‘Yore guess is as good as mine, Bob,’ Sudden told him in reply. ‘If they rode out to try for the girl, Billy oughta be comin’ in hell-for-leather any minnit. Then we’ll know where they are. Otherwise, like I said, yore guess is as good as mine.’
‘I don’t like it,’ muttered Doc Hight. ‘It’s too damn quiet.’
The momentary silence which followed his words was broken then by the soft thud of hoofs approaching, and Sudden was on his feet in one swift surge, moving towards the batwing doors. Blass and the doctor moved quickly to their posts by the other window, and a gasp of surprise escaped the medico’s lips.
‘It’s the kid,’ he announced, unbelievingly. ‘An’ he’s got Bucky Cotton in front o’ him. Will yu look at him!’
The captured Cotton was indeed a sight to see. His clothes were covered with white gypsum dust, which had caked his face and been turned in places to mud by sweat or tears or both. His fine soft leather boots were tattered and one of the heels was missing, making him limp heavily. His hair was matted, and his eyes wild; a steady stream of curses mumbled from his dust-caked lips as he weaved about at the end of the rope held by Billy Hornby. The boy moved slowly up the street from the bridge, his eyes wary, gun out. He passed Doc Hight’s house and drew level with the jail, half turning his horse towards the saloon and nearly jerking the half-demented Buck Cotton off his feet.
‘Blast my eyes!’ crowed Blass,‘that kid’s shore got his share o’ sand. I’ll go an’ give him a hand!’
Sudden whirled to protest, but the bartender was already through the swing doors and out on the sidewalk, calling to the boy.
‘Billy!’ he yelled. ‘Yu shore —’
He never finished the sentence. A lance of flame blossomed from the jailhouse and then another.
Buck Cotton let out an animal sound, something between a scream and a shout, turning, stumbling to his knees, screeching ‘Sim! Sim!’ as the men in the saloon blasted a fusillade towards the unseen assassins across the street.
Blass had stopped as if he had run into a wall, and uncertainty made him hesitate for a fatal moment before he tried to turn on his heel and get back towards the saloon. A volley of shots took him off his feet and slammed him face down on the steps of the saloon, even as Billy yanked back on the rope around Buck Cotton’s neck, hauling the Cottonwood man backwards on his knees, eyes bugging and face contorted, fighting to breathe, his fingers scrabbling to tear the searing noose from his throat. Billy hauled his horse around as Sudden and his two companions laid down a slashing hail of lead across the windows and doors of the jail. Bullets whined off the adobe walls and for a moment there was a break in the firing from the ambushers. Billy was turned around now, yanking Buck Cotton backwards, half dragging him along the street as the boy tried to head for the cover of the stable. A ragged cheer escaped Doc Hight’s throat only to die stillborn as a hail of shots was loosed at Billy. He lurched in the saddle, fighting to stay on top of the horse, and then lurched again and went over the side, plowing down like a broken doll into the dirt of the street about ten yards from the front of the livery stable.
The panic-stricken horse, however, had not stopped. It sun fished for a moment as its rider slid from its back, then wheeled again, the rope around Buck Cotton’s neck looped to the saddle pommel twanging taut.
‘Stop that damn hoss!’ yelled a voice across the street in the jail, and a man dashed out, throwing himself prone, a rifle leveled at the horse. Sudden’s gun spoke and the man’s head fell forward, the rifle slipping from limp hands.
This shot brought a shuddering whinny from the terrified horse. Its ears went back and with a scream it lunged forward, stampeding across the street, hurtling through the gap between the jail and the sheriff’s house, dragging behind it a lurching, bumping, screaming bundle.
‘My Gawd!’ breathed Davis. ‘He never had a chance.’
‘He didn’t deserve one,’ snapped Sudden harshly. ‘Cover me! I’m goin’ to get the kid.’
