"Take that!" Clarence jabbed his thumb into the Indian's eye, and the savage fell to the ground outside, clutching his face. "Kate?" Clarence turned to find her in shock, standing there oblivious to what was happening around her. Clarence grabbed her fallen carbine and pulled the trigger as another native plunged through the window.
"AAIIEEE!!" The brave collapsed to the floor, and his tomahawk clattered onto the wooden planks.
A fresh volley of gunfire erupted outside—this time, from farther away. Another round of bullets punched through the walls and broke what glass remained in the windowpanes. Clarence pulled Kate to the floor just as a shot whizzed over their heads. She screamed and hit him with her bloody fists, hysterical now, unable to control herself. He struggled to hold her down as the weapons fire continued overhead. She pummeled him in her fit, but he didn't let her go. He held her close and positioned his back against the front wall as the shots kept coming.
"You're all right, Kate. I've got you."
"Hey, Hon! Need some help?"
The booming voice startled Guthrie, and he turned around in alarm. But the woman lumbering toward him was not much of a threat without her pot full of steaming gruel.
"The hotel appears to be closed." He gestured at the Royale's locked front door.
Cora caught her breath in heaving gasps after the exertion of crossing the street. "Saw you over here tryin' to get in. Thought I'd lend a hand, seein' how I hate Slick's guts and all. Calls my stew poison, if you can believe."
Guthrie held up his hand to halt her. "You don't know what this involves. There may be violence."
"Aw hell, I've been kicked, punched, and shot at too many times to remember. I ain't afeared of that old varmint."
"But—" He really did not want her company. Finding Miss Carson was a very personal matter, and from what he recalled, the two women did not get along very well. So, again, he found himself trying to politely say no to the formidable woman. "I may have to break into and enter this establishment."
A blank look spent a moment on her broad face. "Listen, if you want to get inside, I'm here to help." She bent over slightly. "Get up on my shoulders now, and I'll lift you towards that window."
Guthrie stared. "I wouldn't want to hurt you..."
"Naw, you won't. I've got plenty of paddin' on me." She crouched a little lower. "Climb aboard, Hon!"
As awkward as it was, this seemed to be the only solution. With a sigh of resignation, Guthrie quickly tugged off his boots and, with as much dignity as he could muster, mounted the woman's back.
"Upsy-daisy!" Cora sang as she rose to her full height. "Grab onto the windowsill there and try to balance yourself!" She didn't sound like she was straining at all beneath his weight. Had she worked in a circus? "Hey, we oughta sell tickets, Hon!" She started to chuckle, her bulky frame bouncing up and down.
Guthrie grabbed onto the window frame as her shoulders jerked around beneath his feet. He struggled to keep his balance. With a shove, he managed to slide the unlocked window open until it screeched to a stop. He almost sighed with relief, but then his right foot slipped off Cora's shoulder, and he fell.
"Whoa!" Cora bellowed. "That was close, Hon!" She looked up at Guthrie hanging by his fingertips from the window ledge. "Heck, you sure are stronger than you look! Think you can pull yourself up from there?"
"Perhaps," Guthrie grunted.
"Okay, guess I'll go then. See you around!" With that cheerful farewell, she waddled back to her empty café.
"Thank you," Guthrie gasped.
Slowly, he pulled himself upward, his shoulders quivering from the effort. He wasn't yet at full strength, and his body was doing its best to remind him of this fact. Once his abdomen had reached the ledge, he tumbled forward through the open window and into the dark hotel room on the other side. There he lay for a moment, catching his breath and listening to be certain he was alone. This was not the room he and Clarence had rented; that window would not have opened. There was no telling who could be in this one, but Guthrie had a feeling that whoever it was would not take kindly to finding an unexpected Englishman lying on the floor.
Careful not to make a sound, he rose and crept toward the door, his stocking feet quiet across the floorboards. He was glad he'd left the boots outside. He reached the door and opened it with a short squeak from the hinges.
Down to the left, past six other rooms, lay the end of the hallway. There, a single wall-mounted lamp burned, sending an orange glow that flickered through the hall. To the right, two doors down, were the stairs leading to the clerk's desk and private room below. Dense shadows held the top of the stairs, beyond the reach of the lamp.
