Whirlwind, p.7
Whirlwind, page 7
After he had seen Betty safely to her room, Han went to his own and lay on the bed without getting undressed. Then, fearing that he might dirty up the bedspread and confirm all the owner of the house thought about Indians, he took off his boots. Having done this, he lay down again and started going through things methodically.
Making a blood oath is easy and satisfying enough, especially when you are mad with grief. Still and all, it is a different kettle of fish, than following through on the enterprise and really doing murder. Han had found out that night that he was not such a one, he was not able to shoot a man however just the cause.
It was unthinkable that those men should get away scot free though. He had observed that three of the others at that table also matched up to the descriptions which the men in the saloon had given him a couple of days previously. At least four of the five men were in town and had been drinking in that saloon tonight. Well, if he could not kill them himself, he would set the law on them. It was too late now to go rousing up the sheriff, but first thing in the morning he would see about having those men locked up and charged with murder.
Having fixed his plans for the following day, Han extinguished the candle and undressed. He had not had time to trouble about it when he was sleeping out, but every night that he had gone to bed for ten years, he had said the prayers that his parents had taught him. He supposed that the Lord was here in this town just as he was back home. He knelt by the bed and said, ‘Lord, I am still minded to bring those skunks to justice. I am not the man to kill them myself though. We must see what happens tomorrow. Amen.’
Back at the saloon, the Holt brothers were in the mood for a party. One didn’t often see women in that saloon, leastways not respectable ones. However, there were one or two prostitutes in the town who sold their favours to such of the comancheros who wanted them. Also to some of the more upright citizens of the town as well, but this was done very much on the sly. Their dealings with the comancheros were more open, usually took place in the bar-room and then moving on to one of the rented rooms on the floor above.
Word must have spread that the mood in the saloon was a little easier now, because, as the night progressed, more people drifted back in, including some of those who had scuttled out earlier when the Holts looked as though they were both in a murderous rage. Now, they were expansive and affable, treating those near to their table to free drinks and encouraging others to talk and make the evening lively. By around midnight, there was a festive air about the place.
One of the girls who dispensed her favours in exchange for hard cash, was called Martha. She may have had the sort of name that you might associate with a Quaker or someone of that sort, but she was as willing and biddable a young woman as you could hope to encounter after a few drinks. Some nights, she went upstairs with several men, allowing them an hour each. She wasn’t always in the bar-room, because she made private visits to men’s homes as well as her more public appearances.
It was clear that Eli Holt had taken a bit of a shine to Martha just as soon as she had arrived that evening. He watched her carefully, trying to gauge if she was the sort of girl who would go along with his particular needs. These needs, into which we do not need to enquire overmuch, entailed ropes and suchlike, combined with a little rough play. It was a rare whore who went twice with Eli, many of whom would show up next day sporting various cuts and bruises. Martha had, of course, heard all this, but reckoned that she was one who could tame a man given to that kind of thing.
So it was that at about one in the morning, Eli suggested to young Martha that they go upstairs and that she might, moreover, care to spend the night with him. Nothing loath, she agreed at once. Thinking herself a right shrewd bargainer, she insisted on payment in advance if she was going to be spending eight hours or so with just the one customer.
Chapter 7
Next day, Han came down for breakfast at the boarding-house in a bright and cheery mood, like a man who has been grappling with a tricky problem and has decided at last upon the best course of action. The owner of the place noticed this.
‘Why, Mr Jackson, you look like a man who is feeling braced with life, this morning.’ she said to him as he sat down at table.
‘I am that, ma’am. And may I say that your bed was as soft and welcoming as that in my own home?’
The elderly woman simpered. Then she said, ‘I do not know what time your companion will be rising today, I am sure. I would have thought she might be down before this.’ She looked questioningly at him.
‘I know nothing of her, I am afraid. She was in a little difficulty on the road and I was able to be of some service to her. That is why I brought her to town.’ He did not want to tell her of the kidnapping and murder by the two Kiowa. It would ignite her worst suspicions about Indians in general and next thing she would be watching him like a hawk, lest he attempt to burn down her own house and carry her off tied to his saddle.
‘Well, I will say that you are a real gentleman, whatever the colour of your skin. Like a knight in armour.’
Han said, ‘Tell me ma’am, where is the sheriff’s office?’
‘Why, it is just down the road a space. Walk down in the direction of the livery stable where you left your pony and you will see the office on the left-hand side. I hope there is nothing wrong?’
‘No, nothing of the sort. It is just some small matter which requires my attention. It is nothing serious.’
At this point, Betty joined them, looking sleepy and a little dishevelled. The woman eyed her disapprovingly. Han took the opportunity to rise, saying, ‘If you will excuse me ladies, I must be off to the sheriff. I will be back later on.’ He gave a courtly bow to the older woman, who blushed slightly.
Over at the saloon at about then, Jed Holt was banging on the door of the room which his brother was occupying, crying, ‘Eli, it’s gone nine of the clock, you lazy cow’s son. Get up, we have to be moving.’
