Blood Bond 7

by William W. Johnstone

  Sam stopped behind a water trough and fired. His aim was mainly from instinct, but it was true. The lead hit his attacker in the stomach, doubling him over in pain. Sam fired again, this time bringing his attacker to the ground.

  Sam did not have time to savor his victory. Somebody at his back was already shooting.

  “I’ve got you covered!” a voice called out. “Get to safety!”

  Sam looked around the water trough to see Shannahan running down the street, firing into the building where the last shots at Sam had come from.

  Sam jumped up and dived into an open doorway.

  Down the street, the torch had taken hold. Flames started to lighten the sky from on top of the hotel.

  Sam wondered grimly if Jordan’s plan would work against him, and if his men would be picked off as they fled the hotel.

  Jordan breathed a little easier when the two riders with torches were killed, even though the second rider managed to toss his torch to the roof. That was not good. All of his men were positioned just outside the hotel. There would be no way to put the fire out.

  For the first time, Jordan considered the possibility that this would not turn out as he had envisioned when he first came to this little mining town. First Hart, and then Bodine and Two-Wolves, had proven surprisingly tough.

  He looked around his office, coming up with a plan. It might be just as well to get away for awhile to regroup. He walked over to a gun cabinet, unlocked it. In it were several rifles and shotguns of various makes and styles. He reached for one of the guns then stopped. He was good with guns. He had used them primarily for rare hunting trips outside of town, not for fighting other men. If he brought one with him, it would be an open invitation to shoot at him first. On the other hand, he might get into a situation where he needed a gun. He compromised by taking a small caliber handgun that could be easily concealed.

  Jordan then looked over the rest of his office to determine what he should take with him if he had to leave quickly—as it looked like he might. He would need his papers, of course. And some cash. Fortunately, much of his money had been safely stashed in a California bank, where it would be relatively safe. He would still come out of this alright.

  He heard a ceiling cave-in elsewhere in the hotel. The sound was almost drowned out by a roaring from outside the window. He stepped over to the window, careful not to make himself an inviting target.

  A huge wall of water was rushing down the street and through the town. In seconds, it would hit the hotel.

  Matt almost drowned in the onrushing water. If he hadn’t been in such good physical shape, and had learned to swim so well at an early age, he might have died. As it was, he still had his hands full.

  The tree trunk he had grabbed was old and gnarly, with some of the roots still attached from where they had been ripped out of the ground. Matt had grabbed one of the limbs as it rushed by him. He continued to be hit with other pieces of roots and trees, though by now he was almost numb and barely felt them.

  The tree itself also moved wildly in the current, making it tough for Matt to keep his hold.

  Matt slowly pulled his way up the limbs to the main body of the fallen tree. He reached out, grabbed hold of the rough trunk and hugged it close. This gave him somewhat better protection. It was still difficult to hold onto, but he managed to get his face above the water and keep it above the water.

  The whole series of incidents had taken only seconds, though it seemed like hours to Matt. Now, the water was rushing toward the center of town.

  Matt could see only a little of the area immediately surrounding him. He couldn’t be aware of the damage that was occurring because of the water.

  He shook his head to keep water out of his eyes, and looked for a chance to abandon his ride and rejoin Sam and the others in town.

  Grant saw Shannahan warn Sam about his attackers, but the miner managed to slip back into hiding before Grant could shoot. He took a few shots at Sam, who was now also retreating to safety. Grant missed, though it gave him some satisfaction to almost get the better of Sam Two-Wolves.

  Not too far away, the hotel roof was in flames. It would be only a matter of minutes before the fire spread.

  Already, several bodies littered the street. Some were Jordan’s men. A few were Hart’s. Matt had not yet been seen. That worried Grant somewhat. He was dangerous enough in plain sight. Who knew what might happen if he could sneak up on a person?

  Grant headed in the direction that Shannahan had gone.

  A face popped out from behind a building. Grant wasted no time. His slug hit the unwary miner in the face, killing him before he had any chance to shoot.

  Grant continued down the street. He stepped onto a rain barrel and then onto the roof of a building.

  He couldn’t have timed it any better, for it was then he heard the roar of water and saw the solid wall of water rushing toward the town.

  It hit with a tremendous impact. It took down all of the tents that had been outside of town and carried them along. Part of the water hit the ruined entrance to Jordan’s mine, lifting the rocks like sand and washing them away.

  Then the water hit the hotel. When the rushing water hit the fire, just now starting to shoot its flames into the sky, the sound was like the contents of a giant washtub being poured on a huge campfire. Steam rose into the air as the water extinguished most of the flames.

  As the water hit the hotel, already weakened by fire, it also carried the front porch and much of the building along with it as well. The water seemed to gouge up some of the rough street as it went, making the water muddy as well as filled with trash.

  Grant had little time to watch the destruction. A bullet whizzed past him and a second hit near his feet. He glanced over to see Shannahan on another roof, a few buildings down. Shannahan was shooting a rifle, though the roof he was on was at a slant, making it difficult for him to aim.

