Long Shadows

Chapter 10

It was the finest, brightest morning that Farrance could ever remember. Maybe that was in part because he was not in the habit of being up at this time of year in time to see the dawn break on the open country. The sky was still a dark, almost violet blue, and the sun a vivd red line as thin as a nail paring above the distant hills.

It may have been summer, but it was chilly enough first thing in the morning when you are sleeping out under the sky. There was much coughing and swearing as Sheriff Giles went round the camp, waking all the men in a fairly rough fashion. He sounded edgy and in a bad humour, which the colonel attributed to his nerves. I bet it’s a good long while, he thought to himself, since you faced the prospect of hostile fire from desperate men. Giles wanted the credit of breaking up the gang of forgers alright, but he surely did not like the preliminary activities which went with that honour; in this case riding into the lair of a bunch of stick-at-nought roughnecks. It would be curious to see how he handled the matter as the day progressed.

Wilson was very quiet as he brewed up the coffee and Colonel Farrance tried to cheer him up by joshing him about his supposed fear of action. “I am surprised at you Ikey, to see you in such a condition with your nerves over the prospect of setting to with a scoundrel like Crawley. Why, the time was that you would not have thought twice about going against any man living.”

His words had some effect, because Wilson growled, “Crawley? For ten cents I’d tear his liver out and eat it raw. Crawley!”

“Well then, what ails you? Have you slept well?”

“Not overmuch. Let me be now, Bob. I have been thinking a deal about my life and the reckoning won’t come out straight.”

“Considering the life you have led, that is not to be wondered at.” said Farrance, which at least raised the ghost of a smile on the other man’s face.

Sheriff Giles came over to speak with them after everybody had had coffee and whatever other vittles they had left over from the night before. He said, “You will lead us to this Indian trail? And then you and your partner will go up to the house while we take up our positions back of the place?”

“If two men will ride with us, yes,” replied Farrance, “Not else.”

“That’s all arranged. One of my boys will go along with you and also Mr Beauregarde.”

“Beauregarde?” said Wilson, “Which of the crew might bear such a fancy name as that?”

“There he is,” said Giles, pointing out the man, “He is setting over yonder by his self.”

Wilson said, “You mean Methusalah? Come, he is old as the hills. It would not be fair on him or us. Will none of the younger men come with us?”

Sheriff Giles looked a little sheepish. “It is this way,” he explained, “Two of my deputies is married and have their wives and children to think on. Jim Sellars is young and single and game for anything. He is a tough one alright. As for old Mr Beauregarde, do not be deceived by his aged appearance. He is the very devil and cares nothing about his life. He will not be displeased to go down in ablaze of gunfire this day. I had it in strictest confidence that his doctor has found some growth in him which is like to kill him in a few months. He has nothing to lose.”

After Giles had moved on to chivy up some of the more sluggish members of the band, Wilson said to the colonel, “This is a fine state of affairs. It looks to me as though that bastard will have us doing all the work and taking all the danger. Just look at that old boy, he must be a hundred.”

“Go and fetch him over, Ikey. Let’s get to know him a little and see if he will be any use to us of the going gets lively.”

Old Mr Beauregarde was stone deaf and extremely peppery. He came and sat with the other two and listened to what they had to say of their plans. Then he announced bluntly, “I ain’t got but til this year’s end to live. I’m not aiming to die in some damned hospital ward, screaming with pain.”

“Well, Mr Beauregarde,” interrupted Colonel Farrance courteously, “That is all well and good…”

“Don’t give me all that flannel, boy,” said Mr Beauregarde, “I don’t have the patience. You want to knock at the door, all fine by me. If those boys start shooting, then you and the other fellow can ride off and leave me. I ain’t afraid of them and will draw their fire. Cover your retreat, like.”