For a moment, Guthrie debated whether to go on. It was possible that Slick expected him, and the darkness downstairs would suit an ambush. Even so, the clerk did not seem to be much of a fighter. Undoubtedly, he hid downstairs out of fear for his own welfare and did not plan to spring a surprise attack on anyone.
Even so, Guthrie remained cautious as he stepped into the hallway and made his way toward the stairway. He listened, and as he descended the rickety staircase, he was sure he heard someone shifting in the shadows below.
"You there!" Guthrie shouted.
"Alright—I give up!" came Slick's muffled voice. Something clattered to the floor. "I'm unarmed!"
Guthrie could not see him in the dark. "Come up here."
"Y-yeah! Sure thing!" Quick creaks ascended the stairs.
Guthrie caught sight of the clerk in a patch of light. The man's busted jaw had been tied up in a red kerchief, knotted at the top of his head.
"Awww!" Slick yelped, struggling in vain against Guthrie's sudden headlock.
"Tell me what I need to know, and I'll let you breathe." He tightened his forearm against Slick's throat.
The clerk nodded vigorously, and Guthrie loosened his grip.
"Whatcha wanna know, Englishter?" Slick gasped.
"Where is Buckeye Daniels?"
"Uh..." Slick faltered. "Is this about the bounty on Buck's head?"
"Answer me." Guthrie allowed a cold menace to creep into his tone. "Or I will hurt you again."
Slick knew better than to doubt the sincerity of his threat. "Okay-okay, I'll tell you—even though it means goin' back on my word with Buck. But it ain't like this'd be the first time." He paused to curse. "Buckeye came here after Burly messed you up. He figured Carson put a price on his head, and he wanted to hide out 'til nightfall. Then he lit out."
"Where did he go?'
"Said he was headed to Tombstone, said he was plannin' to take Carson along, whether she wanted to go or not." He chuckled.
"He kidnapped Miss Carson?" Guthrie gripped the clerk tightly.
"I heard her screamin' when he grabbed 'er." He struggled. "Y-you said you wouldn't hurt me!"
Guthrie released the dirty clerk and descended the stairs. I must get a horse…and find her.
Rubbing his sore neck, Slick uttered a few oaths and called after the Englishman, "There's a mess o' Injuns down that a way. It'd be a real pity iffin you got yourself scalped!"
Chapter 40
The volley of gunfire stopped abruptly, but the sound of it still rang in Clarence and Kate's ears as they peered cautiously outside. The sight that met their eyes came as a complete surprise.
The Indians were running away.
"Hurrah!" Clarence cheered triumphantly. "Take that, you half-naked savages! Rah!"
"Must be fallin' back 'til nightfall." Silas stood beside the window with a grim look on his wrinkled face as he gazed into the distance.
"What do you mean?" Clarence hoped the old fellow wouldn't go balmy on him again.
"What I mean, sonny, is that we'd better get ourselfs ready for a BIG attack!" He picked up his hunting rifle and absently stroked the stock. "They'll regroup and wait 'til it's pitcher than pitch outside, then they'll come upon us real sneaky-like and set the place on fire." He seemed excited about it all, not worried in the least. "You see, this here first a
ttack was just to test our mettle. The next one's gonna be full-out WAR!"
Kate jumped at his sudden increase in volume. She had recovered from her hysterics earlier, but she remained on edge.
"What do we do?" Frowning, Clarence eyed their small arsenal of weapons.
"Well, first we hang lamps outside so's we can see 'em before they're on top of us." Silas took out two dusty kerosene lanterns from a nearby cabinet. "And if they shoot 'em out, then we know they're on the warpath, see?"
"Oh, quite good," Clarence commented.
"Here you go, boy." He handed the lanterns to Clarence. "Once it's dark out there, you light 'em and hang 'em on them fence posts."
Clarence looked outside and saw the rough-hewn posts, close to six feet in height and spaced twenty yards apart. He set the lanterns on the table and brushed the dust off his hands.
"And what is the second thing we do?"
Silas looked at the two dead natives on the floor. "Well, sonny, we'd better haul these carcasses outta here before they start stinkin' up the place."
