He then helped her up onto the wagon seat, and old Jeb gave the reins a little snap and the team started forward.
“Darby,” Jack said, “just when I thought I knew you, you pull another surprise on me.”
“I’m wearing this tin star,” he said. “I’ve got to prove I’m worthy.”
Jack gave a slap to his friend’s shoulder, and they headed back to the jail. The way the livery was positioned, they were in view of Hunter’s, and Jack saw a rider reining up in front of the building. It was Bree.
He said, “What in the world is she doing here?”
Jack and Darby walked over as she was pulling the Winchester from the saddle.
She said, “I was going to have old Jeb take care of my horse, but I guess I’ll have to do it myself.”
“Bree,” Jack said.
“Reporting for duty as your deputy.”
“Bree, you can’t be here. It’s going to be dangerous.”
“Looks to me like you need all the help you can get.”
“But you’re a girl.”
That was an argument that he knew carried little water out here on the frontier, and he knew he had lost as soon as he said it.
“Yeah?” She held up the rifle. “Well I’m a better shot than most any man with this. Better than you.”
Darby looked to his friend. “Have you ever won an argument with her?”
She said, “No. And he’s not going to now.”
Jack said, “How can I ever face Pa if I let anything happen to you?”
“I’m Pa’s daughter. As much as you’re his son.”
“Bree, you don’t know these kind of men. What they’re like. What they’ll do if they get hold of you.”
“They’re not going to get hold of me. If we lose this, I’ll save my last bullet for myself.”
“Bree..,”
“You know about the cellar we keep under the kitchen floor. It’s where Aunt Ginny and I hid last summer when the raiders attacked the ranch. There’s a gun there, and Pa said to make sure they didn’t take Aunt Ginny or me alive. It’s no different now.”
“Bree, I appreciate you wanting to help. Really, I do. But I can’t allow this.”
He had been so focused on Bree that he hadn’t heard the horse walking up behind him. But he heard the deep foghorn voice that belonged to Harlan Carter, “If her daddy taught her to use that rifle, and she’s as good as she says she is, I don’t see how you’ve got a choice.”
Jack turned to see Carter sitting tall in the saddle, a pistol at his side, a floppy hat pulled down over his temples.
Carter said, “I’ll be here, too. You’re gonna need all the guns you can get. And I’ve seen more’n one woman who could hold her own when the bullets start flyin’.”
They heard the sound of a wagon clunking its way along the rough road into town. It was Hunter. He had to return from the ranch taking the wagon road through the pass, and was only now arriving. And they could see Henry Freeman on foot, walking toward them, a rifle in one hand.
He said, “Where I’m from, we had men like the ones you’re getting ready to fight. They wore white sheets, but they weren’t much different. I stood against them then, and I’ll do it now.”
Jack said, “Where are your wife and daughter, and Granny?”
“I sent them into the valley, to your ranch. Just in case those jackals decide to hit my little cabin on their way into town.”
“All right, boss,” Darby said to Jack. “You’ve got yourself a team. What did you say it’s called? A posse?”
“Yep,” Carter said, swinging out of the saddle. “That’s what we are. Never thought I’d be on this side of one, though.”
“A posse, then. All right, boss. Let’s try to figure the best place to position everybody.”
Bree said, “One of us should be at the jail. That’s the first place they’ll head for, I would think.”
Jack nodded. “But they won’t find White-Eye there.”
All eyes were now on him.
“I have some ideas. Let’s talk.”
48
Walker and his men came riding in. They slowed their horses to a walk when they came within sight of the buildings. They pulled up side-by-side, and approached the log cabin that served as the marshal’s office.
There were now seven of them. To Walker’s right was the gambler. He went by the name Eb Markle. His black jacket was tattered and his checkered vest was streaked with dirt. He wore a short-brimmed hat that was dusty and becoming tattered, and holstered at his belt was a revolver.
The two brothers were there, also. The Volmer boys. Two-bit outlaws who had joined Walker a few weeks ago. One was tall and wore a hat and jacket that might have been brown once, but campfire smoke and dirt and ground-in dust had turned them a sort of dark gray. He had a long face and scraggly whiskers, and his brother looked about the same but was a little shorter.
