Remarque's Law Read online

  For the third person in the group, the burly man, Jake’s nervousness was a source of amusement; the movement of his shoulders and head betrayed his eagerness to see the older man’s abasement increased.

  Jake tried to keep his voice steady when he spoke. ‘I’m tending him for a customer. He’ll be back for him soon.’

  ‘I think you’re lying,’ the thin man said. ‘You don’t want to sell him to me.’

  ‘He’s not mine. I can’t sell him.’

  The tall man laughed but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. ‘I mean to have him,’ he said. ‘That big chestnut is just the horse for me.’ He let his left hand slip to the butt of his six-gun. Then he grinned. ‘OK. Don’t sell him. I’ll rent him from you. How much is one day’s hire?’

  Jake tried to shake loose from the man’s grip. He stuttered when he tried to speak. ‘N-N-Nothing. I can’t. . . .’

  ‘Nothing!’ The man’s voice held a jeering note of triumph. ‘That’s my kind of price. I’ll agree to pay you nothing. Now,’ he thrust Jake away from him, causing the liveryman to stumble and bang his head on the rails of the corral, ‘saddle him up.’

  Ben Joyner spoke slowly. His voice was low but carried authority and a menace that couldn’t be ignored. ‘That horse isn’t going anywhere.’

  The sigh that escaped Jake’s lips could have been caused by surprise or relief, but there was no doubting the anxious look in his eye. The prospect of violence hung in the air like heavy snow on a winter bough and he was in danger of being engulfed by the oncoming downfall.

  The tall man turned to face Wes. The leering grin that he had shown the ageing liveryman now turned into a scowl, angry that anyone would interrupt him at such a time. His irritation turned to scorn when he saw the figure before him. He knew his own ability with a gun and was confident that even in a fair fight he couldn’t be outdrawn by the simple cowboy who stood before him, but, encumbered as he was with that saddle in his arms, he was no threat at all. Then he looked into the stranger’s still, grey eyes and the first moment of doubt crept into his mind. ‘Get outta here, mister. Don’t mix in business that isn’t your concern.’

  ‘It is my concern. That horse is mine.’ For a moment no one spoke. Even the animals in the corral were silent and motionless as though affected by the tension of the moment. Eventually Ben spoke again. ‘If you’ve got some business here, just get it done then move out. I don’t want to see you in this stable again.’ Ben was very still, his legs slightly apart, as though secured to the ground. Yet there was no illusion of tension in the stance. His face, too, showed neither humour nor anger, nor any sign of fear. He just waited for the man to move. Only his eyes carried any kind of threat: not once had he blinked. His gaze had fixed on the face of the tall man from the moment he’d stepped outside the stable and hadn’t strayed for an instant.

  ‘You think you can give me orders?’ The tall man wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. When ultimatums occurred in his conversations they were usually issued by him. He regarded the man again, and again allowed his confidence to be boosted by the fact that his opponent’s hands were full of saddle. His own hovered over his gun butts. ‘You think you can back up your words?’

  Ben nodded slowly. Jake tried to shrink his body so that it was hidden by one of the narrow corral posts. The tall man went for his guns. Wes dropped the saddle. While talking, he’d adjusted it so that most of its weight had been in his left hand. Unseen by the tall man, Ben’s right hand had been holding the stock of his rifle. Before the saddle hit the floor and before the man had cleared leather the rifle was grasped firmly and menacingly in Wes’s hands. He pointed it first at the tall man then at his companion, making it clear to both that he had the upper hand, that he could kill them if they didn’t obey his instructions.

  ‘Slowly,’ he told them, ‘unbuckle those belts and let them fall to the ground, then step away from them.’

  While he kept them covered, Jake collected and unloaded the weapons before hanging them in their holsters over the top rail of the corral.

  ‘Came in with a lame horse,’ Jake explained. ‘Wanted to replace it with your chestnut.’

  ‘Have you got anything more suitable, something that won’t leave you out of pocket?’

  ‘Reckon so.’

