“No,” Saulter said flatly.
“Then I’ll shoot you,” McGraw said. “Barney, William! Take this fool over to the bunkhouse and set him down and let him think. Keep him under close guard. No mistakes.” He took out his gold watch, snapped it open, and laid it on the table. “You’ve got exactly half an hour to make up your mind. Thirty minutes.” McGraw was very angry. “And by god, sir, you’d better come back in here talking like a straw lawyer, begging for a chance, or I give you my word I’ll have you shot within sixty seconds. Now get him out of here.”
They prodded Saulter up from his chair and out the door with their rifles. They watched until he’d disappeared and then Billy asked, “You think he’ll come around, Mister McGraw?”
McGraw said angrily, “I don’t give a damn if he does or not. It would give me great pleasure to shoot the arrogant bastard. Who the hell does he think he is?”
“Well, I don’t care one way or another about shooting him. But if we need him . . .”
“I really don’t know,” McGraw said. “If he’s good enough with that rifle we’ve got to use him. There’s too much at stake. Then I’ll shoot him. If he comes around.”
Billy said, “I know a way to make him agree.”
“How? He’s got a gun at his head now.”
“Not his head, Letty’s.”
“A whore he doesn’t even know? I don’t believe it.”
“Yessir. I know Mister Saulter and his kind. I grew up working on plantations of them proud, honorable bastards. They got this code about women and all women has got to be treated the same. You put a gun to Letty’s head and he’ll do whatever you tell him. You seen how he was this morning.”
McGraw looked at him. “By god, you may be right. We’ll hold that in reserve.”
Across the way Letty had come out on the porch. Shielding her eyes against the glare she watched as Saulter was taken across to the bunkhouse. She waited until they had disappeared inside and then abruptly whirled around and went back in the house. Quickly she crossed the living room to the rough bar, located a bottle of whiskey and a glass, paused to put on a long cape, and then slipped out the back door. She circled wide around her own barn, crossed the road well down from the saloon, and made her way toward the door at the far end of the bunkhouse.
Inside Saulter was sitting on one of the bunks with Barney and William, both covering him with their rifles, sitting on another bunk facing him. Barney asked, “Would you care for a smoke?”
“Thanks,” Saulter said. He took the cigar Barney proffered, lit it, and sat there studying the two through a cloud of blue smoke.
Saulter’s unflinching gaze made Barney nervous. He said, “Instead of sittin’ there feelin’ pleased with yourself for being so smart ass with the Captain you ought to get to makin’ your mind up. Or sayin’ your prayers. Cause I can tell you that Mister McGraw don’t fool around. You don’t go pussy-footin’ in there with the right answers and you’ll sure as hell be dead in exactly sixty seconds. I tell you, you better see the straight of this matter. The way the Captain wants you to.”
Saulter smiled thinly but didn’t speak.
It made Barney more nervous. “You’re a cool one, ain’t’cha? Well, don’t get no ideas about jumpin’ around. I bet it’d suit Mister McGraw if we just up and plugged you here and now. Ain’t that right, Will? Save him the trouble of listening to you whinny around and beg.”
“Take it easy,” Saulter said.
“Brother, you’re the one better take it easy,” Williams said. “I wouldn’t want to be in your boots.”
Saulter smiled thinly. “I thought it was my choice.”
“I expect it is,” Barney answered. “But you’d be a lot better off if you’d been civil with the Captain in there. The Captain’s a big man and he don’t take nothin’ off some saddle tramp.”
William, at that point, took a pocket watch out, and looked at it. “I make it to be fifteen minutes passed. We have him in there at the half hour sharp.”
“Now,” Barney said, “you make up your mind to go back there and be respectful to the Captain and he’ll give you a fair shake. Hell, he’s offerin’ you a chance on a mighty big job. Plenty gunners’d give a gallon of blood to get in on this. Hell, man.”
Saulter asked softly, “Do you know what the job is?”
Barney said, “Not exactly. I know it involves them railroads. And I know we got to plug some hombres. That’s enough for me to know.”
William said, “You better cut out the claptrap, Barney.”
