That was the door leading into the saloon’s main room where Norris waited with his hostages. Bill limped toward it. The pain in his leg had subsided to a dull throb. He stopped when he reached the door and leaned forward to press his ear to it.
He heard at least one woman crying. A man cursed in a low, monotonous voice. And after a moment, Zach Norris snarled, “Shut the hell up!”
The man said, “I . . . I think I’m gonna bleed to death if I don’t get some help soon, Deputy.”
“I said shut up, Smoot! You think I care if you bleed to death? You think I care about any of you pissants in this damn town? I hope that cowboy doesn’t show up, so I’ll have an excuse to burn it down!” Norris paused, then added, “I’ll give him five more minutes. Then things are gonna get mighty hot around here.”
Bill knew he was going to have to risk opening the door and taking a look. He had to know where everybody in the room was. You couldn’t just bust in and let loose with a shotgun. That was a good way to kill innocent people. He didn’t want anybody else to die tonight except Norris.
He held the Greener in his right hand and used his left to turn the knob as silently as he could. The door opened toward him. He eased it back a half inch and put his eye to the narrow gap.
He couldn’t see much. A man’s unmoving legs were stretched out on the floor behind the bar with a pool of blood around them. That would be the bartender Norris had killed, thought Bill. He could see a thin slice of the room but no people. He opened the door a little wider, and as he did, Norris stalked through his field of vision, waving a revolver.
“You people didn’t know when you were well off,” the deputy ranted. “Marshal Porter and I kept law and order in this town. Law and order, by God! We risked our lives to do it. And all we asked in return was to be paid. All we asked was for you people to make it worth our while.”
He was crazy, all right, trying to justify all the killing and violence. He swung around, and Bill pulled back. Norris might not notice the door being open an inch or so, but he’d sure see an eye staring at him.
Norris kept stalking and ranting. He passed through Bill’s view a couple more times, moving from right to left and then back again.
There didn’t seem to be anybody to the left, closer to the front windows. Norris had probably herded his prisoners toward the back of the barroom. That meant Bill could get between Norris and the hostages if he timed his move to coincide with Norris’s pacing. He steeled himself and got ready.
A moment later, Norris passed in front of the bar again, cursing. “Damn that stupid Texan!” he bit out. “His time’s up, damn it! I’m gonna—”
Bill had both hands on the Greener now. He got his toe in the gap alongside the door and threw it open, lunging through as he thrust the twin barrels of the shotgun at the crazed deputy.
“I’m right here, Norris!” he yelled.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Chapter 19
Again, the thunderous roar of the shotgun assaulted Bill’s ears. The air in the saloon was already thick with the reek of burned gunpowder, and the shotgun blast added to it as smoke geysered from the left-hand barrel along with the charge of buckshot.
Norris screamed as he went down, twisting to the floor from the impact of the lead ripping into his left arm and side. Bill had hoped to blow a huge hole clean through Norris, but the deputy’s lightning-fast reflexes had prevented that. Norris had been turning and diving aside even as Bill pulled the trigger, and the range was so close the charge hadn’t had time to spread out much. The buckshot was still clustered as it struck him, and only the edge of that cluster brushed him.
Norris rolled on the sawdust-littered floor and came up on one knee. Bill heaved the empty shotgun at him as the gun in Norris’s hand blasted. The bullet whipped past Bill and shattered the mirror on the wall behind the bar. The next second the heavy shotgun crashed into Norris’s chest and knocked him over backward.
Bill dragged his Colt out of its holster and thumbed back the hammer. He pointed the gun at Norris and fired, but the bullet chewed splinters from a floorboard mere inches from the deputy’s head. Bill dropped behind the bar as Norris fired again and more glass shattered, this time one of the whiskey bottles on the back bar. The strong-smelling stuff splattered all over Bill.
