The devils work, p.8
The Devil's Work, page 8
He greeted them both politely but without a trace of subservience. ‘Good evening, Marshal, ma’am. Mr Silas ain’t likely to be long. You’re both welcome to wait.’
‘I intend to,’ replied Rance shortly. To Angie, he said, ‘You stay here please.’
Something about his instinctive assumption of authority suddenly riled her out of all proportion to what had really just been a simple request. Just who does he think he is? she fumed silently. Before he could make a move, she prodded him sharply in the chest.
‘If you’re through giving orders, I’ve got one for you. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re wounded. If it doesn’t get looked at it’ll fester and gangrene will set in. Then you’ll likely lose the arm and be no use to anybody!’
Taken by surprise, he viewed her silently for a moment. It occurred to him that she was quite a firebrand and all the more desirable because of it. She also happened to be spot on. He sighed and proffered a weary smile.
‘You’re quite right and I appreciate your concern. I really do. Trouble is, I must find out who we’re up against in town. If anybody catches me unawares, then we’re both finished.’ Brushing his hand lightly against her cheek he concluded with, ‘And I really don’t want that.’
Then he casually strolled back to the door and took up station next to it. The stablehand glanced at him curiously before returning to his tasks. Hard experience had taught him to mind his own business. Angie, on the other hand, stared at him with far more than just simple curiosity.
As it turned out, they didn’t have long to wait. Rance had barely got situated, before the small door opened and Silas’s spare frame eased through. As he caught sight of Angie, his unshaven features registered puzzlement. That was soon replaced by unease as he glanced over his shoulder.
‘Hello, Silas,’ said the marshal softly. ‘You look surprised to see me.’
The other man swallowed painfully as he searched for the right words. ‘Ha, yes, well. I did just wonder what had become of you after you quit town yesterday.’
‘There’s been a lot of dying since then,’ responded Rance flatly. ‘Oh, and you were right about the Grand Forks Stage. It was road agents. They were working for your new friends.’
That was all too much for the livery owner. His legs seemed to buckle and suddenly he found himself sitting on the cold hard ground. Appearing terminally dazed, he looked from Rance to Angie and back again. With a display of supreme contempt etched on his features, the marshal strolled over to him.
‘How many of these so-called regulators are left in town?’
Peering up at his inquisitor, Silas tried to pull himself together. ‘Four or five, I guess. They’re all over at Pearsall’s supping joy juice. Bodeen rides them kind of hard, so with him out chasing you two all over God’s creation they thought to have a celebration.’
He giggled nervously at the realization of what he had just said. Seeing the hard set in Rance’s eyes, he tried again. ‘There’s more coming though, soon.’
The lawman didn’t ask how he knew, because he didn’t really care. Silas was about to receive some instructions and God help him if he didn’t comply.
‘We’re going to have us a town meeting. You’re going to find Jered Tonks, Tom Brennan and, of course, the minister. Bring them all here.’
Silas struggled to his feet. ‘What do I tell them?’
‘Tell them anything you want. Just get them,’ was Rance’s unhelpful reply. ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll burn this livery down around your shoulders. It won’t be the first today!’
Its owner turned ashen. He appeared about to protest but thought better of it and headed for the door. Rance’s next course of action was clear, at least to him. Turning to face Angie, he consciously relaxed his features. He knew that he had to take advantage of her trust once again and he didn’t like it one bit.
‘I intend visiting Pearsall’s. Any man I find packing a gun will be arrested.’
Angie favoured him with a tense smile as she replied, ‘And you want me to back your play.’
That drew a genuine laugh from the lawman. She was even beginning to sound like a deputy. Gently taking her arm, he led her towards the nearest empty stable. It was about to double as a boudoir.
‘Actually,’ he remarked jovially, ‘I want you to get rid of that huge coat, tighten your belt and let your hair down. You’re going to a party.’
