Brothers in Arms

  Brothers in Arms

  Philip McCormac

  © Philip McCormac 2007

  Philip McCormac has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published 2007 by Robert Hale Ltd. under the title Massacre at Empire Fastness.

  This edition published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2015

  Table of Contents

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  25.

  26.

  27.

  28.

  29.

  30.

  31.

  32.

  33.

  Extract from Shooting Match by Philip McCormac

  1.

  Butch Shilton hung by his fingertips from the window ledge. Above him he could hear a querulous voice.

  ‘Someone’s been here, you slut. Tell me or I’ll beat the living daylights outa you.’

  ‘Geoff Pleasance, you couldn’t beat your way out of a sugar bag,’ a woman’s voice answered. ‘You touch me and you’ll regret it. I’ll tear your eyes outa your miserable skull so as you won’t be able to count all that money you been hoarding. When you gonna give me the money for a new dress or at least a new hat?’

  Butch cursed silently. His fingers were aching as he hung desperately to the window ledge. He scrabbled urgently with his feet trying to find a toehold to relive the agony in his wrists and fingers. To add to his discomfort he was stark naked. A cold breeze was blowing across his nude body and the goose bumps stood out on his knotted muscles.

  Butch was a down-at-heel cowboy. Compactly built he had a strong muscled body which stood him in good stead now as he clung like a barnacle to the side of the building that was the home of Judge Pleasance.

  Eleanor Pleasance was years younger than her aging husband. Early in her marriage she had discovered that being the wife of a wealthy judge did not ensure a life of opulence. The judge kept his wealth squirreled away and spent nothing on his frivolous, young wife. His idea of a good time was a round of bridge with his avaricious family who lusted after his wealth and his young wife with equal enthusiasm.

  Butch had been a willing visitor to Eleanor’s bedroom. His interest in her was purely physical. They had been indulging in an evening of pleasure when the judge had arrived home unexpectedly. The cowboy had flung his clothes, along with his boots, out the window and followed them with the intention of escaping the house when he discovered he was a considerable distance from the ground. Hence he was clinging desperately to the window ledge and praying the judge would go back to wherever he had so inconveniently appeared from.

  ‘It’s bitterly cold in here. Shut that goddamn window.’

  The judge’s words did indeed freeze Butch against the side of the building.

  ‘I need the fresh air,’ snapped Eleanor.

  ‘Fresh air, my ass.’

  The footsteps approached the window and stopped.

  ‘What the hell! Them’s goddamn fingers!’

  A face appeared out the window and stared down at Butch.

  ‘Howdy Judge, I told my friends I could climb up any building just like a spider. They bet me I couldn’t climb up your wall. I guess I won the bet, eh?’

  ‘Goddamn! Goddamn!’

  The judge began to hammer on Butch’s fingers.

  ‘Goddamn you to hell!’

  ‘No…’ yelled Butch, ‘you don’t understand!'

  ‘Stop it you old fool, you’ll kill him,’ Eleanor yelled.

  She wrapped her arms around the judge’s neck and tried to pull him away but it was too late. There was a yell and then a solid thump as a body hit the ground several yards below.

  Eleanor screamed abuse at the judge as he slammed the window shut. Ignoring her he hurried from the bedroom. In the hallway he retrieved an ancient shotgun and opening the door cautiously peered outside. His young wife was still yelling blue murder as he stepped out on the porch.

  *

  ‘Raise two dollars and bet another three,’ said the gambler smirking at the big man sitting opposite him.

  Joe Peters looked at the three tens in his hand and silently contemplated his options. He had started the game using his last twelve dollars with the intention of increasing his assets. Now he was down to four dollars. To stay in the game he would have to use up the last of his cash.

  ‘Come on fella, we ain’t got all night,’ the man across the table from Joe grumbled.

  The gambler was a clean-shaven young man with shifty eyes. He wore a shabby derby that he was in the habit of removing and mopping his forehead with the kerchief he kept stored inside the hat.

