Li went down fast.
Emmett thumbed and fired, thumbed and fired, thumbed and fired.
Cage clutched his throat, coughed up blood. His pistol clattered to the floor. He slipped in the crimson puddle that pooled beside his fallen compadre and fell ungracefully, legs splayed wide.
Emmett ran to Li.
There she was—lying on her back, eyes wide open.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Emmett felt as if he’d been slugged in the chest by a six-and-a-half-foot blacksmith.
“Li,” he breathed. He dropped to a knee beside his wife.
“I’m OK,” she whispered, turning her head toward him.
His gaze ran over her body, looking for blood.
She pushed herself onto her elbows. “That hurt.”
“What? What hurts?” His heart drummed.
“Throwing myself down on that hard floor.”
“So you’re not shot?”
She looked up and down herself. “I don’t think so.” Her gaze now met his.
He grabbed her and clutched her to himself. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear?”
“But you were—”
“I don’t care what I was.” He gripped her tighter. “I can’t do without you, Li.”
“That goes both ways,” she said, trembling now. Then, with a faint gasp, she withdrew her hand and peered at it. “You’re bleeding. A lot.”
“It’s OK. We’re both alive.”
“Let me see.” She pulled away and began to examine his side.
“It’s nothing,” he insisted. “I just leaned a little too hard against a bullet going by.”
Again Emmett’s heart jolted. It was only as Li shifted to inspect his side that he saw the chest-high bullet hole in her duster. He held her still and stuck his finger into the hole. “Did you realize…?”
She went pale and shook her head.
Turning her gently, he found the exit hole. He pulled the duster down off her shoulder. No blood. No corresponding hole in her vest. At some point in the fray, somebody’s bullet had come way too close to killing her.
He drew her to himself. Tightly. What kind of man lets his wife walk into a situation like this?
After several minutes, she whispered, “What about the others, Emmett? Maybe somebody else is badly hurt.”
He didn’t want to let her go, but she was right, so he clambered to his feet, helping her up as he went.
Both sides had taken a licking in the fight.
A bullet had grazed Juanito’s head. He was out cold for another half hour. Gave them a good scare before he finally woke up with a headache unlike any he’d ever had. All indications suggested he’d be just fine, but it shook Emmett—a mere inch difference, and his closest friend would’ve been fit for a pine box.
Jack VanDorn had been hit twice—once in the shoulder and once near the crotch. Poor old Jack wouldn’t be walking so well or shooting so well anymore. Barring infection, the doc thought he’d probably recover, though the road back to health would likely be a long one.
Marshal Perry hadn’t been so fortunate. He’d given up the ghost when a single bullet had shut down his heart.
The doc had Emmett lie on a table so he could take a look at him. The bullet that had creased his side had hit no vital organs or blood vessels. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like mad.
Li, meanwhile, gently examined the quarter-inch notch that Ned Cage’s first bullet had cut in his earlobe. As he lay there, he thanked the Good Lord that Li was indeed—perhaps miraculously—unhurt.
The doc finished tying off Emmett’s bandage. “You go easy now, you hear?”
As Emmett sat up and buttoned his shirt, he observed a local fellow arranging Victorio Sanchez’s lifeless hands, folding them atop his corpulent middle. He felt no sympathy for the desperado whose life seemed to have had no particular aim other than self-gratification, mindless of what it cost others.
Hand to his own bandaged head, Juanito came up alongside them and gestured toward Sanchez. “Makes me think I should have gone ahead and shot him five years ago down in Laredo, hermano.”
Down in Laredo, Emmett and Juanito had arrested Sanchez instead of gunning him down. Couldn’t say they never gave him the chance to change his ways.
Emmett squeezed his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “Knowing what we know now, I’m glad it was you that finished him off.”
“Couldn’t let him do to Li what he did to my sister.”
Emmett stared at his old enemy, growing cold on the floor. “Appreciate you looking out for us, Juanito.”
His brother-in-law nodded.