And what a party it turned out to be. Peering through a corner window into the saloon, Angie could discern a number of men moving about. Even though the poor quality glass was heavily distorted, she could tell that some of them were wearing not much more than their long johns. That seemed to be a regular occurrence in her life recently. High-pitched shrieking also indicated that there were a number of Dutch gals present. None of which was likely to make her necessarily dramatic entrance any easier.
Viewed from outside, the flickering oil lamps endowed the large room with a welcoming feel that she knew would be illusory. Shivering with cold, she decided that Rance had had enough time to get into position in the saloon’s back room. At his insistence, she had reluctantly discarded the thick coat and released her sandy hair from its bonds. Even though she wasn’t covered in rouge, she knew from the way men had regarded her in the past that she was tolerably attractive. Now was the time to put it to the test.
The door glass rattled in its frame as Angie twisted the handle and pushed against the swollen wood. Clutching her rifle, she stepped into the smoky room and waited for someone to take notice. That took longer than she had anticipated. Although the night was still young, the drinking was well advanced. As her gaze took in the interior, Angie realized that she had stumbled into a purely private shindig: its only participants were Bodeen’s trash and an assortment of hookers, so called because of Union General ‘fighting Joe’ Hooker’s renowned weakness for prostitutes. One of them was so far gone, as to be sprawled on the bar with her ample breasts displayed for all to see.
It was Jed, the saloonkeeper, who finally became aware of her presence. He was a grey-haired, unshaven, unsavoury individual who looked perfectly suited to his surroundings. Raising his bushy eyebrows in surprise, he called over to her, ‘What can we do for you, little lady? Don’t be shy. Come on in.’
As she absorbed his condescending greeting, two things occurred. Bodeen’s men finally focused on her and Angie began to get angry. Raising the muzzle to waist height, she chambered a round into the Henry. Trying her best to at least sound like a peace officer, she called out, ‘Drop your weapons and line up by the bar.’
Even a room full of drunkards cannot long ignore a pretty woman holding a loaded gun. Angie’s wrath was then suddenly tempered by the realization that she now definitely had everybody’s attention. And, just as the night before, she found herself desperately wondering just where the hell Rance had got to. One of the men, a huge bearded pistoleer, lumbered to his feet. Drunkenly bowing from the waist, he leered over at her. ‘You don’t need no long gun to get my attention, darling.’
His compadres were staring fixedly at her, their lurking whores temporarily forgotten. To Angie, it felt as though the temperature in the room had suddenly risen by many degrees. Sweat began to form in her armpits and under her breasts. Cocking her rifle, she aimed it directly at the hulking spokesman.
‘Last warning,’ she spat back. ‘Drop them!’
‘Pants or pieces?’ the big man guffawed. The others all laughed appreciatively, but the humour noticeably failed to reach their bloodshot eyes. One of them licked his lips as he mentally undressed the new deputy.
Stepping carefully out of the storeroom, Rance smiled grimly at the backs of the assembled regulators. Thanks to Angie’s melodramatic arrival, they were exactly where he wanted them. Like lambs to the slaughter.
A painted lady, her dubious charms forgotten, glanced over at him and froze in shock. The town marshal winked at her as he calmly pointed his Remington at the ceiling and fired. In the relatively quiet room the sudden discharge was shattering. Rapidly holstering his revolver, Rance took a two handed grip on the deadly sawn-off. As the assembled shoot-ists lurched round in surprise, he stated, ‘Ease off, boys. The next one won’t be in the roof. Now do as the lady said and drop those belt irons.’
In truth only two of the men wore gunbelts. The others had discarded them along with their trousers, as a preliminary to the expected lovemaking. The great oaf who had taunted Angie just happened to be one of those still carrying a gun and he was in no hurry to surrender it. Fuelled by alcohol, he slowly looked the marshal up and down.
‘The great Rance Toller. You don’t look so tough to me. You’re just some worn-out tin star living off a reputation.’
So saying, he began to ease his right hand towards the butt of his revolver. His cronies, mistakenly sensing fear in Rance’s silence, began to close in. Just as they had with Angie.
