“Damn right it is,” Barnabas interrupted. “It’s fixin’ to storm, jus’ like I told you. Big ol’ storm cloud comin’ up from the southwest.” A breeze suddenly swirled dust and litter in the alley. “See? The wind’s pickin’ up.”
“I’m not talking about a storm. Some bad men are going to do something here in Cottonwood—”
Again Sam was interrupted, this time by heavy footsteps from the office. The cell block door swung open. He turned away from the window, not wanting to draw attention to Barnabas.
Linus Grady strode into the cell block, followed by Cimarron Kane, Ambrose Porter, and Calvin Bickford. Sam’s breath hissed between his teeth at the sight of the four men together. His rudimentary theory about there being a connection between the four of them had just been confirmed.
Bickford grinned smugly at Sam. “I’ll bet you thought you’d never see me again, you damn half-breed,” he said. “Bet you didn’t know my mother’s maiden name was Kane, either.”
Sam shook his head. “So you’re all working together.”
“It didn’t start out that way. Ambrose and I had our own deal. But then you ruined that, so when I got away, I headed for Cimarron’s place. I knew it was close by here. I knew he’d been trying to put the competition out of business and take over the moonshining around here, too, so I suggested we throw in together. Once everybody’s dead who knows what was going on before, Ambrose and I will carry on as special marshals and make sure that nobody ever interferes with Cimarron’s business.”
“And I’ll run the end of the operation here in town,” Grady said. “Cimarron and I already had a deal concerning that. All we have to do is get rid of Ike Loomis and that dumb son of his, and I’ll take over the saloon.”
Those details fit right in with the picture that had begun to form in Sam’s mind. These four men were in an alliance of evil and would stop at nothing to get what they wanted, even wholesale murder if it came to that.
“There’s just one loose end,” Grady went on. “That gunhawk friend of yours. Bodine. He’s out there somewhere. We’ll need to deal with him, and once he’s dead, we can dispose of you.”
“You’ll never catch Matt,” Sam said. “Anyway, he’s nowhere near here.”
Cimarron Kane spoke up, rasping, “That’s where you’re wrong, ’breed. He’s gonna come to us, because we got somethin’ he wants.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked tensely.
“That Harlow slut,” Kane replied. “We got her down at the doc’s place, too, along with the marshal’s gal and the Loomises. Soon as we get our hands on Bodine, we’ll have everybody we need.” A savage grin tugged at the outlaw’s mouth as he added, “And then the killin’ can commence.”
Chapter 36
Matt took more than an hour to work his way into Cottonwood, utilizing every trick of stealth he had learned from Sam and Medicine Horse, not to mention his own experiences. By the time he reached the back alley that ran behind the buildings along the south side of Main Street, the dark clouds had moved in and could no longer be ignored, although the air itself remained still and heavy for the most part. It had a hot, breathless quality that made the hair stand up on the back of Matt’s neck as he pressed himself against the rear wall of the hotel.
He made his way to the corner and then along the side of the building until he could see some of the street. An atmosphere of tense foreboding that had nothing to do with the weather hung over the settlement. The street was deserted, and the only men he saw along the boardwalks were some of the Kane bunch. Matt stiffened in surprise as he recognized Wiley, Nelse, and Dud Kane, the three brothers Marshal Coleman had arrested a few days earlier.
Matt knew that Coleman wouldn’t have released those prisoners. The fact that they were walking around not only free but also heavily armed told Matt that Cimarron Kane must have released them from the jail. That meant Coleman was either dead or a prisoner himself.
Fear for Sam’s safety went through Matt like a cold chill. He knew that his blood brother was well capable of taking care of himself, but the odds would have been mighty high against Sam when the Kanes rode in to take over the town. Clearly, that was exactly what had happened, and Sam might be dead, too, although Matt hadn’t heard any shots as he was sneaking into the settlement.
He needed to reach the jail, Matt decided. If Sam and Coleman were still alive, maybe that was where they were. As for Frankie Harlow, Matt had no idea where she might be, but the first order of business was to find out if Sam was still alive and join forces with him if he was.
