“Like you finished ol’ Phil?” The dying man coughed blood up at him, but missed.
Mackey undid the man’s gun belt and hurled it back toward the blacksmith’s shop. He did the same with the man’s rifle. “Last chance. Chest wounds hurt like hell and can take a long time to kill a man. Tell me how many are up there.”
“Too many for you townies to handle.” The man tried to spit more blood at him, but dribbled on himself instead. “Darabont’s gonna have fun with you, boy.”
Mackey moved away from the man. He decided to use the tall grass and the dying light to his advantage. He stayed low as he crawled slow and steady to the other man who had fallen by the fence. The man was already dead, a hole in his throat. As he pulled the dead man’s rig from his body, bullets slammed into the fence post next to him and in the rail above him. Mackey pulled the dead man’s gun belt free as he scrambled back to the blacksmith shop.
Billy’s Sharps barked twice and Underhill’s rifle once and Mackey scrambled for cover.
Underhill didn’t look happy to see him. “That was a damned fool thing to do, sheriff.”
“I got their weapons and rigs. That’s means two less guns and ammunition for Darabont and more for us. How many did you boys get?”
“Three that time,” Billy told him. “Looks like our marshal friend isn’t just pretty. The boy can shoot, too.”
Underhill fed more rounds into his rifle. “My pile will be higher than yours before we’re done.”
Billy smiled as he reloaded as well.
Mackey asked the other townsmen how many they had killed. Between the group of them, they’d hit two. He went to the doorway of the blacksmith’s and yelled across to the Boudreauxs in the livery. “How many you boy tally?”
“Two as they were coming down hill,” one of the brothers called back, though Mackey couldn’t tell which. “There’s one bastard still dug in behind a rock right over there.”
Billy moved next to Mackey and said, “I think that bastard behind the rock was the one shooting at you just now. He can pick off anyone on the street from that position.”
Mackey knew someone would have to flush the gunman out. And there was only one man who wasn’t already in position. “I’ll run across to the livery, try to draw his fire.”
“From where he is,” Underhill said, “it’ll be awful hard for him to miss you. And you’re liable to draw every rifle on the hill.”
Mackey was counting on it. “Lucky for me you boys are such good shots.”
Billy brought the rifle up to his shoulder and aimed at the hillside. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
Chapter 23
As Mackey bolted from the blacksmith’s shop, the hillside erupted with gunfire he hadn’t seen since his days in the cavalry. Every shot hit well short of their mark, but he knew it only took one lucky round to make the difference.
At least now he knew why Darabont’s men were so desperate to get down that hill.
They were too far out of range to hit the town.
Amid the gunfire, he heard the loud crack of Billy’s Sharps as he dove through the doorway of the livery. He crawled back to the doorway and took a look back at the hillside. He saw the man lying dead in the dirt behind the boulder.
He saw Billy crouched low behind the window of the blacksmith’s shop, trying to get a higher angle on the men on the hill. It would be a hell of a shot from that distance, but Billy had always been an artist with a Sharps.
Jack Boudreaux had taken up position behind a bale of hay. His brother was on the ground, preferring to fire from a prone position. Two of Pappy’s men were up in the hayloft.
“How you boys holding out?” Mackey asked aloud.
They all said they were doing just fine. Henry said, “Good thing for you Billy picked off that bastard at the boulder.”
From the hayloft, one of the men said, “You see that burning wagon those bastards sent in? Jesus, I never saw nothing like that in my life.”
Mackey couldn’t let them dwell on it. “That was just a distraction, boys. We’ve made them pay for it, and we’re not done yet. We showed those bastards the men of Dover Station aren’t just dairy farmers.”
The men whooped and cheered, which had been Mackey’s intention. To Jack, he said, “Think you can still find where Darabont’s men fell after nightfall?”
“Sure,” said the older Boudreaux. “But why?”
“Because I’ll need you to strip their guns and ammunition before Darabont does.”