There was also a man with two guns holstered at his belt and turned backward for a crossdraw. His name was Lucas Jordan, a sometimes horse thief and sometimes cattle rustler but who was good with a gun and wanted to ride along to see Johnny McCabe beaten. Walker knew of the man’s reputation. Also a pair of cattle rustlers they had sprung from a jail in a small town a day’s ride south of Bozeman. The town was barely a crossroads, but they had a jail. Now the marshal there was dead, and the two rustlers rode with Walker.
They reined up in front of the jail.
Walker called out, “McCabe!”
There was no reply. Walker called out again.
“Hey, Walker,” Markle said. He was looking off toward the other buildings. Walker followed his gaze.
From here, you could get a better view of Hunter’s and the hotel, and beyond them the livery and the church. Standing in front of Hunter’s was Jack McCabe, a rifle in his hands. And beyond him, at the barn, or rather dangling from a timber above the hayloft, was White-Eye.
The timber had a block and tackle driven into it, and it was how hay was lifted up and to the loft. Only now, Walker was hanging from the rope, maybe fifteen feet above the ground. His hands were tied behind him, and the rope he was hanging from was wrapped around his chest.
“Now, that can’t be too comfortable,” one of the Volmer brothers said. The younger one, Clyde.
White-Eye was kicking in the air and began calling out, “Walker!”
“That son-of-a-bitch,” Walker said. “I’m gonna really enjoy this.”
They rode toward Jack and reined up a hundred feet in front of him.
Walker said, “I don’t know what game you think you’re playin’, McCabe.”
“I’m not playing any game, Walker. You and your men throw down your guns now and no one’ll get hurt.”
Walker had to crack a grin at that. “There’s only one of you. You, and that city boy. But he don’t count. There’s seven of us.”
Jack said, “First of all, my deputy is man enough that he nearly beat White-Eye to death. Second of all, he and I are not alone. I have a rifle trained on you right now. One of the best shots with a rifle you’ll ever meet.”
That morning, Jack had taken a look at the roof of the hotel. Hunter’s idea of having someone there with a rifle wasn’t a bad one, it was just that Darby was not the right man for the job. Bree was one of the best shots with a rifle Jack had ever seen, so he decided to put her to good use.
Jack said, “Any of you men go for your guns, and the first bullet will take your head off your shoulders, Walker.”
Jack could tell Walker wasn’t sure. He stared long and hard at Jack. Walker then said, “Where’s your daddy? He’s the one I have a beef with.”
“He’s not here. This is between us. This is my town, and you’re under arrest. I’m going to hold you for Marshal Bodine.”
“Well, then. Maybe what I’ll do is just gut you right here on the street, and then just wait for your daddy.” Walker glanced to his right. “Eb, go and cut down White-Eye.”
Jack called out, “Darby!�
��
Darby stepped out of the barn, his shot gun to his shoulder and aimed at White-Eye.
“Terrible thing,” Jack said, “to be hanging like that and just get riddled with buckshot if that shotgun goes off.”
“No matter,” Walker said. “He’s just one man. I don’t really need him, anyway.”
“Loyalty doesn’t run very deep with you, does it?”
Walker sat silently, staring at him. As though by doing so he could somehow bore a hole through him.
“I think you’re bluffin’,” Walker finally said. “You don’t have nobody. The men from your ranch are off on a round-up. We done some checkin’ to see what we’d be ridin’ into.”
“Drop your guns,” Jack said. “Last chance.”
Clyde, the younger of the two brothers, went for his gun. Whether Walker had given him some sort of signal, or the boy was just too young and couldn’t take the strain of this stand-off, Jack didn’t know.
Bree fired from the roof, and Clyde was knocked out of the saddle, and then the others were drawing and so was Jack, and bullets were flying. Hunter stepped out of his saloon with a Winchester in his hands and Harlan Carter was on the porch of the hotel with a revolver drawn, and both were firing.
