by Tabor Evans
Belcher pointed angrily at Longarm. “Marshal, you’re obstructing justice! One more word out of you, and I’ll shoot you myself!”
He snapped his Winchester to his shoulder and aimed down the barrel, his eyes flashing wickedly.
“Major!” War Cloud shouted, taking one step forward.
Longarm grabbed the scout’s arm, pulling him back.
Belcher shifted his rifle to War Cloud. To the soldier manning the Gatling gun, he said, “Private Daniels, if we do not have Black Twisted Pine in custody by the time I’ve counted to five, open up with your Gatling. Start with those savages just up canyon there. Take them all down, do you understand?”
Private Daniels hesitated. Then he nodded and lowered his head to aim down the Gatling gun, which he swung up canyon, toward the Chiricahuas.
Belcher looked at Longarm and quirked his lips with that menacing, jeering grin. “Marshal, stand aside. I’m taking Black Twisted Pine into custody. I do hope that he won’t be shot for resisting arrest. And that I do not have to shoot you and your redskin scout for obstructing justice.”
Longarm felt as though his heart would explode from the raw anger flaring behind it. He said, “You won’t get away with it, Major. If you take Black Twisted Pine, you’d best make damn sure he arrives safely at McHenry, or I will personally see you hang, you son of a bitch!”
Belcher smiled down the barrel of his Winchester, which he shifted around between Longarm, War Cloud, and Black Twisted Pine.
“It is all right, lawman,” Black Twisted Pine said, his voice hard and even. He started forward. “I will go with the soldiers.”
In the upper periphery of his vision, Longarm saw Magpie rise up from behind a rock jutting from the side of the ridge, about fifteen feet above Private Daniels manning the Gatling gun. The girl stepped off the rock and dropped straight down, landing just behind Daniels with a grunt, bending her knees.
Daniels jerked with a start, began to swing around toward Magpie. The girl tightened her jaws and bunched her lips as she smashed the butt of her pistol across the private’s left temple.
Daniels gave a clipped scream and crumpled beside the Gatling gun.
Magpie leaped over him and hunkered down behind the gun, giving a wicked war cry, and swung the maw with a squeak of its swivel toward Belcher. The major swung around, aiming his Winchester. The rifle roared but his shot whipped over Magpie’s head to slam into the ridge wall behind her.
Magpie aimed at Belcher, squinting her dark eyes over the Gatling’s maw. Belcher jerked back against a boulder and out of the line of Magpie’s fire.
Longarm ripped his Colt from its holster and shouted, “Hold it, Major!”
“Kill ’em!” Belcher shouted, fumbling his rifle around toward Longarm.
Longarm snapped his pistol up and fired.
At Kilroy threw his hands up, he shouted at the other soldiers, “Stand down, men! Hold your fire!”
Belcher slammed back against the boulder and, dropping his rifle, clutched his left shoulder from which blood was oozing, staining his dark blue tunic.
At the other soldiers raising their rifles tensely, Kilroy again shouted, “Stand down! Stand down!”
Belcher loosed an enraged bellow and then swung around and ran through a notch in the ridge behind him, below and right of Magpie, who tracked him with the Gatling gun, turning the crank and throwing several belching rounds at the man, all her shots merely pluming the dust at the major’s heels.
Longarm shouted, “Everyone stand down!” as he bolted forward and up the face of the ridge. He glanced once at Captain Kilroy, who raised his left hand in supplication, lowering the rifle in his right hand. Longarm bolted past the soldiers and ran into the notch.
Belcher was ahead of him, running hard but sort of crouched forward, cupping his wounded shoulder. A booted foot and part of a denim-clad leg suddenly angled out from the rock wall in front of him. Belcher screamed as he tripped. He hit the ground and rolled, dust rising around him.
He lost his hat and one suspender slid off his shoulder.
He turned and rose up on his heels, his face a red mask behind his dark mustache and a generous coating of dust. His lips shone white between his teeth as he grinned savagely and extended his army-issue .44 at Leslie McPherson, who had just then stepped out from a small alcove in the ridge wall, facing him, screaming, “Why, Anson? Whyyyy?”
Longarm stopped running and raised his own .44. The gun leaped and roared, stabbing flames at Belcher. The bullet punched through the major’s right shoulder, slamming him straight back as he triggered his revolver into the air.
He lay gasping, writhing, grinding the spurred heels of his cavalry boots into the dirt.
Longarm walked forward. He stood beside Leslie staring down at Belcher. Blue Feather walked out from behind another boulder to glare down at the man, as well.
Belcher stared up at them, fear and rage sharp and bright in his eyes. He gritted his teeth, snarling like a wounded bobcat.
“To answer your question, girl,” Longarm said, wrapping an arm around Leslie’s shoulders and drawing her tight against him. “He’s a coward.”
War Cloud, Magpie, and Black Twisted Pine walked up behind Longarm and the two other women to stare down at Belcher. And then Kilroy and the other soldiers came, as well—all with guns lowered. The Apaches, including Stalking Puma, joined them, too, and they all stood as one group staring down at the writhing, snapping, cursing, incoherent beast that was Anson Belcher.
“Let’s get him doctored,” Longarm said finally, sheathing his Colt. “We want him facing the court-martial and gallows in perfect health.”
Watch for
LONGARM AND THE STAR SALOON
the 422nd novel in the exciting Longarm
series from Jove
Coming in January!