Even Ikey Wilson, who was the least squeamish of men and had been mixed up in his fair share of cold blooded tricks, could not stomach this notion. He said, “Begging your pardon, sir, but that won’t answer. Nobody’s leaving anybody anywhere.” He spoke lightly but with great feeling, perhaps recalling the time thirty years earlier when he had himself been abandoned to his fate in the course of a fierce gun battle. “No,” he continued, “It won’t do. We will all ride together and nobody will be sacrificed.”

“You young fool,” said Mr Beauregarde with the greatest irascibility, “I want to be killed by a bullet. What’s wrong with you?”

Wilson looked coldly at the stubborn old man and said, “You got a gun there. You want to die by a bullet, then shoot yourself right now. You got no business making a murderer of some stranger.”

Farrance smoothed things over by saying, “Let’s just agree that we will all go openly to the ranch house and see what develops, Mr Beauregarde. It may not come to any shooting.”

The old man stood up and spat a stream of tobacco juice into the fire. “I’ll ride along of you two if you’ve no objection? On the way there, that is to say.” Without waiting to here their assent to this proposition, he stumped off; looking, as Wilson had remarked the previous day, as though he would be better in wheelchair.

The sun had changed from dull red to burning gold before they were fairly on their way. It was only a ten mile ride, but there seemed no reason to proceed at anything other than a gentle trot. The way was not straight and although it was only ten miles as the crow flies, the posse travelled half as much again by weaving back and forth along the undulating landscape.

After an hour and a half, they struck the Indian path that Wilson and Farrance had used when they made their night time visit to the Double Star. Colonel Farrance rode up to Sheriff Giles and said, “This is where we turn right and keep going for perhaps three miles, until we come out on a rise of ground overlooking the ranch.”

“How do you expect to find them? Do you think they will be prepared for trouble?”

“I don’t know,” said Farrance, “And that’s the God’s honest truth. My partner and me might have stirred up the hornets’ nest, if you wish to put it so, a few nights back. I would think that they will have settled down again by now.”

“Well then,” said Giles, “Do you four who are going to ride down on them, want to lead the way? You know the lie of the land. When we are nigh to the place, tell me and we can split into different parties.” He paused for a moment and then said in a rush, “This is the hell of a thing. Aren’t you at all nervous?”

Colonel Farrance didn’t smile; he had no wish to shame the man, especially in front of others. Instead, he said gently, “We all get a bit jumpy before action. It is nothing to speak of.”

When he rejoined Wilson and the other two men, Farrance told them that Sheriff Giles wanted them to lead the way. Upon hearing this, Mr Beauregard said loudly, “Yellow, is he? Wants us to do his own job.” Several of the younger men heard this and grinned to themselves.

After another hour of walking their mounts carefully along the track, they hove near to where Colonel Farrance and Ikey Wilson had had the night time set-to with five of the men from the Double Star. Looking at the rugged trail by broad light of day, Farrance wondered how in the hell he and Wilson had ridden so fast along it in the dark without breaking their necks. He stopped and indicated to the rest of the posse to wait up.

“We are now within a short distance of the ranch,” said Colonel Farrance, “Sheriff Giles is going to lead most of you fellows round the back of the house, while me and these others are going to walk our horses down to the front and acquaint them with the circumstances.”

“Meaning what?” said the youngest of the men.

“Meaning,” said Farrance, “That me and others will approach the house peacefully and desire those within to yield up their ordinance and consider themselves our prisoners. To put the case in military parlance, that is.”

Sheriff Giles had an inkling that he ought himself to be the one making any fancy speeches upon the occasion and said, “Right, according to the colonel here, we must go round to the right here and work our way to the rear of the house. He, Sellars, Beauregarde and Wilson will cut along to the left and ride straight down to the front door.”

When the two parties had divided, Farrance said to Mr Beauregarde, “I would be obliged sir, if you would not start any shooting and just take your lead from me. The same goes for you too Mr Sellars. Me and Wilson here will decide if and when it is time to fight.”

