Showdown With Fear (7 page)

‘You did... but this Dan Mullen... well, never underestimate him.’

McVie knew it had to be Grip up there. Something was wrong. Surely, he thought, two kids couldn’t cause any trouble for Grip, a giant of a man. Or could they? Pete was a Mullen after all.

Chapter 6

Pete and Sara were almost done in. He had forced her to walk for two hours, in the night, before they stopped for rest. Pete had taken some food and a canteen of water, but Sara was in a desperate state. She hadn’t eaten properly for days and she looked worn and wasted. He sat her down by some cactus and rocks, and fed her some bread and water. It was like feeding a baby.

In the night, with the moonlight throwing down a pale cast of light on her lovely face, Pete was reminded just why he had wanted her. They had known each other for only a few months, but there was something special between them. They had got on like brother and sister at first, sharing a sense of humour and liking the same food, the same books, the same songs. But then he kissed her, out on the porch after supper, when her parents had been alive, two ordinary, affectionate people trying to keep a foothold in a wilderness.

‘You rest a while now, see, we got a good start, but we’re on foot. We’ve covered a good way, love. Drink this.’

‘How far to the river?’

‘Maybe three miles.’

Pete was no fool. He knew that their only chance was for the posse to see them. There was no way they could survive trying to walk across this desert scrub. If they didn’t reach proper cover by sun-up, they would be shrivelled up anyway and the heat would finish them before McVie’s lot caught up with them.

‘Pete, we’re not going to make it, are we?’

‘Sara, do you think I’d let you down... pa would skelp me raw if I let a lady down.’

They tried to smile. Inside, though, Pete knew that it was just a matter of time before they were either caught or burned up.

‘Pete... you’ve been great. I’ll try... I really will.’

He had a good look at her feet. Her shoes had been half-ruined even before they were abducted. Now they were sore, cutting her swollen feet. But the worst thing was that she was hot, feverish. He did his best with his bandanna soaked in cold water, padding the moisture on her forehead. At least she had kept the food down.

‘Darlin’ we have to try, however slow, to move on.’ He looked behind and caught a glimpse of the flare. He tried to work out what it might be, but whatever it was, it meant trouble. He said nothing to Sara, but gently lifted her to her feet and urged her to walk on.

‘Nice and steady. One step at a time. That’s my Sara.’ Most of her weight was on his arm, and he half-dragged her along. There was still silence behind them. The only sounds were of coyotes and birds. It was still as a graveyard around them; the scatterings of lizards sometimes broke the silence, their footsteps scraping against the wall of dark and deadness.

The blessing was that the wind had died down, Pete thought. If she could just stay awake. He looked down at her rich, matted black hair. Gone was the lovely shine and all her womanly scents. They were both like prairie-dogs, he thought, animals of the desert, scampering for a hole somewhere, before the predator came.

‘Please, pa... you gotta find us... you gotta!’ Pete mumbled every snatch of prayer he could recall, mostly his mother’s favourite, ‘Lord who sees everything, look on my travail.’

It must have been just as the sun appeared on the horizon that she collapsed. There were bands of red and gold glinting on the earth, giving an unreal glow to the edges of everything. The first light of the day was just stroking everything into colour and life, but Sara fell. Pete crouched by her. The great golden disc was like a hot ball rolling into play. He knew that they could not last long. In half an hour there would be such heat that neither of them could move much, they were so exhausted.

He carried her to the shade of the largest rock he could find and squatted out of the light. He chewed some food now, and wiped Sara’s brow again. She was very nearly unconscious, trying to talk but the words were slurred. He could just make out the words, ‘leave me’.

‘No way, my sweet... no way. The posse’s coming, you wait and see!’

