Showdown With Fear (3 page)

They scrambled into the undergrowth. The horses were making a lot of noise, huffing and snorting. But there was nothing moving down the trail. Nothing at all.

‘Seems like our lucky night!’ Pearce whispered.

There was now complete silence, apart from the rustle of the breeze. No-one dare speak. Dan thought of Pete, wondered if he was still alive. Chances were it was a hostage thing. He thought of McVie’s mind, tried to think himself into his enemy’s way of doing things.

Pearce broke Dan’s thoughts: ‘Hey... awful quiet.’

‘Yeah... you okay, Jack?’ Dan nudged Savory. The sheriff groaned, and put something into Mullen’s hand. It was his tin star.

‘Take it, Dan....at least take care of it.’ Dan touched Savory, but life had left him. It was not a living man anymore, just a pile of leather next to him. No breathing, no movement.

‘Pearce... Jack Savory’s dead.’

‘No! God, I thought he was nicked?’

‘Well, nicked so deep he’s soaked in blood. ‘

‘What do we now... the sheriff’s gone!’

‘He erm... he gave me his star,’ Dan said this so quietly it was almost to himself.

‘Gave
you
the star?’

‘I’m not clipping it on, Pearce. Just keeping it for the new man.’

‘I like an optimist.... you think we’ll ever get out of this damned place?’

‘You have to believe...’

There was quiet again, and still no sign of movement on the trail behind. Dan could think of nothing now. Everything was blank. It felt like fate was against him. Then Ned Pearce said, ‘Looks like we’re the goddam posse then...’

And Pearce didn’t say it, but he was thinking to himself, ‘Me, a yeller-’un and outlaw country... fat chance.... and this man wants to put a badge back on!’

*

Helen was trying to cook some wholesome food for her father when he shouted out and interrupted her again. ‘What is it this time, Dad?’

‘Ma book slipped to the floor...’

She left her peeling and came through to where her father was lying on the old settee, with a glass of lemon-juice in one hand and his other one trying to retrieve the book.

‘Gurn.. never thought I’d see the day when a female does stuff for James Lane.’

Helen picked it up and put it in front of him.

‘Mind you, she’s a fine woman...that hair o yourn should catch any man worth his salt, girl.’ Helen was small, neat and shapely. Her hair streamed down to her midriff, fair and rich. She didn’t smile much, but there was personality deep down, and strength. The freckles dotted on her fair arms and face were just a little added extra that made her cute. Ned Pearce thought so. He had called on her a dozen times, trying to pretend he was a gentleman, and one with a future, even though it was only in dealing clothes and shovels at the general store.

But when she went back to peeling the onions, it was the letter she had propped up in front of her that was more interesting. She had read it three times already, but it needed a deal of thought still. It was from Dan Mullen and this was it:

‘Dearest
Helen
,

This
must
be
my
hundredth
letter
to
you
,
and
I’m
never
going
to
give
up
till
you
give
me
another
chance
.
You
must
have
heard
about
how
I’ve
changed
.
I
never
touch
a
drop
of
liquor
and
I
keep
in
good
shape
.
Most
important
,
I’m
aiming
for
a
security
job
on
the
new
Pinkerton
Agency
payroll
.
They’re
looking
for
experienced
men
.
Helen
,
how
many
times
have
I
tried
to
explain
about
that
day
?
You
say
you
can’t
live
in
disgrace
,
but
the
facts
are
not
what
people
say
.
You
believed
the
paper
,
and
you
took
in
the
chuckle
-
heads
who
gossip
round
these
parts
.

Why
don’t
you
believe
me
?
I
was
never
scared
.
As
a
lawman
,
it
was
my
duty
to
face
those
men
.
But
I
swear
that
I
was
sick
that
day
.
A
doctor
would
have
sent
me
to
bed
with
pills
or
something
.
I
was
shaking
,
I
was
sweating
,
and
my
head
thumped
to
hell
.

But
what
use
is
this
?
If
you
don’t
write
back
now
,
I’ll
never
write
again
.
A
man
can
only
ask
so
many
times
.

Love
,
Dan
.’

