by P McCormac
‘Turlough, are you in there?’
There was movement inside and a figure stumbled to the door.
‘Cyriac, thank God! What’s happening?’
For answer Cyriac handed him the Remington along with a handful of shells.
‘Here, load that. We’re getting outta here.’
As he handed over the weapon, he heard above the noise and confusion of yelling men the sound of a scattergun going off. He grabbed Turlough and hauled him outside.
‘Come on. That’s Aimee if I’m not mistaken. She’s in trouble.’
CHAPTER 29
A crowd was gathered around someone who was the centre of attention. Cyriac, taller than most men, could see over the heads and saw Aimee being held by two burly men. A third man was yelling at her and at the same time punching her. Cyriac fired over the heads of the mob, immediately getting their attention. Some scattered out of the way but others grabbed for guns. Cyriac had no option but to fire into the body of those milling around Aimee.
Two were hit but others had gotten their guns out and began shooting back. Cyriac fanned the Smith & Wesson, knocking down another couple of gunmen. Behind him, Turlough had managed to load the Remington and joined in the shooting.
The man who had been punching Aimee turned his head towards the source of the shooting. It was a mistake to take his attention off his prisoner and she took the opportunity to kick him in the crotch. He folded and sank to the dirt. Aimee started struggling with the men holding her. Seeing their comrades being shot down, they released their captive to grab for weapons.
Aimee seized the man on the right and swung him into his companion, knocking them both off balance. She threw herself at them and the three of them went down in an untidy heap – Aimee kicking and punching the two men in a wild fury. So fierce was her attack they had no chance of getting at their weapons. One of them grabbed Aimee in a chokehold and Aimee stabbed him in the eye with a stiffened finger.
‘Aaagh!’ he yelled and let go of his hold.
Aimee head butted him and he tried to roll away out of her reach. His companion punched Aimee in the side of the head and she grunted and lashed out with her fist. He grabbed for his pistol and brought it up towards his attacker. He opened his mouth and his eyes widened as he felt the knife go into his side.
‘Damn you!’ he cursed as he realized what had happened.
Aimee slashed the bloodied knife across the hand that held the gun, almost severing a couple of fingers. He opened his mouth to yell and Aimee stabbed him in the throat with the knife – blood jetting over his shirt. He fell away from her but she scrabbled after him and grabbed the revolver from his unresisting hand.
A figure loomed over her and she swung around, fumbling to get a grip on her newly acquired weapon. Someone yelled at her and she got a look at him. Cyriac was reaching out a hand to her.
‘Come on!’ he hollered ‘We got Turlough.’
She clambered to her feet, wincing as she felt the bruises where her captors had hit her. Shots were coming in towards them but Cyriac’s whirlwind attack had scattered the gunmen and most had fled for cover. He turned and fanned a flurry of shots towards the main group cowering behind a small shack.
‘Over there!’ he yelled and pointed to a large building.
Cyriac sprinted across the intervening distance and used his usual method of opening doors. His boot splintered the latch and the door crashed open. He took the men within by surprise as he hurtled through the ruined door. They turned towards the intruder, guns at the ready.
As Cyriac came to a halt he fired, hitting two men in the upper body. They staggered back, blood pumping from the bullet wounds. One tried to fire at the intruder but another shot from Cyriac put him down permanently. The others were turning to flee and Cyriac held his fire as they ran to the rear of the building and vanished out of the back door.
He glanced around and realized he was in a warehouse containing tools and machinery. Aimee dashed inside, followed closely by Turlough. Cyriac studied the place for a moment until he spotted what he was looking for.
‘How are we to get outta here?’ Turlough panted.
‘We create a diversion,’ Cyriac answered. ‘Keep a look out and fire a few shots out the windows and watch the doors.’
He found a pinch bar and jammed it in the lid of a wooden crate. He could hear the sound of breaking glass as Turlough broke out a window and fired through it. Aimee ran to the rear entrance where the men fleeing Cyriac had left and fired out of the open door.
