Stryker's Ambush ( a Stryker Western #2)
Page 14
Outside, Stryker unhitched the zebra and mounted. On second thought, he leaned down and gathered up the reins of Havelock’s lineback. He rode up Grand away from the border of Mexico for nearly a hundred yards.
In front of Bartlett’s Merchantile, he dismounted and looped the reins of the zebra and Havelock’s lineback to the hitching rail. People seemed to know to stay at least this far away from Harry’s place.
Havelock.
The marshal had yet to leave the adobe building. Stryker stood for a long moment, giving Havelock an extra bit of time. Then, leaving the horses at the hitching rail, he started walking back toward Harry’s place. He ignored the trickle of tears on his cheek and the yellow telegram in his breast pocket.
Stryker’s pace was neither fast nor slow. It reflected the determination on his scarred face. A rumble rippled through the watching crowd, but Stryker paid them no mind. He focused on the middle door, the entrance to the big room that Bills used. Something wasn’t right. Havelock should have been out by now. Bills should have accepted his guarantee of a fair hearing in the civilized environs of Tucson.
Nothing happened.
Stryker could no longer hear the mumbling from the watchers. For an instant, he wondered where Sparrow was, then concentrated on the door to the Last Chance once more.
He stopped two steps from the door and stood so still that he might have been hunting on the slopes of Mount Ord. Sometimes a man forgets to listen when he’s hunting, but not Matt Stryker.
No rumble of voices in conversation. No clink of glasses or faint smell of tobacco smoke. No sound of footsteps or rustle of clothing. Quiet as death itself, and that was not to Stryker’s liking. He made up his mind. Nothing to be gained by stealth.
Once more the Remington came to his hand with practiced ease. He ignored the ever-present trickle of tears and leaned against the door with his left shoulder. It didn’t open. His hand went to the latch. Lifting and shoving at the same instant, Stryker went through the doorway in a crouch, the Remington out in front, its hammer at full cock.
“Ha. I reckoned you’d be back.” Jason Bills stood back of the chair he’d sat in before. Once again he held the candle and bundle of fuses. “Now you can go to Hell!” he cried and put flame to fuse.
Havelock leaped from the chair he’d been sitting in. “Out,” he shouted.
Almost by reflex, Stryker pulled the Remington’s trigger. The .44 caliber slug tore its way into Bills’s chest, dead center. The smack of the bullet pushed him back and he crumpled in a heap.
“Out,” Havelock shouted again. He plunged for the door.
Stryker sprang out and held the door open for Havelock. “Run!” the marshal hollered and sprinted straight up Grand Street toward the watching crowd with Stryker less than a step behind. But they’d gotten no more than a dozen strides, maybe fifteen yards, when the first dynamite blew.
Right after the first blast, the other sticks of dynamite went, creating a roll of solid sound. The roof of Harry’s place bellied out, jumped about three feet up, then broke apart and fell back into the adobe building. The front wall bulged, then toppled forward. Small pieces of adobe fanned out from the explosion and rained down on Stryker and Havelock. At the sound of the blast, they took a flying leap forward and landed on their bellies, their arms crossed to protect their heads.
After the roar of the dynamite and the patter of the falling chunks of adobe, silence. No screams. No calls for help. No groans or whimpers. Just silence.
Stryker got to his feet and walked over to retrieve his hat, which had rolled up Grand on the wind from the dynamite blast. He checked the Stetson for damage, and, finding none, slapped it against his leg to rid it of adobe dust. He clapped it on his head. “You all right, Havelock?” he said.
“I reckon.” Havelock brushed at the dust that had gathered on his clothes. “Looks like Bills figured he had no way to get a fair trial.”
“That, or he’d dug a hole for himself so deep he couldn’t see a way out,” Stryker said.
“So much for Alfredo McClaws,” Stryker said. “You’ll not be wanting him now, and the U.S. government should be after none of his Yaqui blood.”
“You’ve been a bounty hunter long enough to know the rules. No body, no bounty.”
Stryker laughed. “Worth it,” he said. “Every minute worth it. In fact, maybe I oughta pay you.”
Havelock made a face like he’d smelled a skunk. Then he grinned. “Stryker, you beat all. You plum forgot that I already talked to Alfredo. The bounty’s yours. But iff’n you sit around too much, I’ll be having more work for you to do. That’s a sure thing.”
“If you can find me.”
“I’ll find you. No mistake.”
“You do that.” Stryker gathered the reins of the zebra. “Reckon you’ve got no more for me to do here. I’ll be leaving, then.”
“Gotta pick up the pieces,” Havelock said. “Obliged to you, Matt Stryker.”
Stryker mounted the zebra and put a finger to the brim of his hat, a salute to Havelock. “You call the dogs off Alfredo, Havelock. His people need him worse than you all do.”
“I’ll do that.” Havelock returned Stryker’s salute. “Adios. Hasta la vista.”
Stryker reined the zebra up Grand, figuring to take the road north. He had to get the zebra horse back to Wolf Wilder. They he’d go wherever. Jaime Sparrow joined him at the edge of town.
“Where you been?” Stryker said, a chuckle in his voice.
“Watching your back, gringo.” Sparrow’s voice held laughter, too. “Telegram bring new work?”
Stryker’s hand went to his left breast pocket. The telegram paper crackled. “Damn,” he said. “Forgot all about that telegram.” He extracted the yellow paper and opened it. “I’ll be damned,” he said.
“Your face says good news,” Sparrow said.
“Hmmm.” Stryker looked up, then held the telegram out to Sparrow.
Sparrow frowned at the words written all in capital letters.
AWAIT YOU AT OCCIDENTAL HOTEL TUCSON KDM
Sparrow handed the telegram back. “Who?”
“Katherine de Merode. Fine woman.”
Sparrow nodded.
Stryker pulled out the tail of his shirt and extracted folded bills from his money belt. “Here’s your other three hundred,” he said after counting out the correct amount. He held the bills out to Sparrow.
Sparrow nodded again. He took the bills and tucked them away. “Come to Lone Pine Canyon some day,” he said.
“Reckon I’ll ride for Tucson. Need to see Katherine.” Stryker said.
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If you have enjoyed this book then we suggest the following in the Stryker series:
STRYKER’S LAW