The watchers, hoarse from shouting, were silent now, shocked by the ferocity of the battle they watched. It was like two primeval men fighting far away in the past … like two utterly savage cavemen.
Maloon moved in. He had fought hard, but he had his second wind, and Fallon was finished. He struck out with a left … it landed. He struck again … it landed. He struck again … and suddenly his left arm was seized and he was thrown over Fallon’s back with a flying mare. He hit the ground with a thud and Fallon fell upon him, a knee driving into his solar plexus as Fallon came down, then that same knee smashing up to hit his chin.
A terrible light burst in Maloon’s skull. He fought himself free, and got up. His jaw was broken, smashed at the hinges and hanging free.
His hands … he had to get Fallon in his hands. Curling a bulky arm around his jaw, he charged to get close, swinging with his right fist. Fallon brought up hard against the hitch rail and Maloon’s big hand grasped his windpipe. Fallon tried to get at Maloon’s eyes but the big man ducked his head low.
Lifting a boot, Fallon smashed down with the side of the boot against Maloon’s shinbone, the heel driving down hard on Maloon’s foot. But the bigger man clung grimly to his grip on the thoat.
Fallon smashed up hard against Maloon’s elbow, the elbow of the arm that was gripping his throat, and at the same time he reached over with his right hand and dug his fingers into the palm of the gripping hand. Retaining his hold, he ripped the hand free from his throat and, turning quickly, gripping the hand and pushing down on the elbow, he sent Maloon stumbling, bent over and head down. He fell, and lay still, face down in the dust.
Macon Fallon staggered toward him, then his knees folded and he fell. He tried to get up, and he fell again, and the last sound he heard was a rifle shot. A rifle shot… and then another.
He fought his way out of a fog of unconsciousness and strained to get up. A gentle hand touched his shoulder and a voice whispered, “Lie still.”
He relaxed slowly, trying to figure out where he was. It was dark, with strange faint streaks of light off to one side. The voice … that had been Ginia. She was here with him.
Then he remembered the fight … but what happened after that? There had been a shot���after that be remembered nothing.
“Ginia?”
“Ssh!”
He whispered. “Where are we? What happened?”
“We were attacked … a lot of men on horseback. All of a sudden, just as your fight ended, they just came down out of nowhere, and there was a lot of shooting.” She stopped, listening. Then she added, “We’re under the hotel.”
There was, he recalled, a sort of hollow under the back of the hotel because it was built at a spot where the ground fell away behind it. The back of the hotel was actually resting on an eight-foot stone foundation.
Those strange streaks of light, he realized suddenly, could only be sunlight coming through the cracks in the boardwalk. It was alongside the boardwalk that he had fallen. As she could not have carried him, she must have come in through the back somehow and dragged him under the walk, and then down here.
“They were shooting and running their horses,” she explained when he asked about it. “I was afraid you’d be killed.” She paused a moment. “They are looking for you. Al Damon is with them.”
“I thought as much.” He lay quiet, trying to judge his own condition. His face felt stiff and sore, and he could move his jaw only with difficulty. One eye, he discovered, was swollen almost shut. He tried to work his fingers, but they, too, were stiff and sore.
“How long has it been?”
“An hour … maybe a little more.”
“I’ve got to get a gun.”
He was lying on his back and he turned over slowly and pushed himself to a sitting position. He felt sore all over. He could hear men moving about on the floor above, and they must be Bellows men, or there would be no reason to remain quiet.
He leaned close to Ginia. “Do you know what’s happening now?”
“When they rode in,” she said, “I know that somebody shot at them, because as they came around the corner we heard the shot and a man fell.
“Everybody scattered for shelter. They killed Mr. Hamilton, I think. You and Mr. Maloon were left lying there … I think they believed you had been killed. So I came around behind, got in here, and pulled you back under the walk. Then I spilled water from the trough over the ground where you had been dragged.
“They are looking for you now. I can hear what they say sometimes.”
He sank back on the cool earth and looked up into the darkness that was the underside of the floor above. He could hear sporadic shooting, which meant the surprise had not been complete. Joshua Teel and some of those in his small band of defenders had been on the alert.
He must have a gun, that first of all. And then in some way he must get the defenders together and drive Bellows and his outfit from the town. At the same time, he must not risk Ginia’s safety. But first of all, they must leave this place.
He sat up again, grasping her arm. There was an old door, he remembered, that opened at the back. It opened into a gully grown high with wiry brush and weeds, but there were paths through those weeds.
He got up and moved carefully in the darkness. He found the door, but there he hesitated. Did the hinges creak? No matter, he’d have to try it. He opened the door the merest crack and a bright glare of sunlight entered. It was a dozen feet to the brush. He tried to recall how many rear windows there were … surely they would be watched.
They stepped outside���then three running strides and they were in the brush, unseen, he hoped. Beyond the gully the mountainside rose up. He must follow the gully, which grew more shallow farther on, and get into the Yankee Saloon if possible.
Somewhere a gun barked … two guns responded.
Crouched in the gully, they listened. The sun was blistering hot, the rocks too hot to touch. Lifting his head slowly, he peered out. Between two buildings he could see a section of the street. A dead horse lay there, and a man sprawled near the horse, a man with a bald head … a stranger.