Cyriac overturned the crate he had broken open. A pile of wands very similar to the ones he had initially carried to the mine spilled on to the floorboards. Aimee glanced behind her and froze as she saw the heap of deadly sticks.
‘Dear God!’ she whispered.
Bullets were hitting in and around the door frame, some coming inside. Any moment Aimee expected a bullet to hit that deadly heap and blow them all to kingdom come. Cyriac seemed indifferent to the gunfire going on all around him and was busy slicing a coil of fuse cord into suitable lengths.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Aimee yelled at him.
He bared his teeth at her in a wolfish grin and threw his hands upwards in a gesture of something going up in the air. Then he was busy going around the stores, poking the primed sticks here and there amongst the piled up goods.
‘I’ve run out of bullets,’ she called, having to yell as the noise of gunfire increased.
For answer he grabbed a couple of cartons from a shelf and tossed them across to her.
‘So have I,’ Turlough shouted and Cyriac threw him a box.
When she finished reloading, Aimee glanced up at Cyriac and stopped, her eyes widening as she gaped at him. Cyriac, holding a flaming Lucifer, was calmly igniting the fused sticks of dynamite he had distributed about the building.
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘You bloody mad booger! You’ll kill us all!’
Benedict turned to see what was going on.
‘What the hell. . . !’
He rushed across and grabbed Cyriac by the arm. ‘What are you doing? We’re trapped in here and you’re fixing to blow us all to smithereens.’ Benedict stepped back as Cyriac turned his fiercely blazing eyes upon him. ‘You’re mad,’ Benedict whispered.
‘You’re not the first to say that and I suppose you won’t be the last.’
Benedict reached out to grab the fizzing piece of fuse and then stopped as he became aware of, not one, but myriad little sparks, like fiendish eyes winking at him from amongst the shelves.
‘What have you done?’ he moaned. ‘You’ve condemned us all to death.’
CHAPTER 30
Bullets were hammering at the building as the forces outside rallied and more and more gunmen came up to join the fight. Some lead penetrated the windows and the open door where Aimee was valiantly trying to keep the shooters at bay.
‘We’re in a death trap,’ she shouted to no one in particular.
Suddenly Cyriac was beside her, his half-consumed cigar clamped in his mouth still smouldering.
‘Keep firing,’ he yelled in her ear. ‘And then be ready to make a run for it.’
She stared fascinated at the clutch of dynamite sticks clasped in his hand. Without exception they all had very short fuses. One was already lit. Aimee was spellbound as she watched the little tendril of smoke drifting into the air from the fuses. She had never been this close to death ever. She could not speak – could not move. Cyriac elbowed her in the ribs.
‘Goddamn it, keep firing.’
She broke from her terror-induced trance and did what he ordered – firing out through the open door.
‘Turlough, over here!’ Cyriac yelled. He waited till the youngster hunkered down beside him. ‘Once I start running, you two follow pronto. Don’t hang about. Just keep on my tail.’
Turlough, like Aimee, could not take his eyes from the smoking doom in Cyriac’s hand. Using the glowing end of the cigar, he sparked life into two more sticks.
He grinned at them, the cigar still in his mouth, and then sprang out the door, his hand coming up, hurling the deadly charge in the direction of the men shooting at them. Twice more he threw and then he was running and behind him, Turlough and Aimee scrambled out of the door after him.
The explosions thundered out somewhere to the rear and they felt the air being sucked from around them. Debris rained down and Aimee stumbled and almost went down. Turlough yelled but could not hear his own words. Something was wrong with his hearing. Ahead he could see Cyriac.
‘Wait for us,’ he tried to shout but couldn’t hear his own voice.
Before he had taken another step, a hot breath of some hellish monster blew suddenly upon him and an irresistible force smote him on the back and he found himself on the ground eating dust. Objects were raining down upon him, some striking him and others ploughing into the dirt.
Someone grabbed his shirt and hauled him to his feet. He looked to see it was Cyriac. He had an arm around Aimee and was pulling her along with him. She shook him off and continued under her own steam.
