Montgomery found himself with only six men, after three cowardly souls snuck out of his camp in the middle of the night. They knew who they would be facing, and wanted no part of it. This forced Richard to go where he sat now, across the kitchen table from Frank Lugar at the Big L Ranch.
"What can I do for you, Montgomery?" asked Frank.
"Please, call me Richard, We're amongst friends here," he said, his gaze moving about the room.
"All right then, Richard, call me Frank. But let's cut the bullshit. We've never been friends. We've decided that these lands were big enough for the both of us, so why don't you just tell me what you want."
"Okay, Frank, if that's how you want it, I'll cut to the chase. You and I have a mutual problem. His name is Hunter James Dolin."
Frank's expression did not change. His poker face was working particularly well this morning. Frank signaled to the Chinaman, who set a glass in front of Montgomery and filled it with whiskey.
Richard picked up the glass, but did not drink until the chink filled Frank's glass and Frank drank first. Chinn Yang filled both their glasses once again, set the bottle on the table, and left the room.
"I've got to git me one of those." said Montgomery, pointing toward the door Chinn Yang had gone through.
"Best money I ever spent," replied Frank.
"Now, back to the matter at hand. Yeah, I heard Dolin killed three of your men yesterday, and he might be fornicating with your daughter, or whoever she is. How does any of that make it my problem?"
The look on Richard's face made every man in the room tense up, their hands sliding instinctively to the butts of their guns.
"Easy, boys," said Richard. "I'm gonna' let that remark go, because I know this half-breed savage son-of-a-bastard is a problem for you too. Everybody knows you killed his father, shot in the back, as I recall, and that won't be forgotten."
Now it was Frank's turn to project the evil eye. "There's no proof of that."
"You know as well as I do, you don't need proof in these parts," explained Richard. "Rumors will do. Now, are we gonna' work together or not?"
"All right then," agreed Frank. "But we need some leverage. This one's clever."
Frank told Richard he believed Hunter ambushed four of his men back on a trail they knew well. He also told of a rumor he heard recently of two six-foot rattlesnakes that were thrown into Matt's saloon, just before three fleeing men were gunned down in the street.
Richard Montgomery wasn't scared easily, but even he was concerned. Frank's right, thought Richard. We need some leverage. And he knew just what that leverage should be.
Chapter Eight
After a breakfast of cold rattlesnake and jerky with Lilith and the boy, Hunter decided he had to get them out of town. They were too close to the action. It would be risky, but it was the only way. If he was worrying about protecting them, it could cloud his judgment and put him at a definite disadvantage in a gunfight where they were already greatly outnumbered.
After some arguing and bickering, and pleas for all of them to leave this place together, Lilith finally agreed to take the boy to Hunter's cabin. By now, Hunter figured Montgomery and his men knew they were holed up in town. The plan was for Lilith and Zeke to go in a back way to the cabin, which the boy knew. They would stash the horses in the thicket at the river, and cross on foot at a shallow area. After wiping away their tracks with palm fronds, they would stay in the barn, under the hay if necessary. Lilith had her rifle, and Matt gave the boy an old, but working, revolver.
"Do you know how to use this, son?" asked Hunter.
"Yes sir, Matt learned me when I was eight. I shot a squirrel right in the head! I'll shoot anyone I got to!" Zeke exclaimed proudly, all bowed up like a game rooster.
Hunter smiled and patted the boy on the back. "You're a brave little man, Zeke. And when this is all over, we'll spend some time together and I'll teach you lots of things, okay?"
"Yes sir, that would be better than a stick whoopin'!"
Hunter rubbed the boy's head, messing up his hair, and then turned his attention to Lilith. Reaching out, he brought her into his arms, kissing her passionately. Hunter shortened the kiss, feeling Zeke's eyes upon them.
"Be careful," Hunter pleaded. "And do like we planned. There's enough food and water on the packhorse for at least five days. If you don't hear from me in two, head north to Fort Meade. You might get some help there."
