by Lydia Olson
He’d put Tucker down once all was said and done.
***
David had been on the lookout for any signs of Tucker or Dwyer as he made his way into Clarendon with Jacob and his son. The trio halted just outside the sheriff’s office, and the town appeared dead as they scanned for any signs of their attackers.
“I don’t see them,” Jacobs said. “Where do you think they could be?”
David knew without a shred of a doubt where Crane was hiding. “He’s at his house,” he said. “You need to send Kyle to the next town to find help. Right now. No one is on guard. Crane has all hands on deck to try and stop us.”
Jacobs turned to Kyle and rested his palm on his shoulder. “Ride to the next town, Kyle. Fetch anyone you can. Tell them to send everyone they can to Clarendon. Tell them what’s happened. I have faith in you son, go.”
With that, Kyle took off into the night, David’s hopes of reinforcements going with him. Be safe, kid, he thought. Go and find the help we need.
“What do we do now?” Jacobs asked.
“We need more men,” David said. “The only question is where to find them.”
After looking around for a moment, David glanced north and saw the saloon, along with the silhouettes of the handful of patrons inside sitting around for a late-night drink.
“I have an idea,” he told Jacobs as they made toward the watering hole.
***
David and Jacobs entered the saloon. The five heads in the room turned to take a glance at them, including Carl the bartender. It was more than apparent that they were in a hectic state. Both men were perspiring, and the grit on their bodies and weapons clutched in their hands made everyone stand on the edge.
David approached Carl. The bartender looked as though he was about to flee based on the way he was backing away. “It’s all right, David said. I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here because I need help.”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Bryant?” Carl asked.
“I’m in trouble,” he gestured to Jacobs, “me and my associate.”
Carl swallowed, sweat forming on his brow. “What kind of trouble?”
David could feel the eyes of everyone in attendance staring at him. He turned, jutting his chin as he went about addressing all who were in the room: “Everyone here in Clarendon knows that Michael Crane is corrupt. He just attempted to send men to my residence to kill me. I’m bringing the fight to his doorstep, and I need the help of the town to bring him down. He turned around, looking at each of the faces present, all of whom stared right back.
“I need help from all of you,” David beseeched them. “Every last one of you. You know that your sheriff and your deputy are no-good men. They have oppressed this town, they have lied, controlled, stolen, and killed their way into positions of authority. I know all of you cannot stand to see this place under such oppression.”
“What can we do about it?” one of the men in the saloon said. “Crane rules this town with an iron fist, and the sheriff doesn’t do anything to stop him. He takes Crane’s money. He lets him do what he wants.”
“Yeah,” another one of the patrons chimed in. “I lost my brother when he tried to send word through the post office to Oklahoma City. He just disappeared after he tried to tell on Crane. I can only imagine what happened to him.”
David’s eyes hardened. “That’s why we have to stop him!” he implored. “We cannot allow him to continue abusing us this way. We just can’t!”
The patrons exchanged nervous glances with one another, but no one said a word.
“Please,” David pleaded. “I know you all cannot stand to be living under Michael Crane’s thumb. He has even put several of you on his list when you tried to go to another town to have him brought to justice.”
A few of the customers leaned in and whispered into each other’s ears. It was more than apparent to David who the men were on Michael Crane’s infamous list.
“We have to do something,” David said as he looked from one person to the next. “All of us must bring Michael Crane down. He’s taken things from us …” He dropped his head and thought of Sarah. “He’s taken so much from us. He took my uncle, and now he’s taken the love of my life. I know you all feel the same way I do. So, please, we must do something. You know the score. You know what needs to be done. I’m asking for your help … or do you want to keep living under the rule of a tyrant?”
Subtle glances were exchanged. Jacobs looked at David. David looked at Jacobs. Even Carl the bartender waited in anticipation as all the members in the saloon exchanged whispers, nods, and sighs. After a moment, one of them stood up, crossed his arms, and said, “What do you need us to do?”
***
Five men—that was how many guns David Bryant was able to secure, two of them on horses with rifles in their hands in the rear. He felt a newfound sense of hope, feeling that with this many people at his side he now had a fighting chance of being able to rescue Sarah. Standing at the head of the group, David charged up main street, prepared to make a right—straight toward Michael Crane’s residence.
Carl the bartender flanked David on his left. He was holding a double-barreled shotgun, shaking as he did so. “I’ve never fired a gun at anyone before,” he confessed.
“Don’t worry,” David reassured him. “I’ve got your back. I’ll make sure you get out of this okay.”
Carl released a breath. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” he said. “I can’t believe we’re going to confront Michael Crane.”
David nodded. “Believe it. That ingrate is getting what’s coming to him.”
