High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1 (14 page)

Humphries
nodded,“Yes I did.”

“Would
you care to elaborate Will?” Richards urged.

“It
was late and I remembered I'd forgotten to lock the back door of the
store. So I came out and checked it. Sure enough it was still
unlocked,” he paused for a moment and continued, “Then I
was just about home when I saw Judge Billings' door open. I was about
to call out to him when I saw the young Coltrain feller come out.”

“Did
he see you?” Richards asked.

“No,
I don't think so. I guess if he did, I would have received a visit
from them by now. Under the circumstances and all.”

“Why
didn't you tell Gunderson, or even me after you'd heard what
happened?” the Sheriff asked tersely.

“I'm
scared Sheriff,” Humphries answered honestly.

“Are
you prepared to testify in court to what you saw?” Richards
asked.

“Do
I have to?” Humphries asked stupidly.

“Of
course you damn well have to, he killed two people,” snapped
the Sheriff, “did you think you could just mind your own
business and it would all go away. Damn Will, I thought you had more
respect for the law than that.”

The
storekeeper hung his head in shame, “I'm sorry Hank, I can't.”

“Yes
you can, and you will,” Richards gave the storekeeper no
choice. “I'll arrest him and he'll go to trial. But I'll keep
the witness' name secret until then. That way no one will know it was
you until the time comes.”

Will
Humphries nodded, “Okay, it would seem I don't have a choice.”

“No,”
Richards confirmed, “you don't.”

“I
don't like it Laramie,” Sally's voice was full of concern,
“he's just one man.”

“What
about his deputy?” Laramie pointed out, “He'll back Hank,
won't he?'

“Yes,
but I hate to say it,” she stopped and thought about whether to
continue or not, “he can look after a jail house, but as far as
outlaws and such go, he just won't cut it. I've heard Pa say a number
of times that he was concerned about how Lyle would behave when the
chips are down.”

“Your
Pa will be fine,” Laramie tried to give her a boost, “I've
seen him face down wild Indians with just a knife, and come out on
top.”

Sally
smiled at him, “I think you stretched the truth a little there
for my benefit.”

“Well,”
he said smiling, “maybe a little. But don't worry, I've seen
your dad in some tight places before today and he's made out
alright.”

“But
he was a younger man then,” Sally pointed out.

Laramie
smiled again, “Weren't we all.”

Suddenly
the sound of gunshots shattered the peaceful afternoon and Laramie
was filled with dread. Something told him the Coltrains were involved
and things were about to get much, much worse.

He'd
had enough and decided that it was time to fight back. Laramie rushed
to the stairs with his Remington in hand.

“Where
are you going?” cried Sally.

Laramie
stopped, “It's time to settle it once and for all.”

He
took the steps two at a time and when he hit the floor at the bottom,
Laramie hurried to the cupboard where his other Remington hung in its
holster. He buckled it around his waist and checked both pistols
over.

The
door to the jail burst open and deputy Lyle Gunderson rushed through
the door to come face to face with one of Laramie's cocked six-guns.

“Don't
shoot!” he cried out, his hands shot straight up in surrender.

Laramie
let down the hammer on the gun and put it back in its holster. The
look of dread told Laramie that something bad had happened.

“What
is it Lyle?” asked Laramie calmly.

“It's
the Sheriff,” he blurted out, “he was in the Gold Nugget.
He's been shot.”

“Oh
good Lord, Pa,” Sally gasped, as she stepped from the stairs
into the room.

“Who
did it?” asked Laramie, as he looked from Sally to Gunderson,
his anger started to bubble up.

“It
was the Coltrains, they did it.”

“Is
he still alive?”

“I
think so. They were takin' him to the doc's.”

“Are
you goin' to arrest 'em?” Laramie asked the scared Deputy.

“I...I...I
can't,” Gunderson stuttered, “I'm not good enough.”

Laramie
looked at him in disgust, “You have that damn badge for a
reason. If you can't do the job, take it off.”

Gunderson
looked solemnly down at the badge, reached for it, then unhitched the
pin and took it off. He crossed to the Sheriff's desk and placed the
star on top of it.

The
look he gave Laramie showed the pain in his eyes and Laramie almost
felt sorry for him, but like he'd said, if a man can't live up to the
job, he shouldn't be wearing the badge.

Gunderson
turned away and walked out the door.

Laramie
directed his attention to Sally, “Go and find Lonesome, I think
he's at the hotel, resting, I'm not sure. When you find him, tell him
what is goin' on. If anythin' happens to me, he'll take care of you.”

“What
are you going to do?” she asked, fear in her voice.

