Broken Star (2006) (8 page)

‘Then let’s get it over with,’ Michael Poole urged.

Shaking his head to cancel out his brother’s suggestion, Lew said, ‘No. We’ve done this all legal like, but outsiders might think otherwise. This has to be done under cover of darkness. So we’ll leave Vejar tied up here until sundown, then take him out and finish the job.’

Both Ben and Michael gave grunts of
annoyance
at the delay, but neither of them dared to object. All three checked Vejar’s bonds before leaving. Going out of the room, with Lew
carrying
Vejar’s gunbelt and holstered .45, they closed the heavy door behind them. Vejar, trussed so tightly that he was in pain, heard two bolts being slid home on the outside of the door.

Yancey was in a state of high tension. Dan Matthews had come riding in fast just before noon, crying out as he came that the bank robbers were heading for town. John Thurston turned a jaundiced eye on Walter Randall. The doctor asked, obviously not expecting an
informative
reply, ‘So, Walter, where’s Vejar now in our time of need?’

‘I don’t know any more than you do,’ Randall retorted before taking command. ‘But we’ve got to do something ourselves. Jonathan, you and Len take your shotguns and a box of shells each and get down to Hiram’s bank. Conceal
yourselves
as best you can, making sure that you’re covering the door.’

With Vejar absent, both young men were ashen-faced and visibly trembling as they obeyed Randall’s orders and headed for the bank. Randall called to Henry Drake, who was
standing
facing the west end of the street, both hands shielding his eyes from the sun, an expression of
terror rather than apprehension on his lined face.

‘Henry,’ Randall addressed him
authoritatively
, ‘get yourself down the seamstress’s shop and have Raya Kennedy round up the women and children and get them into the church, quick as she can.’

Within a short while the street was thronged with women dragging children by the hand as they headed for the church. Like a pretty drover in a calico dress, Raya was running this way and that, herding them in the right direction. Soon they were gone, and Henry Drake returned to his colleagues. The street was deserted except for the quartet of town councillors.

‘He’s done the dirty on us,’ Thurston complained bitterly. ‘I knew that we shouldn’t have trusted Vejar.’

‘Action is what we need right now, not the wisdom of hindsight,’ Randall told him grumpily.

‘The action I’m going to take is go take care of my bank,’ Hiram Anstey said shakily.

‘You do that, Hiram,’ Randall concurred. ‘Make good use of Jonathan and Len. They are both good lads, but they need guidance.’

‘What do the three of us do?’ Drake enquired.

‘Get ourselves a scattergun each and wait for them varmints to get here,’ Randall replied.
‘Old Dan says there’s only three of them.’

‘That’s three too many for me,’ Henry Drake confessed.

‘Look at it this way, Henry,’ John Thurston advised, ‘we’re going to die before this day’s out, so we just as well die as heroes.’

‘I’d rather not die at all, John.’

‘You don’t have a …’ the doctor began, then broke off as he looked down at the far end of town. ‘Well, well, well, what have we here? Looks like a woman riding in all on her lonesome.’

‘We’d best go warn her,’ Randall said, starting off down the street with the others following.

Stopping her horse when they reached her, the woman looked down at them curiously. Black-haired and dark complexioned, her blouse was of blue silk, and her split riding-skirt made of the finest material. Her Stetson was off; hanging behind her on an elkskin thong that rested lightly across her smooth throat. Her deep brown eyes had a lazy sleepiness in their depths.

Disturbed by her cool appraisal, Walter Randall swatted at a fly threatening to alight on his hawk nose, and asked. ‘Have you business here in Yancey, miss?’

‘I’ve come to call on my friend Raya Kennedy,’ she replied, point to Raya’s small shop.

‘Trouble is about to break out here, miss,’
Randall told her urgently. ‘You’ll find Miss Kennedy up at the church with the rest of the women. It’s best that you join them and stay there until the danger is over.’

‘I will take your kind advice, sir,’ the woman told Randall. Then with a little thank you wave to Henry Drake who was pointing at the church, she rode on up the street.

Struggling uselessly against the ropes that bound him, Vejar was beset by worry that the outlaw band could already be in Yancey. His worries over Raya, George Harker, and in another respect Gloria Malone, mounted rapidly. The Pooles had chosen his prison well. Even if he could get himself free, the window was too small to squeeze through, and the door was securely bolted.