"Yes, quite." Clarence bent down to help the old fellow with the first corpse, but then he turned to Kate. She looked pale. Her eyes were fixed on the bodies. "Perhaps you'd like to wash up a bit, Kate," he suggested. She looked at him and nodded slightly. "Mister Carter, do you have any facilities for Miss Carson to freshen up?"
"Huh?"
"Do you have a washroom?"
Silas grunted, scratching his head. "Got me a basin o' water and a bar o' lye soap in the side room there." He gestured toward the far wall of the shack where a door crookedly hung ajar.
"Thanks, Silas," Kate said quietly and moved in that direction.
His wrinkly face stretched into a bashful grin as he returned to the body at his feet.
"Kate," Clarence caught her attention before she shut the washroom door. "I'll be right here."
She nodded again, her expression blank. "Thanks, Clarence."
She gave a short gasp as the cold water touched her chest. Gooseflesh prickled all across her bare skin, but she didn't stop scrubbing. Kate was determined to get all the blood and grime off her body if it was the last thing she did. She forced herself not to think about the gunfire and the killing from before, gritting her teeth as she scrubbed. Her skin started to look a little raw, but maybe that was the sunburn. Nothing could ever be as red as her hands when the carbine had fired straight through that Indian.
He would've killed her if she hadn't gotten him first. Just like Burly. Self-defense, both times. But that didn't make her feel any better about it.
After a few minutes, she gave her body a quick survey. Her skin looked clean again, fair and smooth except for her shoulders, burned tender by the sun. She wondered what her face looked like and wished Silas had a mirror. Touching her nose made her wince. More sunburn, she figured. If the boys back in town could see her now.
Santa Fe seemed so far away, almost like it was from a different lifetime. She thought about Guthrie and Clarence. She couldn't be sure, but they might have been the first real gentlemen she'd ever met. She liked them, she had to admit. She couldn't explain it, but they'd done something to her. Changed her outlook on life, maybe. If Walter could stand up to the likes of Burly, and if Clarence could survive an Indian attack, was there anything she couldn't do?
She wasn't the same person she'd been before. She felt different, hopeful about the future. Maybe she wasn't stuck with the life choices she'd made, after all.
Can a person ever change? she wondered. She hoped so. Because right now, the last thing she wanted to do was return to her life in Santa Fe.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden pounding in the room. Quickly she snatched her ragged dress and tugged it back on. The pounding came again—louder, more intense. But it wasn't from the washroom door.
"Who's there?" Kate demanded.
"MMMM!" came a muffled cry. Frenzied pounding followed.
"Where are you?" She stooped, finding what looked to be a cellar door in the floor. "Are you here?" She gave the door a cautious kick with her heel.
"MMMM! MMMM!" The muffled answer sounded affirmative.
Someone was trapped in the cellar? Friend or foe? She reached to pull the door open, but thought better of it. Whoever was in there must have been put down there for a reason.
She opened the washroom door and beckoned Clarence over. Silas was nowhere in sight. Wiping his hands against his trousers, Clarence came in with a curious frown.
"Yes, Kate?"
She pointed. "Somebody's down there."
"In the floor?" He squinted in the dim light as he noticed the cellar door. "Hullo! Who goes there?"
"MMMM! MMMM!"
"Who is it?" Clarence leaned closer to hear.
"MMMM!"
"Why, he doesn't make the slightest bit of sense, does he, Kate? I can't understand a word out of him."
"Maybe he's gagged." Kate hung back. "Maybe he tried to kill Silas or something, and Silas put 'im in there, bound and gagged."
Clarence turned back to the pounding. "If that's the case, then he shouldn't pose much of a threat if we let him out."
"Depends on who he is." She stepped close behind him. "Want a gun?"
He nodded. "That might be prudent."
She returned with one of the carbines and leveled it on the cellar door. "I'll cover you."
Clarence took a deep breath. "Here we go, then."
He slid the bolt aside and yanked the door wide open, letting it hit the floor with a heavy thud. Down below, a short, stocky man lay hogtied. He squirmed on his belly, his feet up behind him and his face out of view. He wore fringed leather pants.
"Ho there! Settle down, my good fellow." Clarence drew back from the man's furious kicking and writhing. "I'll help you, but you must lie still."
