In front of Ben Craddock’s cell, facing outward with his back yanked tight against the bars, stood a wild-eyed Jules Mycroft. One of Craddock’s scarred fists was wrapped in Mycroft’s thick hair, pulling his head hard into the gap between two of the bars. The prisoner’s other fist was reached through the bars and clamped viciously on the lawyer’s windpipe, explaining the abrupt gurgling sound and the cessation of the further wailing. A tin cup lying in a puddle of spilled water near Mycroft’s feet offered further mute explanation of how he’d gotten himself in such a predicament.
“In case it ain’t clear enough, sonny boy,” Craddock grated, his eyes burning into Russell, “let me make sure you understand that one wrong twitch from you or the sweetie with the Winchester will result in me instantly crushin’ this Fancy Dan’s windpipe and leavin’ him to choke to death in a real unpleasant way. I’ve done it before on bigger, stronger men. In a soft, flabby throat like this one it’d be as easy as squeezin’ a pimple.”
Fighting to keep his voice steady, Russell replied, “And I could squeeze the trigger of this rifle just as easy and you’d end up just as dead.”
“I don’t think you got the guts,” Craddock sneered. “But if you do, go ahead and shoot. My hand will still convulse and kill this weak bag of wind, so you won’t accomplish savin’ him, if that’s what you think.”
“What would that gain you?” Russell wanted to know.
Craddock continued to sneer. “Nothing. But then, the way it is now I got nothing to lose. Either I risk bein’ trapped and killed in this cell by the Legion of Fire or I end up gettin’ hung later on in Amarillo. So what the hell?”
“What alternative are you seeking, then?”
Craddock frowned. “What’s with this alternative and seeking? You some kind of damn lawyer, too? If so, you ain’t a very smart one. What I’m seeking is a deal where you let me out of this damn cell as a trade for Fancy Dan’s life.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Sure you can. All it takes is just a little twist of the key. Then I head for the tall and uncut and nobody has to get hurt. Otherwise Fancy Dan here gets hurt permanentlike. Whatever happens next, that much is gonna be on your conscience as well as mine.” Craddock emitted a nasty chuckle. “No, I take that back. It wouldn’t weigh on my conscience one damn bit. But you, you’d have to live with it for the rest of your days.”
All this time, Mycroft had remained perfectly still in the desperate prisoner’s grip. Only his wildly bugged eyes had moved, darting and rolling about in terror. Now they became focused solely on Russell, silently imploring, begging for his life.
Sensing Russell’s resolve starting to weaken, Millie whispered urgently from behind him, “You can’t give in to his demands. You can’t trust him!”
“Don’t listen to that coldhearted little lady, sonny boy,” Craddock warned. “I mean what I say—all the way around. You unlock this cell, I’ll be gone with no more trouble to you. You don’t, I guarantee Fancy Dan will die a real ugly death. Better hurry and make up your mind. My hand is gettin’ kinda tired, clamped on his throat this way. Be a shame if it all of a sudden went into a cramp or a spasm like, and I ended up throttlin’ him even if I didn’t mean to.”
Russell’s shoulders slumped and the muzzle of the Henry he was aiming at Craddock from waist level drooped some also. “We’ve got to give in,” he said over his shoulder to Millie, his voice suddenly a hoarse whisper. “I can’t just stand here and let him kill Mr. Mycroft. Not even if I shoot him afterward. I don’t see any other way.”
“I’m warning you, he can’t be trusted,” Millie said.
“Don’t listen to her! My way is the only way without somebody dyin’,” Craddock said.
Russell swallowed. “Get the key, Millie.”
She hesitated, her pretty face clouded by conflicting feelings, but then she gave in and did as he asked. Thrusting the key ring into Russell’s hand, she murmured, “I still think this is a bad idea.”
“Think what you want. But here’s how it’s gonna work,” Craddock said, his eyes flinty while in no way easing his grip on Mycroft. “First, both of you are gonna push your rifles into that empty cell where you can’t quickly get your hands on ’em again. That way, we’ll all be unarmed. Next you’re gonna walk over here and unlock this door, sonny boy. Then you and sweetie will move back out of the way.
