Ralph Compton Face of a Snake

by Bernard Schaffer

  “Yes, I am coming,” Escalante heard himself say. “One more minute.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Sinclair dropped to one knee to work on his pistols. He threw open the first cylinder and slapped the ejecting rod to release the spent shells, which spilled on the ground. His fingers were shaking. Blood was leaking out of the giant’s foot and he grimaced with each step, but he was coming, and nothing could change that.

  Sinclair dug two bullets out of his vest pocket and stuck them into the open chamber. He tried to grab more, but it was too late. There wasn’t even time to index the bullets he’d loaded.

  Ulai snatched Sinclair by the throat with his massive left hand. Sinclair felt his windpipe collapsing under the force of the giant’s grip. There was so much pressure, he thought his eyes might explode.

  Sinclair pressed his pistol against Ulai’s stomach and cocked the hammer back with his thumb and pulled the trigger. Nothing but a click.

  Ulai raised his right fist high in the air to cave Sinclair’s skull in.

  Sinclair fanned the hammer and fired as fast as he could, finding nothing but empty chambers, until finally, the cylinder rotated into position where one of the bullets was loaded and the gun fired. Ulai staggered backward, still clutching Sinclair by the throat. Sinclair fired again, sending his last bullet into the giant’s midsection.

  Ulai let out a choked, high-pitched sound. With his free hand, he touched the hole in his midsection and inspected the blood on the tips of his fingers. His eyes darkened at the sight of his own blood and he threw his head back and roared.

  Sinclair clawed at the fingers wrapped around his neck. The giant was still squeezing him. He needed to breathe. He could feel his blood circulating through his ears and the back of his skull. He could feel his lungs wither and deflate from lack of air. He dug in his vest for another bullet and worked as fast as he could to get the chamber open, but it was too late. Ulai’s fist was hurtling downward to crush Sinclair’s skull.

  The Spencer rifle cracked like distant thunder. The shot echoed off the hills and Granger’s mansion. Ulai looked down at Sinclair with a mixture of outrage and confusion. Then the lights of both faded from his face as he bent toward Sinclair and met death. Blood spilled from the gaping black hole in the center of the giant’s forehead and the hand around Sinclair’s throat went limp.

  Sinclair gasped for air and did not realize Ulai was crashing down over top of him until it was too late. He threw his arms up to brace himself, but it was useless. Ulai’s body fell with the force of a collapsed building. Sinclair was pinned beneath the weight of the giant’s corpse and could not move.

  Under Ulai’s massive arm, he could still see the porch. Granger was standing under one of the lanterns, cupping his hand over his eyes to shield them as he peered into the yard. His eyes fell on the giant’s body and Sinclair pinned beneath it, and Sinclair closed his eyes and stayed still and did his best not to breathe.

  When he opened his eyes again, Granger had gone back inside the mansion. Everyone else was sprawled out in a pool of blood. He cursed when he saw one of the guards move. A gloved hand came up over the porch’s railing and clenched it tight.

  Chuck Woolworth grunted as he pulled himself up to stand and rested against the railing to catch his breath. He took off his gloves and touched the side of his head and winced. There was a lump there the size of an egg from where he’d smacked it against one of the columns. He looked down at his right arm and saw that he’d been shot. He squeezed his bicep and groaned.

  Sinclair remained as still as possible. He tried not to even blink.

  Woolworth looked around at the carnage on the porch in disbelief. He seemed to be woozy from the egg on his head, because he had to keep grasping the railing for balance.

  Sinclair could feel one of his guns with his right hand, but both the hand and the gun were pinned under the bulk of the giant’s midsection. The gun was useless anyway because he’d never closed the chamber after he’d thrown the last bullet into it. He held his breath as he silently slid his hand slowly around the chamber and dug his fingers between the gun and Ulai’s skin. He wedged and pushed until he was able to grab enough of the chamber to close it. It snapped shut with a gentle click.

  Woolworth looked up. Sinclair went still again.

