Halliday 11, p.1
Halliday 11, page 1
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It started with a woman Buck Halliday liked a lot. Jig Hamlyn, however, had other ideas. He figured Lucy Sproule belonged to his brother, Bill … and when he tried to make something of it, it came to shooting.
Halliday was told to quit the territory, if he wanted to go on breathing. Once Bill found out what had happened, he and his partner-in-crime, Duke Seegar, would be sure to come after him. So, wanting to avoid further trouble, Halliday saddled up and rode … straight into a trumped-up charge of stagecoach robbery and murder.
Jailed and facing a hang rope, he had to bust out and find the real culprits. But with every hand turned against him, that was going to be one tall order.
HALLIDAY 11: WHY NOT HANG HIM?
By Adam Brady
First published by Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia
© 2021 by Piccadilly Publishing
First electronic edition: September 2021
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Chapter One – The Cost Of Lucy Sproule
“HE THINKS HE’S so much better than us, he does. He wins a heap at cards, buys all his booze with our money and then caps it off by tryin’ to steal Deke’s girl.”
Flushed with a little too much rotgut in his belly, Jig Hamlyn pushed himself away from his friends at the bar and stood with hands thumbed into his ornately-tooled gunbelt.
“I wouldn’t push him too far, Jig,” one cowboy warned.
“Just too damned good for all of us ordinary cowpokes, our new man, Mr. Buck Halliday,” Hamlyn sneered.
Halliday linked his fingers around his glass and sat back in his chair. His companion, an over-rouged, red-haired woman in her late twenties, jerked her head around and glared at the speaker. But Halliday merely shook his head. “Ignore him, Lucy, it’s the liquor doin’ all the talkin’,” he said.
Hamlyn thrust his stubborn jaw out further, unwilling to let the matter rest.
“You think you’re so good you keep lookin’ down your nose at everybody, Halliday. I’m here to tell you, you’re no better than me!”
In five years of saloon work, Lucy Sproule had seen as many brawls as she’d had free drinks in Tub Creedy’s saloon. And she wasn’t about to let a little bad-mouthing ruin her evening. Swinging around in her chair so that the overhead lamp highlighted the high rise of her milky-white breasts, she regarded Hamlyn haughtily.
“Jig, I don’t see Bill around. Don’t you feel kinda puny without your brother holdin’ onto your hand?”
One of Hamlyn’s companions snickered and Hamlyn swung around angrily to face him.
“Somebody here want a lickin’ before I take Halliday on?”
When the five men remained silent, Hamlyn turned his attention back to the pair at the table and said;
“You’re full of sass now, Lucy, but we’ll see what you’ve got to say when Deke hears what you’ve been up to for the last two days.”
The girl jumped to her feet. As she did so, her skirt caught on the edge of the table and tore, angering her all the more.
“Deke doesn’t own me!” Lucy shouted into Hamlyn’s weathered face. “Never has and never will!”
“Ain’t how he tells it, Lucy. How about showin’ us that cute little mole you got about here that Deke keeps tellin’ us about?” Hamlyn said, pointing to a spot on his left thigh.
Lucy swung an open hand. Hamlyn caught it and held it, his grin broadening.
“Wouldn’t mind seein’ that little mole myself, Lucy, if ever you feel the need of a real man instead of this aimless drifter.”
Lucy swung her other hand, which Hamlyn also caught. Then he lifted her off her feet and pushed her back toward her table.
Halliday got to his feet and stopped her, then helped her into her chair. Then another of Hamlyn’s companions said quietly;
“Takin’ on Lucy’s one thing ... I reckon Halliday’ll be somethin’ different.”
“Reckon Jig’s bit off more’n he can chew,” another man opined, resting an elbow on the bar top. “Be interestin’ to find out if I’m right.”
Hamlyn heard and shot a vicious look at his companions, but was met by stony stares, and an indifference that riled him more.
“The rest of you stay outta this,” he snarled. “Deke’s my friend and I’m standin’ in for him.”
