The Devil's Right Hand
APRIL, 1876
John Coogan spat into the dust as he tethered his horse to the rail outside The Golden Pearl. He looked up and down the street for a moment and then adjusted his shirt so the silver star was clearly visible before making his way into the saloon. If anyone considered making a play then best to let them know they were dealing with the law before they did so.
It was a little after noon and already the saloon was filled with drunken revellers. A card game was going on in one corner, four men all dressed in mining clothes playing poker. The bar area was full with men chatting, laughing, shouting. Saloon girls mingled, no doubt trying to encourage the men to buy yet another drink, luring them with promises of pleasures.
Coogan spotted Tanner immediately. The man had his back to him but was still recognizable by a mop of pure white hair and the pearl-handled Colts he wore low on the hip. Coogan had seen the man in action first hand and knew just how fast he was. He'd seen Tanner outdraw the sheriff back in Bitter Springs, killing him instantly with a bullet through the heart. No mean feat given that the sheriff had once ridden with Wyatt Earp and the Masterson boys and had more than a legend to live up to himself.
As the deputy of Bitter Springs, Coogan deeply felt the loss of the sheriff, even though he had gained an instant promotion. It was now his job to bring Dan Tanner, the man known as The Devil's Right Hand, in for trial. Job or no job, Coogan was not about to take any chances with the gunslinger.
He crossed the saloon quickly, aware that eyes were turning to watch him, and pulled his Smith and Wesson from its holster. He went directly to Tanner and before the gunman could react, brought his pistol crashing down with sickening force against the man's head.
Tanner spun around and for one awful second he seemed to be going for his guns, but then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and his legs buckled beneath him. He fell in a heap on the floor and Coogan quickly unarmed him. With one hand holding his gun in front of him—should anyone want to come to the gunman's aid—he dragged the man out onto the street.
Once outside he tied Tanner's wrists and feet and then manhandled him over his horse. He secured him to the beast with a thin length of hemp and climbed onto his own horse. He headed for Bitter Springs where Tanner, more than likely, had an appointment with the hangman.
Only he didn't hang and instead was given twenty years in Yuma since Tanner's smart-arse lawyer argued that the sheriff provoked the draw and the only thing his client should be tried for were the three counts of stage robbery that he was pleading guilty to in any case.
It took weeks for Tanner to come to trial and during all that time in the jailhouse, Coogan got to know the man pretty well. Once, Tanner managed to break out of his cell by knocking the young deputy senseless. Unarmed, he made a run for it, but Coogan was just outside when the gunman burst through the doors, and promptly shot him in the leg.
Tanner claimed Coogan had twice caught him unawares and he promised that one day they would meet up and go one on one. Then, he prophesied, Coogan was going to die.
Directly after Tanner had been taken away in the prison wagon Coogan had thrown in his badge and resigned from the law, deciding to try his hand at ranching instead. It was more profitable and the risks were less.
JUNE, 1886
John Coogan shook the memories from his mind, as a boy ran into the room.
"What's the matter, Clay?" he asked, looking up from the week-old newspaper he'd been reading.
"Sheriff Kramer's coming up the road." Clay said, panting. "As soon as I saw him I ran all the way from the creek to tell you."
"What's Gabe want?" Coogan asked of no one in particular, and placed the newspaper neatly on the small table. He stood up and followed his nephew outside. Gabe Kramer was the town sheriff, a man of sixty who carried the years well. His physique could have belonged to a man ten years younger and only the wisps of grey at the sides of his head seemed to hint at his true age. He was no pushover as a lawman and although not quite as agile as he had once been, it would take a brave or foolish man to go up against him.
They watched him come into the yard, riding a big black stallion. There was something in his eyes that gave Coogan the feeling the lawman was bringing bad news. Could we talk somewhere in private, John?" he asked.
For a moment Coogan's gaze met with his nephew's and a troubled look crossed his face. "Water the sheriff's horse," he said to the boy. Then to the sheriff, "Come on we'll go inside."
"Obliged," the sheriff said to Clay and followed Coogan into the adobe house. Once inside the sheriff declined coffee but accepted a small glass of whiskey. "To wash the trail dust from my throat," he explained as Coogan poured them both a drink. They stood there in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch into minutes.
"There's no easy way to tell you this," the sheriff said, "So I'd best come clean out with it."
"Always the best way."
"Dan Tanner's out of prison," the sheriff said, and drained his whiskey. "Thought you should know. I got the telegraph this morning, from the marshall over at Bitter Springs. Said Tanner was riding this way."
"It's been a long time," Coogan said and sat down. He felt shaky as if the news had struck him a physical blow. "He'll be coming for me."
