A Colt for the Kid (4 page)

Hennesey was the first man they met with in town. He was moving towards his office and stopped as Johnnie drew up outside the store. The marshal’s eyes went quickly to the darkening bruises on Johnnie’s face then transferred to Lucy.

‘Morning, Lucy. Sam not coming in today?’

‘He’s busy with the books, Ed, so I thought Johnnie could make the trip with me.’

‘Been falling off your horse, young feller?’ Hennesey grinned at Johnnie.

Johnnie fingered his bruises. ‘No, it wasn’t that way, Marshal. I—’ He stopped and glanced at Lucy.

Hennesey laughed. ‘OK, you don’t have to tell if you don’t want to.’

‘There’s no reason why he shouldn’t tell,’ Lucy put in. ‘We met with Matt this morning and he was mighty rude to me. Johnnie chopped him down to size.’

‘Johnnie handled Stone! Now look, Lucy, that’s kind of hard to swallow. Stone’s a big, tough man. Donovan wouldn’t have him for foreman if he wasn’t. In any case I saw him going into the Silver Dollar about a quarter of an hour since.’

Lucy smiled. ‘Go and have a closer look at him, Ed. Then ask him if he fell off his horse. Help me down from the rig, will you, Johnnie?’

Hennesey took a fresh look at Johnnie as he hopped to the ground and extended bony hands towards Lucy. He noticed the size of the hands and the thickness of the wrists and his eyebrows lifted a trifle. He turned away.

‘See you again, Lucy, Johnnie.’

He walked towards the Silver Dollar. Seeing Stone was important, more so than the small business he had intended to see to in his office. Stone at any time was a trouble maker and if he had suffered injury at the hands of a mere boy would be doubly so. He climbed the three steps to the veranda of the saloon and pushed through the batwings in a thoughtful frame of mind and the moment he did so he knew that trouble was imminent. Stone was leaning heavily on the bar, a whiskey glass in his left hand, and he was swearing steadily, a monotonous repetition of oaths interspersed with threats ‘to fix that young tow-head for good’. Doone, the bartender, was backed from the counter as far as the narrow space allowed and the five or six men on the same side as Stone were giving him ample room. Hennesey recalled as he moved towards the counter that it was the end of the month. Stone was the only Donovan man in town at the moment, but by sundown the place would be packed with MD hands. Some of them would think they owed loyalty to their foreman. Hennesey had the feeling that he was straddling a fence as he drew alongside Stone. The town belonged to Carter and it was from him he received his pay, but just how much could the town buck against the weight of Donovan’s spread? And it might be like that if he was too heavy handed with the MD foreman. He was at Stone’s back when he said:

‘Howdy, Matt. Have the next with me.’

Stone came round slowly, his eyes full of sullen rage. ‘What the hell for? I’ve got dough to buy my own liquor, ain’t I?’

‘Sure, suit yourself, Matt. Just thought you’d like a beer with me.’ His eyes went to Stone’s right wrist, now tightly bandaged. ‘What happened? You take a spill from your horse?’

‘No, I didn’t. If you want to know I met up with some young pup that was driving for Lucy Stevens. We had a few words and before I knew what he was at, the skunk dragged me from my saddle. I came down heavily on my right hand. That’s all, except that I’ll tear his head off his shoulders next time I see him.’

‘You ought to go somewhere and get that wrist seen to properly. I reckon it needs a doc by rights.’

‘Yeah, and where would I find a doc? Do you think I’m going to take a three-day ride to Lees Ferry? Donovan’ll fix it for me when he rides in tonight. Anyway, what the hell’s it to you?’

Stone turned sullenly, picked up the whiskey bottle, saw that it was empty, and smashed it down to the floor. ‘Doone,’ he shouted, ‘another bottle. Come on, stir yourself.’

‘I reckon you’ve had about enough, Mr Stone, the boss—’

‘To hell with Carter, Belle Clancy as well. They couldn’t live if it wasn’t for Donovan’s spread. Remember that, you bald headed old coot, when you talk to a Donovan man.’

Hennesey nodded to the bartender. ‘Give him another bottle, Lem.’

Stone swung round. ‘Who the blazes are you to say whether I can have another bottle or not?’

Hennesey met his eyes with a cold stare. ‘I’m the marshal, and I’d say if you’d had enough liquor. You haven’t. At least, not enough to make you as drunk as you’re trying to act. Even if you did get licked in a fight that doesn’t say you can fling your temper around wherever you like. Drink as much as you like, but behave or, Donovan man or not, you go into the can.’

Hennesey turned on his heel and went out wondering if he had said the right thing. Clamping down on Stone was one thing, but keeping him clamped down would be something entirely different. It was all right threatening to throw Stone into the lockup. The threat might calm him down for a while, but suppose he was forced to carry out that threat and Donovan should decide he wanted his man out again? What then?