“I ain’t told him nothin’.”
Saulter looked at both of them, the thin smile on his face, his eyes narrowed.
Then the back door of the bunkhouse opened and Letty came in carrying the whiskey. Barney and William raised their rifles, but they lowered them as they recognized Letty.
Saulter shifted just enough to see that it was Letty. She came forward as Barney, smiling, said, “Why, look here, it’s Miss Pretty.”
“Letty, I don’t reckon you ought to be in here,” Will cut in.
She didn’t need him. “Oh, I’m not staying,” she said, looking at Saulter. “I just brought Mister Saulter a little whiskey. I got a feeling he’s going to need it.” Her voice was hard, bitter. Saulter glanced up at her but there was nothing in her face.
Barney cackled, but Will was frowning. “I don’t know . . .”
But Letty was already pouring a glass. It was a large glass and she poured it full. “Here,” she said, thrusting it at Saulter. He took it, looking at her, as she backed away a step or two.
For a moment Saulter held the glass, motionless. He started to raise it to his lips and then seemed to notice Barney. With a half grin he held it out. “You first, you might have to shoot me. I want your hand steady.”
Barney cackled at the joke. He shifted his rifle, the muzzle now pointing toward the ceiling, and reached to take the glass. As he did Saulter suddenly threw it sideways in William’s face, the raw whiskey blinding him. Almost in the same motion Saulter’s other hand flashed out and jerked the rifle out of Barney’s hand. He grabbed it by the barrel and, without a lost motion, brought it crashing down on William’s head, the impact splintering the stock. William rolled off the bunk. Wheeling, Saulter hit Barney across the face with the remainder of the rifle and then kicked him in the head as he fell sideways. He whirled, not an instant lost, and grabbing Letty by the arm, went running for the back door of the bunkhouse, dragging her along behind him. They shot out the door and turned toward the women’s house. As they crossed the road he slowed and pulled her up to him. “Get in that house and stay there. Don’t go in that saloon no matter what!”
“Where are you going?” she cried. “What are you going to do?”
“Fight,” he said.
“You need a gun.”
“I’ve got a gun,” he said. He pushed her toward the house and then took off at a dead run for the barn. She watched him a second and then hurried into the house.
Saulter dashed into the barn and ran for his horse. Catching up the reins he vaulted into the saddle. The big front doors stood open and he dashed through, into the clear. At the road he cut right, already drawing out his big rifle as he spotted his horse out of the little town.
In the saloon they had seen or heard nothing. McGraw and Billy were still sitting at the table drinking whiskey. McGraw picked his watch up and looked at it. “Three minutes,” he said. He smiled, not humorously. “I wonder what our southern gentleman has decided.”
“What about Letty?” Billy asked. “Hadn’t we ought to get her over here?”
McGraw turned to one of the other men. “Runt, step over to the women’s house and escort Miss Letty over here. Do not be rough with her.”
“Yessir,” the man said. He shrugged into a coat and opened the door and stepped out on the porch. At that instant Saulter came charging by, spurring his horse into a hard run as he headed for the high land a half mile out of town. The man stared, then reacted, his h
and instinctively reaching for his side gun. But the long coat he was wearing hampered his draw and Saulter was out of range before he could clear his weapon. He whirled and dashed back into the saloon. “He’s got away,” he yelled. “That Saulter. He’s ridin’ out of town.”
“Goddammit.” McGraw jumped to his feet, cursing, his face livid. “After him! Catch him! Move, goddammit!”
Billy yelled to the other men, “Get the horses.” They all went scrambling for the back door, bunching up at the entrance, scrambling and tripping in their haste. Because of the weather all the horses were kept in the barn behind the saloon. It was fifty yards away, across a clear expanse of snow. In a pack they came charging out the back door, heading for the barn. At that instant Barney and William came staggering out of the bunkhouse. Both of their faces were a mass of blood. Barney was still so groggy he was stumbling. He fell just as he came out the door but immediately got up. All the time he was yelling, “Help! Help! Help!”
