Lincoln Hawk Series 1-3 Omnibus

by Scott Connor

  ‘Now, that’s right comfortable,’ he said. ‘Being as you don’t seem to mind, I might just get closer and closer to you.’

  Decker rolled from his seat and knelt before Raul.

  ‘Get away,’ Raul grunted, ‘or you’ll be writhing on the floor with a bullet in your guts.’

  Decker smiled and shuffled even closer, his nose now just a foot from Raul’s gun.

  Raul breathed deeply, then with a wild roar, backhanded his gun at Decker’s face.

  Decker jerked his head back from the blow, but it still clubbed into his temple, knocking him against the side of the stagecoach for him to rebound and slump to the floor between the seats.

  ‘You didn’t need to do that,’ Lincoln said. ‘The old-timer was just amusing himself.’

  Raul swirled his gun to the side to train it on Lincoln.

  ‘Be quiet or you’ll be next.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Lincoln shook his head, then looked Raul up and down, sneering. ‘I reckon I’ll make some reports when this is over and then, you’ll be back in jail with Decker.’

  ‘Reports! You know nothing about being a lawman.’

  From the floor Decker gurgled a pained screech, and Lincoln glanced down to see a bubble of blood escape his lips.

  Lincoln winced. ‘You’ve really hurt him.’

  Lincoln moved to slip from his seat, but Raul firmed his gun hand.

  ‘Old-timer’s just faking it. Stay where you are.’

  Lincoln snorted and slipped from the seat to kneel beside Decker. He placed his hands on either side of Decker’s head and shook him, but it was only to receive a thicker stream of blood from his lips.

  ‘I’m no doctor, but this man is in trouble,’ Lincoln said. ‘Help him.’

  ‘Quit worrying,’ Raul said. He kicked Decker’s shoulder. ‘Old fool is just getting himself some sleep.’

  Lincoln felt Decker’s clammy brow, then glared up at Raul.

  ‘He isn’t.’

  Raul feigned a yawn. ‘I’m not wasting my time. Now, get on the seat before you get the same.’

  ‘For the last time, help him!’ Lincoln snapped.

  ‘For the last time!’ Raul raised a fist, pulling the chain between him and Lincoln taut. ‘What kind of talk is that?’

  ‘The kind you’ll listen to if you don’t want to violate Zandana’s orders and kill Decker.’

  Raul snorted. Then, with a sharp nod, he directed Lincoln to back away from Decker and sit.

  He rolled to the floor. On one knee, he grabbed Decker’s comatose body and dragged him up on to the seat beside him.

  Decker just lolled back on his seat, his mouth open and dribbling blood, his eyes open and rolling.

  ‘There, I’ve helped him. Now quit whining, or I’ll do this.’ Raul grinned and kicked Decker’s slack legs from under him, bundling him to the floor again.

  His unexpected action pulled Decker’s chain taut and dragged Lincoln to the floor, too, tumbling him over Decker.

  Lincoln lay for a moment, anger burning his guts. As Raul laughed and again kicked Decker’s sprawled legs, he rolled back and slammed his fist backhanded at Raul’s chest.

  Trapped in the corner of the stagecoach, Raul couldn’t avoid the blow, but he shrugged it off, then swung his gun round to aim it at Lincoln’s head.

  With his other hand, Lincoln lunged and grabbed the gun, pushing it high.

  Raul flexed his arm, his jaw muscles bunching as he tried to pull the gun down, but finding that Lincoln’s grip was firm, he relented, and with his free hand grabbed the chain binding him to Decker. He dragged a length free then looped it and whipped the end at Lincoln’s head.

  Lincoln saw the blow coming and flinched from it. The chain still flailed around his neck, the links grinding into his flesh.

  Raul grinned and ripped back the chain ready for a second stronger blow. When it came, Lincoln released his grip of Raul’s gun hand and at the same time ducked.

  From so close, Raul’s wild blow whipped in a short arc over Lincoln’s head and Raul clipped his own elbow.

  Raul screeched. His arm flailed as the blow deadened his hands muscles, letting the gun fly from his slack fingers. The gun tumbled end over end before it slammed into the seat opposite.

