Showdown With Fear (14 page)

Harry and his men had started walking out of the bank, still carrying their guns, but now aware that Teach and his men were also walking out into the light to watch events down the road. There was soon quite a crowd.

‘I got a full barrel, McVie... six bullets enough to finish off a piece of vermin like you?’

‘Same here... I’m ready whenever you are!’

Dan took a few steps towards his man. Behind, the cavalry had dispersed and were lined up along the porches, out of the sun, horses tethered out of the way. What the men were seeing was a ghost - the ghost of their sheriff, the one who had protected them, looked after them all that time, had been the one they could always rely on.

‘Peg him, John!’ Sammy shouted. He had crawled to the window and Pete had taken his gun away. He was tired of this, and struck Sam with his gun-butt, saying, ‘You need a sleep... to forget your pain, you dog!’

‘Here’s your present for coming to the party, Mullen!’ John McVie drew his gun. He was quick, but not accurate. The bullet nicked Dan’s shoulder, just burning a piece of his shirt and singeing his skin. Dan’s shot hit home, but the bullet dug into the arm and then out. It was McVie’s left arm. He still held his gun. With a wince of pain, he bolted for cover, firing wildly as he ran for the stables.

This was Filippo Barero’s best chance. He had his gun aimed at Dan’s chest, but Dan had arched at the moment he turned to shoot at John, and caught the glint of the gun-barrel above. He swung round and shot at the window. Barero ran inside and then out the back to join McVie.

Helen asked her father to help her clear everybody back, out of range. Outlaws and townsfolk forgot everything; it seemed that there was nothing to fight for anymore. It was all a battle of wills. They pushed into the end of the backstreet where Dan had chased McVie. The men of the town muttered comments about Dan Mullen, and about how he ‘was a deep one’ who had ‘fooled them all’.

The stables were no escape for John and Barero. They scrambled around, knowing they were cornered, looking for any horse that would get them out of there. But there was nothing. In the end, they lay in the straw on the upper level, John feeling his wound, and Barero cursing that he had missed his chance to settle things.

Dan stood at the stable door and called out. ‘Just my job now... to bring you in... I’m not fixing to kill you, McVie... so give yourself up! I want to see you in jail for a long time, my friend!’

‘I’m no friend o’ yours.’ A shot rang out. Barero was firing wildly towards the light. Dan ducked inside and took up a position in a corner, behind some sacks, in a stall. He saw where they were and looked around for a way up. A lariat could be the answer he thought. Taking the rope, he swung it up to a rafter and secured it well. Then he slithered up, into a bed of straw. He was right behind them, but across a huge floor. There was forty feet of stored hay there, stacked in neat heaps, and he slowly worked his way to where he could finally say, real quiet but firm, ‘You move one inch, I’ll have to shoot you boys!’

There was no way John McVie would risk anything. For one thing, he was in pain, and second, he was aware of the folly of moving sharply, but Filippo Barero always did throw caution to the wind, and he swung around, about to fire. It was his last move. Dan’s shot caught him in the gut and he lunged forward. He tried to speak to John, who looked at him and said, ‘See ya, amigo... bin good to have you along!’ He looked up at Dan.

‘Suppose I better quit while I’m still breathin’ eh?’ and he put his hands in the air. But his movement of defiant strength was so sharp it caught Dan totally by surprise. McVie’s fist caught him square on the jaw, he dropped the gun and fell back, slamming into a hay bale. McVie, despite his wound, swung at him again, and then took Dan round the neck in a strangle-hold, sweating and grunting with the effort, massing all his might. ‘You low vermin, you took my Jim out... my brother, damn you.’

‘I was knocking a piece of no-good animal out of things, McVie. Face up to that, damn you!’ Dan broke the hold and punched at his man. John McVie was in pain. His left hand was useless now. He dived for the gun on the yellow bed of straw but missed. In a second, Dan’s boot was stamped on the outlaw’s fist and there was a yelp of pain.

‘Aaaah! You won’t live, Dan Mullen... I can’t let you live! Not for what you did.’

