A Colt for the Kid (8 page)

‘I wanted to know,’ Johnnie said woodenly, ‘because that soddy belonged to my parents and I’m going to take the place for my own.’

‘Now look here, son,’ Bohun said quickly. ‘You don’t want to try any foolishness like that. The land that way belongs to Donovan. I guess you’ve heard of him, he’s the biggest rancher for a hundred miles around here and he doesn’t stand for any nonsense. Hennesey, you ought to tell this young feller to get the crazy notion out of his head before he gets himself killed.’

‘Before Donovan’s men kill him, you mean? Yes, I’ve told him about that. Now I’m asking you what title, if any, Donovan has to that land. Seems to me from my maps that it’s free range.’

‘Free to those who have enough guns to hold it,’ Belle snapped. ‘Hennesey, you know darned well that Donovan hangs on to what he’s stolen because he can pay for plenty of gunslingers. The judge knows it as well, only he’s scared to say so. If Johnnie, here, is going to buck against Donovan then I’m all for him and I wish others would follow his lead.’

‘Belle, talk sense,’ Hennesey pleaded. ‘I’m doing my best to keep Donovan in line but he’s big and has plenty of guns. If Johnnie squats on that land, it will end with him being killed.’

Johnnie glanced from one to the other. ‘I’m thanking you folks for helping me find out what I wanted to know and I’ll be getting back to Sam Stevens. He needs plenty of help yet, but just as soon as he can spare me, I’ll be settling on my land.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Johnnie, drop the idea,’ Carter said. ‘At least until someone pulls Donovan down to his proper size.’

‘Someone,’ Belle snapped. ‘Always someone. Somebody big enough. Well, I think Johnnie’s big enough from what Ed’s told us. All he needs is some help and by glory I’m going to give him plenty.’ She turned her green eyes on Johnnie. ‘Why aren’t you totin’ a gun, young feller?’

‘Haven’t got one, ma’am. Wouldn’t know how to use it if I had one.’

‘Cut out the ma’am and call me Belle, everyone else does. Now come down to the store with me and we’ll fix about a gun.’

Johnnie shook his head. ‘I haven’t got as much money as that, Belle.’

‘Shucks, you’ll have plenty some day. Pay me for it then.’

She hustled Johnnie out of the saloon and left the others talking. Bohun chatted for a while and picked up a few details of what had taken place at the Stevens’ ranch house. Details that were sparse because they had come to the marshal from Johnnie and Talbot, but nevertheless showing that the boy was something of a fighter. In the short period of listening, the judge thought he detected some reluctance on the part of the marshal to speak freely and guessing that it was he who had come into possession of the note intended for Donovan, left the place. He met with Belle and Johnnie leaving the store and saw that the youngster had a .45 Colt in a holster tucked under his arm. He gave a nod to the pair and passed into the store himself. Carlen, he knew, had often talked about going East into retirement if he could get a good price for his store and with that knowledge in his head it took him less than a quarter of an hour to effect a purchase. Moss, who owned the small livery, was a different proposition. He loved his business and was hardly tempted by a substantial offer. Finally, Bohun concluded a bargain that gave the ownership of the place to Donovan but left Moss the full running of the place. An hour later, gossip in the town was only on one subject. Bohun was buying up property and
paying good prices. By nightfall, with the exception of a few shacks whose owners would not sell, the Silver Dollar was an island in a town owned by Donovan. Bohun, who had at first concealed the fact that he was buying for Donovan had, early on in the business, given up the idea. He found it hopeless to sustain the deception in the faces of so many who knew that he was continually hard up for money. The one thing he did manage to keep to himself was Donovan’s reason for buying.

Carter, Belle and Hennesey discussed the matter until midnight but reached no other conclusion except that whatever motive Donovan had, it would be a bad one. Johnnie drove into the Stevens’ place about sundown and in the middle of unloading stores gave Sam and Lucy snippets of news. Johnnie gave his news in the order of its importance to himself. First, he knew where his parents soddy had been, second, he now had a Colt .45 which he would learn to use, and a very poor third was the item that Bohun was buying property for Donovan. All his listeners raised eyebrows at that piece of information but made no more of it than those in the Silver Dollar had done. It was something bad but how bad they could not figure out.

The last of the daylight over the Stevens’ outfit found Johnnie practising hard with his new weapon and soaking up advice from the Regan brothers.