Matt was about to slip back down the narrow passage beside the hotel to the rear alley when another gun-hung hombre walking along the opposite boardwalk caught his attention. He recognized the man as one of the special deputies. Since Bickford had ridden in with Cimarron Kane, that came as no surprise. Kane must have let those prisoners out of jail, too, probably including Ambrose Porter.
Things had really gone to hell here in Cottonwood, Matt thought bleakly, and he would be facing an uphill battle to put them right again.
The Good Lord hadn’t included any backup in Matt Bodine, though, so he would fight to the bitter end. He went back to the alley and started making his way along it.
He had just stepped around the rear corner of the hotel when he almost ran into one of the Kanes. The man must have been sent back here to patrol the alley. His mouth opened to raise a shout of alarm, but before any sounds could come out, Matt struck with blinding swiftness. His fist crashed into the man’s face with stunning power, sending him staggering backward. Matt leaped after him, palming out his left-hand Colt and slamming the barrel against the side of the man’s head. The savage blow did the job. The man went down hard. He was out cold when he hit the ground.
Matt knew it might not be long before another guard came along and discovered the unconscious man. He broke into a run toward the far end of town where the jail was located.
He had taken only a few steps when what sounded like a giant clap of thunder shook the ground under his feet. Despite the gathering storm, though, it wasn’t thunder, he realized.
It was an explosion.
Linus Grady, Cimarron Kane, and Ambrose Porter left the jail soon after Kane’s leering threat, leaving Calvin Bickford behind to keep an eye on Sam and Marshal Coleman.
“You can’t expect to get away with this, Bickford,” Sam told the man. “Too many people in Cottonwood know what you were up to before. Now that you’re partners with Kane and Grady, you can’t wipe out the whole town. It would ruin their plans if you did.”
“Nobody’s going to be brave enough to speak up,” Bickford said confidently. “Not with Cimarron being Cottonwood’s new marshal and Linus Grady its mayor. They’ll run things, and folks will go along with them if they know what’s good for ’em.”
Sam hated to think it, but he knew Bickford might be right. The citizens of Cottonwood were common, ordinary people. They weren’t outlaws or professional gunmen, and they wouldn’t stand a chance against a whole clan of killers like the Kanes. Eventually, of course, the facts of what had happened here would filter out to the proper authorities, but by that time the four conspirators would have cleaned up. They could take their loot and run, but probably not without leaving death and destruction behind them.
“You fellas enjoy what time you have left,” Bickford went on. “Cimarron and Ambrose have a couple of dozen men patrolling the town. As soon as Bodine walks into their trap, we can wrap things up and get on with the business of becoming rich men.”
By wrapping things up, Bickford meant murdering Sam and Coleman, Ike and Mike Loomis, and probably Hannah and Frankie, Sam thought. Although it was possible the conspirators might keep the two young women alive as playthings, at least until they grew tired of them. Sam’s jaw clenched so tightly at the thought that he had to force it to relax before he broke some of his teeth.
Chuckling, Bickford strolled out of the cell block. He left the door open as he went into the ma
rshal’s office. Sam heard the chair behind the desk squeak as the crooked lawman sat down.
Sam hadn’t given up on finding a way out of the cell. He was looking around, hoping that an idea would come to him, when he heard a whisper at the window. “Two Wolves!”
Sam sprang to the window and looked out. Barnabas Smith stood there. The little man didn’t look as drunk now as he had been earlier. Barnabas went on. “I heard what those bastards were sayin’ a while ago. Porter’s liable to try to hunt down all of us he had locked up in those wagons, so he can shut our mouths.”
“That’s right,” Sam said with a nod. “Listen, my friend Matt may be in town. Have you seen him?”
“Nope. But you don’t need him to get you outta there. I can do it.”
Sam frowned. “It’s too late to get the keys,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low. “Bickford’s in the office.”
“Don’t need the keys. Those varmints left their horses in the livery stable when they took Ike Loomis prisoner, so I was able to slip in there and get somethin’ even better outta Bickford’s saddlebags. Back when I was a prisoner, I saw where he keeps ’em.”