Fallon looked up at the windows. At one of them he saw a gun barrel … was it friendly, or otherwise? He could not risk finding out.
His head ached with a dull, heavy throb, aggravated by the heat. He looked down at his hands, swollen out of shape, dark with bruises. He would have trouble with a pistol now, although he could manage it. A rifle … he wanted his Winchester.
He heard more shots, tried to locate their origin. Suddenly, he heard a faint creak of leather, and his breath caught. Then, carefully, he eased back to the deeper brush where Ginia waited.
Had he made any sound? He did not think so.
Under the baking sun he could smell the dust and the drying brush. He waited, motionless. Then he heard the footstep again, and suddenly the man came into view, not more than ten feet away.
He was a big bearded man, inclined to fatness around the midsection, and he carried a rifle and wore a belt gun. His eyes were small and mean���cruel eyes. It was obvious that he was hunting them … he had seen or heard something.
He slowly surveyed the brush. Fallon put his left hand back to touch Ginia, a warning. She was gone!
His hand closed on a jagged chunk of rock, and he started to lift it. As he did so, Ginia suddenly stood up, a dozen feet away, directly in front of the man with the rifle.
“Were you looking for me?” she said.
The man’s rifle had started to come up, but at her words he lowered it. He moved toward her, and Fallon took three short, running steps and hit him in a long dive. Ginia had given Fallon his chance, and he had taken it.
His shoulder smashed into the man, hitting him just below the waist and lifting him almost bodily from the ground. The man fell sprawling, losing his grip on his rifle. Ginia caught it up and swung it by the barrel, a neat, precise swing that was like chopping cotton with a hoe. The solid thunk of the rifle butt against the ma
n’s skull was a welcome sound.
Swiftly, Fallon stripped the gun belt and holster from the man’s waist, then took the rifle from Ginia. Flattened against the side of the building, he glanced at her. “I thought you disapproved of violence?” he said softly.
Her chin lifted. “There are times,” she said.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “You think fast.”
He checked the rifle. It was a .44 Henry, and the belt ammunition was .44 calibre.
Keeping close to the buildings, they ran toward the upper end of town. Fallon had a hunch that the defense would center there; he knew the best place to defend, the place from which the town could most easily be covered lay at the mining claim he had sold to Pollock. Next to that, the best place was the Yankee Saloon.
Brennan would at all costs head for there, and it was likely others would also, although the need to protect their families must of necessity scatter them.
Suddenly a shot nipped the wall near him, then another. Ducking between the buildings, Fallon saw a man in a dirty red shirt wheel to face him. As the man turned, a shot from somewhere laid a gash along the side of his neck. Fallon fired his Henry from the hip, and the bullet knocked the man sprawling back into the street, where another bullet finished the job.
“That came from the blacksmith shop,” he said quietly.
They waited there between the buildings, and Fallon cursed himself for a fool. He should never have bothered with Spike Maloon, or allowed himself to be baited into a fight to the finish with him. He could have been miles from town, instead of stuck here in a defenseless position with a girl to take care of. Unless, he reflected, remembering the events of the last hour, it was she who took care of him.
The shooting ceased, and there was quiet.
Fallon glanced at the shadow of the building beside which he stood … the afternoon was well advanced, and with night the smaller numbers of the defenders, with their wives, children, and property to defend, would have small chance. Whatever was to be done must be done now. Undoubtedly Bellows was delaying for just that reason.
Ginia suddenly stood up. “Mr. Fallon, we need to know where our friends are, don’t we?”
“That’s it,” he agreed. Then he indicated the shadow of the building. “It grows late. If they can hold us off until dark, we’ll not have much of a chance. If I could get to Teel and the others���Shelley, Riordan, Devol, and Yearly���I think we could run them out.”
“Where do you think they are?”
He thought for a moment “I’m guessing that your pa made it back to the blacksmith shop … Jim will be with your ma and the others, right behind the shop. They will be able to help each other that way.
“Our headquarters was the Yankee, and Brennan would try to get back there, but he may not have made it. The others���unless they went to their families���would be with Brennan. So I’ve got to get to the Yankee Saloon. More than that, wherever they are, they’ve got to know what I’m planning. If they aren’t in the Yankee, they’ll be at my old claim at the end of the street… we worked out an agreement.”
She faced him. “I will find out for you.”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“I am not.” She looked at him coolly. “Mr. Fallon, I have been told that I am pretty. I am also young. You warned pa and the others that when Bellows came he would be after women … in that case I don’t believe he would shoot me.”
He leaned back against the building and looked at her with respect. “You know,” he said, “you’re quite a girl.”
“Thank you … I will go out on the street, and I will walk up the street to the Yankee Saloon, seeing everything I can. When I get there I will have them fire a quick shot for every man there.”
“There’s a catch to this. Suppose they put a gun on you and tell you to come to them���or else?”
“I shall have to keep walking. I must chance it.”
He nodded. “I’ll say this for you. You’ve got sand. You’ve got nerve.”
She held out her hand and looked him in the eye. “What shall I tell them?”