Alerted by the sound of heavy footsteps in the passageway outside, he kept still, listening. One bolt on the door was slid back. At least one of the Poole brothers had returned in no more than fifteen minutes. Why, when they didn’t plan to kill him until after dark?

The second bolt was drawn, and the door opened slightly. A hand pushed the door inwards. It was a black-skinned hand, and it was holding his gunbelt. Following behind the hand
was the large figure of the Pooles’ black serving woman. She placed a finger to her lips for silence, which Vejar took to be a signal that the brothers were somewhere nearby.

The servant held a carving knife in her other hand. Placing Vejar’s gunbelt on a small table in the corner of the room, she advanced on him, her finger still cautioning silence.

Coming close to Vejar, she whispered, ‘They’s going to hang you, sah, and I can no way allow that.’

Using the carving knife, the woman sawed at the ropes. When free, Vejar couldn’t move because his limbs had been constricted for so long. Rubbing his arms to get life back into them, he flexed his legs over and over again until the pain had gone and he was able to stand up. The black woman waited nervously, silently urging him to keep moving and get away.

‘They’ll know that you released me,’ Vejar said, fearing for her.

‘Don’t you worry about me, sah,’ she assured him. ‘They won’t do me no harm, ’cos I’m like a mother to those boys. I tells them what to do.’

Not knowing how to express his thanks, Vejar was turning away intending to get his gunbelt, when he saw her eyes open wide with terror.
Swiftly following her gaze, he saw the lanky figure of Michael Poole standing in the open doorway, the six-shooter in his hand levelled at Vejar.

Diving to one side, Vejar hit the floor and lay flat as the terrifically loud explosion of a shot reverberated in the small room. Hearing the servant’s carving knife clatter to the floor, he looked up to see her clutching her breast. Blood darkened the flowered house frock she wore, and ran freely over her hands. With no more than a small sigh, she collapsed on to the
flagstones
.

Luckily for Vejar, Michael Poole was as shocked as he was by the unintentional shooting of the black woman. But, after a moment’s
hesitation
, he pointed his gun to where Vejar was lying on the floor. With his gunbelt out of reach, Vejar rolled swiftly to one side as Poole fired and a bullet ricocheted whiningly off the flagstones. Reaching out to grasp the carving knife, he threw it just as Poole was about to squeeze the trigger again. Seeing the knife coming at him through the air, Michael Poole did a rapid half turn. An evasive move that made it seem that the knife would pass by the tall Poole brother
harmlessly
.

But the sharp blade sliced through Poole’s throat, opening a gash that pumped blood out 
like a fountain. The knife went on to bury itself in the wooden wall, creating a humming sound as it vibrated. Michael Poole’s legs folded under him and he made no more sound than an
after-death
gurgling as he fell.

Going across the floor to the black woman, Vejar discovered that she, too, had died. Picking up his gunbelt and buckling it on, he rushed out of the room. The horse Michael Poole had ridden was hitched to a rail outside. Vejar untied the reins. He was pulling the horse around ready to mount, when Ben Poole came riding in at a gallop.

Aware that Ben must have been close enough to hear the two shots his brother had fired. Vejar accepted that his intended ride to Yancey would have to be delayed. Leaping over the rail of the veranda he backed up against the door of the house. Drawing his gun, he reached behind him to find the door was securely locked. Ben Poole expertly dismounted on the move and dropped out of sight behind a trough opposite to the door. Vejar had no cover. He backheeled the door hard, but it was sturdy and he made no impression on it.

Gun in hand, Vejar waited for Ben Poole to raise his eyes above the rim of the trough. When he did so, Poole would have the immense
advantage
of being a tiny, difficult target, whereas
Vejar was fully exposed. But Ben, knowing that he held the winning hand, played a waiting game that tightened Vejar’s nerves to the extent that he could detect a tic fluttering at the right side of his face.

It was a situation that Vejar had concluded could not be any more desperate, when there was the crack of a rifle and the doorjamb beside his head was shredded by a bullet. Lew Poole had to be somewhere on the scene, but Vejar had no idea from which direction the bullet had come. What he did know was that he wouldn’t survive if he stayed where he was for one more moment.