“Reckon Lucy’s old enough to pick her own friends,” another of the cowboys opined. “If it was me she picked, I wouldn’t give Deke a second thought.”
The others grinned, clearly enjoying Hamlyn’s mounting bitterness. And it was their taunts that made Halliday decide to let the matter drop.
“You’re drunk, Jig, and out of pocket to boot, so I’m goin’ to forget everythin’ that’s just been said. Let’s all have one last drink before hittin’ the trail, huh?”
Halliday was turning his back when Hamlyn grabbed a bottle from the bar. Before anyone could warn him, he swung the bottle at Halliday’s head. It was instinct, and the warning of Lucy’s sudden shocked gasp, that saw Halliday swing his head to the side. As Hamlyn’s body swayed off-balance with the blow, Halliday kicked his feet out from under him and knocked the bottle from his hand. Hamlyn crashed to the floor with a sickening thud. But no sooner had he regained his breath than he yelled;
“By the livin’ hell, Halliday, that does it!”
“Leave it, Jig,” Halliday warned.
The menace in his voice saw the room go suddenly quiet.
“You’ll pay for any damage, both of you,” Creedy growled.
Hamlyn ignored him and came slowly to his feet. Clenching his fists, he worked his shoulders and made a quick estimate of the numbers in the saloon. His grin broadened. For too long he had stood in the shadow of his brother and Bill’s sidekick, Deke Seegar. Now he’d show them he knew how to fight his own battles, and who better to prove his point than this strutting newcomer who, for no good reason Hamlyn could understand, had gained some standing with the hands of the Tippin Crossed Circle Ranch. Damn fools, he thought, to be taken in by a slick-talking womanizing cowpuncher.
“I’ll set the record straight, Halliday,” Hamlyn growled. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with that whore. This is between you and me!”
As Lucy got to her feet, Halliday rested a hand on her shoulder and forced her down. To the surprise of the watching cowboys, Lucy stayed put. Halliday then stepped in front of her and said;
“It doesn’t need to end like this, Jig.”
“Sure it does.”
Halliday shook his head and put his hands on his gunbelt buckle. Hamlyn’s eyes went to the gun in Halliday’s holster, then up the wide, flat body. Halliday looked impressive enough, but Hamlyn had backed himself into a corner. He moved in, ready to throw punches.
Halliday easily dodged the first onslaught, and by slow and careful maneuvering, drew Hamlyn into the center of the room. The onlookers, towners and cowboys alike, quickly formed a circle around them. Halliday continued to duck and sway without retaliating and Hamlyn’s breath was becoming louder and shorter as his wild, swinging punches took their toll of his strength and confidence. Then somebody in the second row called out;
“Hang a bell ’round his neck, Jig, so’s he’ll be easier to hit.”
The roar of laughter which followed served only to anger Jig Hamlyn more. He charged in again. But this time Halliday stood his ground. He brought up both hands, grabbed Hamlyn by the wrists and gave them a quick jerk, forcing the man down to his knees. Holding him there, Halliday said;
“I figure the drink’s addled your brain, Jig, makin’ you a mite clumsy. Leave it till you’re sober, huh?”
Hamlyn tore his wrists free and scrambled to his feet. Sweating and cursing, he wiped his face with his sleeve, then baring his teeth, lumbered in again.
“Goin’ to kill you, Halliday!”
Halliday waited until Hamlyn came within range, and with an almost apologetic expression on his face, he drove a fist to the point of Hamlyn’s jaw. For a moment, Hamlyn rocked on his heels, then he crashed to the floor, where he lay mouthing curses and clawing for his gun.
“One damn punch,” somebody said as if in total disbelief.
Then Halliday’s voice rose above the ensuing hubbub.
“Don’t be an all-out fool, Jig,” he warned.
But Jig Hamlyn, with blood spilling from his mouth, either did not hear or did not wish to. His gun cleared leather and his draw was fast and smooth. The onlookers behind Halliday dived for cover to get out of the line of fire. Lucy screamed and others yelled in protest at Hamlyn’s unwarranted action. Halliday’s right hand flashed and his gun spoke.
