After diving for cover, Hunter knew it was time for the 'bang' swing. While there was a lull in the action for reloading, Hunter lay across a bale of hay in the far corner of the open doors and aimed his rifle barrel at the line of eucalyptus trees to the side of the road. So far, luck was running in his favor. The bad guys had positioned themselves in the road, almost directly across from the tree that held the trap.
The bang swing had five pieces of the powder sticks tied to one end of a long rope; the other end was tied to a high branch of an overhanging tree. There was a two-pound rock tied to this rope, three feet above the sticks. There was a smaller line tied to the same rope between the rock and the powder; the other end of the small line was pulled back in the woods and tied to another tree. Shoot the small line and it would release the rope, allowing it to swing out over the road, approximately ten feet above the ground. Then shoot the dynamite.
Hunter could hear Matt firing to his right as bullets whizzed by his head, coming from the men out front. Hunter aimed, and then fired at the small line. The bullet hit its target, breaking the line, and releasing the 'bang' swing. Holding his breath, Hunter followed the bundle of blasting powder sticks with the sight of his rifle as it swung out over the wagons and the shooting men. He pulled the trigger.
Ka-boom! Wagon wood went up and out like shrapnel; the men were thrown and scattered, body parts flew along with sand and black smoke. When the flying kindling and smoke cleared, there was no one left alive.
Standing up from behind the bales of hay, Hunter yelled down from the loft, "Yeah..! Did ya' see that, Matt? Worked just like it was s'pose to." Looking over to his right, Hunter saw that the front porch of the saloon was also destroyed by the concussion of the blast. Luckily, it had not caught fire.
"Sorry 'bout the saloon, Matt."
"No matter," said the old timer. "Way to go, son... Looked like the fourth of Jew-lie."
Hunter immediately noticed the weak sound of the old man's voice. He walked over to the stairs where Matt was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. His revolver held in his left hand, his right hand was holding his belly as blood seeped between his fingers. Hunter knelt on one knee.
"How bad is it, Matt? You want I should fetch Doc?"
"Don't bother with it, son." Matt coughed. "They got me. I'm gut shot."
"I'm sorry, Matt." Sorrow filled Hunter's voice as he bowed his head, staring to the floor.
At that moment, from behind Hunter's right side, he heard a slight creak on the floor boards.
Matt yelled, "Look out!" and fired his revolver. He shot Jake Lugar, who had appeared behind Hunter at the top of the stairs. Little Johnny was coming up right behind his brother Jake. Johnny fired, hitting Matt, just before Hunter put two bullets in his head.
Hunter heard the bodies falling down the steps, but something, or someone, seemed to slow their journey to the bottom. He holstered his pistol, pulled out the sawed-off shotgun and went to the top of the stairs. He looked down and there stood Frank Luger at the bottom, gun drawn, staring at his sons' lifeless bodies.
"You killed my boys," said Frank, his voice breaking. He didn't look up from them.
"You killed my pa," replied Hunter.
Frank raised his head, staring into the gunslinger's eyes. "I guess this makes us even, half-breed."
"No," said Hunter, slowly raising the shotgun, "not yet."
Frank dropped his revolver and brought his arms up head high, palms out as if to block something.
Feeling no mercy, the gunslinger pulled both triggers; blood splattered the walls in a thundering boom as both barrels shredded Frank's hands before taking his face. Hunter quickly reloaded the shotgun as he went down the stairs, stepping over the bodies to the first floor. There was no one else, all was quiet. He quickly headed back up the steps to the loft, kneeling next to Matt. There was nothing more to be done, he was dead.
Hunter stood. He reloaded his revolver, followed by his rifle. He picked up Matt's rifle and was loading it when he heard Montgomery's voice coming from the outside and down below.
"Half-bree-e-ed... Come out and see what I got!"
The gunslinger walked over to the open loft doors carrying a rifle in each hand. He looked down onto the road, and though no one would have known by his facial expression, his heart sank at what he saw. Lined up side-by-side on horseback, was Montgomery and six of his men. Next to Montgomery was the big man they called Gator, and in front of him sat Lilith, riding double, looking dirty and beaten. Montgomery had his pistol barrel pushed against the temple of her head.
