"You . . . you can't . . ."
"Sure I can." A grim smile tugged at the corners of Logan's mouth. "I'd even enjoy it, after some of the things I've heard about you. But right now I need you alive, Eastland. Climb down from there."
Confused and frightened, Eastland got down awkwardly from the buggy. Rusty, Doc, and Dewey emerged from the woods and surrounded him. All three of them were as grim-faced as Logan as they pointed their guns at him.
"What do you want from me?" Eastland practically wailed.
"That's easy," Logan said. "I want that fancy suit and hat you're wearing."
The next few minutes were busy ones, too. While exchanging clothes with Eastland, Logan asked him, "How many men are in there?"
"S-six," Eastland said. "Well, seven if you count the old man who runs the place."
"So Meadows and five more gunmen?"
"That's right."
"Where's Gillian in the room?"
Eastland shook his head. "I don't know. Earlier she was sitting at a table to the left of the door. But I don't know what Meadows might have done with her since she tried to get away."
"Has he hurt her?" Logan asked. His face was set in bleak lines.
"N-not that I know of. She seemed to be all right, just scared."
"Fine." Logan settled Eastland's hat on his head. He was a little taller and a little thinner than Eastland, but overall they were built about the same. Similar enough for him to pass as long as nobody looked too closely at him.
Anyway, the masquerade wouldn't have to fool anybody for very long.
"Doc, you're in charge of Eastland. Probably be a good idea to tie him up and gag him. Rusty, Dewey, you fellas know what you have to do."
"We'll be ready, Logan," Rusty promised with a nod. "Wouldn't do any good to tell you to be careful, would it?"
"Not a damned bit," Logan said.
He climbed into Eastland's buggy. He wasn't wearing the holster for the scattergun anymore, but he put the short-barreled weapon on the seat beside him. The Colt was in its usual cross-draw rig, which Eastland's coat concealed where it was strapped around Logan's waist.
He turned the buggy around and slapped the reins against the horse's back. The vehicle rolled slowly back toward the roadhouse.
Logan kept his head down as he drove around the bend. Eastland's hat was the planter type. The brim wasn't overly large, but Logan hoped that when his head was tipped forward the hat would conceal enough of his face. He and Eastland were both clean-shaven, which helped a great deal with the deception.
He figured somebody inside the building was keeping an eye on the road. That hunch was confirmed when the two men he had seen earlier slouched outside. They had come out to meet Eastland before, and now they probably thought they were doing so again. They had to be wondering why Eastland was coming back so soon.
They were close together, always a tactical mistake when facing an enemy. Obviously, they didn't think they had anything to fear from Carleton Eastwood. Logan brought the buggy to a stop no more than fifteen feet from them.
"What the hell is it now?" the tall, skinny gunman asked in an irritated tone.
Logan's right hand drifted down to the scattergun and closed around the smooth wood of the pistol grip. He raised his head and looked coldly at the two gunmen.
They were staring death in the face, and they knew it.
They clawed for the revolvers on their hips.
Logan brought the scattergun up and fired the right-hand barrel. At this range, the buckshot spread enough to take down both men. It blew them back off their feet and dumped them in bloody heaps.
That was a third of the enemy force accounted for right there, Logan thought as he rolled off the buggy seat and dropped to the ground behind the vehicle. He shifted the scattergun to his left hand and drew the Colt with his right as he crouched there.
Yelling curses and questions, two men charged out of the roadhouse. Rusty and Dewey were in perfect position in the trees to mow them down with rifle fire. As the men stumbled and their bodies jerked under the impact of the slugs, Logan thought that this was pretty close to murder. The two hired killers never had a chance.
And how many people had they murdered over the years, he asked himself. Any man who lived by the gun knew there was a very good chance he would die by it, one of these days.
The two men collapsed. Just like that, four of them were down in less than thirty seconds.
But now the element of surprise was gone. Meadows and the remaining gunman wouldn't be foolish enough to come charging out like that.
Meadows had Gillian Baldwin to use as a bargaining chip, too.
The ball was started, Logan thought. Might as well call the next dance.
"Meadows!" he shouted as the echoes of the shots died away like the sound of distant thunder. "Come on out, Meadows! It's time we put an end to this!"
29.
For a long moment no response came from inside the roadhouse. Then Meadows called, "Handley? Logan Handley? Is that you?"
"It's me," Logan replied. "Let Miss Baldwin go, and then we can settle this. Been almost a year. It's time."
Logan heard Meadows laugh. "Don't think it's not tempting," the gunman said. "I've thought a lot about havin' you in my sights again. Every time I look in the mirror, in fact."
"It hasn't been an easy year for me, either."
"Yeah, but I didn't do that to you. You put this scar on my face, Handley. And to think we used to be friends."
Breath hissed between Logan's teeth. He said, "We were never friends. Rode on the same side a few times, but mostly not. Now it's over. One of us won't walk away from here."
"I don't plan on walking. I'm driving away in that buggy with this ladyfriend of mine."
Gillian called out, "Logan, don't let him – " before a pained cry ended her plea.
