Strong Convictions: An Emmett Strong Western (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 1)

by GP Hutchinson

  “Don’t know that I’d call it ‘skittish,’” Emmett murmured back, lowering the Winchester.

  The temperature was rising. A bead of sweat ran down his back.

  “Let’s press on,” he said.

  After another quarter mile of slow ascent, he twisted in the saddle, hoping to check the progress of the riders who had been giving chase across the valley. A hill screened them from view.

  He peered back to see how the Chinese were handling the steepening incline. Behind them Sikes looked especially uneasy, his head turning side to side, up, then back.

  What if they were in fact dry-gulched and slaughtered up here? McIntosh and Blaylock would have won out on all counts. That’d be a tragedy—especially if McIntosh were to get Li and Ping back.

  It just couldn’t happen. That’s all there was to it.

  He peeked at Li. This time, she smiled at him. And her eyes told him that there were things she wanted to say. A flurry of feathers swirled in his stomach. Soon, he thought, determined to remain vigilant.

  Just ahead, the pass veered around a large fold in the rock, forcing them to make a blind cutback to the left. Emmett signaled for the column to hold up. He walked his horse to the bend and eased around it. From left to right, from top to bottom, he studied the high ground ahead. Nothing moved. Nothing flashed unnaturally. There were no out-of-place colors.

  Best I can tell…He drew a breath and waved the group ahead.

  The last of the party had ridden only a few yards beyond the bend when a shot exploded from the somewhere directly ahead. Blood sprayed Emmett. Reverend Pine’s horse screamed and fell. Emmett glimpsed a gaping hole in the animal’s neck as it went down.

  “Back!” he yelled. “Back around the bend.”

  Reverend Pine grasped Sheriff Morrison’s extended hand and jumped up behind the saddle onto his mount.

  With horses wheeling this way and that, the band had the look of a stirred-up ant bed. Yet even though handling horses within the tight confines of a mountain pass was new to most of the Chinese, it seemed everyone was going to make it back around the bend safely.

  Juanito and Sikes hurried forward.

  “One of McIntosh’s buffalo guns,” Emmett said, pointing up the hillside. “Took an ugly chunk out of that pony’s neck.”

  “We can’t go back down,” Juanito said. “McIntosh’s men will be reaching the mouth of the ravine about now.”

  Turning to the Chinese, Emmett yelled, “Everybody off your horses. Take cover where you can.”

  They had just begun to do as he had urged them when a hailstorm of lead began to blow in from above and behind them. The percussion and echo of rifle fire in the pass was deafening. It was impossible to communicate to everyone at once.

  One of Yong Xu’s volunteers twisted and tumbled from the saddle.

  Tarnation! Looked as if his worst fear might come true.

  In the instant it took to scan the hillside, he lost track of Li. Bullets rang past him as he wheeled his pinto and searched desperately for her and Ping.

  Sikes cried out in pain. He slid from his horse and tried to crawl from the trail to cover. He wasn’t making good progress.

  Emmett swung out of the saddle and ran to him.

  “Dammit!” Sikes grimaced. “Same leg they got me in before.”

  Right away Emmett could tell that this wound was worse. He grasped his friend by the shoulders and dragged him to a boulder that somewhat shielded both of them. Working feverishly, he pulled off his neckerchief and cinched it around Sikes’s leg just above the wound.

  “You gonna be OK, Sikes?”

  Though a little peaked, the Englishman nodded. “Go shoot somebody.” He cursed, then lay back and groaned.

  Emmett peered over the boulder. Immediately a bullet struck within feet of his head, sending slivers of rock and a spray of grit into his face. He ducked. But not before he had spotted Li Xu. A gray horse lay dead still on its side. She was wedged as close to its belly as she could get.

  She’s too exposed there.

  He picked out another boulder that offered better shelter for her, then dashed down the slope. His intestines tightened. With each step, he expected a fat piece of lead to smack into him and knock him off his feet. He feared going down only feet from Li—lying there, seeing her hit, being completely powerless to help.