Horses reared and spun in the chaos. Jack’s rifle was at his shoulder and he was firing and jacking the rifle and then firing again. A bullet tore through his sleeve but he didn’t think it found any flesh.
The second brother fired toward the roof of the hotel, but then a rifle shot from the roof and a bullet from Carter both caught him and he was slammed out of the saddle.
A bullet caught Harlan in the leg and he went down. Jack’s rifle was empty so he threw it aside and drew his revolver and began squeezing off shots.
Eb Markle rode away, straight toward the barn. Whether he was trying to free White-Eye or just trying to escape, Jack didn’t know, but Darby was there and emptied one barrel of his shotgun into Markle’s chest, and Markle fell from the saddle to land bouncing and flopping in the dirt, and the horse ran on without him.
The older of the Volmer brothers had felt a bullet tear into his shoulder, but he decided to get as far from this chaos as he could and see how badly he was hurt later. He tried to turn his horse but the animal was panicking because of the roar of gunfire, and it reared and he felt himself come free from the saddle and he landed in the dirt. He scrambled to his feet and ran toward the side of Hunter’s saloon. Get beyond the line of fire as fast as he could.
He then found himself facing what looked to be an old Chinese man, who had a long stick in his hand.
“Get out of the way,” the Volmer brother called out, raising his pistol.
But Chen brought the stick down on top of the man’s hand and the hand went numb and his gun fell free, and then the stick came into contact with the side of his head, and his knees buckled and he went down.
Walker wheeled his horse, and it took off in a gallop toward the jail. Guns were fired at him, and bullets whizzed by him or tore up the dirt near him. Hitting a moving target is harder than it seems, especially in the heat of battle. Walker leaped from the saddle and ran for the front door.
And then all was quiet, except for the ringing in Jack’s ears. A cloud of dust hung over the street, from the horses’ hooves and gunsmoke. Four of Walker’s men were down. A fifth, the gambler, was lying in the dirt over by the barn. White-Eye was still hanging and kicking from the barn.
Jack looked toward where one of the brothers had run off, beyond the side of Hunter’s saloon, and saw Chen standing there.
Chen called out, “One of them is over here.”
Hunter was running toward him. “You all right?”
Jack nodded. “You?”
“I’m fine. I think Carter’s hit, though.”
“Go tend to him, then. I’ll go get Walker.”
Jack started toward the jail, and Walker fired at him from a window. Jack ran, cutting to the side and the rear of the jail. Walker fired from the window, but also found hitting a moving target was harder than it seemed.
Jack stopped at the back of the jail, and quickly checked his loads. His pistol had one bullet left. He dumped the empties and thumbed in five fresh cartridges.
He stepped around the corner, gun ready, expecting Walker to have come out of the building and to be waiting for him, but Walker was not there.
He made his way along the wall, ducking under a window, and then to the front. Then he kicked in the door and charged in, finding Walker standing in the center of the floor, pistol aimed at him.
Walker pulled the trigger, but the hammer clicked harmlessly. Either the gun was empty, or a cartridge had misfired.
Jack had him. A gun fully loaded. Jack said, “Drop the gun.”
Walker did so. But then he felt his McCabe temper rising. This man had caused him so much grief. He thought about the danger he had presented to the town, and the beating he had given Jessica.
Jack eased the hammer of his gun back to a resting position and holstered the gun. He then unbuckled his gunbelt and let it drop to the floor.
“It’s your funeral,” Walker said.
“No,” Jack said. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Walker charged at him. But Jack remembered the teaching Chen had given him, and instead of meeting Walker’s charge head on, he side-stepped and grabbed Walker by the jacket and wheeled him right into the wall face first.
Walker staggered a bit, then pushed away and swung a fist that caught Jack on the cheekbone. Jack, his knees bent and his legs spaced apart in a boxing stance, snapped a couple hard jabs at Walker that bloodied Walker’s nose, then a right cross that drove Walker back into the wall.