Lucy watched with a troubled frown on her brow. Somehow, Johnnie’s intention to take over the place his parents had been evicted from worried her more than did the plight she and Sam were in. At the moment the only bright spot she could see on her horizon was the fact that Johnnie had said he would not quit them as long as Donovan remained a menace. It seemed to Lucy, somehow better that they should all go down together, if that was to be the way of things, rather than Johnnie should be on his own when the rancher struck.

Saturday was stage day for Carterville with the coach due about two in the afternoon. Hennesey wakened to the day with an uncertain mind. Literally nothing had happened in the town since Donovan had bought the place over. Nothing had happened on the Stevens’ place either. Was he, therefore, justified in sending a letter by the stage to appeal for State help? Or rather, would officialdom take any notice of such an appeal? After all, it would be based on one defeated raid on the Stevens’ plus a lot of complaints about what had happened in past years – the years when
land-grabbing
and burnings-out hardly meant news. Hennesey had practically decided to abandon the idea when he came out into the bright, morning sunshine. A rig was trundling down the street, a fact that surprised him a little, it being too early for the store to be open. Then he saw that the two men on the sprung seat were Donovan’s men and his surprise increased. The rig must have left the MD well before dawn to have reached town by now. He watched the vehicle draw up outside the judge’s house and the men climb down. One of them reached out a spade and began to dig a hole in Bohun’s front patch of grass and weeds. A few minutes later they dragged a yard square noticeboard from the rig and planted the post of it in the hole. With the hole filled in
again, the rig rolled towards the far end of the street. Hennesey crossed to the front of the judge’s house and his eyebrows lifted when he read the painted notice.

Underneath a paper was pinned announcing that election of a marshal would take place at noon in front of the judge’s house and that all were entitled to vote. Donovan’s signature was scrawled on the bottom of the paper.

Hennesey walked away. He had little doubt that the men in the rig who were now digging at the far end of the street were planting a similar notice. His fingers went automatically to his badge. As well toss it into the dust, he supposed, for whoever Donovan had elected as marshal it would not be himself.

As the morning passed, he found time dragged heavily and he was in the Silver Dollar almost before the swamper had finished brushing out. By that time he was fed up listening to the assurances of the dozens of men who promised to vote for him. Belle came to him the moment he entered the place. She met him without her usual smile.

‘Well, Ed, at least we know now why Donovan was so set on buying up the town. He wants his own marshal. You’ll stand against whoever he puts up, I suppose?’

‘Oh sure, I’ll stand all right. In fact I think most of the men in town will vote for me. I reckon it won’t be as easy as all that though. Donovan will have some piece of skullduggery up his sleeve, you can bet on that.’

‘Huh! I guess so, something with gunplay.’

‘Wish I had chance to use my own gun – on Donovan.
That would settle things,’ Hennesey said bitterly.

Carter came towards them, yawning and stretching as he usually did if he rose before ten in the morning. ‘What’s that about using a gun on Donovan? Sounds like a damn good idea.’

‘Yeah, but it’s only an idea,’ Hennesey said, then gave him the details of the notice posted in front of Bohun’s house.

Carter took the news phlegmatically enough. ‘Well, it’s no worse than we expected and there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do to stop it. If we had a grain of sense between us we’d all three take the stage this afternoon and clear the hell out of this. As far as I can see we’ll be cleared out sooner or later in any case.’

‘Well, we haven’t got that kind of sense,’ Belle snapped. ‘In any case we still own the saloon and I don’t reckon we’ll be selling that to Donovan.’

Carter shrugged. ‘I can think of several things that Donovan might do that would make us glad to sell to him.’

‘Donovan, Donovan. To hell with Donovan,’ Belle shouted. ‘Let’s all have a drink before we go crazy.’ She swung away towards the bar without waiting for an answer.

Carter and Hennesey were both about to follow her when the marshal’s keen hearing brought to him the sound of hoofs. A great many hoofs. He went quickly to the batwings and took a sideways glance down the street. A pack of riders, between thirty and forty in number, were entering the street. He called the news to Carter then passed outside. Riders in such numbers could only come from the MD spread and he guessed they brought trouble of some sort. He stayed on the veranda until the pack of men and horses drew up. They seemed orderly enough as they climbed from their saddles and beat clouds of trail dust from their clothes before stamping into the saloon. Most of them called out a greeting of some kind as they passed him to line up in front of the bar. Their conduct there was
peaceful enough too, if a trifle noisy, and after a few minutes of waiting, Hennesey moved off. He did not want to promote trouble by taking too much interest in the riders. He went as far as the livery and was talking to Moss when the sound of a voice raised in loud protest came to him. He turned just in time to see a man jostled from the boardwalk in front of the store and fall into the dust of the street.

