Where the Bullets Fly

by Terrence McCauley

  Both men nodded. “For Sim,” Solomon said.

  “And for Mr. Taylor,” Javier added.

  “Dead men don’t need intentions,” Billy said. “We’re doing this for the living.”

  Mackey nodded. “And let’s hope we’re among the living as well when this is all over.”

  Chapter 43

  Mackey led the men, single file, down the trail at a fair clip, holding Adair’s reins a bit tighter than normal. The horse could always sense when trouble was coming and liked to charge right at it. But if they rode down the trail at full gallop, they might miss some guards and risk getting shot in the back.

  And if they went in too slow or on foot, the camp might wake up before the first shot was fired. Being outmanned, Mackey wanted to avoid that if possible.

  Mackey let Adair trot down the sloping trail as he looked for signs of movement among the brightening shadows along the trailside. He heard the unmistakable sound of a hammer being pulled back just ahead of him. “Pete,” a voice called out. “Tom? That you, boys?”

  Billy’s rifle responded, knocking the man from the shadows into the trail. The man had caught a round in the shoulder. Mackey drew his Colt and finished him off with a shot to the head.

  The outcropping surrounding the camp flared with rifle fire as the Boudreauxs launched a volley into the sleeping men in the camp below.

  Mackey had already given Adair her head, allowing her to gallop flat out down the trail. One Darabont man fired from the shadows but the shot went wide. From behind him, he heard the pistols of the vaqueros fire, taking the man down.

  Mackey and Billy hit the camp first. Mackey had raided more camps than he cared to count in his life, and each time had been like the first time. The world slowed. Sounds became muffled and blurred as his vision became sharper than he ever thought it could be.

  He watched half-dressed men begin to scramble out of their bedrolls, sleep still heavy in their eyes as they reached for their gun belts. As had been their custom since their cavalry days, Mackey took the men on their right and Billy shot the men on the left.

  With five shots left in his pistol, Mackey drew careful aim on each target as he raced for the wagon. His skill and training helped him aim, compensating for the movement of Adair, the movement of a Darabont man, the speed of his horse and the recoil of his Colt. A fraction of a second felt like a full minute as he took aim and fired one shot per target. He aimed at each man’s chest, firing as he passed. Five shots. Five Darabont men down.

  No sign of Darabont himself.

  He holstered his empty pistol and drew Adair to a halt as he pulled his Winchester from the saddle scabbard and dismounted. He slapped his horse’s hindquarters, sending her on her way. She continued to tear through the camp at top speed, drawing fire from Darabont’s men as Billy and the vaqueros shot whoever the Boudreauxs and the others had missed.

  Mackey dropped to a crouch and brought the rifle up to his shoulder as a shot rang out from the wagon. Is that Darabont? Is he killing the women? Katherine?

  But the shot had come from outside the wagon. Two of Darabont’s men had taken cover behind the wagon. The burly man and the skinny one who had been with Darabont the night he had visited Mackey’s home. Skinny was crouched at the back of the wagon, taking aim with a pistol while Burly was behind him, reloading a shotgun. Skinny fired again at Mackey and missed again.

  Mackey took aim and fired, striking Skinny just below the left shoulder, the impact sending him backward into his friend. Burly fell back dropping the shotgun in mid-reload. Mackey dashed a wide arc around the wagon until he had a clear shot at the prone man. Burly saw him and threw up his hands, his eyes wide with fright. “Don’t shoot, mister! I give up. I . . .”

  Mackey shot him between the eyes.

  He shifted his aim when he heard a man from inside the covered wagon cry out, “AARON MACKEY!”

  Sporadic gunfire spread throughout the camp, but from the sounds of it, he knew they were his men firing, not Darabont men.

  Female screams from inside the wagon. Any one of them could’ve been Katherine’s or none of them. Mackey couldn’t care about that now.

  Mackey yelled into the darkness of the wagon. “It’s over, Darabont. Your men are dead. Let the women go and I promise you justice.”