Henry Boudreaux looked up at him from his spot on the ground. “What for? Hell, between what we got in Mason’s store and at Pappy’s place, we’ve got more than enough to go around.”
“We do, but Darabont doesn’t and that’s the point,” Mackey said. “The more guns and bullets he has, the longer this’ll go on. If we cut into his supply of men and lead, we’ll foul up his plan. He’ll either give up or do something stupid. And if he does, we’ll be ready.”
Jack Boudreaux craned his neck to look up at the darkening sky. “Looks like it’ll be a nice night for a stroll. Might bring Henry with me. Make quicker work of it.”
Mackey didn’t like that idea. “You two are the best shots we’ve got. I’ll need one of you boys to stay back here and cover the other. I can’t risk losing both of you on something like this if something goes wrong.”
“I’ll go then,” Jack said. “I’m the oldest. And better looking.”
“My ass,” Henry said from behind his rifle.
* * *
Mackey drew more fire from Darabont’s men as he ran from the livery, but he was able to slow his pace as he got closer to the jail. His lungs were finally beginning to ache again, and he didn’t want to risk his pneumonia coming back.
He passed the remnants of the burning coach, where some of the men and women of the town had begun trying to stomp out the flames with heavy blankets. Mr. Rice was among them, closest to the wagon. He figured no one had asked Rice to help, especially Mayor Mason. It was something that needed to be done and Rice and the others took it upon themselves to do it. Mackey knew that was why they’d make it through this one way or the other.
He didn’t bother to see if there were bodies in the coach. If there were, they were already dead. Mackey had to tend to the living.
He walked down Front Street, offering a few words of encouragement to anyone he saw while reminding them to stay sharp. He found the two vaqueros from the JT Ranch along with Pappy and some of the other men in position down at Katie’s Place.
Pappy gave a report before Mackey asked for one. “We nailed three of the sons of bitches as they came down the hill. I think they were trying to get closer to get better range on our position. They won’t make that mistake again.”
Mackey had never doubted his father’s resolve, but he didn’t share his confidence. “Did you send anyone on foot to check the west side of town?”
“No. Been too busy here to . . .”
“Stay here and keep your men ready,” Mackey said as he headed in that direction. He fed new rounds into his Winchester as he walked. Darabont’s men had already tried to flank their position from both sides at the other end of town. There was no reason why they wouldn’t have tried the same thing at both ends.
Mackey moved slowly along the boardwalk. He realized Pappy was on the boardwalk across the street; his Winchester aimed at the ground as he covered his son.
He couldn’t be angry at his father. That old bastard had never been good at following orders.
Mackey noticed a few scared townspeople peeking out from behind lace curtains and window shades. He nodded at each one he saw, hoping it might bolster their confidence, but unsure if it had any effect.
When they reached the corner of Grant and Jackson Streets, Pappy brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired at a man across the street. Mackey tried to get a bead on the man, too, but the man was already on his back. A small red stain began to spread on his dusty shirt.
Being a stopping poin
t for stagecoaches and the train, Dover Station had a lot of people come in and out of town on a regular basis. Still, Mackey had a knack for recognizing anyone who spent any extended period of time in town. That’s why he knew this man must’ve been one of Darabont’s men. He had never seen this man before in his life.
Mackey signaled Pappy to check his side of the street for anyone lurking around the corner.
Pappy crept forward, rifle at his shoulder. A few steps later, he stopped and fired up Jackson Street. Mackey brought up his rifle as he turned the corner on Jackson and dropped to one knee. A man was running toward an alley behind Mason’s General Store. Mackey fired and clipped the man in the leg just before he darted down the alley. The impact of the bullet caused the man to stumble but keep his footing.
Mackey managed to duck back behind the corner of the building as two more rifles appeared from the mouth of the alley. Bullets slammed into the wood where his head had been only a moment before.
From his side of the street, Pappy crossed Jackson, then Grant Street so he was directly opposite his son. Mackey knew his father might not have been good at taking orders, but he was glad the old man had disobeyed him this time.
