CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Wilkon was well into its morning routine when Deed Corrigan rode in with Taol Sanchez. The night’s rest had strengthened the young gunfighter, but his left arm remained weak and numb and he carried it at his side. His leg was stiff, but definitely healing. He was wearing the same borrowed shirt, having refused the offer of another. If there was time, he would see the doctor; he had promised Holt.
The ride into town had been a quiet one with the two men lost in their thoughts. Deed liked Taol and felt sorry for the tragedies Agon Bordner had brought on his family. He knew, too, that Bordner wouldn’t stop with the Lazy S, he would want the Corrigan spread as well.
What they found in town was a surprise. After wiring the Rangers at the telegraph office located within the lumberyard office, they went to the marshal to report what had happened, more of a courtesy than a necessity. The marshal was responsible for town matters only; the county sheriff was in charge of enforcing the law in the county, but Deed now knew Sheriff Lucas was crooked.
Macy Shields greeted them with a sneer and told them that Dixie Murphy had already reported on the posse’s fate and he had sent a deputy with a burial team to the ambush site. As usual, he was wearing a bandana tied over his head instead of a hat, as well as once-white suspenders. Murphy, too, had been wounded in the ambush, he said.
“So the bunch that got away swung back and hit you Mexes again. Is that it?” Shields said without standing. He was seated behind the marshal’s desk. A cup of coffee rested on the scratched desktop, along with stacks of paper.
Deed bristled. “Yeah, your boss tried again, Shields. But you boys still aren’t good enough.” He cocked his head. “I’d like it if you referred to my friend as Mister Sanchez.”
“I don’t give a damn what you’d like, Corrigan. I’m the acting county sheriff now, too. Lucas got it in the ambush.” Shields reached for his coffee with his left hand as his right dropped to his lap. “Town council just voted. Smart of ’em.”
“Let’s see . . . Bordner owns the bank . . . and the local law. Anything else?”
Taol stared at Shields through slitted eyes. “We will have justice. It will come.”
“Maybe so, Mex. Maybe so,” Shields said. “If I was you, I’d see what Agon Bordner wants to give you for your place . . . and ride on while you still can.”
“Come on, Taol,” Deed said. “We’ll deal with real lawmen when they get here.”
Shields’s right hand moved toward the holstered gun at his waist.
“I wouldn’t try that, Shields,” Deed said, his gun already in his hand.
The crooked lawman took a deep breath and moved both hands to the desktop. Deed holstered his gun and they turned to leave.
Shields found his courage. “Oh, by the way, I wouldn’t try buying anything in the general store, Mex. Lazy S’s credit’s no good there. Neither’s your money. The town only wants Americans around here.” He chuckled. “For that matter, neither is yours, Corrigan. We don’t like your brother’s Injun wife.” His eyes widened to match the sneer of his mouth. “Maybe Bordner’ll be good enough to pay you for that piece of land you’re sitting on, too.”
Taol Sanchez’s teeth clenched and his hand dropped to his handgun.
Deed took a step in front of him to stop his draw.
“Come on, Taol. Nothing good’s going to come from staying here.”
“Sí, but just one time, I—”
“Anytime you want to die, Mex. Anytime,” Shields said and stared at Deed. “Hear you took some lead when the posse went down. I can see your ear’s bandaged. That’s a real shame, Corrigan.”
“How would you know that?” Deed’s eyes were cold as he turned back to Shields.
“Murphy said you and he were the only two that made it out.”
“Interesting, since he wasn’t around when the shooting started. Neither was Lucas. I’d like to have a chat with him about that,” Deed growled.
“He done left for the Bar 3.”
“Convenient.”
They left and Taol suggested they check at the general store. If Shields was right, they would need to make arrangements in another town, probably Amarillo, and that was a two-day trip one way. Taol yanked free the reins and mounted.
“Yes, we should,” Deed said as he swung into the saddle, “but likely it’s as Shields said. Bordner is trying to tighten the noose around us.”
Taol’s face tightened. “I think we ride to the Bar 3 and end this.”
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Deed said. “Matter of fact, Bordner would like us to try that.”
“Sí, but it feels bueno to think of it.”
As they rode down the street, a store owner in shirtsleeves ran from his drugstore toward them, waving.