The hostages were screaming and yelling as they broke away, running upstairs or out the door through which Bill had come in, scrambling to get out of the line of fire and find someplace safe. At least they would have a chance to escape now, thought Bill as he rose up and triggered another shot at Norris just as the man dived behind an overturned table.
Whiskey dripped from Bill’s hair into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He had to duck behind the bar again and paw at his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. More bottles shattered above his head as Norris continued shooting. Whiskey showered down like rain, drenching him.
Suddenly, Bill smelled smoke and realized what Norris was trying to do. He heaved up from behind the bar and saw something burning flying through the air toward him. Norris had set his own hat on fire and flipped it toward the bar. He was trying to ignite all that spilled whiskey.
And since Bill was soaked with the stuff, he would go up in flames like a human torch if the burning hat touched him.
He slapped his free hand on the bar and levered himself up, rolling across the hardwood as the burning hat sailed over him. He fell hard in front of the bar and heard a whoosh as the hat landed behind the bar and the puddles of whiskey caught fire. A bullet slammed into the floor in front of Bill’s face. He felt the sting of splinters as they dug into his cheeks. Luckily, they missed his eyes.
He looked up and saw Norris making a break for the door. Norris slapped the batwings aside and dived through them as Bill fired again. The fleeing man never broke stride, so Bill knew he had missed.
Grating a curse between clenched teeth, Bill scrambled to his feet. Flames leaped up behind the bar. He could go after Norris, or he could try to put out the fire.
It wasn’t a very hard choice. The fire was the more immediate threat, and the more devastating one as well.
Bill saw that one of the saloon girls hadn’t fled. She hunkered behind a table, obviously too terrified to move. He pouched his iron and said to her, “Gimme your dress!”
She blinked at him, clearly not understanding.
He didn’t have time to explain. He lunged at her. She screamed as he grabbed her and dragged her to her feet. His hands hooked in the low neckline of her gown and ripped apart as hard as they could.
He tore the dress off of her and turned to the bar, dashing behind it. Using the dress like he would a blanket, he slapped at the flames as he fought to smother them. It was hard not to panic because he knew if the fire licked out and touched him, he was a goner. He suppressed the natural fear and worked frenziedly as heat from the flames beat at his face.
He didn’t even notice at first that someone was beside him, helping him. Then he realized Josiah Hartnett was there, using a horse blanket. Benjy Cobb appeared with a bucket of water and dumped it on the fire. Somebody else, a townsman Bill didn’t recognize, crowded in as well, wielding a blanket.
They were doing a better job than he was, he realized. He was just getting in the way. He staggered back, holding the charred dress he had torn off the saloon girl. He would have to apologize to her, he told himself, but that could wait.
A sickly sweet smell filled the air. Bill knew the fire must have reached the corpse of Pete the bartender. That stink was human flesh burning. But the men battling the flames were bringing them under control now. They had stopped the blaze before it reached the rest of the whiskey bottles on the back bar.
Redemption was saved . . . at least from this threat.
Bill dropped the gown and started toward the batwings. He dug cartridges out of his pocket and reloaded the Colt as he stumbled across the room.
“Harvey!” called Josiah Hartnett. “Where are you going?”
&
nbsp; “After Norris,” Bill said over his shoulder.
Hartnett hurried out from behind the bar and caught up to Bill just as the Texan pushed through the batwings. “He’s gone,” said Hartnett. “When I was comin’ down here, I saw him run out, climb on his horse, and gallop out of town. Looked like he was hurt pretty bad and could barely stay in the saddle.”
For a second, Bill had trouble comprehending what Hartnett had just told him. Norris . . . gone? The deputy wouldn’t just take off like that while his hated enemy was still alive, would he?
But Norris had a history of fleeing when the odds weren’t overwhelmingly on his side, Bill recalled. It had happened twice already tonight, out on the trail and then in the Monroe house. Norris was wounded, too, maybe seriously since Bill had grazed him with that shotgun blast. He had started the fire to delay pursuit, as much as anything else.
