by P McCormac
Not long afterwards Monday watched his father disappear into the rain-shrouded night. The youngster was soaked from being outside in the pouring rain while saddling the horse and loading supplies for Gallagher to take on his rescue mission.
‘Mule Back Mine,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s hope you and Al have a troublesome reunion. With a bit of luck neither of you’ll survive it.’
Monday was closing the door when he felt the cold hard round of a gun barrel against the back of his neck.
‘Half-breed, who was that just gone out?’
‘What, I ain’t seen no one.’
He heard the click as the gun was cocked.
‘Where’s Gallagher? Was that him as just left?’
Monday’s shoulders slumped.
‘Yeah, it was Pa, all right,’ he muttered.
‘Turn around, breed. I ain’t never shot a man from behind yet.’
Slowly Monday turned round and faced Alec.
‘I guess I’d better tell you all,’ he said.
‘All?’ The gunman frowned at the youngster. ‘You sure as hell better tell me what the hell’s going on.’
‘It was Pa as rode out there. He’s gone to help that mad, old man, O’Leary.’
The gunfighter smiled thinly without warmth.
‘Good boy. You know where he’s headed?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me.’
‘Well, in that case, we’ll just have to wait for him to return. Maybe he’ll bring the mad O’Leary back with him. Should prove fun, don’t you think?’ The gunman stepped aside. ‘You’d better come with me. Gertrude will want to hear this.’
Alec walked the youngster upstairs and pushed him inside one of the bedrooms. Gertrude was sitting at a dressing table, working at her dark lustrous hair. She turned and eyed up the young Gallagher.
She had discarded the black leather outfit. Instead she was dressed in a skimpy underskirt. The revealing garment clung to her voluptuous figure, emphasizing the swell of her breasts and hips. As she swivelled towards the men, they were given an ample view of creamy thighs. A look of satisfaction crossed her face as she noted her performance had the desired effect on the youngster. Monday tried to keep his eyes fixed on Gertrude’s face but his gaze kept straying over her profusely sensual body.
‘Alec, what have you here?’ she asked. ‘I’d rather you’d found me a maidservant instead of a soggy pixie.’
‘Listen, petal, this soggy pixie has something interesting to tell you.’
Gertrude was examining the rain-soaked Monday with more than a hint of predatory interest. Alec put away the six-shooter and sat on the bed.
‘Go on, breed; tell her what you told me.’
‘Alec, go and fetch Rachel and Cornwell,’ Gertrude ordered. ‘They may want to hear this as well.’
The blond man looked surprised.
‘Sure, Gertrude,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Sure thing.’
As the door closed behind Alec, Gertrude came off the chair. She crossed the room in one sinuous movement. Standing close to Monday, he could feel the heat radiating from her body. Gertrude’s perfume and nearness swamped his senses.
‘Monday,’ she purred, her face inches from his, ‘they tell me half-breeds have the best attributes of both races. Is that true?’
She reached up a hand and placed it behind his neck. He felt a heady sensation as she gazed intimately into his eyes. As the magnetism of her sex worked on him he lost all willpower. At that moment he would have done anything she asked of him. Her lips met his and a shock passed through his body.
Monday’s eyes closed and he lost himself in the intensity of their intimacy. Then she was gone and he was reaching out into a void. His eyes opened and Gertrude was seating herself back in front of the mirror, gazing at her own image. The heat of desire still smouldering within Monday, he could only gape helplessly at the demiurge.
‘Now, Monday, tell me everything.’
And he did. He was still talking when Alec arrived back with Rachel.
‘Cornwell’s out cold – dead drunk – couldn’t rouse him,’ Alec said and flung himself on the bed.
Rachel eyed Monday and then glanced suspiciously at her sister. Gertrude continued to preen before the mirror.
‘Gallagher has gone out to rescue O’Leary,’ she said, without turning from her image but watching her sister closely in the glass. ‘He has also sent word to Catlin. Told her to come and fetch the old man.’ She turned and looked directly at her sister. ‘You know what that means? If Catlin comes back and joins up with Pa, they’ll try to take over.’