“I'm
goin' to kill the Coltrains,” he said savagely.

*

When
Hank Richards had left Will Humphries' store, he'd gone straight to
the Gold Nugget Saloon. When he pushed through the bat-wing doors he
stopped and looked around to see if the Coltrains were there. He'd
found them sitting at a table drinking whiskey, in a corner off
behind the Blackjack table.

Richards
had walked up to the bar and signalled to Mose who was still working.
The barkeep walked along the bar and stopped in front of the Sheriff.

“Give
me a whiskey, Mose,” he'd said as he reached into his pocket
for some money and tossed it onto the counter top.

The
barkeep grabbed a half empty bottle from the shelf behind him and
filled a shot glass for Richards.

“Did
you find out what you wanted to know?” the barkeep inquired.

“Yeah,
I did,” Hank tossed the drink back and turned the glass upside
down on the bar, “Do you still have that sawed off Greener
tucked away under the bar?”

“Uh
huh.”

“Go
get it for me will you. And make sure it's loaded.”

Mose
walked back along the bar to get the shotgun.

Richards
turned and looked about the bar room. There weren't a lot of
customers but he wanted to avoid shooting, just in case a patron took
a stray bullet, hence the shotgun. He hoped it would make the
Coltrains think twice about doing anything rash. If he could take
Shell Coltrain in peaceably, then maybe the threat of a hang rope
might make him a little more talkative.

He
picked out a path he would take, a short, direct route to their table
to cut down their reaction time.

“Sheriff?”
Mose's voice was tentative.

Richards
swung around and took the gun Mose held out to him, “If this
goes bad, keep your head down.”

The
Mountain Pass Sheriff strode quickly between the tables toward the
Coltrains. Some men scattered out of his way while others stood
steady to watch what was about to happen.

Richards
stopped in front of the table and cradled the shotgun in the crook of
his arm.

Jeb
Coltrain sat still trying to read the Sheriff's face, “What can
we do for you Sheriff? Are you here to tell us we can have Davis any
time?”

“No,
I came to tell you that we are goin' to hold a trial here in town,”
the Sheriff smiled.

“You're
what?” asked Zeb Coltrain in disbelief.

“You
might find that a bit hard without a Judge,” Jeb pointed out.

“No,
I sent for another one,” Hank explained, “Should be here
in a couple of days.”

“The
hell you say,” a cold smile spread across Jeb Coltrain's face.

“I
think you are forgetting that we have a wire informing you to hand
Davis over to us,” reminded the Judge.

“I'm
not talkin' about Davis,” he informed them, “I'm talkin'
about the young feller here, Shell.”

Jeb
Coltrain's voice grew cold and deadly, “Be careful with what
you say next Richards. False accusations are liable to get a man
killed.”

“Well
now, let's see. I have a witness,” he told them, “who saw
the kid there comin' out of the Judge's house last night.”

“Lies,”
said Zeb Coltrain vehemently, “It's all lies. Shell has never
been near that house.”

“My
brother is right Richards,” Jeb agreed, “he was with us
all night.”

“I
suppose I have your word on that?” he asked skeptically.

“You
do,” the Judge said firmly.

“I
think that I would believe the word of my witness over you three any
day of the week,” Richards said, brushing aside their alibi for
Shell, “so this is what is goin' to happen. I'm goin' to arrest
him on suspicion of murder. We are goin' to have a trial and let the
jury decide if he did or did not murder Judge Billings and his wife.
If I were a bettin' man, I think he'll stretch rope.”

Shell
shot a glance at his father, “Pa?”

“It's
okay Shell, he's got nothing on you,” Zeb said to calm his son.

“Get
up boy,” the Sheriff ordered, “You're comin' with me.”

“No,
he's not,” the Judge said defiantly as he rose to his feet.

Richards
moved the shotgun and pointed it at the Judge, “Don't do
anythin' stupid Judge. This here scatter gun will make a fine mess of
them clothes you're wearin'.”

Suddenly
Hank Richards realised he'd made a mistake. He'd taken his eyes off
Jeb Coltrain. He swung the scatter gun back to cover the Rock Springs
Sheriff but was too late.

The
table top exploded as the .45 calibre slug punched through it in a
shower of wooden splinters and hit Richards in the chest. It knocked
him back and in a reflex action, Richards' finger squeezed the
triggers of the shotgun and it discharged its lethal load into the
ceiling.

Jeb
Coltrain lurched to his feet and tipped the table over as he went. He
brought his cocked Colt up for another shot but it wasn't required.
Hank Richards was down on the floor and remained unmoving.

