Before he could change his mind, he hastened toward the street, making his footfalls sound as heavy as possible. Down at the end of the alley, he spied someone waiting for him. Someone who stood up and called, "Jake? Is that you?"
* * * *
"Hey, you, Mrs. Sheriff. We need the pot emptied. It stinks."
Schoefield, having regained all his belligerence, stood at the cell door bellowing at the top of his lungs and complaining--as usual.
Thoroughly disgusted, Delight did her best to ignore him. For a moment, she wished she hadn't been so quick to see Deputy Moon on his way. She had no vocabulary with which to answer Schoefield's complaint or his crudity.
"Hey," he yelled again, "what time is supper around here? I'm hungry. We all are. We're entitled to our meals, by God."
With the last plank barring the door nailed in place, she gathered the accoutrements of her work and stashed them out of the way.
"You." Schoefield bellowed as if she were as far away as the moon. "Somebody come dump these slops. A man can't hold it all day, ya know. And I--we--got a right to a clean cell."
Delaying the moment of direct confrontation, she paused to light a lamp in the darkened room, then knelt, propping the remaining boards against the bottom of the occupied cell as a further barricade against bullets. If only she could stop her ears from the onerous duty of hearing the prisoner. The surprising element was that Pel had managed to sleep through Schoefield's bellowing.
Worse, to everyone's misfortune, she had to admit the prisoners' pot did stink. Something they all had to live with for the moment.
Standing, she took time to survey her surroundings. She'd secured the jail best she knew how. Tuck's handiwork at the rear door looked strong enough to hold back a charging elephant, while the windows she'd boarded over had firing slits where the defenders could look out, but attackers could not see in. At least that was the plan.
The main door had the heaviest bar that would fit the hardware, and there were two two-by-fours set to prop against the door to prevent it from opening. All in all, an hour's worth of hard work. Waiting came next. But for how long?
And how is Tucker Moon faring? What does this eerie silence outside mean? He's been gone an awfully long time.
"Hey you, Mrs. Sheriff," Schoefield shouted from about a yard away. "You deef?"
Finding herself closer to him than she liked, she stepped farther out of reach. She wouldn't put it past him to try and grab her through the bars. And why, she wondered, hadn't the builders of this jail had the good sense to use plank doors in the first place, instead of open bars? She'd speak to Mr. O'Hanlon one of these days, since he'd bragged on helping build it. She'd ask--no, demand--the cell doors be changed.
Retreating to a safe distance, she faced the prisoner at last. "No, Mr. Schoefield, I'm not deaf. And I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. If you're inconvenienced, blame Mr. Monroe. If it weren't for him, you'd have normal sanitary privileges."
"La-di-dah," Schoefield began, but from within the cell, Wheatley grumbled something just outside her hearing. He might have been agreeing with her because Schoefield turned and snapped, "Shut up, Milt. Whose side are you on?"
Delight slipped away while his attention was thus diverted and hustled up the stairs to the apartment. Craven retreat, she knew, but justified her escape on the grounds it had been hours since she'd last checked on Pelham. He said he was better. And he had to be, this night. He was certain to be thoroughly tested.
As it happened, she found Pelham asleep in the rocking chair, the tabby curled on his lap. It made Delight smile to see the pair of them. Before he'd been shot Pel had ignored the cat, calling it "a woman's critter," although she'd caught him petting it and feeding it tidbits more than once. She hadn't let on she'd noticed. But since that awful night, he seemed to take comfort in the creature's presence.
The tabby opened its golden eyes as Delight came over and placed her hand on Pel's shoulder. Her light touch jerked him awake as Schoefield's commotion could not.
"Everything all right?" he asked, blinking at her. The lamps needed lit and she moved to do so.
"Yes. So far. We're as ready as we'll ever be." She didn't want to talk about the coming fight. Not yet. "Are you hungry? I suppose I'll have to fix the prisoners something. Mr. Schoefield has been complaining. A sandwich, I think. And a piece of that green apple pie. There's just enough to go around."
Pel yawned. "A pity to waste the pie on them."