‘I guess I’d better see what’s happening,’ he said to Moss and walked slowly towards the group of men.

By the time he reached them the man in the street had picked himself up and was shouting loudly at three of Donovan’s riders who now lounged indolently in front of the store.

One of them called back: ‘You shouldn’t crowd the boardwalk, feller. It’s ’most bound to get you shoved out of the way.’

‘You know darned well I wasn’t doin’ no crowdin’,’ the man in the street shouted back.

Hennesey stepped in front of the three on the boardwalk. ‘What’s it all about, fellers?’

The tallest of the three gave him an insolent look. ‘The guy tried to push his way through us, so we pushed back. That’s all.’

Hennesey looked at the three. ‘Town’s coming to something when a man who’s near to sixty tries to push through three hard-bitten guys like you lot. Don’t try any more of those tricks or you’ll find yourself in the lockup.’

‘That so? Well, I guess I’d be out again at twelve o’clock an’ that ain’t so darn far off.’

Hennesey turned away. ‘Make sure you live to see it,’ he flung over his shoulder.

He went to the man in the street. ‘Better get along to your shack, Tom. I reckon there’ll be more of this kind of business before long.’

‘I’ll be at that darned election,’ Tom said angrily. ‘Us needs a marshal to keep those MD coyotes in check.’

Hennesey had no sooner moved away than a gun began to crack and a man came hurtling down the middle of the street. Little spurts of dust close to his heels showed where the slugs were going. As the marshal came to the centre of the street the shooting ceased. He moved with long strides to the front of the saloon and spoke angrily to a puncher who was just holstering his gun.

‘What in tarnation do you think you’re up to?’

‘Just a bit of fun, Marshal.’

‘Well, lay off that kind of fun or you’ll find yourself in real trouble.’

Hennesey’s eyes went from the fun maker to the veranda of the saloon. Four of Donovan’s men were in front of the batwings and one of the townsmen was coming up the steps. The four parted to give way for the man’s entrance to the saloon then suddenly a foot was thrust forward and the man went sprawling. Hennesey took the three steps in a bound, grabbed at the shoulder of the puncher who had done the tripping up and drove a heavy punch to his jaw. As the man went reeling backwards the others grabbed for their guns, but the marshal’s was out first. The three grinned at him and sauntered away. The one who had been punched glowered as if inclined to take the quarrel further then went after his companions. Hennesey holstered his gun and turned to the man who had been tripped.

‘I guess you’ll have to put up with what’s just happened, Jake. Donovan’s boys seem set on causing trouble.’

Jake grumbled a little and passed into the saloon. Hennesey, after a glance up and down the street, followed him. The saloon seemed unnaturally quiet. Ten, or a dozen, men were at the bar but there was little conversation going on and all seemed to be waiting on something, or someone.
Hennesey had a few words with Carter and Belle in which he told them what had happened in the street.

Carter looked uneasy. ‘It sounds as if Donovan’s men are set on scaring people off the street before election time.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Half an hour to go. Ed, I’ve a notion that us three will be riding that stage when it pulls out this afternoon.’

‘The heck we will,’ Belle snapped. ‘At least, not unless someone hog-ties us and throws us into the coach.’