‘Any grub yet, girl? My stomach is holler like a trough in drought.’

‘Pop... nearly done.’

She sat down with him to eat and talk after a little while. It was the time of day when they came together for the one time when they could relax. He was bed-ridden and slept a lot. She worked across at the Dawe’s place, cleaning and cooking, walking back to get his food and a change of clothes at set times. Nobody knew what was wrong with him. ‘It’s just ma years, girl,’ was her father’s diagnosis.

‘So... come on, what’s buggin’ ya daughter?’ He asked, when he’d wiped his lips.

‘Ah... just a headache, Pop...’

‘Headache my jippy arm! It’s a man problem... I kin tell... I’m pushing eighty and I see into young folks’ heads.’

‘It’s a letter from Dan Mullen.’

‘What? He pesterin’ ya agin? That man’s not just a coward, he is a whimperin’ child. He should go west and find the coast, then board a ship for some island somewheres...’

‘You’ve been reading another sailor-book, I guess. No, he’s not what you think... maybe.’

‘Not sure? Well, Ned Pearce is not the world’s best talking or best turned out feller, but he’s got brains, and a neat little business there in town. You could do worse.’

Helen’s father went through all the usual arguments: how Pearce was respectable, and how a woman should not have to work her fingers to the bone, and how soon he’d be dead and gone. All good, solid arguments. Still, there was this doubt. It had always seemed hard to accept that Dan had changed so suddenly, lost his nerve. She decided to ask her father for an opinion.

‘Pop... this Dan Mullen. You used to like him.’ Her father grunted.

‘Well, he’s been keeping clean and sober. He’s been training - running, getting muscular. He’s no pride. The kids laugh at him, but he’s a changed man. Can a man redeem himself? Would you forgive?’

‘What? Forgive a man who allows innocent people to be shot down while he cowers in a room someplace? Never. And no daughter of mine would, neither... I sincerely hope?’

There was no chance of him talking any sense. Helen took the pots to wash, and then walked out in the cool evening air. There was just a slight smile of red as the sun peeped out before slipping into the night. She loved the night air, and she sat on the porch to think a little. It had been a lonely time. She should have been wed now, to a man respected and loved by all. She should have borne him children. The place needed a man - it was nothing more than a woodworker’s place now, and it used to be a saddlery. But if she had been a lawman’s wife, she would have lived in town, walked to church with her head high, lived in a good-sized home.

‘Helen... you’ll get yer death, get in here an’ read to me... my eyes is dead tired, girl!’

She thought the night was going to be the same, routine quiet night of reading and hot drinks. But a rider came from the darkness as she was about to go in. It was old Micky from the stagecoach station.

‘Hey... thought I’d better come and tell yer Helen.... your Dan’s gone chasing the McVie boys!’

She got the whole story as she gave him beer and bread. By bedtime, when her father had dozed off on the settee and Micky had ridden home, her head was swimming with questions, all beginning with the words, ‘Should I?’

Early the next morning, after she had settled down to some mending with her father in his chair opposite, trying to read a paper and not listen to her, she broached the subject of Dan Mullen and the trouble brewing.

‘Pa... remember when you and me went riding... in the Badlands...’

‘They weren’t Badlands then, girl. You could do some proper surveying and not be pestered with runaways and thieves!’

‘Well, pa... thing is, Dan’s son is caught up in all this trouble... I, I should be there...’

‘Give me one good reason why, daughter!’

She had been aiming to avoid all this, as no-one knew her real feelings for Dan. But the fact was that they had been growing closer since they started talking again, at first politely, but then re-discovering their former attraction. Maybe there was a chance he could win back some respect. Maybe she could help him. The story was told to her father. She told him what she would dread Ned Pearce ever hearing how she was so attracted to a man of feeling. She explained that maybe Dan Mullen was sensitive, a changed man, or a misunderstood man...

‘Dammit, you love him, child! I kin tell. You love the coward.’

‘Pa...
stop
calling
him
that
. He’s a thinker... a man with a mind and a sensitive side to him. He lost his wife, remember... Mary...and he’s tried to turn into what the folk here want.’

‘A reader huh? You mean he’s given up guns and he’s took to book-learning? He sounds like me...’