She forced a laugh as she walked into the kitchen and pumped water into the coffee pot. She made a full pot, figuring they'd need every drop before this night ended. "Don't worry. There's plenty for you."
The rocking chair creaked as Pel fought his way upright and followed her. "Moon get the building sealed off? I heard the hammer even while I was sleeping. Seemed to take him a long time."
Delight kept her back to him. Let him eat first, then tell him Deputy Moon had taken it upon himself to carry the fight to the enemy. And that it was just Pel and her here to protect this bastion of law and order.
"The building is as secure as possible," she said, spreading golden butter on thick-sliced brown bread. Even these prisoners would have no call to say they were underfed.
Pel's arms slipped around her waist and just for a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself lean against him like she would've done without thinking two weeks ago. Then she stiffened her spine and moved out of his reach.
"It'll be dark soon," she said. "We need to get set."
She felt his eyes on her. "We? No, honey. Not you. Moon and I. We can handle it. It's too late for you to go elsewhere, but you can take cover up here. The kitchen is the best place, I think. In that space behind the kitchen stove where the brick chimney wall backs it up. Remember to stay low."
Delight nodded, as though agreeing. "I hadn't thought of it, but I expect that is the safest place in the house. Hot, though."
"Better hot than shot." Pleased with his play on words, Pel took the sandwich she handed him and began to eat, taking big bites. He'd already buckled on his gun belt with the Peacemaker Colt in the holster. The belt drooped low over his hips, thinner now than looked comfortable. He'd propped a Winchester carbine against the door jamb close to hand, with a ten-gauge double-barreled shotgun next to it. She'd smelled the gun oil in the office where he'd cleaned his weapons earlier, preparing them for action. It was a smell that permeated the entire building.
A shiver went through her. How had they come to this? With a powerful liking for this country and the people, she and Pel had decided to stay almost from the day they arrived. Not for the first time, she wondered at Diggett Monroe's reasoning. He cared nothing for home or land. Why did he want theirs? How could one man turn a whole town--no, a whole county--upside down with only greed for motivation? She didn't understand and thought she never would.
Finished putting the sandwiches together, she set them on a tray with three plates of apple pie, and added cups for the coffee.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"As I'll ever be." Pel gathered his weapons and started down the stairs, leaning against the wall for balance.
Good, Delight thought. He was taking no chances against a fall. She held back a little, giving him room. But since he was ahead of her, she was fully aware when he reached the bottom, swept the room with a glance, and found it empty except for the prisoners in their cell.
He faced her, his gaze piercing and full of accusation. "Where is he, Delight?" he asked, before she had a chance to set down the tray. "Where's Moon? He hasn't gone, has he?"
She'd never had him take such a harsh tone with her. Quiet, so the prisoners wouldn't catch his words, but stern. And cold. Despite herself, her lips trembled. "Certainly not. Deputy Moon is out patrolling the town, Pel. He...we...decided together."
"Exactly what did you decide--together?"
She drew in a breath and lifted her head. "We decided it would be best to have a person outside, so, if things go wron
g, not all of us are trapped inside the jail. On the positive side, we believe Monroe will stop short of burning the place with his own men inside, and that you and I together can hold the building against the rest of them."
"You and I?" Anger soured Pel's voice. "Delight, he's got twenty men--"
Delight shook her head, interrupting him. "Twenty men? Perhaps he did--perhaps--but we can account for three right here. And at least two more, among the dead."
He stared at her.
"We do have a plan, Pel. Deputy Moon will draw some of Monroe's men away from the jail, thereby dividing his forces and giving us all a better chance. And, until Sorenson arrives...well, we've contacted some of the townsmen. A few have volunteered to take up arms and join us."
"Who?"
Her reply had almost as much bite as his question. "Schmidt, Sheridan, Hunt, Mayor Green and, of course, Mr. O'Hanlon."
Pel grunted. "This is the most outlandish, most foolish stunt I ever heard of," he got out from between gritted teeth. "What makes Moon think he has any chance of coming out of it alive?"
