Bullets Don't Die

by J. A. Johnstone

  “Maybe they’ll try,” The Kid said. “Maybe they’ll find that the citizens have more backbone than you’re giving them credit for.”

  Ahern let out a disgusted snort. “Yeah, sure. Some of ’em might talk big, but they’ll fall over and piss themselves like scared dogs if a real man even looks hard at ’em. If you’re countin’ on them to put up a fight, you’re about to find out what it’s like to be all by yourself facin’ mighty tall odds.”

  The Kid hoped Ahern was wrong and it wouldn’t turn out that way. He wouldn’t know how the townspeople would react until the time to fight actually arrived.

  And that time was coming soon, he realized as he glanced out the cell’s window and saw the orange glow in the sky. The sun was almost up.

  He turned, walked out of the cell block, and locked the door behind him, ignoring Ahern’s harsh laughter following him. He left the marshal’s office and walked the half block to Main Street as the dawn light grew brighter around him. A glance to the east showed the brilliant orb of the sun just starting to poke above the horizon.

  And from the west suddenly came the thunder of hoofbeats. The Kid walked out into the middle of Main Street to meet the men of the Broken Spoke.

  Chapter 13

  Dust boiled up from the hooves of the horses charging toward the settlement. The Kid glanced along the street. He saw men here and there, peering nervously out from the spots where they had taken cover.

  The Kid knew he was taking a chance, meeting Harlan Levesy out in the open. He was counting on the man’s pride and arrogance to keep him from ordering an immediate attack. Levesy would want to confront the man who dared to challenge him.

  That appeared to be the case. As the riders entered the western end of the street, the man in the lead held up a hand, signaling them to a stop. The dust swirled around them for a moment, obscuring The Kid’s view, but as it began to drift away he was able to see there were about twenty men in the group.

  Levesy had left his regular ranch hands on the Broken Spoke. Clearly, he didn’t think he would need them to impose his will on the town.

  The leader walked his horse out a few yards ahead of the others. He wore an expensive tan jacket and Stetson. As far as The Kid could tell, he wasn’t armed.

  That came as no surprise. Levesy would be the sort to rely on others doing his shooting for him.

  One of the other men spoke to him. Levesy turned his head and replied, then moved his hand in a curt gesture. The others stayed where they were as Levesy walked his horse toward The Kid.

  When about twenty feet separated them, Levesy reined his mount to a halt again. He was a young man, around twenty-five, and darkly handsome with crisp black hair under his hat. He gave The Kid a smug smile and asked, “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Morgan,” The Kid replied.

  “Ah, you’re the one who attacked my foreman.”

  “After he killed a man for no good reason.”

  Levesy shrugged. “That’s your version of the story. I’m sure Jed will tell it differently. Bring him out here.”

  The Kid shook his head. “Ahern is in jail, and that’s where he’s going to stay until a judge says otherwise.”

  “Do you honestly think I can’t get a judge to drop any charges against him and order him released ?”

  “I’m sure you can. You’ve probably got a judge or two in your pocket.”

  Levesy smiled and shrugged. The cruel arrogance that came with money and power fairly oozed from him.

  He didn’t know he was facing someone who, in another lifetime, could have bought and sold him at least a hundred times over. When it came to money and influence, even a successful rancher like Levesy couldn’t approach Conrad Browning.

  “The problem is, that would take too long,” Levesy said. “I need Ahern released now. There’s work waiting for him on the Broken Spoke. So go turn him loose, if you’ve taken over as the marshal for the time being, and we can be done with this.”

  “You’d take Ahern and go back to your ranch and not cause any problems for the town?”

  “Well . . . my men are pretty upset that he was arrested in the first place. They might want to blow off a little steam. But not too much. I’d see to that.”

  “So they’d just bust up a few businesses, beat up a few citizens, and call it good? Is that it?”

  Levesy’s smug smile went away and his voice hardened. “You’d better take the best deal you can get, mister. Oh, and as for you . . . you’ll be coming with us, too. I’m sure Jed will want to talk to you some more.”

