They left the saloon together to walk slowly down the dark street. Though Vejar was of a somewhat taciturn nature, they conversed in the way of reunited old friends who have much to catch up on. But George Harker sensed that his long-term friendship with Vejar had been
fractured
earlier by mention of his relationship with Raya Kennedy. Raya and Vejar were to have been married when Vejar’s gunfighting had parted
them. Harker balanced out the guilt he felt with the thought that Vejar had abandoned Raya. He guessed that the rift between Vejar and him would eventually close, but doubted whether it would ever again be quite the same between them.
Vejar went quiet as they passed the feed store. Harker accepted that his friend was reliving a bad memory. It was from an alleyway just across the street that Billy Poole, who had lost heavily to Vejar in a game of poker that long ago evening, had taken a shot at Vejar. It was a mistake to pull a gun on a gunfighter of Fallon Vejar’s calibre, and an even bigger mistake to miss. Vejar had drawn and released a shot at where he had seen the flash of Billy’s gun. The sound of gunfire had brought people out on the street. Billy Poole had been found dead in the alley, his spine shattered by a bullet. It had been plain to Harker and some others that Billy had turned to flee after shooting at Vejar. But the three surviving Poole brothers had played on the fact that Billy had been shot in the back. His reputation as a fast gun and a man who seemed to attract trouble, had gone against Vejar, who fled before Rory Kelvin, the then sheriff who was under pressure from the town’s hierarchy, could arrest him for the murder of Billy Poole.
Harker broke the silence as they walked, by
asking, ‘How many are there in the Klugg gang, Fallon?’
‘Klugg and five others since I left,’ Vejar replied.
‘Is Klugg someone to be reckoned with?’
‘He’s the best, George.’
Staying silent, Harker put out a hand to halt Vejar, who had himself noticed a subtle change in the shadows cast by a building ahead of them. Someone standing close to the building had moved slightly. This was Harker’ s town, so Vejar stayed put while the sheriff kept in tight to the buildings beside them as he moved swiftly and noiselessly on. Hearing an animal-like squeal, Vejar saw the figure of a man ejected from the shadows. From the way the figure was hurtled across the sidewalk to crash face down in the dusty street, Vejar assumed that the unfortunate man had been propelled by a kick from Harker.
‘Just a drunk,’ Harker told Vejar, when he joined him down the street.
The man lay unmoving in the street, either unconscious from alcohol or rough treatment from Harker. Vejar remarked, ‘You’re as alert as ever, George. No one will ever get the drop on you.’
‘Don’t tell me that you didn’t notice
something
up ahead of us, Fallon.’
Not answering this, Vejar asked a question,
‘How many deputies you got?’
‘One,’ Harker answered ruefully. ‘And that’s old Dan Matthews.’
‘That’s as good as being on your own,’ Vejar commented solemnly, ‘You’ll need some good men backing you when you go against Ken Klugg, George.’
With a shrug, Harker said, ‘I won’t find them in Yancey. Everyone here these days is bent on making money, not getting themselves shot.’
‘So you will have to rely on yourself,’ Vejar mused. ‘You’ve got the speed and the skill. You’re good, George.’
‘Perhaps not as good as you.’
‘That’s not what I was leading up to,’ Vejar explained. ‘What I’m saying is that even the best of gunslingers can’t take on the Klugg outlaw band alone.’
‘Maybe the two of us could,’ Harker suggested tentatively.
‘It’s not that easy for me, George.’
‘Loyalty to your old gang?’
‘Not exactly,’ Vejar replied. ‘I made it pretty plain to Ken Klugg that I’ll act against him if he hits the bank here at Yancey.’
Puzzled by this, Harker enquired, ‘I’ve never known you to duck a fight, Fallon, so what’s the problem?’
‘It’s not straightforward.’
Though he had observed Vejar’s adverse
reaction
to learning that Raya and he were going out together, Harker hadn’t thought for one moment that it would come to this. He chose his words carefully. ‘Is it something between us, Fallon?’
‘No, it has nothing to do with you or anyone else here in Yancey,’ Vejar replied.
They had reached the jailhouse, and an even more mystified Harker unlocked the door. Changing the conversation, he said, ‘You have the place to yourself, Fallon.’ He waved a hand towards the cells. ‘Feel free to choose the best bed in the house.’
‘Thanks,’ Vejar said.