The air was filled with dust and Turlough could not see where they were going but doggedly kept Cyriac in sight and followed, putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to be left behind.
As they ran, Cyriac would pause and toss another of those deadly sticks into a building or at a piece of machinery or anything that was still standing. On they ran, hearing those mind numbing explosions relentlessly following them as Cyriac left a trail of destruction behind.
A guard carrying a rifle loomed up before them and seeing them running, shouted something. Cyriac shot him as they ran, the gunman buckling at the knees and sinking into the dirt. Suddenly they were clear of buildings and Cyriac paused only long enough to make sure there was no one after them. He led them through rough, boulder strewn hillocks until he turned right and they entered a shallow coulee.
Turlough was breathing hard, hardly able to keep moving, staggering along, only kept upright by sheer willpower and the fear of what lay behind them.
Ahead of him Cyriac slowed to a walk. Kneeling on the ground, he pulled his remaining dynamite sticks from where he had stored them in his pockets and built a pyramid with them. He rolled large rocks to his construction, piling them around until the deadly stack was hidden. Taking his cigar, he lit the end of a long fuse. As he straightened up he grinned at Turlough.
‘There is an underground lake beneath this. That is where Black draws his water from to keep his hoses working. I’m hoping when this goes off it might either block it or divert the water so he won’t be able to use it anymore. Anyway, after today it will take him a while to get his operation working again.’
He turned and began walking. Turlough cast a nervous glance towards the smoking fuse and imagined the explosives going off and the rocks Cyriac had piled around them being thrown up into the air and crashing down upon anyone in the vicinity. He forgot his weariness and hurried after Aimee and Cyriac. As they climbed out of the gorge, Turlough tensed when he saw horses with a rider atop one.
‘Beth,’ he said hoarsely.
Beth was mounted on one horse and was holding the leads to three spare mounts. Cyriac strode over to the horses and pulled a rifle from the scabbard.
‘Turlough, grab a weapon,’ he called. ‘We still got some work to do. Aimee, help Beth hold the horses. They’ll more than likely spook when that charge goes off.’
Beth handed a rifle to Turlough. ‘I’m glad you’re safe,’ she said, giving him a strained smile.
‘You don’t know how glad I am to see you,’ he rejoined, and really meaning it.
‘Come on,’ Cyriac exclaimed. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’
He ran over to the rim and crouched down, rifle held ready. Turlough hurried to join him. They could see the little cairn hiding the deadly charge of dynamite. Sure enough, men carrying rifles came into view, hurrying up the gorge after the fugitives. Cyriac fired off a round. The men scattered and went to ground.
‘Don’t worry about hitting anyone. We just got to keep them pinned down until that damned charge goes off.’
Turlough triggered a couple of shots. There was sporadic firing from the men down in the gorge, nothing coming very near. Turlough popped his head up to fire at the gunmen and ducked down again. Cyriac emptied his magazine into the gorge, spraying the shots in a wide arc. As his rifle clicked on empty he eased back from the rim.
‘Come on, time to go.’
Cyriac ran to the horses and grabbing the reins from Beth, swung aboard.
‘Go! Go! Go!’ he yelled.
Turlough scrambled on top of a grey mare and hauled on the reins, and soon all four horses were racing away from the gorge.
The explosion when it came was muffled and Turlough risked a glance behind. He could see a cloud of dust boiling out of the gorge and shuddered to think of the men who had taken refuge there. There wouldn’t be much of them left to bury and he wondered briefly if any of them had been involved in the murder of his sister, Lily.
CHAPTER 31
‘We better steer clear of Thomaston for a few days and let things cool off a mite,’ Cyriac told his companions.
‘Surely now we gave them that whopping Black will back off,’ Turlough said.
They were in Turlough’s cabin drinking coffee while discussing their future plans.
‘Men like Black don’t back off,’ Cyriac said. ‘He’s called the shots in this part of the world for so long he won’t let go that easy. There is too much at stake. We must prepare for when he makes his mind up to come after us. Black is like a wolf. He’ll attack at our weakest point and that will be any one of us he finds alone. He’ll come at us when we least expect it. That means we must be on guard at all times – day and night. We’ll draw up a rota and take turns – starting tonight.’
