Midnight Visitors 19

Sometime later, Heyes stood in the jail, studying the County map. He was hoping if he stared at it long enough he would find a clue. However, it wasn't detailed enough, not showing much more than the major towns and significant geographical features. Abbott and his deputies had gone to consult with older folks in town who might be able to shed some light on what Forty-Nine might mean.

Heyes looked round as the door opened. It was Preacher.

"Any luck, boy?" he asked as he closed the door.

Heyes shook his head. "No. Abbott's out waking up anyone who might know. Did Mrs Wilson say anymore?"

"Yeah but again another mystery," he sighed, standing next to Heyes. "She said as they were leaving Simon asked how long." Preacher shrugged. "Presume he meant how long to get where they are going."

When nothing further came, Heyes looked at Preacher. "Was there an answer?"

Preacher nodded. "Lovina only heard Looped C. Is that Callaghan's ranch?"

"Yes." Heyes stood hands on hips. "Well it gives us something more to go on," he murmured.

"What?"

"We now know it's a place, rather than a thing. And it's likely on or near Fletcher's ranch."

"Where's Brubaker?"

Heyes grinned and went to the cellblock door. He quietly opened it and pointed in. Preacher chortled softly when he saw Brubaker, stretched out on one of the cell bunks.

"He was plumb tuckered out. Hardly keep his eyes open. So I put him to bed," Heyes said.

He was closing the door as Abbott and his deputies stalked back in.

"No luck. Asked just about anyone we could think of who might know." Abbott stopped short, when he saw the look on Heyes' face. The look of an idea forming." What?"

It was Preacher he told him what else Mrs Wilson had said.

"How does that help us?" Abbott asked, moving to the County Map. "Just about every where's near the Looped C. Now what?"

Heyes had moved to look at the map more closely, his index finger honed in on one particular spot, roughly where the Looped C was situated. He tapped it, eyes flicking around the rest of the map.

"Sheriff, do you have a more detailed map? One that … no. I know where … ." He made for the door.

Abbott glanced at Preacher, who shrugged but led the following party.

Outside, Heyes had stopped outside Stephen's office, where he stood selecting a tool to pick the lock. He looked embarrassed as they joined him.

"In the Thorold/Callaghan case file there is a map of both ranches," he said, in explanation. "May not give us what we need but─"

"Open it," Abbott interrupted.

Inwardly, Heyes briefly pondered the irony of a lawman telling him to break into a private office. Outwardly, he gave his usual tight-lipped smile and nodded. Not surprisingly, it wasn't long before they were all crowded round the late Mr Mercer's desk, watching Heyes rifle through the relevant file until he found what he wanted.

"Here we are," Heyes said, unfolding the map and spreading it on the desk. "This is Celia's land." He indicated the land on his left. "The disputed land up here." He waved a hand at the top of the sheet. "And the Looped C, over here. As I suspected, not all of it but maybe enough."

He looked up at the crowd. "We're looking for Forty-Nine, gentleman. Or anywhere Fletcher might be headed for. I suspect he had a place all figured out before he came into town. Well provisioned but accessible if you know where to look. It's my guess it'll be somewhere pretty remote, easily defended by a small number of men. Mustn't rule out the possibility he ordered some of his men to take part. Not all of 'em but some, I reckon. He must know we'll give chase once we're free. If not at Forty-Nine, then someplace else. He'll be ready for a show down."

"Reckon I should raise a posse?" Abbott asked realising Heyes was clearly in charge and wiling to defer to him.

Heyes considered. There was five of them already besides him. Abbott, Preacher, Stoner and Patterson. Many more would make it harder to move quickly. Another consideration, an inexperienced posse was unlikely to be stealthy, not very good shots, unruly and younger members, downright gung-ho. Heyes had encountered his fair share of posses and found they usually made a mistake or two, which he would turn to his advantage. Now he was on the other side, he didn't want any mistakes.

"We can manage but could use a good tracker," he said. "Once we know where we're going."

Abbott nodded. "Go find Amos, Stoner. Tell him … there's money in it for him. And it's urgent."

Stoner nodded and went off in a hurry. The others settled down to study the map.

ASJASJASJASJ

In the next half hour, there were a few suggestions. A number of places described, discussed and dismissed. All held in reserve in case nothing more likely surfaced. Patterson proved he was a good strategist, offering several scenarios, which had Heyes nodding in agreement. He could have done with someone like Patterson in Devil's Hole.

