“Take cover, Brent! Take cover.”
Chapter XXXIV
The church had big windows, and it had big doors, too, but the doors were closed and probably locked from the inside. The windows, however, were large and without glass.
His mode of entry was obvious.
When Decker saw the dust cloud, he knew trouble was heading his way, and he made his decision on the spur of the moment. He was going to have to take his chances with the men inside the church rather than the ones outside.
First he took out some extra shells for his shotgun and put them in various pockets. Then he dug his heels into John Henry, asking him for speed, and the little gelding responded. He heard the single shot fired at him from the tower, but knew after a second one didn’t follow that it never would. They had seen the dust cloud, too, even clearer than he had.
He rode ol’ John Henry straight as an arrow at the church and picked out his window.
The gelding knew what he had to do, and he did it.
He launched himself through the air, cleared the window easily, and Decker was inside.
As John Henry’s hooves hit the floor, Decker launched himself from the saddle. He landed rolling and came to a stop next to what was left of a set of church pews. Meager cover at best, but at least it was something. He pulled his gun and waited for the commotion to subside.
John Henry’s arrival had spooked the other two horses in the church and they began Tomake a racket.
Decker saw the red-haired man who had been holding the horses get pulled off his feet by them. He was not quick to rise, and Decker assumed that this was the wounded brother. The healthy one would have climbed into the tower.
As if to confirm his thought, the second man dropped down from the bell tower, hit the floor, and dashed for the pews at the far end of the church.
John Henry found himself a nice quiet corner and walked over to it to stand perfectly still. Somehow his actions dictated those of the other two horses, who followed his lead and did the same thing.
It was quiet and they could all hear the approach of thundering hooves.
“Foxx?”
“Yeah!”
“We’ve got to put this off until those riders pass by. I don’t know if they’re Indians or comancheros, but whichever it is they won’t be friendly.”
Silence.
“We can’t stand them off alone.”
Silence, and then one of them spoke. Decker thought it was the one from the bell tower.
“All right. Nobody moves until they’ve passed.”
“Agreed.”
The three of them sat stock-still and listened. From Decker’s vantage point he was able to see out a front window. None of them had seen the approaching riders until it was too late. Decker had been intent on the church, and the men in the church on Decker.
Now they had to hope that whoever they were— they were surely some kind of scavengers—they wouldn’t decide to check the church out for what was available.
Suddenly the riders were upon them, riding past the church. Decker could hardly see through the window because of the dust, but he saw enough to tell him who they were.
The worst scavengers on the plains.
Even worse than the Indians.
Comancheros.
Brian couldn’t see Brent from where he was, but he was hoping that his brother wouldn’t try anything foolish. They had enough trouble without attracting the passing riders.
The horsemen were riding so close that the church began to fill with dust that filtered through the windows. Brian craned his neck to see out a window, and his worst fears were realized as he saw the riders.
It seemed to take forever for the comancheros to ride past, and from the sound Decker guessed that there had to be at least forty of them.
Decker would have preferred to deal with Indians than with comancheros. Indians were at least honorable—for the most part. You could impress an Indian with courage, or intelligence, or sincerity.
A comanchero was the lowest form of life on earth, as far as Decker was concerned. They were whites, Mexicans, Indians, the scum from every race imaginable, and they respected nothing and no one. And what they had been known to do with women…
Jesus, he thought, the women!
They were heading straight for Rebecca and Felicia.
“Foxx!”
No answer.
“Foxx!”
Could they have gotten out while the comancheros were riding by? No, their horses were still there.
“Foxx! Come on, one of you answer me!”
“Who are you?” a voice finally called out.
“My name is Decker. I’m a bounty hunter.”
“You’ll find this bounty the hardest you ever tried to collect,” another voice said. It was the wounded one, lying on the floor somewhere.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“A deal?” the second voice asked.
“Yes, a deal.”
“What is it?” That was the first Foxx.
“I was traveling with a woman and a fourteen-year-old girl. Those comancheros are going to ride right into them. I’m sure you know what comancheros have been known to do to women.”
“So? What’s that to us?” the second man asked.
“Nothing. I’m telling you that I want out of here so I can go and try to help them.”
The second man laughed harshly.
“You expect us to let you out of here? To let you get away after you hounded us this far?”
“If you make me stay, somebody’s going to get killed, and it won’t be me.”
Again the second man laughed.
“There’s two of us. How do you expect to get us both?”
“Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just get one. Which one wants to go?”
“You’re going, bounty hunter—and soon.”
Decker decided Tomake his point a little stronger.
He stood up quickly and fired one barrel at the front door, which had been jammed shut with a piece of beam. The shot struck the partially rotted beam and almost exploded it into splinters, and the doors swung open. He then ducked out of sight and whistled.
