“That’s good, Tom. Now let’s you and me act real natural around her so’s we don’t let on we’re troubled. No use her fretting about something she don’t need to.”
“All right, Eban. I won’t let on.” Tom looked down pensively. “Eban, them the same fellers that killed Hank and Jess?”
“I reckon so. I’m right sorry about that too.”
“They’re the ones that killed the big guy in Sacramento City too, ain’t they?”
“Yeah, they are.”
“I seen them. Told that sheriff what they looked like.”
“That was good. Sheriff Rodgers is looking for them. Let’s just hope he finds them.”
“He said he would.”
After his horse was unsaddled, fed and bedded down for the night, Price picked up the lamp and made for the door. Halfway there he noticed it, a dark blue army cap like Joshua Stone wore close by a stall. He picked it up, held the lamp high and looked around. There were two parallel scrape marks on the dirt floor, like heel marks of a man being dragged. He followed them toward the rear of the barn.
The smell of smoke tickled his nose but he couldn’t see flames. Straw was piled against the rear of the building. He heard a moan. He hung the lamp on a post and probed the hay until he felt the body. It was Joshua Stone. With a nasty gash behind his right ear and blood running heavily from the wound, it was foul play, no doubt. He wiped Joshua’s face with a bandana. Joshua stirred.
“Mr. Stone, it’s Jim Price. Are you all right?”
Joshua looked groggy, dazed. “What . . . what happened?”
“I don’t know, sir. I found you out cold. Looks like somebody conked you up the side of your head.”
“Conked me?” Instinctively Joshua put his hand inside his coat to check on his wallet. “I’m all right. I think.”
“Did you see who hit you?”
“Hit me? No. No, I came in because of the mule. It was dark. I don’t remember anything else.”
“I’d best get you home. Can you walk?”
“Walk? I guess so. I’m awfully dizzy.”
“I’ll help you up.” The smoke grew stronger, but Price still couldn’t see flames. He put his hand against the back wall to brace himself as he helped Joshua to his feet. The wall was red hot. The fire was outside the rear wall.
“The barn is on fire. We’ve got to get out of here.” He put his arm under Joshua’s shoulder and half walked, half dragged him out the front door of the stable. Two miners passed by. Both had spent too long in a saloon but he needed help.
“You men, the stable’s on fire! Get help.” He sat Joshua down across the street.
The drunken miners, swilling whiskey and laughing, hadn’t moved.
“Damn it. The stable’s on fire. Get down to that saloon and raise the alarm. Now!”
Yelling “fire” as loud as they could, the two men ran towards the Cheep Likker Saloon. Men poured into the street, racing to the flames, now peaking above the rear of the stables.
He turned back to Joshua. “Mr. Stone, can you hear me?” Joshua had passed out again. Price shook him and Joshua woke.
“Can you hear me now?”
“Yeah, yeah. I can hear you. I’m fine.”
“Listen up. Your wife is in trouble. I’ve got to check on her. You’re hurt. Stay here. Do you understand?”
“Hurt, yes. I’m hurt. Stay here. Ooh, my wife . . .” Joshua shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “What about Maggie?”
“No time to explain. I got to go. Stay here.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll stay.”
Price ran up Main Street toward the cabin. He was sure the fire and the attack on Joshua were connected, that it was part of an attack on the woman. He heard her story at their camp under the bluff. He saw the bodies in Coloma and at Weber Creek. He was a lawman. He didn’t believe in coincidences.
“The coffee’s ready, Eban,” Maggie called from the kitchen.
“Be right there.” Eban patted Tom on the leg. “Just between us men, right, Tom?” He got up from the ottoman.
Loud, hurried footsteps pounded up the stairs and across the porch. A rap came at the door. Tom put the book on the floor and stood.
“Mr. Snyder, fire! Your barn’s on fire. You got to hurry.”
Eban rushed to the window and saw the flames. “Damn! Josh is in there!” He grabbed the shotgun by the door and threw open the bolt. The door smashed inward, knocking Eban back, and the shotgun thudded to the floor. A man walked in, a gun in his hand. Without a blink he shot Eban in the chest, knocking him back against a rocker. The chair snapped to pieces and Eban crashed to the floor. He didn’t move.