Dan took his man by the collar , wrenched him up and onto his feet, and shoved him towards the ladder. ‘Down there, you!’ But he wasn’t done yet. McVie seemed to summon strength from his last resources, deep inside. He kicked back and again Dan lost his grip, but McVie fell forwards and only grasped the ladder with one hand. He scrambled to his feet after a hard fall, lunged for the doorway, with Dan in pursuit, then fell into the sun. Dan picked him up again and hit him in the jaw. McVie was almost out, but still slurred some words of hatred, battling to his feet again.

Dan held him in an arm-lock and shoved him towards the spectators. The old men and Harry’s remnants cheered and clapped. There was an air of relief, and of finality.

As they walked out into the sun, the crowd at the end of the street had crept closer. They were peering towards the building, not daring to come too close. The very moment that everyone saw John McVie with his hands on his head and Dan behind him, prodding his back with a gun, Teach and his boys turned and mounted. There were comments about the ragged, entertaining ‘army’ that had given them a shock for a short while, at least. Teach rode over, deliberately to confront Dan Mullen and his prisoner.

‘Mullen, your boys gave us one dogged fight today... I gotta congratulate ‘em. We both lost good men in this scrap. There are one or two of my boys here who want to fight on, but I’m aiming to talk ‘em down and we’ll let you move on. As for you, John, I think you got what you deserve. We did our best, and we’ll take care o’ things at base. Okay. Grip’s gonna want to know about today.’

‘Come back with the guns... blow this place to shreds, Teach. There’s money for all of us. Plenty of it. Just stick to it... ANY OF YOU... LISTEN... COME BACK WITH THE GUNS... TELL GRIP... OKAY?’

There was nothing more than a few groans, complaints and mumbled, hurried discussions. Teach rejoined them and waved his hat in farewell. ‘We’ll call it quits, partner.’

They were soon tearing out of town as if there was a tornado on the way.

‘Ain’t worth it no more, McVie. We’ll be at the Nest!’ Teach shouted behind him. They lost no time in hitting the trail, and the story of how a bunch of pen-pushers took them on with guns and muscle would be glossed over and put behind them when it came to long, tedious nights around the fire in time to come.

Helen rushed towards Dan, who roughly gave McVie into the hands of Harry and his men, with orders to lock him up. She wrapped her hands around him and clung for dear life. ‘Dan... you’re all right, thank the Lord!’

‘Yeah... but bad news... Ned Pearce...’

She looked up at him, expecting more, but he just nodded towards the theatre. His face said it all.

‘He was great, that storekeeper!’ Pete said, as he, too, rushed towards his father to shake his hand and wrap them around his broad, strong back. There were more cheers, and Major Sheery, with a laugh of real relief and an eye for the comedy of the situation, now his men were stood down, said, ‘First platoon Red Ridge Cavalry... stand at ease!’

Chapter 12

Dan was left alone for a while after everybody split to look after the wounded and count the cost of the attack. Harry needed reassuring that they would not be back, particularly as Pete had described the Rattler’s Nest to everybody. But now Dan had to enjoy the moment he had waited for, and for so long. He left Helen looking after young Sara, who was making a good recovery now. Pete’s comforts were helping, too. He walked to the jail and the office which would now be his home again. It was a complete mess. But the best thing about it was that John McVie sat on a seat in the back, bandaged, the blood now going brown on his dressings. He was glowering, and knocked a beaker of water onto the floor as Dan walked slowly in.

‘You happy now, Mullen? If you are, then don’t smile too long, feller... Grip’s gonna come for me. I dragged that man out of the gutter in some shanty town in the backside of Texas. He’ll be here...’

‘We’ll see, John. But I just wanted to let you know that, as sheriff of this town, it’s gonna be my pleasure to see that you get put before a judge on the charge of murder. There are plenty of other charges, but that kind of covers the most important.’

‘I’m sick of the sight of ya, Mullen. I hope you meet my brother in hell and he burns ya real slow, so ya yell.’

‘Charming! I got your other dear brother on his way, too. He’s being patched up by the doc. Sammy’s not as bad as you, John. He’s just easily led. So long now... My new deputy’s coming to keep an eye on you... feller by the name of Pete Mullen.’

