Bill still didn’t answer. He didn’t see any point in it.
“You had to know we wouldn’t let you get away with that,” continued Norris. “Frank and me, we got us a sweet deal in Redemption, and we’re not just about to let some two-bit cowpoke with shit on his boots ruin it for us. It’s about to get a lot sweeter, too.” The crooked deputy chuckled. “Yes, sir. If killing some of those stubborn old fools wasn’t enough to convince everybody not to buck us, what’s gonna happen to Eden Monroe tonight sure will.”
The words hit Bill like a punch in the gut. His first impulse was to empty the Winchester toward the sound of Norris’s hateful voice. He forced himself to wait.
“Wish Porter had come after you and left me in town so I could have first crack at her, but, hell, he’s the marshal, after all. Reckon he deserves to have her first. Anyway, I’ll get my turn later, after I’ve killed you. It’ll be that much better, takin’ her while I’m tellin’ her all about how I shot her Texas cowboy full of holes.”
Norris was trying to prod him into doing something stupid. Bill knew that, and with a supreme effort of will, he forced himself to be calm. All he had to do was wait until the moon came up, and then he could kill Norris at his leisure.
“Yeah, right about now Marshal Porter will be gettin’ to the Monroe house,” said Norris. “What do you think pretty little Eden will do when Porter puts a gun to her pa’s head? She’ll do anything he tells her to, that’s what! And I’ll bet Frank’s got plenty in mind to do to that little blond slut.” He laughed. “Right now, Tex. I’ll bet she’s gettin’ it from him right now!”
Chapter 16
Something snapped inside Bill. With a howl of anger, he straightened from his crouch behind the wagon and started firing at sound of Norris’s voice, cranking off round after round.
But Norris wasn’t there anymore. He was up and sprinting to Bill’s left, and Colt flame bloomed in the darkness as gun thunder rolled out. A sledgehammer blow struck the rifle’s breech and ripped it out of Bill’s hands. The impact sent him stumbling backward. His bad leg went out from under him and dumped him on his ass.
He knew he had only heartbeats before Norris was on him, blasting slugs into him at close range. His hand went to the holster on his hip. If he could just draw the Peacemaker in time, he might still have a chance . . .
The holster was empty.
The next instant, Bill realized he was sitting on something hard. The gun had slipped out of the holster and landed underneath him as he fell. He rolled to the side and slapped at the revolver as he heard a rush of footsteps and another shot blasted. The slug kicked dust from the trail into his face. The grit that landed in his eyes half blinded him.
But the gun was in his hand now, his fingers wrapped around the walnut grips, and acting almost completely on instinct, he tipped the barrel up, squeezed the trigger, and thumbed off three shots. The gun roared and bucked in his hand as flame lanced from the muzzle.
In those garish shards of light, he saw Zach Norris driven backward as at least one of the bullets slammed into him. Norris howled in pain.
Using his free hand, Bill pushed himself up and fired again, but he couldn’t tell if he hit anything. He heard Norris scrambling away. No more shots came from the crooked deputy. Bill crawled behind the wagon again and lay there with the gun in his hand. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to break out of his chest.
A moment later, hoofbeats sounded in the night, starting nearby but then diminishing rapidly to the west. Norris was fleeing. Bill could hardly believe it. He must have wounded Norris badly enough the deputy didn’t want to continue this fight. And he must not have killed Norris’s horse after all, he figured out after a moment. He had probably creased the animal and caused it to fall, but it was able to get up and Norris was still able to ride it.
Bill reached in his pocket and took out several .44 cartridges he had placed there. Working by feel, he opened the revolver’s cylinder, dumped the empties, and thumbed in the fresh rounds. He regretted losing the Winchester, but at least he had a full wheel in the Colt. Just because Norris had lit a shuck right now didn’t mean he wouldn’t be back.
Bill swallowed hard as he thought about the vile things Norris had said. Maybe the deputy had been lying, just trying to get his goat so he would do something foolish. That was certainly possible.
