Broken Star (2006)

Divided loyalties cause Fallon Vejar to leave his outlaw band when its leader decides to rob the bank in Vejar's hometown. Though having fled two years earlier after being accused of murder, his fears for Raya – the girl he left behind – make him return to Yancey.

Although discovering that Raya is to marry his old friend Sheriff George Harker, Vejar is prepared to help Harker repel the very outlaws he'd abandoned. But Vejar's loyalties are again put to the test when the sheriff is shot and he is left to defend the hostile town on his own. Now he must head towards a final showdown with all the odds against him.

Title Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
By the same author
Copyright

To be a hotel-keeper in Del Corsia, an untamed town close to the Mexican border, you needed a sixth-sense that detected trouble before it began. Frank Yarrow had the knack. Frank was not a fighting man, but a natural diplomat ready with the words that were known to calm the most savage breast. Though he could never think of himself as a hero, he modestly acknowledged that his ability to turn aside wrath had saved both lives and property in the past. Usually the property saved was his beloved Banner Hotel. Maybe it didn’t rate as a hotel beside the classy places in the territory’s larger towns, but the Banner was much appreciated by weary
travellers
and by local folk who enjoyed good food. The place meant everything to Frank, and there had been times when diplomacy wasn’t enough and Frank had been forced to chance physical
harm to preserve his little empire. So far he had been lucky.

But he had feared that his amazing good luck was about to desert him that evening, as he stood behind the mahogany desk in the hotel’s dowdy foyer. From there he had an angled view of the busy dining-room. There were a few drummers in that evening, men with the gift of the gab, laughing too loud and too long while discussing the day’s sales as they ate. Several staid ranchers who had business in town were treating their families to a meal served by two attractive and efficient Mexican waitresses. Then there were the regulars, the town’s storekeepers and the like, the faithful who dined at the Banner every evening. But Frank was worried about a corner of the dining-room where sat six hard-faced men and a black-haired beauty who looked every bit as tough as her male companions. Though undoubtedly an outlaw gang, it wasn’t a rowdy group of the type Frank had experience in handling. They weren’t the sort who would take kindly to being preached at by a stranger, no matter how well intentioned that stranger might be. The men and the girl spoke little, and when they did it was in steady, subdued tones. But there were undercurrents, unseen and unheard, that the hotel-keeper was alarmed to pick up. If, as was likely, trouble erupted among these guests
in his establishment, then Frank feared that neither he nor his hotel would survive.

Outlaws often passed through the town, spending enough to boost the economy of local trading places along the way. Rarely did they give any trouble, as Del Corsia had no bank and no other place worth robbing. But Frank suspected that there was some dangerous inner-gang dissent here that was close to tangible. When hard men such as these fell out it could turn real ugly.

Entering the dining-room, he used the pretence of clearing dirty crockery from tables to move nearer to the gang. His expert eye noted the worn handles on the low-slung
six-shooters
that all of the men were wearing. This told Frank that they were veteran gunslingers, proof that his apprehension was justified.

The totally relaxed, detached manner of one man who appeared to be superbly confident of his own reflexes and fighting ability, identified the leader for Frank. Shadows cast by the room’s poor lighting accentuated a face that would have been strikingly handsome but for the imprint of a lifetime of degradation. Employing his uncanny skills, Frank pinpointed the source of potential trouble as an invisible animosity between the gang leader and a younger man with fair wavy hair that was worn long. In Frank’s
estimation the fair-haired outlaw, who was
good-looking
in a rugged kind of way, was as
dangerous
as the leader. The remaining four men were the common sort of desperadoes. Anonymous by their mediocrity, they neither added anything nor took anything away from what was between the two protagonists.

Frank heard the leader speak to the
fair-haired
man in a reasonable, conversational way. ‘I don’t see your problem, Fallon.’

This seemingly mild remark somehow charged the air with a tension that continued to build despite the interruption of a short burst of merriment from two young children sitting at a rancher’s table. Frank noticed that the outlaw woman was worriedly studying first the leader and then the blond man.

‘I can see what my problem is, which is all that matters to me,’ the man named Fallon replied.

Though Fallon had answered in a moderate tone, Frank could detect a sharp edge to his words. This increased his fear, as it did the concern on the outlaw girl’s lovely face. Frank made a mistake in moving to take a loaded tray of crockery from one of his waitresses in order to get closer to the gang. He heard the
black-haired
girl warn the leader sharply, ‘Hold up on the talk, Ken.’

