by A. T. Butler
There were so many men, so much disregard for safety or space, that at one point Jacob was lifted completely off his feet by the pressure of the crowd around him. That brief moment was the only time in his life Jacob could recall feeling completely helpless. He was a huge man, over six feet tall, and he had never before been physically overpowered in that way.
His hand was still over his head, holding his revolver. He fired indiscriminately toward the sky, hoping for a reprieve from the crowd around him.
They paused, then pressed forward even harder. From his vantage behind the first row of men, Jacob could see that they were almost through the door of the jail. Evidently, when efforts to force it opened had failed, the outlaws resorted to simply pulling apart the wood. Someone had brought an ax. Someone else was strong enough to rip out nails. Between all of them, they were slowly but surely getting through to the jail.
Jacob closed his eyes and said a brief prayer for whoever was on the other side of that door. They would be in danger no matter how they reacted or how soon Jacob could reach them. In that brief instant, a cheer went up from the men and Jacob opened his eyes to see the men rushing through the new break. As they all rushed in, Jacob was shunted to the side and managed to escape the stream of bodies.
He still had yet to stop a single one of them.
His anger rising, Jacob grabbed at the man passing him. The stranger blinked at him before pushing back and heading into the jail. Even from out in the street, Jacob could hear the shouting, cheering and clanging coming from inside the jail. There was no mistaking it now.
This was a jailbreak.
And Jacob had to stop it.
Chapter Twelve
As soon as Jacob realized that he was witnessing an attempted jailbreak, his mind started whirring on all the resources and possibilities before him. What could he use, what were his options, if he was going to be able to stop this from happening? He prayed that someone—anyone—had sent word to the marshal. Jacob couldn’t stop a dozen men on his own, but hopefully help was on the way.
The noises from inside the jail grew louder. Several heavy thuds. A gunshot. The mob sounded like they were cheering. Whatever they were attempting seemed to be successful. Jacob darted inside to do what he could to stop it.
Some light poured in from the open door, illuminating the crumpled figure in the corner. The group of men had moved farther into the building, but Jacob rushed to the man’s side, recognizing Deputy Little. The man grasped his left shoulder. Jacob saw a dark, damp patch where a bullet wound had bled through the deputy’s shirt.
“Deputy?” he said.
“Jacob?” He blinked, his eyes seemingly unable to focus. “Jacob.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” the bounty hunter asked. He tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of the man’s shirt to wrap around the bullet wound.
“My head,” he croaked. “They slammed me in the head with something. Might’ve been a piece of wood from the door.” With a nod, the deputy indicated the wide, broken beam lying on the floor near him. “I blacked out. Jacob, I—”
“It’s okay, Deputy,” he said, trying to reassure him. “We’ll get you fixed up. I’m sure you did your best.”
“No!” Deputy Little let go of his wound and clasped Jacob’s forearm with his bloody hand. “Jacob, the keys! I think they took the keys.”
Utter panic broke in a wave over Jacob’s body.
“No,” he whispered. “No …” He visually searched the deputy, patting his pockets, checking the floor all around him. “Were they on you? Were they in the desk?” He grew more frantic, backing up from the corner where the deputy lay and searching all around.
No sooner had he stood up, then he heard a triumphant cheer coming from the hallway where the jail cells were. The tell-tale jingle of a keyring met his ears, clear as day, cutting through all the other sounds the raucous group of men were making.
He thought quickly as the footsteps headed his way.
“Do you still have your gun?” he asked Deputy Little.
The prone man shook his head miserably.
Jacob looked around. He was in the office of the jail, his back against the wall, an injured man at his feet and only a small desk between him and a potentially murderous mob. In that split second he realized he didn’t want to be cornered in that small room. He had to get out. If he had any chance of stopping the outlaws, he couldn’t allow himself to be hemmed in that way.
As Jacob made his way back out to the street he realized that in the chaos most of the gang had poured into the jail. This left the street nearly deserted. Only Mrs. Bart and Mr. Hansen remained trying to clean up the mess that the outlaws had left behind.
Jacob had only a few moments to formulate his plan. Where was the marshal? Where was the other deputy? Could Jacob even hope to subdue a gang of this size on his own?
With gun leveled at the doorway, Jacob stood in the street and faced down the group of outlaws about to exit. If he shot once, the rest of them would shoot back. Even if he somehow managed to get off all six of his shots and take down six of the men, there would still be more to take their place. He wouldn’t survive it.
And yet, he couldn’t just let them walk away with the prisoners.
The first masked man exited the jail. He was short and thin, with his hat pulled low over his eyes. So much of his face was obscured that Jacob had no inkling whether or not he had seen him before.
“Stop!” the bounty hunter demanded. “Stop right now.”
A second man exited the jail, striding through the street toward Jacob. A third man, and a fourth who appeared to be maybe the prisoner Escobar, though with a mask now covering his face.
“Stop!” Jacob yelled louder. “You have no right to free these men.”
He pointed the gun, but with no real hope of accomplishing his aim. Jacob was failing. He was outnumbered and outgunned, and all he could do was yell fruitlessly.