But it was equally possible Norris had been telling the truth. Marshal Porter might be at the Monroe house even now, carrying out that sordid plan.
Bill’s pulse had slowed a little while he was reloading the gun, but it began to race again with fear for Eden. He had to get back to Redemption somehow.
But he was several miles out of town, on foot, with a bad leg to boot. It might take him the rest of the night to walk back there, if he could even make it that far without his leg giving out completely on him. He looked disgustedly at the wagon. Maybe wrecking it hadn’t been such a good plan after all.
There were other horses out here besides Norris’s mount, he reminded himself. The team had torn loose from the wagon when it overturned and bolted off into the darkness. But the four horses probably hadn’t gone very far. They had been spooked by the shooting, but once they were away from it, they might have calmed down. They might have even stopped to graze once they were off the wide cattle trail where more grass grew.
Bill climbed to his feet. Looking for the horses was worth a try.
Carrying the revolver, he walked around the wagon, looking for his cane. He found it where it had flown out of the vehicle during the wreck; he picked up his new hat as well. Switching the Colt to his left hand for the time being, he took the cane in his right and started in the direction the horses had taken when they ran off. He moved as fast as he could.
With Eden possibly in danger, he didn’t have any time to waste.
He reached the edge of the trail in a few minutes and continued west, acutely aware that this was the direction in which Norris had fled. The man might be lying in wait somewhere out there in the darkness, ready to ambush him. Or he might have fallen off his horse and bled to death by now, or anywhere between those two extremes. Bill had no way of knowing. All he knew for sure was that he had to get back to Redemption.
After a few more minutes, he spotted some dark shapes up ahead. Moving carefully and quietly, he approached them. The moon was beginning to creep up over the eastern horizon now, brightening the sky. Bill recognized the four horses. They were still yoked together, although the violence of the crash had torn their harness loose from the wagon tongue.
Bill had worked with horses most of his life. He began talking softly to them as he came closer. These were draft horses, without much wildness left in them. He was able to walk right up to them and catch hold of the harness on the closest one.
He had ridden bareback for years as a kid before getting his first saddle. That wouldn’t be a problem. Getting onto one of the horses wasn’t be an easy task, though, without stirrups. He was sweating heavily by the time he managed to clamber onto the back of one of the horses.
He took a clasp knife from his pocket and cut the animal free from the other horses. Knowing they would follow him, he cut the others loose from each other as well.
Then using the cut harness for reins, he turned the horse he was riding toward Redemption and dug his heels into its flanks, sending it south at a fast trot.
That gait caused pain to shoot through his bad leg, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting back to town . . . and Eden.
Not wanting to risk getting lost, he angled back to the east a little and soon picked up the cattle trail again. The moon was completely above the horizon now and provided plenty of light. Bill was able to move faster on horseback than he had been while driving the wagon in the other direction, so it didn’t take him as long to cover the several miles back to the settlement. Less than half an hour had gone by when he spotted the faint yellow glow of a few lighted windows ahead of him.
That p
rompted him to push the horse to a gallop. He aimed straight for the settlement now.
He wasn’t exactly sure how to reach the Monroe house from this direction, so he lost a few valuable moments riding along Main Street looking for the cross street where the house was located. The delay chafed at him.
Everything was closed down now except the saloon. Light still spilled over its batwings and through the big front windows. For a second, Bill considered stopping there to see if he could get anyone to help him, but he discarded the idea. He had taken this battle on himself, and he would fight it alone. He would have surprise on his side, because Frank Porter probably expected him to be dead by now, gunned down by Norris.
Bill passed the marshal’s office and jail. The door was closed and the windows were dark. The hope that Norris was lying had lingered in Bill’s mind, and he would have been relieved to see that Porter was in his office.
But the marshal wasn’t here, and Bill no longer had any doubt where he was.