Russell stood gripping the key ring in a white-knuckled grip, not moving right away. Then slowly, he turned and pushed his Henry rifle through the bars of the empty cell. Even slower, more reluctantly, Millie did the same with her Winchester.
Moving woodenly, Russell covered the handful of steps to Craddock’s cell. Mycroft’s eyes never left him. Russell could hear a single weak, wheezing whimper escape the lawyer’s chest as he drew nearer.
Once the door was unlocked and open, Russell edged back along with Millie until they were at the far end of the cell block, past the connecting door to the office, their backs against the door that opened to the side room.
Craddock slipped quickly out of his cell, releasing Mycroft for only a fraction of a second before reaching around and grabbing him again once he was on the outside. He pushed the lawyer ahead of him, reapplying grips on hair and throat, and started moving forward.
“You promised to release him!” Russell protested.
“That’s right. I did, didn’t I?” Craddock said, his mouth twisting into a nasty grin. “Okay, here he is!” With that, he lunged suddenly and gave Mycroft a hard shove, hurling him straight into Russell and Millie.
The impact of the lawyer crashing unexpectedly into them slammed the pair back against the side room door. A tangle of flailing arms and legs resulted as Mycroft lost his balance completely and fell heavily into Russell just below his knees. This bowled the young clerk’s legs out from under him and all he could do was spill forward—directly into a smashing left cross thrown by Craddock as he rushed in behind Mycroft.
The blow landed just above Russell’s right cheekbone, square on the temple, and knocked him sideways to collide with the bars of the empty cell. Craddock was on his already sagging form in an instant, seizing him by his hair and the nape of his neck. He pulled Russell back a foot and a half and then rammed him forward, driving his forehead viciously into the bars of the cell.
Millie screamed and tried to break for the connecting door to the office.
Growling, “Oh no you don’t, sweetheart!,” Craddock pivoted sharply and lashed out with a clubbing backhand to the side of her face that cut short her attempted flight and dropped her in a heap.
Although the sprawled, whimpering form of Mycroft clearly posed no threat, Craddock nevertheless decided he wasn’t done until he’d tended to him as well. First he slammed the toe of his boot in a crushing kick to the lawyer’s ribs. After that, he leaned over and grabbed him in the same manner as he had Russell, hair and the nape of his neck, lifted him partially, then rammed the top of his head hard into the cell bars, too. Mixed in with the solid thud of flesh and skull meeting iron, there could also be heard a loud cracking noise issuing from Mycroft’s neck.
Craddock straightened up and stood with his feet planted wide, taking a minute to catch his breath. His gaze swung to a stunned Millie, who was weakly attempting to push herself to a sitting position. The side of her lovely face was reddened and already starting to swell.
Craddock smiled. “Now the fun is really gettin’ ready to start, sweetheart. You’re comin’ with me!”
Chapter 16
Doc Whitney’s shot was true. The lead pill it administered might not have gone down very easy for the patient who received it, but his discomfort was brief and the end result was that he was cured forever of any future ailments.
What was more, the second raider who’d taken cover behind the watering trough was so startled by his comrade hitting the dirt beside him that his reaction left him momentarily exposed to Burnett’s position at the corner of the saloon—something the marshal did not fail to take ad
vantage of. As a result, the second man was cut down a moment after the first.
Once he’d made his shot, Burnett twisted partly around and spotted the telltale haze of smoke drifting away from Whitney’s cottonwood tree. “Damn it, Russell, is that you?” he shouted. “I told you to stay back at the jail!”
“I’m not Russell, you ungrateful cuss,” Whitney called back. “And, in case you didn’t notice, me not staying where I was has suddenly untied two of the knots you were tangled up in.”
“There’s no denying that,” Luke said from his doorway. “You got my gratitude, Doc, even if the marshal is too stubborn to say it.”