The gang of men slowed and stopped. Billy ran a few steps in that direction. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know,” Barney moaned, his hands to his face. “He kicked the hell out of me. I’m damn near blind.” He stumbled and fell in the deep snow.
“Let’s get the horses,” Billy said.
They started running again. Halfway to the barn there was a sudden huge boom and one of the gunmen went cartwheeling sideways. He skidded to a stop in the snow with blood pumping out a huge hole.
The gunmen instinctively looked in the direction of the shot. On top of a low hill, Saulter was silhouetted against the sky. He was sitting on his buffalo horse, rapidly working the action to reload.
“Goddammit!” Billy yelled. “He’s got that big gun. Hit for cover.”
They scattered; Billy and William and another gunman broke back for the saloon. Two others, thinking it was closer, ran for the barn. Another shot boomed out and kicked up a spray of snow at Billy’s feet. But in another second they all had reached cover except Barney, who was wandering around yelling for help. Then there was another shot and he went flipping over backwards.
On the little hill, Saulter sat on his horse and slowly ejected the spent shell. He put the hull in his pocket, drew out a fresh shell, and reloaded. His face was grim and impassive. With a gentle nudge he put his horse into a canter, riding around the crest of the little circling hills to take up the attack from a fresh quarter.
In the saloon Billy and William were reporting to Mister McGraw. They were all crunched down below the front window, trying to see out. Billy and William were panting from their run. Saulter had hit William over one eye with the rifle butt, inflicting a deep cut, and the blood was still cascading down, half blinding him. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep it wiped away with a bandanna handkerchief. Finally he just tied it around his forehead like a headband.
Billy said briefly, “Clemson and Runt are in the barn. Barney and Ellis are dead.”
McGraw was not in a rage. His feelings were somewhere between surprise and demonic frustration. But, at Billy’s words that two more of his carefully recruited team were now useless to him, his color suddenly heightened and he screamed at William, “You fool! You idiotic fools! Do you realize what this means?” He suddenly reached out and grabbed the gunman by the collar. “How did the man get away from you? You were holding guns on him! Explain to me how this could happen!” He was shouting by the time he finished, shouting and jerking William back and forth like he was shaking a child.
“It was Letty,” William said. He made no attempt to break loose from McGraw’s grip. “She come in and give Saulter a glass of whiskey and he threw it in my face. Then he got Barney’s rifle and clubbed me down with it. I didn’t see what he done to Barney.”
Now true rage broke through what was left of McGraw’s composure. He was so angry he was shaking. “That bitch!” he screamed. “I’ll cut the tits off that traitorous sow. I’ll slit her nose. I’ll open her belly and fill it with dirt!” He looked wildly around. “Where is she? Is she in this room?” He stood up and drew out his pistol. Billy was tugging at his coat, trying to pull him down.
“You better get away from the window,” Billy said. “He’s out there.”
McGraw disregarded him, but then there came a far-off boom and a huge shell came whistling through the room and thudded into the floor. Debris and pieces of ceiling came falling down. McGraw instantly fell prostrate, the anger in his face replaced with sudden fear.
Billy looked up. A hole a foot and a half across had appeared in the exposed roof. “My god,” Billy said shakily, “that thing’s a cannon!”
At the shot, Schmidt, who had been standing in the middle of the room reacting with dazed astonishment at what was happening, suddenly raced a few lumbering steps and dived behind the bar. He stuck his head up and yelled at McGraw, “I didn’t bargain for this!”
“Shut up, fool!” McGraw yelled. In his frustration and rage he snapped off a quick shot at the saloon keeper. It went wild but Schmidt dropped instantly out of sight again.
Across the room Chiffon was in his accustomed place by the fireplace. But now he was curled into a tight ball, clinging to the side of the fireplace and whimpering, “Eeeeh, eeeh, eeeh,” over and over.
The other gunman was at the back door, peering out, trying to locate Saulter.
In the quiet that had come another shot suddenly boomed out and instantly pieces of the ceiling began to fall. Billy swore quietly and intensely.
With the new silence after that shot the gunman at the back door quickly scuttled across the floor and came up to the group at the window. “What the hell are we going to do, Mister McGraw?”
