by P McCormac
Monday punched her full in the face. She gave a small cry and let go her grip on the bedclothes. Her hands were on her face and blood leaked from her nose, staining the fingers. She opened her mouth to scream as Monday rolled onto the bed. He grabbed up a crumpled bed sheet and jammed it into her mouth.
Her eyes opened wide. She clenched her bloodied hands and pounded them against his chest. Monday raised himself up and punched her viciously in the stomach. Her muffled screams grew weaker and weaker. But all the time she fought him – her nails tearing at the silk shirt and smearing it with blood.
‘You know, Alward was right,’ Monday panted as he fastened his hands round the girl’s neck. ‘You are a real fiery woman. I could love you to death.’
Her eyes began to bulge as he squeezed. The hands that had been ripping at the silk shirt, leaving tiny rips and smears of blood, now clawed at the fingers clamped round her throat.
Alward came in the saloon and nodded a greeting to his father. Gallagher glared balefully at his son.
‘Where the hell’ve you been?’ Gallagher growled.
Before answering, the youngster walked behind the bar and poured himself a whiskey. He was still glowing from the effects of his love tryst with the lithe Mexican dancer.
‘Hi, Pa, I rode out a ways. Didn’t go nowhere in particular.’
The youngster was wary of his father learning of his relationship with Xaviera. Ever since Gallagher’s dalliance with Monday’s mother, he frowned on mixing the races.
‘I sent Monday out looking for you,’ Gallagher told him. ‘Thought you might be in trouble.’
The saloon owner moved to the bar and stood leaning against it, watching his son closely.
‘Trouble, nah, no trouble,’ Alward assured him.
‘I ain’t seen much of you since O’Leary’s shindig,’ Gallagher pressed on. ‘Wondered where you got to.’
‘Pa, I’m nearly eighteen years of age now. I’m old enough to take care of myself. I don’t need to answer to you twenty-four hours a day. And I don’t need no wet-nurse brother looking after my interests.’
The two men stood eyeing each other.
‘You a growed man now. Maybe think you should be running your own show.’
‘Well, Pa, now that you mention it I could do with a bit more independence. What if I wanted to marry and set up house? Can’t bring a wife back here now, can I? It’s an all bachelor establishment.’
‘You want to set up on your own? Maybe with me out of the way it would be a durn sight easier for you.’
‘What the hell sort of talk’s that? I ain’t talking about you. I’m talking about me. I got a life to live or did you think I ought to stay around here and look after you in your old age while I grow old myself?’
‘Mebby you’d like me to retire just like O’Leary,’ the older man gritted out. ‘Then you could mebby take over.’
‘Pa, what the hell are you talking about? You know you love this business. You won’t retire. The only way you’ll leave here is in a wooden box.’
Gallagher’s head snapped up.
‘You son of a bitch. It was you. Monday tried to dissuade me different.’
To the youngster’s astonishment a gun was suddenly pushed against his chest and when he looked into his father’s eyes, he saw cold fury in them. Alward stood very still.
‘Pa,’ he whispered, ‘have you gone mad? It’s me, Alward. Alward Gallagher – your son. What the hell’s going on, pulling a gun?’
For answer the older man produced a knife and slid it on the bar.
‘Recognize this?’
Alward examined the knife without picking it up.
‘ ’Course I recognize it. It’s my knife. Monday bought it me one birthday. What you doing with it?’
‘Someone took a shot at me last night. This knife was found where the son ’a bitch fired. Now I ask you again. Where were you last night?’
‘Pa . . . you ain’t suggesting . . . Jeez, Pa . . .’ Alward’s voice faded as he stared into the unrelenting eyes of his father. ‘This is madness.’
‘You ain’t gonna tell me, are you?’
In desperation, and thinking his father had indeed gone mad, Alward weakened and told his father where he had spent the last few days.
‘That Mexican slut, is that the best you can come up with?’
‘For goddamn’s sake, ask her! She and I were in her shack all the time. You can ask her. She’ll tell you I ain’t stirred from there until now.’
‘Mexes are well known liars. No doubt she’ll lie for you – her big boy lover.’