He recognized the corner where the street he was looking for crossed Main. As he rode around it, he glanced back and saw that the other three horses were no longer following him. They must have stopped at the livery stable, recognizing it as their home, he thought.
That was good. If Porter was at the Monroe house, as Bill believed, he wouldn’t hear a whole group of horses approaching. He’d be less likely to pay any attention to a lone rider, and if he did, he’d probably think it was Norris returning to Redemption from his mission of murder.
Bill pulled the horse to a stop and slid down from its back while he was still several houses away from the Monroe house. He went the rest of the way on foot, using the cane in his left hand now since he had the Colt in his right.
A light burned in the parlor window, but the rear of the house was dark. Bill circled it to come in from that direction. The hinges on the front gate creaked a little when it was opened, and he didn’t want to take a chance on even that small sound warning Porter.
He hoped Perry Monroe had left the back door unlocked after he’d gone out that way earlier in the evening. When he reached the door, he set his cane on the ground and took hold of the knob, turning it slowly and carefully.
It turned, and the door swung open an inch.
Bill eased it open more, just wide enough for him to slip inside. The kitchen was dark. No one had relit the lamp back here after Monroe turned it out.
He closed the door soundlessly, then stood there in the dark and listened intently. He heard voices coming from the front of the house.
Praying that the floorboards wouldn’t squeak under his feet, he started along the hall in that direction. He heard a man’s voice, and a woman’s, and then the woman let out a sob that almost made him charge recklessly down the hall. He had to force himself to proceed cautiously.
“You don’t have to do this, Porter.” That was Perry Monroe speaking. Bill could make out the words now. “I already paid Norris the extra he asked for, and I will from now on, even if I go broke doing it.”
“This isn’t just about the money anymore,” said Porter. “That cowboy defied us, and he’s obviously sweet on Eden here.”
“Yeah, but you said Norris went after him to kill him.”
Monroe’s words prompted another sob from Eden.
“You can’t hurt him by hurting her, not if he’s already dead,” Monroe went on.
“You gave him food and shelter and a job.” Porter’s voice was relentless. “You got to learn a lesson, too, Perry. After tonight, you won’t even think about defyin’ us again, and you’ll make sure all your friends feel the same way.” A grim chuckle came from the crooked marshal. “Most of them have wives or daughters or both. You tell ’em they better cooperate with the law, or I won’t be responsible for what might happen.”
“The law.” The bitter, angry voice that spoke belonged to Eden. “You’re not a lawman, Porter. You’re a thief and a murderer and . . . and a low-down snake!”
“You won’t feel that way when I get through with you, Miss Eden. You’re gonna enjoy yourself, whether you want to or not.”
Bill was almost at the entrance to the parlor now, willing his bad leg not to give in to the weakness in it and cause him to make any noise. The rage he felt toward Porter threatened to erupt into an out-of-control blaze, but somehow he managed to contain it.
“There’s been enough talkin’,” snapped Porter. Bill heard the ominous sound of a gun being cocked. “Get your clothes off, Eden, and get over here, or I’ll put a bullet in your pa’s brain.”
In a voice wracked with strain, she said, “I can’t . . . you can’t expect me to . . . not in front of—”
“Oh, yeah. Your pa’s gonna watch the whole thing. I’m just sorry that damned cowboy of yours isn’t here to see it, too.”
Bill thought he had the three of them located in the room by the sound of their voices. He had to act now. He pulled in a deep, silent breath, then stepped into the entrance to the parlor, leveled his Colt at Porter, and said, “I’m here, Marshal, but you’re the one who’s gonna get your brains blown out if you don’t drop that gun.”
Chapter 17
Porter, standing to Bill’s right, turned sideways to him as he aimed a revolver at Perry Monroe, who stood to Bill’s left. Eden was straight ahead, facing him. The four of them formed a rough diamond shape in the parlor.
Porter looked surprised, but only for a second. Then a smile appeared on his face.