“Mr. Corrigan . . . do you know what happened to the posse? My brother is with them,” the bald man said, his eyes asking the rest of his question.
Reining up, Deed shook his head. “Taol’s brother, two of his men, and I were with the posse. We were ambushed two days out of town. South of here, near Oak Tree Canyon. Evidently Dixie Murphy and I were the only ones to make it.” He made no mention of his belief that both Murphy and Lucas were involved in the setting of the ambush. This wasn’t the time or the man to share it with.
The man’s face wilted.
“I think the marshal is putting together a burial committee to ride out there. The Sanchezes are headed there as well.”
“How’d you and Mr. Murphy make it safe?” the businessman blurted.
“With me, it was God’s plan. I was only wounded,” Deed said. “With Murphy, it was Agon Bordner’s plan.” He leaned forward and patted the distraught man on his shoulder.
“I-I don’t understand,” the man said.
Deed clicked his buckskin into a walk. “You’d better . . . or Bordner will own you, too.”
He glanced over at Taol and said, “Let’s check out the store.”
Nodding to the man, they rode on, reined up at the store with the big sign reading WILKON GENERAL MERCHANDISE, swung down, and went inside.
At the marshal’s office, a huge man came from the cell area, holding a broom. Sear Georgian glared at Shields. “Well, so Deed Corrigan is hurt. Maybe I hurt him some more.”
“Good idea, Sear, but don’t wear a gun,” Shields said. “You don’t want to give him an excuse to use his.”
“I won’t need it. I’ll break his back. Tear him apart.” He placed the broom against the wall and left.
Shields felt a shiver run down his back. Sear Georgian was a monster. He didn’t know why Bordner kept him around. It had to be for moments like this. Georgian would beat Deed Corrigan senseless, especially with him being wounded.
Inside the general store, a man neither knew stepped from behind the counter. He was tall with combed-back, curly hair, a nose that looked like a turnip, and a mustache that needed trimming. He wore a crumpled suitcoat and wrinkled tie.
When he spoke, his voice was nasal and thin. “Mr. Sanchez . . . Mr. Corrigan, I believe. Correct? I am Jephrum Virdin, owner of this establishment. It is my duty, my responsibility, to inform both of you that your business is not welcome here.” He glanced away at several customers. “I would ask you to leave.”
Taol’s face turned dark red and he mumbled a curse in Spanish.
“Virdin, this madness will end soon,” Deed snarled. “And your fat boss won’t make it. When that happens, you’d better not be in Wilkon when I ride in.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. Corrigan?”
Deed’s smile was hateful. “I don’t make threats, Virdin. Just a helpful projection of what life holds for you.”
A fury was growing within Deed, a fury that could be reckless and unstoppable, a fury he tried hard to contain most times, a fury that had gotten him into trouble before.
Taol spat that they should leave and Deed suggested he go out to the horses, that he wanted to buy something for the Sanchez women. Taol took a deep breath to release his own anger and left.
“I told you that your business wasn’t welcome, Mr. Corrigan,” Virdin said, crossing his arms and trying to look intimidating.
“Heard that.” Deed walked over to a table displaying big silk scarves, neatly stacked and folded. He picked up three—one, crimson; one, pink; and one, turquoise. Setting them aside, he selected two more—one in pink; the other, green.
Turning to Virdin, Deed asked if he had any dolls. Stunned, the man pointed at a nearby shelf where three dolls were sitting. He examined them and took the middle one with blond hair and dressed in a blue gingham dress with a white apron.
“Get me six sacks, Virdin. Small sacks.”
The surprised man went to the counter and returned with the requested brown sacks. Deed took them, placed the doll inside the first and then slid each scarf inside a separate sack. He dropped three gold coins at the man’s feet.
“Keep the difference, Virdin.”
Turning, he heard scuffling, followed by a fierce curse.
“Hold these for me, Virdin.” Deed handed him back the filled sacks, pulled his holstered Remington, and ran to the store doorway. Virdin watched him go, then picked up the coins.
On the boardwalk, Sear Georgian stood laughing and kicking at an unconscious Taol. He was huge, more creature than man with ham-like fists and broad shoulders.
Cocking his gun, Deed growled, “Back away from my friend, mister.”