"By God, Meadows, if you hurt that girl – "
"Don't waste your breath on melodramatic threats," Meadows said. Logan could tell from his voice that he was closer to the door now, and a moment later he saw movement there.
Gillian stepped into the doorway. Meadows was close behind her, using her as a human shield as he pressed his gun to her head. Close behind him was the other surviving gunman, looking nervous enough that he might crack and start shooting at any second. Logan didn't want any more bullets flying around while Gillian was where she might be hit.
"I have men in the trees," Logan said. "You can't get away, either of you. Let Miss Baldwin go, and you won't hang. Burning down Vickie Eastland's boarding house won't buy you a rope."
The other gunman said, "I can't risk it, Jim. I'm wanted in other places for worse things. I expect you are, too."
Logan could see only a narrow slice of Meadows' face, but he didn't have to see it to know that Meadows was sneering as he said, "I'm not going to surrender to a damned cripple, either. The girl and I are getting in the buggy, Handley, and my pard here is gonna mount up. You hold your fire while we ride away, or Miss Baldwin dies. I'd hate to put a bullet in such a pretty head, but you know I'll do it if I have to."
"You'll die a second later," Logan warned.
"Maybe, but that won't save her. Let us go, though, and she lives. We'll turn her loose as soon as we get clear enough."
Logan didn't believe that for a second, but the threat to Gillian's life was the trump card. He had expected Meadows to play it, and he had hoped to come up with something to counter it. But he had nothing. He really was a helpless cripple . . .
He stepped out from behind the buggy and set the scattergun on the seat. Standing in plain sight, he placed the Colt next to it, then moved away.
"All right, Meadows," he said. "You want to kill me, go ahead."
"Shoot him!" urged the other gunman.
Meadows looked like he wanted to, but he hesitated. "It's a trick!" he said. "Handley wouldn't just give up his life like that."
"Hell," the other man said, "if you won't shoot him, I will!"
He steppe
d to the side and thrust his gun at Logan.
Shots blasted from the woods.
But the killer didn't fall. Instead he twisted toward the sound, looking confused. Logan half-turned as well. Those were pistol shots he heard. They had to come from Doc Reese's gun. And he'd left Doc watching Carleton Eastland . . .
Gillian took advantage of the distraction. She twisted desperately in Meadows' grip and ducked her head away from his gun. He cursed and tried to keep her from getting away.
Logan lunged for the buggy and the Colt. The movement drew Meadows' fire. Meadows triggered twice, and Logan felt the hammer blow of a slug striking his body just as his hand closed around the revolver. He sagged against the buggy as pain exploded through him.
The spark had been struck. The other gunman fired at Logan, but the slug tore through the buggy's canvas cover. The man was in the open now. Logan heard the twin cracks from Rusty and Dewey's rifles, saw the man stagger as he was hit. He went to his knees, but he didn't drop the gun. Instead it came up blossoming flame again. Logan called on what little strength he had left and squeezed off a round from the Colt. The gunman's head snapped back as the bullet bored through his forehead into his brain.
Gillian's attempt to get away had failed. Meadows still had his arm around her as he rushed toward the other buggy, dragging her with him. Rusty and Dewey had to hold their fire for fear of hitting Gillian, but Meadows didn't have to worry about that. He sprayed slugs toward the trees as he ran.
Logan did the only thing he could. He steeled himself and broke into a hobbling, limping run and tried to intercept the two of them.
Meadows must have seen him coming from the corner of his eye. He twisted and fired. The slug screamed past Logan's ear.
The next instant he crashed into both of them as he left his feet in a diving tackle.
It was crazy, taking on Meadows like this in his condition. Not only was he crippled, but he was wounded, too.
It didn't matter. He'd be better off dying here if he helped Gillian get away. As soon as she was clear, Logan would yell for his friends to open fire. They could cut down him and Meadows both.
Might as well. They were two of a kind.
The collision jolted Meadows' grip on Gillian loose. She tore away from him with a gasping cry as Logan and Meadows slammed against the buggy. Falling to her knees, she scrambled up again and ran.
Meadows slashed at Logan's head with the gun he held. Logan ducked the blow and tried to jam his Colt into Logan's body. Meadows batted the gun aside and laughed.
"You're gonna fight me? Me? I'll beat you to death with my bare hands!"
He smashed his left fist into Logan's face. Logan caught hold of Meadows' shirt front and dragged the gunman down with him when he fell. They rolled toward the hooves of the two horses hitched to the Baldwin buggy. The animals moved around, spooked by all the gunfire, and tried to pull the reins loose where they were tied to the hitch rail.
Logan balled his right fist and sunk a punch into Meadows' midsection, but he didn't think he was able to put enough strength behind the blow to do any real damage. Meadows got an elbow under his chin and levered his head back. Logan tried to buck Meadows off of him, but again he lacked the strength.
Logan hoped Gillian was out of the line of fire by now. Rusty and Dewey ought to open up with their rifles any time. He wished he could call out to them and tell them not to worry about him, to go ahead and shoot. An end to this was all he wanted.