Deputy Sellars, who might reasonably have believed himself to be in charge of the group, seemed content to allow the colonel to assume command. He was a young man, with even less experience of this kind of thing than his boss. Once they were over the crest of the hill, the ranch and its outbuildings and surrounding patchwork of fields was laid out beneath them. They could see Sheriff Giles and the others working their way round to the right in a flanking manouver. There was no sign of life on the ranch and Farrance hoped for everybody’s sake that he had not led them all on a snipe hunt. It would be a poor show after all this perfomance if they were to descend upon the place and find nobody at home.

As they reached the foot of the slope and began walking their horses to the house, Colonel Farrance came up with a better explanation for why there was no sign of life. They had been up at dawn and started on the trail soon after. Despite their own feelings of the morning being half gone, it was no more than seven or eight. It was entirely possible that those in the house had not even risen yet.

“What do you make of it, Bob?” asked Wilson, “Reckon there’s anybody at home?”

“Hard to say. The horses are still in the fields and corrals, so I am thinking that they have not all lit out.”

“Yes,” said Wilson, “I too noticed that. What will we do if nobody comes out before we get to the house? I do not fancy dismounting and knocking on the door.”

They had now reached the low stone wall in front of the ranch house. There was a gap in this wall opposite the front door and no gate to hinder them from riding right into the yard in front of the house; which they did. And still, the noise of their horses did not bring anybody out to investigate.

“It is time to draw and cock our pieces,” said Farrance, “But let no man fire a shot unless we are first shot at.” He turned and faced old man Beauregarde and said loudly, “Do you mark what I say, Mr Beauregarde? No shooting yet.”

“Alright, alright,” said the old man querulously, “I ain’t as deaf as all that. I heard you well enough.” These were the last words that the old man ever spoke in the whole course of his life, because he had no sooner finished the sentence than there was the crack of a rifle shot and old Mr Beauregarde gave a grunt and toppled sideways from the saddle with half his head shot away.

“Out of here!” cried Farrance and wheeled his horse around as another shot echoed across the yard, “Ride to that barn.” He matched the words to the action and rode hell for leather towards the nearby barn, cantering round the side of it for shelter. Wilson and Deputy Sellars also reached the safety of the stone walls a second or two later.

“Goddam,” said Wilson angrily, “They did not even wait to hear what we had to say.”

Colonel Farrance burst out laughing at that. “What would you have, Ikey? They know it’s a raid and are not prepared to go tamely to gaol for twenty years or more. I don’t know that I blame them.”

“Yes, I know, but still and all, that old gentleman. It is a bit much.”

“Think on this,” said Farrance, “At least now we know that they are here and up to some villainy. Least we are sure to catch or kill them.”

“First catch your hare,” said Wilson, “Those boys look pretty determined to me not to be taken.”

Sellars, the young deputy was looking shaky and pale at this turn of events. He had been right next to Mr Beauregarde when the old man had been killed and this had taken him aback. Farrance said, “You alright there, feller? Don’t take on so, the old man was not sorry to die. Fact is, I think that is why he volunteered for this exercise in the first instance, so that he could find an easier death than he mighht have done through his cancer.”

“It’s still the hell of the thing,” said Sellars, “I never saw the like.”

Wilson chipped in, saying, “Don’t set mind to it. Stick close to me and my partner and we will see you safe through this.”

While all this was taking place right in front of the ranch house, Sheriff Giles and the other nine men had been crawling towards the house like Indians and taking up firing positions at the back. As soon as the shooting started, which resulted in the death of the old man, some members of the posse commenced firing at the windows at the back of the house. There was no return fire and after a space, those under the command of the sheriff ceased fire to see what would chance.

“This won’t do,” muttered Farrance, “That damned fool of a sheriff has no idea how to proceed further. We will be here until nightfall at this rate.” He went to the corner of the barn and shouted loudly, “Crawley, you are surrounded, man. Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up. I promise that you will be treated well and taken for a fair trial.”