“Eban!” Tom screamed. The gunman had a scar on his face. It was the killer. Tom charged headfirst into the man’s gut. The force knocked scar face back, but he didn’t fall. Tom pounded at him with his fists.
Jack recoiled from the boy’s attack. He had come on him fast, too fast. Jack hadn’t been ready. He swatted the brat in the nose with his left hand. The boy grunted. Blood spurted out. He pounded his head with the pistol butt. The boy went limp and slid to the floor.
He looked around for the shotgun and picked it up. The brat was still awake, holding his nose and moaning. He yanked him to his feet and cocked one barrel of the scattergun.
“Maggie, Maggie, my dear. Where are you, Maggie? I’ve missed you. Ain’t you happy to see me?” He walked into the kitchen, pushing the boy in front.
She stood at the back, past the stove on her right, a cabinet full of dishes to her left, the small pistol she had stolen from his stash aimed at him. “I’ll shoot, Jack. I swear I will.” She shook.
Jack laughed at her. “Now that ain’t no way to greet an old friend. Remember the good times we used to have? We can have them again. I’m excited about that, ain’t you, Maggie?” He put the gun barrel to the boy’s head and snarled. “Put your popgun down, now.” She didn’t move. “Do it! I’ll kill the brat.”
“Let the boy go, Jack. I’ll do what you want, just let the boy go.” She dropped the gun to the floor.
Jack laughed. “You stupid woman. I’m going to kill the boy. Then I’m going to kill you, after I’ve had my fun.” He spun the brat around, smashed him with a left hook. The boy tumbled into the table then flopped to the floor, out cold.
“Beg, on your knees. Beg like you want it.” Jack wheeled the gun back to Tom. “On your knees, or I’ll blow the brat’s head apart like a pumpkin.”
Joshua’s head reeled. A thick, wet fog covered his brain. He couldn’t concentrate. Thoughts flew through his mind, jumbled together, confused. He had to make sense of them, to organize them. Something was missing. Something was wrong.
What’s all the excitement about? Oh, the stable is burning.
He put his hand on his head where the pain was. It came away covered in blood. I’m bleeding. That’s why my head hurts.
He took a deep breath. His head wasn’t the problem. There was something else.
Jim Price was here. He said he was going to check on something. Yes, he went to check on my wife.
Why did he go to check on my wife?
Maggie! His head somehow cleared, a small gap in the fog.
Maggie’s in trouble! A single thought in his clouded mind, I’ve got to get to Maggie!
He pushed himself to his feet and wobbled unsteadily up Main Street. He tripped over a rut and fell in the dust.
I’ve got to get to Maggie! He found his feet and, wobbling drunkenly, charged on, the one thought rolling through the fog like a drum beat. Again he fell. Again he got up.
I’ve got to get to Maggie!
I’ve got to get to Maggie!
Price heard the pop of the pistol, saw the open front door, and rushed up the stairs. Eban Snyder lay on the floor of the main room, blood gushing from his chest. Inside the kitchen door, a boy was sprawled flat, his face a bloody mess. He raised his gaze straight into the barrel of a shotgun. The blast blew him out the front door, his chest shredded with buckshot.
“No!” Maggie screamed at the shot then ran headfirst into Jack. She pounded him, kicked him. No more! She would have no more death because of Jack.
He grabbed her waist and squeezed hard. She bit him on the shoulder. He yelped and dropped the shotgun. Then he snatched her hair, yanked it and slapped her hard. He slapped her again. Blood spilled from her lip.
Jack snarled, “Fight, and I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp.” He punched her in the gut. Her breath blew out of her lungs. He forced her to her knees in front of him and slammed her face into his crotch. “Beg for it, beg like you want it.”
She gasped for air. She could feel him, rock hard inside his pants, right against her nose, her mouth. She struggled, twisted, pushed back. Oh, God!
Jack yanked her hair again. “Beg or I’ll kill the brat.” He panted like a dog.
“I want it, Jack. Do it to me. Please Jack, do it to me.” She sobbed. She hated herself. She wanted to die.