Hennesey confessed to himself that he did not know the answer. The only thing he did know was that sooner or later Donovan was going to stretch out his hand and grab what he wanted. Which would he grab at first, the town or Sam Stevens’ place with its abundant supply of water? He guessed at it being the Stevens’ place first. Grabbing the town by force had a lot of complications behind it. Taking range land was simple if you had enough guns shooting for you and your conscience was suited to the job. Donovan filled the bill in both respects.

Donovan entered the saloon at six in the evening and four men, Harper, Dayley, Morris and Savage walked behind him. The four had the one thing in common. The thin lipped, unsmiling faces of professional gun-hawks. Donovan made immediately for the table at which Stone was seated. He sat himself opposite the foreman while his gun-hawks ranged themselves sideways on to the bar. A position that was both suitable for ordering drinks and keeping an eye to the man who paid them. Carter was at a table at the far end of the room in conversation with Smith, the town’s carpenter and odd job man, when the five entered. He took one apprehensive glance, then switched his talk quickly from the subject of a new barn at the livery to an urgent request for Smith to go and ask the marshal to step along.

Stone was part drunk and, with the savage pain in his wrist, inclined to be rebellious. He met Donovan’s enquiring eye with a surly: ‘Stevens won’t come.’

‘What exactly did he say?’ Donovan asked, then noticing that Stone kept his right hand underneath the table. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

The foreman hesitated, found no effective lie that would cover up the incident and growled out the truth.

‘Fine goddam foreman you are,’ Donovan said. ‘Let me have a look at that wrist.’

Stone unwrapped the bandages and displayed his swollen and discoloured wrist. Donovan probed hard fingers at the joint then turned and bellowed:

‘Harper, Savage, here a minute. Play you’re being hospital nurses,’ he said when the two men strolled over. ‘Hold Stone by the shoulders.’

As the hands of both men clamped him back in his chair, Stone glanced nervously at Donovan. ‘You’re not going to—’

‘Shut up,’ Donovan boomed. ‘You’re no use to me with a dislocated wrist.’

He grabbed Stone’s hand in his huge grip and gave a pull that brought the foreman forward in spite of the two men holding him back. Stone gave a groan and the moment Donovan released his hold, sagged in his chair.

‘He’ll be all right,’ Donovan said to the pair of gun-hawks. ‘You can get back to the bar but go easy with the drinks.’ He looked at Stone, now shaking his head from side to side as if to bring things into focus again. ‘I’ll bet that shook some of the liquor out of you. Get that wrist tied up again and try to listen to what I’m saying. That youngster who pulled you from your horse. What did you say his name was?’

‘Callum, Boss. Johnnie Callum. Be about eighteen or nineteen. Stands about six feet and has hair that is darned near white.’ Stone struggled with one hand and his teeth to knot the bandage on his wrist.

‘Callum, hmm. I seem to remember the name. Yes, I’ve got it. Not that it matters a damn. Stone, you remember about five or six years back when we cleared four or five bunches of homesteaders off the range? One of them was named Callum. Wasn’t it him that came whining up to the ranch house about a son being missing?’

‘Well, it’s a long time back, Boss, but I do remember
clearing some jasper away from the house. I guess the name could have been Callum. You figuring this youngster might be the missing son?’

‘Perhaps. Anyway, it’s no matter. The thing is, do I go ahead and try to buy Stevens out, or now that you’ve sort of begun a fight with them, carry on with it. We need that land badly, or rather, the river at that point. Blast it, it’s the only place in fifty miles where the banks shelve down at an easy angle. The rest of the course is either sheer rock or clay.’

‘I’d be for taking some of the boys up there and making a clean job of it,’ Stone growled.

‘Huh, I might have expected an answer like that from you. You don’t see much further than the end of your nose. I was about set to do that until I lost this saloon back to Belle.’

‘I don’t see—’ Stone began.

‘You wouldn’t. Listen, owning this saloon is as good or better than owning the rest of the town. It’s here where most of the money comes. Money pays Hennesey’s wages. Get that?’

‘But Hennesey wouldn’t dare buck against you, Boss. He ain’t ever done it yet. Anyhow, couldn’t you hire him direct?’

‘Hennesey wouldn’t work for me. It was all right while I controlled Carter, but not any more,’ Donovan said shortly. ‘Carter could tell Hennesey to ask for State help if there was any real trouble. That’s the way of it now.’ Donovan got to his feet. ‘You and I will go and talk to Stevens. Tell the boys to trail along behind us.’

Donovan stalked out of the place and almost collided with Hennesey who was coming in. The two exchanged a brief greeting, then Hennesey continued into the saloon. He gave a nod to Stone and the four who were leaving the counter and went straight up to Carter.