‘Exactly... in some ways he is like you, see?’

‘But he’s got that flaw, girl... I mean people
died
in Red Ridge ... down to him. I can’t ever forget that, sensitive or not!’

Helen saw that there was no point in trying to change his mind. His opinions were set and his mind made up when it came to Dan Mullen. But somehow, she felt that she would have to act, to be with him. The more she thought about what might be going on, the more she realised that her feelings were confused when it came to these two men. She had got to like Ned Pearce’s company. He offered her a future, and she knew that he was ready to ask her to marry him. She could feel the moment coming. But what about Dan? Here was a man with hidden depths, a man who brooded, but who made it clear that he needed her.

Helen wanted to do something. She threw the trousers she was mending on the floor and stamped outside into the heat.

‘Hey... what the hell’s up with you, girl?’ Her father called after. But there was no reply and he went back to columns of print about beef prices and new entertainers just arrived in town.

Chapter 3

‘What the hell is that?’ Pete asked himself as he was shoved, still gagged and bound, into the cave. What amazed him was a massive gun with a whole bundle of barrels.

‘Get the kids in the back hole, and move the door across. You watch ‘em, Grip,’ John McVie ordered. The prisoners were pushed into a small space about six by ten feet, into the guts of the mountain, and a huge wood board was thrown across a gap in a wattle wall. They only had glints of light inside, but at least their gags were ripped off.

‘Give them some grub, Barero... some oatmeal, and we got biscuits somewhere,’ John said.

Pete and Sara had seen a man sitting by the Gatling gun just back from the entrance to the cave. He had been keeping watch while the gang were away. The place was impressive, like a giant house of about six rooms, all made from the hollow scooped out by nature. There were huge stocks of food and drink, piled to the ceiling, and rifle-cases stacked three deep in rows of ten.

At last the captives could talk, even though John had told them to shut up. But their arms were still tied behind, and when the food arrived, Barero had a bowl of meal and a bag of hard biscuits; he spoon-fed them in turn, deliberately wiping meal on Pete’s face.

‘Hey... the leetle girl is so fine... I weel pay you a visit tonight, hey lady? You need a man in here, not a leetle boy like thees huh? Now eat this - only a few insects in it, I think?’ Sara spat some chewed biscuit back at him. His first reaction was to reach for his knife, but he stopped himself, and instead, he took her chin hard in one hand and yanked her to his lips. Sara bit him and he yelped like a pup.

‘You mongrel beast!’ She screamed, loud enough to bring John into the room. He soon weighed up the situation, and controlling himself with difficulty, he told Barero to get out.

‘Better get Grip in here to feed you kids... he has no, erm, desires... except strangling folk, I reckon.’ He smiled to himself.

‘McVie... what’s the game here?’ Pete asked.

‘Ah, the hard man speaks! You gonna be a hard man like your pa, son? You think you’re in any position to ask
me
what my game is? You insolent rat... I’ve got some plans for you... but first we have to lure that yeller pa of yours into here... what d’you think will make him come, hey? I’ll tell you... the thought of being a hero... the thought of being
liked
again... that’s what’s gonna bring him here, to die.’

Pete was soon being fed again, this time by the giant hands of Grip, who never said a word. He just fed them both, spat on the straw, and left, sliding the wood across again and leaning on it. All Pete and Sara could do was listen to the talk. Pete resolved to take it all in, to work out any plan possible to do something to help, something to get back at this lot.

‘I wish you could hold me, Pete... I’m so low! How could anybody do what they did?’

Sara was weeping, breaking up again at the thought of what had happened.

‘They’re the lowest scum you kin find, Sara. But there’s a way to beat ‘em, and my pa’s out there, I know he is... he’ll be here... he’ll come for us!’

*

Dan and Pearce had lain in the undergrowth for the rest of the night, then at sun-up, they covered Savory’s body and mounted, ready to get some distance covered before anybody could find them. They knew that the outlaws would be looking for them still.

‘Where are we goin’ anyways? I’m asking you because you’re the professional in these things... I’m just a salesman,’ Pearce asked, as they stared at the horizon.