Her voice was very soft. "I believe he's depending on courage and determination, my darling. And maybe a trace of luck. Just like you. What other choice do any of us have?"
* * * *
Pel stood aside, watching Delight, her body tense, approach the cell, the prisoner's meal balanced on a tray. She'd learned caution these last few days. She made sure the plates of food fit beneath the cell door, and poured coffee into cups the prisoners held out through the bars. He approved.
Schoefield, of course, found fault. "Sandwiches? I wanted steak and mashed taters."
Delight never turned a hair at his objection. It seemed as though she didn't even hear him.
Although on the outside Sheriff Pelham Birdsall railed against his deputy's foolhardiness in going into the streets alone, he had to admit to a degree of admiration. Foolhardy, yes, given the number of men they were up against. Had the outlaws been fewer, or he an unmarried man, it was just the kind of brash ploy he would've thought of himself. But he was married, and glad of it, never forgetting the responsibilities happiness brought.
"When did Moon leave?" His voice softened. Poor girl. She'd done nothing to deserve his censure. This obligation was his to bear--his and Moon's--not hers.
She brought the coffee pot over to the desk and set it on a pad. "About an hour ago."
He moved around the room, taking in the boarded-up windows and barricaded doors, and frowned. "An hour? Hasn't been that long since the hammering stopped."
Her skirt swished. "Most anyone can wield a hammer, Pel. Including me."
"You?" A grin hovered, fighting to break free from the hold he had on it.
The deep blue of Delight's eyes appeared to twinkle. "Do you doubt it?"
In truth, Pel had begun to think there was nothing his young wife couldn't do; nothing she wouldn't dare to do. Turns out she was a bit of a spitfire, and he'd never once guessed, so demure she'd always been, giving in to his judgment. He trusted her newfound independence wouldn't turn contentious.
Putting his eye to a slit between boards over the front window, he stole a look outside. Whether Moon or Delight, whoever had done the nailing had also put the slit at about eye level. Just the right height for a man with a rifle. He would've liked a more open field of fire, but this would do. As he watched, he saw the shape of a man flit from one side of Schmidt's Mercantile across the way to the other. Another slid into a prone position behind the watering trough next to the hitching rail in front of the store. Pel hoped the thug was enjoying lying in the liberal amounts of wet horse manure scattered there.
So he'd spied out two of the enemy. Where were the others? He never doubted there were more. How many was the question. And where was Moon?
"Delight," he said, "pour those boys another cup of coffee, then take yourself upstairs. Looks like it's going to get a little busy here in a while."
He propped his rifle handy at the front window and moved along to the side. Ah, yes. There was another of Monroe's men, partially visible, not nearly so well hidden behind a pillar holding up the front of Green's butcher shop as he probably hoped. Three of them now, he'd spotted.
This one being the easiest, he'd take him out first, a good lesson to the rest of the gang to show a mite of caution. He placed his scattergun at this window, along with a box of shells. A sense of apprehension mixed with excitement started his heart pumping harder and he panted, his lungs trying to keep up. A drop of sweat rolled down his face.
Sorenson should've had time to get here by now. Where was he?
When he turned around, Delight was still there, calmly shoving fresh cartridges in her little derringer.
"What're you doing? I told you to go upstairs. Hunker down where I showed you." Concern put a sharp edge on his tone.
"Look at you." Her voice was softly mocking. "You move like an old, old man. Not your fault, my darling, but you can't get around this room fast enough to cover every window. So I'm going to help you."
Pel opened his mouth meaning to counter her reasoning when, from outside, a rifle cracked and a bullet thudded into the wall not six inches above his head.
It had begun.
"Get the light," he said, and almost before the words were out of his mouth, Delight had dashed to the desk and extinguished the one there. A second lamp, one fixed to wall next to the cells followed, plunging the room into near-darkness. Within the cells, one of the prisoners swore and a tin cup clattered onto the stone floor.
"That was just a warning shot, Birdsall," Schoefield said. "Better give up. Maybe Monroe will let your wife go." He laughed. "But I doubt it."
