Showdown With Fear (9 page)

Pete had almost given up hope. He was almost too weak to fire, and Sara beside him was so limp and still that it was pitiful to look at her. Father and son hugged and embraced. It was only when they heard that Mexican voice again that they ducked and listened.

‘Hank? You hear me over there? Answer me? You got them, huh?’ Dan sat up and saw Barero walking towards them, handgun drawn, expecting a reply. But when no reply came, he grew worried and bolted back for cover. Dan’s shot missed him.

They saw Barero gallop off and it was time to move Sara back to where Ned was waiting. They put her over Dan’s horse and he took her to Pearce, then returned for Pete. Dan was feeling such joy inside that he wanted to whoop out to the wind.

‘God’s lookin’ kindly on you, Dan.’ Pearce said, when they were settled down, planning the next move.

‘Yeah... tell me I’m not dreaming, son. That is you?’

‘It’s me, pa.... I got Sara out, and I’m here. What’s gonna happen now?’

‘Well, this gentleman here,’ he nodded at the gagged Chaps, ‘he is takin’ a message to Mr. McVie from me.’ He moved across and started to untie Chaps, who scowled at him.

‘You go for a mid-day walk and tell that John McVie that I’m expecting him at Red Ridge tomorrow for some settling of accounts, right?’

‘Okay... but you gonna give me some water, feller?’

Pearce gave him what was left in his own canteen and the disconsolate Chaps started his long walk.

Dan knew they had a big problem. With Sara ill and three men to get back to Red Ridge, and only two horses, how could they move fast? He knew that McVie would come, but he realised that he would come with all the roughnecks he could gather. Pearce was looking at Sara and tutting. ‘I don’t give her much hope, Mullen.’ He dripped some water on her lips and spoke to her. She could only answer with incoherent, low sounds. Her breathing was heavy and she was sweating so that her clothes were soaked.

‘You sure found yourself a pretty girl, son.’ Dan stroked his chin.

‘What we gonna do, pa?’ Pete was drained, too. He didn’t look capable of walking another step. They sat down and tried to keep their heads covered with anything available.

‘We need a travois... three strong pieces of wood and a length of cloth!’ Dan said.

They looked around. You couldn’t make a travois out of stone.

‘Okay, then what we do is get somewhere to collect wood and make one. Sara’s place! It’s about four miles from here. A slight detour but we need to move now. That man’s sure to reach McVie - and Barero has done so already! So come on.’ Dan’s idea was to strap Sara to the back of Pearce, and Pete could ride with him. Pearce was very lightly built. It would help them move quicker, as Sara was a small girl. They were on the move in no time, travelling light, and reached the river by mid-afternoon, then up a bank and across a small valley, there was the Corey’s place - what was left of it.

They dismounted and immediately Dan set to work making a travois while Pearce was sent back to the near-top of the valley to look for dust on the horizon. There was a well, and so some water for Sara. Ned looked around for any food, and struck lucky. There was a good store of roots and seeds, and even some porridge - cold and hard but good food. Sara was put in her own bed for a while, and Pete found some of Mrs. Corey’s ‘health powder’ as she always called it, a cure-all in the family medicine chest. There was some grim-looking brown liquid as well, labelled, ‘Elixir for Constitutional Break-down’. Pete reasoned that it could do no harm, and gave her some.

It was the drop in temperature that seemed to help her most, and she started to say a few words, and even managed a smile for Pete.

‘Hey.... Pete..... this is my home... yes?’

‘Yes my love... it’s still here. They didn’t burn it down.’

‘Oh, I want to stay here... am I gonna die? If I am, I want to die here.’

‘No you ain’t. You’re coming to Red Ridge. You are ridin’ in style, you’ll see!’

Dan fixed the travois to the saddle of Pearce’s horse and tested it for strength. It seemed fine. He had used some tool-handles and some strong rope from the outhouse.

‘How far to Red Ridge, Pa?’ Pete asked, as they lifted Sara outside.

‘I guess... two hours ride. She’ll be okay on this thing. But we can’t go fast. Let’s just pray, huh?’