Turning his head to look steadily at Frank, the
gang leader gave him a white-toothed smile. But that couldn’t disguise the menace in his voice when he said, ‘Best get yourself back out in the foyer,
mi amigo
. Looks as how there’s a couple of
hombres
wanting to check in.’

A quick glance told Frank that the foyer was empty, but he wasn’t about to argue. He was aware of the man named Fallon moving slightly in his seat to position his holstered .45 clear of the table. There was going to be trouble for sure, big trouble, but now Frank could do nothing to avert it. He could actually feel the short hairs rise on his forearms, and an icy-cold prickle ran down his spine. Rare though they were, it was situations like this that took the pleasure out of running a business in Del Corsia.

Behind his desk once more, Frank Yarrow risked a sideways glance into the dining-room. Though the gang remained quiet, the
atmosphere
was more fraught than ever. The other diners were oblivious to the fast-mounting tension, but it was causing Frank extreme
anxiety
. One time when the James boys had spent two nights at his hotel, his nerves had been continuously on edge. With a strict Jesse in control, that occasion had passed without
incident
. But now there was dread in his veins, toxic and deadening.

He gave an involuntary jerk, upsetting the
inkpot as he saw the fair-haired outlaw shift his chair back a little from the table. Dabbing at the spilled ink with a blotter, Frank feared that
whatever
it was between the two men had come to a head. The young outlaw suddenly got to his feet. Violence in the extreme was about to explode. Not realizing that he had been holding his breath, a relieved Frank released it in a snort when the fair-haired man didn’t go for his gun. He and the gang leader seemed to be
conversing
. That was a good sign.

‘You walk away from this table, Vejar, and you’d better turn and slap leather before you get to that door.’

Fallon Vejar knew that this was no idle threat. Their harsh way of life didn’t embrace
consideration
for others. Ken Klugg would not let danger to the other people in the dining-room, including children, deter him from gunplay. Yet Vejar also knew that he had no choice but to leave. It was ironic that he wouldn’t be welcome in his hometown of Yancey, yet it was to save that town that made it necessary for him to split with the Klugg gang after two financially rewarding years.

He said quietly. ‘You leave me with no option but to go, Ken. There are people back in Yancey who I care about.’

‘There are people you should care about right here at this table,’ Klugg retorted.

‘You are right, there are,’ Vejar conceded. ‘But you are pushing me to choose between them and the folks back home.’

‘There should be no choice to make after what we’ve been through together,’ Klugg argued.

‘This is silly,’ Gloria Malone put in nervously, using a hand to brush back a sweep of blue/black hair from her face. Her foolishness in speaking up worried Vejar. It didn’t pay to talk back to Ken Klugg, particularly as she was
obviously
taking Vejar’s side. Klugg had for some time been seething with envy over the
relationship
that had developed between Gloria and Vejar.

Gloria had been with them for ten months, since she had unknowingly jeopardized a bank job in New Mexico. Down on her luck, Gloria had alerted the law in town by bungling her single-handed hold-up attempt on a
merchandise
store, just as the Klugg outlaw band was about to hit the bank. With its renowned
audacity
, the gang had plundered the bank and then rescued Gloria, who soon became a valuable member of the outlaw band. She was good with a handgun and a brilliant shot with a rifle. Wherever the gang went, the sultry,
dark-skinned
,
smouldering-eyed Gloria held just about every man under her spell. But no man, no matter how drunk, dared to make a move towards her.

‘Stay out of this, Gloria,’ Klugg warned in a half whisper.

‘No, I won’t,’ Gloria said stubbornly. The brightness of her eyes owed nothing to fear. That was an emotion with which Vejar doubted Gloria had ever been acquainted. ‘You can’t afford to lose your second in command, Ken. You and Fallon work well together. It doesn’t have to be Yancey. There are other towns, other banks.’

‘I give the orders,’ Klugg told her flatly. ‘I say we’ll hit the bank and Yancey, so Yancey it is.’

‘This time I’m going to have my say, Ken,’ Vejar argued.

‘There can be only one leader, Fallon,’ Klugg stated coldly, ‘and that’s me.’

‘Then count me out,’ Vejar said, getting to his feet.