"It's what I figured." The sheriff placed his glass on the mantelpiece and stared into the unlit fire.
"After all this time," Coogan smiled, wryly, without humour. "Maybe he's forgotten me. Maybe he'll bypass us and go someplace else."
"Maybe," the sheriff said but they both knew that wasn't very likely.
"I thought when he went through the Sallyport into Yuma that I'd never see him again. Guess a man like Tanner's not the sort to let things lie."
"I can station a deputy here," the sheriff said. "Or I can arrange for a guard to be posted around this place and sort out temporary accommodation for you and the boy in town. He comes here looking for trouble and I'll kick his britches all the way back to Yuma."
Coogan grinned, thinking that maybe the sheriff could almost do that. "No," he said, finally. "I appreciate it but this is my fight."
"Things have changed," the sheriff pointed out. "The law's got a lot of power it didn't used to have. Tanner won't find it easy to kick up a fuss."
"The law don't mean nothing to a man like Tanner," Coogan said, thoughtfully. "If twenty years in Yuma hasn't cooled his hate then only a bullet will do it."
The sheriff nodded, knowing the man was right. "Should have put him down like a mangy dog years ago."
"Won't get no argument from me on that one," Coogan said and shuddered at the thought that chances were, he would once again go up against the man they called, the Devil's Right Hand.
They left the ranch house just after daybreak the following morning and headed for town. Coogan hadn't told his nephew what the sheriff wanted, and after an initial question, the boy accepted his uncle's secrecy and didn't push for further enlightenment. Coogan had cared for the boy since infancy, when his brother Joshua was killed along with his wife in an Indian raid. Now, Coogan didn't want to worry him, and decided to place him in town with Tessa, his unofficial fiancé, until things worked out one way or another.
The boy meant a whole lot to him and although he wasn't convinced that Tanner would come after him, he was not about to take any chances with the boy's safety. It would be just like the Tanner of old to put a bullet through the boy's head just for the sheer hell of it. And if the gunslinger still carried enough hate to come all this way, risking another prison sentence or worse the hangman's noose, to settle an old score then there was no reason to think he had mellowed after the years spent in the harsh environs of Yuma Prison.
"Sure is going to be a warm day Uncle John," Clay said and shook moisture from the brim of his hat. He liked riding with his uncle. It made him feel like a man and he sat tall enough in the saddle to be one. He was sixteen now and already big and broad shouldered. Soon, he guessed, he would be a real man.
"Sure is," Coogan said. Already the sun was high in the sky, looking like a sheet of molten metal on the horizon. They could just about see the town of Red Rock in the distance, shimmering in the heat haze. "I'm sure Tessa will have some cool lemonade when we get there."
"That's a mouth watering prospect," Clay said and laughed.
Despite the heat Coogan felt a chill run the length of his spine and deposit itself somewhere deep down in his soul. The image of Dan Tanner flashed behind his eyes and for a moment he was elsewhere—another place, another time as the memories of yesteryear returned to taunt him.
"You ever going to marry Tessa?" Clay didn't look up from the trail ahead.
The question brought Coogan from his reverie and he was grateful of the interruption. It was not the first time the boy had asked the question and it was not the first time Coogan had ignored it. "Come on," he said, spurring his horse forward.
Clay clucked his tongue and coaxed his horse into a trot. He rode expertly and soon caught up with his uncle, neck and neck. They stuck together like that even when the steady trot became a gallop. Coogan reflected that his brother would have been tickled pink to see the way his son had turned out, and although it was fanciful, Coogan often thought that he did know. Perhaps he was watching from beyond the grave, his spirit protecting them both, and somehow guiding as his only son was raised.
"There's Tessa," Clay shouted as they approached the pine lumber house on the hill above town. He spurred his horse and took the lead, laughing as he left his uncle behind. "Come on," he yelled. "We're hardly breaking a sweat."
Tessa came out in the yard to greet them. She smiled as they dismounted but when her eyes caught Coogan's something passed between them and for a moment the smile was sullied by a slight frown. It was obvious that news of Dan Tanner's new liberty had reached her.
"Clay," she said, reading the situation right. "There's drinks on the table. Bring the pitcher out, please."
"Sure thing," Clay said and bounded up the steps and into the house.
"John," Tessa said once they were alone and she met him in an embrace. "The sheriff told me about Tanner. He's sure to come. You and Clay would be safer staying here until we know what he's gonna do."
Coogan broke her hold. "No," he said firmly, eyes resolute. "Though I'd appreciate Clay staying here."
"Of course. What are you going to do?"
"Make sure I don't have to spend the rest of my days looking over my shoulder."
