by Len Levinson
A cowboy sat behind the desk, but got out of the chair when he saw Dawson move toward him. Dawson dropped heavily into the chair, lit a cigar, and stared at Cynthia.
He’d heard about Cynthia spending time alone with Stone at the HC Ranch. If Stone were in Chinatown, Jimmy Wing would know where he was. The problem was Jimmy Wing wouldn’t talk, and neither would Cynthia. He could slap the shit out of her, and she’d remain silent. Some people could handle pain.
But could they handle somebody else’s pain? Dawson recalled meeting Jimmy Wing’s pretty young daughter, and Jimmy Wing had been so proud of her. Dawson wondered if Jimmy Wing would be so cavalier with his daughter’s life.
Dawson thought of Wayne lying cold beneath the earth, eaten by rats, bugs, and worms. The time had come to avenge his death.
“Somebody stay with Mrs. Delane,” he said. “The rest of you come with me.”
He arose and moved toward the door, followed by his men, heading toward Chinatown.
Jimmy Wing descended the stairs, followed by Hong Fat and a few other Chinese men. Stone still sat at the table, wondering if he’d been a fool when he’d let Cynthia Delane get away.
“Big trouble,” Jimmy Wing said. “Dawson and his men are headed this way. You be extra quiet and turn out your light.”
They climbed the stairs, and Stone opened the box of shotgun loads, stuffing them into his pockets. Then he checked his guns, tipped the table onto its side, and crouched behind it, laying the shotgun beside him.
Dawson and his men hit Chinatown like a tornado, shooting locks off doors, busting through windows. Women screamed, babies cried, and men stood by stolidly as Dawson’s cowboys invaded their homes and wrecked everything in sight.
One contingent, led by Dawson, made their way to Jimmy Wing’s building. Lorch shot the lock off the door and men spilled into the corridors, as Dawson followed, heading for Jimmy Wing’s office.
The door to the office was closed. Dawson nodded, and Atwell turned the doorknob. The door opened and revealed Jimmy Wing sitting behind his desk, with Mew Fong and Hong Fat sitting in front of him on the rug. Dawson raised his gun and fired point-blank at Hong Fat. The explosion shook the room, and Hong Fat’s eyes rolled up into his head as blood poured from the hole in his chest.
Dawson turned and aimed his gun at Jimmy Wing. “We got the Delane woman, and we know she was here. Where’s John Stone?”
Jimmy Wing looked at Dawson coldly and didn’t reply.
“You goddamn chink!” Dawson was so mad he wanted to kill Jimmy Wing, but that would accomplish nothing. “I’ll make you talk,” he said through clenched teeth.
There was a commotion in the corridor, and Mai Wing screamed. Dawson smiled as he saw the consternation on Jimmy Wing’s face. Mai Wing entered the room, wearing a pale green silk robe, her straight black hair hanging loosely to her shoulders, and behind her was a group of Dawson’s gunmen.
Dawson pointed his gun at her. “Against that wall.”
Mai Wing, trying to be calm, stood where he told her, looking down the barrel of his six-gun.
Dawson turned to Jimmy Wing. “Here’s yore choice. Tell me where John Stone is, or she dies.”
Jimmy Wing’s face lost its composure. “Please,” he said. “Not my daughter. She is so young. Kill me instead.”
“You’d love to die for somebody you don’t know, you crazy chink, but you don’t want yore daughter to die, eh? Well that’s what she’s gonna do if you don’t start talkin’. One.”
Dawson aimed his gun at Mai Wing and sighted down the barrel, and a sob arose from her throat. Dawson heard a sound from the cellar, paid no attention, and said, “It’s my son for yore daughter, you goddamned chink! Two!”
Suddenly the floor exploded as John Stone threw open the trapdoor with all the strength in his body. The chair with Hong Fat tumbled through the air, landing on Dawson and knocking him off his feet. John Stone erupted out of the cellar, the shotgun in his hands, while Atwell, Lorch, and the other cowboys dropped their hands toward their holsters.
Stone pulled both triggers, the office was rocked by a tremendous roar, and tiny pellets of steel chopped holes through the cowboys. Stone dropped the shotgun, yanked both his Colts, and fired another barrage, then pivoted and aimed his smoking pistols at Dawson, who was on his knees, swinging his gun toward Stone.
“Drop it!” Stone shouted.
Dawson looked at Stone, and his heart filled with black hatred. Here was the man responsible for the death of his son! But Stone had the drop on him. Dawson grimaced as he dropped his pistol to the floor.
Suddenly the sound of rushing footsteps came to them, and another group of Dawson’s men rushed into the office. Stone turned toward them and triggered his guns, spewing forth a hail of bullets that threw them backward. Stone kept firing as they clutched their wounds and dropped through the swirling gunsmoke to the floor.
Dawson saw his chance and made one last desperate move. He reached for his gun with trembling sausage-like fingers.
“Watch out!” cried Jimmy Wing.
Stone wheeled and fired both guns at Dawson. One bullet drilled through Dawson’s fat gut, another pierced his chest. Dawson jerked violently and shot a bullet over Stone’s head, then dropped the gun, groaned, and closed his eyes, collapsing onto the floor.