McVie spat on the floor. Dan reflected on the state of his place. There were smashed chairs, a hole in one wall, the lamp was shattered to pieces and all firearms in the case had been stolen, and the case smashed. There was still a smell of gun smoke in the air. But he would make it home again. He knew every inch of that room. He imagined that it still had the sweat of his belonging, so much had it been part of his life. That life seemed decades ago, but then, as he took it all in and smelled the old smells, perhaps it was not so long after all since he sat doing the paperwork, then got a call from Joe Wright begging for help to eject a few raucous drunks from his Golden Halls.

‘Be seein’ ya, John!’ He strolled outside and took a long look at the main street. These people had amazed him. The folk who had left everything to someone else, all the dirty work, all the jobs, large and small, that kept the taint of the wilderness from their neat clean fingers, they had stuck teeth into the enemy and scrapped hard to keep what they loved. Who knows, he thought, maybe even the women will talk to me now?

He noticed a woman a way off stop and then begin to come across to him. She was about fifty, with a hard-lined face and the neat, wiry body of a grafter. A woman with a demanding job.

‘Mr. Mullen - you won’t know me. I’m Nora Pearce.’

‘You’re Ned’s mom? I’m real sorry... he was not a storekeeper, Mrs. Pearce. It might help you to know that he was a deputy sheriff when he... when he died, ma’am. He did you proud!’

‘Well... I knew he’d been with you and I wanted to make it plain that I always rated you... I never called you. You was the best. Now you keep that star where it is now, young feller, see?’

‘I will, Mrs. Pearce.’

‘ I shall miss him...bless the boy!’

‘He was a fine man.’

It was the end of the whole lousy business for Dan Mullen, even though he had to see the McVies through the trial and make sure that everything went well. There was still the distant threat of the gang coming to get him, but somehow, it seemed like that day’s hard shoot-out had settled everything. There had been bloodshed enough.

*

A few days later, the elders of Red Ridge called a special meeting. This time they used Joe Wright’s Golden Halls, for which he had big ideas as the town grew, as it now should. Minister Witte, old Mr. Lane, the bank manager, the head of the commerce league and the now triumphant Joe Wright all had seats on the stage next to Harry Boak. Harry expected only a meeting to sort out some planning for a town which had, in a way, risen from the ashes. He got a shock when Joe Wright stood up, gesticulated for people to stop gossiping, and used his practised actor’s voice to command attention.

‘Ladies and gentlemen... citizens of Red Ridge, I called this special meeting for three very particular reasons. First, I want to thank Sheriff Dan Mullen and his son, and deputy, Peter, for what they did the other day.’

Everyone looked around for the men mentioned, and finally they were located by the fancy panelled doors. Heads turned and there was prolonged applause. Witte shouted above the clapping, ‘three cheers for the Mullens, hey?’ and the father and son had to blush while the crowd went through the ritual, bowing as the uproarious clamour finally died down.

‘Now, second,’ Joe went on,’ I am formally inviting all you good citizens to my re-opening performance next week. I have a show ready that you will talk about for
months
, I dare say. Yes, I have a thespian troupe from Houston on their way right now, and there will be classy theatre here!’

Again, loud applause.

‘Now last and certainly not least, some long-standing folk of this town have agreed with me that we are in dire need of a mayor... we need a man of prestige, of eminence, a man with presence...’

‘You votin’ yerself in Joe?’ A town joker interrupted. The joke was enjoyed by all, but finally Joe simply walked across to Harry Boak, patted him on the shoulder and said, ‘People of Red Ridge, I give you Mayor Harold Boak! Are you agreed?’

There was no doubt about that. None at all. Some of the more energetic men mobbed him and lifted him high. They were men who had fought with him that day in the town bank, and held their ground. There were shouts of, ‘he’s got the voice for the job!’ and ‘Bossman Harry!’ He beamed all around, accepting without saying anything, but eventually he was dropped reasonably gently onto the stage and the crowd called out for a speech.

Harry put thumbs in his waistcoat pocket and looked imperiously around. He was shiny with sweat and sticky in his tight grey suit, but the shock of this invitation had made him forget everything, except making a good impression on his new responsibility, the townsfolk.

‘Now see here, I don’t take this post light-hearted like. I bin lots o’ things in my time. I bin driver, cowpoke, negotiator, freight merchant... but this is the best. Now, to be serious for a minute, I have to say that this town is one marvellous spot! It might be a touch on the warm side, bein’ where it is, but the people are warmer...’

