Showdown With Fear (13 page)

Barero felt like a fly scooting past a wasp’s nest when shot after shot came at him. He wheeled around and headed back for cover, planning to sit still and observe for a while. He wondered what this place could be, so near town.

Helen had gathered her father and twenty-five men together. She explained the situation. ‘Now, basically, what’s going to scare the hell out of these bandits is to see the army arrive.’

‘The army? You gone sun-crazed, daughter?’ Her father still had his thoughts in Walter Scott’s world of crusades and was only just surfacing into reality.

‘No, listen. Can we get enough military-looking hats for these gents?’ A wife sitting in a corner was the inspiration required.

‘Simple. String some lanyard and toggle around. Look like cavalry ... with broad-rimmed hats, sort of creased up.’

‘Get to work, now, everybody. Come on!’ Helen urged them, ‘They see a platoon from Fort Gerdon, they’ll run like rabbits.’

Barero dare not move in. He saw too much movement. When he finally saw a whole bunch of men start to mount and heard a voice call out, ‘Squad, atten- tion!’ he mounted and rode like the wind for Red Ridge.

Helen had twenty-five men mounted and dressed in any dark clothes they could find, with hats shaped like the U.S. Cavalry and lanyards neat as West Point passing-out wear. It took half an hour. The only hitch was that her father insisted on coming.

‘Yes, but pa... we don’t shoot, see... we move real slow and just scare them off!’

‘Well, that ain’t no fun. I may be slightly advanced in years but I can hit a buzzard with this here carbine... so can Harold here... and old Sam Gragg... right Sam?’

There were confident reassurances of the shooting and riding ability of all present.

‘Just ride straight, like soldiers, and pa here will shout like an officer.’

‘Just one moment, young lady.’ A firm, cultured voice spoke out of the darkness.

‘Yes sir?’

‘My name is Oswald Sheery, once Major in the Eighth Cavalry, U.S. version. May I be of assistance?’

The man was eighty at least, but he was straight as a lat and hard as iron, she thought. She invited him to take command.

Chapter 11

The bullets were cracking into the wood around the sniper. It was a man called Paul Batley, and he had been creating havoc. Teach’s men were buttoned into dark corners, afraid to rush the bank and smash into the amateurs’ room, and send them shivering and begging for mercy to the far wall with their hands up. That’s what Teach wanted, but this man on the roof - he was a knife twisting in the wounds of frustration.

But now he had two men on a roof, chasing the sniper and giving him some worry. They were clumsily lurching along the apex of the town general store, looking towards the roof opposite the bank; that’s where he had to be. Paul Batley was there, lying spread against the leeward side of the roof, in some shade at last. He knew that he had pegged out four men that day and he knew that they were scared.

‘Should have brought the darn Gatling... and a stick o’ jelly... never thought we was meetin’ an army!’ Teach cursed as he looked up into the light, trying to follow events up above.

The two outlaws reached the building where Paul should have been, drew revolvers, and looked around. One nodded to the other that the sniper had to be to the left, down the roof. They had no idea that Paul Batley was down to his last bullet and was trying to be invisible. But it was no use. The heads appeared over the top and glared at him with hatred. His rushed his last shot, the bullet skimming a hat. Then it was all done for him, a man who usually swept the floor for Joe Wright and cleaned the gear for the shows. But this day he took a slug in the skull and trailed fast down the roof, gliding to the red earth with a hollow thud. Then he lay inert, the breath gone out of him. The outlaws stood up precariously and called down to Teach that they hit him.

‘We finished the bastard! He’s pegged out good, Teach my old buddy!’

Teach was about to give the order for the bunch to rush the bank, when the men on the roof spoke again. They were both looking west and saw the dust, then the line of horsemen.

‘Teach.... riders... plenty of ‘em... coming t’other direction... up our backside!’

Teach swore to himself. But it was no use delaying any longer. He still gave the order for the men to storm the bank.

‘You like taking banks... take this one fellers! Come on!’

Yet half-way across, yelling and screaming in the face of Harry’s gallant band’s bullets, everyone heard the trumpet and stopped. They froze for a few seconds, looking westwards.

‘The damned army!’ someone shouted.

*

The McVies were oblivious to all this, though, and were now smashing the rear door of Golden Halls. In no time, John was on the stage, shouting for Dan. The two brothers moved slowly across the stage, looking furtively in all directions. They heard Dan’s voice say, ‘Come on in, gents... I bin waiting for hours.’

They walked into the room and saw his swaying back on his chair. His first movement was to swipe at the full whisky bottle and knock it onto the floor, with a grin. Sammy spoke first. ‘Well, if it ain’t our Daniel... in the Lion’s Den, I guess, John!’

