by Ralph Cotton
“Madre Santa de Dios!” Edwardo cried out, seeing Brady turn in an aimless half circle and stagger headlong through the balcony door. As Brady turned away from Hatton, his hand went instinctively to the Colt on his hip. But he found only an empty holster.
Having snatched the Colt, Hatton turned with it pointed at Edwardo and the bear, who had taken in the commotion and stood up deftly on her hind paws in a fighting stance. “Get her back or I’ll shoot her!” Hatton warned.
“No, please, senor, I beg of you!” said Edwardo, already reaching into his pocket for the keys to the leg iron.
On the street, Emmen and his town guards were doubly stunned. The rifle shot that had reached in as if from out of nowhere had just splattered Zero Paige’s blood all over them. But before they could even take cover or retaliate in any manner, they heard the crash of the balcony door and looked up in time to see Brady Shay stagger forward, the handle of the pick hanging perfectly down his nose as if being worn as some sort of bizarre carnival ornament.
“Jesus!” said one of the town guards as Brady meandered forward, his big arms spread, and crashed through the handrail and off the edge of the balcony.
“No! Brother Brady!” Emmen Shay shouted, seeing the big man slap facedown onto the street in a large puff of dust. He stared to run out to his fallen brother, but before he could take a step, Dahl’s rifle bucked in his hand. The shot sent Emmen Shay flying backward through the door of the saloon.
A blast of buckshot exploded wildly in the air when one of the town guards stepped forward from among the chaos and fired on Dahl. But as he’d pulled the trigger, another shot whined in from out of nowhere and nailed him in the chest. He flew backward in a spray of blood.
Dahl felt a shot graze his thigh as he jerked the bay around, but instead of levering up another round, he let the rifle fall from his hands and jerked a Colt from his holster.
Another shot came from Lane’s hidden position out on the rough terrain surrounding the town; another town guard fell in a red mist of blood. The Shays were both dead, but their men were still fighting. Dahl saw no way to stay alive on the street, and he wasn’t about to leave without Hatton. Ducking low in his saddle, he booted the bay forward, onto the boardwalk and inside the saloon.
“Here he comes, Victor!” Ulan Hayes cried out. Seeing the bay pound onto the boardwalk toward the door, Hayes had already begun to race up the stairs. At the top, he pulled the cage over to the landing by a rope and jumped inside. He stepped over beside Victor Andre and grabbed one of the deck guns.
“I got him, Ulan!” Victor yelled, swinging his deck gun toward Dahl and pulling the trigger as Hayes hurriedly swung the second big gun around.
Dahl heard the blast; in a long mirror he caught a glimpse of a six-foot length of bar lift in an explosion of wood splinters, brass rail and broken shot glasses. But he stayed low in the saddle, reining the bay onto the staircase and upward, knowing there were more shots coming from the big guns at any second.
Behind the pounding hooves of the bay, the next blast, this one from Hayes’ big gun, took out a four-foot section of stairs and left an ugly hole trimmed in chewed and jagged edging above the plank floor. In a rear corner two half-naked whores had ducked beneath a table. They screamed and grasped each other as debris settled on the tabletop above them.
“In here!” Hatton shouted at Dahl, swinging the office door open and firing at the iron birdcage. Ulan, wielding the big deck gun, fell back with a bullet in his upper shoulder, but he threw himself forward and grabbed the big gun and swung it toward Dahl again.
Inside the office, the bear handler had taken the chain from Hatton’s ankle and led the big bear over into a far corner. He gripped the chain tightly and the bear stood on its hind legs and let out a loud bawl at the sudden entrance of horse and rider. Dahl’s bay reared slightly at the sight and sound of the bear, but Dahl settled it, reached down and grabbed Hatton by his outreached arm.
“Jump on!” he shouted. He jerked Hatton up onto the saddle behind him.
“There’s a rear stairs,” Hatton said, gesturing the Colt toward the other side of the office. The door to the rear stairs stood ajar. Behind them a blast from a deck gun blew away the office door and a large part of the wall beside it. From the street, rifle fire streaked in; bullets screamed upward through the open balcony door, into the office ceiling.