"It's not like in the old days. The law is strong now and can protect you. You're not the sheriff anymore."
Clay appeared in the doorway with lemonade.
"Clay," Coogan said, "We'll stay here tonight. I've got to go across to Logan's ranch for some business. Won't take me but a few hours so I've said you'll stay here and help Tessa with digging a new vegetable patch."
Clay looked at them, eyes crossing from one to the other, and for a moment it looked as if he knew something was up. But then he just smiled and briefly, his boyish handsomeness hinted at the man he was fast becoming. "Sure thing," he said, "I can get some more of this lemonade. Sure beats chewing trail dust."
Coogan rode away from Tessa's place. He wondered if it would be the last time he'd see her, but shook the thought from his mind. There was no use thinking like that, he had to stay alert, ensure that he survived—no matter what the Devil's Right Hand threw at him.
He took a detour into town and went directly to the sheriff's office where he asked if anything else was known about Tanner's whereabouts or intentions. Gabe insisted that Tanner would be coming this way. It was a hunch, based on his knowledge of men, and the sheriff trusted his hunches.
Which meant Coogan had to be ready for him. Had to face up to the past.
Coogan made his way back to his ranch and led the horse into the corral. He went into the house and took the guns he had not worn in years from their hanger and tied the belt around his waist. He snatched the pistols from their holster and checked they were both loaded and in working condition. Clay often used them for target practice behind the ranch. The boy lovingly maintained the guns and was getting to be something of a crack shot.
Coogan held them in his hands, feeling the weight. He could see that the weapons looked as good as new, the metal untarnished and all working parts well oiled. He holstered the pistols and took his rifle from the wall and loaded it. Then he sat and waited.
Night came and went. and Coogan began to hope that Tanner wouldn't bother turning up at all, that years had dulled the hate he felt for the one-time lawman. Deep down, though he knew he was kidding himself. Men like Dan Tanner could spend several lifetimes hating. He stood up and went outside into the early morning sunshine and looked straight into the smiling face of Dan Tanner himself.
"Been a long time," Tanner said. He was standing there rigid, arms hanging with hands hovering perilously close to his low-slung weapons—the same pearl-handled pieces he carried all those years ago. His horse was tethered outside the corral fence and Coogan cursed himself for not hearing the gunman approach. He guessed he was getting old, and at this moment he certainly felt like it.
"It's been a lifetime," Coogan said. He held his rifle slung across his chest perfectly still, not wanting to force Tanner into drawing. Even with the rifle he was not confident of beating the gunman.
"For you," Tanner said. "For me every day's been just like the one before. You've had a lifetime maybe, but I've had mine stolen from me."
"The law took it from you," Coogan said. "It was your own choice to go against the law."
Tanner smiled and for a moment it looked as if he was going to explode but then the smile reached his eyes and he let out a laugh. "You've got a damn strong point there."
"So what do you want to do?" Coogan asked, his finger itching to find the rifle trigger and eliminate this threat.
Tanner smiled again. "I've often wondered about you," he said. "Could you have taken me without creeping up on me like a coward? Every time my leg hurts where you shot me, which is every goddamn day, I've wondered about that."
"Guess we'll never know," Coogan said.
"Drop the rifle," Tanner said. "And let's find out. You've got side arms, I've got side arms."
It was Coogan's turn to smile and despite the fear that had coiled like a snake in his stomach he dropped the rifle to the ground. He too had often wondered over the years if he could have taken Tanner by fairer means. And all of a sudden he felt young again as if the years had fallen away.
"Good," Tanner said and stared the other man straight in the eyes. "Guess you're not such a coward after all."
"I'm not a gunfighter," Coogan said. He met the other man's stare and for a moment the world seemed to empty of all distraction. The earth, the sky, the land ceased to be. Only they existed, standing there, staring at each other.
"You're not a sheriff no more neither."
"Nope," Coogan agreed. "Gave that up long back. Guess I weren't cut out for the lawmaking life."
"In a moment you won't have any life." Tanner threatened.
"That's down to fate I guess," Coogan said and wondered why the other man hadn't yet made his play. Then he realised the man was waiting for him to make the first move. He was that confident.
"Fate's got nothing to do with it," Tanner said. "I'm your fate."
"We're gonna talk all day or we gonna fight?" Coogan taunted, surprised how eager he was for Tanner to make his move. Deep down, in the depths of his soul, he wondered about that arrest all those years ago. Could he have taken Tanner face to face? He was about to find out.
"Then draw," Tanner said and moved for his gun, lunging sideways as his right hand came from the holster, cocking and firing the pistol at the same time.