‘Yeah... I seem to have bin here afore...’

Beneath them, Pete could see and hear everything, down under the creaking boards. He was feeling all along the side to find a loose board, as he was behind the McVies and could get the drop on them.

Dan stayed seated and the two brothers spread out, so he could not draw on both. They could swing and go at him whenever they wanted. The last thing Dan expected was for John to sit down opposite him and start talking.

‘You know, Dan, I used to have a little brother. Some trigger-happy rat sent my little brother to hell... or paradise, who knows?’

‘I think hell is the favourite there, McVie.’

‘Ah, still the witty one, eh Sammy?‘

‘Yeah... he got brains. I’m gonna spill ‘em out soon, John.’

John took his gloves off and lay them on the table. Then he picked up the whisky bottle and drank the drop that remained in the bottom. ‘Ah... that’s welcome! Now, as I was saying, there’s a scrap goin’ on out there, but we only came for one thing. Now, let’s get some sort of historical perspective on this thing eh? What’s it bin like, feller, bein’ pointed at as a coward and a drunk these years? I suppose you reckon you got your penance done - for murder I mean?’

‘I don’t call it murder, McVie. Jimmy was going to rape and kill a young girl, going about her business. I was the law.’

‘Ooooh, see, John... he got the tin star on again... must have bin a good boy!’

‘So you have, Daniel. Now that’s dandy. The good, God-fearin’ folk decided to give you a second chance? Or is it that there’s just nobody else? I mean, get some sense, Mullen...’ His tone changed from sarcasm to hate. ‘Why in hell’s name are you riskin’ your dirty neck for this stinky backyard of a dump? The folk here are no-hopers... too old or tired to do anything. The young folk here just git out first chance they get. It’s shrinkin’ - and you fight for it. This a sane man, Sammy?’

‘Got a problem, I’d say.’

Dan stopped swinging the chair under him and sat forward. He kept his right arm still, on the table, but talked straight.

‘Look, I invited you here to settle this. Last time I knew that all the cards were against me. I knew you had the advantage. Too many of you. But this time, it’s more even.’

There was a sudden movement behind and, before anyone could react, something knocked a floorboard up a few inches, so it lodged at an angle, sending dust in a cloud up towards Sam McVie’s legs.

‘The odds are just even, pa... I got a barrel aimed at this one’s backside!’ Pete didn’t laugh. He was a bit shaky, you could tell, and John played on this weakness.

‘Oh, that your little boy... I’m scared, Dan. We got a baby boy with a toy gun...’

Pete didn’t like that. He cocked the revolver. ‘It’s pointed at the target... just needs a squeeze!’

Sam was uneasy at this. ‘Okay son... steady now. I need every bit of me to ride out of this dump!’

They, too, heard the trumpet. Everyone turned to the window, and in the seconds of distraction, Sammy decided to draw. It was a serious mistake, as Pete fired at him and hit him in the leg. He fell with a yelp. Dan drew his gun but it was too late; John McVie had panicked at the military sounds outside and hurled himself at the window. He rolled into the road, got to his feet and ran for the back of the theatre. It was there he saw Barero standing by the stables.

‘Filippo... what is goin’ on?’

‘I was coming to tell you all... the army! They are coming... there is a base out there...many of them!’

‘We must make our way to Teach and the rest... get out of here!’

Dan and Pete were out on the porch, looking around for McVie. Sam was in agony inside, shouting for help and being ignored. Up the street, Teach had all the outlaws together, crammed into the town eating-place, reluctant to move out. Teach was trying to calm them all down.

‘Okay, so we ain’t got a hope if it’s the military... but let’s wait for the McVies. John’s down the road.’

‘You trust him, Teach?’ A man asked. Teach had no answer. He just shrugged.

*

On the track into town, Helen kept to the back of the column, out of sight. The idea was for the McVie bunch to see a platoon of cavalry, not a woman and old men. It was early morning now, and there wasn’t much light, so that, at a distance, this group of ageing shopkeepers and clerks might look like soldiers.

‘That bugle thing was an inspiration, Lane,’ old Jamie said.

‘Well I had the rusty old thing since I was a boy... can still get a few notes mind... shall I give ‘em a few more?’ The shouts of encouragement were enough. He played the reveille, as that was easiest.

It was a strange sight. A line of grey-headed men, overweight and scrawny-legged, wearing blue, brown or black coats, some borrowed from the womenfolk, some dug out of the wardrobes, barely fitting them now. Each with a stetson or anything near to that. Old Wilbur Gaines wore his wife’s Sunday hat, so they kept him near the back.