Pearce joined them and they set off again. Dan took a long look at the Corey’s place as they pulled out. It was just four buildings and some rough fences, but they had made it a good place to raise a family and to survive. The folk in town had laughed, but there had been some envy there. Al Corey was a man of the old breed. He could talk to the Yaqui in their own tongue, he could break horses, sell anything to anybody, and ride all day. There was his monument - a heap of lumber in a hot space, but it was his home. His spirit would be there, Dan thought.

They moved on steadily, eager to rush but aware that with the travois you could not really move freely. If the jolts were too bad, you could do more harm than good, but at least Sara was more comfortable than she had been strapped to someone’s back.

Ned Pearce wanted to talk. There was something on his mind. He was feeling useless, and said so.

‘Dan Mullen, you tell me if I’m pulling my weight here or what? I mean... I can’t shoot this gun right. I ain’t really a horseman. I should be counting out cigars and flour.’

‘Hey, that’s no kind of talk for a man who’s become my partner... that’s what you are now, Ned.’

‘Really? We’re partners? Well that’s fine, Dan. I mean... Mullen. No, I mean Dan. I mean to say, if we can’t be friends here then where can we be? And if she’s gonna marry me, that don’t make me your enemy, do it?’

Dan had never stopped thinking about Helen, but this last remark forced him to speak honestly and bring him out of the desperate imaginings he had been having about Helen and himself. ‘No... I have to give in to the better man, I guess.’ He meant that, though he said it with a sarcastic tone, half playful. He thought of what she might be doing at that moment. Probably reading to her cantankerous father, he reckoned.

His thoughts were interrupted by some groans from Sara.

‘She’s bein’ awful sick...Pa... stop!’

Pete got down and held her. She was retching and shivering. ‘I don’t think she’s gonna make it!’ He looked up at the two men.

‘Okay... here’s what we do. We have got to move quicker... get her to a doctor in town. So we put the travois between the two horses - right?’

They strapped the travois tight to the two saddles, along the back on one, and into Pete’s hands on the other. He grasped it with all his strength. All this lost a bit of time, but it enabled them to move a little faster.

They rode on towards town, looking behind every few minutes and listening hard for any sounds. Ned reminded them that, if there were any men behind, they would sound like an army.

‘Yeah, could be just that, Ned Pearce!’ Dan said, with a grin that was not real humour, more a dark feeling of being hunted.

*

Filippo Barero reached the canyon and gave McVie the bad news. He was not a popular man. McVie felt like punching the Mexican, but held his anger tightly in. He knew that the man who had taken the kids had to be Dan Mullen.

‘Was he alone, Filippo, this man with the crack shot?’

‘I don’t know. I only know that there were two shots, and I assume two dead men. Then he shot at me. Again, only one shot!’

‘Hmm. It was him. Seems he’s there every time I turn around. There to spoil things, Sammy!’

Sam was sure glad that Barero had been made to look a fool. There was no friendship between them - never had been. But both McVies knew how useful the little Mexican was in a gunfight.

‘You just had two kids to bring in, Filippo... two young innocents... and you lused up!’

‘Non, boss... it was Stobart’s men...useless. They were beaten by one man!’

Stobart heard this and didn’t like it. He was looking for a chance to show off his strength, and his men were restless anyway. A chance to let off steam seemed a good idea, and this chubby little Mex was just the sort of target he needed.

‘See here, grease ball, you callin’ my boys yeller?’

‘
Si
, I thin’ they were useless. True,
amigo
.’

‘True, my ass. Now, I hear tell you call yourself a gunslinger, Mex!’

Barero narrowed his eyes, tipped back his sombrero and looked Stobart straight in the eye. ‘You hear right, then.’

‘Well, now... I got me a feller handy with a Colt here... Jimbo, come here boy!’

A young man with bushy red hair ambled out of the crowd of by now excited onlookers, all bored and keen to see something - anything - happen in that heat. Stobart took hold of Jimbo’s arm and tugged him into a place where he was face-to-face with Barero. ‘I saw you kill a man in that there cow town back-a-ways... kill me another, Jimbo... you are a Texan, after all!’