The response from inside the house was a few well aimed shots which caused Colonel Farrance to dodge swiftly back behind the shelter of the stone wall of the barn.

“What do you say to taking a more active part in this?” the colonel said to Wilson, “Meaning, how about us two getting a little closer in while Deputy Sellars here offers us covering fire?”

“Come on then,” replied Wilson, “I would rather be moving than cowering behind a wall like this.”

Turning to Sellars, Colonel Farrance said, “Can you start firing at the windows a little to keep those boys from peering out and getting a bead on us?”

“You want I should come with you?” asked the deputy, although it was obvious he had no appetite for such a course of action and was asking only for form’s sake.

“No, you would be a sight more use to us here, son” said Farrance, “We need you to keep those boys occupied.”

While Sellars kept the men in the house busy with constant fire and drew in turn their own fire to the corner of the barn where he was positioned, Wilson and Farrance ran to the other end of the barn and emerged from the opposite corner at a run; throwing themselves behind a low wall which was only fifty feet or so from the side of the house.

“Think they know we’re here?” asked Wilson, “Nobody has shot at us.”

“No, I wouldn’t have thought so. They are too busy with yon deputy to have noticed us appear in another spot. You know yourself what it is like in these cases, you focus only upon the immediate danger.”

Wilson poked his head above the wall. “There is no window overlooking us here. What say we run for the side wall of the house and see where that leaves us?”

From the sound of it, the shooting was not just between Deputy Sellars and the men in the house. There was rifle fire from the left, which indicated to Wilson and Farrance that the sheriff and his men were drawing nearer and perhaps also getting ready to move in on the house.

“Let’s go then,” said Farrance, jumping up and running to the house. He and Wilson sprinted as fast as they were able, fearing at any moment to receive a bullet for their pains. Nothing happened though and it looked as though Wilson had been right and they were in a blind spot.

Sheriff Giles and his men were engaging in duels from the cover of walls; popping up to fire and then dropping out of sight again. In between times, Colonel Farrance noted approvingly that they were slowly drawing nearer to the house. There came a lull in the firing and then he and Wilson recognised Andrew Crawley’s voice calling out from a window. He cried, “Hold your fire. I see there are too many of you there. Me and my boys will come out with our hands high. Just don’t be shooting us out of hand when we are in your power.”

Sheriff Giles shouted back, and the relief was evident in his voice, “Nobody will be shooting any prisoners. If you surrender now, then I will take you all back to stand trial for whatever it is you have been up to.” It sounded to Wilson and Farrance that the sheriff was mightily relieved that he would not be called upon further to hazard his own person.

Wilson whispered to the colonel, “Crawley’s bluffing. He never surrendered in his life. He would sooner die.”

“That’s how I read the case as well. Since all the attention is on the back of the house now, why don’t we set mind to what is happening at this end?”

From the back of the house came Crawley’s voice again, calling from the window, “Here come our weapons, now” There was a clatter of guns being thrown out the windows at back of the house, Then Crawley said, “Alright, we’re coming out now. We will leave the kitchen door, nigh to where you and your men are. All of us will have our hands above our heads.”

“Here we go,” said Wilson, “I’ll warrant that while his men are trooping out of that back door, Crawley will make a bolt from the front and hope to evade capture.” So it proved, for in the next second, they saw a figure come flying from the front door of the ranch house, heading straight towards the field where there were horses grazing. Both Farrance and Wilson were after him in an instant and brought him to the ground before he had left the yard. Wilson relieved the furiously struggling man of the pistol clenched in his hand, by the simple expedient of stamping on his wrist. At this point, Deputy Sellars realised that there was some glory to be had and came scuttling out from behind the barn, so that he could appear to have been involved in the arrest.

So awful was the language used by Crawley as he fought to free himself that Colonel Farrance said sternly, “Recollect yourself, Andrew. I’ll take oath that this young deputy has not heard the half of those curse-words that you are using so freely. You will corrupt his morals.”

