Two men across the street started shooting at him. They had him trapped in a crossfire between them and the rifleman in the derby, and as bullets pounded into the street and kicked more dirt in his eyes, Cole knew there was nowhere for him to go.
Chapter 7
Brenda was more terrified than she had ever been in her life. She had tried to struggle against Adam Maguire's grip, but he was too strong. His arm was like an iron band around her body, squeezing so hard she had trouble catching her breath.
Horror at the sight of Deputy Casebolt's bloody body filled her as well. She wanted to close her eyes and make it all go away, but she knew that when she opened them again, all those terrible things would still be there.
"Do like I told you, mister," Maguire snapped at Nathan Smollet. "Open the vault."
"Yes. Yes, I w-will," Smollet stammered. "Just don't hurt anyone else."
"I reckon that's up to you folks," Maguire said. He chuckled. Brenda thought it was an evil sound.
She had to try to talk some sense into her captor's head. "If you'll let me go," she said, "I'll see to it that you're well paid. I have money – "
"It's in this bank, isn't it?" Maguire interrupted her.
"Well, yes, but – "
"And I'm taking all the money here anyway," he pointed out. "So you don't really have anything to bargain with you, do you, Miss Durand? Unless . . ."
"Whatever you want, I'll do it," Brenda said flatly. "Just don't hurt me or anyone else."
More shots came from outside. It sounded like a pitched battle was going on in Wind River.
"I can't exactly promise that," Maguire said, "but maybe you'll get a chance to strike a deal with me once we're out of here."
A moan of terror welled up in Brenda's throat. He had said that he meant to take her with them when they fled, and obviously he hadn't forgotten about that.
"You can't . . . you just can't . . ."
His grip on her tightened even more, although she wouldn't have thought that was possible, and the gun pressed harder against her head.
"I can do whatever I want," he snarled. "I've got the gun here, remember?"
Nathan Smollet had the vault door open. One of the robbers crowded past him and started raking bundles of cash into a canvas sack. Over at the tellers' windows, another outlaw was cleaning out the cash drawers. Another man reached down to where Margaret Palmer sat huddled against the counter, a few feet from Casebolt's sprawled body, and ripped the brooch from the bosom of her dress. He held it up and laughed, saying, "A fancy geegaw like this oughta be worth somethin'!"
The man who emerged from the vault said, "I think we got it all, boss."
"Good," Maguire snapped. "Give 'em something to remember you by."
The outlaw who clutched the canvas bag full of cash in his left hand turned and slashed at Smollet's head with the gun he held in his other hand. The vicious blow took Smollet by surprise. He had no chance to defend himself from it. The gun barrel crashed into his head, and the sight raked a long gash above his ear. Smollet cried out and fell.
One of the bank's customers, a man Brenda didn't know, exclaimed, "By God, that's enough!" and leaped toward the outlaw closest to him. The daring move was unexpected enough that the man was able to get his hands on the raider's gun.
But then the killer shoved the weapon into the customer's belly and jerked the trigger. The man's body muffled the shot. He jerked and let go, stumbling back a step. Looking stricken, he pressed both hands to his belly. Crimson blood welled between his fingers. He groaned, fell to his knees, and then toppled onto his side.
Margaret screamed again.
For an awful second, Brenda thought one of the men was going to shoot her grandmother, but then Maguire barked, "Let's go!" and they all turned toward the door. He hauled her along with him, and although she started to kick and struggle again, it was no use.
She was going with them whether she wanted to or not, and she was wracked with the horrible, despairing feeling that she would never come back.
* * *
More shots roared from Cole's right, but this time they weren't directed at him. They came from Jeremiah Newton, who crouched in the alcove of a store's entrance and fired the gun he had taken from the outlaw in the store at the two men who had the best angle on Cole.
Jeremiah was no sharpshooter; his bullets flew wildly around the two outlaws. But that was enough to make them forget about Cole for a second. Cole used that opportunity to draw a bead on one of them and fire. The man staggered and howled in pain as the bullet smashed the shoulder of his gun arm. Cole fired again and narrowly missed the second man.