The women had done their part, working hard to make them ready, giving the performance the same care and enthusiasm they gave to the town entertainments every time a special shindig was called for. Anything lying about the place was considered as a prop or a piece of costume.

All rode still, erect and dignified. Helen had even thought of the standard, and one man held a broom-handle with a blue bandanna tied to the top. At the head of the column was the noble-looking Major Oswald Sheery, who looked like a second George Armstrong Custer, according to Helen’s father. In reality, he was every inch an officer in his whole bearing and manner. If he was the first they saw, then they might
just
be convinced by this ploy.

‘If this fools ‘em, they deserve to git thrashed,’ a man said, out of the side of his mouth. They were near the west side of town now, and they realised that most of the gunfire had stopped. There were just a few sporadic shots. These were from Harry’s men, who thought they had scared off the desperadoes and were feeling cocky.

Helen’s father rode alongside her and couldn’t resist exercising his imagination. ‘Now, girl, you see the value of book-learnin’.... this is something that the knights of old would have dreamed up. There was one lot who put wooden figures of troops on battlements... fooled the attackers into runnin’ with their tails between their legs.’

But Helen knew that things were in the balance. Would the ruse scare off a large band of desperate men who were here to dole out a vendetta?

*

It was a period of only five minutes, that cease-fire. The ‘troops’ slowed to a steady canter. Dan and Pete squatted on the porch of the Golden Halls, looking westwards, and John McVie, with the frightened Barero, looked around for horses. John was longing for his Gatlings. In the bank, Harry’s men were licking their wounds.

‘Two dead, three injured... the rest of us scared witless but not givin’ in... now the doc could use some coffee boys... we all could! I reckon there’s some re-thinking going on.’

It was only then that they heard the trumpet. The first bugle-call had been covered up with gunfire and shouting. Now, they heard it clearly. So clearly that a well-travelled ex-miner in the room, who had been around more than most, said, ‘Well, if that ain’t peculiar... it’s reveille... who’s just gettin’ out o’ bed at this time?’

The column was striding into town now, and Teach and his men ran along the sides of town to get a closer look. They were heading for their horses and grabbing reins, ready to move out. But the bugle-call had been a fatal error. A grizzled, scarred border scrapper saw the cavalry riding into town, and as the others mounted and urged their horses out the other way, he called out. ‘ Hold on... this ain’t right! The bugle-call is all plain wrong, fellers!’ They reined in and turned.

Major Sheery drew his sabre, rusty from lack of use, raised it in front of him and quickened his pace. The others followed. Helen, glancing to one side, saw Barero and McVie. The game was up.

‘Dismount!’ she called out. The men were so well into their parts that they ignored her. She shouted louder. Then someone up ahead screamed, ‘these ain’t no soldiers for Christ’s sake!’

Teach and his men, changing from cringing fear and panic to almost euphoric laughter at their sense of release, had little time to enjoy the situation. Harry’s men opened fire at easy targets, and several went down wounded.

It was going to be a fight to the death, a disaster, if something wasn’t done. Dan Mullen had considered all the options, and the best one was to step out into the street and call for John McVie before there was slaughter. These grandfathers were like a touring thespian group, finding themselves in a theatre of war. He had a chance to stop the madness now. When he walked slowly out, with Pete calling for him to come back and not risk his neck, every citizen of Red Ridge saw the Dan Mullen that they used to have as their sheriff. Pete shouted, ‘ Pa... save your neck.... don’t do this for
them
!’

Dan stood in the middle of the street and put his hand up, telling Major Sheery to halt where he was. Then he bawled out the challenge.

‘John McVie... this is our fight... and you’re turning it into a battle! If you don’t come out and face me now, who’s the coward then? Good men have died today... too many. Men who don’t use guns... men who live in peace with their brothers. If you want to get even, then it’s just me you want.’

The words echoed around the silent town. Some horses neighed and stamped. A man coughed. The old man holding the broom standard threw it down into the dust.

Then John McVie strode out in front of the cavalry. Helen jabbed at her horse to move gently and quietly forward.

In the bedroom of the Golden Halls, where Joe Wright enjoyed entertaining selected ladies from the touring groups, Filippo Barero cocked his revolver and grinned. He murmured a prayer in Spanish, to the effect that God delivers your enemies, if it is his will.

McVie was now standing dead still, about a hundred yards from Dan. The silence was pierced by a yell of pain from Sam, who was still on the floor in agony. John spoke at last. ‘I hear you, Sammy. Seems this man likes killin’ my kin... you folk think he’s deserved that star then, huh? Let me tell you about this man... he’s bin drinkin’ long and deep in his hole, wherever he hides from the world... ever since he took the life of my innocent little brother... that’s your damned hero, good people...’