‘Well, simple... towards the buttes over there... maybe thirty miles... cos that’s where the wild bunch are...’

‘Pardon me, feller, but I thought the idea was that we went the
other
way, where folks ain’t likely to take a fancy to your carcass for shootin’ practice?’

‘Not if you want to catch the McVies... they just love the renegades, and like to join up with them to let off steam and such.’

‘But
we
ain’t a posse... we are two men... agin maybe hundreds!’

Dan looked long and hard at Ned Pearce. There was a wind getting up and it was flapping his lank, brownish hair over his thin face. He was a lanky man, quick of movement, always nervous. His eyes stared, or seemed to, all the time.

‘Pearce... you want Helen, right?’

‘Sure.’

‘And you think I’m no good. Right?’

‘Well... maybe erm...’

‘You have no time to think. Just let’s either shake hands and you trust me, or you go, cos I’m not leaving my son to die out here. I know your son isn’t here, I know you have no cause to help me but, well...
you’re
the one been talking about cowards!

For the first time in his life, Ned Pearce spoke straight to Dan. ‘I’m with you.’

They set off for the buttes of Broken Sword Canyon.

*

‘Pa... Pa... would you think me awful stupid if I said I wanted to go away for a while?’

Helen made the mistake of talking to her father while he had his head in a book.

‘What? What yer say gal?’

‘Pa, I have to tell you something, it’s real important.’

It was over hot coffee at breakfast that she decided to broach the subject. All night she had been worrying over it, and the words of Dan’s letter would not get out of her head.

‘Go away?’

‘Yes. You recall Dan Mullen’s boy, Pete? Well he’s in trouble, and I think we could help.’

‘WE? I’m an old stager and you’re a woman! Where is the young feller?’

‘Don’t know for sure... just the general direction... but I’m happy to go and find out. I intend to go into town and see what’s in folks’ minds there.’

The old man creased his forehead and groaned, then sipped some coffee. ‘What about me? You gonna leave me with that child?’

The child was fifteen-year-old Liza, devoted to Helen, and her pretend sister, they were so close.

‘I did think that she would be just fine. She knows you and she’s a good cook.’

‘Ah, yer might as well, ya allus gets yer own way, like your mom.’

‘I knew you’d understand, Pa!’

But Helen didn’t really know what was to be done. A ride into town would be a good start.

She made arrangements with Liza and the carpenter, Luke, to take care of things, and she packed just the essentials, in case she was heading north the next day. She would worry, but there was a bigger weight on her mind. Basically, what was nagging her was the thought that something might happen to Dan, and that their parting words had been angry ones. They had talked last about a month before, when he had seen her in town and come across to give her a polite greeting, full of hints suggesting that he was a changed man.

The town was in an excitable mood. People had gathered in the chapel and were chattering about something. They kept saying the word ‘posse’ The older men, whose

sons had gone with Savory, were worried. Helen listened to the talk, tethering her horse and then sitting on a bench to listen. Young Jimmy Gent, who was her main source of information about what Dan Mullen was up to, sat by her. His old hat was pushed up to rest on his curly ginger hair, and he turned his red face to her, ‘Say... why are you here Miss Helen... nobody here... ‘

‘Dan and Ned Pearce went with the posse then, Jimmy?’

‘Yeah, but they’ve bin away too long. Folks is concerned.’

‘What could have happened?’

‘The old men reckon they’ve trailed the gang into the hill country. That means outlaws and disease o’ course. But there were fifteen men. And your Dan is a useful hand with a gun, Miss.’

‘
My
Dan?’

‘Now don’t pretend that he ain’t. Why else have you been pesterin’ me to know about him these months back and more... since I was just in long pants?’

‘Shhh... keep it under your considerable hat.’

It was going to take forever for people to decide when, where and how to send help. Was it going to be them, or the professionals? Some spoke for asking for troopers. The commander at Fort Gerdon up the trail might send a detail. But there again, it might be best to send men who knew the hills. The talk was going around in circles.

