The Man from Misery

by David C. Noonan

  CHAPTER 33 THE ATTACK

  Emmet was already in the saddle when the two outside guards heard the first boom from Soapy’s cannon. He and Ruby Red bore down as the men rushed to get inside the gate. Emmet could feel the mare’s power stronger than ever.

  “Girl, you’ve got your dancing slippers on this morning,” he yelled at the horse.

  As a rule, Emmet didn’t shoot men in the back, but he was always willing to make exceptions. He snapped off two shots with his Spencer, pitching one guard into the fire pit and the other against the gate. Emmet breathed another sigh of relief when the dead man’s weight pushed the unlocked gate open. Good work, Chiquito, he thought.

  Right then, Mariana was foremost on his mind. He’d seen her enter the compound but never leave. Gunfire screaming from the main courtyard temporarily sidetracked his concern. Through the open gate Emmet saw Chiquito pinned down by a vaquero hunched behind the fountain who was firing a steady stream of bullets. The Apache couldn’t get a clear shot at the man from his angle, but Emmet could.

  He aimed through the water splashing in the fountain, breathed in, out, waited for the calm, squeezed off. The vaquero never expected a shot from outside the perimeter. The bullet hit him in the chest, dropping him on the flagstones, and leaving him gasping for breath like a netted fish. Chiquito finished him off using the stock of his rifle to crush his skull.

  Emmet charged Ruby Red up to the gate and kicked it wide open so Pedro and the wagon for the girls would be able to get through. The body of the guard behind the wall was splayed out in the yard, his throat sporting a red gash as thick as a buffalo tongue. A wet pool showed how ably Chiquito had bled him out.

  The Gatling gun was rat-a-tatting like hail on a tin roof when another cannon crump shook the earth. Emmet yelled to Chiquito to go for the girls. The Indian ran through the main courtyard peppering the front door with buckshot until he was able to kick it in.

  Fretting again about Mariana, Emmet headed towards the kitchen to see if he could find her. As he rounded the corner, a bullet buzzed by his ear. He twisted the reins to get Ruby Red back to the front of the house and out of the line of fire. Peeking through a narrow slit between the roof spout and the edge of the house, Emmet spotted a vaquero nested behind a water trough. Further back, another man crouched behind the short wall that squared the side courtyard.

  Emmet removed the Walker Colt on his leg. With both the rifle and pistol balanced in his hands, and a galloping start, he and Ruby Red peeled around the corner again. Emmet’s rifle spat lead at the vaquero behind the trough while he fired his pistol at the other man in the side courtyard. It took Emmet just two shots to kill the trough vaquero. The man in the courtyard was trickier and required five. He lay there coughing blood, taking a bit longer to meet his Maker. Emmet shot him again to hasten the divine reunion and then resumed his search for Mariana.

  Mrs. Medina and Mariana were halfway down the list of food supplies when they heard guns blazing, felt the house shake, and heard Armando tell them to hide inside the pantry.

  Mariana wasn’t sure what to do. Faith was tucked inside the wagon. What if a stray bullet hit? Or, worse, a stray shell? She realized she had to act.

  “I’m sorry,” Mariana said. “I can’t stay here.”

  Mrs. Medina grabbed her arm. “It’s too dangerous,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I have to get out,” Mariana said, ripping her arm away. She opened the pantry door and ran through the kitchen and out to the wagon.

  Garza eased into the hallway as gunfire raged below him on the first floor. A vaquero was pinned down in the great room behind a tall oak armoire. As he peered around the banister, Garza saw an Indian rapid-firing from behind a hutch. Not wanting to betray his position, Garza inched along the railing without shooting.

  The Indian sprinted into the adjacent dining room and dove under a birch-wood table. The only way the vaquero could get a good angle was to drop to his knees. When he dropped, the Indian’s gun was already barking shots that were on target. The firing ceased, and the house turned as silent as a church, a gray haze of gunsmoke floating to the ceiling like incense.

  Garza figured the Indian’s eyes were scouring the upstairs hallways and doorways for any hint of movement, so he remained statue-still, holding his breath. When he heard the Indian enter the kitchen, he slipped into the guest room directly above it. Through the floorboards, Garza heard the muffled voice of the intruder assuring Mrs. Medina and Armando that everything was going to be okay.