“Please, senors! Go! Ride quickly!” the old Mexican cried out. “Flee before they kill us all!” Beside him the big bear stood with its paws spread, threatening them.
“Hang on,” said Dahl to Hatton. He booted the bay across the office floor, through the partially open door and down the rear stairs.
“Who is firing out there?” Hatton asked as the bay leaped out of the rear door and pounded along the dirt alley without any of the town guards risking themselves to run around the building and fire at them.
“It’s Lane,” said Dahl.
“Yes, of course, I should have known,” said Hatton.
Dahl heard the steadiness in Hatton’s voice now that he was free and able to fend for himself. “Are you wounded, Mr. Hatton?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Nothing worth mentioning,” Hatton replied, hanging on to Dahl with one hand, his other hand holding the Colt from Brady Shay’s holster. “To be honest, I’ve never been better, sir,” Hatton added.
“Good,” said Dahl, the two sitting straighter, the bay slowing its pace a little on the rocky ground. The firing from Robber’s Roost had waned gradually until it finally halted altogether.
“What are you doing up here, if I may inquire?” Hatton asked, letting the Colt slump at his side. Beneath them the chestnut bay ran at a quick but easy pace.
“Farris came to me,” Dahl said. “He’s waiting back along the trail with Coots.”
“A good man, that Farris,” said Hatton. “Coots is alive, then?”
“Yes, he’s alive,” said Dahl. As they spoke they looked over at the trail of dust rising behind the hooves of eight horses, Chicago’s, Candles’ and the rest of their men’s, pounding away toward the main trail into Saverine Pass. The outlaws had gathered their horses and left Robber’s Roost, convinced that Teacher, Lane and whoever else was out there would be right on their trail.
“Another good man, that Coots,” Hatton said, taking a canteen that Dahl had lifted from his saddle horn and handed back to him.
“Yes, it seems so,” said Dahl. Looking out at the rising dust headed toward the high trail that led to the rocky hillsides, he said, “I’ll get you somewhere safe, and then Lane and I are going to settle accounts with Big Chicago and Bobby Candles.”
“Somewhere safe?” Hatton said indignantly. “I should say not, sir.”
“No offense intended, Mr. Hatton,” said Dahl. “I only meant that Deputy Lane and I will travel a lot faster on our own.”
“I will not slow you and Deputy Lane down, Mr. Dahl,” Hatton said firmly. “If I do, you may feel free to leave me behind.”
“I don’t leave a man behind, Mr. Hatton,” said Dahl. “That’s why I’m careful of who rides with me.” He looked down at Hatton’s bare feet. “You don’t have a horse. You don’t even have boots.”
“Boots, ha!” said Hatton, dismissing the matter out of hand. “What good are boots and a horse if a man has no purpose, no direction in which to dispatch himself?”
Dahl didn’t answer. Instead he gazed ahead to where he saw Deputy Eddie Lane ride into sight and rein his horse toward them across the rocky ground.
Chapter 24
No sooner had Dahl and Hatton ridden down the rear stairs and made their getaway than Ulan Hayes climbed down from the swaying birdcage, loosened the keeper on a long chain and lowered the heavy cage to the floor. Jerking a bar towel from atop the bar, he quickly stuffed it inside his shirt over his bleeding shoulder wound and started loosening the deck guns from the iron handrail.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Victor Andre, who jumped from the iron cage and ran out fron
t, where he’d seen Emmen and Brady Shay lying dead in the street. “It’s over. The Shay brothers are dead.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” said Ulan, still working feverishly on taking the deck guns off the iron handrail. “I figure that’s why everybody out there stopped fighting.”
“What’s the use?” said Victor. “I told you, they’re dead.”
“They are, but I’m not,” said Hayes. “Neither is all the sonsabitches who ride here from as far off as El Paso City just to spend their plunder with us.” As he talked he gave a jerk and a grunt and stood holding one of the big eight-gauge deck guns in his hands. “Far as I’m concerned, we’re still open for business. There’s still a Roost, and I’m going to be the man who rules it.” He gave the gunman a serious look. “If you want to work for me, grab that other deck gun. I’ll pay you twice what the Shay brothers paid you.”