Lilith began to tear up as she mounted her stallion. Hunter made a cup with his hands; Zeke put his left foot in them and was slung up onto the back of the saddle.
"I'll be there to fetch ya' tomorrow or the next day, I promise." Hunter said with a wink. Then he smacked the horse on the hindquarters, sending it into a gallop. With the packhorse in tow, he watched them as they rode off out of town.
* * * * *
Shortly past sunup, and if the information that Matt got from the now dead rattlesnake boys was true, Montgomery and his men were due anytime. With Lilith and the boy headed for safety, and the town deserted, Hunter and Matt still needed to prepare for their guests to arrive. They were in the saloon quietly having their beer and stogies, when Matt broke the silence.
"If your plan is for killin', Hunter James, I got somethin' to show ya' that might be of some help." He waved his hand, motioning for Hunter to follow him. "Foller me."
Matt took the gunslinger upstairs to his room, where he opened the door and stepped aside for Hunter to enter. Looking around, he saw a single-framed bed next to a small table with an empty washbasin on top. The only thing that wasn't ordinary was in the corner of the room. It appeared to be a two-foot long by two-foot high by two-foot wide iron box. Hunter walked over, and knelt down in front of it. He looked back to Matt who was still standing in the doorway.
Matt nodded. "Open it up. Go easy, though. It's old and might be a tad unstable."
Hunter opened the lid, and easily dug through the hay with his hand.
"The hay keeps it dry, don't want it sweatin'," explained Matt.
"Dynamite!" Hunter said with a grin. "Old man, you're full a' surprises. This could definitely give us an edge."
"I got one plunger, and so many feet of powder cord for a big boom. The other sticks will have to be lit by their fuse, or gunfire."
"This is good, Matt," said Hunter. "Let's get busy."
There was a handle on each side of the box, Hunter grabbed one end, and Matt grabbed the other. They began carefully walking the paper-wrapped sticks of blasting powder down the stairs.
"Where we headed?" Matt grunted, feeling a tightness to his lower back.
"To the Jackson Hotel, if your old bones can make it across the street."
"Do we have a plan now, you reckon?" Matt asked, deciding to ignore Hunter's sarcastic banter.
"You can call it that, if it makes you feel better. I figure, with them out-numberin' us they might get careless, and if I can get them to come after me, we can even up the odds just a bit."
Hunter rigged up Montgomery's hotel with the dynamite, in case they got into trouble and had to retreat. Matt would be staked out up in the loft behind bales of hay that were now stacked across the upper doors. With this higher view, he could see down the street, limiting the surprise in the gunman's attack. By planting a rifle at each end of the open doors, Matt could slide back and forth, reload, and move back again, covering more area at different angles. Hunter would be camped out just inside the saloon, firing from the side at ground level. Both men had as much extra ammo as they could carry, which they borrowed from the deserted gun shop. Hunter had his Colts and his shotgun. Matt had his Henry rifle, and Hunter's rifle. Plus, for the first time in ages – barely fitting around his waist – hung Matt's six shooters.
Hunter also set up what he liked to call a 'bang' swing. This was sticks of powder tied to the low hanging branch of a tree, which he set up to swing out and over across from the saloon and in front of the barn reaching the center of the road. With this done, all there was to do now
was wait, eat jerky, and sip some whiskey.
* * * * *
Little did they know, thirty minutes south someone picked up Lilith and the boy's trail and was following them.
He'd been sent out that morning to scout out the situation in town, and to locate Lilith and the half-breed. The extremely large, part Cajun, part Injun, swamp-raised cracker named Gator was an excellent tracker, and knew these areas better than anyone. Gator worked his way up the river, heading south toward town. He figured this route would be the most likely if they tried to sneak out of Myakka and attempt an escape to the north. He found not a sign, other than some deer tracks, so he doubled back and crossed the stream to the other side of the bank.