He watched Pappy feed more cartridges into his rifle as he thought about the men in the alley. He knew it was more of a narrow courtyard than an alley, with a large wooden wall between them. The owners of the building grew tired of drunks using the alley as a shortcut to the saloons on the west end of town, so they’d agreed to put up a tall wooden fence to discourage trespassers. The fence had been shot at a couple of times, but, when Mackey last checked, still stood.
That meant the three men were still in the alley. They were most likely desperate and most certainly trapped.
He’d like to grab one of them alive if possible. He’d like to get one of them to tell him what Darabont had in store.
After signaling Pappy to cover him, Mackey jogged down Jackson toward the alley. He kept his Winchester at his side as he paused at the mouth of the alley. He heard two men talking as they rattled doorknobs.
One of them said, “These bastards got everything locked up tight.”
Another said, “Try busting a window or something. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
“We gotta do something quick before . . .”
Mackey rounded the corner and found one of Darabont’s men holding up the man he’d wounded. A third man was about to break a window with his pistol butt.
Mackey brought up the Winchester to his shoulder and shot the man in the chest.
The second gunman allowed his wounded friend to drop as he grabbed at the pistol on his hip. Mackey levered another round and shot him in the head.
From his spot on the ground, the wounded gunman threw up his hands. “Don’t shoot me again, goddamn it. I got a pistol on my hip, but I ain’t going for it.”
But that didn’t make Mackey feel any better. “Unbuckle your belt with your left hand and leave it where it lies.”
As the man followed Mackey’s orders, Pappy rounded the corner. “Well, looks like we got ourselves a prisoner. We’re gonna have lots of fun with you, boy.”
“I’ll cover you while you get him to his feet,” Mackey said. “I’ll run him down to the jail,” Mackey said. “Get five of your men posted around this side of town. I don’t want Darabont flanking us again. Make sure you adjust the relief schedule accordingly and make sure the men know it. I don’t want them getting anxious and bleary-eyed.”
“Jesus,” his father said. “Feels like I’m back in the army. Any other orders?”
“Yeah. Grab these men’s guns and ammunition. Add them to our stockpile. We’re starting to cut into Darabont’s supply of men and ammo. He’s liable to hit us hard come nightfall and I don’t want him getting back anything he lost.”
“Christ, Aaron. I was just joking.”
Mackey shoved his prisoner out of the alley. “I wasn’t.”
Chapter 24
The efficiency of the rumor mill of Dover Station had always amazed Mackey, and it didn’t disappoint. The boardwalks were filled with townspeople who had turned out to see Mackey walk the wounded prisoner up Front Street. They heckled and shouted and called for the man to be strung up. Mackey kept the prisoner moving.
He knew word of the men they had killed had probably already spread through town. The number of dead Darabont men had likely been inflated to more than a dozen, though Mackey figured they’d only killed about eight or ten. If it helped bolster town confidence and stave off panic, he’d allow it to flourish. If it advanced to the point of fostering carelessness or a lack of vigilance, he’d clamp down on it. Night was fast approaching, and Darabont was probably planning something special for the dark.
Mackey steered the prisoner past the still-smoldering carriage in the middle of Front Street. A few of the older women were crying on the boardwalk, being consoled by their husbands at the sight of the carnage inside the carriage. Now that the smoke had cleared, it was easier to see the charred remains of four people still inside the overturned coach.
Mackey pushed the limping prisoner up to the boardwalk and into the jailhouse where Billy and Underhill had cleared the boardwalk of any spectators.
“Got a surprise for you inside,” Billy said as he followed them into the jail. “First bit of good news we’ve had in a while.”
Sim Halstead was standing by the stove drinking coffee. Mackey wasn’t surprised to see Halstead had found a way to get back into town before dark, even with all the guards posted around the perimeter. The former scout had a knack for finding a way to get wherever he wanted to go.
“Glad you made it back,” Mackey said. “I’ll be with you in a second.”
