At first he thought they were going to do it, both of them. Thought he'd get out of this free and easy--until Bull, his eyes boring into Tuck like a crazy man's, yelled, "Shoot him, Purdee," and proceeded to take his own advice. A single .44-caliber bullet missed Tuck's head by the span of a hair. Without waiting for more, in a reflexive yank, Tuck pulled the trigger on his shotgun. With a broken cry, Bull took the charge full in the chest, a thick splatter of red patterning the air.
Without waiting for the body to fall, Tuck switched his aim to the other man. Purdee was fumbling with the rifle's lever, snapping it twice as unfired shells landed on the ground. He didn't seem to see Tuck, but stared at Bull's bloody body as if dazed.
Tuck's finger curled around the shotgun's trigger, on the verge of finishing the second man, an easy target. "I got another shot here. You want it?"
Another shell flew out. "N...no." Purdee's hand finally stilled its reflexive motion. "No."
"Drop the rifle," Tuck said again. He was almost surprised when, with a start, Purdee did, then held his arms high.
"Don't shoot, mister," Purdee begged.
To tell the truth, Tuck thought, his guts roiling of a sudden, he didn't think he had the strength. Look at me. Shaking like a girl.
Stumbling forward, he crossed the trail and took Purdee's weapon, ordering the man to wrap Bull's bloody corpse in the blanket from his bedroll and tie it onto his horse. Noticing how Purdee flinched when Tuck gave orders, he guessed the outlaws had been friends, until he figured out he was shouting at the man like he was deaf. The ear damaged in the beating Monroe's gang had given him rang like a school bell.
Tough old Purdee jumped every time Tuck's scattergun moved his way, which didn't exactly make Tuck feel any better. Shootin' a man--any man, outlaw or not--was something that just didn't settle well with him. It didn't help that Purdee had to stop three or four times and heave into the bushes. Pay him two cents and Tuck just might join him.
Chapter 15
* * *
Voices echoing up the stairwell awakened Pel. He started, his hand reaching for the Colt on the table beside the chair where he napped. Finding himself alone, his first thought was for Delight, fresh anxiety over where she might be nagging him until he heard Tuck Moon speaking. Relief flooded in. Moon must be talking to my wife, he thought.
Pel, levering himself upright with some effort, held to the stair rail for safety as he maneuvered himself downstairs to hear the deputy's report. He was a little surprised to discover Moon prodding a new prisoner toward the lock-up. There was no sign of his wife.
"You're back sooner than I expected." He cast a glance over the detainee. "Everything go all right?"
The deputy nodded. "Sorenson'll be here by evening," he said. "He had some branding to finish." Moon's thin features tightened as he pushed his prisoner, a rough looking character, into the cell with Schoefield. The two avoided looking at each other.
"That's the good news," he continued. "I had a run-in with a couple of yahoos on my way back to town. They're Monroe's men. This one has had plenty to say."
Pel frowned. "A couple?"
Tuck pointed outside to where a bay horse stood nibbling its bit at the rail, a body draped over the saddle. "That one and this one. They tried to ambush me. I had to kill one."
"Well, that'll help our odds some." Pel had no sympathy to waste on a dead outlaw. He eyed the two hapless bank robbers Moon had brought in the night before, both of whom were well chastened after a sobering night in the lock-up. One of them gripped the cell bars with white knuckles. "There going to be a war break out?" he asked. "Sheriff, I don't want no part of that."
"Thought you was in with that crowd," Moon said.
The man shook the bars. "No, sir. Not me...us. No, sir."
Pel studied him, judging the truth as best he was able. "It's getting a little crowded in there," he finally said. "You two learned your lesson?"
His face brightening with hope, the short, stocky man stood up. "You bet, Sheriff. No more robbing banks for me. Me and my brother, we've learnt our lesson, for sure."
The other one's head bobbed agreement.
Making an executive decision, Pel unlocked the cell door and stood aside. "Then get out of here. Leave town and don't ever come back." A sense of urgency drove him to tell Moon, "Walk 'em down to the livery, deputy, and make sure they pay their bill before they go. Deliver that body to the undertaker on your way, then stop in at the lumberyard for something to board these windows with. You can give me the bad news later."
