Man Who Burned Hell!, page 4
‘Where the hell have you been, Colt?’ Cramer snapped.
‘Not far,’ Bliven answered casually. His attention turned back to Ford. ‘The name’s Colt Bliven. I work for Ike Cordis. He owns this establishment. Do you still want to look at that roulette wheel?’
‘Oops,’ Ford said, feigning shock. ‘You work for Mr Cordis?’
Bliven nodded.
‘I guess there’s been some kind of mistake then,’ Ford stated.
Smiling coldly, Bliven said, ‘Maybe.’
‘And you made it,’ Ford said in an icy tone. ‘Now get the hell away from me.’
Several emotions crossed Colt Bliven’s face as he processed Ford’s words. He finally settled on anger and his face turned scarlet.
A deathly silence descended over the room. No one had ever challenged one of Ike Cordis’ Horsemen before, let alone to this extent. The anticipation began to build, of the impending death of the shirtless stranger.
Those who had not witnessed the gun speed of Colt Bliven had heard about it, but none were prepared for what happened next.
Bliven’s left hand slashed down and clawed at the butt of his six-gun. As it came out and up, the gunfighter thumbed back the hammer ready to fire when it snapped into line. It never made it that far because two slugs from Ford’s Peacemaker slammed into Bliven’s chest just left of center.
The killer staggered back a step, red blossoms on the front of his shirt. Ford thumbed back the hammer on his six-gun once more and fired. This time the bullet smashed into Bliven’s skull and blew his brains out the back of his head.
Every onlooker was stunned into silence. Ford replaced the empties in his Colt and holstered it. He looked at Cramer and said, ‘Show me your roulette wheel.’
Cramer looked up from the body of Colt Bliven and swallowed hard. He pointed to the left side of the room and said, ‘It’s over there.’
One of the enforcers took a step forward but the Winchester in Ford’s grip moved to cover him. ‘No need for you to be movin’,’ Ford warned him. ‘Just stay there and you might get to see the sun come up.’
The deputy marshal walked over to the roulette wheel, all eyes in the room locked on his every move. He looked it over briefly, spun it once with the ball and waited until it stopped. He looked at a man who had been playing and handed him the Winchester. ‘Hold this.’
Ford then picked up an empty chair and brought it crashing down. It splintered like matchwood and broke the roulette wheel beyond repair. He dropped what was left of the chair on the sawdust-covered floor and retrieved his gun from the gambler. He turned to face the room.
‘My name is Josh Ford!’ he addressed them in a loud voice. ‘I’m a United States Marshal, and the new law in Serenity. From now on what I say goes. Make the most of tonight, because come tomorrow, there’s goin’ to be some changes.’
Ford turned his gaze on Cramer and indicated to Bliven’s corpse. ‘Clean up your mess.’
Without another word, Ford left the Dead Dog and walked out on to the street where Potts still waited.
‘I seen it all from here,’ he said excitedly. ‘Through the window.’
Ford passed him a rolled-up bundle of cash. Potts took it and said, ‘Thanks, but there’s too much money there. They only took ten.’
‘Keep it,’ Ford told him. ‘How would you like a job?’
Potts couldn’t help but show surprise. ‘I have one. I work for one of the ranches here abouts.’
‘What do you earn? Thirty?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How about fifty a week?’
‘Doin’ what?’
‘Be my deputy.’
Potts looked at him. ‘Deputy at what?’
‘I’m a marshal,’ Ford explained.
Potts’ eyes grew wide. ‘Oh, you want me to become your deputy so I get shot at instead of you?’
‘Somethin’ like that,’ Ford said, half smiling.
‘Give me sixty a week and you got yourself a deal.’
‘Understand this, there is a good chance you could get killed,’ Ford explained.
‘I been here from the start,’ Potts said. ‘I seen what Cordis and the others have done to this town and you are the first feller to come along that looks like he stands a chance against these killers.’
‘It could get worse before it gets better.’
‘I’m in.’
‘Fine. I’ll see you in the mornin’. Come to the Mountain View around nine.’
‘See you then.’