Pounding hoofbeats suddenly competed with the gun-thunder. Cole leaned to the side and risked a look along the street. Several men leading quite a few horses were riding down the center of Grenville Avenue, snapping shots at the buildings to keep everybody's head down. More men came running out here and there to grab those horses and swing into the saddle. The gang was making its retreat.
Cole rolled to his left, scrambled longways beside the water trough, and came up on a knee. He tracked his Colt from left to right and fired until it was empty as the fleeing desperadoes galloped past him, but he couldn't tell if he hit any of them. None of the horses went down, and no one pitched out of a saddle.
Cole had to dive for cover again, though, as a bullet plucked at the side of his buckskin shirt. He lifted his head to look after the outlaws, and his eyes widened in shock as he spotted Brenda Durand perched on horseback in front of one of them. For a crazy split-second Cole thought that Brenda was one of the gang, then he realized how terrified she looked. She was being kidnapped.
And Cole recognized the man who held her, too.
Adam Maguire.
He didn't have time to think about that now. He leaped to his feet and started reloading as the outlaws reached the southern end of Grenville Avenue. His big golden sorrel Ulysses was stabled nearby in Milligan's livery, and Cole intended to get the horse and give chase.
Before he could do that, Margaret Palmer stumbled up to him and clutched at his sleeve. "Marshal, they took Brenda!" she screamed. "You have to go after them!"
"I'm going to, ma'am – " Cole started to say.
"And they killed Deputy Casebolt!"
A wave of dread washed through Cole at those words. Billy Casebolt was more than his deputy; he was Cole's best friend in Wind River. A glance toward the south told him that the outlaws were almost out of sight, disappearing in the cloud of dust raised by their horses' hooves.
With his experience as a scout, he knew he wouldn't have any trouble trailing a group of that size. He gripped Mrs. Palmer's shoulder and asked, "Where's Billy?"
"In the bank," she said. Tears had left streaks on her face. "But you have to go after Brenda – "
"I will, ma'am, and I'll bring her back safe and sound," Cole promised. He didn't know if he could keep that pledge, but he would do his best. For now, though, he had to check on Casebolt.
He ran toward the bank. Jeremiah called from the boardwalk on the other side of the street, "Cole, what can I do to help?"
"Find Dr. Kent. Send him to the bank!"
As much shooting had been going on all over town, the doctor's services would be needed just about everywhere, Cole thought. The raid on Wind River had been a well-coordinated attack, almost like some of the military maneuvers Cole had taken part in, back during the war. It wouldn't surprise him if whoever had planned the raid – Maguire? – had been in the army.
Cole ran into the bank to find Nathan Smollet leaning against the railing and pressing a bloody handkerchief to his head. Two bodies lay on the floor, one belonging to a man Cole didn't recognize right away.
The other was Billy Casebolt.
Cole dropped to his knees beside Casebolt, grasped the deputy's shoulders, and rolled him onto his back. Casebolt's leathery, beard-stubbled face was pale as milk, probably because of the puddle of blood that had formed on the floor underneath him. Casebolt's s
hirt and vest were soaked with blood. Cole couldn't tell how many times he'd been hit. He pulled the vest aside and ripped the deputy's shirt open.
Casebolt had a deep graze on his right side, a messy but not life-threatening wound. The same couldn't be said about the puckered bullet hole in his left side. Cole hadn't seen an exit wound on Casebolt's back, so that slug was probably still somewhere inside him.
Casebolt was breathing, though. His scrawny chest rose and fell in a jerky, irregular motion. But at least he was still alive and fighting to hang on.
"Cole!"
That was Judson Kent's voice. Cole looked up as the doctor rushed into the bank.
"Look after Billy," Cole said as he got to his feet. "I have to check on the rest of the town."
"Good Lord," Kent muttered as he knelt beside Casebolt. "What's happened here today?"
"Looks like Wind River's not as civilized yet as some people thought it was," Cole said.
Chapter 8
The scene in town really did look like the aftermath of a battle, Cole discovered over the next half-hour.