  Jake brought a dun mare out of the corral. Ben kept his gun on the tall man while he fixed his saddle on its back. When they were mounted, Ben threw the pair their gun belts. ‘Ride,’ he told them. ‘Don’t come back. If I see you near my horse again I’ll kill you.’

  The scowls that had appeared on the faces of both of his adversaries when they’d found themselves faced with Ben’s cocked rifle were still in evidence when they rode away from the stable. Without looking back they rode swiftly out of town, but not until they were distant specks did Ben relax his finger on the trigger.

  ‘Reckon I got the best of that deal,’ Jake said, the accompanying rough chuckle meant to disguise the nervousness he’d experienced only moments earlier. ‘When that horse of his is fit again it’ll be worth a lot more than the one he rode out of here.’

  ‘Compensation for the rough treatment,’ Ben suggested.

  ‘And the cost of stabling and treatment until it can earn its keep.’

  Ben propped his rifle against the rails of the corral, running his eye over his chestnut as it mingled with the other animals. It looked well rested, ready to carry him away from this small town, but before he could bring it out of the enclosure his attention was captured by a shout from the building behind him.

  The sheriff stepped out of the stable. ‘Where did those men go?’ he asked.

  ‘West,’ Ben told him.

  ‘They’d agreed to take Mrs Tippett with them.’

  ‘They didn’t have time to wait for her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked the man with the badge.

  ‘I told them they had to get out of town. Fast.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there was a chance I would have killed them if they’d hung around here any longer.’

  ‘Wanted to take his horse.’ It was Jake who supplied that information, and added, ‘Would have done, too, if he hadn’t turned up when he did.’

  ‘But Mrs Tippett,’ the lawman said, ‘she was depending on them to get her to Pecos.’

  Ben’s grimace expressed his opinion of that plan; there was barely any need for the words he spoke. ‘Mrs Tippett wouldn’t have got ten miles into the wilderness before they took her money and killed her. Men like that travel fast; they wouldn’t want anyone tagging along that would encumber their progress. Tell Mrs Tippett to be sure of the honesty of the next person she tries to hire.’

  ‘Tell me yourself,’ said Elsa Tippett who, having witnessed the departure of the men she had hoped to escort her on the last stage of her journey, had followed the lawman when he’d hurried up the street to the livery stable.

  ‘Mrs Tippett,’ Ben began, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

  ‘I don’t care to hear your opinion of their character. Those men were prepared to guide me to Pecos and I was prepared to travel with them and take any associated risk. You’ve driven them away and left me stranded in this town once more. You owe me, Mr Joyner. You owe me your time and your protection until I reach Pecos.’

  Ben Joyner’s reservations regarding the hardship of the journey and the dangers she was likely to encounter, not only en route but also when she reached the Pecos territory, were dismissed by Elsa Tippett. She understood the risks, she told him, and was prepared to face them. She was packed and ready to leave and if no one was prepared to accompany her on the trail west then she would go alone.

  Ben wasn’t sure that he believed her declared intention; he reckoned the threat was merely a feint to weaken his resolve, but when he spoke against such a course of action he could hear the first tones of submission in his voice. Although he disclaimed any debt was due to her for ridding the town of the two men who had tried to steal his horse, he
still possessed a natural inclination to assist those in need of help. His reluctance to accompany her would have been overcome easily if they had been travelling in the same direction. As it was, returning to Pecos would involve rejecting the diktats of his own philosophy, but the woman’s persistence eroded his opposition gradually, and in the face of the attending lawman’s efforts on the woman’s behalf, Ben eventually agreed to escort her to Pecos.

  Elsa Tippett wanted to leave instantly but Ben insisted on delaying their departure for twenty-four hours.

  ‘Those men were making tracks for Pecos,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be in our interest to meet up with them out in the scrubland.’

  So Ben returned his saddle to the rack in the stable and re-took the hotel room he’d vacated recently.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sam Puddler slopped a measure of whiskey into the shot glass and pushed it across the counter to Ben Joyner. ‘Safe journey,’ he said.

  Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t expect my departure to cause any kind of a stir around here.’

  The bar owner had a wry smile on his face. ‘Every event, no matter how insignificant, causes a stir around here.’

