Lord, please don’t let her come after me. If Nate had one wish left, it would be that Pa, Jesse, and the marshal would show up right then.
The bartender smacked Nate down into a chair at one of the tables just as the tall man from the alleyway shouldered through the swinging door while hiking up his zipper, then adjusted his gun belt. So Nate got caught because that guy had to take a piss. That was some poor luck.
Nate had been in plenty of tight fixes before this. That didn’t mean his heart wasn’t racing. At least he had control of his breathing so, on the outside, he maybe didn’t appear as scared as he actually was, wishing he was almost anywhere but there. Being that there were only two weather-beaten buildings and a rickety old barn, it was doubtful that many kids were around. Since it was a house of sin, as Ma called the saloon back in Gray Rock, families certainly didn’t frequent the grungy hole in the wall.
The tall man grabbed a handful of Nate’s hair and yanked, pinching the skin on the top of his head, and a high-pitched yelp bounced off the ceiling. His hands instinctively flew up, smacking at the fella’s arm.
“Where’d ya come from, kid? Who’s with ya?”
Nate was shaken so hard his teeth rattled. He kicked out with both feet and thumped that mean fella’s shin. He let out hollering and cursed at Nate while rubbing feverishly at his leg. The others chuckled. Nate wasn’t amused. His head hurt where his hair had gotten yanked, and he was still half dizzy from being shaken. The man was scowling something fierce, and Nate expected a hard slap for riling him. These men were suspicious for damn good reason.
Nate recognized Flynn from the cabin, so Flynn hadn’t seen him for sure. Otherwise, he’d be dead already. It appeared that the tall man was the leader. Flynn stood by his side, and the other fella was standing next to the barkeep, both within arm’s reach of Nate, and all eyes were scrutinizing him, including the piano man who had stopped tinkering. The atmosphere in the room seemed strangely quiet without the music playing.
“Ain’t no one with me! I came alone!” His voice packed a wallop to the ears. If he couldn’t convince them, then Hattie might be found.
These were cautious, trail-wise men who had likely slipped away from more than one posse, and they would probably take at least a quick gander. Nate might get sliced to ribbons if they for any reason believed he lied. He tried to keep a poker face. Hopefully, Hattie was still well hidden in the woods just off the roadway, surrounded by a thick cluster of evergreens. If she got curious or too scared and started nosing around, it might mean the end for her and him.
It was dark, too black for this gang to take any chances. If they thought anyone was out there, they weren’t going to politely ask a name. Any detection of movement could become a target. It wasn’t unlikely that she could be mistaken for an enemy. Outlaws tended to shoot first and then have a closer look. Nate doubted they would care about killing an innocent bystander, except earlier, she had been in their possession and could have meant a profit for them.
The queer looks that passed between the roughnecks were ones of disbelief. Nate could rightly guess what each of them was questioning. He was too young to be way the hell out in the middle of nowhere by himself. Someone had to be with him. If Jesse wasn’t hurt, then he couldn’t be too far behind, closer than Pa and the marshal anyway. These outlaws wouldn’t know that, though. Jesse might be outside watching for his chance from some vantage point. The thought of being rescued and seeing this gang arrested brought a smirk to Nate’s face. Then he pictured Hattie, who had no experience with life-and-death situations. Nate crossed his fingers that Jesse had discovered her hiding place and she was now being guarded by him or he’d relocated her to a better spot. That was all based on the assumption that Jesse had won the gun battle. If he hadn’t shown up yet, then Nate had an idea about how to baffle, perhaps profoundly confuse, this hard lot, and by doing that, he might keep them from going out hunting and possibly finding Hattie.
“I’m looking for Walt … I mean Walter.” Nate guessed the name had been shortened, a nickname, such as Nate rather than Nathanial. It hinted that he knew what the hell he was talking about, or so he hoped. Although, it was the furthest thing from the truth. Walt was the name Nate had heard shouted before those men who lit out from the cabin with Kristy, and they’d seemed worried about quickly catching up. And if those hard cases were anxious to join Walt, it could be because he was the boss of this women-stealing outfit. These others must be waiting to hear what the next move would be. Even among the lawless, there were pecking orders. Strength and brutality usually decided the rank. Whoever came out on top typically was also smarter than the others, though sometimes not by much. Nate hoped this ruse would fool them.