Whatever reply Alward was about to make was never said. At that moment the saloon doors banged open and people spilled inside. Rachel and Cornwell stood smirking across at the Gallaghers while more and more of their gunhands drifted through the swing doors.
‘Gallagher, we’ve come to sample your hospitality and do a mite of business.’
‘Rachel, what a pleasant surprise,’ Gallagher enthused. ‘Come on in. Let me get you drinks.’ Gallagher turned to Alward. ‘Set ’em up, boy.’ And added in a lower tone, ‘Don’t you disappear again. You and I have unfinished business.’
CHAPTER 7
‘Take a fast horse and ride to my sister and deliver this letter to her.’ Gertrude held a sealed envelope in her hand as she spoke. ‘Rachel has sent me word she and Cornwell are going to California Crossing on some business with Gallagher. Tell her what has happened here. Keep this letter secure. Make sure only she gets it. Alec and I will follow at our leisure. We should all meet at Gallagher’s place. Only make sure you get to Rachel before O’Leary.’
Lovell saluted his mistress and made preparations to leave. He was aware of the uproar amongst O’Leary’s followers as they packed their belongings and made ready to leave on the trip to Pearly Gates. Seeing the confusion amongst the men, Lovell calculated he had plenty of time to call on the brothel in California Crossing before delivering Gertrude’s letter to her sister.
He galloped out from the ranch; his urgency prompted more by the necessity of slaking his lust than any loyalty to his mistress. There were few travellers on the trail. Lovell took little or no notice of the ones he did encounter. The rider cantering towards California Crossing on a large mule did not even warrant a glance.
It was fortunate that O’Leary did not witness his chosen messenger readying his mount for departure or he may have had some misgivings. Not wanting to risk his ‘mount-from-hell’ fighting with other animals at the ranch, Cogan had housed the mule in a disused barn. And so he was able to get ready for his mission without anyone observing his difficulties. By using a mixture of threats, blows and cunning, he and his ill-tempered mule eventually got underway.
It was late when Cogan arrived at California Crossing. He made his way to the livery and off-saddled. By now he had become quite accomplished at avoiding snapping teeth and stomping hoofs. There was no one on duty at the livery stable and most of the stalls were in use so he tethered Hecate well to the back of the building.
‘Hecate, I don’t know whether to shoot you or just abandon you here.’
He was emerging from the building when a rider pulled up.
‘You there, take care of this horse,’ the man ordered, obviously mistaking Cogan for the liveryman.
‘Take care of it yourself, you fat oaf. Or maybe you’re so dumb you don’t know how.’
‘Fella, you better have more respect for me. I work for the O’Leary sisters.’
Gertrude’s messenger was clearly drunk, having managed to down a fair amount of liquor while indulging himself at the whorehouse.
‘Now do as you’re told. I’m late as it is.’
‘Huh! Work for the O’Learys, do you!’ Cogan said, well aware of the identity of the traveller. ‘What do you do? Clean out the cesspit for them?’
‘You son of a bitch. I’m gonna whip your ass.’
‘You’ll wipe my ass you mean, or if you’re referring to my misbegotten mule, she’s tethered down
there. I’m betting she’ll come out the winner in any fight with a butt ugly son of a bitch like you.’
As Lovell went to dismount, Cogan reached out and gripped his boot.
‘Let me help you down,’ he offered.
A quick heave and Lovell tumbled out of the saddle, landing heavily on the dirt.
‘Goddamn your hide!’
Lovell was lumbering to his feet when Cogan kicked him savagely on the shoulder. The big man tumbled out into the street.
‘You wanted to wipe my ass, so stay on your knees,’ Cogan called gleefully.
Lovell tried to rise and this time, Cogan’s kick caught him in the rear end. In his efforts to escape his attacker, Lovell stumbled away from the stables.
Again and again Cogan kicked the man, driving him further and further along the street. Cogan gave the big man no time to go for a weapon even if he had been so inclined. Each time Lovell tried to rise, Cogan kicked him.