Ford watched him go and hoped that Potts hadn’t just signed his death warrant.
Chapter 5
In its heyday, the Royal Palace had been a lavishly furnished saloon with a large crystal chandelier hanging from its ceiling. Its opulence was unmatched by anything far and wide. The wooden wall panels were burnished to a deep lustre, and the highly polished counter matched the tabletops. It also had a carpet runner that ran up the center of the stairs leading to the first-floor landing. A large mirror had adorned the wall behind the bar and a long brass footrail had run the length of the bar, hence the change of name from the Buffalo Wallow to something more befitting its grandeur when Cordis came to town.
During the short time that had elapsed since the change of ownership, most of the décor of the establishment had changed also. The chandelier had been shot down by a drunk, the wall panels were riddled with bullet holes, and the tables and countertop had lost their sheen and were badly marked. The Royal Palace certainly wasn’t royal anymore.
It was here that Sam Beck found Ike Cordis. The outlaw leader was sitting in a corner of the near empty saloon eating ham and eggs. Beck sat down on the opposite side of the table and said, ‘I suppose you heard what happened last night?’
Cordis nodded and forked another load of food into his mouth.
‘What do you want to do about it?’
Cordis waited until he’d finished chewing before he answered. ‘Observe.’
Beck frowned. ‘What do you mean, “observe”? He killed Colt. I met him in the store yesterday after he put down two miners. He’s a cool one. He won’t scare easy and he’s goin’ to cause us more trouble than you can poke a stick at.’
‘I want to see what our new-found friend has in store for the town,’ Cordis explained. ‘I don’t want to go starting a full-scale war with the United States Marshals if I can avoid it. Killing local law is one thing, but killing a federal man could bring a whole world of grief down upon us. If we wait and see, the problem might just go away by itself.’
‘And if it don’t?’ Beck asked.
‘Then he’ll have to go,’ Cordis said. ‘But we’ll have to be smart about it. We don’t want his death comin’ back to us.’
‘Have you ever heard of Ford, Ike?’ Beck asked.
Cordis was busy working on another mouthful of his breakfast and just shook his head.
‘I have,’ the gunfighter said. ‘He’s a real wildcard. The marshals give him the tough jobs that need doin’. A while back he took down Mordecai Wakefield and his bunch. There was over a dozen of them. Until Ford was sent in, they’d killed two marshals.’
Cordis swallowed his food and said, ‘You make him sound invincible, Sam.’
The gunfighter shook his head. ‘I’m just sayin’ he’ll need close watchin’ is all.’
‘Well, while you’re watching our friend, find out who sent for him,’ Cordis told Beck. ‘Someone had to have sent word to the marshals otherwise he wouldn’t be here. Once you find out, let me know.’
‘OK, sure.’
Cordis pointed at his plate. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
Beck stood up to leave. ‘Nope, I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To observe.’
Ford and Potts stood on the boardwalk opposite the jail and did some watching of their own, that following morning. This time, however, Ford was fully clothed. Potts was too, but he bore the scars of the previous night. His eye was black and swollen, leaving only a slit to see through. His lips were puffy and scabbed over.
‘Maybe you should wait a couple of days before you start work,’ Ford had suggested but Potts refused.
So here they were, observing.
‘Do you get the feelin’ that everyone is lookin’ at us?’ Potts asked, as a well-dressed couple strode past, staring them up and down.
‘I’m used to bein’ stared at,’ Ford allowed. He looked both ways along Absaroka Street and noted a few persons of interest, Sam Beck being one of them.
Ford reached up and touched his hat brim, letting the killer know that he knew. Beck nodded.
The deputy sighed. ‘C’mon Potts, let’s get this jail open.’
For the next ten minutes or so, the noise of splintering wood echoed around the immediate vicinity of the jail as the planks were removed from the window and door.
Inside the jail, a thin film of dust covered almost everything. The chair behind the desk was on its side and the gun rack was empty. The peg where the keys were kept was the same and Ford guessed that the cells in the back room were locked. He was right.
‘I guess we’d best get to cleanin’ the place up,’ Ford suggested.