  Garza sidled over to the window, and what he saw stunned him. In the distance, a cannon ball exploded in front of the bunkhouse. A Gatling gun by the bridge was peppering his men with fierce fire. All around him he heard head-splitting thunder and saw red pistol blasts. Closer to the house, he saw the bodies of three vaqueros—one behind a trough, another by the fountain, the third against the wall. He knew he had to escape, but how? Looking down, he flooded with rage when he recognized Mariana climbing into a wagon. Reno’s double-crossed us, he thought.

  He pushed the bottom pane up, flipped his sombrero back, and climbed through the window, making sure to hook the heels of his boots into the edge of the gutter for balance. He extended his arms and jumped feet first into the back of the empty wagon, rolling to break his fall. Mariana screamed and spun around to see Garza’s Peacemaker pointed at her face.

  “Drive,” he said.

  She snapped the reins but not hard enough to please Garza.

  “Drive!” he screamed.

  She lashed the horses with force, and they lurched forward, gathering speed.

  As Emmet rounded the corner heading towards the kitchen, he nearly collided with the wagon rushing by in the opposite direction. The back wheel grazed Ruby Red, frightening the animal. She reared up, tossing Emmet to the ground. Chiquito dashed from the kitchen door to help him.

  “One of Salazar’s men just took off with Mariana,” he said.

  Emmet jumped up and raced around the corner as the wagon sped down the side yard.

  “Take him!” Chiquito yelled.

  Emmet dropped to a kneeling position and sighted on the bouncing wagon. Mariana’s black hair rippled in the air, and Garza’s head bobbed up and down. Emmet aimed but couldn’t get a clean bead. Each time he sighted on Garza’s head, it would jostle to the side and expose Mariana’s head. Emmet lowered his rifle as the wagon rattled out the front gate and towards the bend in the road.

  “He’s getting away!” Chiquito screamed.

  Emmet tried sighting again, but Mariana and Garza’s heads kept overlapping. The thought of hitting Mariana sent a shiver up his spine. Too much at stake, he thought, too much to lose. He lowered the rifle a second time. As the wagon rounded the corner and disappeared from view, Emmet could feel Chiquito’s stare on his back, cold as Canadian ice.

  “Explain,” the Apache said.

  “No clean shot,” Emmet said. “No room for error.”

  Heated gunfire by the bunkhouse grabbed Emmet’s attention next, leaving him no time to fret over Garza and Mariana.

  “How many more vaqueros inside?” he asked.

  “At least one more guarding the girls,” Chiquito answered.

  “Find him, kill him, and bring the girls out. I’ll signal Pedro.”

  Emmet remounted Ruby Red, raced to the front gate, and let loose an ear-piercing whistle. A minute later, Pedro looped around the corner with Soapy’s empty wagon.

  “Mariana just roared down the road in my wagon,” Pedro yelled, “and Garza’s with her.”

  Emmet nodded and pointed to the doorway off the side courtyard.

  “Put the wagon there. The girls will be coming through that door any minute.”

  As Pedro maneuvered into position, Emmet rallied the length of the inner yard on the west side to make sure it was safe. When he reached the rear gate, he peered over the wall just in time to see a cannon shot make a direct hit on the bunkhouse. A huge pillar of black smoke and red fire shot up through the bui
lding, strewing flaming timbers and dead men on the ground in front.

  The Gatling gun flashed red in the blue smoke. Frank had the rest of the gunmen pinned down like bugs in a blizzard. They crouched behind anything they could find for protection—barrels, wagons, saddles on fence posts. One of Soapy’s first lobs had blown up part of the stable. The carcasses of three horses lay on the ground twisted into awkward positions. The rest of the animals had run off, leaving Salazar’s remaining men no quick way to escape.

  Emmet spotted one man ducking behind a buckboard who intended to make a dash across the road to the main house. After the next cannon shot exploded, the man burst through the smoke, scrambled to the rear gate, and banged on it like a crazy man.

  “Let me in!” he shouted.

  Emmet opened the gate.

  “It’s a massacre!” he screamed.

  Emmet raised his Spencer and said, “I prefer the word reckoning.” He dropped the man with a hole in his chest the size of a hen’s egg.