Gator knew the half-breed wouldn't run; he would stay and fight. It was bred into him. That's why he was surprised to find the horse tracks. Someone took the back way to the gunslinger's cabin, two sets of horse tracks. It now made some sense to Gator, to hide her here. The white bosses wouldn't expect it. They would figure he would keep her close to him in town, where he could protect her.
Gator dismounted and got down on one knee for a closer inspection. There was an attempt to cover the tracks, and he immediately knew this was not the work of the gunslinger. He followed their trail, which led him away from the creek toward the woods. Walking his horse with him, he found a small clearing. There, tied to a tree, was a black stallion and a loaded packhorse. The Cajun left his Chickasaw pony and made his way back to the water. He crossed at the same shallow area of the creek, where the covered tracks ended.
Rifle in hand, and stalking with cat-like movements, he made his way across the field to the back of the cabin. Working his way around to the front, he poised to kick in the door when he heard a slight sound coming from the barn. The Gator Man's head snapped around. He stood there motionless, listening intently. There it was again. He left the front of the cabin and went toward the barn.
He worked his way to a small window, peering in. There, lying on the hay was the woman and a young boy he recognized from the stables, sound asleep. With the striking speed of a snake, Gator kicked open the barn door. Three strides of his long legs had him standing in front of the boy and the woman.
The crash of the door sent Lilith and Zeke jerking up into a sitting position. For a split second, they saw a towering shadow of a man, before their lights went out with a one, two rifle butt to the face.
They were both bruised and bloody, knocked out cold. Lilith's right upper cheek was swelling up, and the boy's forehead was knotting. This meant nothing to the Gator Man. He tied their hands together and then their feet with twine he found in the barn. With one arm around each body, he slung them up and over his shoulders, grabbing his rifle, and moving on out the door. For most men, the long walk through the field and the crossing of the creek with this weight would be nearly an impossible feat, but not for this man. Years ago, his living consisted of dragging much heavier gators this same way, at further distances through treacherous swamps.
He made his way to the horses, draping the lifeless bodies over the black stallion, tying them off for travel. He left the packhorse behind to fend for itself.
Gator talked aloud to no one in particular, as he mounted his horse and headed back the way he'd come. "This job ain't very challengin', but it sure pays better than sellin' gator meat and rattlesnake hides. Yep, the white bosses will be pleased when they see what I done brought um."
* * * * *
Hunter and Matt sat at their posts all afternoon, looking for the trouble that did not come. Hunter was stationed in the saloon, and the old man was up in the loft of the barn. It was dark now and Hunter catnapped on and off, always aware of his surroundings. Matt, on the other hand, could be heard snoring from time to time all the way down the deserted street.
Well, Hunter thought, this is one hell of an army I got here.
Did they stand a chance, he wondered? Probably not, but hell, they didn't have nothing better to do. This wasn't true either. He could take Lilith and the boy and leave this place to start anew, but the nature of his pride seemed to be more important. The only thing Hunter could figure was Montgomery was waiting them out, trying to catch them with little or no rest; evidently, they didn't know Matt's sleeping habits very well.
Would they attack at night? Hunter didn't think so. Their best advantage would be to come early morning, at first light. Being convinced of this, Hunter poured a bucket of beer, and grabbed a glass jar of jerky from behind the bar before exiting out the back. He walked around the saloon, down the alleyway and across the street to the front door of the barn. At the foot of the stairs, he started to yell up to his old friend, to let him know who it was, when he heard snoring. He quietly went up, planning to give Matt a start.
But when he got to the top and poked his head around the corner rail, there was Matt, sitting in a chair pointing his pistol right at Hunter – still making the snoring sound, with his eyes open.
"Maybe if you were all Injun instead of half, I wouldn't a' heard ya' comin' up them stairs."
"I'm impressed, old man, but you're always breaking my balls."
"That's just my way," Matt replied proudly. "So what do you think, son? Why ain't them boys showed yet?"