“Keeps what?” Sam asked in exasperation.
“This,” Barnabas said as he lifted a round black object into Sam’s line of sight. A fuse dangled from it.
Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s a bomb!”
“I know,” Barnabas said calmly. He lifted his other hand, and Sam saw a match in it. Before Sam could say anything, Barnabas snapped the match into life with his thumbnail and held the flame to the end of the fuse. “Better grab the mattress off that bunk and get under it. I’ll put this down at the base of the wall.”
“No!” Sam exclaimed. “Put that fuse out! Get rid of it, Barnabas—”
“No time for that now,” Barnabas said as he bent to the ground. “Better duck!”
Then his running footsteps pounded away along the alley.
Sam did the only thing he could. He yelled, “Get down!” at Marshal Coleman, snatched the thin mattress off the cell’s bunk, and curled up in a corner as far away from the wall as he could get, wrapping the mattress around himself. He heard Bickford run into the cell block, shouting, “What the hell?”
When the blast came a second later, it was like being caught in the middle of the biggest thunderclap that ever sounded. A wave of force smashed into Sam and drove him back into the corner. A huge weight crashed down on top of him. He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to, his ears were ringing and the smell of burned powder was so sharp that it seemed to slice into his nose like a thousand knives.
But he was alive, no doubt about that. The weight was still on top of him, making it difficult to breathe. He shoved against it, and some of it fell away. Sam continued to struggle, fighting his way free of the rubble that was heaped on top of him.
He still couldn’t hear anything as he pushed the chunks of broken wall off him and climbed to his feet. He saw the chips of rock fly from a big piece of wall as a bullet struck it, though. Twisting around, he saw Calvin Bickford getting ready to fire another shot through the bars, which had withstood the explosion. Bickford’s face was covered with blood from the gashes that flying debris had left on it.
Sam grabbed a fist-sized shard of rock and let fly with it, aiming for a gap between two of the iron bars. The missile flew true and caught Bickford in the head just as he pulled the trigger. The impact threw off his aim and made him stagger backward.
That brought him within reach of Coleman, whose hands shot through the bars and caught Bickford around the neck. The real lawman jerked the corrupt one back against the door as hard as he could. Bickford’s head clanged against the bars. He went limp, and his gun slipped out of his fingers.
“Sam, go on!” Coleman shouted as he lowered Bickford’s unconscious form to the floor. “Get out of here!”
Sam tilted his head and gave it a shake. He heard the words vaguely, enough to understand them, and realized that his hearing was coming back after the explosion. He saw Coleman waving a hand toward the far wall and looked in that direction to see a gaping hole in it. Barnabas Smith and several other men were waiting outside in the alley.
“Come on, Two Wolves!” Barnabas urged. “We’ll help you! We got a score to settle with Porter!”
It was true. Barnabas’s companions were some of the men who had been imprisoned in the wagons, and they all had guns. Barnabas held out a revolver butt-first, offering it to Sam.
Those men were farmers and drifters, and some of them probably really were moonshiners. A motley army, to be sure. But a hell of a lot better than nothing.
Sam glanced over his shoulder at Coleman. “Go!” the marshal urged again. He was reaching through the bars, searching Bickford’s pockets. “I’ll see if I can find the key to unlock this door. If I can, I’ll come and find you. But you got to get Hannah away from those bastards, Sam. You just got to!”
Sam gave him a curt nod of agreement. “I’ll get her, Marshal,” he promised. Still a little shaky on his feet, he climbed through the hole that the bomb had blasted in the wall and joined Barnabas and the others in the alley.
Barnabas pressed the pistol into Sam’s hand. “I saw Porter and the others headin’ down toward the doc’s house,” he said.
Sam nodded. “We’ll have to fight our way through,” he warned. “Some of us probably won’t make it.”
Barnabas grinned, and the expression was positively fierce, especially for such a small man. “Like I said, we got scores to settle with those sons o’ bitches.”