“Okay, I’m grateful, I’m grateful,” Burnett said. “But don’t get too cocky, Doc. Keep your head down or one of these Legion varmints, who I guarantee ain’t grateful to you for showing up, will punch a hole through it.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Whitney said. “And another thing I know is that unless we do something to untangle some more of those knots, we’re not much better off here than we were penned up back at the jail.”
Burnett scowled as he thumbed his last cartridge into the Winchester. “I’m pretty damn sick of it, too.” After straightening up out of his semicrouch and rolling his shoulders to loosen them, he looked across the street at Luke and made a gesture toward the front of the saloon, indicating cover me. With Luke’s side of the street cleared, at least in the immediate vicinity, all the firepower of the remaining three raiders who had them pinned down was in a straight line from the marshal’s position. With no one positioned to fire at him from across the way, any of the three who were left would have to lean out to shoot in his direction and vice versa.
If he stayed put, that was. But Burnett was tired of going nowhere with everybody popping in and out from cover like a bunch of damn prairie dogs. He meant to flush some of the other dogs once and for all. The maneuver they’d used back down the street had worked once, he told himself, there was no reason to figure it couldn’t again.
Roaring, “Let’s untangle some more knots!,” Burnett suddenly shoved around the corner of the saloon and began running along the front, straight for the batwing doors. At the same time, Luke shoved out of his doorway and started at an angle across the street toward the same spot. Just before Burnett reached the doorway, Luke triggered both barrels of the shotgun he was wielding in his left hand, blowing a melon-sized hole in the batwings and blasting wide open what was left of them. Half a second later, the marshal plunged in with a diving roll through the smoke and wood slivers still swirling in the air.
Dropping the shotgun and drawing his second Remington, Luke shifted his course slightly, veering toward the saloon window. As he ran, he triggered rounds through the window with the pistol in his left fist. The other bucking in his right sent bullets sizzling into the mouth of the alley at the far end of the building where the third raider held a position.
Inside the saloon, Burnett came out of the roll and spun on one knee to face the surprised occupants wheeling to face him. The one who’d been manning the doorway was the closest and slowest, having jumped frantically away from the shotgun blast that preceded the marshal. He never got close to aiming his gun before Burnett levered two Winchester slugs square into his chest, slamming him back against the wall, where he went into a slow, limp, lifeless slide to the floor.
While that one was still sliding down, Burnett swung to face the one over by the window and had only a fraction of a second to realize that there was the man he should have fired on first. The realization came simultaneous with the discharge of the man’s gun. But, amazingly, given the close quarters, the bullet failed to score a clean hit, only burning a crease on the outside of the marshal’s right arm just above the biceps. His turning motion after downing the doorway shooter had inadvertently spared him anything worse, a piece of luck he did not share when he managed to get off a shot of his own. His round drilled low into the gut of the raider, causing him to lurch and bend forward slightly as he staggered back a step. This placed him directly in front of the open window and, before Burnett could fire again, another bullet coming from outside, courtesy of Luke, struck the side of the raider’s head and knocked him off his feet. He was dead before he ever hit the ground.
* * *
Sam Kelson mounted his horse in a smooth motion, hanging the bank’s money bag over the pommel as he settled into the saddle. The men who’d accompanied him into the bank were also back on their horses, as well as other raiders who’d temporarily dismounted to invade additional stores and shops. All milled around him in the middle of the street. Most of the shooting had ceased, with only a few sporadic reports popping here and there, largely muted by the roar and crackle of the numerous buildings being consumed by fire.
“Everybody accounted for and ready to ride?” Kelson asked Cisco Palmer as the latter reined up next to him.
“All ready, except for a few men we lost—mainly the ones who went down the street to take care of that marshal and his deputy. Looks like they’re not farin’ too good.” Palmer squinted. “I say we make a sweep in that direction on our way out and blast those damn law dogs once and for all.”