  Both Lincoln and Raul glanced at the gun. Then they both hurled themselves at it.

  Lincoln stumbled, his attachment to Decker impeding him.

  Raul, with his longer reach, vaulted into the other seat and grabbed the gun with his left hand. He spun round in the seat to stare down at Lincoln, who, with no choice, backed into the opposite seat, raising his hands.

  With an angry grunt, Raul grabbed a firm grip of the chain and dragged the prone Decker along the floor until he bumped into the side of the seat.

  Raul tugged again, but on failing to drag Decker from the floor, he relented and backed into the corner. Decker’s chain had wrapped itself tightly around his right leg and, to free himself, he pulled Decker to a sitting position, leaning him back against the door.

  ‘Now, Lincoln, you just did a whole mess of things wrong,’ he said, shrugging his arm to play out the chain on the seat beside him. ‘As you’re a lawman, you want to list them?’

  Lincoln shook his head. ‘I only tried to stop you hurting Decker.’

  ‘Sounds enough to me.’ Raul firmed his gun hand.

  ‘You won’t kill me,’ Lincoln said, jutting his chin. ‘Those aren’t your orders.’

  Raul’s right eye twitched. Then he considered the prone Decker and smiled.

  ‘That don’t stop me getting myself a quiet journey. Decker’s gone all quiet, and so can you.’ He swung the gun round in his grip and rolled from his seat, the stock held out and ready to pistol-whip Lincoln. ‘Just don’t struggle and you won’t feel a thing.’

  ‘Stop,’ Lincoln said, jerking his head back from the advancing Raul.

  Raul shrugged and raised the stock as he paced over Decker. Then he shrieked.

  For a moment Lincoln couldn’t see why. Then he saw that Decker had thrust his head up and had clamped an arc of yellowing teeth into Raul’s right calf.

  Acting on impulse and with no time to ponder why Decker was now conscious, Lincoln leapt to his feet and grabbed Raul’s gun arm.

  With Decker digging his teeth into Raul’s leg, and with Lincoln gripping his arm and holding the gun high, they pushed Raul back against the door.

  The door creaked, protesting the extra weight. Then it flew open.

  Below, the dregs of fog wreathing the hard ground whipped by as, on the edge of the open door, all three men tottered. Then Decker grabbed a firm grip of Raul’s legs and hurled himself through the door.

  For the briefest of moments Lincoln dug his heels in. Then the trailing chains yanked him through the door after them and tumbled him from the stagecoach.

  Chapter Ten

  With a few barked commands, Crane ordered his men to drag the furniture into the other room and prepare it for a fire.

  Rocco didn’t need any encouragement to smash everything he could lay his hands on into firewood against the wall. Truman bleated when Rocco crashed an ornate chair to the ground, but a firm glare from Crane silenced him.

  Within minutes, Rocco had converted the furniture to a heap of firewood, the effort subduing his seething anger to a low murmuring and a deeply furrowed brow.

  Elwood piled the heap of wood over their attempt to dig a hole, then lit a fire. With the only kindling being some cloth and paper, which he’d gathered from a now-demolished drawer, it took him long minutes to coax a flame.

  With much blowing and shuffling on hands and knees around the pile of wood, he produced smoke, then flames.

  Once he’d encouraged those first fragile flames into life, the slight breeze blowing through the doorway to the window moved the air with sufficient strength to whip the flames into a roaring blaze.

  Within minutes, the fire grew to consume the remnants of the furniture. Luckily, the breeze was also strong enough to
direct the smoke through the window and keep the air in the adjoining room breathable.

  The extra warmth enlivened Crane’s sagging spirits and even encouraged Rocco to hold out his hands and warm them.

  Crane ordered Wallace to guard the doorway and watch for the raiders approaching. He invited Elwood and the hostages to stand around the fire and warm themselves, but he grabbed Truman’s arm and held him back.

  ‘How long before this fire works?’ he asked.

  ‘No idea,’ Truman said. ‘Ask Elwood. This was his idea.’

  ‘I’m asking you what you think will happen.’

  ‘Why would . . .? So, you still think I’m playing a trick on you.’ Truman sighed and pointed around the room that now lacked furniture. ‘I’m not, and you’d better hope this works. After that, you have nothing left to burn.’