  ‘Look fella,’ Joe replied, ‘when you’re down to your last few dollars you have no option but to take your time and ponder the probabilities.’

  ‘Damn greenhorns, if you don’t know how to play poker you shouldn’t be in the game.’

  As he spoke he removed his derby and began the ritual of wiping. Joe was glowering at the gambler from under lowered lids. It was because Derby Hat believed Joe was absorbed in his cards that he was a mite careless. It was pure fluke Joe saw the card being slipped on to the table. The ritual with the hat, the kerchief and the head wiping suddenly became clear. Joe pursed his lips thoughtfully and then slowly pushed his last few dollars into the pile in the middle of the table.

  ‘I’ll see you, fella.’

  There was a smirk of triumph on the gambler’s face as he laid his cards out.

  ‘Four kings, looks as if you’ve had a bad run of luck, greenhorn.’

  The gambler was openly sneering at the big man sitting across the table. That Joe Peters was a tenderfoot was obvious from his store-bought clothes. Back in Bosworth he had served as a cabinetmaker working for a man who taught him all his skills. Joe had fallen in love with his master’s daughter, Eliza Wardell. They had married in the fall. Before they married Joe had revealed to Eliza his dreams of moving out West and establishing his own business.

  ‘There is a mass exodus of settlers out West. Just think of the building work that must be ongoing to accommodate this new populace. Every fresh building must have furniture and fittings. There’ll be work to keep me so busy I’ll be able to employ several tradesmen.’

  Before he could make the move Eliza had become pregnant. Rather than expose his young family to the rigors of the move, Joe had decided to go it alone and get himself established before sending for them. It had all started to go wrong at Hinkly.

  The frenzy of building work was as he imagined it. The smell of sawdust was like a like a fog hanging over the turmoil of the building industry. Inhabitants of the new town woke in the morning to the pounding of hammers. At night they were lulled to sleep by the murmur of carpenters’ saws.

  He had not been in the town long before his tools were stolen. Joe had trudged from building site to building site explaining his plight. It was all to no avail. Without his tools Joe was just another labourer seeking a job in an industry overburdened with cheap workers. The story was the same everywhere he went.

  ‘Sorry fella could do with a good carpenter but we need men with their own tools. Come back in a week.’

  Joe was almost destitute and the only option he could envisage was to win enough at cards to buy tools in order to ply his trade.

&
nbsp; Gambling houses and saloons had sprung up almost overnight. Builders, farmers and cowmen working all day needed to relax and there were men and women willing to provide the entertainment and were skilled at extracting money from the gullible. Joe realised he had been set up. His last few dollars were residing in the pocket of the cheap tinhorn gambler sneering at him from across the table.

  2.

  Judge Pleasance heard a noise out in the darkness and swung around towards the sound. The twin barrels of his shotgun were held out before him like accusing fingers. A pale, ghost-like form was limping slowly towards the front gate.

  ‘Stop at once you goddamn blackguard. Stop or I shoot!’

  The dim silhouette began to limp faster. Judge Pleasance pulled the trigger. A deafening report blasted out into the quiet of the night. Flame lanced from the barrel of the gun. There was a scream and the figure tumbled to the ground and writhed around in agony.

  ‘Goddamn you, I warned you.’

  The judge advanced cautiously towards the groaning man lying in his front garden.

  ‘What the hell’s going on there?’ someone yelled from the road.

  ‘Come on up here and help me,’ the judge yelled back. ‘I caught me a varmint.’

  Two men came warily up to the front gate.

  ‘What’s going on, Judge?’

  Seeing the groaning man they moved inside the garden.

  ‘What the hell! Why’s he got no clothes on?’

  ‘Danged if I know,’ answered the judge. ‘Maybe he thought to slide through my windows easier with no clothes to snag.’

  The judge kept his weapon trained on the injured man. He reached over and gingerly poked the groaning man.