  “He’d like to talk me right into a shallow grave out on the prairie.”

  “You shouldn’t have butted in on something that wasn’t any of your business,” Levesy snapped. “My men do what they want, and that’s just the way it is around here.”

  The Kid shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  “You’re going to stop us?” Levesy flung out a hand in disbelief. “One man?”

  “Look along the street,” The Kid said quietly. “There are more than a dozen rifles pointed at you right now.”

  Levesy’s eyes narrowed, and as he glanced along the street, The Kid saw uncertainty in his eyes for the first time.

  That reaction didn’t last long. Levesy shook his head in obvious disgust. “They won’t shoot. They know if they do, I’ll burn this town to the ground. I can always start over and build another town, one where the citizens are more . . . agreeable.”

  “You can’t build anything if you’re dead,” The Kid said.

  Levesy’s nostrils flared. “You’re threatening me? Me, personally?”

  “You were the one who was a big enough damned fool to ride up here by yourself.” The Kid gave a faint smile.

  Levesy realized he had walked right into a trap. Anger reddened his face. “You can’t shoot me. I’m unarmed. And if you did, my men would fill you full of lead before I hit the ground.”

  “Here’s the thing,” The Kid said. “If I’m going to die anyway, like you said, then I don’t give a damn if you’re unarmed. All I care about is that you go through Hell’s swinging doors before I do.”

  Levesy’s eyes widened. “You . . . you’re crazy!”

  “And you’re going to be dead in about ten seconds if you don’t order your men to go back to the ranch and stay there.”

  “You think we’re going to just turn around and leave?”

  “Nope,” The Kid said. “They are. You’re going to stay here. And I’d say you’re down to about five seconds now.”

  Levesy’s eyes widened until it seemed they were about to pop out of their sockets. He swallowed hard. “You mean it.”

  “I do. And time’s up.” It was a bluff . . . probably. The Kid disliked Harlan Levesy enough he might have considered shooting the man. But he didn’t think he’d have to.

  And he was right. Levesy twisted in his saddle to look back at his men and bellowed, “Go back to the ranch! Now!”

  The gunmen hadn’t been able to hear the conversation between their boss and the stranger standing so casually in the middle of the street. Their horses moved around a little as they tried to figure out if they should obey the command.

  “Do it!” Levesy shouted.

  “What about Jed, boss?” asked the man who had spoken to Levesy earlier.

  “We’ll worry about Jed later,” Levesy snapped.

  “Now you’re being smart,” The Kid said.

  Levesy gave him a glance dripping with hate. “You’re going to be sorry about this, Morgan. More sorry than you can dream of.”

  The Kid ignored that. “Get down from that horse.”

  Levesy dismounted as his men turned their horses and started to leave Copperhead Springs. He dropped the reins and asked, “What are you going to do, put me in jail with Ahern?”

  “That’s what I was thinking—”

  Levesy didn’t give him time to finish, launching himself in a diving tackle that drove The Kid off his feet. That act of personal violence was so
mething he hadn’t expected at all.

  But he wasn’t surprised when Levesy started hammering punches at him and yelled to the hired guns, “Burn the town! Burn it to the ground!”

  With shouts of excitement, the men from the Broken Spoke whirled their horses, yanked guns from holsters, and charged forward. It looked like they were going to have some fun after all.

  The gunmen began to rake the fronts of the buildings with a storm of lead. The defenders returned the fire. The Kid heard shots roaring all around him, but didn’t have time to see how the battle was going. He had his hands full with Harlan Levesy, who was turning out to be a surprisingly tough opponent.

  Levesy might be spoiled, rich, and arrogant, but he could fight. Several blows rocked The Kid’s head back and forth before he got his arms up to block them. He shot a left into the face of the man pinning him to the ground. The blow jolted Levesy’s head back but didn’t dislodge him from his superior position. He dug a knee into The Kid’s belly, making it hard for him to breathe.

  The Kid got his hands on the lapels of Levesy’s expensive jacket, bunched his fingers in the material, and heaved hard to the side, sending Levesy rolling through the dust.