Coolly lowering the muzzles of his big gun, the lawman squeezed one trigger. The piece discharged with a deafening roar. The pain in his remaining eardrum was nothing compared to that inflicted on the man before him. The load of shot took the gunhand in both legs centred on the knees. With a howl of pure agony, that man collapsed to the floor. He lay there jerking, twitching and crying out for his mother, all bravado irrevocably gone.
‘Aw, shut up,’ remarked Rance dismissively.
As a great cloud of sulphurous smoke drifted towards the ceiling, three of his four companions backed off. The fourth, foolishly undaunted by the carnage, stood his ground. He was a thickset man in his twenties, too young to have served in the War Between the States but nonetheless hardened to violence in all its forms. Ignoring the wailing girls, he was determined to have his say.
‘You god-damned asswipe. You had no call to blast Frank like that. You hear? We’ve got a right to be in this shithole, same as you. Bodeen’s going to bleed you good when he gets back.’
‘If he gets back,’ snarled Rance, as he moved forward sharply. With all his considerable strength he slammed the shotgun stock into the man’s face. He was rewarded with the loud crack of breaking bone, as his victim absorbed the full force of the crushing blow. With his face suddenly unrecognizable, the man tumbled to the floor.
Ignoring the collective wails of the two wounded men, Rance again moved swiftly. He snatched the revolvers from them both and shoved them into his belt. Finally, the town marshal’s hard glance took in the remaining revellers. Their party had definitely gone sour and he was about to add to their woes. He had to raise his voice considerably to be heard.
‘You skunks lost any right to fair treatment when you accepted fighting wages to invade my town. Those of you who can walk are going to jail.’
Two of those particular men were still fully clothed, but that was about to change.
‘You two,’ continued Rance. ‘Shuck off those pants and boots, then pile all the clothes on the bar.’
Although greeted by disbelief, he knew exactly what he was about. Bad men without clothes and weapons rapidly lost any air of menace. With Angie watching in wary amusement, both men reluctantly stripped down to their grubby long johns. Their compliance was encouraged by the sight of Frank, the knee-capped regulator, rolling about in great distress. Copious amounts of blood and snot coated the bar room floor.
With the onset of such vicious brutality, Jed had fallen silent. As a saloonkeeper, his speciality was stoking the flames to keep men drinking, whilst personally avoiding any direct involvement. He had witnessed plenty of violence in his time, but all of it from behind the bar. Now he suddenly found himself to be the unwelcome centre of attention.
‘Jed,’ barked the lawman, ‘these two need doctoring. You’d best go fetch him.’
Rance then deliberately allowed the shifty saloonkeeper to get to the main entrance before calling out to him, ‘Just one thing: you owe this lady an apology.’ Then more ominously, ‘Better make it while you can.’
Jed stopped abruptly and half turned. His left eyelid flickered uncontrollably as he searched Rance’s face for any indication of humour. There was none. And horrifyingly, the big gun was now pointed unwaveringly at his mid-section. A patina of sweat broke out on his forehead. Real fear assailed him for the first time in many a day, as he realized just what it was like to face up to a genuine killer of men.
‘I didn’t do nothing to her,’ he stammered nervously.
‘You didn’t show the respect due a lady entering this shithole. Beg her pardon!’
Angie could feel the tension in the air as she watched the clammy barman. With three men standing in their long johns and the moans of the wounded filling the room, she suddenly felt distinctly uncomfortable at the new element of confrontation introduced by the marshal. It was almost as though he enjoyed provoking it. It occurred to her that perhaps Rance wasn’t really all that different to the so-called regulators. By pinning on a badge, he had merely legitimized his violent tendencies.
Chewing frantically on his bottom lip, Jed raised his hands in supplication. He genuinely didn’t know what he’d done wrong. What he did know was that he was now witnessing a much different side to the Marshal Toller who occasionally had to subdue a rowdy drunk. He carried with him an aura of latent violence that was new and frightening. It made the barkeep realize that the stories of his past exploits in the rough cow towns had to be true.