Walker lunged at Jack and this time caught him and they both went down to the floor. They each clawed and wrestled. Walker was a little taller, but he didn’t have the muscle Jack had put on boxing and rowing. Walker dug his fingers into Jack’s face, catching an eye, and Jack pulled the hand away and twisted a thumb, the way Chen had shown him. Walker yelped and pulled away.
Both were then on their feet, circling each other. Walker pulled a knife from a sheath in the side of his boot. Jack grabbed the empty coffee kettle from the stove.
Walker lunged with the knife but Jack parried with the kettle. Jack then threw the kettle into Walker’s face, and while Walker was ducking to one side to avoid it, Jack charged at him and grabbed Walker’s knife hand by the wrist. He then drove his free elbow into Walker’s face.
Blood was now streaming from Walker’s nose, down over his chin and onto his shirt. He was a little staggered by the elbow that caught him in his already broken nose, and Jack took the moment to grab Walker’s knife hand with both hands and bring the wrist down over his knee like he was breaking a stick. Walker’s knife fell free.
Jack then planted his feet and began driving punches into Walker’s midsection. Walker’s knees buckled and he went down to the floor.
He began to get up, but the fight was gone from him, and he fell back to the floor.
Jack stood, heaving for breath. His shirt was torn open and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Somewhere along the line he had bitten the inside of his cheek. A bruise was already forming on the side of his face from a punch he had taken, and he had some gouges on one cheekbone and on his brow from when Walker had tried to claw at his eyes. His fists were scraped and one knuckle was bleeding.
Bree was standing in the doorway, her rifle in her hands. “Did you enjoy that?”
He didn’t realize she was there until she spoke. He nodded, a little surprised by his answer. “Yeah. I did.”
“You gonna arrest him once he wakes up?”
“Why don’t you do it?”
She grinned. “I seem to be doing a lot of that.”
He reached to his mouth with the back of his fist to wipe away the blood. “Where’s White-Eye?”
“Darby and Mister Chen are cutting him down from the hay loft. Darby let him fall the last five feet kind
of hard, but I suppose White-Eye had it coming.”
Jack nodded. “There is justice.”
“But Mister Harding’s in bad shape. He took a bullet in the leg, and Hunter’s trying to stop the bleeding.”
“All right. I’ll be right over. I’ll send Darby in to help you with this one.”
Walker sat up, pushing himself as though the effort was great. He found himself staring into the muzzle of Bree’s Winchester.
She said, “Oh, I don’t this one’s going to give me any trouble. Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
Jack hurried to the hotel, which was where Carter had been standing when he went down. On the way, he passed Darby and Chen bringing a seriously battered White-Eye back to the jail. White-Eye’s hands were still tied behind his back. They also had the one Chen had stopped with his wooden staff. The boy had regained consciousness but was walking a little unsteadily.
“You might want to hurry,” Jack said. “Keep Walker safe from Bree. I want him alive for the territorial marshal.”
He found Carter and Hunter where he expected to. On the boardwalk in front of the hotel. Hunter had torn away part of Carter’s trouser leg. The bullet wound was a few inches below the knee. It was not a neat wound, but a large torn hole. Like someone had driven in an iron spike and then twisted. Hunter had wrapped a bandanna around it, trying to slow the bleeding.
“You look like hell,” Carter said.
“Looks worse than it is,” Jack said. “How’re you doing?”
“Got in the way of a bullet.”
“Not the smartest thing to do.”
He shook his head. “No one ever accused me of being smart.”
Hunter said, “Looks like the bone’s broken. And I can’t get the bleeding to slow down.”
Jack said to Carter, “Give me your belt.”
Carter unbuckled his belt and slipped it off. Jack then buckled the belt about Carter’s leg just above the knee, pushed Hunter’s rifle in between the belt and the leg, and began twisting until the belt was pulled as tightly as it could go.
Carter winced a bit on the last couple twists.
“Sorry about that,” Jack said. “It’s going to be a little uncomfortable. It’s called a tourniquet. It’ll stop the bleeding for the moment. Hold onto the rifle and hold this in place.”
One Man's Shadow (The McCabes Book 2) Page 42