“Hey, I’m with you, pard,” said Victor. “What’s our plan?”
“Big Chicago and his men have hightailed,” said Hayes. “But whoever is out there has already gotten onto their trail, I figure. We’re going to fall in behind them and chop them into dog meat. They can’t get away from us without running right smack into Big Chicago’s gunmen.”
“But what if we accidentally kill Chicago’s men?” Victor asked.
“Between you and me,” said Hayes, lowering his voice in secrecy, “if I kill some of Chicago’s men, it won’t be accidental, not after all this trouble they brought down on us. Do you get my drift?”
“Oh, yes, I get it,” said Victor. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He reached out and jerked the other deck gun from its swivel. “We’re not going to fire these heavy bastards from our saddles, are we?”
“No way,” said Hayes, “not with this hole in my shoulder. Besides, we’re going to need a keg of powder and some scrap iron to load them with. There’s a buckboard down behind the livery barn. I’ll meet you there.” He turned and headed toward the rear door. “Go out there and round up anybody who wants to ride with us. Get them over to the barn and let’s get rolling. Once we bring back a few heads on some sticks, the word will get around who’s running the Roost.”
“You got it, pard!” said Victor Andre. He turned and ran back out the front door, the big, stubby deck gun in his hands.
Out in front of the Gold Poke Saloon, several town guards had dragged the Shays’ bodies out of the street and lined them up beside four dead town guards. “What are we going to do now, Charlie?” a gunman asked a burly guard named Charlie Prine.
“Do I look like I know?” Prine asked, scratching his beard as he appeared to consider things. Surrounding him, the men stood staring down at the bodies, their shotguns and rifles hanging from their hands.
“The first thing Ulan Hayes and I are going to do is kill Teacher and the men he’s got waiting out there, make it clear that nobody rides in and shoots up Robber’s Roost,” Victor said, walking up into their midst with the big deck gun.
“What are you talking about, you and Hayes?” said Prine. “Who put you two in charge, Victor?”
“We’re putting ourselves in charge,” said Victor Andre. “Anybody wants to ride with us, get your horses and follow me.” With no more on the matter, he turned and hurried away toward the livery barn.
“What the hell is he going to do with the deck guns?” a town guard asked, staring after Andre.
“Damned if I know,” said Charlie Prine, already walking away toward the livery barn. “But if there’s to be a fight with the men who did all this, I don’t want to miss my share of it.”
“What? You must be crazy, wanting to ride into another gun battle after getting out of this one alive!” a town guard called out to him. “Think of all the whores and whiskey we’ll have, until it all runs dry.”
“You think of it,” said Prine, over his shoulder. “I hired on here as a fighting man.”
“But the men who hired you are dead. There’s no one ordering you to go out there looking for a fight,” the man called out.
“I don’t need to be ordered to fight,” said Prine, hurrying his pace. “I can smell a good fight from a mile away.”
Most of the town guards only shook their heads and looked back down at the bodies in the dirt. “I don’t want to end up like these poor sonsabitches,” said one. He spat and wiped a hand across his lips.
“Hell no,” another gunman put in. “The Shays are dead. I’ve got better things to do than get myself killed for no reason.”
But two guards named Donald Shumate and Bill Albertson gave each other a questioning look. “What do you think, Don?” Albertson finally asked.
“Hell yes, is what I think,” Shumate replied. They turned and walked away behind Charlie Prine. As the two left, a third man named Colorado John Young called out to them, “Wait up. I’m coming along.” He passed a smug half grin to the remaining guards. “They’ll need me to keep Ulan Hayes on the right track.”
Behind the livery barn, Hayes had already mounted the deck gun, swivel and all, onto one of the wooden-slat sides of the buckboard. He led two horses from the barn as Victor and the four men walked up to him. “I brought some help,” Victor said, walking over and starting to mount the deck gun on the other side of the buckboard without being told.
“Good to see you’re riding with us, Charlie,” said Hayes.