  As the Gatling gun resumed its spray, Emmet made a sickening discovery outside the wall: a man staked to the ground like a buffalo hide. The cannon shots had covered him with a blanket of dust, and he wasn’t moving. Emmet knew who it was as soon as he saw the big gold ring on the man’s finger. Rescuing the King meant dodging the Gatling gun, because Frank would assume he was the enemy. Was it worth the risk? Was the King even alive? He couldn’t decide what to do until he saw the King’s hand twitch.

  Emmet opened the gate and crept along the hacienda wall towards Kingston until a barrage of bullets from the Gatler started popping little balls of dirt around him. Emmet hit the ground, dug his belly into the earth, and covered his head with his arms.

  After several minutes, Frank jerked the gun back towards the bunkhouse, and Emmet raced over to his former commander. The King had a pulse. But beneath the blanket of dust, Emmet could see his body was covered with hundreds of welts and boils, oozing white pus. Emmet brushed the last few fire ants off Kingston’s eyelids and nostrils, cut him loose, and dragged him by one arm back against the wall.

  At that moment, the big gun was inside a drift of powder smoke, so it was hard to determine which way the machine was pointed. Emmet grabbed Kingston under the armpit, steadied himself, and made for the rear gate. As the smoke around the Gatling gun cleared, he saw the six long barrels were trained on him. Emmet waved his hat hoping that Frank would recognize him. He ducked just as Frank cranked the handle and bullets burst forth in zipping streams. Emmet lost his balance and toppled, losing his grip on Kingston as he fell. Kingston groaned as the next stream of bullets ripped through his body. Emmet remained motionless until Frank turned the big gun back towards the bunkhouse and then dragged the wounded man to the other side of the wall.

  Blood leaked from four holes in Kingston’s side and feathered out his nose. Emmet knew the King was done for.

  Kingston lifted a limp hand, beckoned Emmet closer, and in a raspy voice asked, “Faith?”

  “We’re rescuing her,” Emmet said, and then he watched as his former commander widened his eyes, exhaled, and did not breathe again. Emmet knelt there for a moment in the silence of the breath not taken. He thought about the man he had followed into battle so many times, who had proven himself a master military strategist, who had shown every soldier under his command what it meant to be strong, courageous, and unflinching in the face of almost-certain death. Emmet closed the King’s eyelids.

  “Goodbye, soldier,” he whispered, “another Johnny Reb killed by friendly fire.”

  Now, a screech of metal grinding against metal filled the air as cartridges mis-fed into the Gatler’s hopper, and the rotary barrel jammed, silencing the big gun.

  In the distance, Frank was screaming at Billy.

  Forget Billy, Emmet thought, blow the bridge up and get out. No longer pinned down, the remaining vaqueros reopened fire and surged forward. Emmet picked up his rifle and pot-shotted several of them from the rear gate to buy Frank and Billy time. In between shots, he saw Frank light the fuse on a stick of dynamite.

  An enormous explosion shook the earth, and a black cloud of rubbled rock and wood shot into the air. When the haze cleared, Emmet saw the bridge was gone. The force of the explosion had knocked the Gatling gun into the river. Frank and Billy had already mounted up and were riding down the back road, their job finished.

  After he climbed atop Ruby Red, Emmet rode along the eastern wall, noting that Zack’s marksmanship had created four more corpses on that side of the compound. Emmet raised his eyes to Zack’s vantage point and waved his gun. When Zack waved back, Emmet pointed to the rear gate, where a half-dozen men remained. As Zack opened fire to keep them at bay, Emmet returned to the side courtyard, where Pedro waited with the wagon.

  Chiquito reentered the kitchen, crept past the pantry, and stopped just outside the hallway. Silence. He eased his head around the corner. No sound. He moved five feet further along and stopped. The house remained in a dead hush. Chiquito held his breath and finally detected a faint creak in a floorboard at the end of the hall.

  “It’s over!” the Apache shouted. “Give yourself up.”

  No answer. But Chiquito sensed what was coming next and dove into the dining room just as a vaquero leaped from a side room with both guns blazing. In the hall mirror, the Apache watched the gunman unlock the door to the captives’ room and duck inside.