The bullet cracked into Hamlyn’s gun, then sliced painfully up his arm before plowing into the wall.
Hamlyn’s scream followed the roar of the gunshot and remained long after the echo had faded. Silence fell on the saloon from end to end—a bug could have been heard scratching itself, had not the bugs sought cover, too.
“Get up,” Halliday said c oldly.
Without a protest, Hamlyn scrambled to his feet, holding his bleeding arm against his chest. All color had drained from his face and his malignant eyes watched Halliday as he tried to fight off a wave of abject, physical fear. He knew that Halliday could have killed him.
“I took you too light ... this time,” Hamlyn said with a poor attempt at bravado.
“Next time you draw on me, Jig, you might not be so lucky,” Halliday replied, managing to keep contempt for this man out of his voice. “For now, saddle up and ride back to the ranch.”
Hamlyn licked his lips and rubbed his bloodied wrist. “I’m not leavin’ till I get this seen to,” he said thickly.
“We’ll be leaving in half an hour,” Halliday told him. “So see the doc works fast on you and gives you fifteen minutes start on us.”
Hamlyn looked around the room, taking note of the smug looks on some of the faces, particularly those with whom he had recently worked. They’ll pay, he thought.
With a final glance at Lucy, he turned and lumbered away, leaving his gun on the floor. Halliday bent to pick it up but one of Hamlyn’s companions beat him to it. Shoving it into his own belt, the man said;
“Be better if he rides light, Halliday. Jig ain’t one to forget what you’ve done.”
Halliday gave the man a nod and returned to Lucy’s table. He sat down and waited while she poured him a drink.
“Hell, Buck, this town’s yours for the taking,” she said. “What you did today, cutting that bully down to size—”
A shadow fell across the table and Lucy stopped abruptly. Looking up, she saw the man who had picked up Hamlyn’s gun. Andy Sommers was middle-aged, already three parts bald and his skin was brown and weather-beaten. He said;
“The boys all figure you gave Jig his chance and a lot more, Halliday. You coulda killed him and maybe you should’ve done it.”
“He’ll get over it,” Halliday said.
Sommers grinned easily and shook his head. “He won’t, you know. Nor will his brother. Nor Deke, either, when he gets wind of what started it.”
Sommers looked straight at Lucy and sighed, but Lucy matched his penetrating stare.
“You’re trouble, Lucy, for all concerned. Whyn’t you set your sights in one direction and leave it at that?”
Lucy’s anger flared.
“What damned right—?” she began, but Sommers made a curt gesture to silence her and said;
“Jig woulda found some excuse to take Halliday on without him latchin’ onto you, Lucy. So that part don’t really matter. But Bill and Deke do.” He looked back at Halliday. “You’re a good man and you’ve been easy to work with, but if I was you, Halliday, I’d ride. Takin’ care of Jig that way has left us somethin’ we’ll talk about for a long time. What happened will take some of the steam outta him and maybe he’ll be easier to get on with. But as far as you’re concerned, there’s plenty of empty trails. Why don’t you take one and ride?”
Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but Halliday gave her a quick look and she stayed silent. Sommers nodded at Halliday, then gestured to the others and without argument, they finished their drinks, picked up bottles for the trail home and followed the oldster out of the room. As soon as the echo of their footsteps had died on the outside boardwalk, Lucy said angrily;
“Of all the nerve. I didn’t see him—”
“He meant well,” Halliday interjected. “And his advice is sound enough.”
Lucy was shocked and leaned toward him, revealing the soft fullness of her breasts.
“You’re not going to listen to him, are you, Buck?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Lucy pondered this for a moment then relaxed. Fingering her glass and trying to look coy, she said;
“Maybe you should. And just maybe you should take me along with you. There’s other towns a lot better than this dump.”
