For Love

FOR LOVE

“No one has to die here,” the blue-eyed young man said as he stepped forward out of the shadows under the sagging balcony of the abandoned saloon.

    You got that wrong kid, Jon Henry thought. Someone has to die; someone has to pay for what you did.

   He was mounted on sorrel gelding, to the left of Gabe Clements, slightly hunched over the pommel of his saddle. His hooded eyes scanned the deserted streets of the once prosperous town of Hope. The town had been founded on its name, built around the hope of a silver strike in the distant purple hills; but the silver had run out. The lack of a handy water course meant the railway turned right instead of left and Hope found that hope had abandoned it, leaving it to flounder on the alkaline desert plains. The population tried to stay, tried to build something but even they lost hope and finally moved on. The buildings offered no resistance to the harsh conditions and fell in on themselves, some that had been better built - like the saloon - still looked like their former selves but the rest were long passed their best. The town had fallen into disrepair, home now to prairie dogs, wild hogs, ants, and rattle snakes. The night winds would howl through the fractured structures creating a mournful dirge for those long departed.

    He detected no sign of any immediate danger. He was looking for three men. There had once been five. 

     A second man edged into the light at the far-right end of the warped boardwalk that fronted the saloon. Jon Henry showed a little smile, the third was probably in the saloon with Beth Clements, Gabe’s daughter.

    Five men had kidnapped her, three days ago, demanding a sizeable ransom from Gabe. Gabe and Jon Henry were her to deliver the ransom and collect Beth.

    However, things were rarely straight forward. Traps could be set and sprung – that was how five became three.

    “We told them to walk in,” the newcomer reminded the blue-eyed man.

    Blue eyes nodded. “Get down off the horse,” he commanded, looking at Jon Henry.

    Jon Henry returned a weary nod and raised his right hand from under the serape he wore, showing his palm to the blue-eyed man. The palm was greased with slick, red blood.

    “How..?”

    “One of your men got lucky,” Gabe Clements told them.

    “What makes you think they were lucky?” The second man asked.      “Cus they weren’t that good,” Jon Henry rasped.

    “Says you,” the second man snapped back.

    “He wasn’t fit to walk, so I brought him in on his horse,” Clements babbled in rapid explanation. “I thought time was of the essence.”

    “Obeying the rules is the essence, old man,” Blue eyes supplied.

    Jon Henry leant backwards in his saddle. He unhooked two burlap sacks from his horse’s back and dropped them into the street. They fell with solid, heavy slaps. The sacks rolled slightly and then became still, they were stained a dull reddish brown.

    “What’?” The second man stammered; his hand reached for the butt of a holstered Army Colt tied to his right thigh.      “Brady,” blue eyes hissed and the man’s fingers stopped, resting against the smooth walnut butt.

    “I told you they weren’t good enough,’ Jon Henry announced.

    Blue eyes paled, he looked from Jon Henry to the sacks and back again, “You cut their heads off?” He asked aghast.      Jon Henry merely showed him an icy smile. The sacks contained rocks; the blood was real – absorbed from slit throats – but it was good to make them feel he had beheaded their men. He flipped two Winchester rifles into the dusty street, close to the stained sacks. Blue eyes looked at the rifles, he recognised the deep scratch that ran along one of the stocks. He swallowed hard.

    “I don’t believe this,” the second man, Brady, scoffed. “Any of it.”      Jon Henry shrugged. “So, call your men,’ he invited.

    Brady looked towards the blue-eyed man. His own eyes were frantic with disbelief and alarm, this had meant to be an easy gig. “Lyle?” He asked.

    Lyle looked across at Brady and then back towards Clements and Jon Henry. “Bigger shares all round, I reckon,” he giggled, nervously.

    “We doing this?” Jon Henry asked.

    Brady spat into the dirt. “Maybe we’ll just wait for you to die,” he snarled. “And then just deal with your boss.”

    Jon Henry fixed him with a cold-eyed stare. “You think you can outlive me, boy?”

    Brady raised a half-hearted sneer. “I’m not the one gut-shot.”

    Jon Henry shrugged. “I’ll die when I’m good and ready. Get this man his daughter and let’s get this over with.”

    “So, you’re giving the orders now?” Brady asked.

    “It’s hot, son, I’m bleeding, let’s get this show on the road or call it a day.”

    “That the way you want it, Mr Clement?” Lyle asked.

    Clement looked briefly towards Jon Henry before facing Lyle. “I just want my daughter back. I have your money, let’s do this.”

    Brady took a step off the boardwalk and into the street.  “Show us the money.”

    “Girl first,” Jon Henry corrected.

    Brady paused and the smile that had begun to form froze on his lips. His hand again rested on the butt of his Army Colt.

    “Show us the goods,” Jon Henry told them. “Let’s see what we’re buying. Or maybe you figure you can take the money and then just shoot us down.”

    Brady’s smile took shape again. “You think you could stop us, if that was the plan?”

    Again, Jon Henry shrugged. “I’m not two men down.”      Lyle turned towards the saloon. “Chester, bring her on out.”

    Muffled footfalls sounded, a crazed snigger and a girlish cry of alarm were followed by an acne scarred late teenage boy pushing a girl of similar age through the warped entrance to the saloon, The boy had his left arm around the girl’s narrow waist. He carried her six inches off the floor as he shuffled forward, oblivious to the girl’s struggles and her vain attempt to kick his shins. His left hand was fastened around the girl’s right breast.  