Moon hadn't fooled him any. He could see whatever the deputy had learned spelled more trouble.
"You seen my wife?" he asked, trying to sound offhand.
Moon shook his head. "She shouldn't ought to be out today. Hard tellin' who's holed up in the alleys, waiting for tonight."
"I know it." Pel couldn't quite hide the anger he felt as he clomped over to the doorway to peer out into the street. Wasn't always easy, being married to such a headstrong woman, as much as he admired her independence--most of the time. What was she up to now?
"I expect she's fine," Moon said, not sounding any too confident. "She's carrying that bitty gun of hers, ain't she?"
"Better be."
The deputy nodded, his expression somber as he chivied the newly released pair from the office.
Birdsall occupied himself in cleaning his guns while the deputy was gone, a small chore that came close to making him sweat, weak as he was. He was still at it when Moon returned.
"I put a bug in those boys' ears," Moon said.
A worker from the lumberyard followed him, hauling a cartload of two-by-sixes.
Moon's crooked grin flashed. "Looked like they was plenty scared of Diggett Monroe, stepping into his territory without a by-your-leave."
Pel figured he might be right, since he'd seen the pair mount their horses and high-tail it out of Endurance at a dead run. But two inept bank robbers were the least of Pelham Birdsall's worries. Defending the office from an attack by Diggett Monroe and his gang loomed highest on his list. That and discovering his wife's present whereabouts.
As soon as they were alone, Moon had a full report for him, one that did nothing to set Pel's mind at ease. "Seems there's a rumor going around Monroe's camp," he said, "and your wife's name is mixed up in it."
A dollop of cold slid down Pel's spine. "What kind of rumor they got going now?" If there ever was a word he hated, it was rumor. He didn't, in plain fact, like his wife's name mentioned anywhere in a loose manner, and it scared hell out of him to hear Monroe's gang had been talking. But according to Moon it had been, and he had to know the details.
Moon flushed red as a thimbleberry, all the way from his neck poking out of a worn shirt collar to the roots of his sand-colored hair. "Happy Monroe, he's seen her on the street." His voice changed to a mumble. "Admires the way she looks. Then, after what happened to Filmore... Well, now he's bragging about what he's going to do when he catches up with her. Said if she cooperates, he might even keep her around for a while before he gets tired of her."
Pel's gut clenched, thinking of that piece of gossip doing the rounds in the Bucket of Sudz or O'Hanlon's place. Hellfire! If only he could persuade Delight to reconsider staying with Mary tonight, he'd be a lot happier man.
He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Moon said, "This is her home. Women set a lot of store on where they live. Rugs and china dishes, furbelows like that. They take care of what they have." He found a saw in amongst the lumber supplies and propped a two-by-six across the side window, measuring where to cut the board.
Wherever the deputy had gotten his information about women, Pel figured it was right on target. "Can't blame her, I guess," he said. "I feel the same. What I've got, I'll fight to defend. This building isn't the best place to make a stand. Too easy to surround. But I can't walk away from it--or from the job that comes with it."
Moon drew the saw across the line he'd drawn in the wood. "I ain't telling you any differen
t."
Pel talked like he was trying to convince himself of something. "Long as this is headquarters for all the law and order in this county, my duty is here. Leaving would be like giving up before I even started."
"I know it," the deputy agreed. "I'm with you."
A shadow passed in front of the window. Pel snatched up his shotgun and leveled it as the door opened. Delight, entering on a flurry of skirts, stopped dead still as she caught sight of him.
"Where have you been?" Pel hadn't meant to sound so rough.
Moon shot him a glance and Delight's surprise--and displeasure--was evident as the smile she'd worn faded.
"I took Mrs. Thomas a cake," she said as if bewildered. "Mr. Thomas' funeral is tomorrow."
"It isn't safe on the street today. I don't want you out."
He noticed the way her hand went to the pocket where her derringer was concealed. "It's broad daylight, Pelham. Plenty of people are around."
"No more, Delight. Listen to me. Stay in and out of sight until this is over."