Harry went on, and the crowd was transfixed. There was a sense of new beginnings in the air. Dan Mullen felt like a crucial part of it, though still with a nagging feeling that the star and the new hat and shirt were being kept warm for someone else about to arrive and be called sheriff.

Dan left Harry to his speech and walked the length of the main street, treading at a moderate pace, recalling the routes of his runs in the early morning and in the cooler evenings. He had almost worn a track. Then the spot outside the stables where he did the press-ups. He imagined he could see his hand-prints. There was a strong wind whipping up, but he could hear just two sounds from the near-empty town. One was the whinnying of horses at the stables where the keen family were back to normal work, apart from the loss of one son; the other was a row. Two brothers were abusing each other. Insults bandied to and fro. The McVies were at it again. They would cuss each other right to the steps of the scaffold, Dan thought.

Yet there was a pain eating at him. Dan Mullen, to most eyes a hard man, a man sure of his powers, was afraid that he would let them down. Could he do it? Could he be a lawman again? He had failed before, that was certain. He also knew that he had steeled himself that day in the saloon, waiting for a repetition of the fateful day, and that his nerve had held. But would it hold? There were times, other times, in spite of all the building-up of his hard body and the mental resolve, that a voice inside had reminded him of the day he failed.

Would he fail, now that he was wearing that lonely star again? And there would be other showdowns. Now he had to keep the trust and belief of a woman in his life as well. He would never risk losing her, not after Mary. He knew that he was now a man with a huge burden of responsibility to himself, to Pete and to Helen, as well as to this border town, where feelings changed with the wind if you put a foot wrong, just once. Did he have the strength this time?

And all this time he was stroking the star on his chest. Sometimes it felt like a granite boulder, pulling you down, keeping you small. But how he wanted to keep it on. It was more than a piece of metal to Dan It always was.

*

A week later the Golden Hall was indeed packed out, and the acting company gave an abridged performance of Shakespeare’s
Macbeth
. Every seat was taken, and children sat in the aisles on the floor. The new mayor and his close friends had the best seats of course, but on the front row, the sheriff, his son and Helen sat; totally wrapt, held in a trance by the imaginary dagger in the tortured mind of the Scottish laird, going through such torments in front of them. Pete was in love with Lady Macbeth, but Dan could think only of Helen.

At the interval, a small, fussy man who was the new bank manager, took Dan to one side and requested a confidential word or two.

‘It’s my bank... I’ve been hearing some strange, sort of unfamiliar noises at night... could you take a look for me?’

‘Sure, if it helps you sleep at night,’ said Dan, knowing that this easterner had never heard of coyotes or rats. But it gave Dan a deep feeling of satisfaction to be asked. There was going to be plenty more greenhorns now, coming that way.

*

And the night came, soon after, when Helen was Mrs. Mullen and Dan was sleeping, a solid, respected man of reputation in Red Ridge. He had two suits and some creaky new shoes from back east. Helen was glad to be relieved of storytelling duties for her father.

*

For
the
love
of
God
,
let
him
come
through
that
door
....
and
my
heart
is
gushing
blood
into
my
throat
like
a
tornado
...
this
time
I
have
to
win
.
This
time
I
am
here
,
sober
,
ready
and
sure
of
success
.
I’m
praying
that
each
sound
is
not
a
trigger
cocked
.
Are
they
behind
?
The
street
out
there
is
a
scene
of
fear
and
panic
.
I
should
be
helping
...
I
should
be
helping
...
but
I
will
wait
here
.
He
will
come
to
this
room
and
this
table
,
I
know
it
in
my
heart
.
He
will
come
and
I
shall
be
here
,
still
as
a
rock
,
cool
and
easy
,
my
hand
unshaken
.
The
bottle
...
I
must
drink
.
I
need
something
.
Yes
,
I’ll
drink
.
He
hasn’t
come
.
I
‘
ll
go
out
there
...
Ah
,
another
drink
.

I
can’t
beat
these
.
There’s
just
you,
Dan
my
boy
...
why
die
for
these
people
?
Who
wants
a
noble
sacrifice
?
There
is
only
you
here
...
you
between
these
people
and
a
lot
of
messy
killing
.
But
I
need
just
one
more
...
no
-
I
didn’t
touch
any
...
I
didn’t
touch
ANY
!
’