A Colt for the Kid (10 page)

‘I’ll have to put in a lot of practice with a rifle and six-gun. I ought to have got that Donovan when he was on the run.’

Belle’s eyebrows lifted a little. ‘You mean to say you were trying to hit the guy?’

‘Of course. What else would I shoot for?’

‘I’ll leave it to you to explain, Ed,’ Belle said helplessly. ‘Although personally I’m in favour of shooting Donovan no matter what angle the slug comes from.’

Hennesey coughed. ‘It’s more than a feller can explain in much less than a lifetime, Johnnie, but we don’t reckon to shoot a guy in the back. And if he takes it on the run we reckons to let him go. It’s a sort of, well, you know when two kids are fighting and one of them hollers “enough”?’

Johnnie shook his head. ‘I never fought with any other kids. Never got to know any, least not as far as I can remember. I sort of thought that if a feller shot at you, he must want to kill you and the best thing to do was to shoot back and kill him as soon as you could.’ He looked at Hennesey woodenly. ‘I still think it’s the best thing to do.’

Hennesey sighed. ‘You could be right, Johnnie. I’ll teach you all I know about gunthrowing. I’m not the best but I’m pretty good.’

Belle laughed. ‘I reckoned you’d find it awkward, Ed. What are we going to do about these horses of Donovan’s – corral them somewhere until Donovan gets around to sending men for them? There’s near to forty and that’s quite a bunch to find feed for.’

‘We’ll get some in the livery and scatter the rest around somehow,’ Hennesey said.

‘You mean, you’ll let Donovan take those horses back?’ Johnnie said in a puzzled tone.

Hennesey smiled. ‘Stealing a man’s horse is a crime, Johnnie, even if the man has done something bad to you.’

Misery twisted Johnnie’s face and for a few moments he
stood silent, scuffing the dust of the street with one foot. Then he gave Hennesey a direct look.

‘I’m not going to hide what I’ve done any longer, you and the other folks around here have been too good to me. You all sort of think I’m better than I am. Marshal, I killed a man then went off with his horse.’

Belle drew in her breath sharply. ‘Well, of all the things. Johnnie, what do you want to go shooting your head off like that for?’

Carter scratched the side of his head. ‘Just who have you killed, Johnnie? It couldn’t have been any one around here or we’d have heard about it.’

‘Best tell me all about it, Johnnie,’ Hennesey said.

‘It was that Josh Manders,’ Johnnie began, then poured out the whole story as he knew it.

The three listened in silence, then Hennesey asked a few questions. He pondered long on Johnnie’s answers then said:

‘It comes to this, Johnnie. Manders practically kidnapped you, there was no reason why he couldn’t have brought you in to a town, this one for instance. From then on he used you as a slave. You would have had a perfect right to kill him and make your escape the best way you could. However, I don’t think you did kill him.’

‘How do you figure that out?’ Belle put in quickly.

Hennesey grinned. ‘Sheep. The place that Johnnie describes as being where he had the fight with Manders isn’t more than thirty miles away and without someone to herd them they’d have been all over the territory and you can bet we’d have learned about that quickly enough.’

‘But I was three days getting to this town,’ Johnnie protested. ‘I wouldn’t take three days to cover thirty miles.’

‘You went without any sense of direction. That’s all. You could have taken a week to cover the distance. No, Johnnie, I’m not arresting you on any murder charge. As for that
crowbait you call a horse. Let’s say you borrowed it for a spell.’

The wide smile came back to Johnnie’s face. ‘Gosh, that’s good to know, Marshal. I wasn’t sort of afraid of being caught and hung but I’d got to like it a powerful lot with Sam and Lucy and—’

‘And you wanted to hang on to what you’d got,’ Carter put in. ‘It’s the same with us, except that we’ve got more to hang on to.’

‘I’ve got my land,’ Johnnie said solemnly, ‘an’ I’m going to get around to making it the best homestead in the district. I’ll make a start as soon as Sam can spare me.’

Belle stared at him with wonder in her eyes. ‘You’ll make a start. What about Donovan? And talking about Sam and Lucy, they’re coming this way now.’

The others turned and saw the Stevenses coming through the crowd of men who still lingered. Lucy slipped from her saddle.

‘Johnnie, you were great, just great. Sam and I had gotten to a place where we hoped to do some good with our rifles and we saw the whole thing. My land! Donovan of all men on the run. Lordie! he’ll never forget that.’

