Authors: Robert Vaughan
JOSHUA CREED BURIED HIS SON AND THE TWO
cowboys who had worked for him in his private cemetery at Crown Ranch. Most of the other ranchers came to the funeral, though Rome Carlisle and his son Jesse were conspicuous by their absence.
Creed pointed toward the private graveyard. “There’s five good men lyin’ out there dead,” he said. “Four men who rode for me, and my son. Dalt, you ’n’ Jared have each lost a rider, ’n’ Carlisle’s lost a rider and a son. It’s time we ended this war once and for all,” Creed said. “Tonight, I want to raid Macgregor’s ranch. If we get rid of him, all of them will leave.”
Dalt Fenton and the other ranchers looked at each other, but nobody spoke.
“What is it?” Creed asked. “What’s going on?”
Fenton cleared his throat. “Josh, me ’n’ the other ranch
ers have been talking,” he said. “We think you’re right, this war has gone on long enough. Only we don’t plan to raid the Macgregor ranch tonight, or any other night. The truth is, we think it’s time we started gettin’ along with the sheep herders.”
“Are you turning against me now? Like Carlisle?”
“We ain’t turnin’ against you, Josh,” Jared Wilson said. “You’re still our neighbor. But the sheep men, why, they are our neighbors too. If they’ll let bygones be bygones, I’m for callin’ this war off before anyone else gets killed.”
“Get off my ranch,” Creed ordered, his face turning red with rage. He pointed toward the arched gate at the end of his drive. “Ever’ damn one of you, just get out now,” he said. “I’ll take care of this by myself.”
Cynthia and Hanna were sitting on the front porch shelling peas when Cynthia looked up and saw four riders coming across Clover Creek.
“Honey, where’s your papa and Mason?” Cynthia asked.
“They are out back, working on the windmill,” Hannah said.
“You’d better go get them.”
Hannah put her bowl down, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried around to get them. Ian and Hawke reached the front of the house just as the four riders came around the garden.
“Neither one of us are armed,” Ian said under his breath.
“Neither are they,” Hawke replied. “Do you know them?”
“They’re all cattle ranchers,” Ian said. “That’s Dalt Fenton, that’s Jared Wilson, that’s Ben Percy. I don’t know the other one.”
The four riders pulled up in front of the house, and while
three of them remained mounted, Dalt Fenton dismounted. Taking his hat off, he approached the front porch.
“Ma’am,” he said to Cynthia. “Miss.” He nodded toward Hannah. “Mr. Macgregor, I…that is we,” he raised his arm to include the other three riders, “are here to tell you that the war between us is over. Rome Carlisle was right. Josh Creed is wrong.”
“That’s very decent of you,” Ian said. “I appreciate your coming over to tell me that.”
“As far as we’re concerned, you folks can graze your sheep on open range anytime you want.”
“Dalt,” Jared said from the saddle.
“Oh, yeah,” Fenton said. “But we have to tell you that Creed hasn’t come around yet. He may still try to give you trouble, but I promise you, there won’t none of it come from us.”
“I’ll tell the others,” Ian said. “They will be glad to hear it.”
Fenton nodded, then remounted. “I wish you all the best, Mr. Macgregor,” he said as he left.
Joshua Creed and Clay Morgan were waiting for the train to arrive at the depot in King Hill the next day. After it pulled in, four men, all dressed in black, with badges identical to the one worn by Clay Morgan and wearing pistols, stepped down from the train. Seeing Clay, they came toward him.
“Hello, Bull, Marty, Sam, Trace,” Clay said. “Are you boys ready to go to work?”
“We’re ready,” Bull said. “Where do we start?”
“We start at the sheriff’s office,” Clay replied.
Sheriff Tilghman was sitting at his desk reading the newspaper when Creed, Morgan, and Morgan’s four deputies came in.
“Hello, Creed,” he said. Then, seeing the five men with him, he became uneasy. “What is this?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“We’re giving the town a new sheriff,” Morgan said matter-of-factly.
He drew his gun and killed Tilghman before Tilghman could reply.
“All right, Mr. Creed, it’s your money that’s paying for this,” Morgan said as he put his smoking gun away. “What do we do next?”
Creed was momentarily stunned by what had just occurred. Then he said, “We let the town know we are in charge.”
