“I think it’s safe to say we won’t be getting any help from him,” Emory commented with a disgusted expression on his face.
“You can’t blame Mr. Barr for being scared,” Miguel said. “He’s just a storekeeper. He works hard, but he’s not a fighter.”
“Neither am I, but I’m here.” Emory hefted the old rifle he carried. “Although my sister may think I’m mad.”
Ace said, “Comes a time in most folks’ lives when they have to stand up and fight, whether they want to or not. The world doesn’t really give ’em a choice.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, Ace,” Emory said.
“We’ve just run into more than our share of trouble,” Chance explained. “He’s not really that smart.”
Ace let that go. If ribbing him made Chance forget for a moment that Fontana was in danger, that was a good thing.
“I’m the marshal of this town,” Miguel said. “I ought to be the one to deal with this problem.”
“Not by yourself,” Emory said. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. There are more than a dozen killers in there. They outnumber us, what, four to one?”
“Colonel Howden will help,” Ace said. “He’s not going to let anything happen to Mr. Sawyer if he can prevent it.”
“You really think so?” Chance asked. “Those two old-timers are still fighting the Civil War!”
“Yeah, but I think they’re friends, even though they’d never admit it. And if anything happened to Crackerjack, who would the colonel feud with?”
Chance shrugged. “You’ve got a point there.” His face tightened. “But we’ve got to stop standing around and talking about it. I know you got McLaren to put off killing anybody else right now, but there’s no telling how long that’ll last. It could turn into a bloodbath in there without any warning.”
“You’re right,” Miguel said. “Mr. Emory, you and Chance see how many volunteers you can round up. We’ll figure out a plan of attack once we know how many men we’ll have to work with.”
Ace said, “It would be better if you went along with Mr. Emory, Marshal. Like you said, you’re the law here in Lone Pine now. Folks will be more likely to listen to you. Chance and I can hold down the fort here, and if any more trouble starts in the saloon—”
“We’ll be going in there, one way or another,” Chance promised. His face was set in grim lines.
Miguel considered the suggestion for a moment, then nodded. “All right. We’ll be back. But if we hear any shots from this part of town, we won’t waste any time getting here.”
He and Emory left the alcove and hurried along the boardwalk, away from the saloon. Ace eased out where he could get a better look up and down the street. He didn’t see anyone moving. In fact, Lone Pine would have looked deserted if not for a few lights burning in windows here and there. The hanging that morning had put everyone in a somber mood, and then the torrential storm had given the citizens even more reason to stay inside and hunker down.
Some of them might have even figured out that a gang of bloodthirsty killers was in town and were lying low because of that. Ace was confident the word would spread quickly once Miguel and Emory started recruiting volunteers to fight McLaren’s gang. Then people really would hunker down and pray to come through the oncoming night alive.
“At least nobody’s suggested we ought to give ourselves up to McLaren,” Chance said.
“Surrendering doesn’t come easy to hombres like us,” Ace said.
“That’s right. We’re Jensens, even if we’re not those Jensens. We’ve got that same stubbornness, though.” Chance shook his head. “And I don’t believe for a second surrendering would do any good. It wouldn’t save Fontana or any of the other folks in there. McLaren’s a rabid dog. Once he starts killing in earnest, he won’t stop until there’s nobody left to kill.”
Ace couldn’t disagree with that, but he thought one other thing would stop the killing.
Like a rabid dog, Otis McLaren had to be put down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Thankfully, Crackerjack Sawyer hadn’t moved, and as Gyp leered at Fontana, she patted the old-timer’s shoulder gently and pulled her hand away. She hoped it looked like she’d been making an affectionate gesture, rather than trying to warn Crackerjack not to let on that he was awake.
She returned Gyp’s stare levelly. During her years of working in saloons as a singer, she had dealt with many lecherous admirers. She was an expert at turning them away with an icy look. That might not work with Gyp, she knew, but she wasn’t going to let him know how scared she was.