"MMMM!" The man stopped moving.
Glancing at Kate, Clarence bent down and tugged at the bound feet. He tugged again. It was no use. Clarence was physically exhausted, and the man was too heavy. He could not be pulled out. So instead, Clarence untied the fellow's feet and moved to his hands, bound tightly behind his back.
"There you are." Clarence took a step back and watched the man. "You can get up now."
Slowly, the fellow pulled the knotted kerchief out of his mouth and let it fall around his neck. He kept his back to Kate and Clarence as he emerged from the dark cellar, dust from his buckskin shirt floating in the air. The back of his head was caked with dried blood. With an oath, he gingerly touched the wound. Then he whirled around.
"Buck!" Kate gasped, clutching the carbine.
"Kate?" Buck's face registered both surprise and relief. He didn't seem to notice the muzzle leveled at his midsection. "You got away from Thunderclap!"
"No thanks to you." She eyed him coldly. "What're you doin' here?"
"Here…" His face paled and he cringed, backing away. "Here?" he gasped, trembling and wringing his hands.
Kate could see he was beginning to frighten Clarence.
"The-the old man—he's crazy!" Buck hissed. "He locked me down there and said he was gonna bury me! BURY ME!"
"He's mad, Kate," Clarence said. "Quick, shoot him!"
"No—don't shoot! I'm not the crazy one. He is—the old man!" Buck pleaded, "Lemme go, please! He'll kill us all!"
"We can't get away, Buck," Kate said flatly.
He looked stricken. "Why?"
"Your friends are back. And they're on the warpath," she said.
"Thunderclap." He started to gnaw on the back of his hairy hand with a dazed look in his eyes. "I shoulda known he'd come for me." He jerked his head up with sudden inspiration. "I'll go out to 'im!"
"Madman," Clarence muttered.
"No, really—it's me they want! They won't bother with the rest of you." He started for the door. "Just point me in the right direction, and I'll go sort this out."
"Stay right where you are, Buck."
He noticed the carbine in her hands for the first time. "What's wrong wi
th you, Kate?"
"Besides you kidnappin' me and gettin' us all in this mess? Nothin' at all." She narrowed her gaze at him. "There's no tellin' what these savages will do, even if they get you. They took us too, remember?"
"Aw hell, that was just a misunderstanding. They thought you was my partners is all. You gotta let me go. I'd sooner die out there than stay here with that loco ol' coot!"
"You gotta stay, Buck." She didn't want him to leave, but it wasn't for sentimental reasons. "Those Indians are gonna attack soon, and we need every man with a gun that we've got."
"How the hell do you know they'll attack again?"
"We killed four of their braves."
Buck's jaw dropped open. This news changed everything. "We're dead."
Chapter 41
Big Chief Thunderclap eyed his son contemptuously in the gathering night. "You did not call out for Buckeye Daniels? You just attacked them without warning?" he growled in disbelief.
"No—they were the first to fire!" Stubbed Toe retorted, cradling his bleeding eye socket.
"You were to call out for Buckeye Daniels before they could fire upon you! You did not obey me!"
"Try leading these braves yourself, sometime. They want to fight, not negotiate—"
Thunderclap's brawny arm swooped down and cuffed his son alongside the head. "You curb your tongue, or I will cut it out!" he roared.
"Aww!" Stubbed Toe whined. "My eye!"
"Shut up about your infernal eye! The paleface smashed it. So what." The big chief leaned close to his son and screamed, "At least you did not lose your HEART!" He rose to his massive height and glared down at his son. "You can be such a wimp sometimes."
"What do we do now, Big Chief Thunderclap?" one of the braves asked, gripping his rifle expectantly. "Do we avenge our fallen brothers?"
Thunderclap turned his back on his son and faced the braves with his best attempt at a grim, determined expression. "I had hoped to settle this simple matter without heavy amounts of bloodshed. But it does not appear that we will be able to do so." A vengeful flame kindled in his eyes as he spoke low, "We will avenge our fallen brothers, yes. We will hearken to the cries of their souls. The blood of their murderers..." He trailed off. "WE WILL PAINT THE HILLS WITH IT!"
Westward, Tally Ho! Page 15