And there was “Three-Finger” Ned Cage—as dead as the rest of them. Not because Emmett had beaten him straight out, but because Cage had been distracted for just a fraction of a moment. Out in the street, fixed on one opponent, Ned Cage might have gotten the drop on him. But Li—
Suddenly, Emmett recalled Li’s words during the heat of the gunfight. He turned and looked for his wife, then waved her back over.
Cupping her face in his palm, he asked, “During the shooting, when you said ‘something’s wrong,’ what did you mean?”
She took his hand in hers then pivoted, searching the barroom. “Who’s missing, Emmett?”
He looked around, dismayed that no fewer than three bystanders had been hit in this unfortunate corpse-and-cartridge affair. Then it struck him—Alonzo Perry’s deputy was unaccounted for. “Warren Livingston.” He turned back to Li. “Have you seen him?”
She nodded. “He was shooting at Franklin Taft. And at the man behind the bar.”
Emmett pulled his head back. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Emmett, Li, and Juanito all turned toward Taft. The saloon owner, arm bandaged, squatted beside his dead bartender. “Deputy Livingston shot Taft?”
“Yes,” Li said. “Then he fired a few random shots while he backed his way to the doors.”
“He ran?”
She nodded.
Emmett was stunned. From the moment he’d met Livingston—on the way to Nevada in pursuit of his brother’s murderer—he’d had a favorable impression of him. Affable fellow. Seemed professional. He wondered whether Livingston had gotten spooked. It could happen to the best of men. But that wouldn’t explain him firing shots at Taft and his barkeep.
“Taft pulled out of the fight as soon as the first shot was fired, didn’t he?” Emmett asked.
“I saw him hurrying away from the table and toward the bar,” Juanito said. “I don’t think he even had his gun out. Then I lost track of him.”
“Over by the bar,” Li said, “the bartender fell. Then Taft tried to draw his gun, and the deputy shot him in the arm.”
Emmett glanced back toward the bar, its polished wood now pocked with bullet holes. “Did Livingston kill the bartender?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think so.”
Had Livingston fooled them all? Was he in cahoots with the fast guns at the table? If he was shooting at Taft, he must not have been too worried about the gunslicks shooting at him.
Emmett went to the door and peered out into the street. Far more people were coming and going—or just standing in clusters and yammering—than was normal for this time of night.
“We’ve got to find that boy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
At noon the next day, Emmett, Li, and Juanito were sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Rio Grande when Franklin Taft walked in with three men—those who had supposedly witnessed the robbery.
Before things had gone completely loco, Jack VanDorn and Alonzo Perry had intended to question the witnesses one by one here at the hotel today. Deputy Warren Livingston was to have made sure the witnesses didn’t communicate with one another during the questioning. But that wasn’t to be—Mars
hal Perry had been the first to die in last night’s shoot-out, and Jack VanDorn was too shot up to get out of bed. Nobody knew where the deputy had run off to.
Taft looked as though last night’s powder burning had taken some of the pluck out of him.
Not his witnesses, though. They appeared primed and ready to go—unconcerned about either last night’s gunfight or the supposed robbery. So much so that their only interest seemed to be in ogling Li. Emmett fought the urge to get up and give them a good drubbing.
He stood. To Taft he said, “Good of you to come.” He had no greeting for those who claimed to have seen him running off with the saloon owner’s cashbox.
Taft was quick to extend his good arm and say, “You need to know, Strong: I only asked you to come down there yesterday evening under duress. I didn’t hire those man killers. They came looking for me—looking for you, that is.”
Emmett searched Taft’s features. “I’ll take you at your word on that.”
“And we didn’t have nothin’ to do with none of them fellers from last night—the fast guns,” the witness wearing the black shirt said. He seemed suddenly eager to get that piece of information off his chest, though neither his look nor his tone conveyed any hint of apology.
It was curious to Emmett that, whereas he and Juanito were the accused in the alleged robbery, here was this self-styled witness, stumbling over himself to disavow any connection with Ned Cage and his boys.