Stoner burst in with another man in tow, a grizzled old timer, in dirty buckskins, presumably the Amos he'd gone to get.

"It's not forty-nine, it's Fort Tyne!" he said, excited. "Amos figured it straight away," he nodded to the man at his side.

"Then what kept ya?" Abbott barked.

"Socks," Amos said.

"Huh?"

"Needed some."

Abbott growled. "I know where ya can find a pair. Or twenty," he muttered, thinking of Fletcher's room in the Wilson house.

"Fort Tyne?" Heyes queried, bringing them back to the matter in hand.

"Yeah." Amos stepped forwarded, spinning the map around. Heyes blinked but allowed him to continue. Amos studied it for a moment, before tapping his finger on a spot and spun the map back. "Right there. See where it says ruins. That's Fort Tyne. Back in the late '60's, the Army set up a line of military forts all round here. First to protect travellers on the Overland Stage against Indian attack an' later to protect workers building the Union Pacific railroad. Most of 'em have gone outta use, or about to. Fort Steele* over at Sinclair is pretty much run down. Fort Halleck* at Elk Mountain is abandoned. But Fort Tyne was only used for 'bout a year 'till they realised it was in the wrong place. It's been gone a long while now but it's on Looped C land."

"That's it," grinned Heyes. "Fletcher didn't say Forty-Nine, he said Fort Tyne!" He smiled. "Thanks Amos, we coulda been here all night. What's the lay of the land like out there?"

ASJASJASJASJ

Before they left, Amos sketched a map of the site, adding detail of buildings and cover. When they got there, it was still dark but the sky was lightening. Enough time to agree their strategy, sneak their way quietly to cover and hunker down.

The complex, built into the bottom of a shallow basin, was completely lost from sight, once over the brow of the surrounding hills. There were few buildings left standing, not all complete, perhaps only consisting of one or two walls. Doors hung haphazardly, shuttered windows banged in the breeze, weeds socialised between the rotten boards of the thresholds, roofs, partially caved in, their shingles scattered the ground for several yards around, waiting to trip up the unwary. In the middle of the complex was a large open space, the former parade ground, at one side the remains of the fort's flagpole, now snapped off at head height. The whole site gave off an air of abandonment and neglect.

Only one building was complete enough to be habitable, tucked away in the far left corner away from the entrance. Judging by the size of the chimney it may have been the fort's smithy. The blacksmith was long gone but tonight there was a faint glow from the one small window to the right of the door. Alongside, stood a derelict barn, the back had collapsed but the front appeared occupied. From here emanated sounds of horses, resenting the cramped conditions. Ominously, from their sounds there was more than three horses; more like six or seven.

There was never a stockade but the outline of the former fort was apparent, achieved by a post and rail fence around the perimeter, with a gap for the entrance. Outside of the fence, either side of the entrance, were two foxholes, originally for defence of the fort. Overtime nature had started to fill; their bottoms, now mud.

First light, found Heyes squatting precariously in one these foxholes, half way up the side nearest the fence, avoiding the mud at the bottom. Preacher was a way behind him, having found suitable cover along the overgrown trail up to the entrance. Stoner and Patterson were in the other foxhole. Abbott had moved into the fort and was sheltering behind the sole surviving wall of the barrack block, off to the right. Amos had disappeared but Heyes suspected he was scouting around the other side of the site.

Heyes had been in his foxhole sometime, waiting for Abbott's signal to move in. They were waiting for the sun to rise fully over the hills and that was fast approaching. Any minute now and they would make their move.

However, they hadn't sneaked as silently as they thought. The occupants of the old smithy, realising they were besieged, shot first and suddenly, taking away any element of surprise Abbott had hoped for.

Heyes ducked down low. The cacophony of gunshots in his direction made it impossible for him to get a shot away in reply. The last thing he expected was movement from his rear. Adrenaline flowing, Heyes spun around, his finger about to squeeze the trigger. Only the brief flash of a familiar but inexplicable moustache slithering into the foxhole stopped him for firing. Almost immediately, an unsavoury, but also familiar … unmistakable aroma followed.

"What … . Sheesh!"

"Are them's the good guys or the bad guys who are shooting at us?" Moustache asked, taking a position next to Heyes, his big Colt out and ready to commence firing.