Rachel lit a cigarette as she paced up and down the room.
‘We’ll have to rally the men and strike before she hits us.’ She drew deeply on the cigarette. ‘Gertrude, you and Alec get back to Barren Drum and gather as many gun hands as you can muster. I’ll wait here for Gallagher to return and try and find out what they’re plotting.’ She eyed Monday speculatively. ‘Where do your loyalties lie in this?’
‘Well, he did pass us the information,’ Gertrude answered for Monday. ‘We may not have known about the plot to bring back Catlin without him wising us up to the plan.’
Rachel smiled intimately at the young half-breed.
‘Good, we could do with a loyal soldier in charge here at California Crossing. You get my meaning. You may have to take over from your old pa.’
And Monday smiled back at the blonde woman. Both he and Rachel were unaware of the look of jealousy that flashed from the image in the mirror.
CHAPTER 12
There was nothing to see on the bleak hillside, only dim shapes through the sheeting rain. Then lightning would flash and illuminate the old mine workings.
Alward crouched inside one of the abandoned shacks and shivered. He had missed the worst of the storm. The shack was not far from the mine opening where he had hidden his mount. He did not want a chance sighting of the horse to draw unwanted attention. When the storm began he figured Monday would not come out in such weather. He massaged his forehead as he thought over the events of the past few days.
‘Xaviera,’ he whispered. ‘She can’t be dead. Who would do such a thing?’
His heart squeezed within him as he saw again her lovely face as she smiled up at him.
‘My beautiful Alward.’
To distract his morbid thoughts he peered out into the night. But it was no use. Unpleasant images welled up and the youngster was filled with despair. As well as being a suspect for the murder of Xaviera, his pa suspected him of trying to kill him.
‘Why the hell should I want to kill Pa? Goddamn it!’
Lightning flashed in one long burst and he saw two riders on the slopes below. He couldn’t be sure but they appeared to be arguing. The rain sheeted down and the two men were making no attempt to find shelter.
The youngster had been sitting on old ore sacks. On impulse he pulled them around him – one over his head, another across his shoulders and a third he fastened to his belt like an apron. He went to the door and yelled out at the men. Either they couldn’t hear above the storm or were ignoring him. He ran out into the deluge and waved and shouted until they spied him. One of the riders grabbed the other’s reins and urged his own mount up the hill towards Alward.
‘Quickly, there’s shelter in here,’ the youngster urged.
He led the men inside the mine opening and watched them dismount. Suddenly he recognized O’Leary. The man with the mule looked like he had taken a battering lately and Alward suspected he was the man who had been beaten by the fat Lovell – one of Rachel’s crew.
‘You can shelter in the shack,’ he said. ‘It ain’t much but it’s out of the storm.’
As the youngster guided them towards the derelict building, O’Leary suddenly stopped. Alward watched as the old man turned his face towards the rain and stood swaying from side to side.
‘Boss, come inside out of the rain,’ his companion pleaded.
‘I’ll have none of it – none of it, I tell you
,’ the old man called out and raised his hands, palms upwards. ‘Can you see how the heavens weep? God weeps for poor old fools that give away their possessions to their daughters.’ Thunder throbbed overhead. ‘You may growl all you like at me, Gertrude; I know your venom well enough.’
Lightning blazed – jagged and bright in the hills above them. The crazy old man clenched his fists and shook them at the sky.
‘For God’s sake, come inside,’ Cogan urged his boss. He turned to Alward. ‘Help me get him inside.’
The youngster moved towards the old man but stopped as O’Leary suddenly screamed out, his face turned up into the drenching rain.
‘Why are you raging at me? What have I done to deserve this humiliation? Have my daughters not done enough to me that you too should batter me with your storms?’
‘Come inside, Mr O’Leary,’ Alward urged. ‘We’re all getting wet out here.’
The mad old man stared at the speaker then waggled his finger at him.
‘You are young, yet. Mark my words, young ’un, never have daughters. They’ll throw you out into the wilderness and take everything from you.’
‘O’Leary!’
The shout came out of the dark. A horseman could be seen labouring up the slope towards the three men.