Three people had been killed by all the bullets flying around, including the man in the bank, whom Smollet identified as Simon Hartwell, a fairly new arrival to the area who had a farm outside of town. Eight more citizens had been wounded. Billy Casebolt's injuries were the most serious, but for now at least, the deputy was clinging stubbornly to life. He had been carried carefully on a stretcher to Dr. Kent's residence.
The outlaws had cleaned out the bank, which was the biggest loss financially, but they had also hit the store, the hotel, and even the office of the land development company, which was in the same building as the marshal's office. That was a bitter pill for Cole to swallow, knowing they had gotten in there after he and Jeremiah ran out. They had blown the safe open with blasting powder and taken all the money in it.
Once Cole was sure about the extent of the raid's damage, he started rounding up a posse. The pickings were sort of slim, he discovered quickly. Plenty of men in town were willing to ride after the outlaws, but few of them had much experience with such things. Going up against such a potent force of hardened thieves and murderers would just get some good men killed, Cole thought bleakly.
But the thought of letting the outlaws get away never entered his head. They had to pay for what they had done. Losing the money they had taken would severely cripple the town's business.
And most importantly, they had carried off a young woman, and Cole had promised her grandmother that he would get her back. He intended to keep that promise.
One of the thoughts that had crossed his mind earlier came back to him when he saw Michael Hatfield hurrying around town asking questions of the people who had been caught up in the raid. Michael wanted quotes for the paper, but Cole thought there was something more important the young editor could be doing right now.
"Michael, I've got a job for you," Cole called. He beckoned Michael over to him on the boardwalk in front of the marshal's office.
"What can I do for you, Marshal?" Michael asked.
"I want you to ride out to the Diamond S."
"Mr. Sawyer's ranch?" Michael looked as surprised as he sounded. "What in the world for?"
"I need men for a posse. Sawyer and Frenchy LeDoux and that bunch are the saltiest crew around here."
"But it might take several hours for me to get out there and them to ride back here," Michael objected. "You can't mean to wait that long to start after the bandits."
"No, but Sawyer and his bunch can catch up to us. I'd be willing to bet that he's got several men who are good trackers. They'll be able to pick up the trail at the edge of town and follow it just like I plan to."
"I thought I would ride with you and the rest of the posse."
Cole shook his head. "You can do more good for the town, and for Miss Durand, this way."
Michael had acquitted himself fairly well when they went after the men who had kidnapped his wife Delia, along with Simone McKay, not long after the town was founded. Normally Cole would have let him come along. But in this case, he was right about Michael being more valuable in other ways. For somebody from Cincinnati, he was a good rider and had a speedy horse.
Michael must have seen the logic in that. He sighed and said, "All right. When do you want me to leave?"
"The sooner the better," Cole told him.
"You'll be gone by the time I get back?"
"More than likely." Cole's face was grim as he turned toward the door of the marshal's office. "There's just one thing I've got to do first."
Michael hurried off toward the livery stable as Cole went into the office. The room seemed oddly empty without Billy Casebolt in it.
A groan came from the cell block. Earlier, Jeremiah had brought the outlaw whose ribs he had broken down here and locked him in one of the cells. Cole went into the cell block now and looked through the bars at the man who was stretched out on a bunk with a threadbare blanket.
The outlaw realized Cole was there and gasped, "Marshal, I'm hurt bad! You gotta get the doc in here to tend to me. Every time I take a breath, it . . . it feels like I'm bein' jabbed inside by cavalry sabers!"
"Those are broken ribs," Cole said. "If you're lucky, none of 'em will poke a hole in your lungs."
"You gotta help me!"
"The doctor's busy taking care of innocent folks who were hurt by you and your bunch. He'll get to you when he can, and if you die before then, that's just too damned bad." Cole drew his .44. "Of course, I can put you out of your misery right here and now if you want me to."
The man's eyes widened with fear. Instinct made him shrink back on the bunk, and that movement caused him to blanch as a fresh wave of pain went through him.