Coogan felt the bullet pass his neck and he fired himself, falling backwards in the process so that his aim went wild and struck home in the dirt some twenty feet away from Tanner who was preparing to fire again.
Coogan instantly took aim and applied pressure to the trigger but he was slammed backwards as Tanner's next shot struck him in the shoulder. He yelled in pain and gritted his teeth against the white hot agony while he let off another shot. He missed again and Tanner now stood there, grinning and kicked the gun out of his hand.
"Said I could take you." Tanner said and raised both his guns, sighting one on Coogan's chest and the other directly between his eyes. "All these years I've waited for this moment."
"Go on then," Coogan said, "Finish it." A fresh wave of agony overtook him and he looked at the blood pumping from his shoulder. It was bad and would kill him if he didn't get it looked at soon."
"You're eager to die," Tanner laughed. "Think I'll leave you suffer for awhile. Maybe that'll go some way to paying you for every beating, each humiliation I took in that stinking prison."
"Lower your weapon and turn around." Clay's voice took them by surprise and both Coogan and Tanner spun to look at the boy who was standing there, Tessa's Winchester pointed directly at Tanner. "Put your guns down," he said with a voice that belied his lack of years.
"You'd better put that big old gun down yourself, boy," Tanner said. "You're likely to hurt yourself."
Clay kept the gun on Tanner but cast his eyes at his uncle. "Tessa told me what this was about," he said. "She didn't want to but when you didn't return last night I could see she was worried."
"I've been better," Coogan said. He glanced at Tanner, "Look it's all over. Just ride off and we'll forget all about this."
"Fraid not," Tanner said. "Now put that rifle down, boy."
Clay shook his head. Stood there, resolute.
"Looks like we got us a problem here," Tanner said. "I drill you and the boy drills me."
"That's how I see it," Coogan said and winced at the constant throbbing in his shoulder. "There's no other way other than you just saddling up and riding out."
"There is," Clay said, "I could take you." He said it as a fact rather than a boast and directed it at Tanner.
Tanner smiled. "You think so, boy?"
"Yeah." Clay kept his eyes pinned on the man and his finger poised over the trigger."
"You want a fair fight?" Tanner asked.
Clay nodded.
"You want to try and outdraw me?"
Clay again nodded. "You don't look so tough," he said. "Just another beaten up old man."
"No," Coogan said and tried to lift himself to his feet but his strength had drained from him. The movement almost made him pass out.
"I can do it," Clay insisted. "Just take it easy. The more excited you get the more you'll bleed."
"Then get his gun belt," Tanner said. "And toss that rifle aside."
Clay relaxed his grip on the rifle and then dropped it. He stood still for a moment. Tanner nodded and stepped aside. He went to Coogan and carefully removed his gun belt."
"Clay," Coogan said. "I forbid this. This man's a killer."
"I know," Clay said and carefully slid the gun belt from beneath his uncle. He examined his uncle's wound for a moment and then removed his bandana and applied it firmly to stem the bleeding. "Tessa told me. The Devil's Right Hand."
"Then let's dance," Tanner said.
Clay collected the fallen pistol, holstered it, and stood up in classic gunfighter stance— legs apart, hands hanging at his sides. He moved to face Tanner and they both stepped backwards several steps.
"No." Coogan pleaded but his words fell on deaf ears.
"How old are you boy?" Tanner asked.
"Sixteen," Clay said and watched for the slightest movement in the other man.
"Old enough to die," Tanner smiled.
"You going to shoot or you trying to talk me to death?" There was no fear in Clay's words as he faced the gunman.
Tanner looked for a moment at Coogan and then a smile of pure evil crossed his face. "When I kill this boy," he said. "I think I might let you live. Let you go on with the knowledge that you couldn't save him."
"When this is over," Clay countered. "It's you who'll be dead."
Coogan could see that Clay had angered Tanner and he almost screamed as he watched them both go for their guns simultaneously. There were two shots and he saw them both go down. "No!" he shouted as the smell of cordite filled the air and gun smoke obscured his view.
Stunned but very much alive, Clay got to his feet and went over to his uncle. Tanner's bullet had creased his shoulder, scorching his shirt, but other than a dull throb he was fine. He helped his uncle to his feet. "Come on," he said. "We'll get you inside and I'll ride into town and get the Doc. You'll be fine."
Coogan shook his head and allowed his nephew to support him as they made their way indoors. He said nothing at all but cast his head back over his shoulder and looked at the dead body of Dan Tanner. Clay's bullet had struck home directly between the aging gunfighter's eyes.
The Devil's Right Hand was no more and Clay had taken a step that would change him forever. That troubled Coogan but he didn't have time to think about it now. No, there would be time enough later.
-THE END-
