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  Buck Halliday was a sudden man with a gun. That’s why Judge Cowper, of Shimmer Creek, hired him. The judge wanted a man named Jason Henley killed. Henley, he said, had taken over the town, lock, stock and barrel, and now he expected every other businessman to pay him protection money.

  Halliday had killed men before, but he wasn’t a killer for hire. Still ... maybe he could convince Henley that it might be better for his health if he made dust and headed for someplace else.

  Trouble was, Henley had more lives than a cat. And to get to him, a feller first had to go through his pet gunman, the notorious Rafe Murchison.

  It appeared to Halliday that he was really going to earn his money on this job.

  HALLIDAY 1: HALLIDAY

  By Adam Brady

  First published by Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia

  © 2020 by Piccadilly Publishing

  First Digital Edition: January 2020

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  One – Shimmer Creek

  Buck Halliday came out of the bottom country and made for the heat-seared slopes in search of the scant comfort of a cooling breeze.

  He skirted a deep dry wash and let his sorrel pick its way across ground that was more sand and gravel than solid footing. Although the slope was a gradual incline of no more than a hundred feet, it took the trail-weary horse minutes to negotiate it. On the top, the sorrel stopped and pawed the ground as if in protest.

  Halliday did not have the heart to push the exhausted animal any further. Before him was an endless stretch of treeless plain, hellish with heat, dust and desolation. There was not a single sound. For several minutes, the rider simply sat hunched in his saddle.

  Then he sighed, reached for his canteen and stepped down to the ground. His clothes were plastered to his skin. He pulled out his shirttail and gave it a shake to free the fabric from his wet body.

  He uncorked his canteen and pulled his bandanna from his neck and moistened it. He stepped to the head of the horse and rubbed its nose, gums and eyes with the damp cloth, then allowed himself one sip from the canteen’s warm neck.

  The horse stood quietly, head down, eyes part-closed, near spent. Halliday forced himself to move around, working the cramp out of his back and legs.

  He was a big man, and he left deep prints in the powdery dust. After about a quarter of an hour, he climbed back into the saddle and pushed on, heading into the updraft of heat, the glare of the sun and the emptiness.

  It was halfway through the afternoon when he reached the end of the long plain and encountered another run of arid slopes. This time, he spared his horse and cut through a gully between two ragged hills.

  At the end of the gully, the land dropped away to reveal a sight that instantly took the tiredness away. A town sat sprawled in the heat like a sleeping animal.

  Shimmer Creek ... the name said it all.

  Surrounded by bleak and treeless hills, the town had one redeeming feature—the gleaming enticement of a river.

  Close to the end of his journey now, Halliday wet the bandanna again and this time squeezed water into the sorrel’s mouth, repeating the practice many times.

  The horse stood still in docile gratitude and nuzzled against him, as if it, too, realized that the end was close. Halliday himself refrained from drinking. He would save the last of the warm, stale water until he was absolutely certain of what lay ahead. That was an old habit, and until now it had served him well.

  He climbed back into the saddle and headed for the river. There he would wash and let his horse drink its fill and rest before going into town to meet Judge Cowper.

  He had Cowper’s invitation in his shirt pocket, a short note offering Halliday a thousand dollars for his services and stating in clear terms that the matter was of the utmost urgency.

  Halliday had never met the judge, but he had heard of him and of his activities in the county where Cowper’s name was a byword.

  Many years ago, as a young attorney fresh out of law school, Cowper had personally captured notorious outlaws Ben and Curt Hackett and taken them to jail. In the absence of a higher authority, he charged them with murder and sentenced them both to hang. Following that impressive effort, Cowper was quickly appointed to the bench.

  The heat was slowly going out of the day, and the salt of his sweat stung Halliday’s cracked lips. The hard part was over now, with Shimmer Creek no more than four miles away and the inviting bend of the river directly in front of him.

  He unsaddled his horse and stripped off his clothes with his right hand while he held the horse’s bridle with the left. Then he walked waist-deep into the stream, still holding the horse so that it would not drink too fast. He scooped up water in his hands and washed the horse’s back, checking for sores and finding none.

  When the horse finally was willing to return to the bank, Halliday left it there with reins trailing as it cropped the sweet grass.

  Now it was Halliday’s turn. He returned to the water and splashed around like a delighted kid. He could feel the strength flooding back into his body as the water did its cooling work. Then he walked to his crumpled clothing and returned to the water to scrub and rinse away the dust and sweat of the long ride.

  He spread the garments carefully on a flat rock in the sun and lay down beside them to rest his battered body. The sun felt good on his skin.

  He let his mind wander as he listened to the quiet around him while waiting for his clothes to dry.

  When he was dressed again, he ground hitched the sorrel in a good-sized patch of grass that grew along the riverbank.

  He felt better now, and he was content to wait until it was dark so that he could ride into the town without attracting unwanted attention.