The pair progressed along the street with Lovell cursing and yelling at his attacker and Cogan calling him whatever offensive names he could dredge up. The hubbub brought people into street. Gallagher, along with Rachel and Cornwell, came out to see the fun.
‘Hold on there,’ Gallagher called, not recognizing Cogan in his new guise. ‘Why are you attacking this fella?’
Cogan paused, his chest heaving from the effort of kicking his enemy all the way from the livery.
‘This dog threatened to kick my ass. I’m giving him lessons on how it’s done.’
Lovell looked up hopefully at the crowd and as he did so, he noticed Rachel.
‘I have a message from Gertrude,’ he called in desperation. ‘I was on my way to deliver it when this animal attacked me and tried to rob me.’
Cogan’s boot on the side of Lovell’s head stopped anything else he might have said.
‘He’s a liar as well as a coward,’ raged Cogan, aiming another kick.
‘Stop! For God’s sake, stop!’
Rachel’s husband, Cornwell, stepped forward and pushed Cogan back from the cowering man. Cornwell was a handsome man with jet-black hair and a dark bushy moustache. He was tall with the broad shoulders of an athlete. He stared down at Lovell.
‘You say you come from Gertrude?’ Cornwell asked.
‘I have a letter from her. She sent me to deliver it to Rachel.’
‘Get up,’ Cornwell commanded and turned to Cogan. ‘You’re in trouble, fella. You picked the wrong man to rob. No one messes with the O’Learys.’
‘If I wanted to rob that coward I’d have killed him first instead of beating him. I’ve come from O’Leary himself. And this letter is for Miss Rachel.’
Cogan produced the missive and made to hand it to Rachel. Cornwell reached out for it.
‘It’s for Miss Rachel,’ Cogan protested. ‘It’s from her father.’
At that moment Lovell raised his hand and pointed.
‘I recognize him now. That’s the bastard as attacked me at Barren Drum and insulted Gertrude.’
Rachel stepped forward and snatched the note from Cogan’s unresisting fingers.
‘Insult my sister!’ she snarled. ‘What sort of company is O’Leary keeping now?’
She stepped back into the lamplight. Quickly she scanned both notes.
‘As God is my witness I never insulted your sister,’ Cogan protested. ‘Like I said afore, this fella’s a liar as well as a coward.’
Rachel nodded curtly to her men.
‘Take him,’ she ordered.
‘What the. . . ?’
Cogan stood no chance as Rachel’s henchmen quickly grabbed him.
‘You there,’ the blonde woman called to Lovell, ‘now’s your chance to get even.’
Lovell walked over to Cogan, now firmly pinioned by two of Rachel’s gunnies. The big man had a smirk on his chubby face as he approached. He backhanded Cogan who immediately kicked him. Hollering, Lovell hopped back out of range.
‘Get him on his knees,’ Rachel shrieked at the gunnies.
Without more urging they clubbed and kicked their captive to make him kneel in the dirt. Seeing his tormentor helpless, Lovell ventured forward once more and booted Cogan in the midriff. The stricken man grunted and hung over, gasping for breath. Then the burly man really set to work on the helpless Cogan.
Lovell rained down vicious punches and kicks. As the beating progressed, no one was sure if the victim was conscious or not. Each time Lovell landed a blow, blood sprayed from cuts on the ruptured face and nose. In the end it was Gallagher who stepped in to end the brutal beating.
‘That’s enough. If what he says is true and O’Leary sent him it ain’t gonna set too well if he finds his messenger dead.’
‘Take him down the livery and leave him there,’ Cornwell ordered.
The bloodied man was dragged back down the street to the livery and slung inside with Lovell trailing behind, piling curses on the unresponsive Cogan.
‘Next time our paths cross I’ll kill you,’ Lovell snarled, as he planted a parting kick on the semi-conscious Cogan.
Painfully Cogan dragged himself further inside the stables. Like any wounded animal, he wanted to curl up in a dark corner. At last he rested against a back wall, slipping in and out of a black void.
He wasn’t sure, but it seemed that through the mists of pain, something soft and moist was caressing his face. Barely able to open pain-dazed eyes, he peered up at his benefactor. For a horrible moment he saw the face of his mule and then he passed into oblivion.