  Rocco snorted and walked from the fire to loom over Truman.

  ‘No,’ he said, stabbing a finger at Truman’s chest that knocked him back a pace. ‘You’d better hope this works.’

  ‘Rocco, give everyone a rest,’ Crane said, ‘and stop threatening our hostages every chance you get.’

  Rocco flared his eyes, but with encouragement from Elwood, he headed back into the other room and watched the smoke billow out of the window. He cradled his gun in the crook of his elbow and tapped his foot on the ground with an insistent rhythm.

  ‘Obliged to you for speaking up for me,’ Truman said. ‘Again. But I’d be happier if you’d just trust me. I want this to end as much as you do.’

  ‘Yeah, but Rocco was right. You’d better hope this works.’

  Truman sighed and shook his head. ‘Crane, I hear your threats, but I’ve heard of the Calhoun gang. However badly you want that gold, you won’t kill us.’

  ‘Decker always said you should avoid doing that.’ Crane blew out his cheeks and turned on the spot to look at the fire, then sighed and turned back to face Truman. ‘But don’t get too confident. He isn’t in charge now.’

  ‘I’ve been watching you and I reckon you’re still trying to act with some decency.’

  ‘I guess I am.’ Crane gathered Truman round to look at Rocco. ‘But believe this – if we don’t reach our gold soon, I won’t be able to stop Rocco taking out his frustration on someone. His anger has festered for twenty years, and I reckon you’ll be the first one on the receiving end.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to stop him.’

  ‘Why should I bother? I don’t exactly trust you.’

  Truman sighed. ‘Have no doubt – the gold is in this summer house.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’ Crane sighed and glanced at Truman from the corner of his eye, considering the sharpness of his tailored suit, the clean boots, the absence of patches adorning his clothing. ‘You’re still claiming that you never touched our gold?’

  ‘I did nothing,’ Truman said. ‘I was tempted I’ll admit that, but I decided that fate and maybe God was testing me. So, I reburied the gold and doubled my efforts to survive without it, and I did. I never used that gold.’

  Crane shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you. Nobody could have resisted the temptation.’

  ‘I did. I reckoned that the gold was my lifetime’s temptation. Whenever conditions were harsh, I would again have to resist the lure of the easy option. I always did and always sought my own solutions.’ Truman puffed his chest and tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. ‘That gold made me the successful man I am today. Not through using it, but through my determination to avoid using it.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got that much determination.’

  ‘Perhaps you should search for it in yourself. You’ve spent twenty years in jail, but there’s so much more you can do with the rest of your life, and trying to get this gold will just get you killed.’

  ‘Or get me our gold. After twenty years, I’ve earned it.’

  ‘You’ve earned nothing. Do something else instead where the reward comes from your honest efforts. Perhaps if you resist, you can be as successful as I am.’ Truman rubbed his chin, then raised a finger. ‘Why not—?’

  ‘Enough,’ Crane snapped. ‘I’m getting our gold.’

  Truman raised his hands, then paced from Crane to join the rest of the hostages in staring at the fire and warming his hands.

  Crane considered Truman’s back, then shrugged and joined him. With his hands held out, he looked deep into the flames, trying to let the heat warm more than just his body.

  He couldn’t shake his growing fear that no matter what he did, he just wasn’t getting any closer to their gold. Those four feet of earth might as well be a hundred miles.

  Minute by minute the fire built until it reached its most intense point, the heat blistering within the confines of the building and baking Crane’s skin, the light casting flickering red shadows on the walls.

  ‘When will this work?’ Crane asked Elwood.

  ‘It should have done already,’ Elwood said. ‘Once the fire has died down, we’ll drag it to the side, dig down as far as we can, then pile the fire back in the new hole for the heat to penetrate deeper.’

  ‘That’ll work?’ Rocco grunted.

  Elwood kneaded his forehead. ‘Perhaps we haven’t got enough wood, but we still ought to be—’

  ‘You never said we didn’t have enough wood.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Elwood said, shrugging. ‘Perhaps we have or perhaps we haven’t.’