He knew he'd offended her by the way she stiffened, her cheeks reddened, and her eyes snapped blue fire. "Yes, sir." She saluted with military precision and, without another word, whirled, fleeing up the stairs to their living quarters. The silence when she closed the door up there was broken only by Tuck Moon's whoosh of air through his nose, although wisely, the deputy never said a word.
Pel ran an oily cloth through a chamber on the Colt for a second--or third or fourth--time. "Shouldn't have said it like that," he finally muttered.
"Reckon probably not," Moon agreed.
"But, damn it," Pel said, then forgot what else he meant to say.
Moon looked up from his sawing. "Monroe won't come before dark, Sheriff. You should rest some."
"And apologize to my wife?"
Moon shrugged. "I expect it's gonna be a busy night, Sheriff. I can get these here fortifications whipped out in no time."
"I can help," Pel lied.
The deputy shook his head. "I'm used to doing by myself."
At last, persuaded and relieved, Pel hurried to put away his gun cleaning supplies and dragged himself back up the stairs to the couch and a lap robe. And, most importantly, to make that apology to his wife.
Delight, removing her apron as she entered the front room, came to meet him and lend a hand. She avoided meeting his eyes. "Pelham, what is going on downstairs? What's that racket?"
"Moon is boarding up the windows. We'll be fine," he assured her, seeing her lip tremble just a little. He settled on the couch with a tired sigh.
Delight, the cat curled on her lap, sat in the rocker beside him.
"Sorry, honey," he said. "I didn't mean to snap at you, earlier. It's just...I worry when you're out of my sight."
At this, she leaned forward to peck him on the lips, and he knew he was forgiven. Lucky the man with a wife who carried no grudges. Grinning crookedly, he told her about the bank robbers, ending up by saying, "So there are a couple fewer mouths for you to feed. That ought to cheer you up some."
Her answering smile looked forced. "I'm not so easily cheered, I'm afraid." Now, finally, she met his eyes full on. "Pel, we are going to be all right, aren't we?"
Pel reached for her hand. "Sure we are. You've been working too hard since I got shot, and it's made you pessimistic. But I still wish..."
Her finger across his mouth muffled the rest of the sentence.
Downstairs, steady blows of a hammer resounded, telling them Tuck Moon was busy nailing boards across the vulnerable glass windows. A curse or two made creative punctuation.
Desperation squeezed Pel's lungs. "Sweetheart, you can't prevent either Moon or me from getting shot, if that's what is meant to happen." He couldn't get the story Moon had passed on to him a while ago out of his mind. "But if you'd go over to M--"
She held up her hand, stopping him. He couldn't help thinking she was twice as stubborn as her pa had ever thought of being, and that was going some.
"There's something else, isn't there, Pel?" she asked him now, bringing his attention back with a jolt. She frowned, rocked the chair forward and straightened the pillow beneath his head. She'd bathed earlier and smelled freshly of lemon verbena. "Something you aren't telling me."
There were a good many things he didn't want to tell her. What was the point of scaring her more than she already was? Bad enough she knew an element out there wanted to harm her. No need for her to know exactly in what way. "Only what I've been saying until I'm blue in the face. Trouble is, you're not listening."
Her shadowed cerulean eyes rose to meet his. "Oh, I've been listening. But I'm not leaving you, Pelham Birdsall. Please, don't ask again. Rest. Let me do what I can to help and then later, I'll hide under the bed if that's what you want. But I'd rather not."
He pressed his head against the soft pillow. It felt good and he was tired. His eyes closed. "And if you'd rather not, you probably won't."
Soft lips touched the corner of his mouth. "No. I probably won't." He heard the smile in her voice. "Go to sleep," she said, so he did.
* * * *
When she was certain Pelham was asleep, Delight made her way downstairs where, following the rattle and bang of hammer upon nail, she stepped into the back hall. She found Tuck Moon there, applying thick planks diagonally, some this way and some that, across the rear door. He was making a thorough job of it. She stood watching a minute before he became aware of her.
"The sheriff resting up for tonight?" he asked.
"Yes." She took up the broom and swept the dirt he'd shaken loose into a pile.
"Sorry for the mess and the racket, Mrs. Sheriff." He removed his shabby hat and ran his arm over his sweating brow. From his awkward manner with the hammer, this wasn't a job he was accustomed to doing. "I'm putting these boards up so can't nobody slip in without one of us knowing. Hope this ain't keeping him awake."