  Woolworth’s head cocked sideways as he looked suspiciously at the giant sprawled out on the grass. He leaned forward against the rail and squinted. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

  Woolworth spun around to search the porch for his gun.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Gunshots lit the dark front windows of the mansion like flashes of lightning. The glass inside one of the windows exploded and both Jesse and Mirta dropped to the ground. Somewhere past the front door, a giant was roaring.

  They crawled the rest of the way, heading toward the last room at the end of the hall.

  Firelight flickered within. Jesse could hear the short, clipped sound of frightened men breathing. She put the barrel of her rifle against the doorframe and rotated slowly to the left.

  She could see an empty white couch facing away from her on one side of the room. She inched left until she could see the fireplace at the far end. It was massive and made from ornate stone. The pit was large enough to fit an entire tree trunk, though only a few logs remained inside it and the light they cast off was dim and red. She kept turning until she saw her father sitting on a chair, facing her. His arms were tied behind his back at the wrists and the elbows.

  Connor was sitting in a second chair beside Odell, trussed in the same fashion. Standing behind them was the giant Igal.

  Igal was tall enough that his head almost touched the parlor’s ceiling. His hair was slicked back and oiled. He wore a dark blue suit with a tie that was longer and wider than a man’s arm. As Jesse came around the corner, Igal laid his massive hands on the tops of Odell’s and Connor’s heads. His fingers draped over their skulls like a child holding a ball. He looked at Jesse with black eyes that reflected the firelight, and he waited.

  Jesse leaned aside as Mirta came through the doorway past her. Mirta raised her bow and leveled an arrow at the center of Igal’s chest.

  “Mother?” Connor cried out.

  Jesse cocked the hammer back on her rifle and said, “Let them go and raise your hands, mister. You may be big and strong, but you ain’t big and strong enough to stop this bullet.”

  Igal didn’t move.

  “Don’t make me kill you,” she said louder.

  “Jesse?” Odell said.

  “Not now.”

  “Jesse!”

  She looked at her father. “What?”

  “Don’t move.”

  She felt something warm blow against the back of her neck and all the hair on her arms stood up. Nelson Granger was standing directly behind her.

  She felt the barrel of a pistol jam against the side of her rib cage and Granger leaned in close enough that she could feel his lips against her ear. “I always knew you’d come to me one evening, Mrs. Sinclair.” He pulled Jesse against him to look past her at Mirta. “Now, just who are you?”

  Mirta’s bowstring was taut and ready to fly. “Let her go, or I’ll kill your giant.”

  “Kill him,” Granger said. “But know this. The second you let that arrow fly, I’ll put a hole in Mrs. Sinclair’s kidney and then I’m going to shoot the old man. I’ll keep Connor alive long enough to sign the ranch over to me, and I’ll save you to let my boys play with. You’re a little scrawnier and more unkempt than what they’re used to, so I can’t imagine what kind of games they’ll play with you to keep themselves amused. How’s that sound?”

  “Put the bow down, Mirta,” Jesse said. “We’re all just going to have us a nice little chat now. Isn’t that right, Mr. Granger?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Granger said.

  Mirta dro
pped her bow and Granger told Jesse to unload the rifle. Jesse lowered the hammer and worked the lever back to eject the bullets left inside of it, then a few more times to show that it was empty.

  “Good,” said Granger. “Now toss that on the floor.”

  Jesse dropped the rifle and it clanged against the parlor’s wooden floor.

  Granger ran his hand across the small of her back. He stroked her spine and felt the curvature of her buttocks and grinned. He found and removed the knife she had hidden there. Granger pulled Jesse into a close embrace. With his left arm wrapped around her waist, his right hand slid down the front of her waistband. Jesse grimaced.

  “You leave her alone, you son of a bitch!” Odell hollered.

  Igal tightened his fingers around Odell’s skull and squeezed until the old man screamed out.

  “Stop! Just stop!” Jesse cried.