“I never turned down a good dance or a fight in my life,” Prine said. He eyed the bloody bullet hole in Hayes’ shirt. “Here, I’ll hitch these horses if you want to get your shoulder looked at.”
“It’s been looked at,” said Hayes, but he let Prine take the horses anyway. Turning to the other men, he raised a Colt from his holster and checked it one-handed as he said to the other three, “Good to have you, Shumate, Young, Albertson. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Victor. I’ll pay you twice what the Shays paid you.”
“Whoa, hold on, Hayes,” said Young. “Who gave you the say-so over who gets paid what?”
Hayes shrugged his good shoulder. “I saw the opening, I sort of took it upon myself. Why?”
“Because I’ve been here a hell of a lot longer than you have, that’s why,” Young said sharply. “Not to be a prick about it, but I think I know a little more about these hills and passes than somebody who’s spent the past year looking down from a birdcage.”
“All right,” said Hayes. “Anything else? Now’s the time to speak your mind, before we get out there and find ourselves on hard ground.” He looked from one man to the next, then back at Young.
“Yeah, I got something else,” Young said, growing bolder now that he felt he had Hayes knuckled down. “To hell with what the Shays paid us. I figure from here on out, we split whatever the Roost makes right down the middle. What say the rest of yas?” He looked back and forth with satisfaction.
“Anything else?” Hayes asked.
“Not just this minute . . . but I’ll let you know when something comes up,” said Young. Again he gave a smug grin. “Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” said Hayes. He shot him.
“Jesus!” said Albertson, seeing the effortless manner in which Hayes raised only the tip of his gun barrel, holding the Colt at his waist after checking it and turning the cylinder.
“Damn . . . you, Hayes,” said Young, staggering backward and falling to his knees, both hands grasping the spreading blood on his lower belly.
“Get his gun,” Hayes said quietly. He watched to see which of the two men was quicker to follow his order.
“Got it,” said Shumate, stepping over, bending and snatching the Colt from Young’s holster. Albertson made the same move, but he was a second behind Shumate.
“Shumate . . . you . . . turd,” said Young in a strained voice.
“Shut up, Colorado John, you had your say,” said Shumate.
Out front on the street, the town guards heard the gunshot. But when one of them turned to run toward the livery barn, another grabbed his forearm and stopped him, saying, “Leave it alone,” i
n a knowing voice.
At the barn, when Shumate handed Hayes the Colt, Hayes stuck it down behind his gun belt, looked at the two and said, “Anything else?”
“Hell no, I’m good with it,” said Shumate.
“Me too,” said Albertson. “No problem here. I’m glad to still be working.”
“Get our horses, Albertson,” said Hayes. To Shumate he said, “Help Victor get this buckboard ready for the trail.”
“Right away,” said Shumate, seeing Albertson head inside the barn at a trot.
Out on the dusty flatlands, Dahl stopped his bay as Eddie Lane rode up and slid his horse to a halt, his battered telescope in his hand. “Good to see you alive, Mr. Hatton,” Lane said.
“All thanks be to you two gentlemen,” Hatton replied with a grateful nod. Now that the horse had stopped, he swung down from behind Dahl and stood barefoot on the hot, rocky ground.
Lane gestured his telescope toward the dust in the wake of Chicago, Candles and the others and said, “It’s no secret which way they’re headed. They figure once they’re up inside the pass, they can set up a surprise for us any time they feel like it.”
Dahl said, “Then the closer we dog them, the less they’ll feel like it. It’ll be hard for them to set up an ambush when we’re shooting bullets up the backs of their shirts.”
“That’s true,” said Lane, seeing Dahl ready to pound away in pursuit of the fleeing outlaws. “But we’ve got something else to figure in. Shay’s town guards.” He gestured in the direction of Robber’s Roost. “There are three riders and a buckboard headed out across the flats right now.”
“A buckboard?” Dahl asked, gazing out through the drifting trail dust.
“Yep,” said Lane. He handed Dahl the telescope. “You won’t see them without this. I caught sight of them leaving town. They’re headed out right behind the outlaws.”