Turlough glanced around at the others. ‘That’s a helluva call,’ he said. ‘There are only four of us.’
Cyriac pressed on relentlessly. ‘It’s a matter of survival. Make no mistake about it – Black will come after us. We got to be ready when he does come. Four hour shifts.’ Cyriac paused as a thought occurred to him. ‘Perhaps the womenfolk might want to go somewhere safe until this business is over?’
Aimee scowled at him. ‘I ain’t going nowhere, but I don’t want no more truck with no more blasted dynamite. My ears are still buzzing.’
Except for Beth, they were filthy after their exploits at Black’s mine – their faces and clothing grimy and coated with dust.
‘I think we will be safe for a day at least, though it won’t take Black long to figure out who wrecked his mine,’ Cyriac observed. ‘Once he discovers Turlough missing, it won’t be hard to deduce who is responsible. He might play it shrewd and allow us time to relax and let down our guard. One night when we are sleeping – whoosh – our cabin goes up in flames and as we tumble from our burning bunks, he has a ring of marksmen surrounding the place and picks us off one by one as we stumble out into the cool night air.’
It was a horrific picture Cyriac painted and his companions looked suitably sombre as they thought over his words.
‘We could scarper,’ Turlough suggested tentatively. ‘Get away somewhere and start afresh. We’re never gonna beat Black. He’ll just keep sending more and more gunmen after us. We can’t be on our guard at all times. Eventually he’ll get lucky or he’ll just bide his time and take us one at a time.’
‘Sure,’ Cyriac said. ‘Go ahead and run. Look where it got you last time. Black sent his pack of wolves after you. My brother, Milo, died because you ran. How far will you get this time?’
‘Hell, there’s California. I could lose myself amongst the goldfields there.’
‘Go ahead. Climb on one of those horses and take off.’
Now that it was put so bluntly Turlough looked uncertain. He stood up.
‘Afore you go,’ Cyriac said. ‘I need you to sign your claim over to me and if the womenfolk want a share then we’ll stay put and st
art panning.’
‘How can you talk about working the claim when Black is out there gunning for you?’
Cyriac shrugged. ‘You think all life stops because hard-nosed men like Black plan to take over the world. Boot Hill is filled with guys like that. Someday a harder dude will turn up and Black in turn will be pushed to one side.’
Looking disgruntled, Turlough sat again. ‘I guess I owe you – and Aimee,’ he muttered.
‘You owe me nothing,’ Aimee sneered, ‘you gutless sack of guano.’
Ignoring the insult, Turlough looked across at Beth. ‘And you, Beth.’ Slowly he gazed at each one in turn. ‘In fact, I owe you all. In spite of what you think of me, Aimee, you did slip me that blade back in the jail. Without that I would be dead.’
Both Cyriac and Beth turned and looked at Aimee.
‘You what?’ Beth said.
The big woman’s face distorted into her habitual scowl.
‘I was hoping he would cut his throat with it.’
‘Methinks Aimee hides a heart of gold beneath that harsh exterior,’ Turlough said.
‘That’s how you escaped,’ Cyriac said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘It just goes to show there are more ways of skinning a cat than rubbing its fur the wrong way.’
‘Anyhow, Aimee, you did me a favour. The deputy I killed was boasting how he and his buddies . . .’ The youngster’s voice faltered and he stared down at the table for a moment before he could continue. ‘He boasted they did things to Lily afore they murdered her. I guess that made it easier for me to stick that knife in him.’
His companions were silent as they took in his words. It was Beth who broke the silence.
‘How horrible. What sort of men are we dealing with?’
‘Cruel, ruthless men who can kill and torture without conscience or remorse,’ Cyriac said. ‘Now you know why I am telling you we must be vigilant at all times or go somewhere safe.’
However, when Black struck, it was at their soft unprotected underbelly – a true act of perfidy, well thought out and befitting a man with his animal cunning.