  Granger nodded toward Igal and the giant stopped squeezing. Granger pulled the pistol out of Jesse’s waistband and tossed it across the room. “That old man you brought is dead on my front lawn. He killed a few of my men and one of my giants, but no bother. There are always more men and more giants to be found.”

  From across the room, Igal let out a tight, pinched sound from his throat. Granger looked at him. “Yes, it’s true. Poor Ulai gave his life for us. Later on I’ll let you play with our new friends as much as you want in return.”

  “Mother?” Connor whimpered.

  “It’s going to be fine. Hush now,” Jesse said.

  “I want to go home,” Connor said.

  “I know. We will. Just stay put and let me handle this.”

  “That’s right, boy,” Granger said. “Let your mama handle this. See, you tried to handle it on your own already, didn’t you? You brought all them guns here to try to show me what a big man you are, but in the end, you weren’t anything but a scared little boy. You know what that makes me think?”

  Granger grabbed a handful of Jesse’s hair and snapped her head back. He leaned in and smelled the length of her neck. “It makes me think he needs a real man in his life to be his daddy. How about you, Mrs. Sinclair? You need a real man too? How long’s it been since you had a real man?”

  Jesse grimaced and said, “My husband was a hundred times the man you’ll ever be.”

  “Not anymore he’s not,” Granger said. “Right now he’s but a rotting corpse deep in the dirt, while I’m standing here up against you, living and breathing.” Granger pressed himself against her hips. “I’m oh so full of life.”

  “You make me sick,” Jesse said.

  Granger tightened his grip on her hair. “See, you say that, but you haven’t taken into account that right now I’m your savior. Your father, your son, yourself, your ranch, even this little she-devil here, they can all be saved by my hand and only by my hand. Go on and show her what I mean, Igal.”

  Igal sneered and flexed his fingers around Connor’s and Odell’s heads until Connor stamped his feet on the floor and screamed. Jesse begged for it to stop and Granger told Igal to let go.

  “That’s better,” Granger said. “That’s not so hard, is it? All I ask is to be shown a little appreciation.”

  None of them saw Mirta reach behind her back to pull an arrow from her quiver. She sprang over the couch like a cat and with all her might thrust the arrow, bare-handed, toward Igal’s left eye.

  It was all the giant could do to let go of Connor’s head and get his hand raised in time to block it. The arrowhead vanished inside of Igal’s palm so that only the long wooden shaft was sticking out of it. Igal looked in wonder at the steel point sticking out from the back of his hand. Roaring in outrage, he snapped the arrowhead off and reached to grab Mirta.

  “Run!” Jesse shouted.

  Mirta burst toward the doorway and shoved past Granger. He tried to turn and shoot her, but Igal was already charging forward to catch her. He swept Granger and Jesse out of the way and sent them crashing into the couch.

  Jesse managed to catch sight of Mirta escaping up the steps toward the mansion’s second floor. Igal slapped his fists together and roared so loud, Jesse had to cover her ears.

  Something crashed upstairs. It sounded like a glass cabinet full of dishes. Granger cried out, “What the hell is she doing up there? Go kill her before she breaks anything else!”

  Igal leapt up the steps, four at a time, in pursuit.

  “Good God in heaven, can you believe that?” Granger asked. He ran his hand through his hair and composed himself. “Now, where were we?”

  Granger pressed his gun against the side of Connor’s head and said, “That’s right. You were just about to tell me how overjoyed you are at the prospect of marrying me. I’ll run your ranch the proper way. I’ll see that Connor here is raised the proper way. And I’ll be damned sure that you fulfill your marital obligations to me in the proper way. It’s either that or I’ll kill both these two and take what I want from the ranch and you, Mrs. Sinclair. You decide.”

  Jesse looked at her son, and her lower lip trembled. “I’ll—I’ll do—”

  “Don’t you dare agree to anything this man says,” Odell shouted. “I will see you burn in hell before you come anywhere near my daughter, you cur!”