That was a rash statement for someone with nowhere to go to make. Vejar was keenly aware of that. Having left his hometown under a cloud two years ago, trying to return would probably be unwise. Since joining Klugg he had become moderately wealthy robbing trains,
stagecoaches
, and banks. But he had become a big spender used to living it up, and what money he
had put by wouldn’t last long. The forces of law and order were becoming more effective these days, and a lone outlaw had little hope of making a living, or even of carrying on living.

‘Sit down, Fallon,’ Gloria pleaded. ‘He’ll kill you.’

Dismissing this with a shake of his head, Vejar kept his gaze steadily on Klugg. ‘I’m walking out of here right now. You know that I’ve always shaded you, Ken, so don’t risk it.’

‘Maybe you do have the edge on me, Fallon, maybe you don’t,’ Klugg said, the hint of a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. ‘But remember, you will be walking away, with your back to me.’

Vejar needed no reminder that he was putting himself at a disadvantage. But he had complete faith in his gunfighting skill. That skill had forced him to leave Yancey and had then brought him infamy as a member of the Klugg outlaw bunch. He was sure that he would know if Klugg went for his gun, and he could turn and fire before the leader of the gang’s
six-gun
had cleared its holster. Yet he hoped that wouldn’t happen. Though they differed in many ways, he had no quarrel with Ken Klugg. Respecting each other, they had come as close to being friends as was possible in the kind of life they led. The two of them had watched over
each other through the years.

Without speaking another word, Vejar turned. As he took his first slow pace in the direction of the door, he heard Gloria Malone cry out, begging him not to go. Unheeding, he took one more step, then another. It had gone very quiet in the dining-room as everyone there but the children sensed that they were caught up in a serious situation. Doubting that Klugg could stand the loss of face at having someone walk out on him, Vejar kept on going slowly towards the door.

Ken Klugg was a man of honour, although many who knew him would say that it was a perverted sense of honour. Even so, Vejar accepted that the gang leader wouldn’t shoot him in the back without warning. Klugg would call his name just before going for his gun. But that had not happened, and now Vejar had reached the dining-room door. A few feet ahead of him the visibly trembling hotel-keeper stood in the foyer, and still Klugg hadn’t made his move. Then, with Vejar framed in the doorway, Klugg shouted.

‘Vejar.’

Moving fast, every nerve and muscle co-
ordinating
perfectly. Vejar drew his gun and turned, dropping into a crouch, in one fluid movement. Women screamed and men were frantically
pulling children towards what they hoped was safety. Vejar, as immobile as a statue in his crouching stance, was bemused. Relaxed in his chair, thumbs of both hands hooked in his belt, Ken Klugg had made no attempt to draw his gun. He had played a suicidal game, relying solely on the total control that Vejar had over himself.

Straightening up, Vejar let his gun slide back into its holster. An inaudible, concerted sigh of relief filled the room. Leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, Vejar waited. Staying silent for some minutes, Klugg sought Vejar’s gaze and held it.

Then, speaking evenly, Klugg said, ‘This is neither the time nor the place, Vejar. But if you leave now, the next time we come face to face only one of us will walk away.’

With a nod to signify that he understood, Vejar replied, ‘I wouldn’t want that.’

‘Neither would I, Fallon, but it’s your call.’

Gloria was looking at Vejar; her dark eyes were trying to convey a message to him. But Vejar couldn’t read it. Maybe he didn’t want to read it. The girl had come to mean a lot to him. Probably too much. For some time he had been alarmed at the fast rate he had been
surrendering
a God-given freedom to their relationship. He turned on his heel and walked out into
the foyer. As he passed him the hotel-keeper mumbled, ‘Thank you.’ Unable to grasp why the man would want to express gratitude to him, Vejar walked on without replying.

Out on a street, Vejar looked at the skyline over the hills beyond the town. The sun had dropped out of sight some time ago, but it had left a memory of gold where it had set. He paused for a moment to take a long, deep breath. This was one of those times in life when the trail ahead forked, and you knew that
nothing
would ever be the same again whether you took the left or the right fork. After a few minutes’ reflection, he walked off towards the livery where he had left his horse. Habit had him keep to the shadows as he went.

Vejar was aware that when he reached the livery and saddled up he had a mighty decision to make. He had to make a choice of loyalties. Did he owe it to the people who were once his friends back in Yancey to warn them that the Klugg outlaw band would soon hit their town? Did that take precedence over betraying Klugg, Gloria, and the others, with whom he had lived with for so long, sharing many perils, so often facing sudden death?