Carefully, Ace and Chance slid their guns out of their holsters. Following McLaren’s commands, they placed the weapons on the floor and then kicked them away. One of McLaren’s men stepped forward and scooped them up.
Chance looked across the room, spotted Fontana sitting on the floor with her back to the bar, next to the piano player Orrie, and called to her, “Fontana, are you all right?”
Before she could answer, McLaren stepped closer in front of Chance, blocking his view of the young woman. “Don’t you worry about the gal, boy. You’d do better worrying about what I’ve got in store for you.”
Ace and Chance had both seen Hank Muller’s body dangling from the balcony. Now, at McLaren’s not-so-veiled threat, they couldn’t keep their eyes from going back to the dead man. With his bluish-purple face, protruding tongue, and bulging, glassy eyes, Muller was a hideous sight. Ace managed not to shudder as he thought about the agonizing death the saloonkeeper had suffered, but it wasn’t easy. He knew Chance felt the same way.
Pushing what had happened to Muller out of his mind, Ace said, “We surrendered like you wanted, McLaren. How about letting Miss Dupree and the other women go?”
McLaren let out a contemptuous snort. “What sort of idiot do you take me for, kid? None of these hostages are going anywhere until I have everything I want. That’s twelve jurors hangin’ from that balcony, and when that’s done I want the judge and the marshal and the prosecutor, too.” McLaren shrugged. “Not sure there’ll be room to string them up, though. Maybe I’ll just shoot ’em, or turn my pard Gyp loose on them with his knife. He’s mighty handy with a blade, Gyp is.”
Ace saw one of the outlaws grinning and figured the dark-faced hombre was Gyp. The cruelty etched on the man’s face was chilling.
“You can’t really expect the rest of the jurors to just walk in here and give themselves up,” Chance said.
“Why not?” McLaren snapped. “You did. Maybe they’ve got loved ones in here they’d like to save. For damn sure, they’ve got families out in the town, and by now I expect everybody in Lone Pine knows what’s going to happen if I don’t get what I want. I’ll kill everybody and burn down the whole settlement if that’s what it takes to get justice for my brother.”
“Your brother already got what was coming to him,” Chance said, unable to control himself. He wasn’t as cool and calculating as his brother, and when his rage boiled up, it had to go somewhere.
Unfortunately, Otis McLaren was the same way, and he had the odds on his side. He took a quick step forward and hooked his left fist into Chance’s belly. It was a vicious blow that sunk McLaren’s fist almost to the wrist. As the breath gusted out of Chance’s lungs and he bent over, McLaren lifted his left fist and brought it down like a hammer on the young man’s head. Chance crumpled to the floor.
Even though Ace knew how important it was to draw things out, he almost launched himself at McLaren, trembling a little as he fought to control the urge.
McLaren stepped back and grinned at Ace. “Want to tear my head off, don’t you, boy? I hurt your brother, and now you want to hurt me. I reckon you do understand how it was with me and Pete, don’t you?”
“Don’t compare us to the two of you,” Ace said tightly. “We’re not good-for-nothing outlaws.”
“Kid, you’re just askin’ for worse than you’re already gonna get.” McLaren waved his gun barrel at Chance. “Get him on his feet.”
Ace helped his brother up.
Standing again, Chance glared at McLaren and muttered, “Mighty brave with a gun in your hand and more than a dozen men at your back, aren’t you?”
“I’d say I’m mighty smart to have a gun in my hand and men at my back, while you . . . you got nothin’.” The arrogant grin on McLaren’s face faded away as he went on. “Don’t you ever say nothin’ bad about my brother again, you understand? You keep mouthin’ off, and I’ll make sure you die last . . . and you’ll have to watch what happens to that girl you’re fond of before you die, too.”
“All right,” Chance muttered. “Whatever you say. Just leave her alone.”
“We’ll see.” McLaren turned his back on the Jensen brothers, a deliberately taunting move, and walked over to the bar where Fontana and Orrie sat. Chance leaned forward, but Ace put a hand on his arm to stop him from doing something foolish. McLaren reached down and grasped Fontana’s arm to drag her to her feet. She tried to flinch away from him, but his fingers clamped cruelly on her flesh.