"All right, Dick!" Hunter yelled down. "Here's the deal. You let her ride out, and I won't kill ya'."
Montgomery laughed an evil laugh. "First of all, half-breed, my name is Richard, and you're in no position to deal. And if you were, I don't make deals." After a pause, he continued, "I've got a better idea, why don't you just say goodbye, right now?"
Montgomery pulled the trigger and the shot rang out.
All Hunter could see was splattering chunks of red hit the horseman next to Lilith, as she fell to the ground.
"No-o-o-o!" Hunter screamed. Dropping one rifle, he began firing with the other, but his rage affected his aim and he only killed two. They were not the two he had wanted. The remaining four, including Montgomery and Gator, took cover behind some dead horses and what was left of the wagons.
Hunter dove behind a bale of hay, avoiding the return fire. It seemed to him fairly even, him against four, except for one thing. He was getting low on ammo and these men had just joined this little shindig. He was sure he would run out of bullets before all of them.
Hunter felt distraught and overwhelmed with the unfamiliar emotions of grief and despair. He must push the feelings aside if he wanted to survive. Lilith was dead. The only thing he could do now was to avenge her death, with his last breath if necessary. He would lure them all into Montgomery's Hotel. The problem was he might have to get shot to do it.
The gunslinger grabbed Matt's rifle, stood up, and ran sideways across the loft opening, firing until the gun was empty then dropping it to the ground. Their return fire missed him. He made his way down the stairs to the ground floor, where he stepped out the back door.
Outside now, he put his back to the wall. He was breathing hard and he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Hunter looked around; there was no one about. He would have to run from the corner of the barn toward them to reach the front door of the Jackson Hotel. As fast as he was, he would most likely catch a bullet; but that was the plan, wasn't it? To be wounded enough where they would come in after him – but not so much where he couldn't make it out the back to the edge of the ravine. Some plan, but it must work – for him to end this. Matt would be happy, he thought, at least he finally had a plan.
"Vengeance is mine say'th the Lord," he quoted quietly. He had heard someone read this from an old book once. He was a man made in God's image, so he figured he was also entitled to have his revenge.
He took off from the corner of the barn with his revolver in his left hand, firing across his chest to his right. For a moment there was nothing, and then they spotted him and began firing with everything they had. Bullets whizzed by his head and kicked up dirt by his feet; he dropped his empty gun and jumped full stride, feet first, onto the front porch of the hotel. He couldn't believe it; he'd made it without a scratch. As soon as this thought crossed his mind he felt a bullet go through his side, and then another nicked the back of his upper leg as he dove inside through the door.
Hunter rolled out of the doorway to a window. He pulled his other revolver, and after breaking the glass, fired all six shots in their general direction. As an afterthought, he threw the empty gun out the broken window into the street for all to see.
That sealed the deal. The pain in his leg and torso hurt like hell, but he managed to stand and peer out the corner of the window. He heard and saw what he needed.
"Get him, boys, he's wounded!" Montgomery yelled, "
Now get in there an' finish him off!"
They came fast.
Hunter stood up and limped as quickly as he could to the large picture window at the back of the hotel. He pulled out the shotgun from his side holster, shattering the glass with the butt end. He turned and waited, watching the front doors.
All of them busted through at once, eager to get at him.
He dove through the window with a roll to his feet and limped as he ran through the soft sand to the ravine, sliding feet first at the edge, and turning on his belly. He waited to see them looking out the back. They all showed, guns in hand, one, two, three, four – close enough.
Staring at him with the plunger box in his hand, they realized what was happening only a half-second before Hunter pushed down on the tee handle, blowing them all to pieces.
The explosion was enormous. Hunter rolled down the hill to the wet, muddy bottom where he was showered with wood and glass to the point of total darkness. Then, there was nothing.