“Who did hire ’em?” Emmett asked. “Did they say?”
Taft shook his head emphatically. “Never did say.”
Shot in the arm, his saloon ruined, Taft had been in no shape to talk after the gunfight. “I didn’t know them, and best I could tell, they didn’t know each other—not till tonight.” That had been about the best he’d been able to get out of Taft regarding Ned Cage and Victorio Sanchez.
Emmett glanced back at Li and Juanito. The three of them had talked deep into the night, trying to figure things out. Victorio Sanchez probably would’ve killed any of them for free. But Ned Cage? Unlikely. He wouldn’t have come cheap. Putting that together with the news of Sikes lying dead back in San Antonio, they could think of only one man with reason enough and money enough to send a gunman like Cage after them—Lucian McIntosh, the man who had in fact threatened to chase him, Juanito, and Sikes all the way back to Texas.
Thinking about Sikes dead and then “Three-Finger” Ned Cage showing up prompted Emmett to ask, “Just out of curiosity, Mr. Taft, you wouldn’t happen to have seen Miss Geneve in the past few days, would you?”
While the three witnesses shifted uncomfortably, Taft dropped his gaze and rubbed his chin. Finally he said, “She’s down at the Wild Hog. Ned Cage and his boys brought her in.”
At that, Juanito bolted to his feet, rushed Taft, and took the saloon owner by the collar. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us this last night?”
Taft’s eyes were like wagon hubs. He pushed back against Juanito with his good arm. “If I’d have said anything about her last night—what with the mood everybody was in after the smoke cleared—I figured I’d end up like those gunhands.”
“You just might’ve.” Juanito shoved the saloon owner toward a fancy armchair. He glared at him and then pivoted away.
Taft’s witnesses visibly distanced themselves.
“If Cage brought Geneve here, there’s not much question—he had to have been the one to gun down Sikes,” Emmett said. “How else would he come to have her with him?”
“Is Geneve all right?” Li, eyebrows arched, got up from the settee.
The saloon owner answered sheepishly. “That fast gun had her pretty rattled.” He almost seemed remorseful when he added, “I’ve got Miss Lindsey looking after her—”
Taft gave a start when Juanito turned again, but Emmett’s brother-in-law made no move for the saloon owner. Instead, he headed straight for the door.
Extending a hand, Taft spurted, “I don’t mean to put her back to work, you understand. She’s free to go…”
“Juanito,” Emmett called after his brother-in-law, “hang on a minute.”
Juanito paused at the door, eyeing Taft and his witnesses.
The one with the stringy blond hair and thick horseshoe mustache straightened his shoulders and said, “If’n your argument is all about Miss Geneve and them fast guns that showed up yesterday, that’s fine and good. But I don’t see where that’s got anything to do with us.” He motioned to his friends. “So I reckon we’ll be leavin’.”
“Not yet,” Emmett said. “There are questions to be answered.”
Stringy Hair scoffed. “Where’s the deputy?”
Emmett was about to answer when the redheaded witness piped in, “And where’s that other Texas Ranger that’s supposed to be questioning us?”
Emmett put his hands on his hips. “As for the deputy, I don’t rightly know where he is.” He was about to add that Livingston had disappeared during the shoot-out but decided against volunteering that bit of information just yet. “The other ranger, Jack VanDorn, is too full of holes to get outta bed.”
The redhead threw out his arms and leaned forward. “Then we ain’t got no reason for bein’ here.” He looked from Emmett to Juanito and back. “You bein’ the ones that robbed Mr. Taft here, we don’t have to answer none of your questions, even if you are a Texas Ranger—for now.”
There had been enough shooting the night before. Otherwise Emmett would have told the witnesses straight up that they were bald-faced liars. He eyed Taft, willing the saloon owner to tell his boys to stay and answer the questions.