The
Rock Springs Sheriff moved his point of aim to cover the room but
there was no threat from any of the men who just stood and stared at
the still form of their peace officer.

Mose
came out from behind the bar and hurried across to the fallen
Richards. He knelt beside him to check his condition, all the time
covered by the gun of Jeb Coltrain.

The
bat-wing doors were thrust inwards and the doctor hurried into the
bar room.

“You
were quick doc,” a cow hand observed.

“I
just happened to be passing by when I heard the shooting,”
explained the medico.

The
three Coltrains watched in silence as the doctor checked out Hank
Richards, then he picked out four cow hands who stood watching the
scene, “Get him over to my office, before he dies.”

The
doctor gave the Coltrains a disdainful look and followed the others
out the doors.

It was
out on the board walk that Deputy Gunderson ran into them and was
filled in on the details. Instead of going into the saloon, he
hurried forthwith to the jail.

When
Laramie stepped off the board walk into the dusty main street of
Mountain Pass, he did so with purpose. Long strides kicked up small
puffs as he walked past the town's citizens who milled in the roadway
and talked, in shock, about what had just happened to their Sheriff.

Then a
man said loudly, “Look, it's Laramie Davis. He's out of jail.”

“Oh
lord,” said a woman worriedly, “he's wearing his guns.”

Another
man's voice spoke up, this one he recognised as the hostler, “Now
them Coltrains are in for it.”

People
started to clear the street. They knew instinctively what came next.
Men were about to die and they all secretly hoped it would be those
murderers, the Coltrains.

Laramie
was twenty yards short of the Gold Nugget when the doors swung open
and the three Coltrains walked out onto the board walk. The
gunfighter halted and stood rock steady, his eyes turned cold. The
three men paused for a moment, spotted their quarry, then stepped
down into the street. They fanned out and faced Laramie.

“Well,
well,” sneered Jeb Coltrain, “I guess you saved us the
trouble of comin' to get you.”

Laramie
said nothing.

“I
see you have your guns too,” the Rock Springs Sheriff
continued, “Now what man in his right mind would let a wanted
murderer like you have his guns back?”

Still
Laramie said nothing.

“I
guess brother Jeb, that he will just have to be shot, trying to
escape. I would have preferred hanging but, this will do.”

“Sorry
about your friend Richards,” Jeb's apology dripped with
sarcasm, “but he had some fool idea that Shell here killed the
town Judge. It took a little convincin' but he saw the error of his
ways in the end.”

Jeb
Coltrain smiled wickedly. Laramie studied the situation. The Sheriff
was his main threat so he had to be taken out first. The kid needed
to be next. He couldn't see the overweight Judge being too much of a
problem.

Laramie
took a deep breath.

“Coltrain,”
he said coolly, “You talk too much, have at it.”

The
smiling light in Jeb Coltrain's eyes extinguished and turned to a
dark, sinister glint. All along main, the street was empty. Eyes
peered out through small gaps in curtains, a macabre fascination with
not wanting to miss the deadly action that was about to take place.

There
was a moment when time stood still, a pregnant pause and then the
four men went to work.

Jeb
Coltrain's hand flashed down to his gun butt and his fingers wrapped
around its walnut grips. In one fluid motion, his Colt was out and
levelled at Laramie, but his finger never depressed the trigger.

Laramie's
draw was still the fast, flowing motion that had made him legend
throughout his time with the gun. Both Remingtons were out and
dealing death in the blink of an eye.

Jeb
Coltrain went down with a bullet to his throat. He dropped his
unfired Colt and grabbed at the ghastly wound, blood flowed freely
over his hands.

Shell
Coltrain died on his feet when a slug burrowed into his chest,
through his heart and ripped a gaping hole in his back.

That
left the Judge. Surprisingly for a man of his stature, Zeb Coltrain
was a lot quicker than he'd expected and had his Webley out and
snapped a shot off in his direction before he knew it.

The
slug tore into Laramie and he went down, the air knocked from his
lungs and the Remingtons spilled from his grasp. Zebulon Coltrain
cried aloud with glee, the lust for revenge blocked out the carnage
that surrounded him. He walked slowly forward, gun pointed at
Laramie, as he savoured the moment.

Laramie
tried to move but his body was numb from the hammer blow of the
Judge's bullet. If he could just reach one of his guns, but no matter
how he tried, was unable to move.

The
Judge stood over him, his eyes filled with tears of joy. He would
finally get what he wanted. To be able to kill the man who'd murdered
his son.

“How
does it feel, killer?” the Judge asked happily, “how does
it feel to know you're about to die?”

Laramie
could do nothing. He was helpless.