Orrie caught hold of McLaren’s arm. “Leave her alone!” he cried.
McLaren kicked him in the chest, driving him back against the bar. Orrie gasped and turned pale as he slid down to the floor.
* * *
Miguel brought up his gun and ordered in a harsh whisper, “Hold it, mister, whoever you are.”
“Miguel? Do not shoot! It is José.”
“José? What the hell are you doing here? What do you want?” Miguel asked. “Were you looking for me?”
“No, but fate has brought us together, amigo.” The fat cantina owner held something in his hand.
Miguel figured it was the ancient cap-and-ball pistol he had seen José take out and show off when he’d had too much of his own tequila and started reminiscing about his days as a bandito.
“I know that Otis McLaren is in the saloon.” José paused. “I have come to kill him.”
Lee Emory said, “I thought the two of you were old friends.”
“There was a time when we rode together, Señor Emory, this is true. But I would not call us amigos. Do you know why I left his gang?” José didn’t wait for an answer. “Because he was a bad man. Muy malo! El loco! A madman, señors. One never knew when Otis might fly into a rage, and when he did, he was as likely to kill one of his own men as anyone else. My poor nerves, they could not stand it. So I came back here and opened my cantina and have lived in peace ever since.”
“Until now,” Miguel said.
“Sí. Now Otis is back, and I know he bears me ill will because of what happened to his hermano. There is only one way to save my life . . . and that is to kill him first.” José looked around at the other men. “That is what you intend to do as well, no?”
“That’s the plan,” Emory said.
“Then I will join you! We fight for our town and our lives and the lives of those we love!”
“You’re welcome to come along,” Miguel said. “We’re going in the back of the saloon while the Jensen brothers create a distraction by surrendering to McLaren.”
José caught his breath. “They go in there alone, just the two of them? Into the hands of that monster?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Then may El Señor Dios be with them,” José said as he crossed himself with the hand holding the gun. “They will need all the help they can get!”
CHAPTER FORTY
McLaren pulled Fontana over to the Jensen brothers. “Here’s your sweetie, kid,” he said to Chance. “You can see for yourself that she’s not hurt. You want to keep her that way?”
Chance glared. “You know I do, damn it.”
“Then here’s what you’re gonna do. I could have my boys string you up right now, like they did with Muller, but that’d be too quick. I want you to suffer. Pete was locked up for days, and I don’t like to think about how miserable he must’ve been. So you’re gonna hurt, too, and my boys are gonna see to it.” McLaren turned his head. “Gyp, you and Sinton come here.”
Gyp ambled forward, joined by another of the outlaws. Sinton was almost as broad as he was tall, but there was nothing soft and fat about him. He was built like a boulder and looked to be about as solid as one.
“You want me to take my knife to these two little bastards, boss?” Gyp asked with a bloodthirsty eagerness in his voice.
“Not yet,” McLaren said. “I want you to teach ’em a lesson, though. You can beat them within an inch of their lives . . . but don’t kill them. I want their lives choked out by a noose, the way Muller’s was.” The ou
tlaw’s voice caught a little as he added, “The way my little brother’s was.”
“Pete didn’t choke to death,” Chance said. “His neck snapped when he dropped.”
For a second Ace thought McLaren was going to shoot Chance then and there, but again the killer controlled the urge. He stepped back and nodded. Gyp and Sinton took off their gun belts and handed them to other members of the gang, then advanced on Ace and Chance with grins on their faces and their fists balled, ready to deal out punishment.
That was a good thing, Ace told himself. It would give the men outside more time. They could get in position to launch their attack while Ace and Chance were battling the two bruisers.
All they had to do was stay alive for a while. McLaren had ordered his men not to kill the Jensen brothers, but you never could tell what would happen in a fight.
With a sudden snarl, Gyp lunged at Chance, and Sinton was right behind him, barreling toward Ace.
