“That’s what I’m counting on,” John Henry said with a grim nod.
When they had covered several blocks without running into any more opposition, John Henry led the way along another alley back to Main Street. The deputies in the hardware store and the townspeople inside the jail were still shooting at each other. John Henry paused at the corner and looked around, checking for any lurking bushwhackers.
“All we can do is make a run for it,” he told Buckner. “The men holed up in the hardware store won’t have a very good angle to shoot at us.”
“That don’t mean they can’t hit us.”
“No, it doesn’t. But we’re over here and we need to be over there.”
Buckner grinned and said, “I’m not arguin’ with you, Marshal. I’m ready to go whenever you say the word.”
John Henry paused a moment longer.
“Did you get anything worked out with Kate?” he asked.
“Well, she didn’t slap my face when I told her how I feel, so I’m takin’ that as a good sign. She said we’d talk about it later, when all this is over.”
“I reckon that’s one more good reason to stay alive,” John Henry said.
With that, he burst out into the street at a dead run.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Buckner was right behind him. As bullets began to come their direction, John Henry zigzagged to throw off the aim of Dav’s men. Of course, he knew there was a chance he would run right into the path of a slug, but that was a chance he had to take.
The closer they came to the other side of the street, the worse the angle for the men in the hardware store. But there were still riflemen on top of some of the buildings behind them, and John Henry was reminded of that fact when a bullet whined past his right ear and kicked up dust in the street in front of him.
That seemed like the widest street he had ever crossed, even though he knew it really wasn’t. Having bullets flying around his head tended to alter a fella’s perceptions. But at long last he and Buckner pounded into an alley and ducked behind some water barrels, safe for the moment.
Buckner wheezed as he tried to catch his breath.
“I ain’t . . . used to . . . runnin’ like that,” he said. “I was always taught . . . any chore you can’t do from horseback . . . ain’t worth doin’.”
“You wouldn’t have made much of a farmer, then,” John Henry said, remembering his father and many of the men he had known back in Indian Territory.
“No, sir, I . . . sure wouldn’t have.”
After a minute or two, they were ready to move again. As they began working their way along the back of the buildings on this side of the street, using whatever cover they could find, Buckner asked, “How many men you reckon Dav’s got left?”
“Eight or nine altogether. Maybe one or two less than that.”
“You’ve really whittled ’em down.”
“That was the idea.”
“If you’d asked me yesterday whether I thought anybody could break Dav’s hold on this town, I’d have said no,” Bucker said. “I’d have said hell, no, and anybody would be a fool to try. Danged if it ain’t startin’ to look like you might pull it off.”
“I’ve had plenty of help,” John Henry said. “And at least two good men have died. I don’t want their deaths to be for nothing.”
“If Dav comes out on top, a lot more folks will die.”
“I know. And I’ll do everything I can to stop that from happening.”
They were getting close to the hardware store now. John Henry checked every alley before they crossed the mouth of it, just in case any of the deputies were waiting to bushwhack them. They had just gone past one of those alley mouths when John Henry heard a faint splashing sound. There had been a rain barrel in that alley, he recalled.
And from the sound of it, somebody had been hidden in that barrel. He whirled and brought up his gun, and so did Buckner.
“Hold it!” a voice ordered.
They found themselves facing Aaron Kemp, who stood in the rain barrel with water streaming down from his face and clothes. His Colt was leveled at them, but their guns were pointed at him.
No one pulled the trigger. Not yet.
“Steve!” Kemp exclaimed. “What are you doin’ with this . . . this turncoat?”
“Take it easy, Aaron,” Buckner urged. “We don’t have to do this. That was mighty smart of you, hidin’ in that rain barrel like that, though.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Have you changed sides?”
Buckner drew in a deep breath and said, “Yeah . . . yeah, I have. You know good and well that Dav’s the craziest hombre we ever crossed trails with, amigo. I mean, good Lord, he’s got poor Miz Hammond tied up there on a cross! No man in his right mind would do somethin’ like that.”