‘Keane O’Leary,’ the man shouted again. ‘Thank God I’ve found you. I’ve brought you some food.’
As the rider came close, Alward, recognizing his father, pulled the sacking closer about his head so his face was well hidden.
‘Gallagher,’ O’Leary’s companion shouted back over the raging wind and rain. ‘Thank God. You’ve come in the nick of time.’
Gallagher dismounted and holding the reins of his mount, joined the three rain-soaked men.
‘I brought you vittles and bourbon,’ Gallagher told them.
‘Get him to come inside,’ Cogan pleaded. ‘He’s ranting and raving out in this storm.’
Between them the men managed to drag the rambling O’Leary inside the shack.
‘Don’t take me back,’ O’Leary begged. ‘I have no daughters now. I’m an old done man. Let me die here.’ Suddenly turning to Alward. ‘You, fella, you have a fine house here. I’ll bide a while with you. Where’s my bed?’
‘Here you are, sir.’ Alward pointed to a pile of sacks. ‘You can rest easy. I’ll keep watch.’
O’Leary allowed Alward and Cogan to tuck him in the ore sacks. He lay back on the makeshift bed and carried on a meaningless chattering – his daughter’s names, Rachel and Gertrude featuring large in his diatribe.
‘Who are you, fella?’ Gallagher asked Alward, trying to make out his features beneath the sacking.
‘I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness,’ Alward intoned. ‘There is One greater than me. He will come in thunder and rain and wash clean the sins of the world. Repent! Repent! The time is nigh. Are you a sinner, sir? Did you beat your children and cast them out into the dark? Sons and daughters may sin against parents but so too fathers transgress against their children. Is it not written – the sins of the fathers will be visited upon the children for seven generations? Repent! Repent! The kingdom of heaven is upon us.’
‘You sound a mite like my dead wife,’ Gallagher observed. ‘Mind you, there’s an element of truth in what you say, though. I had a son. Somehow he went wrong and now he’s a wanted murderer.’ He turned to Cogan. ‘You’re the man Lovell near beat to death.’
‘Gallagher, I’m Marcus Cogan.’
‘What?’ The saloon keeper stared intently at Cogan. ‘Damn me if it ain’t you indeed, Marcus Cogan. What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Well, as you may well remember O’Leary threw me out – threatened to gun me down if he saw me again. Hell, I couldn’t abandon the old coot. I’ve been with him too long. So I decided to disguise myself and join up with him again.’
‘Marcus Cogan, you’re an old fool, but a loyal one at that.’ Gallagher shook his head. ‘That was some beating you took back there. Dang near came to killing you. Was it worth it?’
‘Indeed, I wish Lovell had done a better job of killing me. I’d rather be dead than see O’Leary like this. I love that old man. I fear his mind has slipped.’
‘Aye, it’s sad indeed. It seems to me his daughters have driven him mad. Rachel and Gertrude have put a price on O’Leary’s head. I’ve sent a message to Catlin to come and rescue him. But it’s doubtful if she’ll get here in time. As soon as this storm is over there’ll be men scouring the country for him. My advice is, if you have any concern for O’Leary’s safety, get him out of here and ride like the devil for her ranch. Catlin’s your only hope. I’ll give you directions how to get there.’
‘Thanks, friend. I’ll take your advice and get on the road as soon as the storm abates.’
‘I’d better get back afore they miss me. The sisters are suspicious of everyone. Such an evil and unnatural pair as I never come across.’
‘God go with you, Gallagher. Thanks for the vittles. You’re a good friend.’
‘Ah, it’s little enough. I wish I could do more. But I have my own problems. Good night.’
‘Remember, sinner,’ Alward screeched after his father’s departing figure, ‘the sons and daughters of Satan shall find no rest. If you feed your children stones instead of bread they will grind the stones to powder and spew the dust in thine eyes.’
CHAPTER 13
By the time he arrived back in California Crossing, Gallagher was bone weary. Faint light was visible in the morning sky as the black clouds of the storm moved westwards towards the coast. Wearily he dismounted at the livery. Knowing the old liveryman would be on duty shortly, he left his horse tied up inside the barn. There was a light in the saloon and Gallagher felt a warm glow of satisfaction.