    Jon Henry sensed Gabe Clement stiffen in emotional response to the sight of his daughter. To Jon Henry’s eyes she looked unharmed, filthy from her ordeal but otherwise okay. She didn’t even display any concern about the hand roughly molesting her breast. Don’t blow it now, he urged, as if Clement could hear his thoughts, stick to the plan. 

    The teenager had a single action Colt pressed into Beth’s neck.

    “If you’ve harmed her in any way,” Gabe Clements hissed.

    “You’ll do what, old man?” Brady scoffed.

    Clements swallowed back his bluster, choking on false pride. All he wanted was his daughter back, no matter how much face he had to lose.

    Jon Henry looked at the girl. Her hair was sandy where her father’s was grey, she had the same green eyes, the same determination to the way she held her head aloft and her jaw firm but in all other aspects her features belonged to her mother, a woman Jon Henry had loved dearly.

    “We’ve shown you ours, old man, let's see yours.” Lyle urged.

    Gabe Clements moved to the back of Jon Henry’s mount. The horse took two involuntary steps forward, almost up to the edge of the crumbling steps leading up to the warped boardwalk.

    “Easy now,” Lyle urged as Gabe began to undo the fastenings of Jon Henry’s saddle bags.      Jon Henry looked at Beth Clements aloof features. “They hurt you?” He enquired.

    Beth twisted her neck to take in all three men who fronted the saloon. “Them? No.”

    Jon Henry smiled and nodded. He grimaced in pain and folded a little more over his saddle horn.

    Brady laughed. “Go ahead and die.”

    Join Henry wiped the rabbit guts from his palm. He didn’t want his Colt Frontier to slip in his hand. When his hand felt less tacky, he closed it around the gun’s butt and eased the weapon from its holster. “You first, uh,” he growled, covering the sound as he cocked his piece. He twisted towards Brady and offered a cold grin.

    He fired under the hem of the serape. The bullet took Brady in the throat and spun him off his feet. Jon Henry saw none of this as he shifted his aim and put his second shot through Chester’s temple. It was great marksmanship, there was little to aim at over Beth’s shielding body but the bullet slammed home and powered the teenager backward. He began to drag Beth with him, Jon Henry reached for her. He almost made it before white lightening exploded in his chest. His horse reared, the sky spun and Jon Henry hit the ground with a mighty clatter that took all the air from his lungs.

    “Hey what?” Lyle reacted to the violent events. His main focus was Gabe Clements, even so he was aware of event taking place to his right. He reached for his holstered Remington 1875 single action Army. Gabe tugged a shotgun loose from under Jon Henry’s saddle bags and fired. The blast peppered Lyle and lifted him off his feet, he fired the Remington in reflex and, unluckily, his bullet seared through Jon Henry, knocking him from his horse.

     Gabe Clements looked horror stricken towards the fallen Jon Henr. His insides turned liquid, flooding him with shame, regret, and anger. He swung his attention back towards Lyle. The man was shredded with buckshot, torn and bloody but still alive. He looked towards Clement and smiled, swinging the aim of his Remington to Beth.

    “No!” Gabe screamed. He fired the second barrel of the shotgun and saw Lyle turn into a vivid splash across the grey rotted boards of the saloon.

    “Daddy!” Beth screamed and rushed to he father, hitting him with an embrace that nearly knocked him off his feet. He held her tight against him.

    When they broke he embrace he staggered to where Jon Henry lay humped in the street. His face was pressed into the dust, each ragged breath causing a minor whirlwind of particles. Gabe fell to his knees beside Jon Henry. “I”m sorry,” he murmured.

    Jon Henry turned one eye towards Clement, even this action seemed to cause him a great deal of pain. “Beth safe?” He rasped.

    Clement nodded. He looked towards the fallen outlaws. “Damn, I forgot how good you were.”

    “Not good enough, though,” Jon Henry arched his back in pain, gritted his teeth and dribbled watery blood down his chin. “This time.”

    Clement shook his head. “That was all down to me,” he groaned.

    Jon Henry wheezed a rattling laugh. “If I was relying on you,” he joshed. “I was dead already. Not anyone’s fault. Just my time I guess.”

    Clement looked from Jon Henry to the sky. He clenched his eyes tightly closed until he felt any tears had passed.. “Is there anything..”he began.

    Jon Henry shook his head. This caused his body to tremor in pain, a groan escaped him. “You know moving me will only cause me pain. I’ll be dead before we’ve gone a mile.”

    Clements looked to the sky again. “Doesn’t seem right,” he murmured.

    Jon Henry clenched his eyes against another wave of pain. “I’ve done okay, I have no regrets,” he looked towards

Beth Clement, remembered her mother, and thought, maybe one. “Get out of here, it’ll be dark soon, lights closing in.”     Clements watched the sky. He reckoned there were at least six hours left in the day. He saw vultures circling overhead, waiting for those living to move away and leave them a feast.

    “I’m grateful for the life of my daughter,” he told Jon Henry.

    Despite the pain, Jon Henry nodded, “Yeah. Me, too.”

    He watched them leave as best he could from his crumpled position. And then he watched the darkness creep in until it was all consuming.