Thunder
rolled once again down Main street and a third eye appeared in the
centre of Judge Zebulon Coltrain's forehead. The heavy calibre ball
from Lonesome's Hawken sprayed blood and brain tissue as it caused
the back of the Judge's head to disintegrate upon its exit.

The
Judge fell to the ground, the smile he wore became his death mask.

Lonesome's
shadow fell across the wounded Laramie, “Damn it son, I guess
you're slowin' down in your old age.”

Laramie
tried to smile but his wound hurt too much, so closed his eyes in
grateful relief and passed out.

*

For
two days, Laramie was laid up in a bed in the Doctor's residence.
Across from him was a slowly recovering Hank Richards. His daughter
Sally sat at his bedside and Lonesome sat in a chair by an open
window. Both men were on complete bed rest for two weeks and at this
point Laramie was ready to ride.

“Look
at you two,” the old Mountain Man smiled, “not as young
as you thought you were, are you? One of you gets hisself shot by
bein' careless and the other needs an old man of my age to pull his
chestnuts out of the fire.”

“Don't
you ever stop old man?” Hank Richards mumbled.

“Sally,”
said Laramie, drawing her attention, “go get me my gun will
you, so's I can shoot this damned old varmint and get myself some
peace. Hell I might even shoot myself just to make sure.”

“There
we are,” the old man crowed, “I save your life and not
even a thank you. No sirree, you'd think that he'd be grateful, me
bein' there for him and all.”

“Go
away will you, head back to your cabin or somethin'. Just give us
some peace,” pleaded Laramie.

Sally
and Lonesome burst out laughing.

There
was a knock on the door and the doctor entered, “There's a
young man out here wants to see you gentlemen.”

“Send
him in Doc,” Richards said.

The
doctor left the room and a couple of minutes later a tall man,
wearing a United States Marshal's badge entered.

“Howdy
Walt,” greeted Richards.

The
man saw Sally sitting by her father and took off his hat, “Hank,
Miss Sally.”

“Hello
Walt,” she greeted.

“Walt,
this is Laramie Davis and Lonesome Lane,” Richards introduced
them to the Marshal, “this is Walt Jones. He usually stomps
around this neck of the woods.”

They
said their hellos and Hank asked, “What can I do for you,
Walt?”

“Head
office wanted me to check out what was goin' on over here after the
wires they received. So here I am,” he explained.

“Well
sonny,” Lonesome offered, “you're a bit late. Them
fellers are long gone. ”

The
old mountain man elaborated on the events of the previous few days.
He included what had happened after the gunfight with the Coltrains,
and concluded with the burial of the three dead men.

“Sorry
to waste your time,” apologised Laramie.

Walt
smiled and looked at Sally, “I wouldn't say that it's a wasted
trip.”

Sally
blushed, and asked, “Would you care to come for some afternoon
tea Walt?”

“Sure
Miss Sally, that would be great.”

Sally
rose to her feet, and took the Marshal's arm, “If you gentlemen
will excuse us, we'll be going.”

“I'll
talk to you later Walt,” said Hank, “I'll fill you in
then.”

The
two of them left and Laramie said to Hank, “I bet he jumped at
the chance to come back over here.”

Richards
shook his head, “He's a bit slow that boy, I been waitin' for
months for him to ask to marry that girl and it's like waitin' for
spring thaw.”

“Have
you give any more thought to what I asked you?” Richards
enquired.

“I
have,” Laramie answered, “and I'm sorry Hank, I can't do
it.”

“Do
what?” asked Lonesome.

“I
asked him to come on as my Deputy,” Richards explained.

“And
I said no,” Laramie reiterated.

“What
are you goin' to do then?” Richards asked.

He
winked at the Mountain Pass Sheriff, “I know of an abandoned
cabin in the mountains I might just use for a while to rest up.”

Richards
nodded, “You know what, I think I might join you.”

“What
about the town? You don't have a deputy no more,” reminded
Laramie.

“Walt
can take over for a while, I'll clear it with the Marshal's down in
Helena. I could do with some clear mountain air.”

Laramie
watched as Lonesome got to his feet and walked towards the door,
“Where you goin' old timer?”

Lonesome
turned and faced the pair, his steely gaze levelled at them, “I'm
goin' to get my trusty old Hawken, then I'm goin' home, and if I see
either of you in my valley, I'm goin' to shoot you.”

Mumbling
incoherently, Lonesome walked out the door. Laramie looked across at
his friend.

“Do
you think he means it?” Hank asked.

Laramie
laughed out loud, “I guess we'll find out.”

THE
END