Texas Iron (3 page)

After Evan had read the telegram several times he turned those blue eyes on Sam and said, “It doesn’t say how it happened.”

“I know.”

“Have you sent a telegram to find out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because, brother,” Sam said, taking the telegram back, “you and I and Jubal are going to Vengeance Creek to find out for
ourselves.”

“Jubal?” There was no argument from Evan. He had already decided that he was going to go find out what happened. It pleased
him that he wouldn’t be going alone.

“Do you know where he is?”

“All we got to do is find trouble,” Sam said, “and we’ll find brother Jubal.”

Chapter Four

All his life Jubal McCall had known that he was different from his brothers.

Sam and Evan, they had things they were good at. With a gun Sam McCall was the best Jubal had ever seen, and he was proud
of his big brother for that.

Evan, he could do things with cards that nobody else could. Whenever Jubal thought of his two brothers he thought of them
with pride.

When he thought about himself, it was with great disappointment, because he knew that Jubal McCall was good at only one thing—getting
himself into trouble.

Ever since he’d left home five years ago Jubal had drifted from place to place, taking jobs where he could find them, doing
whatever he had to do to survive, but always there was a black cloud following him around, ready to rain on whatever good
thing he managed to find.

This time, the black cloud had really done a job on him.

He stood up, climbed up on the metal bunk that was bolted to the stone wall, and looked out through the barred window. He
could see the scaffold from there, the one the people of Prosper, Wyoming, were building for him.

The one from which they intended to hang him without even benefit of a trial. He was surprised that they were even going to
the bother to build a scaffold. Having been sentenced without benefit of a trial, he’d assumed that they would take him to
the highest tree they could findand stretch his neck from there, but apparently they wanted to do the job “right and proper,”
as he’d heard someone say.

The men who were working on the scaffold had stopped to eat lunch, and now the hammering started up again. He turned away,
stepped down, and sat on the bunk, his chin in his hands.

He knew that both of his brothers had been in similar situations at some time in their lives, and they had both managed to
survive. A man couldn’t live without being blamed at one time or another for something he didn’t do.

Jubal McCall had not killed Ed Flanagan. He had slept with Flanagan’s wife, however, and that made him the prime suspect for
Ed’s murder. When Flanagan’s body was found with its skull bashed in, the sheriff and his men had gone directly to Jubal’s
hotel room to get him. It was unfortunate for Jubal that Erin Flanagan had been in his bed at the time. When the sheriff kicked
in the door, Erin sat up without the benefit of a sheet, her proud, peach-sized breasts there for all to see. Jubal had used
that moment to try and make the window, but his legs had gotten tangled in the bedclothes and he had fallen painfully to the
floor. Moments later he was standing between two deputies, who held his arms tightly behind him while the sheriff helped Erin
on with her clothes.

Of course, the fact that he was with Erin when her husband was killed should have been a perfect alibi, except for one thing—Erin
Flanagan
told
the sheriff that Jubal had killed her husband.

It was only then that Jubal realized that Erin’ten years his senior, but absolutely beautiful beyond words—had used her red
hair, firm breasts, and warm mouth to set him up but good.

So here he sat, waiting for the scaffold to be finished, waiting for them to come and get him and string him up for a murder
he didn’t commit.

Still, he
had
been stupid enough to get himself into this predicament.

Sam and Evan McCall had been released from jail the very next day. Dick Stark had gotten enough men together to back their
story that the police had to let them out without charging them.

They were, however, asked to leave San Francisco as soon as possible.

Fortunately, that was not a problem.

While still in jail Evan had told Sam that he’d received a letter from Jubal just a couple of months ago, while he himself
was in Sacramento. Apparently Jubal and Evan had stayed in touch much more than Sam had with either of them.

The next morning, as they bought two horses and provisions and set out for Wyoming, Sam had said, “Tell me again what the
letter said.”

“Jubal said that he was going to Wyoming to try and stay out of trouble.”

“Well then,” Sam said, “All we have to do is find the hottest spot in Wyoming, and our little brother will be there.”

Of course, the hottest spot in Wyoming was definitely the town of Prosper, in the controlled Folk County. The word had gone
out for miles around that a hanging was going to take place. In fact, there was so much interest that Jubal was told they
were postponing the necktie party for a couple of days to accommodate certain people—highly placed people in the running of
Folk County. The hanging certainly couldn’t go on without them there.