Without another word, he vaulted out of the shattered window and had rolled twice, across the sidewalk and into the street, lighting on all fours, crouched, guns leveled, before Hight and Davis recovered from their astonishment and laid covering fire above his head. Sudden’s right hand gun barked twice as he moved fast and erratically, towards where the boy lay. Shots whined about him. One tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, another ruffled his hair. Gouts of dust and sand plunked into the air and still he was not harmed. He reached the boy’s side. Billy’s back was black with blood, and there was a dark stain beneath his head. A quick glance around revealed to Sudden that several figures were running into the street. He emptied a gun at them and they broke and scattered for buildings and doorways. Without wasting a moment, Sudden picked up the slumped body of Billy Hornby as though the burly youth had been but a child and slung him unceremoniously across his shoulder. Stumbling, half-falling, he ran for the door of the livery stable as more shots from the jailhouse whispered by him, and thunked into the wooden walls of the building. Once inside, Sudden laid the boy as gently as he could on to a pile of straw and wheeled to face the doorway, shooting at the running figures across by the jail until the hammer clicked flatly upon an empty chamber. They faded back out of sight and for a moment there was a brief respite. Sudden took advantage of this to push the heavy plank door shut, and then dropped the heavy timber bar into place behind it.
With a glance at the still-unconscious boy, he methodically reloaded his guns, moving across to one of the windows facing the street for a guarded glance outside. The street was empty and still. A frown touched his forehead for a moment. He wondered whether the storekeeper and the doctor had managed to make good their escape. They had agreed earlier that if for any reason their group was split, that the three townsmen would try to escape to Fort Lane. Two, now, Sudden told himself bitterly. Blass had taken three or four bullets, had never known what hit him. He turned at the sound of movement, and found Billy sitting up groggily on the pile of straw. He was touching the bullet burn across his forehead gingerly, unaware of the wound in his chest.
‘Jim…’ he began weakly. ‘I had Buck … Cotton. Then all hell broke loose.’
‘I’m a mite cross with yu, Billy,’ Sudden told him severely. ‘Yu shore ought to’ve knowed better than to ride into town as if yu was leadin’ a parade. If things wasn’t so busy right now, I shore might be tempted to.’ He broke off as Billy’s smile faded and the boy slid backwards in a dead faint.
With a final brief look at the still empty street, Sudden moved over to the boy’s side and stripped off the blood-soaked shirt. The wound in Billy’s shoulder was an ugly one. A bullet had drilled a ragged hole through from just above his shoulder blade in the back to below the collarbone in the front. Another had burned a track across his scalp.
‘Lost plenty o’ blood,’ Sudden surmised, ‘but it didn’t hit bone. He’s a lucky boy. Half an inch lower down, an’ him and Buck Cotton’d be meetin’ up again.’
He took the shirt over to where the water barrel stood by the horse stalls, washing it cut thoroughly and then tearing it into wide strips. From these he made a rough compress and bandage, and then scouted about the dusty stable for a moment or two, returning with a handful of cobwebs from a corner.
‘Injun medicine’s the on’y kind I savvy, Billy,’ he told the inert figure. ‘I’m shore hopin’ that ol’ Paiute knowed what he was talkin’ about!’
He pressed the cobwebs against the wound and then laid the wet compress over them. He wiped away the rest of the blood, and repeated the operation at the back where the bullet had entered. He then bound the boy’s shoulder as well as he could, so that the boy’s arm was held close against his chest. If he moved while he was unconscious he wouldn’t start the bleeding again.
‘Well, I hope it holds yu, kid,’ Sudden muttered. ‘Now: how do we get out o’ this place?’
He cast his eyes hopefully about the stable. It was more or less square shaped, a one-story edifice of timb
er with a peaked roof below which heavy timber rafters ran parallel to form a sort of false ceiling. From these hung saddles and bridles, harness, and tools. Sudden wondered idly where the hostler was. ‘Run for the ol’ Fort, more’n likely,’ he guessed. The sidewalls had no windows in them, and the back of the stable was equipped only with a small, heavily-barred door and a tiny window which was, he noted with satisfaction, barred and shuttered. The huge front doors, wide enough when swung back to admit a wagon and team, were flanked by larger windows, both of which were already shattered and splintered by the hail of bullets which had followed Sudden’s rescue dash. Huge slivers of wood had been driven through the heavy doors by Cotton’s men’s bullets.
‘Time to take another gander,’ Sudden informed nobody in particular, and edged over towards the shattered window. Taking his hat from his head he poked it forward on the end of his gun barrel until it could be clearly seen from outside. A tremendous fusillade of shots burst out, snatching the hat off the gun-barrel, chopping pieces of wood from the window frame, and chunking into the walls.