  ‘Did the sheriff spread word that I’m quitting town tomorrow?’

  ‘Don’t rightly matter who spread the word,’ Sam said. ‘Truth of the matter is that it’s the departure of your travelling companion that’s aroused most interest.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Sam Puddler chuckled. ‘Don’t get me wrong, everyone here likes Mrs Tippett.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But she’s burned the ears of every man in this town ever since Brad Raine fell under the wheels of Tad Vaughan’s wagon. She’s a determined woman.’

  ‘Don’t I know it?’

  ‘Got some fixation in her head, the fulfilling of which is likely to drive a man crazy. Just hope it’s not you.’

  ‘But you don’t really care as long as I get her out of town.’

  Sam Puddler’s laugh was good-natured. ‘Swallow your drink and I’ll fill you up again. Then hope that the haze lasts four days until you reach Pecos.’

  Ben recalled the sheriff calling Sam Puddler’s whiskey a venomous brew and when he tipped the glassful into his mouth he had no cause for argument. He refused a refill, opting instead for a glass of beer, which he carried to a table where a penny poker game was in progress. He won a few hands and lost a few more before quitting the saloon, his mind fixed on the route he would take back across the wasteland towards the Pecos River.

  Darkness had fallen. Ben paused on the raised boardwalk allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the change of light. The air was cool and beyond the walls of Sam Puddler’s saloon the silence was like a confining vacuum. The moon was hidden by clouds and the street was unlit; not even the crudest form of public lighting had been adopted by the town. The blackness of the night was only disturbed here and there by a window glowing yellow from an inner lamp. The hotel was one of the buildings that could be identified in this manner but Ben turned away, sauntering in the opposite direction. Despite the lateness of the hour, sleep wasn’t upon him and he suspected it wouldn’t come easily this night. Although he was resigned to the task of escorting Elsa Tippett, the reluctance remained. He couldn’t shake off the belief that he’d been trapped into performing the errand. Although he had no pressing need to be anywhere else, his reason for quitting the Pecos country was still pertinent. He’d washed his hands of the trouble that was brewing there and had no wish to risk involvement by returning.

  Ben reached his destination, the stable at the end of the street. Although he had no reason to doubt that his horse was fit and ready to travel the following day, he knew that a few minutes of his company would provide it with reassurance that it had not been forsaken. A cowboy and his horse were partners. Soft snuffling sounds came to him as he made his way along the side of the building to the rear corrals. He figured that some of the horses had picked up hints of his presence – not alarmed, merely communicating with each other. He wondered if the chestnut had recognized his scent because he doubted even a cat’s ability to recognize him by sight in such deep darkness. When he reached the corral he climbed on to the bottom rail. It took only a moment to realize that only three animals were within the enclosure, their dark forms shuffling slowly, moving away from his watching place in cautious unison. The chestnut was not one of the trio. Even in darkness it was apparent that none of the corralled animals had either the stature or bearing of his big horse.

  He turned his attention to the building behind. His horse, he supposed, was occupying one of the inner stalls. As he approached the big rear door he could see that it was slightly ajar. The interior was dark but a small lamp burned somewhere towards the front of the building. Its light was dim, not strong enough to reach the doorway through which Ben had entered.

  ‘Jake,’ he said, his voice conversational so that he didn’t startle the stableman or wake him if he was dozing.

  The only response came from a beast occupying one of the stalls deep within the stable. Its neigh was high-pitched as though the animal had been unnerved by the intrusion of a human voice. Momentarily, Ben was bewildered by that reaction because he’d recognized the sound of his own chestnut. Elsewhere in the stable, another horse moved, its ironclad hoof striking the timber of its stall. Up ahead, where the lamp’s low light glimmered, a movement caught Ben’s attention. He stepped forward, Jake’s name again on his lips, but before he was able to utter the word his foot came into contact with an object on the ground and he stumbled forward, pitching full length onto the floor. The supposition that his fall had been caused by a saddle or another piece of equipment was soon driven from his mind. Whatever his foot had struck had not moved an inch; the texture resembled more that of a sack of animal feed or vegetables. Such untidiness seemed out of keeping with the diligence he’d observed in Jake’s usual practise around the stable. He called again for the stableman as he scrambled on to his knees.