The closer the group drew to the wealthy neighborhood where Crane resided, the more David feared for Sarah’s safety. Is she alright? Will Crane harm her? Will I get there in time? What happens if I don’t?
David shook his head. Dwelling on those thoughts, he knew, would amount to nothing. It would be counterproductive. He needed to focus, he needed to keep his attention on the tasks at hand. That was the only way they would make it out alive.
“David,” Jacobs said, walking alongside him on the right. “We have those little cocktail concoctions of ours.”
“Hopefully, we won’t need them,” David said.
“Are you kidding me? I plan on burning down Crane’s house as soon as this is all said and done with.”
David held up his hand and pumped the air in a “stop” motion. “Easy, Jacobs. One step at a time.”
The group rounded the corner to Crane’s street, with his house just a few paces away.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Chief!” Dwyer called out as he stood guard looking out the front window. “Some people are approaching. David Bryant is with them!”
Crane rushed up to Dwyer’s side, parted the window curtain, and looked out—there was David Bryant, marching toward his house with a rifle in hand.
“Oh, no,” Crane seethed. “He’s got a whole posse with him now.” He looked at Tucker. “I have more rifles in my bedroom. Go fetch them. We will need all the firepower we can get.”
“Say please first,” Tucker said with a smile.
The muscles in Crane’s jaw tensed. “Please,” he mimicked sarcastically.
Tucker made his way through the living room and into the bedroom, opening the first door inside on the left. He threw it open, walked over to the closet, and opened it. He didn’t find any weapons there, just clothes, so he started tearing his way through the room until he came to the trunk at the foot of Crane’s bed. He opened it, and inside he saw a bag that caught his attention.
Tucker opened the bag and looked inside, and surely enough—there was a pile of money that he recognized as being the stash that was taken from the train robbery. Flashes of Tucker nearly losing his life went through his mind, and grabbing the bag, he stormed back into the living room where he threw it at Crane’s feed.
“Care to explain this?” he asked.
Crane remained frozen in place. Don’t tell him the truth,
he thought. “I don’t know what that is,” he said. “This is the first time I’m laying eyes on it.”
“Oh, is that so?” Tucker pointed to the bag. “That’s the money from the train, the money that Childs and Miller stole from me. That’s the money you claimed went missing, yet here it is, as plain as day. You lied to me, Crane. I knew you were lying. I was a fool to think that you had an honest bone in your body.”
Crane held up his hands. “We can talk about this, Tucker. We can sort this out. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
Tucker withdrew his weapon and aimed it at Crane. “I’ve had enough of your lies. That’s the stash that we took from the train robbery. You lying sack of garbage—what’s to stop me from shooting you right now?”
Crane held up his hands. “Wait, Tucker!” he said. “You can take the money. All of it. We don’t have time for this now. We need every gun on hand to take care of David Bryant.”
“Forget all of that,” Tucker said. “Your life ends here, right now.” He cocked back the hammer and prepared to fire.
“Wait, Tucker!” Crane protested. “We can deal with this later, but not now. He’s going to be here at any second.”
“Doesn’t mean spit to me. I’m inclined to just burn everything down—”
“Think, Tucker! How far are you going to get if I’m dead? You want to have it out after this is all over, fine. But not here, not now. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you say. But neither of us is going to survive unless we work together, don’t you understand?”
Tucker’s teeth were showing. Crane was certain that his life is going to end, but after a moment, Tucker holstered his weapon and crooked a finger at Crane.
“You and I are going to have a lot to talk about when this is over,” he said. “You better believe it. And I’m taking everything I want: money, that ranch, an open tab at the saloon,” he pointed to that back bedroom, “and that lovely little lady of yours will definitely be mine for the taking. You want to live? This is my only offer.”
Crane was shocked—he couldn’t believe that Tucker was simply going to let the whole matter go. Could it be that simple? Is this man really that easily persuaded?
“Are you,” Crane started, “are you being honest?”
Tucker said nothing—and then he shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I was just toying with you.”
In a flash, Tucker took out his six-shooter and prepared to fire.
Crane rolled out of the way as Tucker fired off two shots. The bullets missed Crane as he ducked into one of the bedrooms, Tucker firing blindly at him as Crane closed the door. Holes were drilled into the door as Crane took a bookshelf and tossed it in front of the door to block Tucker from getting in.
Tucker reloaded his weapon as Dwyer turned around. Dwyer raised his weapon to try to get off a shot, but Tucker put him down with a single bullet. The last of Crane’s deputies were dead, leaving Crane as the only men left standing, save for the sheriff.