‘What’s doing, Luke? You worried about those four gunslingers of Donovan’s?’

Carter nodded. ‘I was, Ed, but I see they’re on their way. Maybe I’m a mite jittery these days.’

‘Maybe you’ve good reason to be that way. Donovan’s made no move since Belle took the saloon from him.’

‘No, that’s what worries me. This is the first time he’s shown up in the place since that night, and he hasn’t even stopped for a drink. I tell you, Ed, I don’t like it.’

‘No more do I. Stone was on his way to see Sam Stevens when he ran into that trouble, or rather made it for himself.’

‘Yes, I got some sort of an idea of what happened from Doone. Nothing very clear, but I make out that that young Callum must be a pretty tough kid.’

Neither man had heard the soft-footed approach of Belle. ‘What was that about a tough kid?’ she said.

Hennesey retailed what he knew and guessed at. She said, without hesitation:

‘If Stone was riding out to see Sam Stevens, it was probably to ask Sam to come here and meet Donovan.’

‘I don’t see how you make that out,’ Carter argued.

‘Well, if Donovan has taken Stone with him after only a short talk in here, where else would he be likely to go? Luke, I think these Stevens folk are going to be in trouble.’

Hennesey got to his feet. ‘I reckon I might take a little ride that way myself. Been quite a time since I had a look at their place.’

‘Mind how you go, Ed,’ Carter said. ‘Remember what I told you about the Callums being cleared out of their homestead. If this boy is their son he might have some notion about taking vengeance on Donovan.’

‘Be a damn good notion if he could manage it,’ Belle cut in.

‘Seemed a harmless enough youngster when I saw him the first day he came into town,’ Hennesey said, ‘but after the way he handled Stone, I’m not so sure. Anyway, I guess
Donovan can look after himself all right. See you when I get back.’

Donovan had waited a frustrating half hour in front of the Stevens’ house when Hennesey rode up. The marshal viewed the big rancher sitting on a cane bottomed chair on the veranda whilst Stone and the other four men lounged against the rail and smoked.

‘No one at home,’ Hennesey said casually.

‘You can see damned well there isn’t,’ Donovan snapped. ‘What brings you here, anyway?’

‘Just passing by, thought I’d call in. Like to get around when I can.’

‘Hmm, funny day to choose. The end of the month when my boys will be in town raising general hell.’

‘Oh, I reckon I’ll be back before they get steamed up.’ Hennesey slid from his saddle and led his mount to a water trough. He loosed the bit and left the animal drinking while he glanced around. It was easy to see why Donovan coveted this stretch of land, a tightly curved horseshoe of lush grass with the wide loop of the river forming three-quarters of its boundary. The stretch of land was roughly ten miles in either direction and sloped gently down to the river from the rather rough ground at the opening to the horseshoe and it was here that the Stevens’ house had been built. Here, also, was the only way out to drive cattle or reach the trail into town. In the days of Sam Stevens’ father a wide strip of range from here to the trail had been considered his, but Donovan had slowly pushed the weaker man back until he was contained in the horseshoe and now the only way out was across MD land. Up to now Donovan had never blocked the passage, but Hennesey had often wondered just what would happen if he decided to do so. There seemed to him only two alternatives for Sam. Give in or starve on his own land. Hennesey stared down to the distant loop of the river and followed its
gleaming thread. If only there was a break in the cliff-like opposite bank, a place where steers could climb out from the water, Sam could have swam his herd across and driven in that direction. But there was not. Not there or for twelve or so miles in each direction was there any place on the river where cattle could get down to the water. Hennesey put the bit back and was turning the horse away from the trough when he saw three riders silhouetted against the sun. Sam and Lucy Stevens and young Johnnie Callum. The three rode up and put their mounts to the trough. They exchanged greetings with Hennesey, then Sam said:

‘See to the horses, will you, Johnnie? It seems we have company.’

There was a dozen yards to cover to the house and the three moved across it in silence. Donovan had already got to his feet and with the added height the veranda gave him looked like a colossus as he stood, thumbs hooked in his belt and a half-smoked cigar in his mouth. Stone still lounged against the rail but the other four had come upright and Hennesey at least did not like the cold stare of the men.

‘Like to talk to you privately, Stevens,’ Donovan said.

‘If it’s business, and I can’t think it’ll be anything else, you’ll have to include my sister.’

‘I don’t do business with women or girls.’

‘Then you don’t do any business with us, Mr Donovan.’

‘All right, if you want it in public. I’m closing my land to you and your herds a week from today. That gives you a chance to get your stock and stuff away, unless you choose to stay here and starve.’

Stevens shook his head. ‘We don’t choose either way. That’s free range and we’ve every right to drive over it, or for that matter graze our stock on it. If that’s all you’ve come to say, Mr Donovan, then you’ve wasted your time. Now I’ll be obliged if you take yourself and your crew off my land.’
‘Not yet,’ Donovan said ominously. ‘Stone here has a little score to settle with your hired hand. It seems he took advantage of Stone’s quiet nature.’