Stone dived behind Jimmy Wing’s desk and thumbed cartridges into the shotgun, then reloaded his Colts. The room was silent and full of gunsmoke, and Hank Dawson lay gasping on the floor, blood burbling out of his mouth.
“What the hell’s goin’ on!” shouted a voice in the corridor.
“Stone’s in there!” replied another voice. “Rush him.”
Stone heard footsteps stampeding toward the door. Men appeared, their guns drawn, and they saw Dawson lying on the floor directly in front of them, covered with blood. They froze in horror at the sight of their leader, and Stone raised himself, pulling both triggers of the shotgun.
It sounded as if a cannon had fired, and the cowboys were blown to bits. They toppled to the floor and Stone heard a flurry of footsteps fleeing down the corridor.
Stone reloaded the shotgun and handed it to Jimmy Wing as Mai Wing ran across the room and jumped behind the desk next to Mew Fong on the end. Stone considered their situation as he loaded both guns. The room had no windows and only one door. Dawson’s men could rush him, but they’d have to come through one at a time, and he’d be able to pick them off. Stone looked at Dawson, and the old cattle baron wasn’t gasping anymore. He lay still on the floor, his big belly like a mountain.
Jimmy Wing raised his head cautiously and looked at Dawson. “He is dead?”
“Looks that way.”
“Then his men have nothing to fight for anymore.”
Stone realized that was true, because when Dawson died, so did the five-thousand-dollar reward. He raised his head higher and shouted toward the hallway: “Hank Dawson is dead! There’s no more five-thousand-dollar reward! You might kill me, but I’ll get a lot of you first, and you’ll die for nothing because Dawson can’t pay you anymore!”
Stone paused to let his words sink in, and recalled Chancellorsville when the word came down that Stonewall Jackson had been shot. The men went into a state of shock and lost their will to fight for several days. Stone hoped the same malaise would strike Dawson’s men, because Dawson was their commanding officer, and they were used to following his orders.
It was silent in the corridor. He was sure the word was rippling among them. Atwell and Lorch, their other two leaders, were dead too, and the cowboys were unsure of what they were risking their lives for. Stone thought the time had come for him to take a calculated risk. He holstered his guns and moved toward Dawson, picking his limp body off the floor and cradling him in his arms. Dawson’s head hung backward, his arms and legs were splayed, and he was covered with blood. He was heavy as a small horse but Stone was strong, carrying him steadily toward the door and passing through into the dark hallway.
He saw m
en in the shadows, guns in their hands.
“Take a good look at him!” Stone shouted. “He’s a dead old man!”
Stone kept walking, and it was silent in the hallway. The men gazed solemnly at their fallen leader, the undisputed ruler of Dumont County, who’d dominated every facet of their lives, and who’d provided their daily sustenance. They felt lost without him, and in awe of the man who’d taken his life and could actually carry him.
They moved out of Stone’s way. Their king was dead, covered with gore, and so was their ramrod. They wilted, letting Stone pass.
The word traveled back that Stone was coming with Dawson in his arms, and a crowd gathered in the street in front of the building. Some of the people carried torches, and little children were among them, their eyes wide open and staring. Everyone’s world was turned upside-down and they didn’t know what to do.
Stone passed through the doorway and stepped onto the sidewalk, blood dripping from Dawson’s head onto the wooden planks. Stone heard the people in the crowd suck wind. Some of the men took off their hats and placed them over their breasts. It was as silent as the inside of a tomb. Stone walked into the middle of the street, and men got out of his way. He stopped and let Dawson’s body go.
Dawson fell to the ground, and the people in the crowd stepped back. Dawson’s head was covered with blood, and it was coagulating in his beard. His shirt was soaked with blood, and he was a horror.
The light from torches flickered on Stone’s face, and he was ready to draw and fire. Someone in the crowd coughed. People crowded around, but nobody dared come too close.
Stone turned and walked away. He didn’t know exactly where to go, but had to get out of there. The people made way, gazing at him with reverence.
Stone walked calmly, but was ready to fight if anybody tried something. He passed cowpunchers, gunfighters, Chinese men and women, and even a few Chinese children.
He came to the edge of the crowd, where Cynthia stood with Craig and Reverend Skeaping. Stone touched his finger to the brim of his hat and strolled away.
Rows of buildings were on both sides of him, and the road ahead led to the open prairie. A horse whinnied to his right, and it sounded familiar. Stone saw a group of horses hitched to a rail, and one was big and black, turning his head around, looking at him.
Stone walked toward the horse and realized it was Thor, wearing a saddle from the Circle Bar D Ranch. Stone patted his side, tightened the cinch, and untethered him from the rail. Then he placed his foot in the stirrup and raised himself up from the ground, settling into the saddle.
He looked down the street at the vast crowd of people illuminated by torches in the middle of the dark night, then turned Thor’s head toward the prairie and touched his spurs to the animal’s flanks.
The people watched silently as the tall man on the big black horse rode out of town.
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If you’ve enjoyed this book , read the rest of the series:
THE SEARCHER
1. Searcher