The top of Ben’s head and his gun hand rose from behind the trough. Blasting away at Ben with his .45, Vejar ran for the horse he had
abandoned
a short while before. Running bent double to make himself less of a target, he saw Ben Poole duck down behind the trough. The rifle fired again and a bullet clipped the heel of Vejar’s boot, the force knocking his leg from under him. Another bullet whined past him as he fell. Then he was up on his feet and running again. Aware now that Lew Poole was shooting at him from a feed barn that stood at a forty-five degree angle to his left, Vejar used the horse as a shield while he hastily untied the reins from the rail.

But Ben came up from behind the trough to open up at him with his handgun. A single shot in reply from Vejar and the huge Poole brother took cover quickly. Swinging the horse around, Vejar mounted on the side away from Lew Poole. Keeping low in the saddle, bent forward on the stirrups, he set off at a gallop with reins at the right tension.

Ben Poole loomed up in front of him,
confident
that he could bide his time and pick off Vejar easily from close range. A rifle bullet from his brother changed his mind. Passing close to Vejar, the bullet continued on its way to whip the Stetson off Ben’s head. A startled Ben dropped rapidly back under cover.

Unable to believe his good fortune, Vejar spurred the horse. He had passed Ben and the house and was within a few yards of being out of the range of Lew Poole’s rifle, when the horse gave what sounded like a cross between a deep cough and a low scream. Its pace faltered, but only momentarily. Relieved as his mount
recovered
its gallop, Vejar was shocked as the horse suddenly folded underneath him.

Catapulted over the animal’s head, he sailed through the air, just managing to tuck his head into his shoulders before he hit the ground with an impact that jarred every bone in his body.

Looking out on to the street in the hope of catching sight of the still absent Fallon Vejar, Raya was surprised to see Carmel dismounting outside of the church, and reaching to pull her rifle from its scabbard. Raya opened the door and called to her, ‘Come in quickly, Carmel. You won’t need a rifle. We are just women and
children
in here.’

‘What’s happening?’ Carmel asked, as she hurried into the church, bringing her rifle with her despite what Raya had said. They were in the foyer, from where the door into the main part of the church was open and the chattering
gathering
of women and children could be both seen and heard.

‘You’ve arrived at the wrong time, Carmel,’ Raya said worriedly. ‘A little later and you could have been in real danger out on the street. A gang of bank robbers is heading into town right now.’

‘Really,’ Carmel exclaimed mildly, puzzling Raya with her coolness in so dire a situation. Then she enquired conversationally. ‘Is your friend here, Raya?’

‘Mary? She’s in the church.’

‘Would you mind asking her to come here?’ Carmel enquired.

‘Of course,’ a mystified Raya said, as she went off into the church.

When she returned with Mary Alcott at her side, Carmel greeted the other girl with a quick smile, then nodded at the door Raya had left open. ‘Please close that door, Raya.’

Obeying, a frowning Raya came back to
question
Carmel. ‘I don’t understand, Carmel.’

‘I’m sorry, Raya, but my name is not Carmel Morrow.’

‘Then what should I call you?’ a bewildered Raya asked.

‘If you want to call me anything after I’ve said what I have to say,’ answered the woman, who in the past few minutes had turned into a somehow frightening stranger to Raya, ‘Gloria will do. Please believe me when I say that I really enjoyed our short friendship, Raya. I am one of the outlaw band about to rob the bank here at Yancey. Until my friends are ready to leave town, I have to hold you and Mary here as hostages.’

Understanding came suddenly to Raya. ‘It’s Fallon Vejar, isn’t it? You believe that Fallon won’t take any action while you are holding me.’

‘I am sure that he won’t risk you being harmed, Raya.’

‘But why Mary?’ Raya noticed that Gloria’s dark complexion had paled at this question. That made her terribly afraid for Mary.

Turning to walk away to the door of the church, Gloria didn’t answer. Pushing the door ajar, she swiftly beckoned Raya to her side and asked, ‘Who is that important looking
hombre
going into that place where you and me had tea?’

‘That’s Walter Randall, Yancey’s mayor.’