  But he reached her side. She jumped at his touch, terror in her eyes.

  “Come with me. Quick!” He looped his arm around her waist and lifted her. As they ran, he wasn’t sure her toes ever touched the ground.

  Nestling her behind the boulder, he said, “Stay put, Li. Please don’t go anywhere.”

  “Ping,” she said, her eyes pleading. “Ping’s out there.”

  “I’ll get her. I promise.” He squeezed her hand.

  As Emmett stole glimpses around the boulder, the intensity of the gunfire seemed to reach a crescendo. He had no idea how many had fallen on either side, but he could see that his friends here below were firing back up the hillside relentlessly.

  He spied Ping’s smock on the ground. Her hands covered her head. She was tight up against a man in western clothes and a mandarin cap. His hands likewise covered his head.

  Before running, Emmett took a quick glance up and found that he had his first clear shot at one of McIntosh’s boys. He threw the rifle stock to his shoulder and squeezed off a round. It missed. The concussion of a bullet whipping by made him turn his head and cringe instinctively.

  Working the lever feverishly and squeezing off three more rounds, Emmett at last sent his target tumbling limply down the hillside. One less bushwhacker.

  Emmett sprinted to Ping. Something orange or red above and to the right caught his attention. He drew his Colt and snapped off a shot.

  When he tried to lift the girl, she stiffened.

  “Come on, Ping. It’s me—Emmett.”

  She was conscious but evidently in shock, capable of nothing more than staring and trembling.

  With no more time to waste out in the open, Emmett hefted her in his arms and made a run for it. His boots slipped on the steep embankment. Shale gave way beneath his feet. Bullets kicked up dirt far too close. At last he reached the dry grass.

  Seconds later he skidded to his knees alongside Li. She had wedged herself as close as possible to the massive rock.

  “Li, here’s Ping,” he said, breathing hard.

  Li’s head came up. She crawled to Ping’s side. “What’s wrong with her? Has she been shot?”

  “I don’t think so. Just overwhelmed by it all, I think. Hold onto her. I’ll be back.”

  Emmett raced back to the man Ping had been lying next to. When he got there, he saw why the fellow was lying so still. He wouldn’t recover from that hit.

  From the fallen Chinaman, he hurried to check on Sikes and found the Englishman chambering a cartridge into the Sharps.

  “You’re still alive,” Emmett said.

  “Alive and giving them as much trouble as I can.”

  Just then two of the Chinese volunteers ducked behind the rock where he and Sikes sat.

  One of the two, Chao, asked, “Do you have any of that dynamite with you?”

  Emmett cringed. He realized there were two sticks wrapped in thick, waxed paper in his saddlebag. “Yes,” he said. “Why?”

  “I think we can make our way up there.” Chao pointed toward the source of some of the heavier gunfire. “We can plant some up above McIntosh’s men. Bring down an avalanche of rock on them.”

  “Dreadful dangerous,” Emmett said.

  Sikes scoffed. “And we’re safe right now?”

  Emmett glanced at Sikes’s leg. He was bleeding badly.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  Emmett scrambled to his feet and ran down the slope to his horse, firing as he went. For a moment the
return gunfire slacked off. He reached into his saddlebag and grabbed the dynamite. A trail of bullets followed him back to the boulder.

  He pulled a tin of matches from his vest pocket. “Here you go. Wait till I reload and start firing again before you run.”

  Chao nodded.

  “Sikes?”

  “Yes?”

  “You holding up OK?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you got a target in mind?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then on ‘three,’” Emmett said.

  He counted. On “three” he popped up, firing toward the cluster of rocks that seemed to have been producing most of the trouble. Sikes leaned forward and fired off a round.

  The big bullet from the Sharps loosened a large rock that had been hiding one of McIntosh’s outlaws. When the stone fell away, bouncing and rolling down the slope, Emmett caught sight of the gunhand. He took quick aim and fired. The McIntosh man slumped.