* * * * *
He was suddenly awakened by both pressure and pain. The first thought that came to him was he must have been buried alive. Lying on his stomach, his face was cold and wet with mud; and there was heavy warm weight on his back. He couldn't move. He felt he must or he would die, or maybe he was dead already. He was groggy and confused.
His hands were under him, palms down under his chest, so he tried pushing up. There was movement. What was it? He could smell burnt pine wood. It's a piece of wall on my back.
His memory came flooding back just then, and the explosion of the hotel reverberated in his ears. He now felt the pain where he had been shot in his side and then his leg, but this did not compare to the pain he felt within. Lilith was dead. Matt was dead.
Forever's a long time, is it not? As Lilith might say. For the first time, it suddenly dawned on him, Where was the boy? Where was Zeke? Hunter James Dolin would never get the answer to this question if he didn't get out of this damn ditch.
With everything he had in him, he pushed up and up, the weight finally gave way and he quickly rolled to his left out from under the partial wood wall on top of him.
He laid there on his back for a moment smelling smoke. Then, struggling to his feet he lumbered up the slope of the ravine. At the top, he could see most of the town was on fire. He made his way to the edge of the blown-out building that was once the hotel. He looked around on the ground, looking, searching... There it was, the gunslinger picked up his shotgun, checked the shells, and limped to the center of what was left of the city of Myakka.
He slowly made his way over to the barn. Parts of it were blown away and smoldering, but the loft was still intact, so he headed up the stairs. He stopped at the top and looked down at Matt with his back against the wall, sitting in a pool of his own blood.
"I've never seen you so quiet," Hunter said softly, "You always had somethin' to say about somethin'."
Matt did not answer.
"Goodbye, my old friend."
Hunter retrieved his rifle and found the bottle of whiskey they were sharing, before all hell had broken loose. Hunter took a long draw off the bottle and wandered outside. He avoided the middle of the road, knowing Lilith's lifeless body would be there. He just could not bear to look upon her. He avoided gazing in her direction, as he looked around. He was alone. He looked up, staring at the darkening sky.
"What's a man gotta' do to get a horse around here?" he yelled.
Once again, he didn't get an answer.
He downed the rest of the whiskey bottle and threw it at what was left of Matt's Saloon. It bounced off a few pieces of debris, before finally shattering. More thoughts came to him, Is it likely that horse of mine is still tied up behind the buildin'? After all the gunfire, and then the explosion? He didn't know, but there was only one way to find out. Around the building he went.
The Appaloosa was no longer tied to the post where he had left him. He looked north, nothing. He looked south and, to Hunter's surprise; there was the App, grazing on a pall meadow bush. Hunter walked up slowly and mounted the steed. They left town at a walk.
"Remind me to give you a name someday, Horse," Hunter said as he rounded the corner to the main road, heading out the same way he'd come just over a season ago. "I think you've earned it."
Hunter passed under the Myakka sign at the end of town, or at the beginning of town, depending on which way you were heading. He stood up on the back of his yet to be named horse, and took out his Bowie knife. He crossed out the six of the number 60, after the word Population, leaving the zero.
With most of the empty town now ablaze, the half-breed gunslinger rode out with only one thing on his mind, find the boy named Zeke, dead or alive.
Chapter Nine
Hunter's eyes opened slowly. There was dim light. He stared for a moment trying to focus, Wood planks? He tried to think, but his head hurt. I'm still in the ravine, he thought, buried under debris.
Hunter's eyes opened slowly, again. He must have dozed off. He didn't know for how long. The gunslinger reached up and felt his forehead, rubbing it. He felt the bandage wrapped tightly around it. He struggled to lift up onto his elbows, feeling a wincing pain in his lower chest as he did so. He felt around his mid-section, outlining another tight bandage as he looked around the small room.
The walls were made of limestone and the floor was moist dirt, the musty smell told him he was underground. Hunter groaned as he rose fully to a sitting position atop the cot. There to his right were his guns and the rest of his clothes, along with his boots. As his eyes focused in and out, he noticed there was a set of stairs leading to a door in the ceiling. Dressing as quickly as he was able, and arming himself with one of his revolvers, making sure to check it for a full cylinder, he headed up.