*

In that early sunlight, there was someone else who was almost done in with exhaustion. A young man who had lain with shock, knocked unconscious when Stobart’s boys had attacked the posse, was riding slowly to the top of a slope overlooking Red Ridge. It was Tom Boak, Harry’s son. He had been the luckiest man on earth, he reflected, as he came across a horse after the massacre of the posse. He had woken up the morning after, in the brushwood, and realised that he had been left for dead. It was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. His friends’ bodies were lying all around him that day. He had walked from one to the other, stunned and shocked, feeling pulses and looking into eyes, praying that he was not the only one left alive. But he had been, and he had to leave them all and start walking towards town as fast as he could. The only problem was, he was dizzy. Something had cracked his head and he was only half in the world for some time. He had lived on water from the cacti and roots, seeds and anything that moved in the night, but never feeling well enough to travel far. Then the horse was there in front of him, like in a dream. He had recognised it, it was the old timer’s mare. It was old too, about fourteen, but it was a sign from Providence that time. He had mounted and plodded steadily homewards, stopping time and time again to rest.

Now here he was, and his effort of will had brought him home. He saw the wooden houses of the main street, the stables, the adobe houses at the far end. And when he saw the scaffolding around the chapel, then he knew it wasn’t a dream.

By the time the town rose and thought about breakfast, Tom Boak was leading the mare in, slow as a bow-legged pack mule, down the main street. It was the cleaner at the Golden Halls who saw him first, squinting to focus on the stranger. He dropped the broom and sprinted across to wake up Harry Boak. In no time at all, Tom was a celebrity, and there was a crowd shoving to get into his make-shift sickroom behind his father’s store.

The young man had spent all his energy and could not speak. He slept for hours. The doctor had given him sedatives and ordered a poultice and efficacious waters to be dribbled on his lips. Salve was applied to his burns. Harry thanked God, and his friends shook his hands. He, along with almost every other citizen of Red Ridge, wanted to fire questions at young Tom, but they would have to wait.

The question hovering on all their lips was, ‘Are you the only survivor?’ and the crowd gathered silently outside Harry’s store, orderly but full of concern. Men, women and children fussed and whispered and prayed, and every few minutes someone would ask, ‘Has he come round yet?’

Helen had been back to look after her father for a day, and was riding back into town when she saw the commotion and soon learned what had happened. Naturally, she too was burning to ask about Dan and Ned. She sat in the eating-room run by Dinah, the old lady who cleaned the chapel, and tried to be patient, sitting by the window where she could see the crowd. Everyone was watching for Harry Boak’s door to open and for that round, black-smocked figure to come out. Would he be smiling or not?

She sipped some strong coffee. Dinah swept the floor, meticulously picking up bits of straw and meal. ‘God’s will be done... but them poor folk! I mean, I ain’t got no kin in that posse, but I feel for them. This is a wild place... it took all my boys and my Henry... disease, not guns. But it took ’em all the same.’ Dinah was talking to herself. Helen would not, or could not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the door and her mind kept thinking of the words in Dan’s letter. She was mentally miles away when a hand prodded her shoulder and she looked up to see Joe Wright beaming at her.

‘Miss Lane, I hope you don’t mind... I saw you in here, and I thought you might like to listen to some thoughts I’ve been having.’

‘About what, Mr. Wright?’

‘Well, first of all, I want to tell you about this town. What do you know about Red Ridge, Miss Lane?’

‘I know it’s never still, there’s always new faces coming and going. It’s a border town. Used to be more kind of ... wild? ‘

‘Miss Lane, you know, when I went into the impresario business, the east grew too small. There was too much in the hands of too few. I came west, further and further west, looking for my own space, just like your good father. He did good work in the Indian country, I in the theatre.’

‘You’re losing me, sir.’

‘Point is, let’s be honest, there’s no hope for this posse. They’re gone - lost or... or worse. We need to consider the consequences, and I feel that your family’s experience can be most useful. Thing is, I’ll do anything to keep Golden Halls. Everything I have is in there. It isn’t much by Boston standards, or even Kansas. But you gotta start somewhere. People work hard out here. They need recreation, a night watching theatre, songs, humorous pieces. Wright will give them that. There will be more Golden Halls in every town in the state, but I have one fear eating at me.’