  His gunmen weren’t shooting toward the middle of the street where their boss was, but one of them had to swerve his charging horse aside to avoid trampling Levesy. Bullets coming from both sides of the street zipped through the air. The Kid knew he was in as much danger of being hit by a shot fired by one of the defenders as he was from Levesy’s men.

  He lunged after Levesy and swung a fist, landing the blow so solidly it seemed for a second Levesy’s head was going to turn all the way around on his neck. The punch knocked him senseless. The Kid scooped him up, draped him over a shoulder, and made a run for the Trailblazer Saloon.

  “He’s got the boss!” one of the hired killers shouted. “Get him!”

  Hoofbeats thundered right behind The Kid as a couple men closed in on him.

  Constance stepped out through the bat wings and yelled, “Get down, Morgan!” as she pointed her shotgun at the pursuers.

  The Kid hit the dirt in front of the boardwalk as Constance touched off both barrels. The double charge of buckshot erupted from the shotgun with a roar like doomsday and swept both gunmen from their saddles.

  The Kid surged to his feet, taking Levesy with him, and charged up the steps to the saloon. Constance held the bat wings aside for him as he carried Levesy into the building. Dumping the young rancher unceremoniously on the sawdust-littered floor, The Kid panted, “Keep . . . an eye on him!”

  “You can count on that,” Constance promised as she snapped the scattergun closed after sliding two fresh shells into it.

  The Kid turned back toward the door and drew his Colt. The battle for Copperhead Springs wasn’t over yet.

  Chapter 14

  Levesy’s men had come to town prepared, The Kid saw as he looked over the bat wings. While most of the gunmen traded shots with the defenders, several of them brought out torches—lengths of cloth soaked in kerosene and wrapped around pieces of wood.

  With torches blazing brightly, the riders got ready to throw them at various buildings while their friends covered them.

  The Kid stepped out onto the boardwalk and snapped a couple shots at a man charging toward Milt Bennett’s livery stable with a torch in his hand. The range was pretty far for a handgun, but luck and skill guided The Kid’s shots. The slugs ripped through the gunman’s body and knocked him out of the saddle. The torch fell in the street beside him, burning out harmlessly in the dust.

  About to line up a shot on another torch-wielder, a more immediate threat lunged at The Kid. The form of a mounted gunman rode up emptying a Colt at him. He threw himself to the planks as bullets whined around his ears.

  Slugs chewed splinters from the boardwalk as he came to a stop on his belly, angled his gun up, and sent a bullet through the gunman’s throat. Blood from the wound fountained in the air as the man went backward out of the saddle.

  The Kid got to his feet. The porch in front of one of the stores was already burning. A water barrel stood on the porch, and he quickly put two shots through it. Water spouted from the holes left by the bullets and spread across the porch. That might not put out all the flames, but at least it would slow them down.

  With his gun empty, he ran to the corner of the saloon and crouched there while he reloaded, filling all six chambers. More splinters rained down on him as bullets hit the building above his head. He snapped the Colt’s cylinder closed and brought it up to blow another of the gunmen off his horse.

  Another rider raced by brandishing a torch. He never saw The Kid, and that was his bad luck. His head jerked as a bullet from The Kid’s gun bored through his brain. The dead man and the torch he’d been carrying hit the ground at the same time.

  A fierce gun battle was taking place in the next block as several of Levesy’s men tried to overrun the townsmen who had taken cover behind a water trough. The defenders were about to be flanked, and as soon as that happened it would be easy for the killers to cut them down.

  The Kid ran along the street, heedless of the bullets flying every which way, and shouted, “Hey!” as the gunmen closed in on the defenders.

  He emptied the wheel—four remaining rounds—in the space of no more than two heartbeats, and four would-be killers went spinning off their feet with The Kid’s lead in them.

  That left him with an empty gun and no time to reload as another rider charged at him, firing as he came. The Kid leaped aside, and spotted Jared Tate suddenly step out from an alley.

