Ride for Vengeance

by William W. Johnstone

  Matt, Sam thought as a savage grin touched his lips. He had no doubt that his blood brother was one of those making a last stand in the old mission.

  He drew his Colt and sent the paint thundering forward in the dusk, anxious to give Alcazarrio one hell of a surprise.

  Even though Matt Bodine hadn’t gone to college, he had studied enough military history on his own to know that the Plains Indians were some of the finest light cavalry in the world, as they had demonstrated with bloody eloquence in battle after battle, including the one on the bluffs above the Little Big Horn.

  Sam Two Wolves was half-Cheyenne, so he came by his fighting expertise naturally. As the sound of gunfire outside the church suddenly rose dramatically, Matt risked a glance through the window where he had retreated when shots forced him away from the door, and he saw riders flashing into view seemingly from all directions at once. Sam had arrived and split his forces so that he could hit Alcazarrio with stunning surprise from all quarters.

  Matt let out a triumphant whoop. “The posse’s here!” he shouted to his companions. “We’ll get out of this yet!”

  Ignoring the pain of his wounds, he ran to the winding staircase that led up into the bell tower, which was open on all four sides except for a short wall. He bounded up the steps, taking them two or three at a time, until he reached the top and came out in the little area where the mission’s bell had once hung. Colton and Paxton followed him, along with Jessie and Sandy. All four of them carried rifles, and from this vantage point they opened fire on the bandits as the posse’s charge trampled some of them and forced others into the open.

  In the fading light, Matt caught a glimpse of Sam and Seymour riding side by side down the street, firing to the left and right, trailed by several other members of the posse. They didn’t know it, but they were closing in on the building where Alcazarrio had taken cover, along with some of his men. That would be the toughest nut to crack.

  But they wouldn’t have to do it alone, because coming up right behind them were Cornelius Standish and his three men, Welch, McCracken, and Stover. They all swung their guns to bear . . .

  What the hell! Matt suddenly thought. It looked like the four men were drawing a bead on—Seymour!

  It seemed like Maggie’s ears would never stop ringing from all the gunfire. The explosions burst continuously around her as the defenders tried to keep Alcazarrio and his men from overrunning the old church.

  She had to force herself not to pay any attention to that as she tried to staunch the bleeding from the wound in Rebecca Jimmerson’s side. Maggie was no expert on such things, but she could tell that the bullet had gone in and not come out, meaning that it was still inside Rebecca’s body somewhere. The Eastern girl’s face was drained of color. She had lost a lot of blood and was only partially conscious. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked around from time to time, but she didn’t really seem to know where she was or what was going on.

  “You’ll be all right,” Maggie said to her in a low voice as she pressed a pad made from torn petticoat to the wound. “You’re going to be just fine, Rebecca.”

  Then Matt Bodine shouted that the posse had arrived. Maggie’s head jerked up. That meant Seymour was here, she thought. But she had just enough doubt that she had to see for herself.

  That wasn’t the only reason she had to get to Seymour. She had to warn him about what Rebecca had said earlier. She had to let him know that it was his uncle and those three phony dry-goods salesmen who wanted him dead.

  “Rebecca! Rebecca, hold this cloth on the wound! I’ve got to warn Seymour!”

  Rebecca didn’t respond. Maggie grimaced and stood up anyway, leaving the other woman where she was propped against one of the walls of the church. She hurried toward the doorway. The old door itself had been riddled with bullets, and only a few rotted pieces of it remained, hanging askew from its hinges.

  Maggie took a deep breath and looked outside. Not many shots were striking the church anymore. Alcazarrio’s men were too busy trying to defend themselves from the posse, who had swept into town in the dusk on a storm of fire and lead.

  Suddenly, Maggie saw Seymour and Sam Two Wolves gallop past. Her heart leaped in her chest at the sight. Seymour appeared to be all right as he fought fiercely at Sam’s side.

  Then four more men rode by, coming up fast behind Seymour and Sam, and as Maggie recognized them, her blood seemed to freeze in her veins. They were Cornelius Standish and his hired killers.

  Maggie was about to run out of the church and shout a warning to Seymour, heedless of any danger, when a form flashed past her. Somehow, Rebecca Jimmerson had gotten onto her feet and made it over to the door in time to see what was happening. Even through the pain of her wound, she had grasped that Seymour was in danger, and now she ran toward him, screaming, “Seymour! Seymour, look out!”