  Grant jumped to the next building, firing at the Irishman. Shannahan shot back, though neither m an was getting very close to their targets.

  As if he realized his vulnerable position, Shannahan started to move carefully toward the edge of the roof. Grant shot again, this time placing the shot near Shannahan’s head. The Irishman jerked his head back, and almost lost his balance.

  Grant used this opening. He fired twice more, this time hitting Shannahan in the arm and leg. He dropped his rifle and fell.

  Grant fired again, though he didn’t know if he hit Shannahan again or not. The Irishman had disappeared into the water.

  Hart had it fairly quiet. He had faced and killed several of Jordan’s men—most of them apparently trying to get away from town any way they could.

  Apparently Jordan was going to lose this battle, in spite of his best efforts.

  Hart had climbed into the hay loft of the barn where he had been placed to get a better view of the fight. It was then that he heard the roar of the rushing waters. The water from the blasted dam was rolling down the street and through the town, carrying with it bodies, trees, and pieces of buildings. Much of the fighting had apparently gone to the rooftops for that reason. He heard gunshots from several buildings away.

  To his horror, he looked down and saw the lifeless body of Shannahan, his friend and employee, being carried down stream. He wanted to reach out, but now there was nothing he could do.

  Below him, the water had entered the building, filling it to the depths of several feet. Then it just as quickly subsided. By now, the initial rush of the water had lost its force. With the pressure behind the dam unleashed, nature would quickly restore the stream to its normal, relatively slow and shallow movement. It would find its new course, possibly through what was left of the town, possibly outside of it.

  Compared to the roar of a few minutes earlier, the town was now relatively quiet. Hart climbed down from the loft. His boots made sucking sounds as he walked through the muck in the bottom of the building and into the street.

  To his surprise, all of the town was not cover
ed in mud and muck. In a few places, the dirt and rocks had been washed away, as if with a hydraulic hose. He walked slowly, trying to avoid the worst areas and also keeping an eye open for Jordan’s men.

  He hadn’t gone more than a few dozen paces when he came upon an area that had been dug out by the flood. It was now filled with water. Even so, Hart’s trained eyes caused him to stop in stunned amazement. He got down on his hands and knees to better examine the rock that had been exposed at the bottom of the hole.

  Unless he was mistaken, he had found an ore that would yield great riches. Not in gold, but in silver.

  Though Hart and Jordan had come close to finding the main vein, the real treasure had been under the town itself all along.

  Hart paused to consider what this meant. The town was not incorporated. He had laid claim to large chunks of land, much of it even he didn’t know the boundaries. It was possible that the ramshackle town had risen on his land. In any case, with this additional clue, he could direct his mining activities more profitably.

  So the flood had provided some good, after all.

  But it was at the cost of a life of a friend, as well as many other men.

  Hart was lost in his thoughts, which was a mistake that Hart should not have made. He knew better, but the vision of his friend’s dead body floating past him still haunted him and Hart was not as careful as he might normally have been.

  A shot fired at him from a few buildings away woke him up, though almost too late.

  Grant was still on the roof as the rushing water started to slow. He watched for other signs of activity, but the town now seemed almost dead.

  Then he spotted movement several buildings down. He looked closer, and couldn’t believe his luck. It was Hart himself, stepping out into the open, making himself a target. It was an invitation Grant couldn’t resist.

  From that distance, it was more a matter of luck than accuracy. This time, luck was on Grant’s side. The bullet hit Hart in the leg. He screamed and fell to the ground. He fired back and tried to crawl back to safety, though his leg was instantly numb and refused to work properly.

  Grant climbed down from the building to make his way toward Hart, to see if he could finish the job.

  Matt was getting his second wind. He had gotten used to the movement of the tree on which he had hitched a ride and had managed to catch his breath. The water was also slowing down, making his ride a little easier.

  He pulled himself up a little higher. He couldn’t believe he had traveled so far, so fast. He was already in town, passing the Jordan Hotel.

  Or what was left of the hotel. Part of it had been burned. Part of it had been washed away.

  Matt wondered if Malinda had gotten away to safety.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash, as his ride crashed into a building. He let go of the tree as it turned and drifted away with the water again. Matt treaded water for several minutes as the water level seemed to lower. He swam for the building, grabbed hold of the roof and climbed on top.

  Almost before his eyes the water slowed and its level went down, leaving mud and muck in its place.

  Matt climbed down to the street, saw he had landed at the building that housed Clancy’s saloon and restaurant. He pushed open the door, but the place was empty except for mud and destroyed furniture.

  He looked down at his holster, was surprised to see that his gun was still in its place. He looked around the bar until he finally found a rag that was not too damp, and some bullets wrapped in an oil cloth in a room in the back.

  Matt leaned against the wrecked bar, started to clean his gun and insert fresh bullets.

  He felt in his gut that while Sam, Hart, and the others had probably taken care of most of Jordan’s men, the one called Caphorn was his alone to deal with.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Phil Caphorn had sat out most of the battle. After he had shot Strep, he stayed on high ground, above the dam, until the worst of the flood was over. And, incidentally, the worst of the fighting had ended.