"We're the good guys! What the … heck … are you two doing here?"

A maniacal laughed escaped Aroma.

"That makes a change, Wheat. Usually it's the good guys shootin' at us!"

Wheat chortled in agreement.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Here, in the middle of a gunfight!" Heyes took a deep breath, summoning his patience. "What are you two here? I told you to go back to the Hole."

"Yeah well when we didn't hear nothing, we figured ya were out of ya depth, so we's here to help."

Heyes had no response. Staring open-mouthed was about the most he was able to do. Apart from ducking his head, when a shot whizzed by far too close for comfort.

"Looks like we's got here jus' in time too." Wheat fired off a random shot in the general direction of the smithy.

"I don't believe this. I must be dreaming," Heyes muttered, shaking his head.

"Are we taking 'em alive, Heyes?" Kyle asked.

"Yes."

"All of 'em?" Wheat queried.

"Yes."

"Ya sure?"

"Yes," Heyes hissed, insistent.

Wheat shrugged twice. Once in a not convinced way and secondly in a well-if-ya're-sure-kinda-way.

"If ya wanna get closer Heyes. Me'n'Kyle'll cover ya," Wheat said, considerate to a fault.

From where they were, the nearest cover was thirty feet away. Crossing to it would make a target a toddler could hit.

"Me! Why me?"

"'Cos that's what made ya such a great leader, Heyes. Ya never told no man t'do a thing ya wouldn't do yaself."

"Shut up, Kyle," Heyes snapped. "I'm not going out there─"

"Hey, that's my line," Kyle murmured. "Sort of … ."

"Sheriff Abbott is in charge here. We're waiting for his signal and then we're moving in but you two keep outta sight! If Abbott sees you, he will arrest you."

"Ya ain't convinced him yet, it weren't us?" Wheat asked, sounding surprised and disappointed.

"Yes he knows but he'll still arrest you for being you."

Wheat grunted. "Don't sound too grateful to me considering we've come to save the day."

Heyes growled and banged his forehead on the side of the foxhole.

"Where's Preacher?" Kyle asked.

Heyes shook his head, wiping the earth he had embedded into his forehead, with a furious swipe. "Back there by the big rock. Does he know you're here?"

"Nope." Wheat grinned. "Be a nice surprise for him too."

Heyes growled and took up position again. From where he crouched, he could see Abbott pinned down behind the extant wall of the barrack block. Abbott looked at him with a frown, having seen the slithering brothers invade Heyes' position. Heyes took the brief break in firing to nod and raise a hand in Abbott's direction, before a shot sent him sprawling in the muddy bottom.

"You's alright Heyes?" Wheat asked.

Heyes raised up on his elbows and looked up at Wheat, who struggled to contain his mirth. Kyle had no such qualms and giggled, at the sight of Heyes, hat askew and face mud splattered.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Heyes sighed, crawling out of the mud to take up his previous position on the side.

"They're gonna run outta bullets if theys keep that up," Wheat commented, as a conversation starter.

"That's the plan. Abbott reckons the way to minimise bloodshed is to wait 'em out."

"What kinda dang fool plan is that? I say we rush 'em."

"No. We're waiting," Heyes said, firmly. "And you don't get a say. You're not here." He shook his hand, trying to rid himself of some of the mud and puffed.

"For all we know, they could have a whole armoury in there."

"Yes but we only have finite ammunition out here. So we're making every shot count."

"What's finite mean, Wheat? Is that a new kinda of bullet?"

When Heyes and Wheat both looked at him, Kyle shuffled aside in embarrassment. He didn't see Heyes and Wheat exchange fond smiles.

"Look if you wanna be useful, circle round that way." Heyes indicated the bushes and woodland off to his left. "When Abbott gives us the signal, see if you can creep up in the rear. Watch out for a long grey hair old man, in buckskins. He's on our side."

Wheat nodded. "What's the signal?"

Heyes growled. "You'll know it."

Wheat snorted. "Not much of a plan, Heyes."

"I'm not in charge," Heyes replied, in a tone that suggested if he were, organisation would have been better. "Now get."

ASJASJASJASJ

Abbott knew there was only six on his side and he didn't know how many men were inside the smithy. His best guess based on the number of gunshots at any one time was seven. Doubting Tubby was involved, he surmised Simon, Fletcher and five ranch hands. Pretty much evenly matched, he reasoned.