Jesse, please get here.
“I’m Walt. Who the hell are you?” The tall man leaned down and stared straight into Nate’s eyes. There was nothing friendly about his look.
Nate swallowed hard. Think.
“My name’s Walt too … after my daddy,” Nate shyly added. “I come to find him.”
Laughter boomed inside the room. Only, that Walt fella wasn’t laughing. He looked meaner than a bear in a trap, as if he might kill someone. Everyone else was clearly amused. Flynn hardily slapped Walt’s shoulder in a mock congratulatory manner, a shitty smirk on his face.
“If my count’s right, this little bastard makes six for ya.” Flynn chuckled. “I’m sure that hotheaded woman of yours’ll have lots to say about this.”
Walt turned an evil eye on Flynn. “Shut the hell up. Ya really gonna believe that cockamamie story?”
Flynn grinned. “Well, like I already said, you got five. It ain’t that hard to believe you fathered one more. Besides, you ain’t exactly faithful to that little bitch you left back there in the mountains with all them heathens.”
Walt’s face screwed up, and he seemed to transform into some sort of maddened beast. Without warning, his right hand, all five knuckles, landed square on Flynn’s chin, sending him spinning away. Flynn toppled over a chair and whacked the floor with a thud. Then Walt turned, shoulders back as if he was ready to strike again, but this time his glare was aimed at Nate.
Nate’s heart skipped a beat or five. Then suddenly, an image of the thin, pissy-tempered woman popped into his head. “Your woman, she’s the one who sent me here. How else would I find this place?”
Walt stopped midstep, an arm outstretched to grab hold of Nate. Flynn was off the floor and rubbing at his jaw. The barkeep and the other fella stood stock still. No one seemed to breathe. While Nate had them thinking, he’d best keep on spinning this windy, or Walt might just wring Nate’s neck. He possibly would anyway.
“She’s a skinny lady, not too tall, with dark hair. The oldest boy is probably my age, eight. They live in a shack near …” Nate snapped his fingers a few times as though he couldn’t recall the name, then said, “Gray Rock.” He was taking quite a gamble. If Flynn’s earlier details about Walt’s life hadn’t been about the thin woman, then Nate was as good as dead.
Walt hoofed a chair so hard it flew across the room. “She knows better. Why the hell would she send ya to me?”
Nate kicked a chair. It didn’t go sailing, but it toppled over. “Couldn’t rightly tell ya. She just did.” He didn’t know what else to say. His mind was suddenly blank. He hadn’t expected the man’s temper to explode the way it did, and Nate was fighting to keep from shaking all over. So he modeled Walt’s behavior for whatever reason. It just felt like the right thing to save himself.
The barkeep grabbed a handful of Nate’s white hair. “He don’t look a stitch like ya, but he’s got your temper.” A soft, almost unnoticed snicker slipped out from between the barkeep’s lips.
Walt glared at him. The barkeep let go of Nate all-fire quick, and his hands went up, signaling that he’d meant no harm.
The room was still. No one said a word. Their faces gave off an air of strained concentration as Nate’s accurate description of the cantankerous, impish woman and her brood sett
led into their heads. Walt also might have been doing some quick math. Had the timing been right that a child Nate’s age could have been produced? Had Walt been with anyone other than the thin lady in that time period?
The cuckoo clock opened, and the bird popped out and sounded. Everyone jerked around and looked at the sudden noise. At that moment, Walt also drew. His pistol had jumped into his hand smooth and quick, aiming at the chime. Nate slapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tight shut, waiting for the bang inside the room to deafen him.
“Don’t shoot! That clock come from Germany,” the music maker roared as he sprang off the piano seat as though he were about to throw himself between a bullet and that stupid clock. Nate had almost forgotten the man was there. He’d kept quiet so far.
Most importantly, everyone’s focus wasn’t on anything outside those four dingy gray walls. Nate silently sent up a quick prayer that Jesse, Pa, and the marshal were sneaking up on this rough outfit right this minute, that he would soon be safe with his family, and that Hattie was okay.