  A woman leapt from the back of the wagon and hit the ground hard. She was a blond woman in a filthy nightgown that had once been white. Not Katherine.

  She shook as she quickly pushed herself beneath the wagon on bloody elbows.

  “He’s got a gun on the others.”

  Mackey flinched when two shots erupted from the wagon, not at him but through the floorboard of the wagon. Darabont was shooting at the woman who’d escaped. The women screamed, maybe because they had been hit by the gunfire.

  The woman beneath the wagon looked up at Mackey and shook her head. She hadn’t been hit.

  He heard Darabont shout a whisper inside the wagon. His aim shifted as he saw five of the women stand and crowd toward the back of the wagon bed. The axel groaned beneath the added weight on one end.

  His belly grew cold. None of them was Katherine.

  They were all skinny and red-faced from crying, shivering from fear and the chilly morning air. Their clothes were tattered. Some of them were bare-breasted and made no attempt to cover themselves. They were beyond modesty. Some looked like they were even beyond surviving. They looked more relieved than frightened. They knew their ordeal was finally over, one way or the other.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mackey saw Billy approaching as he reloaded his rifle. He darted over to the woman beneath the wagon, grabbed her by the leg and pulled her away behind the rear wagon wheel.

  Darabont called out from inside the wagon. “Looks like we’re back where we started, sheriff. Me with a shitload of hostages and you with just a rifle in your hand.”

  Mackey listened, gauging exactly where he was in the wagon.

  Darabont went on. “I’ve got women lined up around the interior of the wagon, so any of you bastards shoot in here, you’ll hit one of them. But I’ve kept one back, though. I’ve grown rather fond of her in our time on the trail. A fancy, highborn lady I think you know. Mrs. Katherine Campbell of Boston. She’s quite a woman. She . . .”

  Darabont’s words dulled as the blood began to roar in Mackey’s ears. He gripped the Winchester tighter. The bastard had found out who Katherine was. Somehow he’d always known it would come down to this.

  Billy snapped him out of it by whispering to him “The girl said he’s lying. The only women in there are bunched up there. He’s in the back of the wagon with a gun to Katie’s head.”

  Darabont was still talking as Mackey whispered, “Get the women to drop and I’ll take him.”

  Billy didn’t seem to like the idea, but he was in no position to argue. He backed away and got the girls’ attention.

  When he heard Darabont stop talking, Mackey said, “Your men are dead, Darabont. You’ve got nowhere to go and no one left to help you. Let the women go, climb down from there and I promise you’ll get justice.”

  “Justice?” Darabont laughed, a high, desperate cackle. “Do I strike you as a man interested in justice?”

  “You avenged your dead,” Mackey said. “And I’ve avenged mine. The scales are even now. Let the women go and you and I can end this like we should have at the beginning. One on one, just you and me.”

  Billy continued gesturing to the women at the edge of the tailgate, and a few of them nodded.

  Darabont said, “How about this? I made you a fair offer during the siege. The offer still stands. Drop your rifle, call off your men, and surrender to me.”

  Mackey glanced over at Billy, who mouthed the word, “Ready.”

  Mackey nodded and Billy showed the women one finger.

  Then two. Some of the women trembled.

  “What’s it going to be, sheriff?” Darabont called out. “You . . .”

  Billy’s third finger went up and time
slowed once more.

  He heard the wagon creak as all five women fell forward out of the wagon. They didn’t jump, they just fell flat like sacks of flour.

  The mouth of the covered wagon was an empty maw, save for a tiny slit of light just behind the buckboard.

  A light that shined between Darabont and Katherine.

  Mackey’s aim was already true. He squeezed the trigger and fired.

  Mackey dropped the Winchester and leapt over the women, hurtling himself into the wagon.

  He found Darabont had fallen backward toward the buckboard, pulling the canvas open. His right shoulder gone from the shot, but still conscious. The pistol nowhere in sight.

  He found Katherine was in the other corner, screaming through her gag. Her hands and feet bound by rope. Mackey pulled the gag down as Katherine shrieked and cried. He undid the rope that bound her hands and she blindly pummeled his chest, his back, anything she could reach. He held her close to him as she flailed blindly at him.