  It wasn’t Caphorn’s fight. He had been hired to kill a few specific men. That he would do.

  After the waters had calmed, he directed his horse back toward town.

  The destruction had no impact on him. If anything, Caphorn decided that this would be the best thing for such a little hell-hole. Wash it off the face of the earth. Caphorn chuckled at this own joke.

  It was always possible that Matt Bodine and Sam Two-Wolves had been killed in the flood or the fight, though Caphorn doubted either one. Those two were survivors, and it would probably take more than that to kill them.

  He dismounted near the edge of town and started to walk slowly, in case there were any stragglers still shooting.

  Caphorn wasn’t really looking for Matt or Sam. He knew that somehow, their paths would cross. He thought about going into the hotel for a drink, but when he noticed how damaged it was, he changed his mind. There would be plenty of times for drinks after he finished this job, and there wasn’t any use in delaying it any longer.

  It didn’t make any difference which one he faced first, Matt or Sam. He would get them both. He was sure of it.

  Grant knew he had hit Hart. He had seen Hart go down. He had heard the scream. If he could finish off Jordan’s enemy, there would no doubt be a bonus in it for him.

  Sam also knew that Grant had hit Hart, though he was not in a position to help him at the time. He had also found some higher ground while the flood waters had raged through town, and he had not gotten to a more strategic location before Grant had shot Hart.

  It was now surprisingly quiet. Though the fighting had been fierce for a few moments, it had not lasted very long. Perhaps the flood had cut it short. Sam suspected, however, that Jordan’s few men had either been killed or had skipped town after the fighting started. They had not expected to be faced with well-armed men who know how to fight and didn’t mind fighting.

  The town was a mess. It would take a lot of work to clean it up. Sam figured, however, that Hart could do the job, if anybody could. Hart seemed to be in this for the long haul, unlike Jordan.

  Sam sneaked a peek from behind the wreckage of one of the buildings. Hart could not be seen. That probably meant that the miner was still capable of movement, and had gotten to safety. Grant was probably also nearby, looking for Hart.

  Sam heard a slight movement behind him. He whirled around, but did not shoot. One of Jordan’s men was standing with his hands in the air, holding his gun by its barrel.

  “Hey, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m out of it. When I signed on with Jordan, I didn’t expect this kind of fight. I’m done. I’m leaving. I don’t want to get killed.”

  “Throw away that gun.” The man did as he was told. The gun plopped in a puddle. “Now get. If I see you again, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

  “I’m gone. I’m tired of tangling with you.”

  The exchange took only a few seconds, but it distracted Sam’s attention away from the street. When he turned back around, he saw Grant running toward the area where Hart had been shot. Grant was apparently unaware he had been seen.

  “Hey, in the street! Stop right there!”

  Grant, surprised, turned and raised his gun. Sam shot first, stopping Grant in mid-step. He stumbled, fell. His gun shot harmlessly into the air.

  Sam shot again, and this time Grant lay still in the street.

  Malinda had an uneasy feeling, and it wasn’t due either to the shooting or to the fire in the hotel. The flames had eaten through part of her ceiling, but she figured she was still safer there than in the middle of the shooting.

  She looked out her window as the flood hit. Though the water crashed through the downstairs doors and windows, taking much of the hotel with it, her room remained fairly intact.

  So she was still relatively safe. Then why did she feel so uneasy?

  Part of it was Nelson Jordan. She wondered if she had done the right thi
ng by warning Matt and the others of his plan to destroy the dam. After all, she did owe Jordan something for helping her. But hadn’t she paid him back in other ways during the time they had known each other?

  She had acted impulsively with Matt. But she hadn’t really betrayed Jordan. After all, even though Jordan had promised her many things, it wasn’t like they were engaged or anything. And while she liked Matt very much, Malinda knew that she had no future with him. He had made no promises, while Jordan had. The question now was, what was Jordan going to do?

  Somehow everything had changed over the past few days, and she no longer knew what to expect from anybody, including herself.

  She looked around her room, grabbed one of her small bags and placed a small handgun in it. Strep had given it to her several months before, to help protect herself during her rides in the country. Malinda had never found it necessary to shoot it, or to even pull it out of its usual hiding place. Most of the time it remained in a drawer in her room.

  She hoped she wouldn’t need it today. She wasn’t even sure she could shoot a man.

  Not quite sure what she would find, or how she would react, she opened the door to her room to find Jordan.

  Matt moved cautiously through the town. There was no movement and hardly any sound. Puddles remained in the street, and the stench of sour mud filled the air. Matt had carefully cleaned and dried his gun, checked the action, to make sure that it would work flawlessly when he needed it.

  Matt, like Caphorn, knew that he and the gunfighter would face each other. It was now a matter of when their paths would cross, though both knew tonight would be the night.

  And they both knew that only one would walk away.

  Matt’s boots were wet and muddy. He had to pause every few minutes to clean the mud off them. It was slow going, but he was in no hurry.