  He took out his gun, checked the loads and balanced it thoughtfully on the palm of his hand. It was old and heavy, but it had stood the test of time and survived many a danger. Nothing could bring him to exchange the gun for a later model. It had been just Halliday and that old gun together on all the wild trails, ever since the day he killed Red Durante and was branded a gunfighter.

  Sundown came and brought a welcoming cool wind with it.

  Halliday shook out the saddle blanket and wiped the leather and the saddlebags carefully with a handful of grass. He saddled up and walked the horse along the riverbank until he came to a shallow spot with a sandy bottom. He mounted and crossed there, heading away from town at first so that he could make his entrance by way of a back street.

  It took him only a few minutes to find the judge’s place. As the judge’s letter had told him, the yard was shaded by tall elm trees and the picket fence was freshly painted.

  The house faced the east side of town. It was a plain and unpretentious building that would have been as square as a box except for the long porch.

  Several horses were tied outside the fence, so Halliday left his sorrel at the end of the line. Slapping the dust from his hat, he went through the gate and made his way to the porch. He could hear voices through the open windows, and from the sound of them and the number of horses at the rail, he guessed there were a dozen or so people inside the house.

  He pulled out his tobacco pouch and
rolled himself a smoke, leaning back against the wall to enjoy it.

  Scraps of conversation drifted out to him, but it was not until a woman’s voice rose angrily above the monotonous drone of men’s voices that he tuned in.

  “Uncle, you must be mad, hiring a man like that. You’ve spent your whole life trying to tame troublemakers. Everyone respects the way you’ve brought law and order to this country, and for the life of me, I just can’t understand how you could—”

  “We have to fight fire with fire, girl,” came a deep voice in calm reply. “Henley has the whole town cowed, and we have no way to stop him, not on our own. Now please be quiet, Beth. This is men’s business.”

  “Men’s business!” Beth scoffed. “Is that what I’m to tell all the women in this town, when their husbands are shot down and they have to hide their children in some place safe—if there is such a thing? Am I to—?”

  “There’s nothing more we can discuss right now, gentlemen,” came the judge’s calm voice again. “I think it will be best to close the meeting now and wait for Mr. Halliday’s arrival.”

  There was a shuffle of movement, and almost immediately, the door opened and a streak of light cut across the porch and revealed the horses standing in a sleepy line against the judge’s front fence.

  Halliday flicked his near-spent cigarette into the yard but remained leaning against the wall. Men filed out, muttering their farewells. Soon the yard was empty. The door was closing when Halliday pushed himself away from the wall and put his hand on the doorknob, holding the door open against the pressure of the person who was closing it from the lamp lit hallway.

  Then Halliday was looking down into the questioning brown eyes of a young woman whose beauty immediately made him draw in his breath.

  “Yes?”

  She let her eyes travel over his clean but wrinkled clothing, the width of his shoulders, and his lean waist before settling finally on the six-gun in the well-worn cutaway holster.

  Halliday saw the curiosity in her eyes and then the shocked awareness.

  “I’m Halliday,” he said unnecessarily.

  Her lips parted but she did not speak or move. She was holding onto the door as if her slender body might be enough to stop him from entering the house.

  “Halliday?” came a quick call from inside, and then someone was gently pushing the young woman aside and Halliday was staring straight into the eyes of an old man—tired eyes that still held a gleam of shrewdness and lively interest.

  “I’m Judge Cowper. We’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in, Mr. Halliday.”

  The girl moved aside and frowned as Halliday entered.

  He stepped into the hallway and allowed the judge to close the door behind him.

  Cowper moved past him, stopped and looked back at his niece.

  “Beth, would you be so kind as to fetch something for Mr. Halliday to drink?” A mildly amused smile appeared on his mouth. “He must be mighty parched after his long ride.”

  Beth lifted her chin and gave the judge a look of ladylike defiance. Halliday liked the way she stood with her back so straight and her gaze so direct and honest. Her hair reminded him of corn silk.

  “I have no intention of making Mr. Halliday welcome in this house, Uncle,” she said in a voice that did not know how to be shrill. “I ask that you excuse me.”

  Cowper frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Halliday interrupted him. Hat in hand now, he said quietly;

  “That’s all right, miss. I understand. I won’t be here long anyway, just long enough to get some facts from the judge.”

  Beth was surprised by Halliday’s quiet voice and mild manner, but the sight of that gun on his hip reminded her of what had been said not long before in the meeting around the judge’s dining room table, extended to full size by the addition of the extra leaves.

  The talk had run to Halliday’s reputation, of course, and someone had remarked that the number of men cut down by that very six-gun was closer to twenty than to ten.

  Halliday was a killer-for-hire, and his mere presence revolted her. She moved away without another word, hurrying down the hallway to a room at the other end.

  When the door closed behind her, Judge Cowper looked at Halliday and gave a helpless shrug as he pointed the way to the dining room.