“I don’t know,” McGraw said. He was huddled down below the window, hugging the wall. “You fools have allowed this mess.”
Billy said, “Just stay out of the middle of the room. Big as that gun of his is it can’t shoot through the walls.”
“Yeah, but what are we going to do about that hombre out there? He’s got us bottled up tight.”
William was peering over the ledge of the window, searching the horizon. “Yonder he is,” he said. “Up there on top of the ridge just to the left of the women’s house.”
They all risked a look sticking their heads up gingerly as if they expected a shot at any instant. Saulter was clearly visible, outlined against the brilliantly blue sky, on top of a hummock a full half mile distant. As they watched a puff of black smoke suddenly clouded his figure and a bullet came whistling through the top of the window, shattering sash and wooden shutters. They ducked instinctively, even though the bullet was already past. A shower of wood and plaster fell down on their shoulders.
“Well,” Billy said dryly, “we know now that a four-hundred-yard shot wouldn’t have been shucks for him.”
In the knowledge that it would take him a few seconds to reload they again peered over the ledge. Saulter was where he was before. They could see him deliberately breaking down his rifle and inserting another shell. McGraw said in a voice a pitch too high for normal, “Shoot him! Somebody shoot him!” A new emotion was mixing in with his rage: fear.
It was not yet fear for his life, but was more a shocked realization that all of his carefully laid plans were somehow going awry. It had not come fully home to him yet because he couldn’t conceive how one man could dismantle preparations that had taken months and countless sums of money. Even in the ludicrous position he suddenly found himself occupying, he still clung to the impregnable protection of the money he represented as proof against almost anything. It had always been that way in the past and it was not now part of his subconscious thinking to feel otherwise. But panic was beginning to edge into his normally ordered mind. He demanded again, “Shoot him, I say!”
“It’s too far, Mister McGraw. He’s out of range. That cannon of his must carry a mile.”
“This is pitiful!” McGraw said viciously. “I supposedly hired the best gunmen in the country and they can’t handle one meat hunter!
Here we are, pinned down like rabbits!”
The gun boomed out again and the top half of the window disappeared. They ducked quickly behind the protecting ledge amid a shower of glass. Billy muttered, “I told Tomlain to leave that fellow alone. I told him!”
McGraw snarled, “You should have killed him.” He took a cautious peek above the ledge. “We’ve got to get him.”
“How, Mister McGraw?”
“Rush him.”
Billy shuddered. “That’d be suicide. He’d pick us off before we got within a hundred yards. We’d never even get to the horses.”
McGraw looked around calculating. William pointed to Chiffo. “How about that half-breed yonder? We could send him to bring the horses.”
“Do it,” McGraw ordered.
Running crouched, as if under open fire, William dashed across the room and pulled Chiffo to his feet. Roughly he shoved him along to the back door. “Got an errand for you, boy.”
“I don’t go, Meester. I scairt.”
“You’ll be dead, you ain’t damned quick,” William said brutally. He jerked the door open. “You run yonder to that barn and tell them two men to get over here with horses. You got that?”
“I don’t go.”
“You go,” William said. He put his pistol to Chiffo’s head. “Tell ’em to shelter behind this building. Now git!” He shoved Chiffo through the door.
The boy took off running, but instead of heading for the barn, he turned for the bunkhouse. William swore. “That little sonofabitch!” He aimed his revolver and fired two shots quickly. One went wild, but one caught Chiffo in the calf of one leg and he went spinning into the snow, five yards short of the bunkhouse door. Seeing he’d only wounded the boy, William fired again, but Chiffo was up, like a three-legged cat, scuttling for the door. A bullet hit the door near his head, but in another instant, he was inside.
William turned back to the front, standing erect. “Goddam, Mister McGraw, what do we do now?”
But, before McGraw could answer, Saulter’s rifle boomed and William suddenly screamed and went down, his legs cut out from under him as if by a giant hand. He was hit in the upper thigh, but the hole was such that it didn’t matter that it wasn’t in a vital spot.
The Sunshine Killers Page 11