And so Jubal’s waiting was prolonged. Later, he’d realize what good the postponement of the hanging had done him.

The day was here, though, and Jubal was just hours from the rope. He tried to pass the night by thinking of the most pleasant
thing he could. Unfortunately, the most pleasant thing he could think of was being in bed with Erin Flanagan, buried in her
loving, but that just brought him full circle to being hanged again.

He wondered who was nestled between Erin’s sweet thighs while he was waiting out his last night on earth.

The McCall brothers had been in Folk County only a day when they heard about the hanging, in a saloon. Apparently, some young
fool had been caught in bed with the wife of Dan Flanagan, son of Darby Flanagan, who, with Seth Folk, ran Folk county. As
confusing as it sounded to them, the important element was “young fool.”

They looked at each other and said, “Jubal.”

They asked a few pertinent questions, then left the saloon and rode to Prosper.

“Let’s go, McCall,” the deputy said, opening the cell door. “We kept you waitin’ long enough.”

“Don’t rush on my account.” Jubal spoke without rising from his bunk.

“Come on.” The deputy entered the cell and kicked the underside of the bunk. “There are a lot of people waiting out there
for you.”

“Yeah,” Jubal said, “we can’t keep them waitin’, can we?”

“No, we can’t. Get up.”

Jubal swung his feet to the floor and the deputy backed up, his hand on his gun.

“What are you, nervous?” he asked.

“You’re Sam McCall’s brother, ain’t you?”

“So?”

The deputy wet his lips.

“So, that’d make anybody nervous.”

Jubal laughed.

“You think big brother’s gonna come ridin’ in here to save me?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“It come to anyone else’s mind?”

Now it was the deputy’s turn to laugh.

“Not hardly. Folk County is so secure Folk and Flanagan aren’t even worried about Sam McCall.”

“So don’t you worry, either,” Jubal said. “I ain’t seen my big brother in years, and I don’t expect to.”

“Let’s go,” the deputy said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll keep my hand on my gun anyway.”

Jubal stood up and said, “As if that would help you against Sam McCall.”

The deputy took Jubal out to the office, where the sheriff was waiting. Sheriff Ernie Watt had been hired personally by Seth
Folk and Darby Flanagan, and was firmly in the Folk/Flanagan pocket. When Flanagan and Folk said to hang somebody, he hanged
them. That was what he was paid to do.

“You ready, McCall?” Watt asked.

“Who’s ready to be hanged?”

“Well, ready or not…” Watt said, and tied his hands behind him. “Let’s go.”

Both the sheriff and the deputy walked behind him as they pushed him out the door. In the center of the square stood the scaffold.
Only that morning, at first light, he had heard them testing the trapdoor with sandbags. The first sound of the door opening
had jerked him awake. After that the sounds merely made him wince. Even when the sounds stopped, he was still able to hear
them in his head.

He wondered now if he’d be able to hear the sound of the door opening beneath his feet.

Sam and Evan McCall stood together on the fringe of the crowd. They had arrived early that morning, the morning of the hanging.

“As usual,” Evan had said to Sam, “your timing is impeccable.”

“Whatever that means,” Sam said.

Now they searched the crowd, trying to match the descriptions they had obtained for Darby Flanagan and Seth Folk.

“We’re makin’ a mistake,” Sam said, suddenly.

“How?”

“If you owned the county, would you stand out here among the…the rabble to watch a hangin’?”

“You’re right.”

From that point on they elevated their sights, and then they saw them. On a balcony, above a sign that said “Flanagan House
Hotel,” they saw a fat, bearded man who matched the description of Darby Flanagan. Standing next to him was a tall, beautiful,
redheaded woman.

“At least little brother has good taste in ladies,” Evan said.

There was another man with them, a tall, white-haired man wearing a derby hat and a black suit. He matched the description
of Seth Folk.

“Here’s what we have to do…” Sam said, and Evan listened, because this was Sam’s kind of situation.

Jubal frowned at the intense sunlight. From his cell he’d only been able to get patches of light on the floor. Now the sun
beat down mercilessly on his head and shoulders. Sweat rolled down his face and dripped off his chin. It might have been the
perspiration of fear, but no one would ever know that. He was grateful for the heat.

When they reached the stairway to the scaffold he stopped.

“Keep goin’,” Watt said, giving him a push. Jubal stumbled, then started up the steps.