Hennesey gave a half grin and was about to make a reply when the steady banging of a sixgun sounded. He hurried to the batwings with Carter and Belle close on his heels. Thirty or so yards down the street Johnnie Callum was riding towards the saloon. He sat on the aged horse that he had taken from Manders in a manner that reminded Hennesey of a sack of wheat thrown carelessly across the saddle. Yet there was something in his way of riding that showed he was completely master of the horse. As the marshal watched, two slugs kicked dust from near to the hoofs of the animal but neither horse nor rider gave any sign of being affected by the shots. Hennesey’s eyes went to the corner of the store from where the shots had been fired, and at the same time his hand went to the butt of his gun. Then he stopped the movement. The puncher who had been doing the firing had emptied his gun and was now making an attempt to reload. Johnnie’s slowly moving horse had turned slightly and was going directly towards the gunman. Hennesey left the veranda at the same moment that Johnnie vaulted in an ungainly manner from the saddle. The new Colt was holstered at his waist but he made no attempt to draw the weapon although he must have seen that the Donovan man had nearly completed his loading. Hennesey drew in a deep breath and wondered if he should try to control the situation with his own gun, but even as the thought came to him he
knew that the distance was too great for accurate shooting, if shooting was called for. Then something seemed to happen to Johnnie. His shambling, graceless striding became a quick whirl of arms and legs and the next moment the Donovan man was sprawling in the dust, his sixgun wrenched from him. He made a move to rise from the ground but was immediately flattened again by a swinging punch that had sledge hammer force in it. This time the man stayed down, or would have done if Johnnie’s large hand had not gripped him by the bandanna and hauled him to his feet. The marshal came up at a run and shouldered his way between men who had got to the scene ahead of him. He was in time to see Johnnie shake the puncher like a child shakes a rag doll then with his free hand knock him senseless to the ground. In a moment the crowd of men, their loyalties always with the winner of a fist fight, surged forward to surround Johnnie, and Hennesey found himself shoved to one side by men demanding to buy Johnnie a drink. He got a quick glance at the boyish face. It was neither angry, excited or triumphant. Just solemn and a little uncertain. He had a feeling that Johnnie had come to town to see him, Hennesey, and began to push towards him again and as he did so a man shouted:

‘Hey, fellers, here’s the boss.’

The shouted words seemed to quell all excitement in the men, and Hennesey turned to see that Donovan, astride a big sorrel, was within a few feet of him. Donovan’s glance went straight to himself.

‘What’s it all about,
Marshal
?’

The accent on the title was not lost on Hennesey but he answered quietly. ‘One of your men trying to scare Johnnie Callum with gun shots.’ He gestured over his shoulder. ‘You can see how he got on.’

Donovan’s eyes went to the still unconscious man then to
Johnnie and back to Hennesey.

‘What did he lay him out with? The butt of a gun?’

‘No, just with his fists.’

Donovan’s eyebrows lifted. ‘A useful fist. More useful at keeping order in my town than you are, Hennesey.’

Hennesey’s face reddened. ‘Maybe you didn’t want the place keeping orderly.’

The beginnings of a grin curled Donovan’s hard mouth. ‘If that had been the case I wouldn’t have called for the election of a marshal at all.’ He pulled out a big watch. ‘I make it a few minutes to noon. I take it you’ll be at the meeting, Hennesey.’

Hennesey nodded. ‘There isn’t anything that would keep me away.’

Again Donovan gave his half grin. He turned a little in his saddle and boomed at the group of men.

‘You have your instructions, boys. See that you carry them out. I want no disorder.’

Hennesey watched him ride towards the judge’s house and his men troop after him. Those in the saloon were coming out too, he noticed. He glanced at Johnnie and saw the change that had come over his face. There was no doubt about the anger in it now. He said:

‘What brought you to town, Johnnie?’ and saw him start as if thought had been jerked from far away.

‘Sam sent me to tell you that the fellers doing guard have gone back home. They got kind of restless sitting around and waiting. Sam says not to worry about it. He just thought you ought to know. What’s this about a meeting?’

Hennesey explained what was afoot. ‘Tell Sam and Lucy about it when you get back, will you?’

‘Oh, sure, I’ll tell them all right. Say, I thought a marshal’s job was sort of permanent?’

Hennesey grinned. ‘Walk with me to the meeting and
you’ll see how permanent it is.’

‘But all these people in town. The fellers that know you. They’ll vote for you, won’t they?’

‘They might, if someone hasn’t got a gun stuck in their ribs.’

‘I get it,’ Johnny said slowly. ‘I get it. Donovan’s going to try and crowd you out. Like the way he’s done to homesteaders.’

Judge Bohun was already on his front porch when Hennesey and Johnnie reached the outskirts of the crowd. He had begun to speak, but stopped when he saw Hennesey, with Johnnie treading behind him, begin to push a way to the front. As the marshal got to the front rank he noted sourly that it consisted mainly of Donovan’s men, most of them with their backs to the judge, their eyes on the town men.