Halliday smiled easily and said, “You’re settled here, Lucy. You’re a celebrity in your own right. Hell, why should I take the limelight away from you?”
Lucy waved her hands as if to take in the whole room, then threw back sarcastically;
“This is what you call limelight? A dead star could twinkle brighter.”
Halliday’s smile broadened and he patted her hands. “Where I go, Lucy, the dust is always thicker, the sun always hotter and the trails long and lonely. I’ll be seeing you.”
Unable to hide her disappointment, Lucy quickly tightened her grip on his hands.
“Last night,” she said, “that meant nothing to you?”
Halliday kissed both her hands now. “It meant a lot, Lucy, a hell of a lot. It’ll be something I’ll never—”
Lucy pulled her hands away and anger flared in her eyes. “You soft-talk me, promise me the world, and when I ... I ...”
When her voice died away, Halliday pushed the bottle across to her and got to his feet. He was conscious that the room had gone silent again.
“I promised you nothing,” he said. “And you know it. If you assumed otherwise, that’s not my fault. But let’s not quarrel and ruin what we had.”
“So you won’t be back?” Lucy snapped, her eyes afire.
Halliday began to feel uncomfortable. With somebody like Jig Hamlyn, he knew exactly where he stood. But when it came to the wrath of a woman, especially on her own turf, he was way out of his depth.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t be back, Lucy,” he said quietly.
“Well, will you or won’t you? I put myself out for you. Do you think you can just turn your back on me and walk away? What about Deke?”
“Deke’s good with horses,” was Halliday’s final word as he rose and moved away.
Lucy jumped to her feet, and knowing she was ready to prolong the scene, Halliday regarded her stolidly.
“Let it be, Lucy,” he said.
Lucy remembered that these were the same words Halliday had used on Jig Hamlyn. And Hamlyn had been a fool not to heed them.
Would she be just as foolish, or should she try another tactic?
“Just say you’ll be back, Buck. I can live with that.”
Halliday thought for a moment, then said easily, “I have a job out at George Tippin’s ranch. At the end of the month, he allows his crew three or four days off. This is the closest town and one I don’t altogether dislike. Okay?”
Lucy smiled. “All right, Buck.”
She stepped up to him and kissed him firmly on the lips, and although Halliday didn’t respond in the way he had the previous evening, she put it down to him feeling embarrassed in front of so many onlookers. Men were loopy in that regard, she thought, and this one was no different.
“Be careful,” she said.
Halliday touched her cheek, smiled and donned his hat. Before leaving, he apologized to Tub Creedy for the ruckus. Creedy waved his apology away and said;
“You’re welcome anytime, Buck.”
Halliday gave him a nod and went out through the batwings. By the time he was in the saddle, the rest of the crew were already heading out of town. Halliday put his sorrel into an easy lope and let the afternoon sun warm his back. It had been a good three days in town, but they were now behind him.
Other days lay ahead, and what would come of them he didn’t know ... nor did he care.
Chapter Two – Git!
GEORGE TIPPIN JEALOUSLY watched his young wife stroll through the shadowed grove of citrus trees which ran along the western side of the big house. He figured there was plenty of shade where she could make herself comfortable without parading before the eyes of every woman-starved man on the place. The swing of her hips, proud tilt of her head and the swish of her long, silky hair from one side of her shoulders to the other, sent his head spinning. So wouldn’t it do the same to the gaping cowhands unsaddling their horses at the barn?
He swore under his breath and thought of calling her back inside the house. But he knew she would ignore him ... like always. Hell, she was infuriating.
She knew how much he needed her and that he’d do any damn thing for her!
He’d met her three months back in Sacramento, lavished her with gifts, promised her the world, and won her hand. He remembered how proud he’d been in the preacher’s cottage with a big crowd watching, envious to a man. It was only later that his pride was dented, when their departure had been delayed by a long line of men openly expressing their regret at her leaving. But out on the trail, and despite her sulky mood, he’d been confident that once she saw the magnificent house and rode the land he owned, she’d be glad she’d married him.