John McVie tried to step in at this point, to point out that Filippo Barero was an experienced killer, whose victims numbered over twenty men. Barero himself had no desire to be involved in such foolery. But Stobart was pushing the man and Barero would have to keep his reputation intact in front of so many eyes, all wanting to see some action.

‘Want to put some dollars behind your man, McVie?’ Stobart said, sitting down and lighting up a cheroot.

‘No. I think this is madness.’

But Sam McVie was of a different nature. He saw some fine gains in this. He shrugged, walked over to Stobart and said, ‘I’ll bet you two cases of carbines that your man goes down.’

‘Right!’ They shook on it.

Barero could have cursed Sammy, and the expression on his face was one of disgust. This was all made worse by the cocky attitude of young Jimbo, who was undoing his strings, leaving his six-guns loose and ready to be grabbed. He smiled and chewed a wet cigar.

‘I think the Mex is scared!’ Stobart said.

‘What are you playing at, Stobart? I thought we was a professional outfit here... and now you’re playin’ around with the best resources we got... our own men for Christ’s sake!’

‘Never thought John McVie would talk like an old feller!’ Stobart taunted.

Something snapped inside McVie. He had a bellyful of this heavy, oversized braggart, with a space where his brains should have been. He wanted to hit him where it hurt, and if he was looking for a big loss, then this was it.

‘Er, how confident are you on your boy, Stobart?’

‘He’s a winner.’

John had a plan growing bigger in his mind all the time. He whispered something to Sammy, who then went up to the Nest.

‘Where’s he goin’?’ Stobart asked, suspiciously.

‘Never mind... what I am offerin’ is this. You want to stake all your army weapons on your man?’

‘What? I just bought ‘em from you!’

‘So... want to get your money back
and
take the guns away? Then that’s the wager.’

Stobart was regretting his tendency to drink and get bored. But he couldn’t back down now.

‘You’re on, John my friend.’

Everybody standing around ran for cover. The gunfight was on. Anything could happen here, with all the rocks around. A stray bullet could take you out any time. Everyone but the two gunfighters was in shadow. Jimbo was tall and spare. He held his hands cool and still, splayed out above his holsters. Barero was motionless, watching his opponent’s eyes like a cat. But it was his way to unsettle the opposition, so he spoke to him. ‘Now Jimbo... they dig your grave here today... a bad place for a young man to die. You can call it off now... if you weesh.’

It all happened so quickly. Jimbo yelled out something about ‘another dead Mex’ but he had barely said the words when he was lying on his back with his arms outstretched, and with a trickle of blood running from his belly onto the hot earth. He didn’t move. There was no life in him. Barero put his gun away and walked to get a drink of water. Slowly, everyone came out of the shade.

Nick Stobart only had one move left open to him, and John McVie knew that. It was John who spoke first.

‘Now, Stobart, that was what was called a tactical error, see? Main result being that there ain’t no partnership anymore.’ He leapt on a rock and scrambled up to about twenty feet, to talk to all Stobart’s men.

‘Now, seems your boss threw everything away. The guns is mine and the money’s mine. Oh dear, tut tut... what a example to set for your boys, King!’

Stobart was about to move for his gun but John glanced up to the Nest. ‘Wouldn’t do that, King... my brother’s got a Gatling aimed at your thick head right now. See, you fellers need a boss with something upstairs, not an empty canyon, which seems to be Stobart’s condition here. Now, I’m proposing that you work for me and we send this loser on his way back to Texas or somewheres.’

There was a silence, then a hubbub, as men talked and argued. McVie decided to throw in another card that might win the game. ‘Er... anybody who wants to argue could receive a call from Mr. Gatling.’

A couple of voices called out, ‘We’re with you, McVie.’

So Nick ‘King’ Stobart was put on his horse, with water but no guns, and sent towards the Pecos. He swore and cursed till he was out of sight. There was no time to encourage any more boredom, though, as a lookout rushed in with some news barely five minutes after Stobart’s departure.