Savage. Part 35

Didn't happen, though.

Finally, we came to the livery stable at the far end of town. The proprietor, a fellow named Himmel, had seen us coming and had already sent his boys to fetch our horses. McSween settled accounts with him. Then we spent just forever, it seemed, fumbling about with our bridles and saddles and such. McSween finished before me, and mounted up. While I worked at tightening General's cinch, he sat up there high on his saddle and rolled himself a smoke.

I tied down my saddlebags, tied down my bedroll and slipped my Winchester into its boot. By the time I got done and climbed aboard, the others were all mounted and waiting for me.

We rode out onto the street.

What came next shouldn't have surprised me, not after what I'd seen of the gang so far.

There we were, at the very end of town. We had no reason at all to ride in the opposite direction.

That's just what we did, however.

McSween dug in his spurs, pulled both Colts, and charged, spitting lead at the night. For a cautious man proud of his silver hair, he sure had himself a keen interest in gawdy exits.

We all followed him, yelling and blazing.

If we were shot at, I never heard the gunfire through all our own commotion.

We were still on our saddles, none the worse for wear, by the time we left Bailey's Corner behind us.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

The Posse The hard way we rode, only stopping now and then to let the horses catch their wind, I judged that the boys didn't figure we were in the clear.

Finally, I had to ask. I put the spurs to General and caught up with McSween. "Do you reckon they're coming after us?"

"That's a good bet, w.i.l.l.y," he said, looking over at me. "You know them two lawmen that was fools enough to side with Prue? They was town deputies. I don't know the one, but the other was James Brewer, brother to the sheriff, Ike."

"Well, where was he he, then?"

"Ike? Don't rightly know. I gave him all kinds of time to take a crack at us. Wanted him to try, but he never showed. Sure would've been a blessing to kill him then and there. Way matters stand, we gotta figure he'll lead a posse after us."

"What are we to do?"

"Whatever we gotta."

We kept on riding through the night. I spent plenty of time remembering how the train engineer'd tried to talk me out of joining up with these boys, and wished more than once that I'd heeded his warning. It was far too late for that, though. In the course of a week, I'd helped rob a train, I'd stolen a horse, and I'd stood with the gang in a shootout that left four men murdered. I was no better than an outlaw, myself. And now McSween judged we had a posse coming for us, so I figured I might end my life just as the engineer had predicted, either shot or swinging from a rope.

It made me feel plain sick to think about.

I kept looking back over my shoulder. Behind us was nothing but moonlit desert.

Maybe a posse won't won't come, I told myself. come, I told myself.

I couldn't take much comfort from hoping that, but I did finally calm down. What helped my nerves was knowing I was with the boys, and they weren't likely to let any posse have its way with them. No, sir. I wouldn't be getting myself shot or hanged long as I stayed with McSween and Chase and Emmet and Snooker and Breakenridge-and the engineer be d.a.m.ned.

My optimism lasted till just after dawn.

That's when we halted near the top of a rise and spotted the cloud of dust a few miles to our rear. I couldn't see anyone back there, just dry washes and piles of rock, cacti and stunted trees, and all that blowing yellow dust.

"Aw, s.h.i.t," Snooker said.

Chase glanced at McSween. "Fifteen, twenty of 'em?"

"Least twenty, I'd say."

"Aw, s.h.i.t," Snooker said again.

"Who'd think a town that size," McSween said, "could come up with that many fellers eager to get their toes turned up?"

"Reckon we oughta split up?" Chase asked.

Oh, I didn't care for that that notion. Not one whit. Goose b.u.mps went scurrying up my back like a troop of spiders with icy feet. notion. Not one whit. Goose b.u.mps went scurrying up my back like a troop of spiders with icy feet.

"It'd thin 'em out," Breakenridge said. "I'd sure rather have four or five on my tail than all of them."

McSween commenced to roll a smoke. After giving it a lick, he said, "We put our heads together, maybe we can figure us a better better way to thin 'em out." He lit up. Smoke curled away from under his mustache as he smiled. "Get my drift?" way to thin 'em out." He lit up. Smoke curled away from under his mustache as he smiled. "Get my drift?"

He offered his makings to me.

Dry as my mouth felt, it would've likely caught fire if I'd had a go at smoking. I shook my head.

"Are you saying we ought to attack them?" I asked.

"Seems a fine idea to me," he said.

"Jesus wept," said Breakenridge.

Chase gazed off at the dust cloud, which seemed to be closer to us already, and rubbed his chin. "Let's do it," he said.

"Hot d.a.m.n!" Emmet blurted.

Snooker and Breakenridge didn't appear to enjoy the notion, but they didn't speak against it.

"How you doing, w.i.l.l.y?"

We sat atop our mounts, all by ourselves, waiting.

"Not at all good, actually."

"Can't say as I blame you," McSween said. "Not feeling too spry myself, if the truth be known. Sorry we pulled you into this."

"It was my own choice."