  “It’s Aaron, my love. It’s me. You’re safe, honey. You’re safe. It’s me.”

  Billy bolted into the wagon, but Mackey didn’t care. He kept absorbing the blows until her strength failed her. She was panting now as Mackey held her tighter than he ever had before.

  “It’s me, Katherine. Aaron. Your Aaron. You’re safe. It’s me.”

  She raised a trembling hand to feel his face. She wasn’t clawing at him now, but patting at him blindly. He slowly eased his grip so she could finally see him.

  She grabbed his face with both hands and looked up into his eyes. She had only been Darabont’s prisoner for a few days, but looked like she had been with him for years. New streaks of silver were in her hair. Lines on her face that hadn’t been there before. Her cheeks fallow and her eyes wild. Seeing this strong, graceful woman laid low broke his heart.

  “Aaron,” she said feebly. “It can’t be. You . . . you’re a ghost. He said you were dead. He said he killed you. He said he drowned you himself.”

  Mackey smiled as he felt a tear run down his own cheek. “He lied, honey. I’m right here. It’s all over and you’re safe.”

  She thumbed away his tear. “It really is you, isn’t it? I knew you’d come. I told him you would. I told him no matter what happened, you’d come, even if you came by yourself.”

  “And you were right, but I’m not alone. Brought Billy with me. He’s right here, see?”

  He moved to his left, blocking her view of Darabont so she could see his deputy.

  She looked at him as though she were seeing him for the first time. “Billy?”

  Mackey couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought Billy was crying, too. “Good to see you, Miss Kate. You always were a vision in the morning.”

  Mackey undid the rope binding her feet. “Go to Billy. He’ll take care of you for a minute.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. “I won’t let you go. Not ever.”

  He helped her to her feet and swept him up into her arms. He hadn’t held her like that since Boston. She barely weighed anything. “Just got to finish something here, first, my love. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Billy jumped down from the wagon and Mackey handed her to him. She tried to walk but was unsteady on her feet. Billy practically had to carry her, but she tried to walk.

  That was his Katherine. No matter the circumstances, always proud.

  He gripped the canvas to keep himself from falling over. She was safe. Katherine was alive.

  A wet cough from the back of the wagon brought him back to reality. “How touching,” Darabont said. “True love never fails, eh? I should’ve . . .”

  Darabont screamed as Mackey fell on him.

  Chapter 44

  Billy used a strip of cloth from the burly man’s shirt to bandage Mackey’s bloody hands.

  Mackey was still waiting for the effects of his rage to ebb away. “How long was I in there?”

  “Long enough,” Billy said. “Ain’t seen you like that since that business that got you drummed out of the cavalry. You’re still hell and Jesus with your fists, Aaron.”

  Mackey didn’t remember any of it. “How many did it take to pull me away?”

  “Solomon, Javier, and both Boudreauxs tried. Brahm was the only one who was able to get a firm grip on you and hold you down until you got right again.”

  Mackey pawed at something wet and sticky on his neck with the back of his left hand. Blood he knew wasn’t his own. It was Darabont’s.

  “Did I kill him?”

  Billy tilted his head to the left. “See for yourself. He’s alive, but near enough to death that he’ll wish you killed him.”

  Mackey looked over and saw Darabont tied to the wagon wheel. The image of the charred girl back on the hillside flashed in his mind. Darabont’s head was covered in blood, half of his hair ripped away. His nose was shattered, and both eyes were already swollen shut. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle.

  “I think you fractured every bone in his head,” Billy said. “Broke his jaw, too. Least we won’t have to listen to the bastard anymore.”

  Mackey felt himself laugh for the first time since he could remember. Billy laughed, too, as he bandaged his old friend’s bloody hands. “We’ll soak these in cold water once the ladies get through bathing. Glad this happened now instead of before the fight. I don’t think you broke anything, but you won’t be able to hold a gun for a week or so.”