Walt shoved his gun in its holster and, in the same breath, snatched Nate off the chair by his shirt collar, giving him another hard shake. “Who’s your mama?”
Nate’s birth mother had been a whore and a friend of the thin woman who was the mother of Walt’s brats. Chances were he knew Lucinda. Though, it wasn’t the first name that had rushed to Nate’s mind. Kate was his mother, but the name Kate Crosson, the wife of a famed lawman, would not fit in this lock. If Nate wanted to escape, he had to be smart. He held his tongue, knowing that if he said too much and clued these edgy fellas in to who he really was, it might cost him his life.
“This is Deputy Sheriff Jesse Adams. Send the boy and woman out.”
CHAPTER 19
Jesse was alive. Thank God. Nate now had a good chance of getting out of there with his hide intact. Although, Jesse sounded anything but pleased, and Nate reckoned once Jesse got his hands on him, he would get his behind tanned. Nate knew better than to go after bad guys by himself, but he hadn’t wanted to risk losing Kristy’s trail. He hadn’t meant to get caught, but because he did, Jesse had then lost the element of surprising this gang at his timing, which was even worse since the odds weren’t in his favor. Nate had certainly messed up. What if it cost Kristy getting rescued? Apparently, Jesse had found some sign of her being there somewhere because he’d ordered her to be released along with Nate.
Nate ran for the door. All he could think about was saying sorry to his best friend and partner.
“Oh, no ya don’t.” Walt’s fingernails bit into Nate’s shoulder, holding him there.
Nate jerked his arm, trying like hell to squirm away, but the tall man now had both his big, thick hands slapped on him like iron shackles.
“Let go of me!” he screamed.
Without warning, the door behind the bar at the back of the room flew open. Pa stood there with his Colt aimed at Walt’s forehead.
“Pa!” The cry had just slipped out of Nate.
Walt wickedly snickered, and his mean grip tightened on Nate’s arm. After bursting in, Pa’s eyes had narrowed to no more than two small slits, focusing on the man holding Nate. Nate swallowed hard. If Walt wanted to live, he’d best let go of him in the next few seconds.
The marshal, holding his pistol ready, ducked in behind Pa and quickly moved off to the far end of the bar, covering that side of the room. A squeak from the swinging door to the right of Nate turned everyone’s attention but Walt’s, whose gun had appeared in his hand within a mere blink. It was jammed into Nate’s side, and he wanted to cry.
Jesse was a broad-shouldered figure of justice standing in the doorway, and with his finger on the trigger of the Winchester, it was clear he wasn’t there to negotiate. None of the lawmen were.
Flynn, who had backed against the wall at the rush of the posse, held a six-shooter in one hand. The music man was now on his feet but cowering at the side of his piano nearest the corner while holding tight to a small pocket gun, which looked out of place. With arms stretched up into the air, the only thing the bartender had in his big mitts was a dirty rag. He didn’t appear to have a weapon.
The piano player took a slow step toward the stairs.
“Don’t make another move, mister. I ain’t feelin’ forgivin’,” Jesse said through clenched teeth.
As though the music man hadn’t heard the warning inside the ten-by-twelve room, he up and ran for the staircase. Jesse’s Winchester exploded, rattling the windows. His bullet ripped into the man’s back, splattering bloody guts through his bellybutton. He dropped in a heap at the bottom step.
His gun was sent spinning across the floor toward the bartender. The fool lunged for it. Marshal Huckabee’s pistol stabbed flame. No one else moved. If everyone started shooting, this could become a deadly crossfire that no one survived. None of them wanted that. The bartender hit the floor on his knees, his apron staining with blood. He gripped his chest while cursing the marshal and watching his life drain all down his front and drip red on the floor. A few labored breaths later, he fell over on his face, dead.
“What’s going on down there?” The boards of the balcony above them groaned loudly with each hurried step toward the stairs. At the top, the fat man appeared. His scatter-gun swung up as he pumped the lever.
Jesse dove behind a nearby table as the buckshot barely missed him and bit into the wall above the piano, which drew everyone’s eyes in that direction. That’s when Pa rushed forward toward Nate. In a flying leap, he tackled Walt and somehow managed to knock Nate spinning out of the way. He fell, bouncing across the floor, and Jesse grabbed him, throwing him under a table for cover.