“We told the man we’d back his play,” Kemp said stubbornly. “I don’t like goin’ back on my word, Steve.”
“Neither do I, but sometimes things change. When we rode in here, we didn’t know the job was gonna turn out the way it has.”
Kemp’s eyes narrowed.
“This is about that girl, isn’t it?” he asked. “Kate Collins?”
“She’s in the jail with the others,” Buckner said. “Dav’s already tried to kill her once. If he wins, it’ll go bad for her, Aaron. Mighty bad.”
Kemp scowled for a second, then his face twisted in a grimace.
“Damn it, I can’t throw down on a man I rode with as long as I have with you,” he said. He lowered his gun. “But I’m not going to turn traitor, either. You two go on and do what you have to do. I’m heading for the stable to get my horse and ride away from here.”
“That’s the smart thing to do,” John Henry said.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Cobb, or whatever the hell your name is. And I’m sure as blazes not doing this for you.”
Buckner said, “You go on, Aaron. We’ll cross trails later.”
Kemp shook his head.
“Not if I have anything to say about it. We’re not pards anymore, Steve. That’s the way it’s gotta be.”
Kemp climbed out of the barrel, shook himself off, and trotted away along the alley without looking back. Buckner watched him go with an expression of regret on his face.
“At least the two of you didn’t have to shoot each other,” John Henry pointed out.
“Yeah, there’s that to be thankful for.” Buckner jerked his head toward the hardware store. “Come on.”
As they approached it, John Henry made sure all the chambers in his Colt’s cylinder were full. There might not be time for reloading.
“Dav’s liable to have a lookout posted at the back door,” Buckner warned. “Maybe you better let me go first.”
“Because anybody who’s been in the hardware store all night won’t know that you’re on our side now,” John Henry mused. “That’s pretty smart. You wouldn’t be thinking of a last-minute double-cross, would you?”
“If I wanted to kill you, Marshal, I’ve had plenty of chances before now,” Buckner pointed out.
“That’s right.” John Henry drew back behind the corner of the building. “Go ahead.”
Buckner nodded and trotted toward the rear door of the hardware store. When he reached it, he banged a fist on it.
“Open up in there!” he called. “It’s Buckner!”
One of the deputies jerked the door open and peered out with a surprised expression on his face.
“Steve!” he said. “Where the hell have you been? We figured those damn townies must’ve killed you.”
The deputies in the hardware store must not have gotten a good enough look at Buckner as he dashed across the street with John Henry to recognize him. John Henry had thought that was probably the case, but it was nice to have the hunch confirmed.
“No, I’m here, come to help you boys,” Buckner said. “Step out here and gimme a hand. I got somethin’ that’ll turn the tide for us.”
The deputy came out of the store,
asking, “What—”
That was as far as he got before Buckner’s free hand shot out, grabbed his shirtfront, and jerked him off his feet. Buckner’s gun rose and fell, and the deputy sprawled on the ground, out cold.
John Henry quickly rejoined Buckner and said, “There’s no way of knowing how many are in there.”
“Not without goin’ in,” Buckner agreed. The two men looked at each other, nodded, and charged through the door.
Four men knelt at the front windows, firing at the jail. As John Henry and Buckner came up behind them, John Henry called in a loud, commanding voice, “Drop your guns! Elevate, in the name of the law!”
Even though they were taken completely by surprise, the crooked deputies weren’t going to give up without a fight. They whirled around, the rifles in their hands spitting flame.
A sack of flour on a shelf near John Henry’s head exploded as a bullet struck it, sending a white cloud into the air. John Henry returned the fire and saw one of the rifleman go over backward, the Winchester flying from his hands as he collapsed over the front windowsill and hung there awkwardly.
Beside John Henry, Buckner’s gun was roaring as well. He staggered but stayed on his feet as he drove a slug into the chest of another deputy.