‘Go back over and stand where you were,’ Gloria ordered.

Raya meekly did as she was told.

With their horses at walking pace, they rode into town three abreast. Klugg was in the middle, and he and his two outlaw companions were vigilant. Their eyes continually flicked from left to right, checking out the buildings on either side of them as they moved up the street.

‘Quiet,’ Mitchell Staley remarked
unnecessarily
.

‘Don’t let that fool you,’ Jack advised.

‘Quit talking and keep watching,’ Ken Klugg snapped at them. Then he relaxed a little and pointed up the street. ‘Everything’s real purty, boys. There’s Gloria up at the church door.’

Continuing at the same steady rate, they reached the church where Gloria Malone now stood waiting inside the partly open door.

‘You have the girl, Gloria?’

‘Yes, she and the other girl are here with me.’

‘Vejar?’ Klugg asked in a tight voice.

‘I haven’t seen him,’ Gloria said. She nodded her head at the Chinese teashop across the street. ‘The town’s head
honcho
is in that place. His name is Randall.’

Without another word, Klugg pulled on the reins and headed across the street. His two gang members followed loyally. When Klugg dismounted, so did they. All three stepped up on to the boardwalk together. As Klugg drew his Colt from its holster in preparation for entering the teashop, Jack and Staley took up positions, one each side of the door. Rifles held obliquely at the ready in front of them, they kept watch.

The gang leader opened the door, stepped inside, closed the door behind him and waited for a moment, listening. Hearing a low murmur of voices coming from behind a closed door, he walked over stealthily. Pulling back his right leg, he kicked the door open so violently that it
shattered
. Framed in the doorway, he covered those in the room with the gun held at his hip. A Chinese man and a woman stood nearest to him, alarm on their faces. Looking shocked at the dramatic entrance were four men who were standing round a bed. A man lay propped up on the bed, his upper body swathed in bandages.

‘Ken Klugg,’ the injured man weakly
identified
the intruder.

Ignoring this, Klugg asked, ‘Where’s Vejar?’

When no answer was forthcoming, Klugg grinned and said, ‘That’s the way Vejar likes to play his hand.’ Then he glared at the four men before asking, ‘Which one of you is Randall?’

‘I am Walter Randall,’ responded a man with a hawked-nosed, lean face and a body that had run to fat. He struck an arrogant pose with both thumbs hooked into the small pockets of his vest.

‘Well hear me, Randall, and hear me real good,’ Klugg said. ‘Tell Vejar we’re holding Raya Kennedy over at the church—’

‘Good God!’ Randall exclaimed as realization hit him. ‘That woman we sent to the church.’

‘I do the talking, Randall, and you do the listening,’ Klugg said menacingly. ‘Tell Vejar what I’m telling you. Our business in your town will be over quickly unless someone tries to
interfere
. If that happens, then the girl will die. That’s a promise, Randall. But I don’t hold with unnecessary killing, so let Vejar know that he can find me waiting for him outside the church. Tell him that we can do a deal so that nobody gets hurt.’ He walked over to the bed and looked down at the man on it. ‘I guess that you’re George Harker.’

‘You guess right.’

‘Hopefully we’ll meet again one day, when you
are well enough to strap on your gun.’

‘I’d like that, Klugg,’ Harker agreed, his voice fading from weakness. ‘But I sure as hell believe that Fallon Vejar will rob me of that pleasure.’

Dismissing this with a derisive, mirthless chuckle, Klugg brought his attention back to Randall. ‘I’m leaving you all now, but be warned, Randall. If any one of you as much as pokes his nose out into the street, then he will die where he stands.’

‘No one will give you any trouble if you will just release the girl,’ Randall pleaded.

‘You ain’t in no position to bargain, Randall,’ Klugg snarled. ‘Remember, you and Vejar have been warned.’

With that, Klugg backed out of the room. Silence prevailed until the street door closed noisily behind him.

Badly shaken, Vejar lay on his side where he had hit the ground. Close to him he heard the last breath leave the horse in a prolonged gasp. With the spinning in his head slowing so that he was able to grasp something of what was going on around him, he saw Ben Poole approaching him slowly and cautiously, a six-gun aimed at him unwaveringly.