  Rocco snorted and grabbed an unburnt chair leg from the side of the fire.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he said, swiping the leg through the flames. ‘I’m going to—’

  ‘Rocco, patience,’ Crane shouted.

  ‘I lost that back in the trading post, and I reckon we’ve got too many hostages.’ Rocco swirled round and patted the leg into his other palm as he glared at each of their hostages in turn. ‘We don’t need them all.’

  ‘Rocco, we don’t kill. Remember Decker’s orders.’

  ‘That was twenty years ago, and Decker isn’t around to boss us no more.’

  ‘Listen to Crane,’ Truman said, pacing to Crane’s side. ‘Don’t hurt anyone.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rocco said, his eyes gleaming red in the light from the fire. ‘I wasn’t aiming to hurt just anyone.’

  Truman stood tall and glanced at the circle of people standing around the fire, then centered his gaze on Rocco.

  ‘I believe Crane, Elwood and Wallace could be more than just failed thieves. You’re different. You’ve been spoiling for a fight ever since you walked into the trading post.’

  Rocco chuckled. ‘You noticed.’

  Truman raised his fists, then danced on the spot, his feet whirring as he feigned blows at an imaginary opponent.

  ‘I did, and I reckon now is the time you’ll get one.’

  With his mouth falling open, Rocco looked Truman up and down, appraising his fists, and the short blows he was ripping right and left.

  ‘You can’t mean you?’ he murmured.

  ‘I fought long and hard to get what I have today. I can knock sense into the likes of you.’

  ‘You don’t know how to fight.’ Rocco hurled the chair leg into the heart of the fire.

  ‘I know the rules of gentlemanly conduct, which are sometimes required to resolve conflict. I will observe those rules. Other than that, you will get the thrashing you deserve.’

  Rocco glanced at Crane, who was staring at Truman with the same wide-eyed bemusement that everyone else in the room was.

  ‘I guess I can’t stop this,’ Crane said. He nodded, and held out a hand for Rocco’s gunbelt.

  With his grin threatening to consume his face, Rocco unhooked the belt and threw it to Crane.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Rocco said. He cracked his knuckles, then beckoned Truman to approach. ‘Let’s see what the rules of gentlemanly conduct will get you.’

  Truman lowered his fists, then shrugged his jacket from his shoulders. As he was extricating himself from the sleeves, Rocco stormed two long paces and hurled a
blow at his chin.

  Caught in his jacket, Truman couldn’t avoid the blow, and by the time he’d dragged his arms free, Rocco had already bundled him to the ground with a flurry of blows.

  Rocco stood over him, grinning.

  ‘I wasn’t ready,’ Truman said, fingering his chin.

  ‘I learnt the rules of gentlemanly conduct in Barton jail. There, nobody stood around waiting for a fight to start.’

  Rocco grabbed Truman’s arm and dragged him to his feet. He stood him tall then pummeled him against the wall, knocking his hat to the ground.

  Truman rebounded and hurled a flailing round-armed punch at Rocco’s head.

  Rocco ducked the blow and launched himself at Truman, flattening him to the wall. He grabbed a tuft of hair on the top of his head and slammed his head against the wall, then slammed it again and danced back.

  When Truman staggered away from the wall, his eyes rolling, Rocco grabbed his right arm in both hands and flung him in a short arc.

  Truman wheeled from Rocco’s grip, heading straight for the fire, but in a frantic leap, he tumbled over it. He landed heavily and rolled, crashing into the wall.

  On his side he lay for a moment, but Rocco leapt over the fire and with a great roar, slammed both hands down on his back. He pulled him from the ground, suspending his entire body momentarily in the air before he crashed him down on his feet.

  Truman tottered, so Rocco grabbed his shoulders, keeping him from falling. When he was sure Truman wouldn’t fall, he locked both hands together, then swung his two great fists into Truman’s cheek, sending him looping in a circle before he crashed into the wall, then slid to the ground.

  Truman thrust both hands flat to the ground and flexed his shoulders, trying to rise. Then, with a heavy sigh, he relented and plummeted back to the ground.

  With this final blow, Rocco stood tall and batted his hands.

  ‘Now, that felt good,’ he said. ‘Anyone else want sense knocked into them?’