Crawley stopped struggling and looked directly into Farrance’s eyes. He held the other man’s gaze for a moment and then said quietly, “I will be revenged upon you for this, Bob. I will make sure that you regret this day’s business for the whole of your life, I promise you that. I will do it though it cost me my own life.”

“Hush your mouth now, you damned fool,” said Wilson, “You are being unmanly. In the old days we would not have threatened one another so.”

Crawley turned to Wilson and said, “You too, Ikey. I will see you in hell for this.”

In addition to Crawley, there were another eight men taken prisoner. Sheriff Giles was insufferable in victory, representing himself as the master brain who had organised and executed the entire raid single handed. Once the men from the house were unarmed, he was very active in seeing that they were handcuffed and roped together to render escape impossible.

The house proved to contain a printing press, bales of paper and a vast quantity of forged paper money. It was certainly the base of the counterfeiting racket that had so exercised the minds of those in the treasury. At the discovery of this evidence, Giles was cock-a-hoop. He said jovially to the colonel. “I will allow that I owe you for this. I shouldn’t wonder if it didn’t make my name sir, make my name!”

“What will you do with the prisoners,” enquired Farrance, “Will you take them straight back to Garden City? I tell you now, you need to set a watch upon Crawley, who is the leader of the outfit.”

“I do not need anybody to teach me my job,” said the sheriff stiffly, “Since you ask, we are going to stay over first at Endeavour. I am sure that I can find safe lodgings for them there.”

The journey to Endeavour was not a pleasant one for the men taken at the Double Star. The posse rode and the men they had captured had to proceed on foot; it being too much trouble to saddle up horses for them, not to mention the risk of an escape bid. This way, they were all roped together and there was no chance of any one, bold fellow making a bolt for it.

The party took just under three hours to get to the town and their arrival created a minor sensation, with people coming out of their homes to see what was going on. It was certainly no common sight; eleven men on horseback leading a line of nine footsore men, all jangling handcuffs and roped together like a chain gang. Most of these prisoners were known in the town for their free spending habits and drunken antics.

There was no lawman in Endeavour and so Sheriff Giles found to his pleasure that he was able to throw his weight about to no small extent. He commandeered a barn at the livery stable, offering the owner unspecified recompense from government funds for the present inconvenience to which he was put. All the men taken captive at the Double Star were herded into this and the door locked. Giles set two of his own deputies to guard, with another two of the posse patrolling nearby.

The problem now for the sheriff was getting these apprehended miscreants safely back to Garden City. It was impossible that they should be able to walk all that way; the logistics of the thing were too tricky. He had left two of the men back at the Double Star to guard the evidence of counterfeiting and it now seemed that he would have to send a few more men back to the ranch to collect horses. The only option was for the prisoners to ride alongside their captors for a couple of days; a prospect which Sheriff Giles viewed with no enthusiasm whatsoever. As it turned out, by the next day, there were only four prisoners to transport east, which made the job a little less arduous. Here is what happened.

Farrance had all along been uneasy about the casual way that the sheriff was dealing with a dyed in the wool villain like Andrew Crawley. He could hardly say too much about the man, for fear of revealing his own disreputable past, but he knew that Crawley was a good deal worse than any mere forger of currency. Still, there it was; he had tried to warn Giles and been soundly rebuffed and told, in effect, to mind his own affairs.

The first that Colonel Farrance knew of any trouble was while he was walking around just outside the town, enjoying the night air and solitude. He was beginning to feel that he had had about enough of these adventures now to last him for the rest of his life and he would be glad to get back to Whyteleafe and his daughter just as soon as ever he was able. These peaceful reflections were broken by the sound of shooting from the centre of town and Farrance knew, without the least shadow of a doubt, that this meant that Crawley was on the loose. It was irrational; he just knew it as sure as God made little apples. He drew the Remington from its holster and set off towards the livery stable as fast as his legs would carry him.