“Stop now!” he yelled again.
But the masked men kept coming. One by one they stepped through the open doorway, into the dirt and toward Jacob. He kept his gun aimed, but without any real threat behind it. He still hoped to escape this attack with his life, if nothing else.
Jacob backed up several steps as the crowd approached him. With so many men against him, he found himself cornered again, despite the fact that he was outside.
Before he could run or make another move, one of the masked men approached him, right up close to him, his eyes above the mask flat and cold.
The man hauled back and punched Jacob hard across the face.
It took all of the bounty hunter’s willpower to tamp down his immediate reflex—to shoot. He wanted to shoot back, to defend himself, but he knew he’d be bringing a storm of bullets back upon himself. He clutched his revolver, but took the punch.
One man after another stepped up, surrounded him. Each man punched Jacob—in the face, shoulders, the gut. Jacob Payne was a strong man, a capable man, but even he couldn’t defeat more than a dozen men at once all set on tearing him down. Blow after blow landed, bruising his muscles, breaking his nose. One of the men must have been wearing a ring of some kind—Jacob felt a cut sear across his temple and blood ran down his face.
He stayed on his feet as long as he could, but soon the gang of outlaws was continuing to pelt him even as he lay in the dirt.
He had lost. Jacob Payne had lost.
Fortunately, for him the focus of the mob’s action was not to destroy him. As soon as they realized he was no longer a threat, the group of men all moved away from him, down the street and following the leadership of one of the others.
Jacob blinked through the blood in his eyes at the man who seemed to be in charge. Even from this distance, he could spot the ice-blue eyes penetrating from above his mask.
Jacob recognized those eyes.
Elliott “Slippery” Stone was here in Tucson.
Stone was in Tucson and he was leading a jailbreak, freeing three of his men.
Blows and kicks continued to rain down on him and the gang leader disappeared from Jacob’s view.
“Leave him,” a cold voice said. “He’s mine.”
As Jacob tried to pull himself to his feet, to see who was speaking, the sharp toe of a boot landed directly in the bullet wound in his side. Jacob groaned, the pain so bad that for a moment he felt like he might vomit. He closed his eyes and lay with his face in the dirt.
Chapter Thirteen
A harsh whistle cut through the air. The crowd surrounding Jacob, beating him and keeping him crumpled on the ground, dispersed without any word. The bounty hunter knew he had lost and hated himself for it. With his face still in the dirt, he groaned and moved to get up. Maybe he could still recapture one of the escaped outlaws. If he could—
“Stay down,” the cold voice said, kicking Jacob’s arm and knocking him back to the ground. “I’m in charge now and the great bounty hunter Jacob Payne is going to have to listen to someone else for a change.”
Jacob realized why the voice sounded familiar. It was Colin Maloney. Why he was sticking around the street outside the jail instead of escaping town when he had the chance, Jacob had no idea. He blinked through the sweat and blood running down his face and looked down the street. The crowd of men all seemed to be mounting their horses and leaving town.
All but this one, bent on causing Jacob pain.
“You’ll never get away with this Maloney,” Jacob said with a groan. He didn’t dare try to get up again. It seemed if he stayed still enough the outlaw would hold off kicking him again right away.
The man laughed. “I already have, Payne. I thought you’d realize that.”
Jacob rolled over onto his back, staying on the ground but able to look the outlaw in the eyes. “Not yet.” He spit a mouthful of blood into the dirt by Maloney’s feet.
“Why do you think it was so easy to take us back in Olmos?” he said with a smirk. “You’re not that good. We’re not just going to accidentally walk into your grasp. You played directly into my hands.”
“You wanted to get caught?”
“That is exactly what I wanted.”
Jacob frowned. Even though he had suspected as much, it was still hard to believe. “Why?”
Maloney laughed. “I wanted to get to you. I know who you are, Jacob Payne.”
“I’m just a bounty hunter. All I do is help the law around here.”
“You’re a fiend. A low life who kills for money. No better than Slippery Stone or any member of the gang.”
“That’s absurd.” Jacob was still practically under Maloney’s heel, but even so he couldn’t listen to such insults without defending himself.
Maloney didn’t let him continue. He kicked Jacob in the shoulder, hard, again with the point of his boot. The man who had until that point withstood bullet wounds, blows and wild horses without more than a stifled groan, now cried out in pain. He felt a pop, and an intense spike of pain. His shoulder had popped out of place; he couldn’t move his arm. He couldn’t put weight on it and lay writhing in the dirt once more.
Maloney chuckled darkly and said, “And I know it was you that murdered my brother.”
“Your brother had every chance,” he said through clenched teeth. “He knew he was wanted, and he fought me rather than face justice.”
Maloney kicked Jacob in the hip. “You killed him. And now I’m going to make sure you suffer even more before you die, too.”
Jacob closed his eyes. He had known it had been too easy to bring in these three men from the bank in Olmos. That had never felt right. But even so, to think that it was all revenge, that the marshal and deputies and the citizens of Olmos had all been at risk because this just wanted Jacob … The thought made him sick.
He had to do something.