  Granger crossed in front of the couch and cracked Odell across the face with the pistol.

  “Leave him alone!” Connor shouted.

  Granger swung his arm and cracked Connor across the face next.

  “What’s it going to be, Jesse?” Granger shouted. “Are we going to a wedding, or are we going to a funeral?”

  Henry Odell lowered his head and spit blood from his busted lips onto the floor. His nose was split open and he could see it. It made him laugh. “You know something, Granger? I thought Ashford Sinclair was the worst human being I ever met, but I take that back now. You take the prize and you don’t even have the decency to call yourself an outlaw.”

  Granger pressed the barrel of his pistol against the side of Odell’s head and said, “I’ll kill the old man first just to show you I’m not playing any games. Maybe when you see his brains splattered all over the fireplace, you’ll have second thoughts about me doing the same thing to your boy.”

  “Go on and shoot, coward!” Odell said.

  “What’s it going to be, Jesse?” Granger shouted. “Wedding or funeral? You decide!”

  “Shoot me if you got the guts!” Odell shouted back.

  Connor leapt up from the couch and charged Granger from behind. His arms were tied, so the best he could do was level his head at Granger’s back and drive into him with his shoulder. It was enough to send Granger headfirst against the fireplace’s stone mantel. Granger fired, but he was too dazed to aim and the glass window behind Odell shattered. Odell rolled out of the way and kicked at Granger’s legs. Connor started kicking him too, doing all he could to stomp Granger’s crotch and his stomach and his knees.

  “Get the gun!” Odell hollered out.

  Jesse dove for Granger’s hands. She yanked him sideways and slammed his hand holding the gun against the floor. Granger tried prying her hands off and punched her in the back of the head. Connor slammed his shin upward into Granger’s midsection and left him gasping for air. Jesse wrenched to the right and wrenched to the left, and finally she was able to turn his hand enough to rip the gun away.

  Granger staggered backward with his hands up. “Now, hang on a second. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Wedding or funeral, isn’t that what you said?” Jesse spit. She aimed the gun at Granger’s forehead. “I choose funeral,” she said and she pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Chuck Woolworth stumbled down the mansion’s front steps like a drunkard, stiff legged and off-balance. The knot on his head was pulsating and he had to keep his right eye closed against the pain. He pointed his rifle at where Sinclair was pinned beneath Ulai, and Sinclair said, �
��Wait a second, now.”

  Woolworth fired. The bullet zipped past the top of Ulai’s head so close, Sinclair could hear it. Sinclair grunted as he tried to twist his pistol free.

  Woolworth cocked his rifle and tried to steady himself and aim. He fired again. The bullet smacked Ulai’s corpse in the left side.

  “Goddamn it,” Sinclair shouted.

  Woolworth got down on one knee to take aim and fell over so that he had to catch himself with his right hand. He wobbled as he righted himself and raised the rifle. He propped his left elbow on his upraised knee and aimed.

  Sinclair wrenched his pistol free and stuck it under Ulai’s left arm. He cocked the hammer back and tried to aim. All he could see was the mouth of Woolworth’s gun pointed at him. It looked as large as a cannon. Woolworth fired and the left side of Ulai’s head shattered into chunks of hair and skull and brain matter that splattered Sinclair’s face just as he pulled the trigger.

  Sinclair gasped and twisted his head side to side in disgust. He gagged and felt sick. The need to wipe his face was so overwhelming that he wiggled and rolled and shoved with so much vigor that he did not bother to look and see if Woolworth was going to shoot again. All he cared about was getting out from under the giant and wiping the giant’s gore off his face.

  Sinclair drew his knees up as far as he could and kicked with all his might. It was enough to slide Ulai’s body off-center and let him wiggle out the rest of the way. Sinclair dropped to the grass and wiped his face on it like a dog. He swept at his eyes and closed one nostril and blew hard out the other. Then he pushed the other nostril shut and blew hard from that one too.