Pel refused to be taunted. Drawing his pistol, he knelt at the side of the front window and watched for movement. Forget Sorenson. Where was Tuck Moon? Had he run? Had he joined Monroe? Was he dead?
"Delight, please," he said without turning his head, "go upstairs. I can't worry about you and fight these yahoos, too."
He hadn't seen or even heard her approach, but a touch of her hand showed she was right beside him. Little fool.
"Then don't worry about me. Just tell me where I can serve you best and I'll do it, even if it's only reloading your weapons."
He couldn't see her expression or tell if her voice had trembled. He didn't think it had. Her dad had been a man to trust your life with, as rock-solid as the surrounding hills. How could it be he'd never before seen the ways she resembled Tom Regal? Reaching out, he put his arm around her and pulled her close, drinking in the fragrance of lemon and lavender from her hair. She made a real nice armful...that was sure.
"I don't know who scares me most," he said. "You or them."
Chapter 17
* * *
The shot Schoefield described to the sheriff as a warning also gave Deputy Tuck Moon cause for gratitude. It diverted the feller at the end of the alley enough Tuck closed in on him before the outlaw could realize the one approaching him was a much smaller man than his friend Jake. And by then, it was too late.
The shotgun butt to the jaw had worked fine the first time Tuck tried it. Worked almost as well the second. Took two blows to bring the man down this time, although the first paralyzed any real resistance. Early starlight showed Tuck his opponent's face. He didn't remember having seen him even before the loss of two teeth and a bloody mouth altered his appearance.
Using the man's own braided rope belt to secure his hands in back of him, Tuck then tugged the unconscious outlaw's britches low enough he could use the legs as binding at the ankles. Two men down--two enemies removed from play. It was bidding fair to be a successful enterprise.
But Tuck set no store in precedent. Aware of the other two who'd been on his tail, he wouldn't feel free to brag until they had all been eliminated. With his latest catch dragged to the side out of the way, Tuck took up station where the man had been. He'd always been a patient hunter. The next move was up to them.
He hadn't long to wait. Only enough time passed t
o let the spurt of battle energy ebb and get his ragged breathing under control. Truth be told, he could've used a little longer, but the thud of boot heels on the boardwalk outside the saloon warned him that was not in the cards.
One set of boot heels. Where had the second man gone?
"Ed," the one following him called as he came closer, "that deputy come by yet?"
Tuck recognized a yahoo named Lisenbee by his whiskey-roughened voice.
It didn't seem polite not to answer. "Shh," he whispered, withdrawing deeper into the alley. He gestured Lisenbee over to him. "This way."
"You seen Jake?" Without a trace of suspicion, the outlaw followed him. It wasn't until Tuck stopped and faced him that the man knew anything was wrong.
"You ain't Ed," Lisenbee sputtered, alarmed. "Where is he?"
A snuffling came from over by the dump pile where Tuck had dragged Ed.
"What's that?" Lisenbee asked, peering over Tuck's shoulder.
"A rat." Tuck brought up his shotgun.
Even then, at first, Lisenbee's predicament didn't sink in. Then it did. Finally catching on to what was happening, he yelped, "Hell on fire. You're that damn deputy." Skittering back out of Tuck's reach, he grabbed for the pistol at his hip.
Tuck had a second of worry, but then saw Lisenbee had a problem. The pistol's hammer had hung up on the holster's thong and no matter how hard the outlaw yanked, he couldn't free the pistol.
"Fool, watch--" Tuck began, but before he could finish, the pistol went off. Straight away, Lisenbee started hollering and dancing around on one foot--until he fell over.
"Ooh," he yowled. "Ooh, ooh."
He reminded Tuck of a cow caught in a barbed wire fence, the way he thrashed around.
But it may have been that at a distance, his cries sounded like the command to begin firing. Seemed certain whichever of Monroe's men had taken a position on the roof took them as such. To Tuck's astonishment, the roof man opened up shooting blind, emptying his rifle's entire magazine into the alley. Bullets sprayed every which way, with a couple ricocheting off some good-sized boulders whoever had built the saloon had dug away from the foundation and left scattered.
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