  Footsteps hurried towards him through the darkness. A shape loomed over him and, although he knew that darkness could play tricks with the mind, he knew instantly that the man reaching down wasn’t Jake. This was a burly man who, when he’d taken a handful of Ben’s shirt, was able to pull him up with greater ease than that of which the old man would have been capable. Instinct prepared Ben for the punch that was driven against his midriff. No words had been uttered prior to the attack but the man’s silence provided as much warning of his intentions as a blood-curdling cry from an Apache brave would have done.

  The punch was meant to drive the air out of Ben’s body but, guessing his assailant’s intent, he’d twisted to the right. Although it missed its target, the blow caused damage and pain, crashing as it did into the ribs below his heart. He grunted, tried to grab the other’s arm to prevent another blow but received a push that sent him staggering into the hard timber frame of the stall behind. The animal within snorted its displeasure but Ben was more concerned by the animal without who was approaching with violent intent. His foe was bulky but his arms moved quickly and the fists on the end were capable of inflicting a great deal of damage.

  Again, Ben moved to his right, gambling that the other favoured punching with his right arm and his first swing would come from the left. In the darkness, however, it was impossible to be sure, he couldn’t see the man’s face clearly enough to read any signs it might betray. Indeed, when the blow was delivered, it almost caught Ben unaware. It wasn’t the expected looping haymaker but a straight right that glanced the jaw below Ben’s left ear. In response, he drove a punch of his own deep into the other’s belly. His adversary grunted and gasped as the air left his body and the left hand swing that had been the follow-up to his straight right dropped across Ben’s shoulders after passing harmlessly behind his head.

  Ben threw another punch, slamming his fist against his opponent’s chest above his heart. The man cursed. It was at that moment that Ben realized his assailant was not alone. He was
urged on by a voice from behind.

  ‘Finish it, Gatt. Quickly. Let’s get out of here.’

  Ben had put behind him the surprise he’d received at the onset of the affray and knew that the handicap of darkness applied as much to his opponent as it did to himself. Although he was outweighed by his foe, his confidence had begun to grow in his ability to see off the attack. A second man, however, was a setback and, whoever they were, the odds of success were greatly in their favour. Ben could discern Gatt’s shadowy movement as the bigger man shook off the effect of the blow he’d taken and lurched forward to engage in the brawl once more. Ben, too, advanced, getting close to his adversary, hoping to make it impossible for him to deliver punches with a full swing of his arms. They grappled, hauled at each other, each trying to find an opening in his opponent’s defence, each grunting and cursing with the effort they were expending in their struggle for domination.

  For an instant, the man called Gatt thought he’d gained the upper hand. With an upward swipe of his right hand he knocked aside Ben’s grip on his shirt and was in a position to hurl his opponent away from him, thereby providing room to swing a punch that, if successful, would put an end to the fight. Ben, however, reacted quickly. While maintaining his grip on Gatt’s shirt he kicked out, his hard-toed boot connecting painfully with the other’s knee. Gatt yelled and stumbled. Ben rammed his head into the other’s chest, driving him backwards with clumsy steps and the obstacle that felled Ben when he first entered the stable now had the same effect on Gatt. He went over, landed on his back with Ben, whose shirt he still gripped, atop of him.

  Gatt’s associate, anxious lest the noise of the fight and the unrest it had caused among the stabled animals should bring their presence to the attention of other townsmen, now became involved in the scuffle. He withdrew his gun and used it as a club against Ben’s head. Fortunately for Ben, the darkness combined with his vigorous attempt to overcome Gatt made it impossible for the third man to get a clear strike. Even though the blow wasn’t hard enough to incapacitate Ben completely, he was stunned momentarily. Amid his wooziness he heard his new assailant urge Gatt to flee the scene. He could also hear a horse being led reluctantly from the stable, its neighs and rears unsettling the other animals.