“Well, let’s see,” the lawman said softly.