Johnnie grinned then saw the shine in Lucy’s eyes and colour mounted up the back of his neck. ‘The marshal said I was a plumb fool for coming up the middle of the street to go after Donovan. I guess I was.’

‘Let’s all get something to eat,’ Belle said, turning towards the saloon. ‘I guess we’re all plenty hungry and we can talk about Donovan’s next move while we chow.’

Lucy and Johnnie were the last pair to go up the steps of the veranda and he turned as he felt her hand on his arm. Again he coloured at the glow in her eyes then blood surged to his head as she said with quiet emphasis:

‘Johnnie, you were no fool. You’re just great.’

Defeat. The word was acid in Donovan’s mind, corroding his thinking power until the setback he had received in town magnified itself to the size of a major loss. Never, not even in the days when he had first set foot in this land and done battle with marauding Indians, had he been licked. Indians, small-time ranchers and homesteaders had all turned and ran before his ruthless methods. There had been one exception, Brett Stevens. Brett had held out against him with formidable courage and in the end died a natural death and left Sam and Lucy to carry on.

He had used every method short of actual violence to push the pair from their land but at last turned to it again because the need for their range, with its valuable access to water, grew greater as his own herd reached vaster proportions. It had got so that, besides coveting the land he was almost desperately in need of it. And now he was defeated, licked and mainly because of the action of an ignorant, overgrown youth. What in a hell had made him run from the kid? It could not be that he had been infected with Bohun’s fear, for the judge had struggled out through a back window the moment the kid had yelled for himself to come into the street. No, it could not have been the judge’s influence, for he remembered calmly smashing a front
window and sighting his sixgun on to young Callum. He had done all that calmly enough and yet he had missed at ten or a dozen paces. Also, he had fired no second shot in answer to Callum’s wildly fired slugs. No, he had stood for a moment as if some paralysis had his limbs and then fled as if he had never before faced gunfire. Was it that he was getting old? Were hand and eye no longer to be relied on when it came to gunplay? He had a notion that his disgruntled range hands were talking that way about him even though he had been no further than the front porch of the house this last three days. Stone, in his necessary comings and goings to the house, had somehow conveyed the idea to his mind although the only words the foreman had spoken that made any reference to the subject were threats of what he would do to young Callum the moment his own wrist was sufficiently mended. Donovan wrestled with his mental as well as physical defeat until the fourth morning after the affair in town, then he ordered his horse to be saddled.

He rode alone and the thing uppermost in his mind was the necessity for finding out whether or not he was still the man he had reckoned himself to be or an ageing coward who had run before a younger and more virile man. He purposed to do this simply by finding young Callum and forcing him into a close range shooting match. After that, and here his mind was not quite so certain of itself, he might try the same tactics on Sam Stevens. He deliberately forced himself to ride via the way of the town although commonsense indicated that being alone he was liable to receive a slug in the back from some vengeful townsman and passed through without other incident than a good deal of staring from those who saw him go.

Mid morning brought him close to the Stevens’ house without having seen any of its occupants and he reached almost to the veranda before Lucy’s voice called:

‘Far enough, Donovan. Rein right there unless you want a slug through you.’

Donovan reined in and endeavoured to make out Lucy’s shadowed figure more clearly, but the glare of the sun defeated him.

‘Sam at home?’ he called.

‘Doesn’t matter to you where he is. You’ve got a nerve coming here. There isn’t anything you want to say to him that you can’t say to me, so say it and get out of here.’

‘If you’re all alone you’d best not take that tone with me.’

‘I am all alone, go for your gun if you want to. I’d just as soon finish the business here and now.’

Donovan laughed. ‘You always did have plenty of sand for a girl, Lucy, but this is a game for men. I wouldn’t have minded a talk with Sam, but young Callum is my main objective.’

‘Well, he’s not here, so—’ Lucy stopped suddenly.

Donovan laughed again. ‘That’s about all I want to know. The young pup’s away at that precious piece of land he’s staked out. I thought he might be but it was quicker to ride here and find out than to go all that way and draw a blank. You can put your gun down. I’m on my way to see Johnnie Callum.’