  She stumbled as she was hit again and then again by flying lead, but she stayed on her feet and continued to cry her warning. Seymour and Sam reined in and wheeled their horses around. So did Standish and his three men. With his face contorted by hate, Standish shouted, “You bitch!” and fired at Rebecca. She was jolted backward by the slug driving into her body.

  At the same time, Standish’s men opened fire, but Sam Two Wolves was ready for them. The Colt in Sam’s hand roared as shot after shot rolled out from it. Warren Welch was driven backward out of the saddle by one of Sam’s bullets, while Daniel McCracken folded up as a slug tore through his guts. Ed Stover was the strongest, and even with one of Sam’s bullets in him, he stayed in the saddle long enough to get off a couple of shots. One knocked Seymour’s hat off and another clipped some of the fringe on Sam’s buckskin shirt, then another slug from Sam’s gun crashed through Stover’s brain and killed him.

  Meanwhile, Cornelius Standish had swung around and was trying to bring his gun to bear on his nephew, who stared at him in shock. Maggie knew that Seymour probably couldn’t believe what he had just seen. He had watched as his uncle gunned down a helpless, already badly wounded woman—and now Cornelius was about to shoot him.

  Instinct took over. Seymour’s Colt came up and roared an instant before the shot exploded from Standish’s gun. Standish’s shot went wild as Seymour’s bullet rocked him back in the saddle. His eyes widened in pain and horror as he looked down at his chest and saw the rapidly spreading bloodstain there. Then he looked up at Seymour, dropped his gun, and slipped from the horse’s back to thud into the street and lie there motionless in death.

  Maggie realized she had stopped breathing. She started again as she cried, “Seymour!” and began running toward him. He saw her, and his face lit up with relief.

  Behind Seymour and Sam, Diego Alcazarrio and several of his men burst out of the building where they had holed up, and more gunfire exploded in Villa Rojo’s single street.

  The gunfight pitting Sam and Seymour against Standish and his men was over so fast that Matt hadn’t had a chance to take a hand in it. But as Alcazarrio launched his last-ditch attack, Matt knew Sam and Seymour wouldn’t have a chance on their own. Alcazarrio had the drop on them.

  Matt had reloaded both Colts just before he charged up the stairs to the bell tower, so he didn’t hesitate. He rolled over the low wall, dropped to the slanting roof below, slid along the red tiles, and flew into the air, landing in the street with both fists filled with thundering, death-spewing six-guns.

  His slugs smashed into Alcazarrio’s men, and into the bandit leader himself. From the top of the tower, Colton and Paxton and their daughters joined in the fight with their rifles. And Sam and Seymour swung around and opened fire as well. The withering hail of lead scythed through the bandits, knocking them off their feet and sending them flying like tenpins.

  Alcazarrio was the last one standing, and he was shot to pieces. His clothes were sodden with blood, and crimson covered his face. He struggled to lift the guns in his hands as the firing slowly died away. His lips pulled back from his teeth in an ugly grimace. Only his hatred was keeping him
on his feet. In a blood-choked voice, he rasped, “I hate you . . . damn gringos—”

  A final shot blasted, but it came from behind Alcazarrio and threw him forward. He landed on his face and didn’t move again. Matt saw one of Alcazarrio’s own men try to rise and then fall back, smoke curling from the barrel of the gun that slipped from his fingers. Alcazarrio had been finished off by one of his own followers.

  Matt rushed forward, joined by Sam, who hurriedly dismounted. Seymour practically flung himself off his horse as well, but he grabbed Maggie and held her as if he would never let go of her, instead of joining Matt and Sam.

  The blood brothers went to the side of the man who had just shot Alcazarrio. Even in the fading light, his round face with its drooping mustache was familiar, and after a second Matt exclaimed, “Hector! Son of a gun, Sam, this is that hombre Seymour helped out up in Sweet Apple.”

  Sam knelt next to Hector, checked for a pulse, and then shook his head. “He’s dead. Wonder why he shot Alcazarrio like that.”

  “Because Alcazarrio shot him.” Maggie’s voice came from behind them. Sam stood, and they both turned to see her standing there with Seymour’s arm around her. “He’s the one who called a warning and tried to help us. He was Alcazarrio’s spy in Sweet Apple and told him when to attack so that he could kidnap Jessie and Sandy, but he was doing it for the revolution. He believed in that, and it must have changed something in him when he realized that Alcazarrio was nothing more than a common bandit.”