The brute of a man stepped backward and grinned, showing a mouth of broken and missing teeth. His face was heavily pockmarked with earlier acne and his thinning hair was slicked back and long.
“Ah, Deed Corrigan. Ya gonna shoot me? I ain’t carryin’.” He raised his fists, then kicked Taol in the ribs again. “He ’tacked me, ya know. Jes’ defendin’ myse’f.”
Watching them from ten feet away, an older, stoop-shouldered woman with a blue scarf tied around her head, revealing mostly white curls declared, “He did not, you brute. And you know it, mister. You hit him from the back. I saw it.”
Georgian laughed and a string of phlegm wiggled from one nostril, then jumped back. “So what are you gonna do about it, Corrigan? I’m gonna kick this Mex to death.”
Deed knew he had no business fighting anyone, much less a thug like Sear Georgian, who was three inches taller and forty pounds heavier. But if he didn’t step in, the man was going to beat on Taol until he was broken. Georgian was unarmed, so any use of a gun by Deed would be tantamount to murder, no matter the circumstances. There was nothing left to do but try to stop him. The anger growing within him was actually welcoming the idea.
He looked back into the store, uncocked his gun, and said, “Virdin, take this gun for a few minutes. I won’t need it until later. Got something to do.”
The storekeeper hurried to the doorway and took the heavy gun, stunned by his desire to help and even more amazed by his own statement, “Be careful. He’ll kill you, Mr. Corrigan.”
Deed nodded.
“Now yer gonna die, Corrigan,” Georgian growled and delivered a roundhouse swing at Deed’s head as he turned back.
The old woman screamed her alarm.
Deed’s left arm blocked the powerful blow, taking it full force on his wounded arm. It felt like a club had slammed against him. His arm went numb and the wound began to bleed. Georgian followed with a high right that Deed managed to duck and counter with an opened right hand to the big man’s Adam’s apple.
Georgian grabbed his throat with both hands, gasping for air. If Deed had hit him harder, it would have killed him. Still, the blow gave Deed time to set himself. He realized the man was a brawler used to winning by sheer strength and the fear of his opponent, but he was no fighter. But any one of Georgian’s blows would be enough to knock him out. That would mean destruction of his body or death.
Moving in front of the unconscious Taol, Deed balanced himself in a wide stance and drove his right leg into Georgian’s midsection like an axe while the bigger man tried to clear his throat of the earlier blow. Deed’s wounded left leg buckled and he nearly fell.
Georgian pushed Deed away and rattled him with a thundering right to his head that brought blood to his mouth. Deed countered with a right hook to Georgian’s face that popped the skin with a stomach-turning sound, cracking a red line down his cheek. Screaming obscenities, Georgian swung fiercely, but missed.
Moving away from the blow, Deed tripped on Taol and fell. Grinning, the bloody-faced big man ran at him, but the young gunfighter spun to his right, extending his right arm to balance himself on his hand. Rotating his hips, he drove his aching left leg into the bigger man’s stomach. As soon as his boot hit Georgian, Deed jumped to his feet. His spurs jingled as he stood and tried to ignore the pain in his leg and arm, and the roar in his head. Georgian was struggling with the pain in his stomach.
A small crowd had gathered beside the old woman to watch the brawl, but no one made any attempt to stop it.
Deed staggered the bigger man with a vicious back slap of his open right hand to Georgian’s face. Georgian launched a wild swing that thundered against Deed’s shoulder and made his knees wobble. Seeing his weakened position, Georgian made a vicious grab for Deed’s face to gouge out his eyes. As the huge man’s hands reached Deed’s face, the young gunfighter’s left elbow hit Georgian’s nose like a sharp axe cutting into a log. Georgian staggered sideways. Deed moved in, missing with his right fist, but connecting with a left to the man’s stomach.
Ignoring Deed’s blow to his midsection, Georgian rushed and grabbed him, squeezing against his back. Deed gasped, felt an awful pain run down his spine, then bent his knees as best he could and rammed his head upward into Georgian’s exposed chin. The big man staggered backwards, releasing Deed. The young gunfighter followed with another open-handed jab to his stomach and Georgian whimpered.