Meadows slammed punches into his body and face with both hands. It took a few seconds for Logan to realize what that meant. Meadows must have dropped his gun while they were struggling. He started to reach out with his right hand and feel around on the ground for it, then remembered that the gun wouldn't be on that side of them. Meadows was right-handed. The gun would have fallen to Logan's left.
He tried to block some of Meadows' punches with his right arm while he willed his left to move. The muscles struggled feebly to respond to his commands. He slid his hand over the ground, felt grass and dirt and pebbles . . .
Then his fingertips brushed against something cold and smooth. The gun barrel. He slid his hand a little farther, closed his fingers around the barrel and pulled the gun closer to him. Meadows was too caught up in the ferocity of combat to pay attention to what Logan was doing.
"Cripple!" Meadows panted. "Damn cripple! Time for you to pay for what you did to me, you weakling!"
"Not . . . too . . . weak," Logan got out between teeth clenched from the strain. He had his fingers wrapped around the gun butt now, but the weapon was heavy, so heavy.
Meadows reached for a fist-sized rock and picked it up. He lifted it over his head and said, "I'm gonna splatter your brains all over the ground, Handley, and you're not strong enough to stop me!"
Logan thrust the gun up between them, driving the muzzle into Meadows' throat under his chin. "Strong enough to . . . pull a trigger!"
Meadows' face dissolved into a grisly pink mist with the roar of the gun.
That took the last of Logan's strength. Consciousness ran out of him like water, and darkness claimed him.
* * *
It was quite a procession that entered Hot Springs late that afternoon, as an early winter dusk settled over the city: two buggies and a whole line of horses, a number of them carrying bodies lashed face-down over the saddles. The group drew plenty of attention.
Logan rode in the first buggy, makeshift bandages wrapped around his upper chest where the gunman's bullet had gone cleanly through him without hitting anything vital, according to Doc. Barber or not, Logan thought the pudgy little man was a hell of a sawbones. He would have bet good money that Dr. August Strittmatter couldn't have patched up a bullet wound with the patient lying on a bar in an Arkansas roadhouse.
Rusty handled the reins of that buggy. Piled into the area behind the seat was the trussed-up form of Carleton Eastland, who had a bullet wound in his leg. Doc Reese had tended to that wound, too, which was fitting since Doc was the one who'd ventilated Eastland when the man tried to get away.
Gillian rode in the other buggy, which was driven by Dewey Dumont. Doc followed on horseback, leading the horses carrying the six dead gunmen.
Marshal Radcliffe, drawn by all the commotion, met them in the street with several of his deputies. "Good Lord!" the lawman said. "Looks like you folks done went to war!"
"That's the way it felt for a little while," Logan said. "Those men kidnapped Miss Baldwin here. They've been working for Aaron Nash. You ought to be able to come up with some charges against Nash because of that if you want to arrest him along with his son-in-law. We've got Eastland tied up behind the seat."
Radcliffe grunted and said, "I'll put Eastland behind bars, all right, but there ain't a thing I can do to Nash. He's beyond earthly law."
"You mean – "
"I mean the man's dead as he can be, along with his secretary. I'm thinkin' Eastland there probably shot both of 'em. I've got a witness who can put him in Nash's office not long before the bodies were found."
"What witness?" Logan asked.
"Nash's daughter. Elizabeth Eastland." Radcliffe shook his head. "Poor gal's gonna have plenty on her plate. She'll have to take over her father's company, and send her husband to the gallows, to boot! I got a hunch she's strong enough to do it, though."
Logan thought so, too.
Gillian had gotten down from the other buggy. She came alongside the one where Logan sat and reached into the vehicle to take his right hand in both of hers.
"Thank you," she said. "You saved my life, Logan. I'm sure my father is going to be very appreciative."
"That's not why I did it," Logan said gruffly.
She smiled up at him. "I know that." One eye closed briefly in a wink. "But you might let him think otherwise. He can afford it."
"Money won't buy what I need," Logan said. "It can't make me the man I once was, and that's what I'll need to be the next time my past catches up to me. And it will, you can count on tha
t. I was lucky this time."
Rusty snorted. "I don't know what you're talkin' about," he said. "From what I can see, you're a better man than you ever were before you came to Hot Springs. You've got something now that you didn't then, and it'll make folks think twice about botherin' you. You got friends, Logan. Just look around you. You got friends."
Logan swallowed hard and did what Rusty said. He looked around and knew that the teamster was telling the truth.
Then he spotted Vickie hurrying from the hotel, saw her break into a run toward him, and knew that he had even more than that.
He had a home.
About the Author
Lifelong Texan James Reasoner has been a professional writer for more than thirty years. In that time he has authored several hundred novels and short stories in numerous genres.
James is best known for his Westerns, historical novels, and war novels, he is also the author of two mystery novels that have achieved cult classic status, TEXAS WIND and DUST DEVILS. Writing under his own name and various pseudonyms, his novels have garnered praise from Publishers Weekly, Booklist, and the Los Angeles Times, as well as appearing on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists. He recently won the Peacemaker award for his novel Redemption, Kansas. His website is www.jamesreasoner.com
He lives in the small Texas town he grew up in with his wife, mystery writer Livia J. Washburn.
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Dancing With Dead Men Page 19