What happened next must have really puzzled the Foxxes. John Henry started a ruckus, kicking and neighing, and it stampeded the other two horses right out the door, with John Henry on their tail.
“Now you’ve got no horses,” Decker said, replacing the spent shell with a live one.
“That was stupid. You don’t have a horse either,” the second voice said.
“Oh, but I do. My gelding will simply wait out-side for me.”
“Then we’ll take him—after we kill you.”
Decker wondered why the other brother hadn’t done more talking. From the way this one was talking, the other one had to be the smarter one.
He decided to take a chance that the smartest one, the one who had planned the jobs, was the real Brian.
“Brian, why is your brother doing all the talking?”
There was a moment of silence while the brothers tried to figure out how he knew which one was Brian. He hoped they wouldn’t ask him to name the other one.
Brian started when he heard his name. He knew that the man was talking to him. Somehow this Decker had managed to figure out their whole scam and even knew which of them was which.
This was a dangerous man.
“What’s your offer?” Brian called out.
“It’s simple,” Decker replied. “I walk out of here clean and try to help my friends.”
“And us?”
“You round up your horses and be on your way.”
“And after you’ve helped your friends?”
“I admire your confidence,” Decker said. “If I should avoid getting killed by those comancheros, I’ll come right after you again.”
“Jesus,” the other brother said in disgust, “that’s an offer?”
“Consider my chances against the comancheros.”
“You see
m pretty confident about your chances,” Brian Foxx said.
“I’ve got an exaggerated opinion of my own abilities. What do you say?”
“I say forget it.”
“We’ll take it,” Brian said.
“Shit we will!” Brent Foxx said. He stood up and started running toward Decker, his gun out.
At least he thought he was running toward Decker. After firing his shotgun, Decker had moved a few pews away. He watched now as Brent ran to where he thought Decker was, and then stopped in confusion.
Decker could have blown him in half, and that would have gotten him his reward.
Instead he said, “Don’t move.”
The man, all red hair and freckles—which stood out starkly against the pale skin of his face— turned his eyes and looked down both barrels of the sawed-off.
“Drop the gun.”
The man’s eyes flicked about for a moment, looking for a way out, and then he obeyed.
“All right, Brian,” Decker called out, “I’ve got a new deal for you.”
“What is it?”
“Your brother’s life in exchange for your help.”
“My help with what?”
“If my friends have managed to get themselves captured by the comancheros, I want your help in getting them out.”
“You’re crazy,” Brent said.
Decker looked at him and said, “If you open your damn mouth again, you’re a dead man.”
One look at the man’s face, distorted by rage and hatred, told Decker that he was the one who had done most if not all of the killings.
If his brother was smart, he’d say no deal and let Decker blow this one away.
“What do you say, Brian?”
He gave the hidden man time to think it over and then prodded him again.
“I’m cocking the hammers on my shotgun.”
Shit!
Damn it!
Brian was incensed. It would serve Brent right if he let Decker blow his damn head off. What the hell was he thinking, charging blindly like that?
For a moment—for a single, fleeting moment— he was tempted to let Decker kill him.
And then the moment passed.
“All right!” Brian Foxx said. “All right. We’ll play it your way. You’re holding the deck.”
And it was stacked!
“Toss out your gun.”
The gun came arcing out.
“Have you got another one?”
“No.”
“All right, step out. If you have another gun, I’ll kill you both.”
Brian Foxx stepped out and Decker got a good look at him. Except for the fact that his color was good, he and his wounded brother were identical.
“What now?” Brian asked.
“Now you fellas are going to be a big help Tome,” Decker said, “a big help.”
Chapter XXXV
Decker marched both brothers outside, and they were surprised to see John Henry standing a distance away—with both of their horses.
“Listen, you can’t be serious about this,” Brent Foxx said.
“Which one are you?”
“I’m Brent.”
“I thought you knew,” Brian said.
“I took an educated guess at which one of you was Brian, but I didn’t know the other one’s name—and yes, Brent, I’m serious. I brought those women out here, and if they’ve been taken I intend to get them back.”
“You mean you really do have women out there?”
Decker nodded.
“A woman and a fourteen-year-old girl.”
“Jesus,” Brian said, shaking his head. Decker suddenly felt that perhaps this one—Brian—really was a decent man.
Who robbed banks.
Brent, on the other hand, was crazy, and very probably a killer.
“Check your brother’s wound,” Decker said to Brian. “We don’t want him bleeding to death.”
Brian opened Brent’s shirt, checked the wound, and buttoned him up again.
“It seems all right.”
“Good. Let’s get mounted up.”
“You can’t be serious,” Brent said again. “You don’t expect us to go up against who knows how many comancheros just because you lost your women?”
“No, you’re right, Brent, I don’t.”
“That’s more like—”
“I expect you to do it, or die. It’s a simple choice, really. Even a dimwit like you can make it.”