As he turned his mount he came nearer to getting a shot in his back than he had ever been in his life. Lucy’s finger quivered on the trigger as several things struck her at once. Sam was miles away down by the river. Johnnie had gone to have yet another stare around at his piece of land as Donovan had so rightly guessed. Why hadn’t she told him he was out on the range? That would have given her time to go and warn Johnnie. For she knew now that if anything happened to Johnnie, life, for her, would be an empty thing. It had taken this visit of Donovan to make her see that clearly.

She watched Donovan’s fast receding figure and her
thoughts went ahead of him. He would come to Johnnie under the cover of the great rock chimney and be upon him, gun in hand, before Johnnie was aware of his arrival. And there seemed nothing she could do to prevent it. She knew so well what would be in Donovan’s mind. Johnnie had made him turn and run. Now, the rancher would take vengeance by shooting him down from some convenient cover. On a sudden decision she flew across to the horse barn, and although she realized that pursuit of Donovan was hopeless she struggled frantically to throw on a saddle and bridle a fast mare. In less than ten minutes she was out of the barn, the rifle across her knees, as she kicked the mare to its best pace. Donovan was a mere speck in the distance and remained that way in spite of her desperate efforts to close on him. In the rough ground that surrounded the chimney she lost sight of him altogether and was near to tears in her uncertainty as to the exact location of Johnnie’s patch of land. Then she heard a sixgun shot, distant but quite distinct, and she turned her mount towards the sound. There were five more shots and they filled her with hope. Johnnie must have seen Donovan, after all, and if he had acquired a little skill with his Colt he would have some kind of chance of fighting back. Her grip tightened on both rifle and reins. Donovan could look for no fair play from her. A shot in the back was his if she got a chance.

But the shots that Lucy heard were all from Johnnie’s own gun. Donovan was just rounding a boulder when he, too, heard them. He saw Johnnie aim and fire at a stone on the ground. The stone jumped high in the air. The same thing happened again, and Donovan knew that he was no longer dealing with a mere youth who could not use a gun. Johnny was thumbing fresh shells into the Colt as Donovan slid from the saddle and walked towards him. The shells were going into the gun slowly and awkwardly. Donovan was about thirty
yards away and reckoned to make the distance twenty by the time the gun was loaded. He guessed the Colt would be holstered then drawn again for further practice and he intended to call Johnnie while the gun was still holstered. The fact that he reckoned easily to beat Callum to a draw only added zest to the killing. By all range laws it would be a fair fight. Moving soft footed in spite of his giant bulk, Donovan passed one of Johnnie’s marker stakes and smiled cynically as he saw the scrawled notice fastened to the stake. He made five more yards. Callum had completed the loading and was about to slide the Colt into its holster. The slight wound on Donovan’s left shoulder burned a little adding further to his desire to see this youngster dead. His hand went to the butt of his gun and at that moment Johnnie turned. Donovan drew, levelled and fired with practised speed, but his slug went wide. Johnnie’s move was slow and dragging by comparison, the roar of his Colt being measurably behind Donovan’s but the more accurate shot clipped the brim of the rancher’s hat and sent his second shot even wider than the first. In a rage at his failure he tried to steady himself for a third shot and had Johnnie sighted when the Colt roared again and the slug from it ripped the weapon from his hand. For a moment, Donovan knew the fear of death, then he saw that Callum had lowered the Colt and was walking towards him. Johnnie’s words came slowly.

‘Get off my land and stay off. If I see you here again I’ll kill you. I’d do it now only I’ve been listening to some talk about fair play. Don’t reckon to understand it properly but I’m giving it a trial.’

Donovan gaped surprise. ‘You’re a damned fool, Callum. You’ve had luck, that’s all. Take my advice and don’t play it too hard.’

‘You’d better get moving,’ Johnnie said quietly.

Donovan shrugged. ‘No hurry for me, seeing that you’re
so high minded about fair play.’ He took a side glance and saw the still distant figure of Lucy coming towards them. ‘A pity your woman friend couldn’t have seen that clever shot of yours. She’d have appreciated it.’

‘Woman friend! I don’t have any woman friend. At least—’

Johnnie stopped speaking and a dark flush of anger coloured his face at the barely understood innuendo. ‘If you’re talking about Lucy Stevens—’

‘Who else? But I’d better shut up, you’ve got a gun,’ Donovan grinned.

Knowledge came to Johnnie. He had licked this man in a gun battle. Not by accident but because he had learned to take his time. Now the big man was trying to taunt him into putting down the gun and carrying on the fight in a hand-
to-hand
struggle. Donovan was banking on his six extra inches of height and his forty or fifty pounds of superior weight. Well, he could have the fight that way if he wished it. He grinned back at Donovan.