There was movement at the doorway and Kile appeared. He was alone.
Before Ford could speak, he said, ‘I couldn’t get you any help.’
‘It’s a good thing I found someone then, isn’t it?’
Kile shifted his gaze to Potts who nodded at the storekeeper.
‘What about me?’
All three men looked at the open doorway and saw a young woman standing there with red hair, green eyes, and pale skin. Gone was the dress, replaced by corduroy pants, a cotton shirt, high boots, and a low-crowned hat. What drew Ford’s attention above all else was the single-action Colt in the holster on her shapely right thigh.
‘You again,’ Ford commented, dragging his eyes away from it.
‘Small world, huh, marshal?’ Eddie Yukon said, smiling.
‘I already told you, Eddie, it’s too dangerous for a . . . a . . . a woman,’ Kile finally got out.
‘Wait a minute,’ Ford said. ‘You know her?’
Kile nodded. ‘Sheriff Frank Yukon was her brother. He was the first one killed by Cordis.’
Ford’s gaze softened. ‘I’m sorry about your brother, ma’am, but Mr Kile’s right. It’s too dangerous.’
‘I can shoot as straight as any man here,’ she stated adamantly.
‘I’ve no doubt you probably can, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s too dangerous.’
‘There must be something I can do to help,’ she offered.
Ford looked around the jail then back at Eddie. She realized what he was about to say and cut him off firmly with her raised hand. ‘Uh-uh. No way. I’m not cleaning this place up. I don’t clean.’
‘If you want to help, it’s all I have.’
‘You know I come from . . ‘
‘Yeah, I know,’ Ford interrupted. ‘You come from Deadwood. Tell me, what is it that you actually did in Deadwood?’
‘I owned a saloon called the Yukon Belle,’ she said proudly.
Ford frowned, thinking. He’d heard the name before . . . Then realization dawned on him. ‘You’re that Eddie Yukon?’
‘Yes, I’m that Eddie Yukon,’ she said. There was no boast in her voice, just a statement of fact.
Rumour had it that Eddie Yukon had stood beside Chris Tyler, the sheriff of Deadwood at that time, against a bunch of rioting miners. A drunken miner had tried to kill the sheriff who was then forced to put him down in self-defence. This event caused the riot because his fellow miners did not see it that way. With a head of courage fuelled by alcohol, they attempted to storm the jail.
Five miners died in a hail of lead that night before they finally gave up. Tyler was wounded and word was that Eddie Yukon had seen them off at the last. The funny thing was, Ford had always thought that Eddie Yukon was a man.
‘All right,’ Ford said in an authoritative voice. ‘If you want to help, you clean up the jail.’
Eddie opened her mouth to protest again but Ford held up his hand and stopped her.
‘After which,’ he continued, ‘we’ll talk some more about what you can do that won’t get you killed on day one.’
Eddie Yukon nodded. ‘OK, we’ll do it that way.’
‘Now, hold on a minute,’ Kile protested. ‘You can’t put her in danger like that. I won’t allow it.’
Ford glowered at the storekeeper. ‘Mr Kile, in case you’ve forgotten, apart from Potts, she was the only one in this lily-livered town who is willin’ to stand up and be counted.’
Kile hung his head with the knowledge that Ford spoke the truth.
‘Do you have a gunsmith in town?’
The storekeeper looked up at him and frowned. ‘Yes, why?’
A pointed finger explained everything. ‘Take Potts with you and get me some guns. Potts?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Get three messenger guns. If the gunsmith ain’t got enough, have him cut them down,’ Ford ordered. ‘Get six boxes of shells to go with them. Also, I want three Winchesters and another three Colts. Get ammunition for them too.’
‘Wait a minute, who’s paying for all of this?’ Kile asked, tentatively.
‘The town,’ Ford said. ‘Make it happen. I figure it’s the least they can do if we’re goin’ to be layin’ down our lives for them. I want the blacksmith too. We need to change the locks on the cells and have new keys made.’
Kile nodded silently.