"I don't rightly know. With their numbers, I didn't reckin' they would be cautious. I thought they would ride in here like wolves after a deer."
Hunter set down the jerky and handed the bucket of beer over to Matt, after taking a sip of his own. "Here you go, old timer. I brought you some foamy pick-me-up."
"Well, thank ya'. Maybe you're not the savage everyone says you are." Matt commented as he buried his face into the bucket, tipping it back, taking a long draw of the brew.
Not in the mood for a back and forth, Hunter walked over behind the bales of hay and stood at the open loft doors. He stared down the dark road and lit a smoke.
"I just can't figure where Montgomery and his men are holed up at. Hell, maybe they were delayed gittin' back. With any luck they were scalped by Indians and are layin' dead in the swamp somewheres."
Matt let out a loud belch as he left his chair and walked over to Hunter's side, gazing out into the night.
"Now, you know, Mr. James Dolin, men like us don't have that kind of luck."
"Shush, you hear that?" Hunter said, holding up his hand to stop Matt from talking.
"I don't hear nothin', said Matt. "No wait..." He could hear it then, a horse and wagon coming up the road toward them, fast. Hunter and Matt simultaneously cocked their rifles and aimed them in the direction of the charging wagon. The rig rolled up and stopped in front of the barn. The driver was unaware of the two rifles up above aimed at his head.
"Doc!" Matt hollered. What the hell're you doin' down there?"
"Matt, Hunter, thank God I found you! I got news. Montgomery and his men have partnered up with Frank Luger out at his ranch."
"Where'd you hear this?" asked Hunter.
"Earlier today..." The doc was trying to catch his breath. "A couple of Frank's men came to see me for some doctorin', one of them had cut his hand on some fence wire. They were goin' on about how they should have no trouble takin' you two out, now that Frank and Montgomery had teamed up and all."
"They talked of this right in front of ya'? Were they foolin'?" Matt asked the doctor.
"It weren't no set up, if that's what you mean. These boys weren't too smart. They didn't think I'd do anythin' to warn ya'."
"All right, Doc," said Hunter, "you git back home and hunker down. Come mornin' you're gonna' git some business, and hopefully it ain't us."
"Good luck," said Doc, as he slapped the reins and steered the wagon back the way he'd come, leaving the two men, and the empty town behind.
* * * * *
Morning seemed to creep up quickly on Hunter and Matt, but they were rested, fed, and prepared – as well as they could be for what was coming. Hunter didn't know if their foes would all come at once, or if they would attack in waves. He was hoping for the latter.
The blasting powder sticks might even up the odds somewhat, but for the most part it was going to be bullet for bullet, may the best shooters win. That's when Hunter decided to stay upstairs in the loft with Matt, where he could get a better lowdown on the incoming gun men.
What was it Matt had said? Hunter thought. Hang together, or we'll surely hang alone.
The sun was peeking over the buildings when the first wave hit. Two wagons came thundering up the road, one in front of the other, a single horse per wagon with one rider on each. The riders rode on the horses, leaving the wagon seats empty.
Hunter and Matt had their rifles aimed at the drivers, waiting to see what they would do next. The men and their wagons turned, stopping nose to tail in line with the barn, a hundred feet away. They either knew or had guessed that Hunter and Matt were in the loft.
The riders cut the leather traces connected to the horses and rode on, leaving the wagons behind. They turned their animals back the way they had come for their escape. They didn't make it. Both cowboys jerked and then fell off their horses after one bullet from Hunter's rifle and another from Matt's.
As the crackers fell dead to the ground, ten more men rode in. Jumping down from their saddles, they tipped the wagons on their sides to form a wall.
Before they completed this task, Hunter killed two and Matt slightly wounded another.
Gaining their positions behind the wagons, a mixture of Luger men and Montgomery men opened fire on the barn. Splinters of shattering wood flew in all directions. The bales of hay vibrated violently from the constant flow of bullets hitting them.
The Half-Breed Gunslinger Page 7