The shooting surged to a crescendo and then tailed off into a few scattered single shots. By the time he got to the barn where the men had been held, it was all over.

As he neared the livery stable, a man with a rifle jumped out and, seeing the pistol in his hand, cried, “Stand to and drop that weapon!” Then, recognising the colonel, he said, “Belay that, I see it’s you sir.” The speaker was one of Sheriff Giles’ deputies and he was as worked up and on edge as could be. This was caused partly by the death of his friend, Jim Sellars, who was laying in the dust near the livery stable.

“What happened?” asked Farrance of the deputy.

“My partner Jim, which is to say Jim Sellars, was guarding the barn with me. One of those inside called out that a man was sick and needed a doctor. Jim went in and was jumped by a few of those bastards. They half strangled him and took his gun. Then when he ran out to raise the alarm, they shot him in the back. Bastards!”

“What’s the case now?”

“Me and some of the other boys opened fire to halt their flight,” said the deputy, daring Colonel Farrance to contradict him, “And some were killed. Four remain alive and one man has got away.”

“That would be Andrew Crawley,” said the colonel flatly, “I knew this would happen.”

The deputy stared hard at Farrance and said, “You seem to know an awful lot about this sort of wickedness. Sheriff thinks you are not entirely as you represent yourself to be.”

“That’s nothing,” said Farrance, “How come you killed four of those prisoners? Were none wounded?”

“No,” said the deputy, “They was all killed.”

Colonel Farrance could work out easy enough what had taken place and as it happened, he was quite correct in his calculations. The deputy had arrive just as Crawley, the only escaping prisoner with a gun, had vanished into the darkness. Seeing his partner laying there dead, the deputy had then turned his gun on the milling crowd of prisoners; eight men who could not quite make up their minds whether to run for it or stay put. He had shot four of them out of hand, before Sheriff Giles had come upon the scene and prevented a wholesale massacre.

“You will not have any problems with these four men now,” said Farrance, “Like as not they will be too scared to stir an inch.”

“They would be wise,” said the deputy, “To be that way. I would cheerfully shoot the rest of them.”

At this point, Ikey Wilson came ambling up and asked what was to do with all the shooting. He too was a little taken aback to see five corpses and just like the colonel, he soon figured out what had happened. He and Farrance walked off a space, down the road. Wilson said, “You look awful worried Bob. What ails you? You are not thinking about Andrew Crawley now, are you?”

“Why yes,” said Farrance, “That is precisely so. I am wondering where he has gone now.”

“That don’t signify, surely? As long as they have caught and killed some, the reward still stands, doesn’t it?”

“It might not signify to you Ikey,” said Farrance, a touch of irritation in his voice, “And yes, you will still get the reward. I am wondering where that rascal has got to, none the less. He threatened vengeance upon me and you, if you recall.”

“But I don’t get it, Bob. How could he harm either of us now?”

“I don’t rightly know, but I am not easy in my mind about this. Not easy at all.”

Later that night, Colonel Farrance tried to reason through the case in his mind. There had been a gap of some days between him and Wilson leaving Endeavour and their returning at the head of a posse. Would Crawley have been in town during that time? Could he have asked around about Farrance and Wilson? He recollected vaguely that he had mentioned to more than one person that he lived in Pennsylvania. He was well enough known in that state that anybody fetching up in Harrisburg, say, would be able to get a line on him by asking round a bit. It would not be a difficult task to track him to Whyteleafe.

But surely, he was being over-anxious? Having escaped from justice, would Crawley’s efforts now be concentrated upon fleeing and saving his own life? Then again, He, Farrance, had more or less wrecked the man’s life here. From owning a large ranch and being a wealthy and important person, due to his interference, Andrew Crawley was now a desperate fugitive from justice; and since the escape, one facing the rope if apprehended for the murder of a peace officer.