  That made sense to Matt, but something else still had him as confused as hell. “What was that business with your uncle and his men, Seymour?” he asked.

  “I can answer that, too,” Maggie said. “Mr. Standish wanted Seymour dead. Those men of his were really hired killers.”

  “Yeah, I’d figured that out, too,” Sam agreed. “I shouldn’t have let them slip up on us like that, but things were a little hectic.”

  Seymour looked into Maggie’s eyes and asked, “How do you know that? About my uncle, I mean?”

  “Rebecca told me.”

  They all looked around and saw Rebecca’s body lying in the street a few yards away. The four of them moved to her side. Her face was smooth and peaceful in death. All the pain she had endured was over now.

  “My God,” Seymour said. “She knew?”

  “But in the end she tried to help you,” Maggie said, squeezing his arm. “That has to count for something.”

  Seymour shook his head slowly. “I . . . I think I still have a lot to learn about women.”

  “Well, about one woman anyway,” Matt said with a grin as he clapped a hand on Seymour’s shoulder and inclined his head toward Maggie. “I got a hunch this one’s gonna be more than enough for you, Seymour.”

  A week later, Matt Bodine tipped his chair back against the front wall of the marshal’s office, rested a boot heel against the railing along the edge of the boardwalk, and watched a peaceful evening settle down over Sweet Apple. Beside him, Sam Two Wolves assumed a similar position.

  “You know,” Matt said, “as much as we get shot up, I reckon we could support a sawbones all by ourselves.”

  Sam grunted. “We keep the undertaker pretty busy, too.”

  “That’s true, more’s the pity.”

  Both of the blood brothers were still sporting bandages and stiff, sore muscles. But they were getting better with each passing day, and today, in fact, each of them had felt a familiar stirring inside.

  Judge Simon Clark came along the boardwalk, limping a little on the cane he was still using. The burly judge paused and said, “Evenin’, gents. Heard the news?”

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  “Shad Colton and Esau Paxton are havin’ papers drawn up to merge their ranches again. I haven’t been around here very long, but I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for those two old pelicans to patch up their differences.”

  “Anything’s possible, Judge,” Matt said with a smile. “You wouldn’t think a dude from New Jersey would become a gun-totin’, fightin’ frontier marshal, would you?”

  Clark chuckled. “No, but that boy’s going to be a good one. Is it true what I heard? Halliday, Akin, and Keller have signed on to be his deputies? Three notorious gunfighters pinning on badges as lawmen?”

  “They’ve fought side by side with Seymour a couple of times now,” Sam explained. “They’ve seen what a good man he is.”

  “And they’re gettin’ a mite older, too,” Matt added. “Fella can’t be a gunslinger his whole life, I reckon.”

  “What about you?” Clark asked.

  Matt’s smile widened into a grin. “I’m young yet.”

  “And still full of wild oats, the both of you. I can see the look in your eyes. You’re going to be ridin’ on, aren’t you?”

  “Seymour doesn’t need us anymore,” Sam said. “He’s got some real deputies now, and he can handle just about anything Sweet Apple can throw at him, I’m betting.”

  “Besides, we weren’t cut out to stay in one place for too long,” Matt said. “There are too many places we haven’t been yet.”

  “You’ll at least stay for the wedding, I hope.”

  “Wedding?” Matt and Sam said together.

  Clark nodded. “That’s right. Next week. The marshal’s going to make that pretty little schoolteacher his wife. Ought to be the biggest thing in Sweet Apple for a long time. I expect there’ll be quite a party afterwards. Everybody in this part of the country will be there.”

  Matt and Sam looked at each other. “We sort of owe it to Seymour . . .” Sam said.

  “Yeah,” Matt agreed. “A big fandango like that, he’s liable to still need a couple of unofficial deputies to go along with the official ones. Especially since he’s gonna be a little busy gettin’ married and all.”

  “And we’re still a little too banged up to be riding a lot anyway. But after that . . .”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “After that.”

  The blood brothers nodded, happy in the knowledge that soon they would be on the trail again, a couple of untamed hearts answering the call of the untamed frontier.

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  Copyright © 2008 William W. Johnstone

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  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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  ISBN: 978-0-7860-1873-4