Mateo, at a front window, called suddenly, "They have brought that big timber from the rear. They intend a battering ram against the front door." Now we could hear Webster shouting harsh orders.
"Hold your fire until they get close," Taggert yelled. We all listened. Then there came running, stumbling steps on the gallery, sounds of men grunting under a heavy load.
"Now!" Taggert shouted.
Gunfire and powdersmoke spurted at the front of the house. We caught the sounds of agonized cries and then a heavy thud on the gallery as the battering-timber was dropped. There were quick, retreating footsteps. Taggert reported a moment later, "We stopped that, anyway. Four of the scuts are sprawled out on the gallery. The rest got off—" Again he snapped two quick shots. "Got one of them."
I could hear Webster's cursing voice above the terrific booming of guns. Leaden slugs continued to spatter against the adobe walls on all sides. Somewhere outside a horse screamed and went down.
Abruptly, the wild yelling was redoubled as were the sounds of guns. There was a sudden rush of horses' hoofs. "Por Diós!" Mike groaned. "That must be the rest of the fifteen-hundred arriving!"
My heart sank, then I paused, scarcely able to believe my ears, at what I was hearing. Surely, those must be military commands! A bugle call split the night air. Someone was yelling for Marshal Taggert.
From the raiders there came sudden frantic yells. There were renewed hoofbeats, vanishing toward the south, as the raiders retreated in wild confusion, with pursuing hoofs running fast at their rear.
"It's Mackley—Colonel Mackley!" Taggert yelled triumphantly. "How in the devil—?" He didn't wait to say more, but started to tug at the front door.
Several of us followed him through the doorway. Outside, a large number of riders, civilian and cavalry, sat horses. To the south, more men were on the trail of the raiders.
Taggert was glancing up at a tall rider in blue. "Welcome, Colonel," he was yelling triumphantly. "But how did you happen to cross the line? I never expected—"
"One of the prisoners we took in Onyxton knew what Webster intended. He wanted to save his own skin. So I gambled," the colonel explained stiffly, "that Washington and the Mexican Government will give their approval to my operating without orders. We started as soon as the prisoner confessed what was under way."
"God, I'm glad to see you—we all are."
I glanced around. Dead men and horses were scattered everywhere, it seemed. I asked if Webster had been captured. The colonel didn't know yet. I began to search among the bodies, but couldn't find trace of Webster. I went farther afield, and was just passing a tall cottonwood when I heard a voice:
"Cardinal, you bastard, I'll get you anyway!" Webster's voice! The tones were shaking with rage, as he stepped from behind the tree-trunk, an orange stream of powder and flame spurting from his gun-barrel.
It was his voice that saved me. At the sound, I swung around, causing him to miss his intended aim. The slug caught me in the shoulder, spinning me off balance, causing him to miss a second shot.
Even as I went down, I was reaching for my .44, my first shot thrown almost at random. I missed, but it caused him to hesitate just long enough for me to roll over and trigger another shot from the ground. I saw him stagger back, clutching his stomach as the gun slipped from nerveless fingers. As he struck the earth, I fired again. I saw his body twitch as the bullet sent up a puff of dust from his vest, but that was the only movement he made.
Struggling for breath, I tried to get to my feet, made it halfway and suddenly dropped again. I guess I passed out for a minute or so, before Mike found me. And Topaz was at his side. Through a haze of blood and sweat I felt Mike fumbling around my shoulder. He muttered something about a nice clean wound that would heal fast. Then men were lifting me to carry me to the house, and I felt Topaz's cool fingers holding my hand. I muttered, "Keep on doing that. It feels wonderful."
And then her soft voice: "I have no intention of doing otherwise, Johnny—for all the rest of our lives…"
Shoot Him On Sight Page 17