‘You mean he licked an insulting bully,’ Lucy flared at him. ‘I reckon he could do it again too, at any time.’

‘We’ll see,’ Donovan rasped. ‘Harper, Savage, go and bring that young whelp over here. He somewhere’s around the barns.’

As the pair slouched away, Hennesey said: ‘What’s your intentions, Mr Donovan? You’ve been invited to get off this land. Staying here is making trouble—’ Hennesey hesitated. A brave enough man, he felt hog-tied under the hard-eyed stare of Morris and Dayley. He knew that if it came to gunplay, these two alone could outmatch him. There was Sam Stevens of course, but just how good he was with a gun, the marshal did not know. The other pair of gun-hawks would be back in a minute, too. Was it sensible to risk a showdown against such odds? He had to admit to himself that it was not.

‘You sounded as if you had something else you wanted to say,’ Donovan sneered at him.

Hennesey met his gaze. ‘I have, but I guess it will do another time. In plain words, Mr Donovan, I’m giving you no excuse for gunplay.’

Sam Stevens moved uncomfortably as his glance met the flaming anger in his sister’s eyes. He saw now that Donovan wanted to provoke a fight. A fight that would be hopeless from the start with only his own and Hennesey’s guns against those of the four professional killers. It would be that way, for Donovan himself would not bother to draw. Sam read the accusation of cowardice in Lucy’s eyes, then his gaze shifted to Johnnie walking towards them between Harper and Savage. Stevens took a side glance at Stone, no longer lounging against the rail but now alert and with eyes filled
with malevolence.

Johnnie came to a halt in front of Donovan. ‘These fellers said you wanted to talk to me, mister.’

Donovan leaned forward in his saddle. What kind of a youngster was this Johnnie Callum who looked up at him without either fear or anger in his light blue eyes? Used to seeing either dislike or fear in the expressions of men who looked at him, Donovan felt irritated by Johnnie’s almost friendly gaze.

‘You know who I am and something about me?’ Donovan boomed.

‘I’ve heard about you, mister, and what I heard wasn’t good, but the feller that told it me wasn’t good either, so maybe he lied.’

‘He didn’t lie. Was your father’s name Seth, mother, Louise?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then I’m the man that cleared them off my range. Now I’m going to clear you off, or at least, Stone is.’ Donovan straightened again at the sudden change that came over Johnnie’s face. He hated these always grinning sort of youngsters and now he had wiped the grin from this one’s face. He motioned to Stone.

‘Get your rope round this fellow and run him to hell out of this.’

The hands of both Hennesey and Stevens moved towards their guns but checked as Donovan’s four gunslingers made similar moves.

Johnnie stood gazing at Donovan as if paralysed while Stone leisurely unhooked the lariat from his saddle. Then Johnnie’s memory began to work. It slid swiftly through the years of misery he had spent with Manders and fastened on the night his parents’ homestead had been stamped flat by a horde of yelling riders. He heard again the shouts of his
father and the screams of his mother and suddenly their almost forgotten faces were vivid pictures to him. The paralysis left him and he saw only Donovan, big to almost giant size astride a horse that was equal to his weight. He noticed nothing of the casual coming forward of Stone, rope in hand, or of the tensed figures of Sam, Hennesey and Lucy in contrast to the relaxed but watchful stance of the gunhawks. Only Donovan was in his focus, and towards him he moved with a spring that had behind it all the power and swiftness of youthful limbs hardened and suppled by long hours of work. Stone was in the way of Johnnie’s sudden leap and was shouldered aside like a straw. Donovan raised a surprised hand to ward off the attack, found it held in a grip that would not be shaken and cursed loudly as his frightened mount reared. He was almost out of the saddle before he managed to bring his fist down on the top of Johnnie’s head with all the weight of his massive shoulders behind the blow. Johnnie grunted under the blow but there was no relaxing of his grip on Donovan’s arm. The horse came down again and went into a sideways dance and again the big rancher came close to leaving the saddle. Then Donovan’s bodyguard piled on to Johnnie, and the four pairs of hands bore him to the ground. He was in the process of being kicked to death when Hennesey and Stevens charged, their fists aiming blows right and left. The melee lasted only seconds and Donovan had sufficient to do in controlling his already scared mount to notice that in that time Lucy had darted indoors and reappeared with a Sharp’s rifle in her hand. The first he or any of the men milling close to him knew of the business was the crack of a shot. The whine of the slug put an instant end to fist fighting and brought at the same time an instinctive turning towards the sound of the gun coupled with a reaching for weapons. Lucy’s voice came as Donovan fought his mount to a standstill.