Jacob rolled back over onto his side, pushing away the nausea from the pain. He could get through this. He would get through this. Pain was something that would just have to wait. He couldn’t move his right arm—he’d never be able to aim properly—but he could still hold a revolver.
“Jacob!” a sweet, feminine voice called out.
He felt a stab of panic. He knew that voice. He knew that woman. And though he may be falling in love with her, in that moment he didn’t want to see her. The last thing he wanted was for her to be anywhere near this site. Jacob rolled slightly to look down the street, dismayed at what he saw.
The streets of Tucson were chaos.
Many of Slippery Stone’s gang had rode out of town, but not all. Three or four masked men had continued their mission of looting and destroying any of the storefronts they passed as the rode down the street. Broken barrels and upturned boxes littered the boardwalk on both sides.
Jacob spotted the tall, wiry frame of Marshal Santos outside the school, trying to subdue one of the outlaws while a second attacked him from behind.
And Bonnie Loft had walked directly into this chaos.
Jacob blinked again, sure the blood and dirt in his eyes was distorting his view. From where he lay on the ground it seemed as though Bonnie was wielding a rifle, holding up with both hands, though not aiming at anyone in particular.
Jacob’s heart swelled with both pride and fear. This wonderful woman came to help. Unprompted, unbidden. And far beyond any situation she was ready for. He had to pray that she could escape unscathed.
“Jacob,” she called again, more frantically this time.
“Seems as though that pretty little lady needs your attention,” Maloney said.
“Don’t even look at her,” Jacob warned. He pushed himself up on his good arm, expecting every moment for Maloney to kick him back down, but thump never came.
“Jacob,” came the more desperate cry again.
Jacob got to his knees and looked up toward Bonnie, dismayed to discover the reason Maloney’s hit had not landed: the man was striding down the street toward Jacob’s sweetheart.
“No,” he said, though he knew protesting wouldn’t do anything. Louder, he yelled, “Bonnie, run!”
As he sauntered down the road, toward Bonnie, toward where there was still a horse waiting for him, Colin Maloney turned and grinned malevolently at Jacob over his shoulder.
“Now it’s my turn to take something of yours,” he said. He spit into the dirt and turned back to the woman.
“No!” Jacob pulled himself to his feet, agonizing with every movement. If it was only to save himself, he might give up. But Bonnie was at risk. Sweet, innocent, beautiful Bonnie Loft. And whatever code of ethics other men might have in protecting women and children, Jacob knew Colin Maloney boasted no such code.
Jacob cursed the day the Maloneys had crossed his path.
When he looked up again, the outlaw had mounted his horse and was now riding the remaining twenty feet to where Bonnie stood, still desperately clutching her rifle in shaking hands.
“Jacob!” she called again, more anguished this time.
He watched helplessly as the remaining Maloney brother lifted Bonnie up, practically dragging her onto his horse and holding her captive. The woman let out a long, piercing scream. She fought back—Jacob felt a surge of pride even as he worried. But she was no match for the outlaw. He was much stronger, much crueler, and much more ruthless than she would ever be.
Jacob stumbled forward, bruised, bleeding, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. But still he pushed forward. He couldn’t allow this man—this deranged, revenge-seeking outlaw who only wanted to hurt Jacob—to get any farther with Bonnie on his horse. Jacob passed his revolver to his left hand and took aim.
“Leave her, Maloney!”
“If you want her, come and claim her,” Maloney called mockingly.
Chapter Fourteen
All of their shouting and Bonnie’s ear-splitting scream had finally grabbed the attention of the other men still in the streets. Marshal Santos started running toward where Maloney had seized her and held her captive. Many of the members of the gang took the opportunity of the distrac
tion to head out of town without repercussion.
Jacob groaned inwardly. So many men were getting away with so many crimes and there truly wasn’t anything he could do about it. Not only were the original prisoners going to escape unpunished for their attempted bank robbery, but every single one of the mob who had broken them out of jail, looted the nearby business and destroyed hundreds of dollars worth of property was gone. All they had had to do was rely on their sheer number, knowing there weren’t enough lawmen in Tucson to fight back.
He continued his limping walk toward where Colin sat upon his horse. Jacob wasn’t sure if he would flee with his prize, or stay to make sure Jacob suffered even more. The bounty hunter may only have a few short moments in which to rescue Bonnie.
Bonnie sat on the saddle in front of Colin, his arm wrapped lecherously around her waist and holding her in place. She had stopped calling out for him, but kept her strong, uncomplaining gaze fixed firmly on Jacob, as he made his way to her.
“Let her go,” Jacob called.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed not only Marshal Santos running to the confrontation, but one of the outlaws seemed to be heading toward Colin as well. Jacob shook his head—whoever that was would be sorry they didn’t escape when they had the chance.
“It’s me you want,” he called to Maloney.
“Oh, I can be satisfied with this one,” he said, squeezing his arm so tightly around Bonnie that she squeaked.
Maloney held his revolver against her ribs. She twisted to get away from it, but he held her tight. Even from the distance of twenty or so feet, Jacob could see her shoulders rising and lowering quickly with short breaths. She must be petrified.