‘I’ll look you up in the morning,’ Harker told him, pausing at the door to speak over his
shoulder
to Vejar. ‘I heard tell that there’s a girl riding with the Klugg outfit.’
The sheriff meant this to be taken as a
question
. But Vejar ignored it completely. Certain that he had touched on what was bothering his friend, Harker said no more. Holding the door open for a moment, he gave Vejar the chance to say something. When his friend uttered not one word. Harker stepped out into the night and closed the door behind him.
It was ten o’clock in the morning and trading on Yancey’s main street was already brisk when Raya Kennedy walked to the bank. She had gone quickly, not wanting to encounter Fallon Vejar on the street. Now, with two other customers between her and the teller, she kept watch through the bank’s open door. Why was she doing that? Raya didn’t know the answer. Perhaps it was because if she saw him coming in her direction she could escape him. Or maybe it was that she secretly wanted to at least catch a glimpse of Fallon. That was understandable, as they had once planned to marry, but
inexcusable
because she was now George Harker’s girl. George was a gentleman who was highly respected by everyone in town, whereas after being forced out of Yancey, Fallon had become an outlaw with a price on his head.
Raya gave an involuntary little jump as a
shadow fell across the doorway. The possibility that it was Fallon Vejar both unnerved and thrilled her a little. But it was a woman who entered. Around the same age as Raya, she was dark-complexioned; her black hair, worn long, was pulled back and tied with a single ribbon. She wore a crimson shirt and had a pair of saddle-bags draped over her left shoulder. Pausing to look curiously around her, the way strangers do on arriving, she flashed a brilliant smile at Raya.
‘So, this is Yancey,’ the woman said, speaking as though she and Raya had just ridden into town together.
Taken aback by this direct approach, Raya’s natural shyness overwhelmed her. All she could manage to say was, ‘Good morning.’
‘Are you from around these parts?’ the dark woman asked. ‘I’m so glad to see a friendly face. I always feel so out of it, so alone, on arriving at somewhere new to me.’
Smiling sympathetically, Raya nodded. ‘Yes, I have lived here all my life.’
‘Then we could be neighbours soon.’
‘That would be nice,’ Raya responded, having swiftly come to like her new acquaintance.
‘Forgive me,’ the woman said, with a
self-deprecating
little smile. She put out her hand, hesitating slightly as she introduced herself.
‘Carmel Morrow.’
‘Raya Kennedy,’ Raya said, as she shook the woman’s hand. ‘You are considering moving to Yancey?’
‘If I can find the right place. My brother and I have worked hard all our lives making money for others, and now we want to go into ranching ourselves. Nothing big, nothing difficult to handle. Just something interesting and
rewarding
.’
‘I understand,’ Raya said, with a sympathetic smile. ‘I do hope that you find what you are
looking
for.’
‘So do I,’ Carmel Morrow said wistfully. She hooked a thumb under the strap joining the saddle-bags and took them from her shoulder. ‘First things first, though. I need to become a solid citizen by opening an account here.’ A sudden thought clouded her face and she enquired, ‘I hope I’m not risking our savings. Is Yancey a safe town, Raya?’
‘Absolutely,’ Raya assured her, giving an embarrassed little giggle before adding, ‘Mind you, I’m biased, as I’m going to marry the
sheriff
next spring.’
‘You can’t get safer than that,’ Carmel laughed.
‘That’s very true,’ Raya agreed proudly. ‘There’s nobody within two hundred miles of
Yancey who would dare to go against Sheriff George Harker.’
Giving Raya’s arm a little squeeze, Carmel said, ‘That’s very reassuring. Thank you, Raya. Maybe I’ll get an invite to the wedding if we settle here.’
‘You most certainly will, Carmel, both you and your brother.’
‘That’s nice of you.’ The teller’s position was now vacant and Carmel gave Raya a gentle nudge with her elbow. ‘There you go.’
Having seen Raya go into the bank, Fallon Vejar pretended to study the items in a gunsmith’s window while keeping an eye on the bank
doorway
. The street was a peaceful scene of people going about their legitimate business. It pained him to imagine how drastically that would change when Ken Klugg and his gang arrived. Since venturing out that morning, he had met several folk he had once known well, but who now passed him by without speaking. This made him wonder how Raya would react to his return. During a largely sleepless night in the jailhouse, he had done some deep thinking. He had reasoned that as he was sure to meet Raya at some time, then the sooner he did so the better. Though he still had strong feelings for Raya, his days as an outlaw had forever separated him
from her. Though it would be painful for him, he had to let her go. The air between Raya, Harker, and him had to be cleared if he was going to work with the sheriff.