Mackey threw the bleeding man into a cell and locked the iron door. “We’ll get Doc Ridley to tend to your wounds after you start talking.”
The wounded man grabbed the bars. “I ain’t talkin’ ’til this here wound gets tended to. After that, and a meal, I’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”
Mackey slammed his elbow into the man’s fingers gripping the bars. The prisoner yelped and fell back on the cot. “Speak when spoken to or you’ll die in that cell.”
The man cradled his sore hands as blood had already begun to pool on the sheet from the leg wound. The prisoner grabbed his leg above the bullet hole to stem the flow of blood. “I seen what you did to Matty and Anson back there. You’re one cold son of a bitch, mister.”
Mackey went to the stove and took the cup of coffee Sim handed him. “Tell me your name and where you’re from.”
“Name’s Dan Berrie out of Nebraska.”
“You one of Darabont’s regulars?”
“Regulars?” Berrie scoffed. “Ain’t nothin’ regular about Darabont or anyone who rides with him. I fell in with them on the trail back north from Mexico about a month ago. Said they’d just finished cuttin’ a swath a week wide and a month long through Texas and Oklahoma and would keep on going clear to Canada. Told me I could ride with them if I was of a mind to, and I was, so I did.”
But Mackey didn’t care about that. “How many of you are up in the hills now?”
Berrie shook his head. “Not until I see a doctor.”
“Tell me or I gag you and shoot you in the belly. Doctor won’t be much good to you then.”
“About forty,” Berrie told him, “give or take.”
Mackey hid his disappointment. He had figured the number was closer to twenty, which would have been bad enough. Forty was even worse, even if he was down to around thirty after the earlier shoot-out. “If you want that leg wound looked after, I’ll need more than ‘give or take.’”
“Give or take is all I got, mister. We ain’t never had attendance or nothin’ formal.” Berrie winced as he gripped his leg tighter. “Had nearer to fifty when we rode into the territory, but given the number you plugged the other day and today, I’d say you’re lookin’ at forty still up in them hills as of this very moment.”
He decided forty w
as as close to the real number as he would get from Berrie. “What’s Darabont’s plan?”
Berrie laughed. “Hell, mister. Darabont ain’t got a plan. We needed provisions and heard tell of this town of yours having lots of things we needed, what with the railroad being here and all. That’s why we sent some boys down here to look the place over. When they didn’t come back, Darabont took some men and rode down here to look for them. Guess that’s when he ran into you.”
“You guessed right.”
Berrie winced as he flexed his hand before grabbing his bleeding leg again. “When he came back, he was madder than hell. That’s why we hit that whorehouse up yonder. He burned it down and took them whores on a whim. Darabont set up them men you killed like Jesus on account of sending a message to you. Nobody planned it. He just decided to set a flame to it and take those women as we were getting ready to leave.”
The image of Katherine bound and gagged against a wagon wheel flashed in his mind. “How many captives do you have?”
“About ten, including them whores we took from that joy house out yonder.”
He could feel Underhill, Sim, and Billy watching him, but he asked his next question anyway. “Are any of the women hurt?”
“Not too badly. Darabont wants them healthy and pretty for re-sale down in Mexico,” Berrie said, “or as near to Mexico as he can sell ’em off. He’s real sure this high-talkin’ gal we took is too old to sell, but might be worth keepin’ on a while. Says she adds class to the outfit.”
“Aaron,” Billy said.
Mackey realized Sim had come to his side and put a hand on Mackey’s rifle. He’d forgotten he was still holding it. And didn’t realize he was beginning to aim it at Berrie.
Mackey pushed away from the cell and put his rifle back in the rack. He’d clean it later. In the meantime, there was plenty to do. To Billy, he said, “Might as well fetch Doc Ridley. Get that man’s wound tended to.”
“Don’t have to fetch him. Been here since after you started your interrogation, but I made him wait outside. Didn’t want him lousing up your flow with the prisoner.”
Where the Bullets Fly Page 16