The Jensen brothers had found themselves in plenty of rough-and-tumble brawls over the years, but Ace didn’t know if they had ever faced two such ruthless opponents.
Sinton spread long, apelike arms as he closed in. Ace knew if he allowed himself to be caught in that dangerous embrace, Sinton would try to crush him and might be able to snap his ribs. A quick dart to his left took Ace out of the path of Sinton’s charge, but he realized a second too late that it had been a feint. Sinton’s right arm swung toward him in a blindingly fast backhand that smashed across the side of Ace’s head like a tree trunk. Ace flew off his feet and landed on an empty table that collapsed into rubble underneath him.
At the same time, Gyp threw a flurry of short but powerful punches aimed at Chance’s head and body. Chance was able to block most of them, but a couple times one of Gyp’s fists got through and crashed into him. One blow caught Chance on the jaw, the other in the solar plexus. He staggered back under the impact and fought to stay on his feet. He knew that if he went down, Gyp would start tromping and kicking.
Sinton leaned over to pluck Ace from the debris of the destroyed table. However, Ace grabbed one of the broken chair legs and brought the makeshift club up and around in a sweeping blow that landed on Sinton’s right ear. Sinton howled in pain and staggered back.
Chance caught his balance before he fell, but he backpedaled anyway to draw Gyp in. He fell for it and crowded close enough that Chance was able to shoot a straight left between the outlaw’s hands and land it solidly on his nose. Blood spurted hotly across Chance’s knuckles as he felt the satisfying shiver of the impact run up his arm. Gyp was stopped in his tracks, and Chance took advantage of the opportunity to hook a right into the man’s belly.
Sinton recovered quickly from the blow to the head and batted the chair leg aside as Ace tried to strike again. With his other hand he groped for Ace’s throat as he forced the younger man back toward the bar. Ace blocked the attempt and lifted an uppercut that caught Sinton’s beard-stubbled chin and rocked his head back, but it didn’t slow his attack much.
Rather than stand and trade punches with Chance, Gyp lowered his shoulder and plowed into him. Their legs tangled, and they both went down, landing hard on the floor. Gyp tried to roll on top, but Chance got an elbow up, rammed it against the side of Gyp’s head, and levered the outlaw to the side. A swift roll brought Chance on top, and he dug his right knee in Gyp’s belly before the man could writhe away.
Sinton looped his other arm around in a windmilling punch that came crashing down on Ace’s right shoulder like a sledgehammer. The blow had been aimed at the top of his skull, and if it had landed there it would have driven Ace’s head down between his shoulders and probably crushed his spine. As it was, his arm and shoulder went numb. He knew he couldn’t fight Sinton one-handed, so he twisted away from the man and tried to put some distance between them while he recovered.
Chance had Gyp pinned to the floor and smashed his fists into Gyp’s face. More blood flew. Gyp jerked his left leg up, got the calf in front of Chance’s throat, and threw him off. Chance slid through the sawdust and came to a stop against the legs of a table. A few feet away, Gyp scrambled up and dived after him. Quickly, Chance overturned the table. Unable to stop, Gyp plowed into it headfirst.
Sinton went after Ace with surprising speed and agility for a man built like he was. Ace fended him off while shaking his right arm to get some feeling back into it. His retreat was cut off when his back hit the bar. Sinton’s piggish eyes lit up with anticipation. He had Ace trapped and expected to keep the younger man pinned against the bar while he pounded him to raw meat.
Gyp was stunned by the collision with the table. Chance pushed himself up, clubbed his hands together, and leaped toward his opponent as he brought his arms up and then down. The powerful blow landed on the back of Gyp’s neck and drove his face against the floor, doing even more damage to his already pulped and bloody nose. Gyp groaned, tried to get up, and couldn’t make it. He slumped back down.