Bill looked into the night and sighed. “I’ll have to try to pick up his trail, come morning.”
“Why?” asked Hartnett. “Let him go. He’s not coming back here. He wouldn’t dare. Anyway, I’m hopin’ he’s hurt bad enough he’ll just crawl off somewhere and die, like a sick dog.”
Bill slid the Peacemaker back in its holster. That was a good thing to hope, he thought, but he’d feel a lot better if he knew for certain Zach Norris was dead.
He lifted his head as the sound of hoofbeats came to his ears. Was Norris coming back to raise more hell already?
No, this wasn’t just one rider, but several. They were approaching Redemption from the north. More trouble, Bill wondered?
Hartnett heard the riders, too. “Who the hell could that be?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Bill. “But I reckon I’ll find out.”
He stepped down from the boardwalk and limped into the street, turning so he’d be facing the riders when they came into town. From the corner of his eye he saw people emerging from the saloon to watch as he waited. They weren’t the only ones, either. Up and down Main Street, citizens of Redemption began to appear, curious to see what was going to happen next on this night of violence.
As Bill looked toward the end of the street, he tried not to think about how badly he hurt all over. His leg still throbbed, and the rest of his body was going to be bruised from the battering he had taken tonight. And it might not be over yet. He wasn’t quite sure how it had become his responsibility, but if those strangers riding into town were bent on causing trouble, he knew he would have to try to stop them.
He could make them out now, three men on big horses coming toward him at a steady, unhurried pace. Bill put his hand on the butt of his gun as they moved into the light. He called out, “That’s far enough, whoever you are. What’s your business in Redemption?”
One of the men chuckled, and the familiar, gravelly tones of Hob Sanders said, “I could ask the same thing of you, son. What in blazes have you been up to since we left you here?” Hob sniffed. “You smell like a distillery, and by God, you sound like a lawman.”
The realization that his friends had returned at last struck Bill like a physical blow. Everything would be all right now, he told himself. Hob was here. If there was any more trouble, Hob would take care of it.
That was the last thing Bill thought before the sheer willpower that had been keeping him going finally ran out. He felt his legs folding up beneath him, tasted dust in his mouth as he fell in the street. Then all that went away and left black emptiness in its place.
Chapter 20
For the second time in less than a month, Bill woke up to find himself in a strange place. His disorientation lasted only a moment, though, before he recognized his surroundings and realized where he was.
He was stretched out in the bed he’d been using in the spare room of the Monroe house. The sheets were smooth and cool and soft and felt wonderful against his skin. He just lay there and enjoyed the sensation for a few seconds.
Then his jaw tightened. Damn it, he was naked again.
His hands went to the sheet lying on top of him and pulled it higher. That brought a laugh from the doorway.
“You’re the shyest cowboy I’ve ever seen,” said Eden as she stood there smiling at him. “And I do mean seen.”
Bill’s face got warm, but he had more important things on his mind than being embarrassed. “What happened?” he asked. “Are you all right? What about your pa?”
Eden became solemn as she replied, “My father is sleeping. I think he’ll be fine. But he’s far from a young man, and he’s absorbed a lot of punishment lately. I really hope things settle down now.”
“You and me both,” said Bill. “You didn’t tell me how you’re doing.”
She moved her left shoulder and winced. “I’m pretty sore where Marshal Porter hit me with his gun, but nothing seems to be broken. And I’ll have a nice bruise on my stomach from his elbow.”
“That son of a—” Bill choked off the curse. “He had it comin’, for hurting you like that.”
“He had it coming for a lot of reasons,” Eden said as she came closer to the bed. “Before you got here, he boasted about how he’s the one who shot all those men, starting with Mr. Hendrickson, the baker. He was a madman.”
Bill shook his head. “No. Norris might be loco, but not Porter. Porter was just poison mean. Pure evil hiding behind a friendly smile.”
“He was a good lawman once.”
“Was he?” asked Bill. “Or has he been doing things like this all along? Did he pull the same scheme in the other towns where he worked?”