Ford walked across to the battered desk, opened the top drawer and rummaged through its contents until he found what he wanted. He tossed it to Potts, who caught it before opening his hand to see what it was. A small, nickel-plated deputy sheriff’s badge lay in his palm.
‘Pin it on and let’s go to work,’ Ford told him.
The day progressed quite smoothly until the point that the fliers began to go up. Once brought to the attention of Ike Cordis, the prospect of losing money was not something he was willing to tolerate.
‘Have you seen this?’ Mort Bale asked as he placed the flier down on the table in front of Cordis.
Mort Bale was the manager of the small but profitable Ike’s Place. It was a saloon but specialized more as a gambling establishment than the others. Its bar was shorter and the building was only single storey, compared to the others that all had two floors.
After reading it, Cordis looked at Bale. ‘Well, well. If that didn’t just make our new lawman the most unpopular person in town.’
‘I should tell you that he’s hired himself a deputy too,’ Bale told him. ‘The feller that give me that, said the deputy was the one puttin’ them up.’
‘I see.’ Cordis frowned. This was getting out of hand. It was about time he met their new peace officer and set a few things straight. ‘Send word to the others that I want to see them.’
‘Sure thing, boss,’ Bale said and hurried away.
Ike Cordis sat pondering his next move. Should he get Beck to kill this one too? No. Perhaps a friendly discussion might suffice - let him know how things sit. If that didn’t work, he might need to be persuaded. Or he would be killed.
Four people entered the jail as Ford placed the last messenger gun into the rack on the plank wall. Potts had returned earlier and was with Eddie out back in the cells, cleaning and preparing them for customers. Outside, the sun had dropped below the horizon and the jail was lit by the false orange glow from the desk lamp.
The approach of footsteps on floorboards made Ford turn around. Four people had gathered just inside the doorway; three of them were men. The fourth was a woman he knew. A woman he’d once loved. A woman who’d shot him.
‘Hello Camilla,’ Ford greeted her. ‘It’s been a while.’
The expression on her face was difficult for Ford to place. It was a combination of the first glimpse of a long-lost love and one loathing the man who’d killed her brother.
‘Hello Josh,’ she said drily. ‘Still causing trouble everywhere you go, I see.’
Ford shrugged. ‘Comes with the territory, I guess.’
Clearing his throat, Cordis interrupted. ‘I see you two know each other.’
‘We go back aways,’ Camilla acknowledged.
‘Yeah, she shot me.’
‘You killed my brother!’ Camilla shot back.
‘The son of a bitch was a murderer,’ Ford barked. ‘He got what he deserved.’
‘And so did you,’ Camilla snapped. ‘Almost. Maybe this time you will.’
‘This has started well,’ Cordis said, sarcasm evident in his voice.
‘Love what you’ve done with the place.’
‘Who the hell are you?’ Ford snapped, his eyes flaring. ‘Although I have a fair idea.’
‘I’m Ike Cordis,’ Cordis informed Ford. ‘These gentlemen are Justus Harper and Isom Friend. And seeing that Camilla needs no introduction, shall we get to the point of our visit?’
‘Please.’
‘We wanted to have a word with you, if that’s all right?’
‘What about?’
‘Well, it seems to me that you’ve been sent here with the sole purpose of bringing law and order to Serenity. Am I right?’
‘Listen, cut the horse crap and get to the point, Cordis. I like plain speakin’ and I’m sure you’re the same.’
A hint of color touched the outlaw boss’ cheeks. ‘OK, then. Here it is. You’re here to clean up this town. That isn’t going to happen without our cooperation. And you certainly won’t get that, expecting the saloons to close at midnight every night. You, my friend, are going to cost me . . . us . . . a lot of money.’
‘Let’s get one thing straight, Cordis. I ain’t your friend. In fact, from what I’ve heard, you’re lucky you ain’t swingin’ rope about now. But that will more than likely change before this is done.’
‘You’re a fool,’ Cordis snarled. ‘You can’t beat us. The best you can hope for is a six-foot hole in the ground if you stay. But I’m willing to give you an amnesty of one day to make up your mind. After that, if you’re still here, all bets are off.’