Taft turned to his witnesses. “All right, all right. Since the deputy and the other ranger aren’t here, I suppose you boys can go on about your business. I’ll find you when I need you.”
So much for that.
Taft faced the one in the black shirt. “Billy, you go on down to the Wild Hog. You and I need to have a few words once I’m done here.”
Billy eyed the other witnesses. “You mean you ain’t done here yet? There ain’t no real law here.”
“Just go on back to the saloon, you hear?” Taft’s cheeks reddened.
The three witnesses shuffled and exchanged glances before making their way to the door.
Juanito’s stance said, I dare you to bump me on the way out. No one did.
Once they’d gone, Juanito turned to Emmett. “I’m going down to check on Geneve.”
“I’ll go with him,” Li said.
As Li moved toward the door, Taft strode past her and grabbed Juanito’s arm. “Wait.”
Juanito glared.
Taft let go. He peered back and forth out the door. When he turned back, he said, “Those Mexicans yesterday—Sanchez and Mendez—they said they heard you in a saloon back in San Antonio, boasting and laughing about using my money to open your own place.”
Emmett shook his head. “Do you really think a couple of hombres of such humble means would come all the way from San Antonio just to tell you that?”
Meeting Emmett’s hard gaze, Taft said, “Sanchez claimed to have good cause to do so.”
“And what would that be?”
Taft looked at Li for a moment, then back at Emmett. “He said you violated his woman…and that he never got justice for that.”
Now it was Emmett’s turn to look at Li. “You can ask anybody you want to back in San Antonio. It was—”
“It was your wife—and you—who suffered,” Li said. “I don’t need to ask anyone.”
His brows furrowed, Taft asked, “Then why does—did—Sanchez have such a grudge against you?”
“He went to prison for starting the incident that led to my wife’s death,” Emmett said.
For several moments, Taft seemed lost in thought. He looked at Juanito. “Yesterday, I thought it was you who killed my shotgun man, Clive Mackey.”
“But?” Juanito asked, head cocked.
“But then Ned Cage admitted that he did it.”
Emmett rubbed his forehead. “Look, before we go any further, Mr. Taft, your shotgun man, Mackey, claimed I hit him across the head the morning of the robbery. I’ve got witnesses in San Elizario—fine, upstanding folk—who’ll swear in a court of law that Juanito; my wife, Li; and I were over there at the very time we were supposedly clubbing and robbing you. Now Mackey’s dead. I don’t blame you for believing Mackey—he was your lookout man. But those cusses that just left—how well do you know them?”
Taft cleared his throat and mumbled, “I don’t know them. Other than seeing them in my saloon. They were Mackey’s friends.”
“Even the one in the black shirt? The one you just sent back to your place?”
“I just hired him yesterday to take Mackey’s place. I took him on account of him having been Mackey’s friend.”
“So you don’t have any huge cause to take these men’s word—that they saw me and Juanito rob you?”
Taft looked back toward the door and adjusted his arm in its sling. “Those witnesses back in San Elizario…”
“They’ll be glad to take the witness stand,” Emmett started.
“Then why don’t we ride out there together to see ’em. If they strike me as the upstanding folks you say they are, maybe we’ll see about reconsidering the charges.” He cleared his throat again. “Maybe ask you to help me look into who really might’ve squabashed me.”
Emmett wanted to find this development encouraging, especially following the deadly events of the night before. But in little more than twenty-four hours, things had already shifted like sands in a windstorm. Taft could just as easily change his mind yet again, depending on who walked in the door next. Besides, this was a man who beat up on women—not exactly a paragon of virtue.
Li, arms now crossed, looked at Emmett from beneath a furrowed brow.
Hm. Wonder what’s on my girl’s mind, Emmett mused.
“Well, before we ride for San Elizario,” Juanito said, “I’m going down to check on Geneve.”
“Why don’t we go together?” Taft said. “I’ve got to talk to my new lookout man anyway.”
Strong Suspicions (Emmett Strong Westerns Book 2) Page 22