  He stood up as if waking from a dream. “Katherine? Where’s Katherine?”

  “She’s fine,” Billy assured him. “She’s helping the ladies clean themselves up. Darabont had plenty of water for the men, but never let the ladies bathe. She said women feel more like women when they’re cleaned and proper. That girl I pulled out from under the wagon tells me Katherine kept them together on the trail. Said she kept Darabont off his feed with all that fancy talk of hers.”

  Mackey’s breathe skipped. “Did he . . .”

  As was his custom, Deputy Billy Sunday knew what the sheriff meant. “Don’t know if he did and I wouldn’t go asking her, either. If she’s of a mind to tell you that, she will. If not, best leave it alone. What’s past is past. You’ve both still got a lot of living ahead of you. She’s quite a woman, Aaron. You’re lucky.”

  He decided Billy was right. On all counts. His rage almost gone, he decided to focus on what he did best. “We take any casualties?”

  “Solomon took one in the calf, but it went clear through. Killed his horse, though, but he’s fine. Someone slammed Javier in the back with a rifle, but he’s fine. Sandborne got blinded by some rock dust from a ricochet, but I think he’ll be okay. The sporting ladies have promised to take care of him. The Boudreauxs are charming them, too. They killed most of the Darabont men from the outcropping. Damn those boys can shoot.”

  “Any Darabont men still alive?”

  “Some,” Billy said. “But not anymore.”

  Mackey felt a certain amount of pride course through him.

  Billy seemed to feel it too as he began bandaging his other hand. “A damned fine engagement, captain. Looks like you haven’t lost your touch for that, either.”

  He looked over at Darabont. His bloody head had sagged to his chest, but he was still breathing.

  “Wouldn’t mind touching him some more,” Mackey said.

  Billy grinned. “You touched him enough for one day. Besides, I don’t think our guests would be too happy with you if you did.”

  Mackey spotted the two lone Blackfoot members on horseback, about a hundred yards away from the camp. They were standing stock still, looking at the carnage.

  “Better late than never,” Mackey said. “Hurry up so I can see what they want.”

  Billy finished the bandage. “Just don’t lose your temper with them scouts. We got to ride back through the nation to get back home. They’ll be more apt to let us pass without incident if you don’t kill two of their men.”

  Mackey stood up and beckoned Wolf Child’s men
to come into camp. He then went over to the wagon wheel where Darabont was tied and waited for the Blackfoot to approach.

  Darabont stirred and struggled to clear his throat. His speech marred by his broken jaw. “I suppose you think you won something here today, sheriff.”

  Mackey stood silently above Darabont, a man beaten in every way, watching the warriors trot into camp.

  Darabont gagged on a laugh. “Why don’t you finish what you started and just kill me?”

  “Didn’t ride after you to kill you, Darabont. I rode after you for justice.”

  “How noble.”

  He watched the Blackfoot scouts trot closer. “Not really.”

  When the scouts stopped in front of them, Mackey asked in English, “Where the hell were you two?”

  The older Blackfoot warrior answered in his own language. “Why should we fight the White Man’s battles when he does not fight our battles? Wolf Child told us to help you track. We did.”

  Mackey tried to keep the anger out of his voice. “And you let The Quiet One die.”

  “The Quiet One told us to continue on the trail to find the one you call Darabont. We did. We were about to tell you where to find him, you were already here.”

  Mackey knew they were lying. Not about Sim telling them to go ahead. That was something he would have done. But they were lying about not being able to reach them in time. They had found Darabont’s camp and figured Mackey and the others would be there eventually. They sat back, waited for the shooting to be over and came in after.

  He didn’t like it, but couldn’t blame them for it. They had never agreed to fight Darabont. They had only agreed to help find him.

  The younger warrior said, “We have been true to our word. Now we expect you to be true to your word.”

  Mackey hadn’t planned on handing Darabont over to the Blackfeet so soon. He planned on handing Darabont over to Wolf Child personally. He wanted the credit and the acclaim from the great chief. No telling when it might come in handy later on down the road.