“Stay there!” Jesse left him and ran for the stairs. He was probably thinking of Kristy. Why else would the big man be up there when his buddies were all downstairs?
Pa and Walt rolled across the floor, punching each other.
One and then a second pistol cracked. Nate whipped around. The marshal had hurdled the bar and was hunkered down. Then he popped up and fired again. Flynn, whose shoulder was bleeding, squeezed the trigger of his revolver just as the marshal’s bullet drilled into Flynn’s other shoulder. Flynn’s bullet smacked into the bar, splintering the wood. His next shot shattered the bottles along the wall. The marshal’s pistol jerked in his hand. This time, his bullet hit Flynn’s chest, and he stumbled backward, crashing through a window. He was suddenly gone from sight.
The marshal hurried past Pa, slugging it out with Walt, to the broken window where he looked out. He turned and focused on the knuckle-crunching fight Pa was in. A boom rang out from upstairs. Then a retort of fire bellowed. Pa and Walt flipped over a table, and in a tangle, they hit the floor with a spine-jolting whack.
Marshal Huckabee glanced at Nate. “You okay?”
Nate stiffly nodded while wiping the tears off his face. In four or five long, hustling strides, the marshal reached the stairs and took them by twos toward the top, his pistol in hand. No more shots had been fired, but Jesse might need help up there, especially if Kristy was there as suspected. She might have gotten hurt or at least was probably near frightened to death. Nate was pretty scared himself and wanted those two upstairs to hurry down and help Pa.
Pa got kicked in the gut, doubling him over. Walt struck with a nasty blow up under Pa’s chin that sent him flying backward on wobbly legs. He hit the floor sitting on his ass. Nate’s breath cut off. Pa was down, and Walt drew his gun in no more time than it took to blink. Nate’s eyes flicked to Pa’s Colt aimed at Walt. Both guns blasted, then again. Pa hollered and grabbed his side. Walt timbered toward the floor with a hole in his forehead and another right between his eyes.
Nate scrambled out from under the table and scurried across the bloodstained floor toward Pa, clinging to his sleeve. He was only bleeding in one spot, so Walt’s second shot must have missed. Pa grimaced, then regarded his hand covered in blood.
“Help me up.” Pa gripped his side and didn’t seem to be able to
move. He wasn’t breathing too well either.
Boot steps sounded on the stairs. Marshal Huckabee appeared, rushing across the room, and got both arms under Pa’s shoulders, easing him to his feet. Nate sniffled, wiping his sleeve across his face.
“Let’s have a look at that wound.” The marshal wasn’t asking.
Pa lifted his shirt.
All Nate could see was red. That was a lot of blood. His shirt was soaked through. Nate started to cry harder.
Sobs carried down from upstairs. Someone was crying harder than him. Was it Jesse? He hadn’t come down yet. Had Kristy been killed?
Footsteps, plenty of them, clicked on the balcony above. That wasn’t boots. The noise was too dainty. And there was more than one pair and more cries. Who else was up there?
Nate couldn’t focus on Pa, who was moaning as the marshal fingered around his wound. All that red churned up a violent wooziness in Nate’s gut. He cupped a hand over his mouth to keep his stomach down, and he turned away and watched the stairs.
Jesse came down, Kristy at his side. Her arms were around his middle, and his one arm was wrapped tight around her shoulders. That wasn’t the surprise. Behind them trailed three more young women, all of them teary-eyed and dirty from their ordeal. Relief probably hadn’t fully sunk in, and they were all still shaking.
One glance at Pa and Jesse let go of Kristy and crossed the room in an all-fire hurry to where Pa had slid into a chair. His face was white, and his head sagged forward, his chin nearly resting on his chest. Jesse put his face right in there with the marshal’s, and they both gingerly eyed the bleeding hole in Pa’s ribs.
Nate grabbed Jesse’s hand and squeezed. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out wailing. “Pa’ll be okay, won’t he? Ma will patch him up.”
No one said anything to comfort him. The ladies all stood in a huddle, wiping at their eyes and sniffling.
Jesse glanced over at the marshal, who returned the same worrisome grin.
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