After a moment he turned away and started talking to McLaren again. Relief went through Fontana, not only for herself but for Crackerjack, as well. It looked like she had postponed the gruesome fate McLaren had planned for him.
Crackerjack’s luck—all their luck—might run out at any time, though.
Awhile later, Orrie finally stirred. Like Crackerjack, who was still feigning unconsciousness, the first sign of awareness in the piano player was the fluttering of his eyelids. Then he shifted his head a little in Fontana’s lap and groaned. Fontana didn’t try to stop him, since McLaren didn’t bear any particular grudge against him.
When he opened his eyes and looked up at her, he whispered, “Wha . . . what happened . . . ?”
“Just lie there and rest,” she told him quietly. “You got knocked out. But you’re going to be all right.” She hoped that was true. Although she had no way of knowing how much damage the blow to the head had done, at least he seemed fairly coherent.
He said, “McLaren . . . ?”
“He and his men are still here.”
Orrie turned his head a little more, and as he stiffened, Fontana knew he must have spotted Hank Muller’s body hanging from the balcony. Orrie started to get up, but Fontana put her hands on his shoulders and held him down.
“There’s nothing you can do for Hank now,” she said as she leaned over closer to Orrie.
“That bastard’s . . . gonna kill all of us.”
“He may try, but this isn’t over yet, Orrie. There are folks out there in town who are going to help us.”
“W-who?”
“Miguel Soriano. Ace and Chance Jensen. And there are bound to be others willing to fight.”
Orrie sighed and closed his eyes. For a second, Fontana thought he had passed out again, but then he murmured, “When the time comes, put a gun in my hand. I’ll fight. I can do more than play the piano, you know.”
So could she, Fontana thought. And if she got a chance, she would have no trouble pulling the trigger.
* * *
Shapes came out of the gloom and turned into Miguel, Lee Emory, and about a dozen other men. Ace recognized Colonel Charles Howden and a few of the other men who had been on Pete McLaren’s jury.
“These are all the volunteers we could find,” Miguel reported.
Howden added, “Our numbers are few, but our hearts are those of lions.”
Emory said, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could convince McLaren to trade the hostages for one or two of us. I know I’d be willing to risk going in there if it meant some or all of those other folks would be safe.”
“Your sister wouldn’t agree with that,” Ace said. “And I don’t think it would do a bit of good, either. You can’t think of McLaren as a reasonable man.”
“What he did to Hank Muller is proof of that,” Chance added.
“He’d just kill you and demand that the rest of the jury surrender, too,” Ace went on. “You’d be throwing your life away, Lee.”
Emory sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” He looked over at Miguel. “So what’s your plan, Marshal?”
“If we attack the saloon head-on, those outlaws will wipe us out,” Miguel said. “But if we could get in the back and take them by surprise—”
“Even if we do that, there’ll be a lot of lead flying around,” Chance interrupted. “Too much. Some of the hostages are bound to be hit.”
“There
’ll be a risk, all right,” Ace said. “But not doing anything is certain death for all of them.”
“Surely, McLaren will have the back door guarded,” Emory pointed out. “Even if we can fight our way in that way, we won’t have any element of surprise on our side.”
“That’s why we’ve got to have a distraction,” Ace said. “I was thinking I’d turn myself over to McLaren.”
Chance stared at him while Emory said sharply, “Wait a minute. I suggest surrendering and you act like I’m crazy, but now you’re going to do it and it’s a good idea?”
“No offense, Lee, but I reckon I’ve had more experience handling this sort of trouble than you have.”
“Not enough to allow you to fight off more than a dozen hardened killers!”
“Ace could hold his own for a while, I’ll bet, “but Lee’s right. It’s crazy.” Chance paused. “That’s why I’m going in with you.”
“Now hold on,” Miguel began.
“Hey, if two of us surrender, that cuts the odds in half, right?” Chance said.