Eden sighed. “We’ll probably never know.”
“Any sign of Norris since he rode out of town?”
She shook her head. “No. Your friend Mr. Sanders said he and some of his men would try to trail him in the morning.”
“That’s what I was gonna do.”
“Well, you can forget about that,” said Eden. “You’re lucky your leg’s not badly injured again. You’re not going to do anything for at least the next week except rest it.”
Bill frowned. “It hurts, but I reckon it’s all right.”
“And let’s keep it that way. I’m afraid you’re already going to have a slight limp for the rest of your life.”
That wouldn’t matter. Plenty of cowboys had limps. When you were in the saddle, it didn’t matter.
Of course, thought Bill, that depended on whether he actually went back to cowboying . . .
He was in love with Eden Monroe. He knew that now, knew it beyond a sliver of a doubt. The question was what was he going to do about it.
Weariness gripped him, along with the soreness he felt all over. Figuring out the future could come later. He had put it off for this long, so he supposed a while longer wouldn’t matter.
“How many people did Norris kill tonight?”
“Four. Five if you count Porter. Pete Baxter, the bartender at the saloon, and three freighters who were there and fought back when he came in to hold up the place. Fred Smoot’s badly wounded, but he’s still alive. It’ll probably be a few days before we know if he’ll pull through.”
Bill blew out his breath and shook his head. “I sure wish I’d been able to put Norris under. A fella like that doesn’t need to be walking around drawing breath. He’ll be a menace to folks as long as he’s alive.”
“Maybe Mr. Sanders can find him and . . . see that he’s dealt with properly.”
Bill knew Hob well enough to have a pretty good idea how that would go. Norris would wind up with a bullet in the head or a hang rope around his neck, whichever was more convenient.
“Speaking of Mr. Sanders,” Eden went on, “he’s in the parlor and wants to talk to you. He said for me to let him know if you woke up.” She smiled again. “I wanted a few minutes with you myself first, though.”
Bill nodded. “I appreciate that. But I want to talk to Hob, too.”
“I’ll get him,” she said.
But she didn’t leave the room right away. Instead, she came over to the bed and leaned down to press he
r lips to Bill’s forehead. He wanted to reach up, put his arms around her, and pull her down on top of him so he could kiss her properly, but he knew she’d fuss at him if he did that.
“I’ll be right back,” she said as she straightened.
Bill closed his eyes and waited, not opening them again until he heard Hob’s boots on the floorboards. He looked up at the trail boss, who came into the room carrying his battered old black hat in front of him in his left hand. Hob looked back at Eden and nodded, saying, “Much obliged, ma’am.”
“Howdy, Hob,” Bill said as his friend and employer pulled a ladder-back chair closer to the bed and sat down.
“You look like you been drug through half the briar patches in the Indian Nations, boy,” he said.
“Feel that way, too,” replied Bill. “But I reckon I’ll be all right.”
“As bad hurt as you was when we left you here, I sure didn’t expect to come back and find you up and around yet, let alone fightin’ and shootin’. Miss Monroe tells me you pretty much saved the town’s bacon tonight. Those two so-called star packers were really a couple o’ lobo wolves.”
Bill nodded. “Yeah. They’ve been forcing the businessmen in town to pay them off and killing the ones who wouldn’t go along with it.”
Hob shook his head. “They were no better’n common owlhoots, if you ask me. Just like those damn rustlers that hit us again betwixt here and Dodge City.”
“They hit the herd again?” asked Bill, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Yeah. They raided us again two nights later, and that time they managed to make off with half the herd.”
“No!”
Hob nodded grimly. “That’s one reason it took us so long to get back here. I left a few of the boys to keep an eye on the cows we still had and took the rest of the crew after that bunch o’ thieves. They headed west through the sand hills and into the breaks along the Colorado line. We had to chase’em for damn near a week ’fore we caught up to ’em and took the herd back.”
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