At the top Watt swung him around to face the hotel, and for the first time since his arrest Jubal saw Erin Flanagan. Jesus,
she was beautiful. Even in the fix he was in he couldn’t help but react to her beauty.

They stood that way for what seemed like a long time, and then Jubal saw her father, Darby, nod his head. That seemed to be
the signal.

The sheriff brought the noose over and placed it around Jubal’s neck. Jubal was still looking at Erin, but suddenly his attention
was attracted by something behind her, and he couldn’t believe his eyes.

In a hail of glass, small shards that reflected the sun like dozens of tiny fire flies, Sam McCall burst through the window
behind her.…

Sam McCall had made his way easily up the stairs to the room with the balcony. The security had been lax because Flanagan
and Folk never expected anyone to try and stop the hanging.

He entered the room and saw the backs of the people on the balcony. As he approached the window, beyond them, he could see
Jubal on the scaffold. The sheriff was putting the noose around his neck.

Sam ran the rest of the way and hurled himself through the window. His momentum carried him into Seth Folk, knocking the man
over the railing. McCall slipped his left arm around the throat of the fat man, Darby Flanagan, and pressed the barrel of
the gun to the man’s head. He was taller than Flanagan and had no problem holding the man fast.

“That’s enough!” he shouted.

Everyone froze, including the sheriff on the scaffold.

“Tell the sheriff to let him go.”

“Who are you?” Flanagan demanded. “You’ll never get away with this.”

“The name’s Sam McCall, Flanagan, and that’s my brother down there.”

“McCall—” Flanagan started, but Sam tightened his arm on the man’s windpipe, causing him to choke, and then eased the pressure.
As fat men will, Flanagan was sweating profusely, and Sam could smell the sour scent of him.

“Tell the sheriff to let him go.”

“No,” Flanagan said.

“Your friend is lyin’ on the ground, Flanagan. You want to be next?”

He felt the big man shake, and then heard the rumble of laughter that rose up out of him.

“It was time to dissolve the partnership, anyway. I think I’ll change the name to Flanagan County.”

“You’re as good as dead, Flanagan.”

“And then you will be, too, McCall,” Flanagan said. “It sounds like a mexican standoff, to me.”

On the scaffold, and on the street, everyone was watching the tableau, waiting for it to be resolved.

Sam McCall did some fast thinking. It didn’t look as if Darby Flanagan was not afraid for his life. Sam was going to have
to try another tack. He turned his head to his left and saw Erin Flanagan watching him. Up close her beauty was stunning,
and she was presently rather excited by the turn of events, her nostrils flaring, her white teeth biting her lush lower lip.

Abruptly, Sam pushed the fat man away from him, took a step to his left, and pressed the barrel of his gun against Erin Flanagan’s
head. As an afterthought, he slid his left arm around her chest, feeling the firmness of her breasts.

She was sweating, but her scent was hardly as offensive as her father’s.

“Now tell him to let Jubal go.”

Flanagan studied Sam for a few moments, obviously trying to figure out how willing the man was to shoot a woman if he didn’t
get his way.

“I think you’re bluffing,” the fat man finally said.

“That’s my little brother down there, Flanagan,” McCall said. “My family against your family. Where do you think my concerns
lie?”

Flanagan chewed on the end of his mustache while he tried to make up his mind.

“Come on, Flanagan,” Sam said, “it’s gettin’ hotter and hotter out here.” To bring his point across, Sam cocked the hammer
on his gun. He felt Erin flinch.

“Father…” she said in a tiny voice, and that seemed to make Flanagan’s mind up for him.

“All right,” the fat man said to Sam McCall, “all right, don’t hurt her.”

“Tell ’em!” Sam said.

“Sheriff!” Flanagan shouted. “Let him go.”

There was a moan of disappointment from the crowd, but they fell silent when Sam pointed his gun into the air and fired it.
Erin Flanagan closed her eyes and screamed, and Darby Flanagan started, jumping almost a foot and shaking the balcony.

“You heard the man,” Sam shouted into the silence, “let him go.”

Sheriff Watt hurriedly untied Jubal McCall’s hands, and Jubal removed the noose from his neck himself.

At the sound of horses the onlookers turned and looked down the street. Evan McCall was riding toward them, trailing two horses
behind him, and it was clear he wasn’t about to stop for anyone. Men and women scattered, lest they be trampled, and Evan
rode right up to thescaffold with the horses. Sam’s shot had served not only to silence everyone, but to signal Evan to come
with the horses.