Sam was about to lead the way when he heard someone call his name. “Sam! Sam!” He turned and saw Matt running toward him, a gun in each hand.
Matt grinned as he came up and waved a Colt toward the destroyed wall. “What’d you do, blow the place up?”
“No, Barnabas did,” Sam replied. “Hannah and Frankie are being held down at the doctor’s house, along with the Loomises. Kane, Porter, and Grady are there, too.”
“Grady!” Matt exclaimed.
“It’s a long, ugly story,” Sam said.
“Then save it for later. Just tell me this. Is Grady one of the varmints behind all this trouble?”
“That’s right.”
“Then we’ll shoot him, too,” Matt said. “Come on!”
Chapter 37
They had barely emerged onto the street when bullets began to whistle around their heads. The blood brothers led the way, crouching, running, firing, their deadly accurate shots ripping through the men who tried to stop them. Barnabas and their other half-dozen allies followed closely behind, fighting with enthusiasm and courage that partially made up for their lack of experience.
Dr. Berger’s house came into view. About a dozen men ranged around the place, mostly relatives of Cimarron Kane but including a couple of the crooked deputies, opened fire on the group led by Matt and Sam, forcing them to dive for cover. They traded shots for a couple of minutes before Cimarron Kane bellowed, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
The shots died away on both sides. Kane stepped out onto the porch of Berger’s house with the doctor’s sister in front of him as he held a gun to her head.
“Bodine! Two Wolves! I saw you there! I don’t know how you got out, ’breed, but it don’t matter! We still got hostages in here, so you better give up if you don’t want their blood on your hands!”
“Let them go and fight it out with us, damn you!” Matt shouted back at him.
Kane laughed harshly. “Go to hell, Bodine! We got the upper hand here!”
Matt and Sam looked at each other as they crouched behind a parked buckboard. “He’s right,” Sam said. “We can’t risk the hostages.”
The sky was so overcast now it was almost black. Lightning clawed its way through the clouds. But the air was still hot and stifling, heavy with the threat of rain that wouldn’t fall. The hair on the back of Matt’s neck was prickling again as he said, “I think we’ve got an even bigger worry.”
&nbs
p; Sam frowned. “What are you—”
Then he heard what Matt had heard a second earlier. It was a low-pitched, rumbling sound, reminiscent of a freight train approaching at high speed. Sam’s eyes widened in horror, matching Matt’s expression, as both of the blood brothers turned to peer toward the southwest.
The twister barreling down on Cottonwood dipped down out of the clouds like a thick, sinuous snake. The madly whirling column of air was at least half a mile wide. From this angle, they couldn’t tell if it had already touched the ground, but if it hadn’t, it was about to.
Yells of fear came from the gunmen around the doctor’s house. Not very many people could stand and watch a giant tornado approaching without panicking, and these killers were no different. Most of them broke from cover and ran.
Matt and Sam weren’t sure where they were running to, and the men probably didn’t know themselves. But the blood brothers took advantage of the opportunity. They stood up and charged the house, with Barnabas and the others behind them. The roar of guns was drowned out by the earthshaking rumble of the twister, but the flames stabbing from gun muzzles competed with the flash of lightning. Men toppled and fell, riddled by the slugs fired by Matt, Sam, Barnabas, and the others.
That tornado was big enough to wipe out Cottonwood and everybody in it, Matt knew, but he couldn’t allow himself to think about that now. All he wanted was a chance to square off against Kane, Porter, and Grady. Sam felt the same way. Finish the fight, then worry about the twister.
Kane had ducked back into the house. He emerged now holding Frankie Harlow. Porter came next with Hannah clutched in front of him as a human shield. Grady brought up the rear with an arm around Prudence Berger. All three men opened fire on the charging Matt and Sam.
They had reckoned without the fighting spirit that burned inside all three women. Suddenly, they found themselves trying to hold on to a trio of wildcats. Frankie twisted around and slammed a fist into Kane’s throat, while Hannah clawed at Porter’s face. Prudence brought the heel of her shoe down hard on Grady’s foot, making him howl in pain.
Moonshine Massacre Page 22
