by Jonas Ward
Durkin had proved himself, he thought now. Durkin had died proving to himself that he was the better man. It was good that he believed that, going down and out. Certainly he had given Buchanan time and opportunity to act. If dying well proved anything, Durkin must have been satisfied with his end.
Shots were coming at the wagon. Buchanan found strength to climb into the body. There were kegs, obviously containing gunpowder. He moved these and the boxes of dynamite to the rear end of the wagon body.
He heard voices from the barn, then. Kovacs called to him, and then Cactus yelled for Durkin.
Buchanan said, "Here."
They came running. They stared at the wagon. The clouds were drifting away, there was starlight.
Buchanan said, "Cactus, cover us. Pieter, help me get this stuff into the barn before we all get blown to bits."
"Where's Durkin?" Cactus was already lining up the men showing themselves on the knoll.
Buchanan handed a heavy keg of powder to Kovacs, who ducked his head as he lugged it into the barn. " 'Fraid he went over. He was tryin' to stop 'em."
Cactus began to shoot. Buchanan picked up a box of dynamite and, carrying it as though it were a crate of eggs, ran past Kovacs into the shelter of the stone stable. Kovacs was scared as bullets came wildly out of the night, but he too brought in a box of dynamite.
Cactus said, "He was a hard man, Durkin. But fair."
"He went out dead game," Buchanan told him. It seemed the second keg of powder was heavier than the first. He staggered with Kovacs into the barn. He remembered his rifle and jumped into the wagon to retrieve it. A bullet whistled past his ear. He juggled the rifle, knelt, inserted cartridges. He leveled at the knoll and sent shot after shot at the exposed enemy.
Out of the distant darkness, now dimly lit by the stars, came a booming sound. Morgan Crane bellowed something and the firing toward the barn ceased.
"What the hell was that?" demanded Cactus, reloading.
"That was Dan Badger," Buchanan told him, sighing in relief. "What you heard was a Sharps buffalo gun. Makes people stop and think."
"They will catch him," said Kovacs fearfully. "They will kill my friend."
"I doubt it," said Buchanan. "Let's get this junk stored where it can do the most good."
Cactus said, "This stuff could blow us all to hell."
"Is so," said Kovacs.
"The powder's no good to us, maybe. But the dynamite might be useful," Buchanan said.
"No!" Kovacs was white but determined. "Is blow up my house, everyt'ing. No!"
Buchanan felt the strong opposition. He asked, "What do you think we're goin' to do with it? Eat it?"
The shooting from the trees slowed down. Clouds drifted back to blot out the stars. It did not rain, but it was a black night.
Kovacs said, "Off my property. I will take it away. Out there." He pointed to the back of the house and the open fields.
"Where it can be set off by a bolt of lightning, any spark?"
"Is then God decides." Kovacs crossed himself. "Is not to blow up my house. My barn."
"The Lord helps them as helps themselves," Buchanan said. "I say we cover this stuff up, protect it, and maybe it will save us all."
Cactus asked, "Who's goin' to stay out here and watch over it? Not me, Buchanan. You already got my boss killed. I ain't lookin' for any of the same."
"Uh-huh." In the darkness, Buchanan composed himself. It was the time to be patient. He had seen Kovacs bend under the strain earlier in the day. As the siege continued, the pressure would be greater on them all. "Tell you what. You do what you want with the powder."
Before they could detect what he was up to, he picked up a box of dynamite under each arm. "I'll put this where k won't do any harm to us."
"No!" cried Kovacs. He ran at Buchanan, missed him in the dark, fell into a stall on his face.
Buchanan kept on going. When he got to the back door, Amanda was there, waiting, holding it open for him.
"What happened?" she asked breathlessly.
"Plenty," Buchanan told her. "Which is the closet with the most room?"
She led the way to the door. He put the boxes down with great care. "Bring me a lantern, please."
The others were crowding around now. He motioned them back. Amanda came, shielding the light so that it would not betray them to the gunners across the way.
Buchanan stowed the two boxes of dynamite in the depths of the closet. Nothing less than a cannon ball could break through the stone walls, he thought. It was as safe as a silver dollar.
He got out his Barlow and pried open one of the boxes. The sticks were packed in sawdust with care. He needed now only to get back to the wagon and find caps and a couple of coils of fuse.