John Henry felt the hot breath of a bullet against his cheek as he triggered again and again. Another deputy dropped his gun and clapped his hands to his suddenly crimson-spouting throat as he reeled to the side. He pitched to the floor as his lifeblood continued to gurgle out.
Buckner downed the last of the deputies with a sizzling slug into the man’s belly. Silence seemed to echo in the room as the shooting abruptly ended.
“That leaves Dav,” John Henry said.
“I ain’t seen Carl Miller, either,” Buckner said. “He’s probably up on the roof with the sheriff.”
“I guess we can call on them to give up,” John Henry suggested. “They can’t hope to win now.”
Buckner shook his head.
“You do that and he’ll kill Miz Hammond just for spite, if he ain’t already. We got to get up there.”
John Henry knew Buckner was right. He looked around and said, “Let’s find a ladder.”
The shooting from the jail across the street had stopped. The defenders might have heard six-guns going off and figured out that he and Buckner had reached their goal, John Henry thought. He stepped to the window so they could see him and waved to let them know that he and Buckner were all right.
“There ain’t no ladder in here!” Buckner said. “I don’t know how we’re gonna get up there.”
“How about some rope?”
Buckner grabbed a coiled lasso from a stack of them.
“We got that.”
“Come on.”
They hurried out into the rear alley. John Henry had done a bit of cowboying back in Indian Territory. He formed a loop in the rope and looked for some place to throw it. He didn’t see any projections that would support their weight, though.
They had fought their way this far, he thought desperately, and yet they couldn’t get to Dav and Miller and save Lucinda Hammond!
Suddenly Dav shouted, “Damn you, Cobb! I know you’re down there somewhere! Show yourself, or I’ll kill the woman right now!”
John Henry knew the crazed sheriff meant it. He glanced over at Buckner and said, “I’ll go out in the street and try to draw him up to the front of the building where you can get a shot at him.”
“He’ll gun you down,” Buckner protested.
“Maybe, but not if you get him first.”
Buckner clearly didn’t like the plan, but he said, “All right, we’ll give it a try. I don’t know what else we can do.”
With the lasso still in his hand, John Henry hurried along the passage next to the building. Buckner followed him. When they had reached the edge of the street, John Henry called, “Dav! I’m here, Dav!”
“Get out there in the street where I can see you!” Dav shouted back.
John Henry had spotted something that made him alter his plan. He tapped Buckner on the shoulder and pointed to one of the posts that held up the awning over the boardwalk. It had cracked when the false front fell on the awning, and it was bent in the middle now.
“Tie the rope around that post and pull,” John Henry whispered. “When it breaks, the awning will collapse and let that false front fall on down at an angle. Maybe I can run up it to the roof.”
“Without Dav and Miller shootin’ you on the way?”
John Henry smiled faintly and said, “I’m counting on them being surprised enough to give me a few seconds.”
“Might as well,” Buckner said. “It’s no crazier than anything else we’ve done.”
John Henry noticed blood on the former deputy’s shirt.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just got a little crease back there. I’ll be fine.”
John Henry didn’t know if Buckner was telling the truth, but there wasn’t time to check on the wound now.
While Buckner hurried to the cracked post and began tying the rope around it, John Henry sidled out into the street, calling, “Here I am, Dav!” He still had his gun in his hand.
“Tell the people in the jail to hold their fire, or I’ll shoot the woman!”
John Henry turned his head and shouted at the jail, “Turnage! Farnham! You heard him! Everybody stay out of this! It’s between me and the sheriff now!”
That ought to appeal to Dav’s vanity and sense of the dramatic, John Henry thought. And he was willing to take his chance in a showdown with the crooked lawman.
Dav came to the front of the building where John Henry could see him. The bullwhip still dangled from his hand. Miller stepped up behind him, holding a revolver that was aimed at Lucinda Hammond. Lucinda seemed to have passed out. Her head drooped forward and her hair hung in front of her face.