Ace shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I don’t see how you can stop me. You may have been born a few minutes before me, but that doesn’t make you the boss, Ace.”
“You’re both insane,” Emory said.
Ace held up a hand. “Wait a minute. What I had in mind was waiting until the rest of you could get in position to storm the back of the saloon. When the time is right, I’ll cause a ruckus—”
Chance cleared his throat.
Ace looked at his brother and saw that he’d be wasting time and energy arguing with him. “We’ll cause a ruckus, and that way McLaren and his men won’t know you’re busting in until it’s too late.”
“It’ll still be extremely dangerous for everyone involved, including the hostages,” Emory said.
“Yes,” Ace said, “it will. But it may be the only way to keep McLaren from burning down the town and slaughtering everyone in it.”
A bleak silence followed that statement. None of the men gathered there could dispute what Ace had said.
“All right,” Miguel finally said. “Give us fifteen minutes. Then do whatever you think is best, Ace. Just try to stay alive, both of you, until we can get in there to give you a hand.”
“That’s the plan,” Ace replied. He left unsaid the thought that plans often went awry, but he was sure it was in everyone’s head as the rest of the men slipped off into the shadows.
Ace and Chance checked their guns. Each of them thumbed a cartridge into the cylinder, filling the chamber that was normally left empty so the hammer could rest on it. Ace didn’t really expect it to come down to a shootout between he and his brother and McLaren’s whole gang. That could end only one way, with both Jensen brothers dead.
But if that was what was going to happen, they wanted to be able to give as good an account of themselves as they could . . . and to send as many outlaws ahead of them to Hell as possible.
“Doc would be mad at us, you know,” Chance said as he slid his revolver back into its holster. “We’re playing a sucker’s game here.”
“Sometimes when the stakes are high enough, you don’t have any choice.”
“They couldn’t be any higher,” Chance said. “With Fontana in there . . .”
“I know. And if we don’t stop McLaren, it won’t be long until Meredith is in danger, too, along with everyone else in Lone Pine. We’re doing the right thing, Chance.”
“Yeah. I just hope I get a crack at McLaren before it’s over.”
“I might just get a crack at him first,” Ace said.
Before they could continue the good-natured joshing to break the tension, a raised voice cut through the gathering night.
“Hey, Marshal, you still out there? Or did you run off and leave these folks you swore to protect?”
Those harsh tones belonged to Otis McLaren, Ace knew. He stepped up to the front corner of the alcove and called along the boardwalk, “What do you want, McLaren?”
“You ain’t Soriano,” the outlaw replied.
Ace hesitated. He hated to say anything bad about Miguel, even though it would be a lie, but that might be the best thing. “You’re right, McLaren. He left town. You scared him off.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll find the greaser bastard sooner or later . . . when I’m through here.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Chance whispered.
Ace ignored his brother’s comment and said again, “What do you want?”
“You know damn well what I want! I want the sons of bitches responsible for my brother’s hanging, and I’m sick and tired of waitin’ for them! Send them in now, or I’m gonna let one of my friends have that pretty little gal who was yelling earlier. He’s mighty anxious to get to know her better.”
Chance said, “Fontana!” and started to lunge past Ace.
Ace caught hold of his brother’s arm and stopped him. “Hold on,” he said urgently. “Miguel and the others haven’t had time to get ready yet.”
“I don’t care! If those bastards are going to hurt Fontana—”
Ace overrode his protest, calling along the boardwalk, “We’ve been trying to talk to all the jurors and convince them to do the right thing. You’ve got to give us a little more time, McLaren—”
“You’re outta time!” the outlaw rasped. “I’m turnin’ the girl over to my pard Gyp in sixty seconds.” McLaren paused, then asked, “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Ace Jensen.”
“Jensen! You’re one of the jurors . . . you and your brother!”