  ‘That was rock salt I peppered you with, mister. This other barrel is loaded with lead shot. You come easy and you might just survive this night.’

  ‘Oh God, my ass is on fire,’ moaned the injured man. ‘I’ll go with you, fella. Just point that shotgun a little to the right.’

  Butch Shilton tried to sit up in and moaned piteously.

  ‘We’ll take him down the jail, Judge. You run and fetch Sheriff Patterson. He’s usually to be found down in the Bounty Saloon this time of the night.’

  ‘I know rightly where the sheriff spends his evenings,’ replied the judge testily. ‘You want this shotgun to keep this varmint from running?’

  ‘Nah, he doesn’t look like he’ll be much trouble.’

  ‘Well, just you make sure you get him safely to the jail.’

  ‘I don’t think I can walk. My leg must be broke.’

  Butch had managed to get to his knees.

  ‘Help me with these britches,’ he pleaded.

  *

  A big, work-hardened hand clamped down on the gambler’s wrist as he reached for the winnings.

  ‘What the hell, greenhorn!’ the man snarled as he looked up into the pleasant, smiling face of Joe Peters. ‘You’re hurting my arm, damn you.’

  ‘Not as much as you hurt my pocket,’ Joe said amiably.

  Still holding tight to the wrist he dragged the man towards him. The gambler struggled wildly as he was pulled on to the top of the table.

  ‘Goddamn you, I’ll kill you for this you piss-ass loser. Lemme go!’

  When he had his victim helpless on the table Joe reached out with his other hand and removed the man’s derby. He slapped the hat on the table and the hidden cards flopped out for all to see. The other men at the table gasped.

  ‘Well I’ll be!’

  ‘Look at that.’

  ‘Hid the cards in his hat.’

  ‘Goddamn tinhorn gambler.’

  Joe had a grim look on his face as he retained his hold on his victim.

  ‘I guess I’ll take my money back, mister.’

  He scooped the pot from the table and stuffed the money in his pocket.

  ‘I was only joshing you fella,’ the tinhorn whined. ‘I would have let you have the money back anytime. Now let me go. You’re goddamn near to busting my goddamn arm.’

  Joe reached into the tinhorn’s pocket and extracted a wad of bills. He tossed this to the table.

  ‘There you are fellas, you heard the gent. He wants to give us back our money. Count me out twelve dollars and divide the rest amongst yourselves.’

  ‘Some of that money’s mine, you gumball,’ shrieked the gambler.

  Spit flew from his lips as he glared angrily at his tormentor. The men at the table fell gleefully to the task of dividing up the sudden bounty.

  ‘Maybe these fellas might let you play a little poker to get it back again,’ Joe said mildly. ‘If I was you I’d watch out for cheats. Seems to me this town is filled with thieves and vagabonds. Just be careful who you play with in future.’

  With the money divvyed up Joe let go the gambler’s wrist and pocketed the rest of his money. It had been a disappointing result to his night of speculation but at least he had ended up none the worse from his experience. If anything he was a little wiser and without counting his money he might even be a little richer.

  ‘Night gents,’ he said as he turned to go.

  ‘Watch out!’

  Joe swung back at the shouted warning. The gambler was levelling a small derringer and there was a triumphant glint in his mean eyes. For a big man Joe could move quickly. Even as the little gun spat out its slug Joe bent and grasped the edge of the table. He felt a sharp blow on his shoulder. Ignoring the sudden pain from the bullet he heaved hard at the table. At the same time he rammed forward. The table edge caught the gambler’s midriff. He yelled as the table slammed him backwards.

  Joe flung the table effortlessly from him. The gambler was scrambling to get away. He stood no chance as the big man caught up with him. Joe was moving fast as he scooped up the smaller man. Holding him by jacket and pants seat he kept up his momentum and rammed the gambler head first into the wall. The gamblers screams were cut short as head hit the solid obstruction. Effortlessly Joe dragged the man back from the wall and rammed forward again. There was a sickening crack as the man’s vertebrae fractured. Suddenly men were grabbing at Joe and trying to restrain him.