Against the bar, Ace forced his right arm to work enough that he was able to grasp the hardwood with both hands and pull himself up as Sinton closed in on him. Ace drew his knees up and lashed out with both legs in a mule kick that landed on Sinton’s chest. Sinton wasn’t ready for that. He flew backwards and landed on his head. Like Gyp before him, that stunned him. His groggy efforts to get up came to no avail. With his breath rasping in his throat, he lay there, unable to continue the fight.
All during the battle, the other outlaws had been shouting encouragement to their comrades. A shocked silence fell over the saloon as the men stared at the fallen Gyp and Sinton. They had come out on the losing end of the fight.
Not that Ace and Chance were in that much better shape. As they looked at each other, both battered and breathing heavily, a quick grin passed between them. They were still in deadly danger and so were all the other citizens of Lone Pine trapped in the saloon, but for a moment, at least, they were triumphant.
McLaren still had hold of Fontana’s arm. He looked disgusted, and he expressed that by giving her a shove that sent her stumbling toward Chance. “Here. You like the bitch so much, you can say good-bye to her.”
Fontana caught her balance and turned to face McLaren. “They beat your men!”
He laughed. “You didn’t think that little fracas meant anything, did you? Those two weren’t fighting for their lives. They’re still gonna die. They might not have suffered as much as I hoped they would, but it don’t change anything.” McLaren gestured toward Gyp and Sinton and told his men, “Get those two on their feet.”
Still being covered by several of the outlaws, Chance moved over to Fontana and took her in his arms. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I laid eyes on you, but I sure wish it had been under different circumstances.”
“So do I,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him.
Chance pressed his lips to her throat and slid the kiss up next to her ear. “Don’t show any reaction,” he breathed, just loud enough for her and no one else to hear.
Fontana stiffened slightly.
Chance noticed but hoped none of the outlaws had. “Miguel and some other folks are going to be busting in here any minute. When all hell breaks loose, get behind the bar or some other cover and stay there until it’s over.”
She murmured, “You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
“But will they be in time . . . to save you and Ace?”
Chance didn’t have an answer for that question.
But it was starting to look more unlikely as Otis McLaren grasped Fontana’s shoulder and jerked her away from him. “That’s enough. It’s time for the two of you Jensen boys to dance on air.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
With José joining their group, they were still outnumbered, Miguel reflected as they approached the back of the Melodian, but every gun helped, he supposed. Would the element of surprise be enough to swing the advantage their way?
He doubted it, but with any luck, they would be ab
le to kill Otis McLaren and quite a few of the outlaws before they were wiped out themselves. With McLaren dead, it was a lot less likely the others would carry through on his plan. They would probably be content to light a shuck out of Lone Pine as fast as they could. The town would be safe, even though the price paid for that safety would be high.
First was the matter of getting inside the saloon.
Miguel stopped his companions and eased forward in the shadows to take a look at the back of the building. He figured the door was locked, but it wouldn’t surprise him if McLaren had posted a guard or two back there, as well.
Sure enough, after a minute or so Miguel spotted a figure leaning against the wall next to a stack of empty liquor crates. The man had something tucked under his arm. Miguel knew it had to be a rifle or shotgun.
As far as he could tell, there was only one sentry. In his arrogance, McLaren probably believed he had nothing to worry about where the townspeople were concerned. He would remember when the settlement had been called Buzzard’s Roost and he had ridden high, wide, and handsome around there, with everybody too scared to stand up to him.
McLaren was going to learn that a few things had changed.
“Do you see anything?” Lee Emory whispered as he moved up silently beside Miguel.
“One guard,” Miguel whispered, pointing toward the man beside the crates. “If we can get past him without him giving an alarm, we might be able to get inside without that bunch of outlaws knowing it.”
José joined the two of them in time to hear what Miguel said. He leaned closer and told them, “Let me take care of him.”
“You?” Emory said. “No offense, José, but—”
“No, señor, I know what I am doing. See?” Something metallic gleamed for a split second on the fat man’s right hand. “A flask of tequila. That bandito will smell it and believe I am just a borracho.” José paused. “I have much experience being drunk.”
“It might work,” Emory said. “You’d have to be pretty quick, though.”
Twelve Dead Men Page 25