Raya reappeared, coming out of the bank and turning down the street without even a glance in his direction. Vejar started after her, but stopped again as a rider he recognized as Ben, the youngest of the Poole brothers, came slowly down the street. Passing Raya, Ben Poole headed unhurriedly towards Vejar. Anticipating trouble from the renowned brawler, Vejar stood on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting.
Ben Poole was a big man, whose size and strength was feared greatly. He reined up in front of Vejar; a holstered Colt .45 resting on a right thigh that was as thick as a tree trunk. Vejar was confident that there would be no gunplay. The heavily muscled Ben’s movements were far too slow for him to draw on Vejar. In the way of all bullies, Ben Poole never started a fight that he wasn’t certain he could win. But a cautious Vejar quickly scanned all of the doorways and side alleys in the vicinity, suspecting that the other two Poole brothers might be lying in ambush. But the area was clear.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman exit the bank. There was something immediately familiar about her. With two
saddle-bags
slung over her shoulder, she turned and walked off away from him. Though he hadn’t seen her face, the way she held herself and her walk half convinced him that it was Gloria Malone. Vejar accepted that all that kept him from being fully convinced of the woman’s
identity
, was his fervent hope that it wasn’t Gloria.
Seeing the black-haired outlaw girl in Yancey was deeply disturbing for Vejar. Ken Klugg was moving in on the town more rapidly than Vejar had expected. The immediate threat that was Ben Poole instantly became a secondary,
unimportant
issue. Vejar had to force himself to bring his attention back to the thuggish Ben.
With both hands resting on his saddle horn, Poole’s dark eyes had within them a permanent glint of amusement as though he was laughing at himself. There was a deceptive aura of childish innocence about the big man. This no longer fooled anyone who had seen his massive fists beat opponents to a pulp, or his murderous intent when wielding the long-bladed knife that he habitually carried.
Annoyed at having missed an opportunity to speak with Raya, and perplexed by seeing Gloria in town, Vejar tersely enquired, ‘Have you got something you want to say, Poole?’
Not replying, Ben Poole sat staring at Vejar for several minutes, his large, flat face
expressionless
.
Then he slowly raised his right hand and pointed the forefinger at Vejar. After a minute or so had passed, Poole lowered the hand, pulled the head of his horse round, and rode off up the street, keeping his mount at a walking pace.
Aware that what had just happened was simply the start of what would inevitably occur between the Poole brothers and him, Vejar stood for a moment watching the broad back of the
departing
Ben Poole. Then he pulled down his Stetson to shield his eyes from the sun as he made his way to the sheriff’s office.
Finding George Harker sitting behind his desk engaged in some paperwork, Vejar explained who Gloria Malone was, and how he had seen her leaving Yancey’s bank.
‘Getting the lie of the land?’ Harker asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly. ‘You say that she was carrying a saddle-bag, Fallon.’
Vejar corrected him. ‘Two saddle-bags.’
‘Which means that, if she was making a deposit, it would be a tidy sum of money,’ Harker pondered.
‘Yes.’
‘So Klugg would be robbing a bank that holds his own money,’ Harker said doubtfully.
‘Money he’s robbed from another bank,’ Vejar cynically clarified the situation.
‘That figures,’ the sheriff conceded. ‘Yancey
has seen the last of this woman, seeing as how she’s done her job?’
‘No,’ Vejar replied. ‘When the time comes to hit the bank she’ll be there in the thick of the gunsmoke.’
‘And she’s the reason you don’t want to back me against Klugg and his gang,’ Harker guessed shrewdly.
Not answering this, an image of Gloria Malone sprang into Vejan’s mind. He had known many women in his time but, Raya excepted, none of them could compare with the black-haired outlaw. There was something vibrantly alive about everything she did, all that she said. If there was a way to protect her when Klugg rode into town, then he would find it and use it.
Forcing the mental picture from his head, Vejar said, ‘The thing is, George, Klugg will soon be riding into town, and you’ve got to move fast if you’re going to stop him.’
‘You know how this outlaw operates, Fallon, so I’d be loco not to seek your advice.’