‘Yes?’

‘What if it happens again? The McVie business? What if they come again? He’s out there and we have... old and middle-aged men... no real fighters I suppose.’

Helen saw in his face what she had seen in a thousand faces - the fear of the wild, the brutal. Fear of everything out there beyond the poorest people on the edge of town, fear of what might emerge from the endless red plains to crush what the men in suits had achieved.

‘What can I do?’

‘You can get your father to erm...’ he whispered this, ‘Send for the army... we don’t want any panic. But if you ride out home
now
before anything breaks... we could have a garrison in the town in what, two days?’

Helen was worried sick inside, but tried not to let it show. Her eyes were darting glances at Boak’s door in between listening to Joe Wright. Her father had taught her politeness, and that she should listen to gentlemen, keep eye-contact with them. He shouted for some coffee, and old Dinah brought two mugs across.

‘See, this mob here, they will go berserk if there’s a sniff of panic. I know them. I know the common folk. Run like mad steers at a gunshot.’ He took a swig of the coffee and crossed his arms, sitting, waiting for a response.

‘Well Mr. Wright, all I know is that there are two men out there I care for. And in this town there are things I respect and love. Men like you have built this into a half-decent place. Jack Savory was... is... doing a first-rate job here. If young Tom tells us the worst, then we should get help but...’

Her talk was cut short by a commotion outside. Helen and Joe stood up and walked straight to the door to see Harry Boak come out to talk to the townsfolk. He did not look happy.

‘Folks, please... quiet please! Now, I have just got down on my knees and thanked the good Lord that my son is back with me. Tom’s going to be okay. But he has spoken to me about the chase for the McVies... and, well, it don’t seem like good news, I’m afraid.’

There was an awesome silence as people took this in. He wiped his brow, coughed, and went on: ‘See, they was attacked in the night, it seems... er... superior numbers and so on... and er... well, Tom reckons they was cut up pretty bad.’

The shouts and rants then broke out, as everyone wanted to know the fate of their son, husband, brother, cousin, father. Harry was overwhelmed. His friend Witte came to give some moral support, and Harry gathered himself to raise a shout.

‘SHUT UP!’

There was the tough silence again, uneasy, tense.

In the middle of this, the door behind Harry and Witte swung open and slowly, breathing hard and shuffling with the support of the door-jamb, came Tom Boak, looking thin and undernourished, with his skin blotchy and yellow.

‘Listen... you gotta face up to it... Savory and the lot... they was killed! That’s the truth, pa...I was there. I thank God I came back out of it!’

The response to this was a detonation. Some yelled. The wives and daughters screamed and covered their faces. The men tried to keep face and take it on the chin.

Harry bundled his son back into the arms of the doctor inside.

Joe Wright had no kin on the posse, but he looked at Helen’s face. She almost passed out. He held her and led her back to sit down.

‘This damned place, Dinah! Fetch some cold water... poor girl lost her man. That fellow Pearce... a good man lost!’

In the street, people were in shock, not knowing what to do. But once again, Harry Boak took control and asked the Minister to open up the chapel to them all. Witte agreed that God’s house was the place to be at such a time. Within half an hour, the chapel was full. Food, drinks and comfort were given to those in grief. To the people of Red Ridge over the years, accepting death was part of almost everyday life, but over the last few years there had been more equilibrium, a sense of ordinary life going on. Now, with the massacre of Savory and the posse, the bad old days seemed to have returned.

When Helen came to her senses, and was able to express some of her feelings, Joe Wright and Dinah were still with her. She seemed to stiffen up and insist on doing things. Determination was written on her features, and Joe was amazed at her words.

‘Right... now, if we go to pieces here, evil will step in. My father would act now. Do something. I shall do as you said, Mr. Wright. McVie’s bunch could be riding here now. Someone has to organise the people.’

She called Jimmy across and gave him his orders. He was to ride like the wind to her father’s place and tell him what had happened, the go on to Fort Gerdon and get some troops there fast.