“That I’ll join them if I can. If I can’t, tell them we must attack, now. We must root them out, wherever they are, and start moving now. Tell them they may be killed now, but they surely will when dark comes.”
He took her hand, then suddenly he drew her closer and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You are very lovely,” he said, and was surprised to realize how true it was. “Far too lovely for this life.”
She turned her back squarely on him and walked into the street. She took two steps to the outer edge of the boardwalk, where she would surely be seen by all, then she started up the street.
There was silence, then a shout. “Come back here, girl! You come right here an’ you won’t be hurt.”
She continued to walk.
“You take another step”���the voice was harder now���“an’ I’ll sure enough shoot.”
Ginia Blane walked on. Fallon could hear her boots on the walk.
He went to the very edge of the street. He could see her up the street … she was still walking. The shot came, and the bullet lacked dirt only a few feet in front of her, but her step did not falter. And then she vanished from his sight.
He edged to the street. He saw the glint of the rifle barrel and promptly fired, holding his sight just under the rifle muzzle. The grunt of the bullet-struck man could be heard even where Fallon was, and the man’s rifle fell into the street with a clatter.
In the instant after he fired, he dropped, and bullets smashed into the wall where he had stood. Running to the back of the buildings, he did not take time even to glance out, but ducked around the corner and ran for the Yankee Saloon.
He had scored three running steps before he heard the bang of the rifle and saw dirt kick in front of him. Then chips flew from a corner ahead of him and he dropped behind a water barrel and rolled out of sight just as a bullet smashed a hole in the barrel and spilled a stream of water where he had been a moment before.
His luck was running out, and he knew it. Blood had started to trickle again from his split lip. His head ached heavily. “You damn fool!” he said to himself. “You waited too long!”
The hotel stood out from the other buildings, and it was probably from there the shots were coming. He stepped to the corner and smashed a shot into each window, then ducked and ran, bent over and trying hard for the Yankee.
He made it, slamming through the back door and bursting into the room. He slid to a stop and straightened up to see two guns on him, and half a dozen of Bellows’ men, including Bellows himself. They were standing there smiling, and they had Ginia with them.
He’d bought himself a packet, and he didn’t hesitate. They were grinning at him, confident, sure, and they had the drop. Only he was a gambler and a bit of a damned fool, and that they should have known. He swung the muzzle of the Henry up and opened fire as fast as he could work the lever.
He saw the confident grin on Bellows’ face, the taunting smile on Semple’s lips vanish in horror. At a range of twenty feet you don’t miss with a rifle, and he didn’t. He knew he was going to die. He felt it in every bone, but he was going to give Ginia her chance. You don’t bargain with men of the Bellows type, and he knew it.
He saw Bellows jerk with the impact of his first shot. He had caught them flat-footed when he had fired instead of dropping his rifle. His was the act of a madman, but because of that very fact it came near to working���only there were too many of them.
He swung the muzzle of his rifle and let drive at Semple. Then he saw Tandy Herren suddenly step inside the door and lift his pistol, and Fallon levered two shots at him. Ginia was struggling with one of the men and she managed to lunge against another, spoiling his aim.
They were a pack of coyotes, and none of them wanted to face a rifle in that small room. Several lunged for the door at once and spilled into the street. He started toward the door, and then a heavy blow stru
ck him and he was turned halfway around. He turned the rest of the way and saw the marksman on the gallery above him step back out of sight. He levered two shots through the floor, guessing at where he would be.
Something hit him hard in the leg, and he fell, feeling the whip of bullets past him. Ginia was fighting like a cornered wildcat with the man who had held her. Now he was only trying to get free. Suddenly he did break loose, but she had his gun and as he scrambled for the door, she shot him.
Fallon was up on one knee. He shoved hard against the floor with his rifle stock and got up on his feet. Bellows was lying on the floor bleeding and crying for somebody to help him. Fallon stepped past him.
Ginia, her dress torn, caught at his arm, screaming, “No! No!”
He pulled away from her, fell against the door jamb, and stared stupidly into the street. The dirt of the road seemed to come alive with tiny spurts of dust, and three men lay sprawled there, dead … Bellows men.
He felt his knees weakening and he let go the rifle to get a better grip on the door jamb, but his fingers lacked the strength and he slid to the floor. Somebody was crying and somebody else was shooting, and far off he could hear the pound of racing hoofs. They kept pounding until their racing seemed to be inside his skull.
And then he was dead … or he felt like it. Never having been dead, he might have been mistaken. Evidently he was mistaken, for the sunshine across his bed was pleasant, and his eyes were open, looking at it. A curtain was blowing slightly with a faint breeze���but he had never had a curtain at his window.
He lay very still, afraid the curtain would go away, because he liked it and liked the feeling of lying here with nothing to worry about…
No, he had plenty to worry about He had to get out of here. He had sold a claim to Pollock and the man would soon know there was no gold there, and never had been.
He turned his head slowly and saw that the room was empty. It was his room, all right, but it did not look the same. Somebody had put a rag rug on the floor, and there were curtains at all the windows, and another chair���a rocker���had been moved into the room.
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