From inside the room, he heard Eli’s muffled voice saying, ‘I’m a’coming. Get down and wait for me, I’ll be there directly.’
‘Well, don’t take all day, you idle bastard. We need to be in position in a couple of hours.’
Jed and the other five men were drinking coffee in the bar-room when Eli appeared. He looked terrible. He was white, shaky and had scratches across his face.
‘God almighty, man,’ said his brother, ‘what happened to you? You look like shit!’
Eli growled something indistinctly and commenced to drink his coffee. Jed would not let the matter rest, saying, ‘I mean it, man, what happened? Did that little spitfire do that to your face?’
‘You gossip like a woman,’ said Eli. ‘I am not best minded to talk just now; we have business to undertake. Are you men all prepared?’
There were hurried grunts of assent. This looked like a day when it would be particularly unhealthy to get crosswise to Eli. When they were leaving, Jed took his brother to one side. ‘Eli, what ails you? Tell me now.’
‘There was some misunderstanding with that girl. It strikes me that we had best not return to town after today’s game.’
‘What the hell do you mean, “misunderstanding”? What happened?’
Eli stared back at his brother. ‘It does not signify. She is dead.’
‘Dead? What are you talking of?’
‘It is as I say, she died. It was unlucky. We had best not come back after this business with the comancheros.’
‘Ah, you stupid bastard. Not return today? Not ever you mean? What gets into you?’
‘It can’t be helped. Let’s get going. I don’t want to be here when that saloon keeper checks those rooms.’
There was nothing more to be said. It was not the first time that there had been such a ‘misunderstanding’. Jed was just irritated that it should have happened in a town like this, which was such a useful bolthole. There it was, though, and there was nothing to be done about it.
When the seven of them were saddled up and riding down the road leading out of Tribulation, it would not have been possible to mistake the gang for anything other than a bunch of villains intent on robbery and murder. They had that reckless air about them of men who cared little but their own needs.
As they trotted through town, Jed remarked to his brother, ‘Look over yonder, there’s that young Indian who was after nearly killing me last night. What business do you think he has with the sheriff?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ said Eli, who was recovering his good humour by this time. ‘Perhaps he is laying a complaint against you for breaching the peace.’
The two men guffawed with laughter and by the time they were a mile or so down the road, neither of them set much thought to what Eli had said earlier, touching upon the dead girl.
The sheriff was not in the dusty and, by the look of it, little used office. Han stood in there for a few minutes, waiting patiently before wandering back out into the street. A passer-by asked him, ‘Looking for the sheriff? He’ll be over there in the livery stable.’
Han thanked the man and then went off in search of the sheriff.
In Tribulation most of the ordinary residents were fairly law-abiding and their misdemeanours and crimes did not, in the usual way of things, amount to much more than the odd case of wife-beating or public drunkeness. The rougher elements, who used the town as a kind of staging post for various illegal enterprises, took care that they harmed only their own kind. None of this involved the sheriff. He was being handsomely bribed to keep his eyes turned away from the gun-running, trade in stolen property and other, even less savoury activities. As long as they did not impinge upon the lives of Tribulation’s regular citizens, Pete McGuire was only too happy to see and hear nothing. He was over at the livery stable that morning to see about buying a horse, but that is by the by.
First Pete knew about it was when a good-looking young Indian dressed in white man’s clothes came up to him and asked diffidently, ‘Excuse me sir, are you the sheriff?’
‘That I am,’ he replied. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I want to report a murder. Well, two murders actually.’
Pete McGuire stared hard at the young man, who was in truth little more than a boy. ‘Is this a joke, son? Because if so, you’ll find that there are serious penalties for wasting the time of a peace officer.’
‘It’s no joke, sir. My parents were murdered a few days ago and I believe that the men who did it are now in this town. I want to see them arrested.’
Abandoning his plans for the buying of a new horse, McGuire sighed and said to Han, ‘Well, I guess you better come over to the office. This better not turn out to be a mare’s nest though, I’m telling you now.’
No man likes to be buffaloed into acting against his own best interests and McGuiree was no exception. It sat ill with him to have this young Indian come in and start creating trouble. He had already had enough to contend with over the last day or two, what with Den Sothill’s widow wailing and complaining in his office that her husband had been killed. He had no great love for the Holt brothers, but at the same time not the least desire to go up against them. All he wanted was for them to conclude whatever business they had in his town and then up sticks and leave; the sooner the better.
The shooting of Den Sothill had put Pete McGuire into a bad mood because it went against the grain of his principle that the only violence in town should be inflicted by the bad boys against each other. He surely did not like to see an ordinary citizen gunned down in this way.
When they got to the sheriff’s office, he invited Han to be seated and tell his tale. Han did so, right up to the incident in the saloon when he had heard his parents’ names being bandied around.
McGuire said, ‘You know the name of any of these men?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You got any firm evidence to link them to this crime you tell me about?’
‘No.’
‘Can you even swear that those men you saw in the saloon last night were the same ones you have been tracking?’
Han shook his head reluctantly. ‘No, I can’t swear to it. I am sure in my own mind though.’