  Meanwhile, Chao and the other Chinese gent were well on their way up the slope. They zigged and zagged. First they pulled away from where most of McIntosh’s men seemed to be. Then near the summit, they cut back.

  Emmett returned his attention to Li and Ping. They were still lying tight against the big boulder.

  He now searched for Juanito. He hadn’t seen him for a while and couldn’t spot him even now.

  While his gaze combed the slope, he felt a sudden, forceful pressure in his chest, followed instantly by a tremendous flash and a roar. It seemed as though half the facing hillside turned to gravel and rained down on them.

  Dirt darkened the air. His ears were ringing. Through the dust, he saw two McIntosh men rise unsteadily to their feet. A fusillade rose from the bottom of the ravine, and the two crumpled and rolled till their bodies came to rest side by side.

  For a few seconds there was no further gunfire.

  Then he spotted Chao and his friend stooping, peering cautiously downhill at their handiwork. They stood, waved their arms, and cheered.

  There was a single pop, and Chao’s friend fell.

  “Dammit!” Emmett muttered. He had seen the shooter, but just that fast, the outlaw had taken cover again.

  “Sikes?”

  “I saw him.”

  “Got him if he moves?”

  “I do.”

  They waited only an instant.

  The buffalo gun thundered. And that was the last shot of the encounter.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Studying the doctor’s face, Emmett discerned without a word that the news would not be good. The characteristic ruddiness was gone from Sikes’s cheeks. Eyes closed, the Englishman moaned softly. One of the older Chinese women took over mopping his face with a cool, damp cloth. The doctor gestured for Emmett and Juanito to follow him out of the room.

  On the front porch of the simple frame house, the surgeon shook his head. “I’m trying to save the leg. But if I had to guess right now, I’d say we’ll be amputating by morning. Maybe before.”

  Emmett pounded the porch post, then leaned his weary head against it.

  Juanito patted Emmett’s arm.

  The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know, Doc. You’re doing your best.” Emmett pushed away from the post. “If it was me going under the saw, I couldn’t complain. This was my mission.”

  “Oye, hermano,” Juanito said. “Sikes volunteered. He knew what he was getting into. And he did it because he wanted to.”

  Recalling the volunteers who had lost not only legs but lives, Emmett stared past his brother-in-law.

  “He and I talked,” Juanito went on. “He did it for you. But he did it for the Chinese people here too. He did it because it was right.”

  Emmett nodded.

  “Go rest for an hour or two,” the doctor said. “I’ll send for you right away if his condition changes.”

  “You sure?” Emmett asked wearily.

  “Absolutely.”

  Emmett closed his eyes for just a moment, drew a deep breath, and said, “I need some soup…or something.”

  “Xu’s wife has food ready over at the Golden Dragon,” Juanito said. “Go get some.” He flicked both hands at Emmett.

  “I’m going.”

  Emmett ambled over to the Golden Dragon feeling completely spent. It hurt to walk. When he saw the yellow lamplight spilling out of the café’s front windows, he stopped in his tracks. His heart fluttered.

  Was all of this about to be over? The long chase of Charlie Blaylock? The daydreams about a lively, breathtaking Chinese girl? Sikes could no longer help. Sheriff Morrison had done all he could. And Emmett wouldn’t ask the Chinese for more.

  With his hand on the door handle, he hesitated. He wondered whether when he headed back to Texas in just a few days it would be without Charlie Blaylock in handcuffs. Without this mesmerizing new girl in his life. Without his new friend, Sikes. If so, why had all this happened?

  When he opened the door, every pair of eyes in the room turned to him. What was it he read on their faces? It eluded him…until Yong Xu’s wife hurried over to his side.

  “Mr. Strong,” she said, taking his arm. “You come eat. Hot pork dumplings. Hot tea. Then you sleep. You must be very tired.” She smiled softly.

  “I am, ma’am.”

  “Then you come sit down.”