He sat back on his haunches and looked at Amanda. For once in his strenuous existence, he was thoroughly weary. His exertions of the past hour had been prodigious. Worse, they had not quite been appreciated by at least two of the company of defenders.
She said softly, "You should get some rest."
"Can't make it right now," he told her. He got to his feet and stretched. "Kovacs is crackin'. How about the others?"
"Why . . . everything seems as it was," she said. "There were almost no ricochets, thanks to your buffers. Trevor and the Whelans are on the roof."
"Yes, I know. They did good." He hated to send them to the barn. It was the most vulnerable spot. He went to the rear door, paused. "Try and talk to Jenny. I got to see what I can do outdoors right now."
The Indian girl drifted to his side. "Let me speak with Pieter."
"That might work." He hesitated, but the girl was past him and running before he could stop her. He followed.
It was still dark in the barn. Cactus was standing near the door closest to the house. As if she could see in the night, Raven swerved and sped into the field behind the barn.
Cactus said, "He took the powder out there."
"He's got the wind up," said Buchanan. "Can't hold it against him. He's never been in this fix before."
"Ain't likely to be in one again," said the cowboy. "This here'll be the last if somethin' ain't done."
"Something like what?"
"There's horses out there, I heard 'em. Best we should round 'em up and ride out before mornin'."
"You think the women could get away?"
"Some of us could. Way it is, nobody's got a chance."
"Bradbury offered to let us go."
"That was before Durkin got his'n. Things is different now, leastways for me. Sutter too, I expect."
"Sutter's in no shape to ride. But if you want to go, Cactus, grab yourself a saddle and dab a pony. Nobody's holdin' you here."
He could not see the man, but he could almost feel the thought processes going on. Finally, Cactus said slowly, "I mind the man left the Alamo. He lived. But it was a bad life. No, I ain't about to go alone. I'll stick. For now."
Buchanan said, "Okay. Now, there's a dead man in the house. Supposin' you go in there and tote him out here and tuck him in a corner of the barn. It's no good leavin' corpses around live folks. Makes 'em think too much of what might happen."
"Who, me? I ain't no undertaker."
Buchanan said, "Cactus."
"Yeah?"
"Either go in there and tote out old Thorne, or get that rope and saddle and ride out."
After a moment, the cowboy said, "Okay. But I ain't forgettin' any of this. I'll see you later, maybe."
"Uh-huh," said Buchanan wearily. "You do that."
Poor Durkin had not lived to carry out the threat. Maybe this one would. Someone was always coming after him with intent to do bodily harm. It was a sorry circumstance, especially for a peaceable man.
He waited at the barn door, but there were no shots coming from the knoll. He thought that Badger's long rifle may have caused them to hole up, count their losses, and think awhile. He climbed into the wagon again.
He found the fuse, a good-sized coil. There were several caps scattered about
the wooden bottom of the wagon body. He picked them up. He was able to find only a half dozen. He wished there were a dozen more. He put them in his pocket and dropped back to earth.
Badger's big gun boomed again. The old mountain man was keeping them occupied all right. Buchanan went into the barn.
The Indian girl called, "Mr. Buchanan."
"Uh-huh."
She came close to him. "He has put the powder far from the house. It is hard to talk to him. He is disturbed."
"Yeah, I know how it is for him."
"I think there will be more trouble."
Buchanan said, "Lordy me, gal, you're right. You don't know haw right you are."
"Dan Badger is out there. I could go to him."
"Reckon you could. You do get around. But we need you here real bad. Who'd take care of the wounded?"
"Yes. You are right." She was silent. "I will wait until I have spoken with Dan Badger."
"If he comes in, you mean?"
"He will come in when he is needed," she said. She had complete confidence. "You will see."
"I'll be happy to see."
They went back into the house. It was still pitch dart; Amanda had fixed the lantern so that it shed light only for a few feet around it, placing it behind the door. Kovacs sat on a kitchen chair, staring at nothing. His wife sat beside him, her hand on his arm. They were silent. Raven went to them, but they did not move or speak.
Buchanan went up to the roof. He had to drag himself, he was so weary. Trevor and the Whelans were stretched out on blankets. An occasional shot came from the trees, and once in a while, they answered in order to let the attackers know the house was well defended.