"My own blamed fault. I just knowed I should've plugged Prue and the fatty back when we took the horse. Just gave 'em credit for more sense than they turned out to have." He lifted his bandanna and mopped some sweat off his forehead. "This is what comes of having a generous nature."

"It is a shame they showed up when they did," I said.

"You never know. At least we ain't got them to worry about no more."

"I'd rather have dealt with those two on my trail than a whole crowd."

He laughed softly. "Well, there ain't gonna be a crowd much longer."

I looked over my shoulder and was glad to see that the gap between the piled boulders was still empty. The low thunder of hoofbeats sounded louder and louder.

"What you might wanta do," McSween said, "is dig in your spurs and light out."

"That's what I intend intend to do." to do."

"It's right now I mean."

"Now?"

"That's what I'd like you to do, w.i.l.l.y. Go on and skedaddle. No point in you being in on this. At the best, you'd only b.l.o.o.d.y your hands. At worst, you'd end up killed. Go on, now. We'll handle this here posse. Things work out, I'll catch you down the trail."

"I'm not a b.l.o.o.d.y coward," I told him.

"Why, I know that."

"It's only because of me that we have have this posse after us." this posse after us."

"That's no call for you to stick with us."

"It's all the call I need," I said, talking quite a heap braver than I felt.

"Reckon it's too late, anyhow," McSween said.

I was still watching the gap. It was still empty. But now the thunder was so near I almost thought I could feel the air quaking.

"This is it, w.i.l.l.y," McSween said. He shouldered his Winchester and thumbed back its hammer. "Ride fast, keep low, and shoot straight. And G.o.d be with you."

"You, too," I told him. It came out no louder than a whisper.

A lone horseman rode through the gap. His head was turned. He seemed to be talking to someone behind him, though he was too far off for me to hear his voice. McSween's rifle spoke. The fellow pitched backward. His horse reared. He fell off, but one of his feet got hung up in a stirrup. The horse scampered to the right, dragging him.

"Hightail!" McSween yelled.

We didn't linger. We hunched and dug in and bolted.

From behind us came shouts. "There!" and "b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" and "Get 'em!"

It was Whitechapel all over again, a mob after my blood, only this time they had guns.

They blasted away at us.

Bullets whinged off rocks, buzzed past my head. I kept an eye on McSween racing alongside me low in his saddle with the wind shoving his hat brim up. He didn't look like he'd been hit yet. So far, I'd been lucky, too. I figured a slug was on its way toward my back. I waited for it to whack me, but all I could feel was General dashing like mad, the hot wind rushing into my face so quick it wanted to choke me.

The mouth of the pa.s.s hadn't seemed like more than a stone's throw away when me and McSween had picked our spot to wait for the posse.

But that stone's throw seemed more like a mile now that the mob was on our tails, spitting lead.

I wished I hadn't been so eager to play bait.

None of the others had volunteered for the job, however, and I'd figured McSween shouldn't have to go it alone.

Even though it was was his own daft idea. his own daft idea.

"You don't never wanta try this trick on the redskins," he'd said. "Why, h.e.l.l, it's their their trick. You take your white folks, though, they fall for it every time." trick. You take your white folks, though, they fall for it every time."

I'd neglected to ask him how many redskins got themselves shot dead while leading their pursuers into such traps.

At long last, we galloped between the boulders at the mouth of the pa.s.s. The gunfire slackened off a bit, so I raised my head and glanced about. I didn't see hide nor hair of the boys up there among the rocks. What if they'd they'd lit out? The notion shook me. But I reckoned they weren't the sort to pull such a dirty stunt. lit out? The notion shook me. But I reckoned they weren't the sort to pull such a dirty stunt.

I took a chance and looked back. Here came the posse, two at a time, racing at us down the narrow pa.s.s, only the pair in front firing. The rest had quit shooting so they wouldn't hit their own.

Me and McSween kept riding just as fast as our mounts could carry us.

The boys kept waiting.

If they were here.

Suddenly, puffs of smoke bloomed on the canyon walls as four guns crashed and four men tumbled off their horses.

McSween cut to the left. Rifle in hand, he hurled himself to the ground and dashed behind a clump of rocks. I reined in General, s.n.a.t.c.hed out my Winchester, and leaped down to join him.

He was already scurrying up the slope. I followed, rather hoping it might all be over before we found a proper perch.

It sounded horrid. The canyon just roared with gunfire. Horses squealed and whinnied. Men shouted, cried out.

They came to kill us, I told myself.

Too soon, McSween picked himself a rock. It was big enough for both of us. We rose up behind it and shouldered our rifles.

Down below was mayhem. Dead men. Dead horses. A few fellows rode breakneck for the mouth of the pa.s.s in a panic to escape. Others stayed. Of those that stayed to fight, some simply crouched in the open and returned fire, some scampered up into the rocks, some hunkered down to take shelter beside their fallen mounts, and a few rode in their saddles, shooting this way and that as their horses wheeled and bucked.

McSween's rifle deafened my ear. One of the men on a circling, snorting horse keeled over sideways.