Delight made a throwaway gesture with her hand. "It's not." The hammering hadn't disturbed Pel in the slightest. Still, the deputy's efforts bothered her.
"Are we keeping them out, do you suppose, or us in?" she asked.
Tuck Moon shot her a wary look. "Ma'am?"
Limping on his bad leg, the sheepherder's dog came up and stood beside her, nuzzling her apron pocket where she happened to have a couple pieces of leftover bacon saved from breakfast. In feeding him, she'd noticed his ribs made knobby ridges beneath the heavy fur. She stroked the animal's head as he wolfed down the treat.
"Let's hope it doesn't occur to Monroe to set the building on fire," she said. "His men seem to have set a precedent of sorts these last few days. I have no desire to be roasted alive."
"No, ma'am!" Tuck sounded shocked. "Me neither. But what else am I supposed to do? There's only me--and the sheriff. Tell you what I'd do if I figured Pel could handle what happens here."
"What is that, Mr. Moon?"
"Tonight, as Monroe's men come to town, I'd go after them one-by-one. Not wait for them to bring the fight here."
Excitement quickened in Delight's mind as the import of his logic sank in. What he said made perfect sense, if only it could be done. "Do you think it would do any good?"
Moon's chest puffed out. "I faced down those two back-shooters this morning and came out on top. Two less of them helps our odds."
"That's true." Delight tapped a fingernail on a tooth. "I hadn't realized you were such a strategist, Mr. Moon."
"A what?"
She smiled. "A strategist. In this case, someone who plans our line of attack. I have no doubt you're on the right track."
"Yeah." Moon pounded in another nail, the rat-tat-tat of his hammer sounding an angry tattoo. "Too bad it won't work."
"Why is that?"
"Because I can't go off and leave the sheriff. It'll take more than one man to defend the jail."
She watched as he finished the door, picked up a couple of boards and the bag of nails and carried them over to the side window. He'd saved the front for last, perhaps t
o make the preparations less obvious from the street. The town folk were apt to become a little upset when they saw the sheriff's office preparing for a siege.
He took up the hammer again and glared at it. "You know as well as I do the sheriff can't handle this big of a place by himself. He's barely on his feet, let alone able to hie off from one window to another fast as a man can run. If Sorenson don't show..." He stopped.
She refrained from saying Pel wouldn't be alone, that she would be at his side, and said stoutly, "What we need is to find others we can rely on who will take up arms in support of their town."
"Don't know who that'd be." His scowl was pensive. "Figure they ought've stepped up by now if they mean to."
"Oh, I agree, Mr. Moon. But perhaps even at this late date a few can be convinced to lend a hand. Worth a try, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, ma'am." He took off his hat, revealing the tan line across his forehead, and wiped away a film of sweat and sawdust. He set down his hammer. "Reckon I'd better get at it then. It'll be dark soon. Before you know it. And I still got this to do."
Delight had no trouble ascertaining his worry. So much to do, so little time. "I'll go," she said. "These people know me. I'll make them listen."
"Pel said you wasn't to leave the building."
"This is something I have to do. I'll be right here on the main street," she assured him, mentally running over the list of men she thought halfway capable of defending their own property. Sheridan, O'Hanlon, Mr. Hunt, maybe Mr. DeWitt, although he was doubtful. Mr. Schmidt who talked tough, if one could understand him. And I'll try Mayor Green, too. "I won't go out of your sight. If I need you, I'll scream."
He cocked an eyebrow.
"I promise."
"You sure Pel's asleep?" he asked warily.
She smoothed her skirt. "Yes."
"Huh." Moon made a show of turning his back.
Delight surmised it was his way of agreeing to the old "what you don't know won't hurt you" school of thought. She tiptoed out the door, shutting it gently behind her.
Sheridan, the blacksmith whose life and property the deputy had saved a few days earlier, had obviously been thinking along the same lines as Delight. She stood outside the shop where she fanned herself with a hand against the heat radiating from the white hot coals in the forge. He, working in his long underwear, appeared not to notice his sweat-soaked state.
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