He'd wanted to move his men in further under cover of darkness but the sun was early today. It had risen, shining brightly, before his men reached their optimal cover positions. They were okay where they were but ideally, he'd like them a little closer. Oh well, couldn't be helped.

When the shooting started, like all of his men, he had little opportunity to return fire. From where he was, he could see the foxholes where Rembacker, Stoner and Patterson were hiding. When he saw two bodies slip in behind Rembacker, he feared for him. When no shots followed the arrival of the two men, his anxiety rose, until Rembacker appeared and waved. Abbott unconsciously let out the breath he had held. Reinforcements, it seems, had arrived. Abbott would reserve wondering who they were until he had more time. For now, he had his attention fully taken, by the hail of gunshots coming in his direction.

A break in the firing, allowed him to yell, "We've gotcha surrounded. Come on out."

The answer was a bullet pinging off the stone post, which had been the corner stone of the barracks.

In his foxhole, Heyes winced at the cliché. The bowl the complex was in had the fortunate or unfortunate ability to enhance any sound. Heyes heard Wheat's distinctive chortle from the bushes yards away.

"We didn't kill, Mercer," yelled Simon.

"Someone did. And ya're my main suspects." Abbott paused. "C'mon out an' we can talk about it."

Shooting recommenced from the smithy but noticeably with less ferocity and more spaced. Abbott surmised the defenders were conserving their ammunition. Shouldn't be much longer now, he thought, changing his position for comfort, prepared to wait them out.

A short time later, patience rewarded, when he saw movement from the smithy. As he watched, Simon and Fletcher made a run for it. Amos appeared from the back of the complex, rifle in hand. Simon made it to the relative safety of the remains of the officer's quarters. Fletcher fired off a hopeful shot in Amos' direction as he followed.

Amos grunted and went down.

That his shot had actually found a target slowed Fletcher for a second and it cost him. Amos squirmed round, took aim and fired. Fletcher was dead before he hit the ground.

Simon had seen what happened to his friend and ducked back behind the wall, panting. He was in a tight spot and he knew it.

From the smithy, five men burst out, running for all they were worth. Three ran behind the smithy, the other two made for the bushes at the side of the complex. Those two had made the wrong choice.

"No way through here, fellas," Wheat said, appearing in front of them.

"Let's jus' all … relax. No call to get all excited," added an eager Kyle, at his side.

"I was gonna say that … ."

Heyes heard no more as he crept forward. Abbott had moved cautiously round the barrack wall. They met on the edge of the old parade ground.

"Those three won't get far on foot," Abbott said, tossing his head at the fleeing men.

"See to Amos, Mark. I'll go after Simon."

Heyes started to move in the direction of the officer's quarters. Abbott caught his arm and Heyes looked back.

"Be careful, Rembacker. He's cornered."

Heyes knew exactly how it felt to be cornered. He wasn't about to take any chances and he nodded.

"I know. I'll be careful."

ASJASJASJASJ

Heyes crept along one of the two remaining walls of the officers' quarters, heart beating fast, gun drawn and ready. He concentrated on the movement he could hear, coming towards him, from behind the other upright wall. They were due to meet at the corner, in a few steps time. Pausing a step beforehand, he swallowed hard, took a deep breath and stepped out.

Like Heyes, Simon Long already had his gun out. Heyes, conditioned by years of living on the edge, had no choice. He fired, relying on the accuracy of his gun, rather than any skill on his part. When Simon yelled and grabbed his arm, falling onto his back, Heyes was genuinely surprised. The Kid had always told him the Schofield would save his life one day. Heyes was pleased his friend's superior firearm knowledge had come true.

Heyes kicked Simon's gun away and pointed his gun at the writhing, moaning man, on the ground.

"Ya busted my arm," Simon yelled, followed by a string of expletives.

"Yes, I did. Better than killing you. Although … ."

Heyes broke off abruptly. Adrenaline and stress overwhelmed him, causing his dark persona to flare into life. The blacker alter ego, who was Hannibal Heyes at his most ruthless, was coalescing with his much milder being. Knowing it was happening he tried to fight it down. His body shook with the effort, knowing he would have no control if Hannibal Heyes fully emerged but he couldn't do it. The dark Hannibal Heyes was simply too strong. He'd taken over.

Hannibal Heyes stood over Simon, deliberately pointing his gun at his head. He cocked it.