He swatted her again, hard. She tumbled onto her back. Jack picked up the shotgun and cocked the other barrel. “You’re lying! Say it like you mean it.” He pushed the shotgun at her face. She scooted backwards. He took a step towards her. She scooted back again. Then she saw it on the floor, her little gun. She had scooted too far. If she could get it, maybe . . .
She rubbed her crotch with her left hand and licked her bloody lips. “I want it, Jack. You know I want it. Let me do it to you, Jack. You want me to do it, don’t you, Jack?” She licked her lips again.
Jack drooled, his mouth wide. “Back on your knees, now.”
She scrambled up, her face right in front of it. She reached up and rubbed it with her left hand. “That’s what I want, Jack. I want it bad, Jack.” Her right hand groped for the pistol. It was still too far.
His pants were loose, baggy. She wrapped her hand around it, grabbed it tight. “I want it, Jack.” She pressed her face into his crotch, her mouth close. She pressed her head into him, pushing him as she did so. Suddenly Jack turned. He stepped back. A shot rang out just as her hand grabbed the little gun. Was someone else here?
Jack grunted and took another step back. The shotgun went off, splattering the leaded glass cabinet filled with her glassware. Jack teetered, dropped to his knees, then tumbled forward on top of her. She screamed.
Joshua stumbled up the stairs. He heard the two shots and Maggie’s scream.
Thick fog filled his mind. He still couldn’t think. His eyes were blurred. He couldn’t focus. At the top of the stairs he saw the body, but couldn’t tell who it was. He leaned in closer. It was Jim Price. “Oh, no!” He gasped and sucked in a breath.
He pulled the Paterson Colt, cocked it, and felt the trigger fall into place. The front door was open wide. He staggered through.
Tom was on the floor just inside the kitchen door, his face bloody. Eban was on his back in the main room, blood pumping from his chest. His eyes were open. He struggled to breathe.
There was so much blood and death around him. The battlefield at San Pasqual flashed in his mind, dead and wounded men littering the open ground. His stomach turned. He forced down the rising bile.
The mind fog worsened. He was dizzy, sweating and weaving. With a silent prayer he stumbled into the kitchen. A body lay in the middle of the room. He couldn’t focus. He saw four arms and four legs. He shook his head. His eyes cleared.
The scream erupted from deep inside. He was too late. He failed. He no longer cared what happened to him. Revenge is all he wanted, all that mattered. His hand shook. He steadied it with his left. Revenge, a shot to the head. He took a deep breath and squeezed—
“He’s behind you, Joshua!” It was Maggie.
The click of a hammer cocking, he spun. He stared into the steely black eyes of a man he had never seen, but it was a man he knew—the mountain man Cherokee Bill.
Bill could have shot him in the back as he came in the room. Why hadn’t he? He was a killer, a bloodthirsty monster who killed without reason. Why hadn’t he pulled the trigger?
The man sprawled on top of his wife must be Smiling Jack. He was too late. He had failed, failed Maggie, let her suffer the worst offense a woman could. He’d promised her this would never happen, never.
“Don’t shoot, Joshua, please. He saved me. He shot Jack.” She grunted, pushed the heavy body away, then wiggled out from under it. Blood from Jack’s head covered the shoulder of her dress. As she stood, she slid the small pistol into a pocket. She hurried to Joshua’s side and put her hand on his arm. “You’re bleeding, Joshua. Are you all right?”
“I think so. Are you?”
“Jack shot somebody. I was so afraid it was you.”
“He shot Jim Price.”
“Is he—?”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh, no!” Rage, long bottled inside then lulled by a false sense of security, spewed out. “Damn you, Bill! Why are you here?”
“Kill that son a bitch. Take you back.”
“Take me back! Why would you ever think I would want to be with you? Look around. This man is my husband. I love him. I’m carrying his child. We built this house for our life together. How could you ever believe I would go with you and live like a dirt poor Indian squaw?”
She pulled the pistol from her pocket, cocked it, and stuck it to her temple. She glared at Bill. Her eyes filled with her pent up rage. “I’d rather die than be with you.”