Creed, accompanied by Morgan and the other gunmen, went down to the newspaper office, where Joe Blanton, the editor and publisher of the
King Hill Gazette,
was setting type for the next edition.
At a nod from Morgan, Bull walked over and picked up the page Blanton had just set.
“Here, what are you doing?” Blanton asked in alarm.
Bull dumped the type on the floor.
“Do you know how long it took me to set that?”
“I have a new story for you,” Creed said. “I want you to set it in the biggest, boldest type you have, and I want you to get out an extra. I want a copy of your paper in the hands of everyone in town before dark.”
“Not everyone in town subscribes to the paper,” Blanton replied.
“They are all going to get a copy today,” Creed said.
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Say exactly what I tell you,” Creed said.
Ian looked at the newspaper Dexter Manley showed him.
JOSHUA CREED APPOINTED
MAYOR OF KING HILL
CLAY MORGAN IS NEW SHERIFF
ALL ORDERS WILL BE PROMPTLY OBEYED
“What is this?” Ian asked.
“It’s hell is what it is,” Dexter said. “Clay Morgan brought four more gunfighters in, just like him. Creed and them have taken over the entire town. Nobody can do anything without their permission.”
“When did this happen?” Hawke asked.
“Two days ago,” Dexter answered. “They killed Sheriff Tilghman right off. Then, yesterday, they killed Dan and took over the saloon. They’ve drunk up most of the whiskey and they’ve kept the girls busy ever since they got here. Uh, no offense meant, ma’am,” he said to Cynthia.
“I knew Creed was an evil man, but I never knew he would do anything like this,” Ian said. “I wonder what in the world got into him?”
“It’s Mr. Hawke,” Manley said.
“I beg your pardon?” Ian replied.
Manley nodded toward Hawke. “He said you killed his boy, and he’s not going to leave town until he settles with you. He sent me out to get you.”
“Ha! You say there are five gunmen in town, and he thinks all he has to do is send for Hawke?” Ian said.
“He said if Hawke doesn’t come in, he’ll kill the girls at the saloon.”
“He’s bluffing,” Ian said. “You said yourself that they were keeping the girls busy.”
“He’s not bluffing,” Hawke replied solemnly.
“Well, what if he is not? You are just one man,” Ian said. “You can’t go against all of them.”
“Somebody has to,” Hawke said, starting toward the barn.
“Hawke, no!” Ian called, but Hawke kept walking.
Ian watched him for a moment, then turned to his wife. “Cynthia, go stop him,” he said.
“What makes you think I can stop him?”
“Because I know how the two of you feel about each other,” Ian said, measuring his words carefully.
“Ian, I would never—” she started, but Ian held up his hand.
“Do you think I don’t know that, Cynthia? Now, please, try and stop him.”
Cynthia nodded, then hurried out to the barn where Hawke was saddling his horse.
“Mason, please,” she said. “Don’t go.”
“I have to,” Hawke said.
“Mason, no. I…I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you now.” Impulsively, she put her arms around him and, leaning into him, kissed him.
Gently, Hawke disengaged himself.
“Mason, if you won’t go I’ll do anything. I’ll even—”
Hawke held up his hand to stop her. “Cynthia, don’t say something you don’t mean,” he said.
Cynthia realized then there was someone else in the barn. Turning, she saw Hannah standing there, looking at them with eyes open wide in hurt and confusion.
“I have to go,” Hawke said. “I’m flattered that you would pretend there is something between us, just to keep me. But I have to go.”
The hurt and confusion left Hannah’s face. She could understand that her mother might use deception to keep Hawke there.
“All right,” Cynthia said. “Go if you must.”
When Hawke reached King Hill, he kept to the middle of the street. He had barely gotten into town when the first shot was fired, coming from the loft of the livery stable. He spurred his horse into a gallop and, throwing his leg over the saddle, so only his left foot was in the stirrup, used the horse as cover as he galloped by the livery. The shooter in the loft showed himself then, and that was a mistake.
Hawke snapped off a shot and the shooter dropped his gun, grabbed his stomach, then tumbled forward out of the loft, turning half over and landing on his back in the dirt below.
The second shooter was behind the false front on the roof of the apothecary. He fired at Hawke, who got off two quick shots as he leaped from his horse and scooted behind a water trough.
“Bull!” the shooter on the roof shouted. “Bull, do you see him?”