  ‘You gonna kill that tinhorn. For gawd’s sake let go.’

  It took four of them to pull the cabinetmaker away from the limp form of the gambler. Joe was breathing hard. His arm was hurting where the gambler had shot him.

  ‘Mind my goddamn arm,’ he protested.

  There was a click and Joe felt something hard and round poke into his neck.

  ‘OK fella, ease up or I’ll blow your goddamn head off.’

  Joe went still. A tall narrow-shouldered man stood beside him holding a Remington pistol. He was wearing a lawman’s badge.

  ‘You fellas,’ the sheriff indicated the men holding Joe. ‘Hold tight to that fella till he cools off.’

  ‘Sheriff, this one’s dead. The tinhorn’s dead.’

  Sheriff Patterson looked down at the inert form of the gambler, sighed wearily and turned back to the men pinioning Joe.

  ‘Take him down the jail. You’re in trouble fella. We don’t stand for murder in this here town.’

  3.

  The courtroom was crowded. The circumstances of the crimes attributed to the accused had circulated widely around town. The story went that Butch Shilton had been apprehended at Judge Pleasance’s house. A seemingly incredible part of the tale was that he was naked at the time of his arrest. Speculation ran high as to his intentions.

  Butch was well known in the district as a womaniser. Married or single it was all the same to Butch Shilton. That Eleanor Pleasance was much younger than the judge caused the gossips to nod knowingly. They were eager to be in at the hearing. Spicy details from this case could not be learned second-hand. The gossips and the nosy parkers crowded the courtroom.

  The killing at the saloon was not so unique as to bring in such a large crowd. Nevertheless the circumstances surrounding the incident were cause for speculation. There was not much sympathy for the victim.

  ‘T
hat tinhorn gambler deserved all he got.’

  ‘Always wondered how so he managed to win so often. As I heard it he hid the cards inside his hat.’

  ‘The guy as done it was a giant of a fella.’

  ‘No he weren’t. He was a big fella to be sure but he weren’t no giant.’

  ‘Well, he did kill that tinhorn with his bare hands. Picked him up and snapped his neck like a rotten stick.’

  ‘Lucky for us the sheriff was there and arrested him afore he could go on the rampage. Way I heard it he murdered all his family back East and was on the run from the law.’

  ‘What - murdered his own darn family?’

  ‘Sure thing, strangled them all with his bare hands - his wife and kids and her mother and father. Seven all told was what I heard.’

  In both cases the stories grew and were embroidered upon. The legend of a ruthless, murderous monster from back East was being born. Butch Shilton became, in the citizens’ imagination, a lurid pervert that danced naked through the streets. No woman of any age was safe from him.

  ‘All stand for the judge.’

  Judge Pleasance entered in top hat and morning coat. He took his seat at the dais and removed his headgear.

  ‘Humph!’

  He glared sourly around at the crowded court.

  ‘Ain’t you folk got anything more important to do than sit and gawk at courtroom cases?’

  ‘We come to see justice done, Judge.’

  ‘Sure thing, Judge, we expect to hear the wisdom of Solomon and the observe the justice of Judge Pleasance.’

  ‘Hang them fellas, Judge. We ain’t had a hanging in weeks.’

  There were hoots of laughter around the courtroom as these pleasantries were bandied about.

  ‘Silence!’

  To emphasise his order the judge hammered on the table with the heel of an old clog. The antique piece of wooden footwear had been introduced by Judge Pleasance as a jest but had stayed with him as a trademark of his lawmaking.

  ‘The sure boot of justice will stamp down on any wrongdoing in this here community,’ he had stated when he had first used the wooden clog in the courtroom. ‘Justice is a boot that’ll kick the criminals outa Hinkly.’