“Who are you?” Dav demanded as he glared down at John Henry.
“Deputy U.S. Marshal John Henry Sixkiller. I was sent here to put a stop to your reign of terror, Dav.”
That brought a laugh from Dav.
“My so-called reign of terror is just starting, Sixkiller. I’ll be running this whole territory before I’m through. And then—” He stopped short and shook his head. “But there’s no need to waste time explaining everything to you. You’re going to be dead in less than a minute.”
John Henry glanced at Buckner, who had opened the doors of the hardware store and retreated inside. He gave a tiny nod, and Buckner heaved on the rope.
Cracked or not, the post didn’t budge.
Buckner heaved again, still with no result. Obviously, the post wasn’t damaged as much as John Henry had thought it was.
Then, as John Henry tried to keep the amazement off his face, two huge shapes loomed up behind Buckner, who got out of the way in a hurry as Peabody and Nate Farnham strode past him. They must have seen what he and Buckner were trying to do, gotten out of the jail somehow, and circled around to come in the back of the hardware store. They didn’t bother with the rope. Instead they stepped out onto the boardwalk, wrapped their arms around the post, and put their massive muscles to work like a pair of father and son Samsons.
The post didn’t stand a chance.
It broke all the way with a sharp crack, and more splintering sounded as the awning collapsed and the false front lying on top of it tipped down toward the ground. John Henry hoped the Farnhams had been able to throw themselves backward, out of the way of the falling debris. He lunged forward, breaking into a run that carried him swiftly toward the toppling false front.
It landed at an angle, its top wedged against the ground. John Henry bounded onto it, his momentum carrying him up the steep angle. Something popped loudly, but it wasn’t a gun. Dav lashed at him with the bullwhip. He felt the sharp sting as it cracked against his shoulder but kept coming. The next strike caught him on the wrist and made him drop his gun.
But he was close enough now to tackle Dav. T
he sheriff yelled in surprise and alarm as he toppled forward. He and John Henry rolled back down the inclined false front, slugging at each other.
They hit the street in a welter of dust. Dav was still trying to use the bullwhip on him, but John Henry thrust up his arm and let the braided strand coil around it. He slammed a punch into Dav’s face with his other fist, then flipped the slack in the whip around the sheriff’s neck. John Henry caught hold of the whip with his other hand and twisted, tightening the loop that encircled Dav’s throat.
Dav kicked and flailed, but John Henry didn’t let off on the pressure. At this moment there was no mercy in John Henry Sixkiller. He hung on as Dav’s struggles grew more and more frantic. Not only were Dav’s grandiose dreams slipping away from him, but so was his life and he had to know that.
Wilhelm Heinsdorf had thought that Dav was some sort of supernatural monster, a creature of the darkness that could not be killed. But Samuel Dav was a human being. Terribly flawed, but still a human being.
Anything human could die.
And so he did, on this clear morning, under a blue sky washed clean by the storm of the night before. John Henry felt Dav’s muscles go slack, so, too, the man’s purple face and protruding tongue and eyes.
But he didn’t let go of the whip for another couple of minutes, just to be sure.
John Henry’s head was swimming. So much had happened, and now as he eased his hold on the whip, reaction set in. He was barely aware of what was going on as strong hands gripped him and lifted him to his feet. He looked up and saw several men cutting Lucinda Hammond loose from the cross. Peabody Farnham held him up and rumbled, “Are you all right, Marshal?”
“Yeah,” John Henry rasped. “Miller?”
“Dead,” Farnham said. “He tried to get away when he saw you choking the life out of Dav. That fella Buckner stopped him.”
“If you want a real sheriff for a change,” John Henry said, “you might do worse than Buckner.”
“He worked for Dav!”
“A man can change. I reckon Buckner’s proved that.” John Henry looked around. “What about the other deputies? Were any of them left alive?”
Eight Hours to Die Page 22