“Scratch that. Our way is north. We got what we came for and we’re not in the revenge business,” Kelson said with a scowl. “No sense risking more men to do a job that should’ve already been taken care of.”
Palmer set his jaw, clearly not liking the decision, but all he said was, “If that’s the way you want it.”
“It is,” Kelson said firmly. Then, raising his voice, he shouted for all to hear. “Any of you men who grabbed a woman, prop her up on your saddles in plain sight to serve as shields against any potshots that might be taken at us on the way out. We’re headed north. Let’s ride!”
* * *
Luke emerged from the alley where he had chased down and dispatched the fifth and final shooter who’d had him and the marshal pinned down. He paused on the edge of the walkway to reload his Remingtons, his gaze swinging north as his hands deftly, automatically performed the task. Through the churning, billowing smoke of the flaming buildings, he saw the raiders forming up and getting ready to ride off.
Burnett came out of the saloon and stepped onto the edge of the street. His eyes also tracked north and his response was to instantly go rigid with alarm and anger. “The sonsabitches are getting away!” he bellowed as he took another step and then braced himself as he raised his Winchester and got ready to fire.
“No!” Luke barked, his head snapping around. “Hold your fire! Don’t you see several of them have hostages—women? You can’t risk a shot from here for fear of hitting one of them!”
Slowly, numbly, Burnett lowered the rifle. His shoulders sagged. “God help us,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Luke turned to look up the street again, watching helplessly as the raiders galloped away, the horde quickly fading beyond the flames and swirling sparks and boiling smoke they left in their wake. Not quite under his breath, the black-clad bounty hunter added, “And God help those women . . .”
Chapter 17
It hadn’t taken long for Ben Craddock to realize that his escape plan was a little short on details. Real short, as a matter of fact. At first, all he cared about once he was out of the cell block was getting clear of town before anybody spotted him making a break for it. The commotion up the street and the already-saddled horses left out front of the livery stable by the two raiders who’d been cut down there made that almost too easy. All he had to do was grab one of the nags and ride.
The girl was a complication right from the beginning. But he was hell-bent on taking her with him, no matter what. For one thing, having her as a hostage could be a valuable bargaining chip in case he was pursued and caught up with too quickly. But even more—he just plain wanted her.
It had been a long time since Craddock was with a woman. He’d gone through such spells before and endured them well enough. Hell, everybody knew it wasn’t that hard to get a woman if you wanted one bad
enough. But he’d been biding his time, staying on the move to make sure he was putting plenty of distance between him and the trouble back down in Texas. He hadn’t been aware that damned human bloodhound Luke Jensen was on his trail, but he’d always felt an itch like somebody might be, so he’d kept on the move, kept to himself, and hadn’t stopped long enough to dally with even the easiest kind of woman. Something like that at the wrong time and place could get a fella killed quicker than anything. But then he’d seen Millie last evening when she showed up in the cell block against Jensen’s wishes.
Damn!
All the holding back caught up with Craddock in a rush. The sight of a woman so ripe and lovely had nearly taken his breath away like a punch hard and low to the gut. After she was gone, after he was alone in his cell, the yearning wouldn’t leave him. It writhed inside him all night like a restless, hungry thing clamoring to be released.
And then, this morning, after he’d duped that simpering, stupid lawyer into stepping within his reach so he could make his bid to bust free, there she was again. He knew in an instant that once he was on the other side of those bars, he was going to take her with him. Hell, otherwise he might have kept his bargain with that tall, gangly young fool who coughed up the key . . . But no, probably not.
At any rate, he had her now and harbored no intention of letting her get away from him, complications be damned. The first thing he’d done was clamp a set of handcuffs on her that he found when rummaging through the marshal’s desk. He’d also uncovered his own gunbelt and Colt during that search. Thus armed, along with some extra boxes of cartridges from the office gun rack and the discarded Winchester grabbed out of the empty cell, he quit the jail building and hurried across to the livery stable, dragging a still half-stunned Millie with him. The chaos up the street kept anyone from noticing them.
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