Nobody answered.
“Trace, Marty, do you see him?”
“I seen him go behind the watering trough,” another voice answered.
The shooter on the roof started firing, the bullets thumping into the trough, splashing into the water, and hitting the porch behind Hawke, who returned fire, shooting two more times. Then the shooter on the roof got careless and presented a bigger target.
Hawke took advantage, hitting him in the neck. The shooter fell, then slid off the roof.
Realizing he was out of ammunition, Hawke punched out all the empty cartridges in order to reload. He had just put one bullet in when he glanced up into the front window of the apothecary and saw the reflection of someone running across the street. It was the third of Morgan’s depu
ties. Clearly, the deputy had counted the shots and knew that he was empty.
Though he had only reloaded one bullet, Hawke stood up to confront his adversary. He pulled the trigger, but it fell on an empty chamber, the bullet not yet having worked itself up.
“Ha!” the gunman shouted. “I knowe’d you was out of shells.” He raised his pistol to take careful aim. Hawke pulled the trigger again…and again there was a click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. He pulled the trigger still again, and this time the bullet had worked its way up under the firing pin. The gunman went down with a bullet in his heart.
Hawke ran across the street to the open area between the apothecary and a dress store. Working quickly, he reloaded his gun. Then, looking up, he saw a man standing in a back doorway, a bystander to the gunplay. The man had a terrified look on his face.
Hawke pointed, silently asking if one of the gunmen was there. Almost imperceptibly, the man nodded, then carefully and surreptitiously pointed toward the door that was swung open to his right. Hawke made a motion for him to leap to his left.
The man stared at Hawke, either not understanding or too frightened to react. Hawke motioned again, and this time the man did react. Hawke fired three quick shots through the door. There was a thump, and Morgan’s fourth deputy fell back into the room where he’d been hiding.
Now there was only Clay Morgan.
“Morgan!” Hawke called as he reloaded his pistol. “Morgan, there are just the two of us now! You want to settle this?”
“I’m coming out,” Hawke heard him say, his voice coming from the far end of the street.
Looking that way, Hawke saw Morgan step out of the sheriff’s office.
From closed windows and through the cracks of doors, the citizens of the town watched the two men walk toward each other.
They stopped when they were no more than fifty feet apart.
Both men had their guns in their holsters.
“Ever since I heard of you, I’ve wondered which one of us was the best,” Morgan said. “I’m sure you’ve wondered the same.”
Hawke shook his head. “Not really,” he answered. “Until I got here, I’d never heard of you.”
In fact, Hawke had heard of Morgan, but he knew that saying he hadn’t would anger him, and the expression in Morgan’s face revealed that he was right.
“How are we going to play this?” Morgan asked.
“Just draw your gun when you’re feeling lucky,” Hawke replied.
The two men stared at each other for a long moment, then, abruptly, Morgan drew his pistol and fired.
Morgan was fast, perhaps the fastest Hawke had ever gone against. In fact, he actually beat Hawke, getting his own shot off first. But Morgan’s bullet took off Hawke’s hat, while Hawke’s bullet, fired a split second later, crashed into Morgan’s chest.
Morgan fired a second time, but now he was gravely wounded and this bullet missed as well.
Hawke fired again, and Morgan went down.
With his gun still drawn and ready, Hawke ran to him and looked down.
“Anyone you want me to say hello to in hell?” Morgan asked, trying to laugh. The laugh turned into a cough, and flecks of blood came from his lips.
“I doubt you’ll be doing much socializing there,” Hawke said.
“I thought I could beat you,” Morgan said. “I really thought I could do it.” There was one last rattle of breath, then he died.
Now, another shot was fired, catching Hawke unawares. He spun around in alarm and saw Joshua Creed pitching forward, a rifle in his hand. Behind him, holding a smoking pistol, he saw Jesse Carlisle.
“He was about to shoot you,” Jesse said.
Hawke nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “It looks like maybe Hannah has good taste after all.”
Jesse smiled.
One week later, Ian, Cynthia, Hannah, and Jesse were at the railroad station to see Hawke off.
“I can’t tell you how thankful I am that Cynthia asked you to come here,” Ian said. “You saved our hides.”
“Ahh, you would’ve gotten along without me,” Hawke replied. “Look at what’s going on between you and the cattlemen now.”