  The gun in the old lawman’s hand roared and bucked, and the hired killer doubled over as a bullet punched into his belly. He didn’t fall off the horse, but remained doubled over in agony as the animal raced away.

  The Kid scrambled to his feet and nodded to Tate. “Much obliged, Marshal,” he said as he quickly reloaded the Colt. “You’ve saved my life again.”

  “Glad to do it,” Tate said. “Where’s Cantrell? Let’s get that damn scumdog!”

  Tate thought he was fighting Brick Cantrell’s gang again. Under the circumstances it didn’t matter, but The Kid didn’t want Tate getting too confused and start shooting innocent citizens. “Come on, Marshal! Let’s head back to the Trailblazer! We’ll make our stand there!”

  “Lead the way, Deputy,” Tate snapped.

  So I’m a deputy now, The Kid thought. For all intents and purposes, he supposed he really was.

  With Tate at his side, he raced toward the saloon. Gunmen charged them from both directions. The Kid and Tate fired right and left, battling their way through. By the time they reached the Trailblazer, only a few of Levesy’s men were left to fight.

  They charged the saloon in a last ditch attack.

  The Kid and Tate swung around to meet them. The Kid dropped to one knee in front of the steps, Tate stood tall beside him, and Constance stepped out of the saloon with her shotgun to join them. Their guns roared and blasted, and the remaining killers went down in a welter of flailing hooves and shredded flesh.

  Constance came down the steps, sliding fresh shells into the shotgun’s chambers. “Is that all of them? Is it over?”

  “We got ’em, all right,” Tate said with a big grin on his weathered face. He turned to Constance, taking her by surprise as he put an arm around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her mouth.

  “Why, you . . . you old geezer!” she said breathlessly as he stepped back a moment later. Then she let the shotgun slip to the ground as she put both hands on Tate’s face and pulled him closer. “C’mere!”

  The Kid chuckled as he turned away to let them share their moment.

  He thumbed fresh cartridges into his revolver and looked along the street. All the outlaws were down, although some were still alive and moaning in pain. Smoke came from a couple buildings, but the townspeople were already fighting those blazes. He thought they stood a good chance of bringing the flames under control.

  He wonder
ed how many of the citizens had been killed in the fighting. It was a foregone conclusion the people of Copperhead Springs hadn’t escaped without any casualties. The question was how bad the tragedy had turned out to be.

  An incoherent shout made him spin around just as he pouched his iron. Having regained consciousness, Harlan Levesy burst out of the saloon with a gun in his hand. His face was contorted with hatred as he thrust the weapon at The Kid and pulled the trigger. Flame gouted from the pistol’s muzzle.

  Levesy was too crazed to aim properly. Marshal Tate grunted in pain and staggered as Constance cried, “Jared! No!”

  The Kid didn’t waste any time. Palming the Colt out again, he fired from the hip, triggering two shots that smashed into Levesy’s chest. The impact made him take a step backward, although he didn’t go down right away. Blood welled from his mouth as he struggled to lift the gun in his hand and get off another shot.

  The Kid fired a third shot, and a black-rimmed hole appeared in the center of Levesy’s forehead. He went down hard and didn’t move again.

  The Kid swung around to see Constance on her knees beside Tate’s fallen form. Tears ran down her face.

  Tate opened his eyes and said in a weak voice, “Constance? Constance, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  “Because you’re shot, you damned old fool!” she cried.

  “Is that all?” Tate asked with a smile. “I’ve been shot before, you know.”

  His eyelids slid closed, but the smile remained on his face.

  “He’ll be fine,” Doc Franklin assured The Kid, Constance, and all the other people gathered in his front room. “The bullet nicked him in the side, that’s all. In a man his age, any bullet wound can be dangerous, but it’s my professional opinion he’ll be back on his feet in a few days.”

  Constance heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s mighty good to know, Doc. I was afraid the old coot had gone and gotten himself killed.”

  “No, he should be all right. Unfortunately I can’t say the same for half a dozen other citizens.”