But Cal Witte, the Minister, and Joe Wright, the hotel-owner shoved their way to the front and stood on a dais to talk. Cal Witte, a chubby, balding man with traces of his German accent still well in evidence, was irritated. ‘Now, first, let me say that I do not approve of dis chapel being used for such a purpose. I mean, I appeal to you! De place is a sacred spot. Do you want some civilisation here or not? What vill be de next travesty?’

Some called out that the padre was right, and some told him to shut up. Joe Wright, square-shaped, solid, believable, tried the voice of reason, as that’s what they always expected of him. He tucked his fingers under his braces, flapping back his black jacket.

‘Good people... I recall when I first came here in a wagon, what, fifteen years back, you know what this was?’

‘A dung-heap,’ a voice from the back yelled.

‘No Sir, it was a footstep of good, healthy living in a place some called God’s Backyard. Now, I’m a man of the theatre, and guns are not my trade, but I have to say that without men like Jack Savory, there can be no lee-zhur time after you done with your sweating of your brows and so on. As the Bard says, ‘If all the days were holidays, to sport would be as tedious as to work’.

Several voices told him to get on with it, so he did. When he set his mind to it, Joe Wright could speak straight and sensible, folk said.

‘Now see, this posse is well overdue. If we stay put, we just leave them to whatever fate has in store and we pray.’

‘Very gut, vell said,’ Witte muttered.

‘Right... now, the problem with that is, what if we got
two
posses riding the Badlands and McVie comes
here
? You hadn’t thought of that, had you?’

There were worried mumblings around the building. Witte was restless again. He stood forward and put on his best preaching voice:

‘Now listen to me... dis chapel is being repaired at this very moment. See the scaffoldings? If you don’t stop pushing and screaming, de whole thing will fall, baff! No holy place. So make a decision quick and go!’

‘Now, parson, see, with the best will in the world, you’re putting your mind to trivia.’ Joe put him down. ‘See, what I’m saying is, send a posse and maybe get a mob coming at us, when we got no protection.’

‘We all grasped that, Wright, you’re scared about that perdy new theatre and your nice girls with their fans and flounces... you listen to the Minister. He’s lookin’ after us.’

At this point, a quiet voice spoke, and heads turned to listen. It was Helen, and she was being as tolerant as was decent in the face of such time-wasting.

‘Look, we’ve all spent a chunk of our lives making this a town, not a waste-tip nor a gambler’s lair. My father, now too old to join you here, is well-known to you all. If he was here, he would say get out there, with someone who knows the Broken Sword Canyon, and see what’s happening. It’s not acceptable that twenty men disappear. We’re talking about the north...Broken Sword and Black Butte? I know the place like my own doll’s house!’

There were whispers of, ‘It’s Jamie Lane’s gal.’ The chubby Harry Boak, a butcher, came out with the question they all wanted to ask: ‘How come
you
know such a place?’

‘Used to go there with my father, surveying.’

There were grunts and nods of agreement from the older townsfolk present. But Harry felt as if he was the natural leader and wanted to seem important.

‘So, missy, you implying somethin’ then, by your remarks?’

‘I’m implying, sir, that if you don’t get on the track, you’ll maybe find corpses, not friends and kin up there.’

The group didn’t want to agree. Only two men called out that they were ready to go.

There was a feeling of uncertainty in the air.

‘Mister, I can ride a horse, and I can shoot, and I know them hills like they were my bedroom carpet!’

‘Then for God’s sake, let’s cut outta here...my boy is out there in the damned wilderness,’ someone called out.

‘Wait! wait a moment...You mean you’re going to leave us open to whatever savages happen by?’ It was Joe Wright again.

Harry Boak answered for many. ‘Joe... a lot of us have got kin in that posse... the young ‘uns. Us older men are just a wee bit past our best.’

‘Do what you like, but don’t come whining to me when you come back to ruins and black smoke!’

There was an uneasy silence after this, as if everyone was weighing up the dangers.

Action decided the next move, as the crowd went out into the street and Harry started shouting orders. But the doubts were there, and Joe Wright was still calling after them. It was a slinging-match between Harry and Joe, and Joe was winning, as he was better with words that changed minds. It was only a matter of minutes before people started saying that they had no sons out there, so why should they go and risk their necks?