‘At least I got one son I can rely on,’ he muttered, as he let himself in the back door.
Rubbing his eyes and yawning widely, Gallagher walked quietly into the bar then stopped and blinked in surprise. Several people were gathered inside, seated at the tables.
Rachel lounged back, a cigarette in her mouth, her heels supported on a chair. A few of her gunhands lolled around, drinking or playing cards. Monday was at his usual place behind the bar. Leaning up against the counter was the dark, moustachioed Cornwell. Slowly Gallagher walked to the bar.
‘Don’t nobody go to bed no more or have you just got up extra early?’ he said.
‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ Rachel answered.
Looking at O’Leary’s daughter, Gallagher was reminded of a snake. Her cold eyes showed no emotion whatsoever as she regarded him through a haze of cigarette smoke. Gallagher motioned to Monday.
‘I could do with a drink.’ Whiskey in hand, he turned back to Rachel. ‘Thanks, I don’t usually have people wait up for me.’
‘Where you been, Gallagher?’
The saloon owner frowned at Cornwell who had asked the question.
‘Well, I don’t think as that’s any of your goddamn business.’
Cornwell straightened up from the bar. His hand swung loosely at his side near his holstered gun.
‘I’m making it my goddamn business.’
Gallagher sipped at his whiskey which put his hand inches from the gun butt in his shoulder holster. It was an old trick. He would open his fingers and the whiskey glass would slip to the floor while he went for the gun. The distraction of the glass crashing to the floor always worked to his advantage. He had never been bested yet in a shootout.
‘You seen anything of my father, lately?’ Rachel asked.
Gallagher’s eyes flicked back to the woman. She was smiling slightly as she watched him. He noticed the men at the tables had quit their card playing and were also watching him. And then he guessed why they had been waiting for him. Carefully he half turned and set his elbow on the bar. He looked at Monday and gave him the sign. Monday nodded imperceptibly.
They had often worked together like this when trouble loomed. With Monday and his shotgun at his ba
ck there were very few situations they could not handle. The gun came into his hand slick and fast. It caught Cornwell by surprise. The bandit’s hand was on his gun but with Gallagher’s weapon aimed at him, he did not draw.
‘Now,’ Gallagher said casually, ‘as a matter of fact, Rachel, I did see your pa. I saw a pathetic old man weeping his eyes out ’cause his daughters had thrown him out like a piece of worn-out carpet.’
Still watching Cornwell out of the corner of his eye, the saloon owner turned his attention to Rachel.
‘Your father is no threat to you. Between you and Gertrude, you kicked the heart out of him. I watched that broken old man rave like a demented loon. That didn’t sit too well with me. I want you and your husband, Cornwell here, to pack your belongings and leave my place. You’ve wore out your welcome as far as I’m concerned. You’re no longer welcome.’
‘You son of a bitch,’ Cornwell muttered thickly.
‘What about Catlin, Gallagher?’ Rachel asked.
As she spoke, Rachel reached inside her mink jacket and Gallagher tensed. But instead of a weapon she produced a gold cigarette case. Extracting a slim cylinder, she extended an arm. Obediently one of her gunnies scratched a sulphur head and held it for her as she sucked on her tailor-made cigarette. Blowing a cloud of blue smoke, she gave her attention back to Gallagher.
‘Well?’ she said, smoke drifting from her mouth and nose. ‘I’ll ask you again: what message did you send to Catlin?’
‘Can’t say as I know what you’re talking about. What’s Catlin got to do with any of this?’
‘I was thinking you might have financed her for her goddamn ranch she and Frank hankered after. So that being the case, if you and she joined together, you would make a formidable force with her wranglers and your town gunnies. You might just be tempted to help her move against Gertrude an’ me.’
‘Jesus wept! You’re as crazed as your old pa. Where’d you get such foolish notions? I’ve had enough of this. I’ve told you once. Now I’m telling you again. Pack up and get on out of here. Monday!’