“But I killed—”
“You killed! You killed four innocent men in Coloma, two of them just boys. You killed Norton. You killed the Frenchman up near the Bear River. You kill, that’s all you do, you kill. Somebody should kill you.” She pulled the gun from her head and pushed it into Bill’s face. “I should kill you. So what if you rescued me in the Sierra and took me to your mother? She saved my life. I owe you for that, you bastard, but then you sold me, sold me to that sick son of a bitch, Jack. You made my life hell. Hell, damn you! Get out of my house! Get out of my life!” She shook violently. “Get out!”
Maggie’s fierce outburst stunned Joshua. He had never seen her, or any other woman, in such a state of wrath. Bill, the rugged mountain man and remorseless killer, could easily have overpowered her, killed her with little effort as she prodded at his face with the tiny pistol and screamed relentlessly at him, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes wide, his mouth agape, he backed slowly into the main room then out onto the porch.
As she pursued Bill, her rant changed. “Don’t ever come back. I’ll kill you!”
Joshua followed Maggie to the door, the Colt trained on Bill. He put his hand on her shoulder to stop her, then moved around her onto the porch. If the mountain man were to try something, this would be his last chance. He wanted to make sure nothing happened to Maggie, and he wanted to shield her from the sight of Jim Price’s body. It was not something she needed to see, not now, not ever.
She continued to yell as Bill backed down the stairs and ducked around the corner of the cabin. He heard the hoof beats of a horse fading from the rear.
“He’s gone, Maggie.”
She quieted. The hand with the gun began to tremble. He took it from her, released the hammer, and put it back in her palm.
“Hang on to this. You might need it again.”
She put the pistol in her pocket then collapsed into his arms.
He could feel the tension melt from her body. He pushed her head up to look in her eyes. They were moist, teary.
“You are just a bundle of surprises. There are so many things I want to say to you, but right now Eban and Tom need our help.”
“I know. Eban is hurt bad.”
“Can you help him?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“You have to try. I’ll see to Tom.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Maggie walked inside, but he turned to look at the stable, now engulfed in flames. He should be there, helping to fight the fire, but the stable meant nothing now. Eban was hurt. Tom was hurt. A stable could be replace
d. Eban and Tom couldn’t. He locked the door behind him.
Bill rode down the hill to the east of the ravine. The stable, burning strong, and the town lay to his right. His mind tumbled, jumbled, confused. He had come here to get the woman. She was his. He found her, saved her. She had a fire about her, a fire that had run him from her without so much as a whimper.
It seemed simple at the start. He would sell her to Jack. After Jack beat her for a while, he would save her. Then she would want him.
He was close that day at Sutter’s Creek. Jack was beating her at her hut. He was ready to squeeze the rifle’s trigger when the soldier barged in and took her from the logging camp. He had to help Jack find her again before he could kill the scar-faced madman.
All the long summer he waited, wounded, stuck in Jack’s hovel on the Bear River. And now she had run him off like a Piute does a hungry dog. No! It wouldn’t stand. She said she would rather die. Then die she would, first the boy, then the soldier, then her. Slow and long, she would die like the enemy of the Piutes.
A wall crashed inwards, the last wall of the blazing stable. Sparks flew through the air. His horse shied and balked. As he settled the animal, he watched the swarm of men throwing buckets of water onto the flames. Men were terrified of fire. He would burn her cabin, her house, and burn her alive inside it. No woman could do this to Cherokee Bill.
The flames stilled and so did the horse. He cracked the reins on the horse’s rump and burst through the line of men who passed buckets from the stream. He rode by the bridge. At the El Dorado, he stopped. He needed to think. He needed to plan. He needed to drink. He tied his horse across the street and went inside the saloon.
Joshua wiped Tom’s face again. He had checked the boy carefully. His heart was strong. He was breathing well. He didn’t have any broken bones, but he was still out cold and his face was badly battered.
“I’m going to take Tom to his room.”
Maggie looked up and nodded. Joshua could see the concern in her eyes. Eban was in serious trouble. He had known since he first walked in the door.
Hangtown Creek: A Tale of the California Gold Rush (A Tom Marsh Adventure Book 1) Page 25