  “Let’s get down to business, Judge,” Halliday said quietly as he pulled out a chair. “I got your letter, so what is it that needs to be done?”

  “I want you to kill a man,” Cowper said, watching for Halliday’s reaction.

  All he saw was a face devoid of feeling or expression.

  “What man and for what reason?”

  Cowper went across the room to the liquor cabinet and filled two glasses. He brought them to the table and then returned to the cabinet for the bottle, which he placed at Halliday’s elbow.

  He sat down across the table from his visitor and then immediately launched into his explanation.

  “I’m not a violent man, and have never encouraged violence in others. I have lived a life of—”

  “I know all about you, Judge,” Halliday interrupted. “I took the trouble to check you out before I decided to come. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I admire and respect what you’ve done for this country. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Cowper looked at him with something like gratitude, and took a sip from his glass.

  “Thank you, young man. I appreciate you saying that. The reason I called on you is that this town is being wrung dry by one of the most despicable men I have ever had the misfortune to meet. His name is Jason Henley.”

  Halliday tasted his drink and listened without interrupting.

  “Henley owns the Shimmer Creek Saloon. It is a very good business, and most men would be more than satisfied with it. But not Henley. He is power-hungry and money-hungry, a vicious man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants. In addition, he is now extorting money from the honest merchants of this town in return for protection.”

  “Against what?” Halliday asked.

  “Himself.”

  Halliday frowned, and Cowper gave him a pained smile.

  “It is really very simple. Henley approaches people and warns them that the town is becoming violent and they should engage him to protect them. He has a string of very nasty characters on his payroll ...”

  Halliday finished his drink and helped himself to another. It was good, smooth whiskey, and he was enjoying the way the warmth of it spread slowly through his body.

  Cowper leaned forward and spoke with greater urgency now.

  “If a person does not pay up, he soon finds out he should have. After a day or so, his place is wrecked and his family threatened. There are plenty of men with gumption in Shimmer Creek—it isn’t that we don’t want to get our hands dirty, Mr. Halliday. It’s just that there is no one here who knows how to fight and win against a man like Henley. Some of the men who tried to do that are dead now. Henley’s bunch brought others into line by scaring—and mistreating—their womenfolk. This town has lost some very good families, the kind of people a town needs. They just up and left when Shimmer Creek stopped being a peaceful place to raise a family. Everybody that stayed has had no choice but to fall into line.”

  “What about the law?” Halliday asked quietly.

  Cowper smiled sadly.

  “That is where the trouble really lies, Mr. Halliday. I’ve been trying to get somebody to come forward and speak up against Henley, to give me some proof so I can act in a court of law against him. But his men have done their work well—so well, in fact, that I cannot bring myself to criticize or blame anyone who doesn’t want to testify ...”

  “Yeah, Judge,” Halliday said, “that’s understandable, but I guess I was really askin’ about law enforcement more than about what goes on in a courthouse.”

  “The news is all bad,” Cowper said. “The sheriff, Rafe Murchison, is on Henley’s payroll, too. In fact, I have information that he is Henley’s collector.
So now you have some idea of what we are up against. Henley is squeezing this town dry. People are sickened by it but helpless to do anything about it. And our lawman is up to his neck in the whole filthy business.”

  Cowper wiped a line of sweat from his brow, and contrary to usual habit, he poured himself another drink.

  “Beth wouldn’t approve of this,” he said wryly as he set the bottle down. “She fusses over me like a mother hen ...”

  Halliday settled back in his chair and slowly rolled and lit a cigarette.

  “So I’m bein’ paid a thousand dollars to take care of Murchison first, and then Henley,” he finally said, rising now and working the tiredness out of his limbs.

  “No,” Cowper said urgently. “Not that far. We don’t want a war on our hands. I’ve been told that you are a match for any man with a gun, Mr. Halliday. Rafe Murchison is pretty good with a gun, too. He has proved that point in this town more than once. Henley relies on Murchison—his other hands are just ordinary saloon scum, out for easy money. I’ve given this a great deal of thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there is only one way to solve our problem.”

  A shadow seemed to pass over the old man’s face. He looked tired and sad.

  “I take Murchison,” said Halliday.

  Cowper nodded.

  “I’ve never condoned a thing like this in my life, but what else can we do? With Murchison out of the way, God willing, Henley will give up on what he’s doing. Maybe he will sell up and move on, or maybe he will take stock of the situation and decide that the profit he can get from the saloon is enough. Most of the town is behind me in this, and just about everybody has helped raise the money to bring you here. Some people don’t agree with me, of course—one of them is my niece, as you’ve just discovered.” He gave a faint smile and added, “After all my years on the bench, I have plenty of experience in making decisions that are not always popular. I’ve thought long and hard on this, and I truly believe this is the best way to get Shimmer Creek back on its feet. Do we understand each other, Mr. Halliday?”