  In seconds, there must’ve been five Chinese mothers waiting on him, bringing him food and drink. One even pulled off his boots and brought a pillow for him to rest his feet on.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. As he looked around the dining room, he recognized some of the men who had ridden out to help bring back Li and Ping. They were seated with neighbors who had stayed behind. Women carrying heaping platters of savory-smelling food scurried between the kitchen and the exhausted, famished men.

  He supposed Li Xu was at home in her own room, asleep. That was good—best for her. But he wished he could see her now, for at least a little while.

  He ate a few dumplings and thought they were about the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth.

  When they brought him more tea, he said, “May I have water, please? I’m parched. I just want something cool.”

  “You drink tea,” a grandmother insisted. “Help you rest.”

  He gave in.

  And rest he did. The next hour was a blur. Someone—he never would recall who—guided him to a tiny room in a tiny house where he fell into bed. All consciousness escaped him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Lucian McIntosh’s dark form seemed to absorb the light from the campfire. He and the band of gunmen standing behind him had ridden hard.

  Hands on his hips and feet planted wide, he leaned in. Only his white shirt and his face showed color—and his face was as red as Seth had ever seen it.

  “You couldn’t hold ’em down another ten minutes?” he roared. “And how the hell did them Chinamen get up above you on that hill?” He pointed toward the spot where the dynamite had been detonated.

  Only two of his gunslicks had survived the shootout with Emmett Strong’s party. They were rough men—men who had seen a great deal of violence. But they had never been part of a bushwhacking gone so bad.

  “Buck Tanner was on the buffalo rifle,” one of the two said, a bloody bandanna tied around his head, covering one eye. “Once they got him, we didn’t have no more cover from that side. But there was so much gunfire comin’ up from the trail that we didn’t even know Buck was gone till after it was too late.”

  McIntosh turned on Seth. Spittle spewed from his mouth as he vented. “They had one Sharps rifle the day this all started. I gave you four of ’em. They used dynamite on you the night they kidnapped Charlie. Do I have to give everybody dynamite every time we go out to take care of business now?”

  Seth seethed inside. “Sir, you
know we needed those Sharps out there for the exchange today.”

  “Why?” McIntosh bellowed. “So they wouldn’t shoot your sorry backside?”

  Never before had Lucian McIntosh shown such low regard for his loyalty and talents. He gritted his teeth, wanting to defend himself. But he held back.

  “Now are we gonna stay two steps behind Emmett Strong till he decides he’s wreaked all the havoc he cares to up here?” McIntosh said. “Or are we gonna get the jump on them damn Texans?”

  Seth drew a breath to answer, but McIntosh jammed his hand to within a foot of his face.

  The big boss glared from Seth to Charlie and back. “You got your brother back today, but we still lost. I aimed to have Emmett Strong and them damn Chinese witness me takin’ those girls right back. And then I wanted that whole batch of ’em to die. Maybe leave one Chinaman to go back over to the other side of this mountain and tell folks never to mess with Lucian McIntosh again. Ever.” He turned to the two ambush survivors. “Instead, what do you expect everybody over there in Chinatown is sayin’ tonight? Huh?”

  The campfire popped as a chunk of wood settled, sending up a salvo of yellow-orange sparks.

  McIntosh crossed over to the gunhand with the bandanna over his eye, grabbed him by the collar with both fists, and yanked him to his feet. “They’re over there boastin’ about how Emmett Strong and his Chinaman pardner rode into Lucian McIntosh’s own yard and told McIntosh the way things were gonna be. And then they made it happen. Now who gets to do such around here and live to tell about it?”

  The gunhand stammered, “N-nobody. But you told us to just keep ’em pinned down till you got here. Told us ’specially not to shoot them China girls. You said—”

  Something metallic glinted in the firelight, and the gunhand’s eyes went wide. McIntosh’s huge hand jerked upward from the middle of the gunslick’s belly. The gunman gave a choked grunt. When Lucian withdrew his hand, the blade he clutched dripped blood.

  McIntosh shoved the gutted gunman to the ground. “I know what I said. And this is what you get for not doin’ it.”

  For several moments, no one dared speak.