With his gun drawn, he slowly pushed up on the door at the top of the steps. The light made his eyes squint and the aroma of fatback hit his sense of smell hard, making his mouth water.
Doc turned around and, leaving the food to cook on its own, he quickly pulled the door in the floor upward, helping Hunter out and sitting him down in a chair at the kitchen table.
"Thank the Lord," said the Doc. "You made it, son. It was touch and go, there for a bit."
Hunter sat there, staring at this man, questioning him with a look that said where and how?
"Where are you? And how did you get here?" asked Doc, correctly reading the gunslinger's face.
Hunter nodded, wincing slightly at the pain in his head.
"That's a good sign, both good questions. Lucky for you, you have a hard head."
Doc plated up some bacon and set it in front of his battered looking friend, along with a tin cup half-full of coffee.
"You eat, son, and I'll explain it to ya'. You've been out for three days."
"Three days?" grunted Hunter, as he removed the bandage from his head. The gunslinger drank his coffee in one gulp and began to devour the bacon strips from his plate.
"You got anythin' stronger than this?" he asked, as he held up his tin.
The doctor reached up in the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, setting it down in front of Hunter.
He pulled the cork and took a swig. "All right, Doc, what the hell happened?"
Doc, an empty tin in his hand, sat down at the kitchen table across from Hunter. He filled it three-quarters to the rim with the golden brew, before he began to explain.
* * * * *
Doc knew a war was coming. He didn't think that his home was far enough away from the action, so he sent his family north. He was reluctant to do this, for the journey could possibly be more dangerous than staying put. Indians, rustlers and just plain bad men were plentiful in these parts, but when the Doc heard the explosion, followed by seeing smoke billowing up on the horizon, his mind was easily made.
After his family's departure, he waited half a day for anyone who might show up, wounded or not, friend or foe. When no one came, he loaded up the wagon with his medical bag, food, water, and whiskey, before
heading toward town. The Doc was a third of the way there, when just off the wagon trail he came across Hunter, slumped in the saddle, passed out cold, while the Appaloosa grazed on patches of wild Bahia grass.
Doc had heaved him into the wagon; he looked him over through the filth and dried blood that covered him. He found two bullet holes, luckily only flesh wounds. When he checked his eyes, Hunter appeared to have a concussion, so with the gunslinger's horse in tow, he brought them back to his home. After cleaning him up and doctoring him, he hid the gunslinger in the room under the kitchen floor.
That was almost three days ago.
* * * * *
Hunter was listening intently and feeling much better after finishing several cups of coffee. The whiskey helped the pain in his head and the bacon was bringing his strength back.
"Where's Matt, Lilith, and the boy?" asked Doc, while refilling his own cup with whiskey.
"Matt's dead and Zeke's missin'. I was hoping you knew where the boy was."
"I haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone. That's why I was out lookin', when I came across you." There was silence for a time as they drank, staring into their tins.
"Hunter, what happened to Lilith?" asked Doc, once again.
Hunter couldn't speak of it; he just continued searching for something in the bottom of his cup. After a moment, he forced the words out, "Montgomery – he shot her in the head."
"Oh, I'm so, so sorry, son. Did you git that soulless son-of-a-bitch?"
Hunter lifted his head up and looked directly at Doc with piercing steel blue eyes. "I got um. I got them all. The town's burnt to the ground by now."
"You might have killed all the men in town," said Doc, "but there's still some of Frank Lugar's boys holed up out at the ranch. That would be the only place I can think of, where Zeke might be."
With that last statement from Doctor Harmon, Hunter stood and walked over, lifting the trapdoor and disappearing through the floor.
The doctor held it open for him on his return, as his arms were full of his remaining gear. Hunter, now completely dressed, checked the shotgun and the rifle, making sure they were locked and loaded as he had done a thousand times before.
The Half-Breed Gunslinger Page 8