Buchanan said, "Someone's goin' to have to take over in the barn."
"How come?" asked Rob Whelan.
He told them about Durkin, about the brief mutiny, about the breakdown of the Kovacs. They listened, and he
could feel the dampening of their spirits. He ended.
"Maybe the Whelans, huh? I know you want to be together. The two of you could do the job. I'll be movin' back
and forth."
"You believe they will try the barn again?" Trevor asked.
"They may make a charge in the dark. They may make it any minute. But we got the best of that. The barn's their best bet."
Fay Whelan said, "Durkin wouldn't have got it if he hadn't gone out."
"Maybe not."
"What do you say, Rob?"
"I say there's straw to bed down in. We can take turns watchin'. It's risky all right, But what ain't?"
Buchanan said, "I'll stay up here for a while."
"Any orders for down below?" asked Rob Whelan.
"It ain't the time to be givin' orders. Like I said, we got some problems," Buchanan said. "You want to swap blankets? You take mine to the stable, leave yours here?"
"Why ... sure."
"I'll be checkin' with you later."
They went down from the roof. Buchanan rolled onto the blankets.
Trevor asked, "Is there anything I can do, old man?"
"Old man is right," said Buchanan. "Just. . . watch . . . awhile . . . wake me before sunup. . .." His head dropped.
He was asleep.
Colonel Bradbury fought against sleep. In the glade, there was a meeting of furious, red-eyed, cursing men. Over behind the knoll, the sound of shovels could be heard. They were digging a trench to bury the dead. The wounded lay in the trees on the damp earth and bled. The odor of moss collided with the odor of their blood.
Bradbury had been a sergeant in the Big War. The title of Colonel was self-administered when he came to Texas long ago; it lent dignity. For that matter, hundreds of others had done the same. But he did know the rudiments of military action, and he knew the sickness that came upon men in battle. He was afraid to sleep. It would be easy for them to dispose of him, now that the fever was on them. They could throw him in the trench and tell any sort of lie to cover themselves. There were so many of them now that confusion reigned.
Fox was saying, "We got to run over 'em. The wagon full of dynamite was a good notion, but that goddam Buchanan and that fool Durkin spoiled it."
"We got Durkin," said Morgan Crane. "I been wantin' him outa the way."
"We just got to go down there and blast 'em out. There's more dynamite," Fox insisted.
"They ain't up to it," Pollard said. "Too many of 'em caught it with the wagon."
"We're payin' them plenty."
"That makes no never mind," Pollard told him. "Gunnies want a chance to live, too. You got to reckon on that Buchanan."
"It was Brad sent for him." Fox stared at his friend and ally.
Bradbury spoke. "It was some of you hung Adam Day. That's what turned Buchanan. I know him."
"Then you shouldn't have sent for him."
Bradbury shrugged. He was in a hopeless position.
Pollard said, "I'm beginnin' to feel like I know him good. And lemme tell you, what I know I don't like for a damn."
"We'll get him and all the rest," roared Crane. "Dealer's right. We got the men. We can run right over that little bunch of nothin' down there."
"I still say we get to the barn," said Fox. "One way or another. Dig under the house and blow 'em to hell."
"Who's goin' to dig?" asked Pollard.
"Get the barn and someone'll dig. I'll put a gun on 'em if I have to," Crane said.
"You think Buchanan wouldn't know what was goin’ on?"
"What could he do about it?"
"Set a counter-charge," Bradbury told them.
"There's got to be some way." Fox was beside himself. "All these guns, everything we got."
"That there house is like a fort," said Bradbury. "Y’lay a siege, starve 'em out. Pick off whoever shows himself. It takes time. And we've not got that much time."
"The boss is right," said Pollard. "We got Durkin, maybe we got a couple more through the windows. We got to keep pastin' them thataway."
"Word is bound to get out. There'll be trouble . . . maybe the militia, maybe even the damn army."
"That's the way it is." Pollard stood his ground.
"Then there's that big Sharps out there," said Fox. "Makes the men nervous."
"I got men out lookin' for him," said Pollard. "We'll get that son."
"Badger," Bradbury said. "Men like him opened this country. He was a friend of Carson and Bridger and Beckwourth."
"I'll open him up," Pollard promised. "It's that damn stone house worries me."