With his bowels loosening dangerously, Jed cautiously moved towards Angie. Desperately summoning a smile, which in truth was more of a grimace, he looked at her closely for the first time. Despite his trepidation, he couldn’t help but think that she was actually quite attractive, which went some way to explaining the marshal’s ornery attitude. The bastard obviously had his eye on the prize.
‘Apologies if I offended you in any way, ma’am. It was not intended and you’re welcome here anytime.’
Jed, realizing that his last remark had tempted providence, eased back towards the door. He hadn’t relished being put down, let alone tasting real fear, but perhaps there would be a more favourable time to seek some form of redress. Then again, maybe he was just full of whiskey fumes. Casting a rapid glance at the marshal, he received a taut nod and fled gratefully.
‘Weren’t you a bit hard on him?’ Angie pondered aloud.
‘He ain’t worth moose piss,’ muttered Rance scathingly as he turned back to the others.
The three under-dressed prisoners were a sorry looking bunch as they padded miserably over to the jailhouse. Rance had chivvied them out on to the dark thoroughfare, allowing them plenty of time to take any assassin’s bullet before he and Angie had followed. Coming from a brightly lit saloon, the marshal’s night vision was non-existent. For this reason alone, he failed to notice the two sorry looking horsemen riding painfully into town.
The state of Angie’s eyesight would have been irrelevant anyway, because as the leading prisoner reluctantly opened the jailhouse door she suddenly remembered what they were going to find. All her attention was suddenly focused on that building. As Rance shoved the last one in, a startled voice cried out, ‘Jesus Christ, what’s that?’
In the gloom, one of the men had collided with the boots of the deceased deputy. Then, as light flared from one of the oil lamps, Clem’s poor rigid body was displayed for all to see. His face was pale and wax like. The gaping wound in his throat made it appear as though he possessed another mouth.
Rance swung open the cell door. ‘Right boys,’ he drawled in a deceptively mild tone. ‘Carry my deputy into that cell and place him on the cot.’
The three sad-faced individuals, all of them trembling with cold, stared at their tormentor in amazement. The bravest of them protested, ‘We ain’t undertakers, mister.’
The lawman swung his shotgun over to cover that man’s face. ‘You varmints wanted him dead, so now you can watch over his body. Either that or I’ll put you in the ground, boy!’
Knowing full well that his words contained no idle threat, all three of them heaved the cadaver out of the swivel chair and into the cell. As soon as they were inside, Rance slammed the heavy iron door and turned the key. Removing it, he then strode outside. By that time the newcomers had moved on, so he missed them again.
When he returned, the key had been replaced in his hand by a small pile of earth and grit from under the boardwalk. Having packed that tightly into the lock, he then grinned brightly at Angie. ‘They won’t be going anywhere for a while. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
She allowed herself to be hustled out of the building, but then halted abruptly and glared up at him defiantly. ‘Just what are you about, Rance?’ she demanded.
‘Things are looking up,’ he declared cheerfully. ‘I believe that’s actually the second time you’ve called me by my given name and you had a knife at your throat the first time. In case you’d forgotten, we’ve got a town meeting to attend.’
Chapter Twelve
The two bedraggled individuals drifted into town after dark. Frost had formed on their straggly beards. Both men had lost feeling in their extremities. The cold was quite literally deadly. By then neither of them had any interest in killing anyone, which was probably a good thing, because at that moment a group of half-naked men stumbled out of a saloon some way down Main Street. Bizarrely, they appeared to be walking barefoot through the snow. Cole Dekker and the Preacher reined in, just as a tall man carrying a sawn-off shotgun came into view. He was accompanied by a young woman clutching a rifle, who also showed her disdain for the cold by not wearing a coat.
The two frozen horsemen painfully turned in their saddles to exchange bemused glances. Townsfolk were obviously made of stern stuff if they could sashay around undressed on such a night. A startled cry of, ‘Jesus Christ, what’s that?’ drifted over, and then the whole group ended up in the jailhouse with the door closed.
Dekker considered the new development. There was no doubt in his mind that they had just found the marshal, but in their condition and with the actions of their new rifles probably frozen solid, there was not a damn thing they could do about it.