Sudden shook his head. ‘Never liked that hat, anyhow,’ he said. He was worried about the two men who had been brave enough to stand up against the Cotton crew with him. They were alone. Maybe even now, Sim Cotton’s men were outflanking the saloon, ready to shoot down like a mad dog anything that moved inside. The puncher cursed aloud.
‘Damned if I help ’em an’ damned if I don’t’ he said. ‘No shootin’ goin’ on … so somethin’ must be brewin’. But what?’
As if in answer to his question, someone rapped urgently on the rear door. Gun cocked, Green slid over towards it.
Chapter Fifteen
It was Doc Hight. Behind him. Bob Davis stood, his eyes sweeping the bare plot behind the stable, gun cocked and ready to deal with any movement, any threat. Hight’s face fell as he saw Sudden’s leveled revolver.
‘Hell, Jim, don’t shoot!’ he managed.
‘I shore wasn’t expectin’ company,’ Sudden told him. ‘How did yu get here without bein’ spotted?’
‘We built us a little fire in the saloon,’ Davis explained. ‘Throwed a few cart’idges into it, then skedaddled out the back way. Them Cotton boys out in the street ducked for cover again when the bullets exploded; and then they poured it in again, thinkin’ there was still someone there.’
‘By which time we was in the arroyo that runs in back o’ here,’ Hight continued. ‘An’ here we are. How’s the boy?’
‘Yu better see for yoreself,’ Sudden told him, still smiling at the ingenious method of escape the two men had used.
Hight crossed the stable and knelt down beside the youngster. Billy opened his eyes briefly and managed a grin.
‘Hi, Doc,’ he whispered. ‘Shore sorry to bring yu out on a night like this.’
‘Save your strength, son,’ Hight advised him. ‘You can do your joking when I’m through with you.’
He peeled the compress expertly from Billy’s shoulder. An exclamation escaped his lips which brought Sudden and Davis quickly over.
‘What in the name of Hades did you put on this wound, Jim?’ asked the doctor. ‘It looks like mud.’
‘Cobwebs,’ explained Sudden. ‘Old Injun remedy. On’y thing I could think of.’
‘Wal, it might be all right for old Injuns,’ allowed Hight, ‘but don’t be offended if I wash it off and disinfect it, will you?’
Green shook his head. ‘Yo’re the doctor he smiled disarmingly.
‘I’m not so shore, now that I look closer,’ mumbled Hight, his fingers gently probing the wound. ‘Those cobwebs have shore stopped the bleeding. You’re a lucky young man,’ he told Billy. ‘Let’s see … no bones broken. Loss of blood. Shock. You ought to be as right as rain in about a week, ten days.’
‘Allus supposin’ Sim Cotton don’t decide to finish off what he started,’ pointed out Davis. He was standing by the window, keeping an eye on the empty street.
‘Hold still now,’ Hight advised Billy. ‘This is the part that nobody likes.’ He poured some fluid from a bottle he had taken from his pocket on to a cloth, soaking it. He then slapped the cloth swiftly on to the wound. Billy’s face drained of what little color was left in it, although he allowed no sound to escape his clenched lips.
‘Hell … Doc…’ he gritted eventually. ‘Wh … what was that? Sheep dip?’
‘Alcohol,’ was the smiling reply.
Billy shook his head. ‘I reckon that’s takin’ a drink the hard way.’
Hight bound the wound up again, and fashioned a sling from the youngster’s bandanna.
‘Keep that arm as still as you can,’ he warned Billy. ‘You’ll start the bleeding again if you jump around too much.’
‘Hell, Doc,’ protested the boy. ‘If I don’t jump around some, I’m likely to get perforated again! An’ I shore can’t shoot left-handed.’
‘Yu’ll never have a better chance to learn,’ interposed Sudden. He nodded towards the street from his position to the side of the window. Hight and the boy sidled over to join him.
‘What’s going on?’ asked the medico.
‘I can’t make it out,’ Davis said. ‘Hammerin’? What would they be hammerin’ on?’
Glancing outside, the doctor saw a group of men at the far end of the street, well beyond effective pistol range, clustered around something which he could not see. The sound of hammering carried clearly on the silent air.