CHAPTER 8
His face covered with lather, Alward Gallagher stropped his razor. He had a thick head of ginger hair which he kept cropped short. His regular features and deep green eyes gave him a look of gravity. Before applying the soap to his beard, he had stood before the mirror and admired the light stubble on his face, thinking it made him look more mature. Absently stropping the blade of the cutthroat along the leather, he mulled over the conversation with his father. Fine lean muscles rippled across his youthful torso as he worked.
The disturbance out front in the street engaged his attention and he crossed to the window and watched with interest the little drama between the protagonists. His sympathies were with the man being beaten by the fat man. For a moment he toyed with the idea of intervening, but his own problems were foremost in his mind regarding the strange behaviour of his father. Eventually the action ceased as the stricken man was dragged away. The onlookers went back in the saloon and Alward returned to his ablutions.
‘Goddamn it, what’s the matter with Pa?’ he muttered into the shaving glass. ‘It’s like he were a different man. All I did was go sparking Xaviera. Jeez, didn’t he hook up with a damn squaw? Maybe that’s it. He don’t want no more half-breed kids in the family.’
Alward shook his head in bewilderment and lifted the razor to his face. Before he could begin his shave, another commotion in the street stopped him.
‘What the hell’s going on now?’
With the razor held in his hand he went to the window and peered outside. There was a lot of shouting and he could see a bunch of Mexicans milling around on the street. Frowning, he opened the window the better to hear what the men were shouting about. Behind him the door burst open. Alward whirled, his nerves tense. Monday stood in the doorway panting heavily.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Alward growled. ‘What the hell’s that racket all about? What’s up with those Mexicans?’
‘Al, Al you gotta run! Them Mexes are after your blood. They’re saying you killed Xaviera.’
‘Xaviera! What the hell are you on about? I just left her earlier today. What’s going on?’
‘Come on. Get out the back while I hold them off. I told them it was all nonsense but they’re mighty riled up and want your blood. They found your shirt in Xaviera’s cabin. They’re liable to string you up.’
As Monday was talking he was manhandling his brother towards the door.
‘Goddamn it, Monday, will you stop hassling me? I ain’t done nothing.
And what are you saying about Xaviera?’
‘Al, listen to me. I’m your brother and I believe you and I’d do anything to protect you. Let me handle this. You light out and hide in the hills. I’ll calm them down and come for you when the heat is off.’
‘But . . . Monday . . . I. . . .’
‘Al, please!’ Monday spoke earnestly. ‘They’re in a dangerous mood. Someone killed your Mexican lover and they’re blaming you. They’re so riled up anything might happen. Let me calm them down and get them to listen. But right now you gotta get well away from here.’
Loud voices suddenly broke out below. Shots were fired accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass.
‘For God’s sake, Al, they’re in no mood to listen. They’ll string you up afore you have a chance to prove your innocence. Your only chance is to make a run for it. Go out to that old shack at Mule Back Mine. No one will ever think of looking for you there. I’ll come and fetch you when it’s safe and these damn Mexes are sent packing.’
The angry voices were becoming louder though no more shots sounded.
‘Take my horse,’ Monday urged. ‘It’s out back, saddled and ready. Now, go, go. For God’s sake, go.’
Such was the urgency and force of Monday’s urging, Alward allowed himself to be pushed out of the back door. He was shirtless and his face was covered in shaving soap. In his hand he still clutched his razor. Before he could gather his wits, he was on Monday’s horse and threading his way along back alleys and out into the night. It never occurred to him to wonder why Monday’s horse was tied up so conveniently at the rear door of the saloon, saddled and ready to go. Monday watched his brother ride out of sight.
‘Ride, Alward, ride,’ he whispered. ‘Ride out of my life.’
Monday pulled his knife and with a quick movement, slashed his arm with the blade and knelt in the dirt.
‘Help, help! Stop, stop! Someone stop him!’
Shortly his father burst out of the door. More and more men piled into the alley. To Monday’s gratification he saw they were the Mexicans.