“I’m finished with this town,” Tucker said as he moved into the living room. He then proceeded to grab a lantern growing on the table, and threw it against the wall. Flames began to dance and spread across the wall, consuming everything in its path as the house caught fire.
Tucker focused his attention on the door to the office where Sarah was being held. With a crooked smile on his face, he approached the door as the fire began to spread in several directions. Tucker pressed his face against the door, smiling as he did so.
“Are you in there, love?” he said. “I think it’s time we get to know each other a little better.”
Sarah trembled on the floor as she hugged her legs. She was certain that this was the end of the road. Please, God, she thought, someone take me out of this place. Someone stop this madman from doing whatever it is he’s going to do!
She heard Tucker slam his fist three times on the door. “I’m coming in,” he said. “I hope you’re ready for me.”
Sarah closed her eyes as she feared the worst was about to happen. She then heard a single gunshot being fired off near the door, certain that Tucker was shooting off the lock—and then nothing happened. All Sarah could make out were the ghastly sounds of what she assumed was Tucker Willis being consumed in the crackling of the fire that was eating away Michael Crane’s entire house.
What is happening? She thought. Why isn’t he coming into the room?
Sarah slowly stood up and inched her way toward the door. As soon as she was a couple feet shy, she heard a body crumple just outside of the door. She stepped back, hands over her mouth as she heard booted footsteps approaching.
“That’s the end of the line for you, Tucker,” she heard Michael Crane say.
Tucker laughed. Then he coughed and wheezed. “You don’t have the stones, boy,” he said. “You don’t have it in you.”
Sounds of a hammer being cocked back on a six-shooter followed Tucker’s words. “Yes,” Michael Crane said. “I do.”
A final gunshot rang out. Sarah screamed. After that, she was certain that Tucker Willis and his reign of terror had come to a final and brutal end. She waited a moment before speaking, the heat and smoke from the fire trickling underneath the door.
“Michael,” she said, “please open the door. I can’t stay in here. I’ll die.”
Crane said nothing—but Sarah could see his feet underneath the door.
“Michael, please!” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me in here. It’s over. Don’t you understand? You need to let me out of here.”
“Sarah,” she heard Crane say, “I’m sorry—but I can’t leave any witnesses behind.”
Crane then fled from the scene, his footsteps fading away quickly. Sarah deduced that the man was fleeing through the back door. Her heart sank as she realized that she was trapped in the house and would burn alive. All she could think about was David Bryant’s face, and the fact that the grains of sand in the hourglass of her life were running out.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
All of Michael Crane’s house was on fire as David Bryant and his gang arrived outside of it. His eyes were wide as he watched fire spread and rise to the sky—and his heart sank when he realized that Sarah was trapped somewhere inside.
“Oh, my God,” David said. “Sarah.”
“Look!” one of the men in the group shouted out.
David looked in the direction where the man was pointing. Down the street, away from the fire, was Michael Crane. David saw him on a horse, with a large bag secured across his back as he fled.
“Jacobs,” David said. “Stay here.”
“David, wait!” Jacobs protested as David dropped his rifle and ran head-on toward the front of Crane’s house, David resolved to head into the inferno to pull his love away from death’s reach. “God be with him …” Jacobs said under his breath as David kicked in the front door.
The fire was overwhelming in its heat and intensity. David squinted as he moved in through the front door. Only a few pockets of the house were as yet untouched by the fire.
“Sarah!” David screamed. “Call out to me!”
Sarah did not call back.
“Sarah!” David shouted again as he weaved his way through the flames. “Please, call back to me!”
One second passed.
Two.
David looked around frantically, his mind running wild and thinking that Sarah had already been harmed. Please, no, he thought. Please be okay. Please call out to me!
Tears welled in his eyes. “Sarah, call out to me! I’m here, my love—I’m here.”
Another second passed.
Three.
And then Sarah called out from David’s right: “Here! I’m back here!”
The flames licked at David’s clothing as he moved toward the back room where he heard Sarah’s voice cry out. “Where are you? Keep calling out to me!”
“Here!” she said. “In the office!”
David came to the door where Tucker Willis’ body lay sprawled
in front of it. He would have been glad to see that such an evil man had finally been put down—but he was too focused trying to get Sarah out of the fire to appreciate it.
“Hang on,” David said as he grabbed hold of Tucker’s belt. “I’m coming!” He pulled Tucker’s body out of the way, the fire behind him creeping up like a predator in the jungle. David jiggled the handle of the door—locked as expected. “Stand back!” he said as he raised his booted foot.
David kicked in the door; splinters of wood flew about wildly as the door gave way. Sarah stood in the now smoky room, tears streaming down her face as David rushed in. He scooped her up in his arms, holding her closer than he ever had before.