"You . . . you can't do," he whined. "You're a lawman."
"A lawman whose deputy was cut down by you varmints." Cole pulled back the gun's hammer. "At least three people were killed out there today. As far as I'm concerned you're all equally guilty. I can save the town the expense of a trial and a hang rope."
"Please . . . please, mister . . ."
Cole's eyes were like chips of ice as he stared at the outlaw over the barrel of his gun. "Answer some questions for me."
"Anything! Anything you want to know!"
"Is Adam Maguire the leader of your gang?"
"Yeah. Yeah, Maguire put the bunch together. Him and Beaumont. They're friends. Rode together in the Union cavalry durin' the war."
"Lije Beaumont?"
"Yeah."
Cole hadn't seen Beaumont during the raid, but that wasn't surprising, considering all the dust and gunsmoke that had filled the air. He realized now that the little fracas involving Beaumont a few days earlier had been a ruse, a show designed to let the two outlaws know how many lawmen were in Wind River and how much of a fight the town would put up.
Not enough, Cole thought bitterly. Not nearly enough.
"Why did Maguire kidnap that young woman?"
The outlaw blinked at Cole in what appeared to be genuine confusion. "Woman?" he repeated. "What woman?"
"The plan didn't include taking any prisoners?"
"All we planned to do was clean out the town and then light a shuck away from here, Marshal. You gotta believe me. I don't know anything about kidnappin' a woman."
The decision to carry Brenda away with them must have been a spur of the moment thing on Maguire's part, Cole thought. Either Maguire was taken with her looks and wanted her for himself, or he planned to use her as a hostage. Maybe both.
Cole's eyes narrowed as another possibility occurred to him. If Maguire had found out somehow that Brenda was the richest person in town, he might be planning to hold her for ransom. If that was the case, it was a double-edged sword. He would have to keep her alive for her to be worth anything to him . . .
But he didn't necessarily have to keep her in the same condition she was when he carried her off.
"All right, last question . . . and it's the most important one. Where's the h
ide-out?"
The outlaw gave a weak shake of his head. "I can't tell you that, Marshal. You don't know Maguire. He acts all friendly-like, but he's really loco from all the killin' he saw in the war, and he's meaner than a whole band of Comanches! He wouldn't just kill me, he'd make sure I was a long time dyin', screamin' all the time."
"Yeah, and I'll just put a nice quick bullet through your brain," Cole said. "Maybe you're smart not to tell me."
His finger started to tighten on the .44's trigger, and at that instant he couldn't have said beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't going to kill the outlaw. The man must have seen that, because he screamed, "No! Don't shoot! I'll tell you, for God's sake, I'll tell you, but you gotta protect me from Maguire."
"If I catch up to Maguire, you won't have to worry about him. Spill what you know."
"There . . . there's a valley about five miles west of here, a couple of miles north of the railroad tracks. You gotta go through a little gap in the hills to get to it. Nobody lives there. Maguire says nobody even knows about it."
Cole frowned. He wasn't familiar with the valley the man was talking about, but he didn't doubt that it was there.
"Is there more than one way in and out?"
The outlaw shook his head again. "No, the hills are too rough and steep around it. You couldn't get a posse in there. It's like a fortress, and Maguire's got the only way in."
"We'll see about that," Cole said. He let down the hammer of his gun and slipped the weapon back in its holster.
"I . . . I told you what you wanted to know, Marshal. You'll get the doc to come see about me now?"
"He knows you're in here," Cole snapped. "He'll get to you when he can."
"You promised you'd help me – "
"I didn't shoot you in the head," Cole said. "That's about all the human kindness I got in me right now."
Chapter 9
Wind River had been founded because two unscrupulous men, Andrew McKay and William Durand, had been able to spread around enough bribe money to find out the exact route of the Union Pacific railroad. Armed with that knowledge, they had bought up all the land at a certain spot in southern Wyoming and planned out the town they would build there when the steel rails arrived. In fact, some of the settlement already existed before the railroad ever got there.
Ransom Valley (Wind River Book 7) Page 4