Pete McGuire lit his pipe. ‘It is awful thin, son. I don’t say that you are wrong about it, mind. There are some very strange and undesirable types coming to this town. Howsoever, I cannot see how you expect me to make out a warrant on what you have told me so far. Both Esther and Patrick are common enough names. You have no reason to think that they were talking about your ma and pa.’
The two of them sat there for a minute or two, each sunk in his own thoughts. From the description that the Indian had given him, McGuire was certain-sure that the Holts were the people involved. He could easily believe that they would kill an elderly couple for a pot of gold coins. Since the alleged crime had taken place far from his town though, he was not overly eager to start investigating it. The Holts of all people! He had been horrified when they fetched up in the town after an absence of almost a year. Trouble followed those boys like shit round a shirt-tail. With luck, they would light out soon and he would not have to deal with them face to face, a prospect which filled him with dread. He had strong suspicions that there were probably a dozen warrants floating around for the Holts. He did not know for sure, of course, and neither did he want to. He just wished that they would take themselves off out of his town.
Han was thinking that this man had no intention of helping him in any respect. If he wanted those men to face a court, he was going to have to arrest them himself and take them there. He half wished that he could have ignored his raising and just blown that fellow’s head off the night before.
While the two of them were musing along these lines, the street door burst open and a man said in an agitated voice, ‘Sheriff, you got to come over to the hotel right away. There been murder done there!’
‘The hell there has,’ said McGuire, getting to his feet. To Han, he said, ‘I’m sorry for your loss, boy, but I don’t see what I can do.’
‘You mean you will do nothing and hope that those killers leave town quickly so that they are somebody else’s problem.’
This was so sharp and truthful that the sheriff said nothing in response, bar, ‘Get out of here. I got more pressing concerns than your story.’
The Holts and their gang had chosen the perfect spot for their ambush. The road towards Midway passed through a kind of gully, with slopes going up on either side. Trees were growing on the slopes and there were boulders and rocks large enough to conceal men. All that was needed was to lie in wait for their prey and then start blasting at them and their horses as soon as they came into sight. Three of them took places on one side of the road and four on the other.
Jed was worried about his brother. Both Eli and Jed had a very strange view of death, which was not a thing either of them feared in the least, but there was about Eli this morning an air that Jed did not much care for. Whatever had happened last night with the girl had affected him badly, which was not at all like the man. Jed was hoping that Eli would play his part that day without behaving in too foolhardy a fashion. While it was true that as long as they all stayed behind cover, shooting away at the comancheros, there was every chance that this affair would pass off to their satisfaction, it was also the fact that they were probably going to be outnumbered by their opponents. This made it essential that every one of them kept his head and just stayed down.
The sides of the gully flattened out at the top of the rise, which was where they had tethered their horses. Eli had taken up his position there, sheltered by a clump of trees. Jed went over to him. ‘Eli, are you feeling all right? Tell me now, is there anything troubling you?’
Eli gave him a ghastly smile. ‘Troubling me, boy? No, no, I tell you I never felt better in my life. Nothing can touch me this day. Not the law, not bullets, not even the dead spirits of those we killed.’
Jed looked at him in horror. ‘Dead spirits? Eli, what the hell are you talking about? What dead spirits? I have never heard you say anything of this sort in the whole course of your life. What ails you?’
‘I told you, there is nothing wrong.’
‘Do you want that we should call this business off? We can ride down to Texas and find another thing to do.’
Eli smiled that weird smile again. ‘No Jed, I tell you now that the dead are on our side. We need not be afeared of anybody, living or dead.’
His brother just stared at him, lost for words. Then a man on the opposite ridge called out, ‘I can see them coming. They are two miles or so off from us.’ Jed skittered down the slope to take up his own position behind a boulder.
Pete McGuire nearly fainted on the spot when he saw what was waiting for him in the room above the saloon. He had seen some grim sights in his day, but nothing to match this. There is no need to go into detail about what had befallen young Martha. It is enough to say that she was roped to the bed and looked as though she had died hard.
‘Jesus Christ,’ gasped the sheriff, ‘I never saw the like. Who was in this room?’
‘Eli Holt,’ said the owner of the saloon. ‘Sheriff, Martha was, as you might say a little loose, but she didn’t deserve nothing like this.’
‘Nobody deserves a death like this,’ said McGuire. ‘Where is Eli and his brother now?’
‘I couldn’t say. They rode out this morning at a little after nine. They told me that they would be back this evening.’
Pete McGuire gave one final look at the wreckage lashed to the bed and then closed the door, saying, ‘I want this room kept locked, you hear me?’
In that mysterious way that happens in small towns, word had gotten round about the unfortunate Martha’s death. Now she may only have been a saloon girl and prostitute, but Martha was a good-hearted soul and had been popular in the town. More to the point, she was one of them. She lived there and was a resident of Tribulation, which put her untimely passing in an altogether different category from that of some comanchero who might happen to get himself knifed in a darkened allyway. There had been mutterings about the shooting of Den Sothill and now another person had died.