“You don’t want to do that, Tex,” he said. “You can’t shoot me fast enough to keep me from killin’ Monroe. I don’t reckon Miss Eden would ever feel too kindly toward you again if you were responsible for her pa’s death.”
“He won’t be,” said Monroe. “It’s you who’s to blame for this, Porter. Shoot him, Bill.”
Actually, Bill had given some thought to doing just that, while he was standing out there in the hall listening to Porter’s vile demands. He had considered stepping into the parlor and pulling the trigger without warning Porter or giving him a chance to surrender.
But even though Porter deserved it, Bill didn’t have it in him to kill somebody in cold blood.
“I don’t care what happens to me,” Monroe went on. “Just shoot this son of a bitch like you would a snake.”
Porter chuckled. “That’s not gonna happen, Perry. Look at the boy. If he was gonna pull the trigger, he would have done it by now. He’s scared I’ll kill you if he does. He’s scared that I’ll live long enough to get some lead in him, too. But that’s not what I’ll do, Tex. I won’t kill you. I’ll kill her.”
Bill’s heart raced.
“I’ll do it right now, too,” continued Porter. “You think you can stop me? I’m pretty fast. You miss with that first shot and I’ll have time to kill Eden and Monroe and probably you, too. You dead sure of your aim, son? You better be, if you’re gonna do this.”
Emotions warred inside Bill. He knew he was letting Porter get to him, but there was truth in what the crooked lawman said. If he shot Porter in the body, Porter would live long enough to get off at least a couple of shots. The only thing that would put him down fast enough was a bullet in the head, and even that might not be enough to save Perry Monroe.
And the head was a smaller target. Bill might miss completely, even at this range. If he did, he and Eden and Monroe would die in the space of a couple of heartbeats.
Eden was standing in front of the fireplace. Leaning against the wall within reach of her hand was the shotgun Monroe had loaded earlier, Bill noticed. As if she had noticed him looking at it, her eyes suddenly flicked down and to the side, toward the double-barreled weapon.
Bill wanted to tell her not to try it, but he was too late. She was already reaching for the shotgun.
Porter must have seen the motion from the corner of his eye, because he suddenly cursed and jerked toward her. Bill fired at the same instant, as Porter swung his gun toward Eden, but the lawman was moving, too, and the bullet from Bill’s Colt plowed a shallow
furrow in the side of Porter’s neck.
The impact was enough to make him stagger as he pulled the trigger. The bullet he sent in Eden’s direction missed her and smacked into one of the stones that formed the fireplace instead. She had the shotgun in her hands now and was trying to lift it. Bill drew a bead on Porter’s back but didn’t pull the trigger. Porter was between him and Eden, and if the bullet went all the way through the marshal, it could hit her, too.
Porter lunged forward and grabbed the scattergun’s twin barrels. He shoved them toward the floor and clubbed at Eden’s head with the gun in his other hand. She jerked aside and took the blow on her shoulder, but it was still enough to make her cry out in pain.
Monroe tackled Porter from behind and drove the crooked lawman off his feet.
Bill jammed the Peacemaker in its holster as he leaped toward them. He couldn’t risk a shot now, not with Porter, Eden, and Monroe all tangled up together in front of the fireplace. As he closed in on them, Porter twisted in Monroe’s grip and slammed his gun into the old man’s bearded jaw. Monroe rolled to the side, stunned.
Bill planted his bad leg and swung the other one in a kick aimed at Porter’s gun hand. The toe of his boot caught Porter on the wrist and knocked the revolver out of his grip. It clattered to the floor and slid across the parlor.
Before Bill could draw his own gun again, Porter lashed out with a kick of his own. It landed on the knee of Bill’s bad leg and knocked it out from under him. Bill fell heavily.
Eden had dropped the shotgun when Porter hit her in the shoulder with his gun. Porter lunged for the fallen weapon. Bill reached out desperately, snagged the marshal’s shirt collar, and jerked him back. Porter’s hand fell short of the shotgun. Bill went after him, swinging punches.
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