Billy narrowed his eyes, straining to see what it was that they were doing. ‘It … it looks like some kind o’ big table,’ he offered.
‘O’ course!’ breathed Sudden. He moved away from the window. ‘Bob, Doc, Billy, keep that street covered the whole time. Don’t take yore eyes off it. An’ Billy — yu give me a runnin’ account o’ what’s goin’ on.’
Sudden rummaged about at the back of the stable, eventually finding what he was looking for, a short, wicked-looking leather knife. He snapped the blade off this, and laid it on one side. The thin clink of the breaking steel caused Billy to glance around.
‘What yu up to, Jim?’ he asked.
‘Keep yore eyes on that street,’ Sudden told him. ‘What’s happenin’ out there?’
‘Looks like they’ve finished hammerin’,’ was the reply. ‘They’re pickin’ up the table, or whatever it is. Movin’ back o’ the store.’
‘They’ll be headin’ for the rear o’ the jail. Throw a couple of shots at them if they show theirselves, but don’t waste no bullets!’
Sudden was hacking away now at the willow slats which, woven together formed the separating walls for the horse stalls in the stable. He found one almost six feet in length, and pulled this out, then a thinner, smaller one.
Billy, unable to contain his curiosity, took another peek at his friend’s activities.
‘What in tarnation? Yu aimin’ to fight ’em off with sticks, Jim?’
Green smiled, without once stopping what he was doing, paring the bark away from the smaller shaft. ‘Yu may just be right.’
Billy shrugged, and looked at Hight and Davis with his eyebrows raised. Hight shrugged by way of reply. ‘Beats me, too,’ Davis said. In that moment, several of the Cottonwood riders scuttled across the open space separating the jail and the sheriff’s house. Hight threw one quick shot at them without effect. It drew no return fire.
‘They’re behind the jail, Jim,’ Billy called. ‘They’re gettin’ ready.’
‘So’m I,’ was the uninformative reply. Hight turned now, and saw Sudden busily pouring a stream of gunpowder out of a dozen cartridge cases from which he had extracted the slugs. There was already a small black pile of it on a piece of waxed paper that lay on the floor. What in the name of the devil was the man up to?
‘They’re shapin’ up for somethin’, Jim,’ called Billy.
‘Tell me what’s happenin’.’
‘They’re pushin’ somethin’ out — it looks like one o’ the tables from the saloon. Looks heavy. It ain’t movin’ easy. Got two men p
ushing I’d say.’
‘It’ll be heavy enough,’ Green said. ‘It’s an old trick. Yu nail three tabletops together, use them as a shield. Ain’t many guns can put a slug through three inches o’ timber. Tell me how far they’ve got.’
‘About level with the front o’ the jail. They’re findin’ it hard work. She’s stickin’ in the sand a mite more’n somewhat.’
‘Give ’em a couple of shots,’ called Sudden. ‘See what happens.’ Billy nodded to the doctor, and leveled the gun in his left hand. His shot whined off target, kicking up a gout of sand perhaps six feet to left of the moving wooden shield.
‘Damn!’ he exploded. ‘I ain’t even likely to hit New Mexico shootin’ left handed.’
‘Rest yore gun on the windowsill,’ Sudden called. ‘Squeeze yore shots off, gentle like!’
Billy did as he was bid, and this time his shot thwacked into the table-shield, which was now perhaps a quarter of the way across the street. Hight put another two shots into it. Slivers of wood whirred away into the air, but the bullets obviously had not penetrated. The shield continued to make inexorable forward progress, propelled by the men behind it. A veritable barrage of shots exploded from the jail and to the rear of the late Sheriff Parris’ house, forcing the men at the windows to duck hastily below the level of the sills. Bullets whined through the gaping window frames, smacking into saddles that were slung on the rafters. One shot hit a metal bit dangling from a hook on the wall, and whisked the bit across the stable with a dissonant jangle of metal. The continuous thunder of shots went on, making it doubly dangerous to look out into the street, and impossible to return the fire. Hight must have dared the former however, for he said tensely, ‘They’re about halfway, Jim!’
Sudden--At Bay (A Sudden Western #2) Page 10