‘I beat your foreman into the dust without having any gun and I can do the same to you. In fact I can lick you so as they’ll have to bring a rig to take you home. I’m holstering the gun and then I’m taking the belt off. You can either start running for your horse or stay and fight it out.’

Donovan made no answer but his eyes glinted as he saw the Colt slide into its holster and Johnnie’s hands engage with the broad buckle of the belt. He waited until the buckle was loose then moved forward with speed. There was no wildness about his arm movements and no clumsiness in his footwork and his first blow rocked Johnnie on his heels. The second sent him reeling off balance and down to earth. Donovan followed quickly and drove his boot at Johnnie’s head, the one form of attack that Manders’ treatment had made him skilled in avoiding. He rolled to the kick, seized the booted foot and with a quick twist of his long arms threw
Donovan to the ground. He was up in a moment and flung himself on top of the rancher, intent on securing a throat hold. Donovan met his downwards dive with the soles of both boots driven hard into Johnnie’s middle. Johnnie’s breath departed in a whoosh of sound and he landed yards away on the flat of his back. Donovan came agilely to his feet, saw the gun-belt some yards from him and charged towards it. Johnnie saw his danger and, gulping for air, got somehow to his feet. He reeled on unsteady legs towards the rancher and his hands clamped on the other’s wrists. Donovan, with the Colt in his hand, tried to twist from the grip but found himself in a hold that he could not shake. Next he put all his strength into turning the Colt against Johnnie’s body whilst his hate filled eyes glared into the face of a man who, although gasping painfully for breath, was still grinning. For some seconds the pair remained almost motionless, standing toe to toe with barely an inch between their heaving chests while the arm muscles of both cracked audibly under the strain that was upon them. Then the Colt that was in Donovan’s grip began to turn outwards, the muzzle of it vibrating slightly in the rancher’s fierce hold. Johnnie’s grin widened as he felt Donovan give slightly and he braced himself to a still greater effort. The rancher felt pain shooting from his wrists to his shoulders and under the inexorable, twisting pressure, his arms began to spread, the fingers open, until with a thud the Colt dropped to the ground. It was the rancher’s breath that was now coming gustily and realizing the fact, Johnnie gave a great upwards heave to the man’s arms that pulled him off balance. He had Donovan in a position to throw him to the ground when the sound of hoofs made him jerk his head round. In the split second that he was relaxed, Donovan broke free and made a dive for the Colt. Johnnie had a blurred vision of two things happening at once as he went after Donovan. Lucy, a rifle in
her hand, scrambling from the saddle and Donovan with the gun again in his possession. He grappled Donovan as the Colt exploded deafeningly, wrenched the weapon from him as if his grasp had been a child’s, then slammed him full in the face with the barrel of it. Donovan became suddenly inert and Johnnie came to his feet to see Lucy stretched on the ground. He saw, even as he bounded towards her, the blood that was flowing down the side of her face and he let out a cry that was almost one of a madman. A second later he was calm enough. The wound just above Lucy’s temple might or might not be a serious one, but the only thing he could do was work on staunching the flow of blood then get her to where she could get better attention. The town was nearer than her own home, he decided.

The full heat of the afternoon sun was blistering the street when he came to it and Lucy, on the saddle in front of him, might be dead for all that he knew. She had stirred slightly when he had mounted her and himself on Donovan’s big roan, which he had taken as better able to bear the double weight, but since then his anxious, downward glances had shown him no sign of life in her. Running and shouting men had carried the news of his arrival to the saloon before he himself got there and both Hennesey and Carter were waiting to take the girl from him. She was carried quickly inside and upstairs and then the bedroom door was closed with Belle and one of the townswomen inside the room. Johnnie trooped down the stairs with Carter and Hennesey. He answered their questions with monosyllables, heard Carter say that he would get someone to ride out and let Sam know what had happened whilst all the time his mind was busy with two questions.

Would Lucy live? and how soon could he get after Donovan and settle him for ever?

It was an hour before Belle came downstairs and the
gravity of her face quenched the little hope that had been dwelling in Johnnie.

‘Wound’s not too bad in itself,’ Belle said, ‘but there’s a kind of fever rising in her. That’s got me plain scared.’