  Chiquito positioned himself to the left of the door. He tapped on a door panel with the gun muzzle. A blaze of bullets from inside the room sent splinters of wood flying through the air and made the girls shriek.

  Chiquito tapped again. “Still here,” he said.

  “If you come in, I’ll kill these girls,” the vaquero shouted.

  “No, you won’t,” Chiquito said. “You know Salazar wants them alive. This fight is between you and me. You need to ignore the girls and pay attention to what I’m going to do next.”

  The Apache stole back to the dining room and dragged one of the corpses back down the hall. He bore the dead man upright, propped himself behind the body, and kicked the door in.

  More gunfire exploded, and the girls screamed again. Using the corpse as a shield, Chiquito fired three close-range shots. The next sound was the flump of the vaquero hitting the floorboards. The Indian let the corpse drop to the floor. Several girls rushed to Chiquito and hugged him. He noticed they were stepping around another man sprawled to the side.

  “This makes him sleep,” one of the girls said, holding up a cloth and bottle of chloroform.

  “I bet it does,” Chiquito said. “Girls, it’s time to leave. Follow me.”

  The girls trailed the Apache down the hall, past the great room, and through the side courtyard to the waiting wagon. Several of them cowered when they first stepped outside and heard the gunfire, their faces tense, their eyes flitting side to side, but Pedro spoke reassuring words as he helped lift each of them up.

  One of the girls pointed at Emmet. “Yo lo conozco,” she yelled.

  “What’s she saying?” Emmet asked.

  “She says she knows you,” Pedro replied.

  Emmet gazed at the girl for a moment, and then a flash of recognition hit him—she had been in the back of the wagon he had stopped on his way to Sabo Canyon. Sitting next to her was the other girl that Paco and Diego had abducted that moonlit night. He nodded and smiled at both of them, and they smiled back. Knowing the two girls were safe brought Emmet great satisfaction, but his warm feeling didn’t last long.

  “Where’s Faith?” he asked.

  Chiquito shrugged. “Nobody left inside.”

  Emmet turned to the girls. “Where’s Faith? Where’s the blonde girl?”

  “She escaped,” several girls said at the same time.

  Emmet scratched his ear, unsure of what to do. Is she hiding nearby? Could she have made it back to town?

  “Where’s Major Kingston?” Pedro asked.

  “Dead,” Emmet said.

  Two shots pinged the groun
d in front of Emmet’s boots. The man with the yellow sash had figured another way into the yard. It wouldn’t be long before the others followed. Emmet returned fire to knock them back. “Go with Pedro,” he told Chiquito, “and bring the girls to Father Ramirez. Soapy and the twins will meet up with you in town. And tell everybody to keep their eyes open for any sign of Faith.”

  Chiquito hopped up next to Pedro, who hard-reined the horses. As they pulled away, the Apache shouted at Emmet, “Where are you going?”

  “After Garza.”

  CHAPTER 34 TRACKING GARZA

  Emmet and Ruby Red raced down the road to catch up to Garza and Mariana. He hoped she was alive, that Garza had not harmed her. To the north, he saw thunderheads bulked high, rolling south over Santa Sabino. He knew it was only a matter of time before the heavy rain reached him.

  Emmet was a good judge of time. Garza had a thirty-minute head start, but a man on horseback could cover twice as much ground as one in a wagon—as long as the rider didn’t take any wrong turns. Emmet came to the first fork in the road, slowed the horse, and studied each trail for clues. There, in the road heading south, almost undetectable, were the fresh, faint grooves of wagon wheels. He switched off and urged the horse back to top speed.

  The road twisted through the rolling foothills and down to the floodplain of the San Rafael River. As Emmet descended, the pines and alders thinned out, and the vegetation changed to scrub and catclaw. Thirty minutes later, he reached another fork. The dirt in the road was packed harder and yielded no signs as to which way the wagon had gone. Emmet dismounted and walked fifty yards up the road searching for a sign. Nothing. He returned to the fork and walked up the smaller road angling to the southwest. About twenty yards up, he spotted it—a bright red firewheel by the side of the road. Emmet recognized it as one of the flowers Lucita had given Mariana, which she had pinned in her hair. He picked it up and stuck it into the pocket of his denim shirt next to the photograph.