Brent Foxx’s eyes flared and again Decker saw the hint of madness there. He wondered if Brian Foxx knew about it.
“Make the choice.”
“We’ll live,” Brian said. “Come on, we’re wasting time. Who knows what those women are going through?”
He seemed genuinely concerned.
They mounted up and rode north until they started to smell coffee.
“Hold up,” Decker said. He was riding behind the brothers.
He stood in his saddle and sniffed the air. Coffee and bacon.
“I smell bacon, too,” Brian said. “Maybe your ladies made camp.”
“I don’t think so,” Decker said. “We ran out of bacon three nights ago. Let’s dismount.”
They did so, and then Decker told Brian, “Tie your brother up.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Sure it is,” Decker said. “Look at him, Foxx. The first chance he gets he’s going to jump me and try to kill me. I can’t afford that now.”
“Brian,” Brent said, “we can take him now. He won’t dare fire when we’re this close to the comanchero camp.”
Decker looked at Brian, waiting for him Tomake a move. Brian looked at the noose hanging from Decker’s saddle, and Decker couldn’t tell if it meant something to him or not.
Maybe Brian read dime novels, though, because he grabbed a rope from his saddle and tied his brother’s hands behind him.
“Don’t do this!” Brent screamed.
“We’re going to have to keep him quiet,” Decker said, and Brian nodded.
He gagged his brother, then tied his legs. His brother glared at him murderously. Decker felt that any man who would slit the throat of a helplessly trussed-up man deserved worse than what he was getting right now.
“Good. Now let’s go and take a look at what we’re up against.”
They crept as close to the camp as they could. It had been made at the bottom of a dry wash, so they were able to look down from some meager cover.
There were easily forty comancheros in camp, and they were milling about, waiting for the food to be ready. Their horses were picketed off to one side.
“See anything?” Decker asked.
“Not yet—wait. What’s that over there?”
Brian pointed and Decker looked in that direction.
“The girl,” Brian said.
Sure enough, it was Felicia. She had been tied hand and foot and was sitting near the campfire, where the cooking was being done. Every so often the man who was cooking—a fat Mexican—would reach over and pinch her as if he were testing her for cooking.
“Now where’s Rebecca?” Decker wondered aloud.
There was some commotion at the farthest end of the camp and both men looked that way. What they saw was a crowd of men who were looking down at the ground. As they moved about, what they were looking at finally came into view.
“Oh, Jesus,” Brian said.
They could see the naked ass of a man whose pants were down around his ankles. He was thrusting himself down onto someone at an increased pace, and it was obvious what was going on.
“Shit,” Decker said with feeling.
When Brian Foxx spoke, Decker was surprised at his words and at the genuine feeling that was behind them.
The bank robber even put his hand on Decker’s shoulder.
“We’ll get them out,” Foxx said. “I swear, we’ll get them out.”
“Yeah,” Decker said, “but how?”
Chapter XXXVI
It was a strange allia
nce—Decker and Foxx. He had been tracking Brian Foxx for many weeks now, and at no time did he ever anticipate that he and his quarry would end up as allies.
They decided to wait until dark before they tried anything. If Rebecca was indeed the victim of the group rape that was going on, then attacking in broad daylight might bring a worse fate: death.
They returned to where they had left Brent Foxx trussed up and untied him to allow his circulation to flow again.
“We’ll have to tie you up again when we go in to get the women,” Brian said to his brother apologetically.
“You’re siding with him?” Brent demanded.
“Only against the comancheros, and only to get the women out. We saw the woman being raped, Brent. The fourteen-year-old girl could be next.”
“That’s none of our business, Brian!”
“It’s the business of anyone with an ounce of humanity, Brent.”
“Humanity!” Brent spat. “What did they ever do for us, huh? We never had nothing, Brian, until we started taking it for ourselves—and that was your idea. Probably the last good one you ever had.”
Decker sat back and watched the two brothers rage at each other. It was either something that was being very well staged for his benefit or it had been a very long time coming.
“And what was your last good idea, Brent?” Brian demanded. “Pistol-whipping some poor bank clerk? Killing that man in Doverville? Or the old woman—”
“She shot me first!”
“What about the doctor in Stillwell?” Decker asked.
“What about him?” Brian asked, frowning.
“Don’t listen to him, Brian.”
“What about him?” Brian asked again. “We left him tied up but unharmed. In fact, we paid him for taking care of Brent.”
“Paid him?” Decker asked. “By cutting his throat while he was tied up? That’s not a payment, Brian, that’s a payoff for a man who helped you.”
Brian looked at Brent.
“You stayed behind to talk to him,” he said. “To talk to him, you said!”
“Brian—”
“You killed him? Cut his throat while his hands were tied?”
“Brian—”
“The man saved your life!”
Double The Bounty Page 10