‘It is important that you don’t let Klugg into town,’ Vejar instructed. ‘Once inside he’ll use any trick, no matter who gets hurt. For a start you’ll need enough men to cover each end of the street so that no one can enter the town.’
Getting up from his chair and buckling on his
gunbelt, Harker walked over to unlock the chain of the gun rack and select a rifle. He told Vejar, ‘Right now I’m going to ride out to the Lazy J, Fallon. Jim Reynard has some tough hands
working
for him.’
‘Gunslingers?’ Vejar queried.
‘Cowboys,’ Harker answered. ‘But they’re a rough bunch. Jim will let me borrow ten.’
‘Make it fifteen,’ Vejar advised.
Nodding assent, Harker said, ‘First though, I’ll call at the bank and ask Hiram what business your woman did there this morning.’
‘Not my woman, George.’
Dan Matthews always became uneasy whenever George Harker was out of town. The town
council
had just two reasons for making Dan deputy sheriff: the first was that the wages were so poor that no one else wanted the job, and the second, that Yancey had been practically crime free since Fallon Vejar had lit out.
Having been called to the Hero of Alamo that evening, he liked even less having sole
responsibility
for keeping law and order. A boy had been sent to him with a message that Ben Poole was in the saloon, liquored-up and likely to explode into violence at any moment. Dan couldn’t imagine what anyone thought that he could do against the brutish Ben Poole. But he had to
show willing in order to keep his deputy’s badge and his pittance of an income.
It disappointed Dan to find the saloon was far from crowded. The more people there, the greater would be the chance of someone coming to his aid if Ben Poole started on him. Yancey was accustomed to the youngest Poole brother’s regular bouts of drunken violence, which George Harker usually took care of with consummate ease.
But George wasn’t here right now, and Ben, who had shoulders like an ox, had struck a
challenging
pose. Back to the bar, both elbows
resting
on it, his thick, black, wavy hair was brushed back from a forehead so low that just a narrow strip of skin separated the hair from the bushing eyebrows. In his rumbling voice he was taunting the half-circle of men who had left a clear space round him.
Approaching the bruiser, but careful to stay at more than an arm’s length away from him, old Dan said in a shaky voice, ‘Now then, Ben, nobody here is looking for trouble.’
‘Maybe you ain’t looking for it, old man, but you just found it,’ Ben snarled, pushing himself forwards from the bar.
Knees knocking together, Dan considered forgetting both his badge and his wage, and making a run for it. But relief flooded through
him as he heard the batwing doors open behind him, and Ben switched his angry glare from him to whoever had just come into the saloon. A square-toothed grin of delight split Ben Poole’s flat face almost in two.
Sensing the tension inside the saloon while still outside, Vejar eased his .45 in its holster before entering cautiously. Once he was inside, Dan Matthews came hurrying towards him on legs so bent that he rolled with each step, The old fellow’s body was no thicker than wire, with the clothes he wore hanging on it. The ancient man was looking at him anxiously through eyes that leaked tears that owed everything to age and nothing to sadness.
Opening his mouth to speak, the old face imploded, leaving on display a toothless upper gum and a row of black and brown snaggly teeth in his lower jaw. ‘Am I glad you’re here, Fallon. Ben Poole is acting up right ornery again.’
The oldster had no time to say anything more, as Ben Poole advanced on Vejar. He walked with quick, short steps, the weight of his body shifting rhythmically to either heel. With a slight swagger to it that was a challenge in itself, it was the walk of a self-assured fighting man.
Poole sneered, ‘Well, well! There stands the cowardly back-shooter.’
‘I came in here for a drink, Poole,’ Vejar said. ‘Not to seek trouble.’
‘Brother Billy wasn’t looking for no trouble when you shot him in the back, Vejar.’
As he finished speaking, Poole threw off his coat and slipped out of his checkered shirt. There were gasps of admiration from the onlookers as he stood there in a scarlet
undershirt
that showed off his muscle-packed body to advantage.
‘Back off, Poole.’
Deaf to Vejar’s warning, Ben Poole moved forward with both arms spread wide, his hands open. ‘I’m unarmed, Vejar, and I sure ain’t going to give you a chance to shoot me when I gets the better of you.’
Though quiet up to that moment, the saloon somehow produced a kind of magical silence. The air was charged with expectancy. Glancing round to double-check that the other two Poole brothers were not among the crowd, Vejar unbuckled his gunbelt, rolled it around the holstered gun, and passed it to a shaking Dan Matthews.