Swinging and missing, Georgian brought up his knee toward Deed’s groin, but Deed spun to the side, letting the blow slam into his thigh. It still made him gasp. Deed’s anger was total and his rage took over. It was time to end this. If the fight went longer, the man’s sheer strength would wear him down.
Rebalancing himself, Deed drove his fist into the man’s chest, right at Georgian’s heart. He forced his left arm to raise and half-block Georgian’s wicked swing. It was losing power; even so, the blow was hard enough to make Deed wince.
Deed managed to back off, then went into a half crouch, ignoring the pain in his leg and arm. Hate was making him fierce and powerful. His left arm swung at his side, too weak to raise again. Georgian’s face was a mass of blood and skin and he was definitely moving slower. He lunged at Deed in a desperate attempt to grab him again.
Deed’s opened right hand drove into Georgian’s stomach, then quickly thudded against his neck. The big man stumbled and as he fell, Deed grabbed a handful of Georgian’s hair and held him as his right elbow smashed into the man’s face. Georgian thudded against the boardwalk and didn’t move.
Deed weaved and caught himself against the store’s support beam. Certain that Georgian wasn’t going to move, he turned to Taol, now trying to stand. A cut above Deed’s eye was bringing a string of salty blood into it; he wiped it away.
“Can you ride, Taol?”
“Sí. Did you kill him?”
“Don’t think so, but he won’t feel very good for a long while,” Deed said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He helped the young Mexican to his saddle; Taol’s grimace indicated cracked ribs. A white-faced Virdin walked from the store, holding the sacks, now carefully folded together and tied with the doll sack on the bottom, and Deed’s revolver and ceremoniously handed them to Deed.
“Mr. Corrigan, that was impressive, sir,” Jephrum Virdin said. “I didn’t think anyone could stop him like that.” He took a deep breath and added, “I never did like Sear Georgian.”
Heaving for breath, Deed mouthed his thanks, taking the gun first in his right hand. His left arm was stiff, but he managed to take hold of the string holding the sacks together. He looked down at his hands; both were bloody and sore.
Running down the boardwalk came Sheriff Macy Shields. He stutter-stepped as he approached the prone body of Sear Georgian. “What the hell?”
Watching him from his saddle, Deed held his handgun against the pommel. The energy from battle was leaving him fast.
“You’re under arrest, Corrigan, for assaulting a citizen of Wilkon,” Shields bellowed.
Virdin waved his arms. “No, Macy, that cannot be. I have to live in this town and Sear started it all. He just wasn’t good enough to end it.” He stared at Shields. “Go and get the doctor. Georgian is badly hurt.” He couldn’t resist looking at Deed. “Ride away, Mr. Corrigan, and your friend, Mr. Sanchez. You will not be bothered more this day.”
“Maybe, but we’re not turning our backs on dirtbags like your so-called sheriff here.” Deed raised his gun so Shields could see it. “Shields, throw your gun in that horse tank.” He shifted the sacks to rest in front of him on the saddle.
Shields glared at him. “I won’t do that.”
Deed cocked his gun. It felt heavy and he added his left hand to its support, which didn’t want to move quickly. “I won’t ask again. I’m tired of what Bordner is doing. So killing you is just a start to making it right again.”
Shields hesitated, then tossed the gun into the tank. The weapon splashed and sank.
“Now, that hideaway. In your back waistband. Bring it out with two fingers.”
Shields grumbled and slowly complied. The second gun, a short-barreled Colt, splashed into the dirty water and sank.
Deed told Taol to pull away and the Mexican nodded and eased his horse away from the hitchrail. As Deed followed, a young woman ran toward him. It was Sally Cummins.
“Oh, Deed, are you all right?” she asked with widened eyes. She was wearing a light brown, fitted dress with a short waistcoat. The color of the cloth matched her hair, pulled back into a bun.
“Yes, Miss Cummins, I’m all right.”
“Will you come to see me . . . soon? I miss you, Deed.”
“Guess that’ll be up to Agon Bordner and his gang.” He blinked and saw Atlee Forsyth and wished she was here.
Putting her hand on his leg, she bit her lower lip. “Oh, this whole thing is awful. Just awful. I wish everyone could get along.”
“That’s a nice wish,” Deed said, touched the brim of his hat with his right hand still holding his gun, and pulled his horse away from the hitchrail. “Take care of yourself, Miss Cummins.”