Chance raised his voice. “I’m here, too, McLaren! You leave Miss Dupree alone!”
McLaren laughed. “Only one way to stop it! You want to save her for a little while, you and your brother get in here—now!”
Ace and Chance glanced at each other. It was too soon, but the decision had been taken out of their hands.
“All right, McLaren!” Ace called. “We’re coming in!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
As terrified as Fontana was of McLaren, Gyp, and the other outlaws, when she heard Ace’s response to McLaren’s threat, her heart sank. Ace and Chance would be walking into a trap, with certain death awaiting them. They were willing to risk that to try to save her.
Knowing that made her resolve that if she got the chance, she would risk her life to save them. It was only fair. “Orrie,” she said quietly, “do you think you feel strong enough to sit up?”
“I . . . I reckon.”
Fontana slid her arm around his shoulders to help him as he lifted himself to a sitting position with his back against the bar.
He moaned and closed his eyes for a moment. “The room’s spinning around all crazylike.”
“Just hold on,” Fontana told him. “It’ll settle down.”
“Yeah.” Orrie swallowed hard, blinked a few times. “It’s not quite as bad now. I got one hell of a wallop, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and that’s just one more score I have to even with those monsters.” Fontana’s voice was low and hard with anger.
Orrie cast a worried glance at her. “Wait a minute. Just what are you plannin’ on doing?”
“I’m not sure yet. But if I have a chance to get my hands on a gun, I’m going to show them that a woman can pull a trigger just as well as a man.”
For a moment Orrie didn’t reply, but then he said, “I reckon they plan on killing all of us anyway, so there’s no point in tellin’ you to be careful, is there?”
“Not one damn bit,” Fontana said with a faint smile.
Orrie looked down at his own right hand and flexed it. “I haven’t held a gun for a long time,” he murmured, “but I suppose it’s like playing the piano. You never really forget how, do you?”
“Let’s hope not.” She caught her breath as the batwings slowly swung open and Ace and Chance Jensen stepped into the saloon.
* * *
Miguel led his small force through the alleys of Lon
e Pine, circling to come up behind the Melodian. Not a bit of daylight remained in the sky, and back there it was positively stygian. The men had to feel their way along, which slowed them down. He hoped the Jensen brothers wouldn’t wind up staging their distraction too early.
Miguel stopped short as a large, dark shape suddenly loomed up in front of him. He could barely see it, but even so he could tell it was big. Had a cow gotten loose in the storm and started roaming around?
He heard heavy breathing and knew it wasn’t a cow but rather a human being.
* * *
Ace and Chance stopped short as a dozen guns were pointed at them and hammers clicked back with a sinister metallic sound. A tall, white-haired man dressed all in black, including a long duster, swaggered toward them with a pearl-handled revolver in his hand. Ace saw the family resemblance to Pete McLaren and knew he was looking at Otis McLaren.
The outlaw’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “You’re the Jensen brothers?”
“That’s right.” Ace was able to keep his voice calm and level, although it took an effort. He wasn’t sure he and Chance had ever been in a worse fix.
“Why, you ain’t nothin’ but a couple damn kids!”
“We’re men full-grown,” Chance said. “Don’t ever doubt it, McLaren.”
The notorious bad man took a quick step toward them and raised the gun as if he were about to slash at Chance’s head with it. Chance didn’t flinch.
McLaren controlled the reaction and said, “You know who I am, eh?”
“It’s pretty obvious you’re the boss here.” Ace didn’t want to mention the resemblance to Pete, since being reminded of his brother might push McLaren over the edge. Ace wanted to keep the outlaw talking for as long as possible to give Miguel, Emory, and the others a chance to launch their attack on the saloon. “And we’ve been talking to you for a while, so we recognize your voice.”
“Then you know it doesn’t pay to cross me.” McLaren gestured curtly with the gun in his hand. “Get rid of those irons. Do it slow and easy, though.”
Twelve Dead Men Page 24