"Gimme an excuse," said Hannibal Heyes, outlaw leader, cool and calculating. The tightness of his jaw, his only show of emotion.

Simon looked up, fear stark in his eyes. He'd realised Rembacker wasn't all he seemed from quite early on in their acquaintance but the man who looking down at him was something else. Gone was the mild, pleasant but far too smug, face. In its place, a hard, cruel mien.

"No!" Simon screamed, his bloody hand reaching up imploring. He had no doubt, right at that moment Heyes meant to kill him and didn't need any provocation.

All movement narrowed down into a sharp focus, all noise from around the site retreated to a distant hum. Magnified by tension, the only sharp sounds either was aware of, the injured man's gasps and the draw of Heyes' breathing, calm and slow. Heyes' finger on the trigger began to squeeze.

"Think of Mary, boy."

Preacher's voice rang clear and bell-like in Heyes' head. The loudness and its apparent proximity caused Heyes take a sharp intake of breath. It was enough of a distraction for Heyes to come back to himself. He blinked once, twice, taking a moment to realise where he was, what he was about to do.

Breathing hard at the realisation of how close he was coming to disaster, he relaxed his finger on the trigger. He stood breathing hard for a few moments before stepping away. Gulping air, he waved his gun at Simon, disguising how much his hand shook.

"Get up," he ordered, emotion making his voice catch.

Simon sat up and hesitated.

Heyes, still feeling dazed, mastered himself, with difficulty.

"On your feet, Mr Long."

Simon struggled to his feet, holding his injured arm, keeping a wary eye on Heyes.

When Heyes looked round to see where the others were, Preacher was all the way across the parade ground, shepherding the two ranch hands together at the point of a rifle. It couldn't have been Preacher's voice he'd heard. Then who? It came to him gradually. The voice in his head was his own conscience. Panting with relief, Heyes closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer, something he rarely did. Humbled by his close call, he gently took Simon's good arm and steered him over to Abbott.

"C'mon, we'd best get your arm looked at before we move out," he muttered.

ASJASJAJASJ

Abbott had checked on Amos. Fletcher's bullet had grazed an old injury on his leg. Nothing serious but the reopening of the old wound had bowled him over temporarily. His instinctive reaction, shoot to kill, came before he had mastered his restraint, with the unfortunate result.

As Heyes walked over with Simon, Abbott was crouched by Fletcher.

"It didn't have to come to this," he sighed.

"Is he dead?" gasped Simon.

Abbott looked up, sadly. "Yes I'm afraid so."

Amos hobbled over, using his rifle as a crutch.

"I sure didn't mean for that to happen," he said.

"No one's blaming you, Amos. He shot at you first."

Abbott stood up and looked around. Stoner and Patterson were taking the two ranch hands off Preacher's hands and under arrest. Everyone turned to see the remaining three returning at a run, followed by two men on horseback.

"Get in there," the taller of the two horsemen commanded.

The three vaulted the fence and fell, collapsing in a heap on the edge of the parade ground. Preacher moved to take them into custody.

Wheat tipped his hat and Kyle gave a cheery wave before they turned and galloped away.

Abbott looked at Heyes for an explanation. He pulled a face and shrugged. Abbott growled, before sighing.

"Let's tidy up here an' get on back."

Heyes handed a pale and shaky Simon over to Stoner. He appeared to have some medical knowledge and took Simon away to tend to his arm. Amos had declined any help. He was doing his own doctoring. Patterson finished tying up the two ranch hands and turned to help Preacher with the other three. Abbott took off his jacket and laid it over Fletcher's body.

He stood next to Heyes and sighed. There didn't seem to be any appropriate words. The outcome had shocked everyone.

"What happened to you?" Abbott asked, quietly, eying the mud lark beside him.

"Lost my footing," Heyes replied, softly, not just shaken by the outcome but also his own actions.

"Who were those two guys?" Abbott said, subdued. A taciturn Rembacker was unsettling.

Heyes swallowed, twitched his head and frowned. "Just two good Samaritans," he said, unconvincingly.

Abbott grunted but prudence told him to leave it. There would be time for a fuller explanation later.

Heyes looked round, mentally doing a head count.

"Mark, where's … Tubby?"

*Fort Steele and Fort Halleck do exist. You can visit the first but the other is on private land. I made Fort Tyne up.