Shot to hell, p.16
Shot to Hell, page 16
He looked south. To ride that way would cut the time between the cavalry finding him and getting the girls to Kinney. Whether any doctor could save Eliza gnawed at him, but his conscience won. Letting her die through his own attempt to escape the army patrol wasn’t right. He had an obligation.
Turning White Lightning back in the direction he had ridden from Kinney, he urged the stallion into a canter. The girls’ extra weight was nothing to the powerful horse.
The outlaws caught up with him within the hour.
“Susan, can you ride? Can you stay in the saddle and hold your sister, too?”
“I suppose.” She rubbed sleepy eyes. “I’m hungry.”
“You and Eliza ride on. White Lightning will carry you faster without my weight on him. You ride as fast as you can without falling off, and you’ll find soldiers who will feed you.”
“Soldiers? I want to stay with you.” She threw her arms around his middle and hugged him tight. He gently pulled her from him.
“You find the soldiers and tell them I’m here waiting for them. Can you do that?”
“You won’t run off?”
Leif saw the outlaws spread out. One or two already let out whoops and brandished rifles. They were preparing for their attack, and no quarter would be given.
“I won’t run off. Go on. Ride. Hold tight to Eliza.” Leif jumped to the ground, made sure Susan clung to the reins and saddle horn and had a secure grip on her sister, then gave White Lightning a swat on the rump. The horse rocketed away. For a heart-stopping instant, he thought the girls would tumble from the saddle, but Susan clung on for dear life.
Leif drew his six-shooters and found a waist-high tumble of rocks that would slow an attack.
Two outlaws saw Eliza making her escape. In the midst of a hail of bullets, Leif stood and fired with expert precision. His first shot took the closest road agent from horseback. Four rounds were spent before he hit another attacker’s horse and sent its rider somersaulting to the ground. Then he ducked back down as a renewed assault on his small fortress began.
He winced as hot lead creased his right biceps. Two other rounds cut long tears in his duster. A quick peek over the rock almost cost him his life. The outlaws with rifles rushed forward, firing as they came. Leif ducked back, slid around the edge, and emptied both six-guns into the leading rider.
This drove the others back, giving him a chance to reload. His right arm began to ache. Holding his Peacemaker made his hand cramp.
He slid the Peacemaker back into his holster and concentrated on using the pistol in his left hand. He winged another outlaw and drove the pack of them back just beyond the range of even a crack shot. Leif settled down and prepared for what he knew was a final attack. An all-out rush in the dark would overwhelm him. He vowed to go down fighting. Letting them capture him meant hours or even days of torture. He had seen how they acted at the burning wagon. Somehow, he blamed Simkins, and he wasn’t even sure these were his men.
A deep breath settled him when he heard a volley. He popped up like a prairie dog and hunted for a target. To his surprise, there wasn’t one. The gunfire continued. He saw a pair of riders retreating, then heard the thunder of hooves. He rested his Peacemaker on the rock and hunted for a single last target.
Nothing.
Then he returned the six-gun to its holster and raised his hands. The corporal had him squarely in his sights. The grim set to the man’s chin warned that the slightest move would send a carbine round through his head. Even if Leif didn’t move, the soldier was likely to fire.
“Stand down, Corporal,” came the sharp command. “This miscreant is surrendering. Aren’t you, Mr. Gunnarson?”
“I am, Lieutenant.” Leif moved from around the rock, hands above his head. “Thanks for saving my bacon. In another minute, those desperadoes would have had me.”
“If I didn’t consider returning you for trial as my bounden duty, which I always do, I would have let them take you.”
Leif looked past the lieutenant and his sergeant. Immediately behind them, the private he had let go sat astride his horse, looking uneasy. The position might have been one of honor because riders at the front of the column didn’t eat the others’ dust, or maybe the lieutenant wanted to keep his eyes on the private. Leif hoped it was an honor rather than a punishment that let the youngster ride forward in the column.
The officer motioned for the sergeant to once more take Leif’s sidearms. The noncom muttered, “No shackles for you this time. You broke the only pair we had.”
“The corporal wasn’t too badly hurt,” Leif said. The corporal still fingered his rifle, itching to use it.
“I ought to put you back under his thumb.” The sergeant shoved Leif forward to stand in front of the lieutenant. The officer glared at him.
“I can’t figure out if you’re a hero or a clumsy fool. The little girls said you saved them, but that’s not the way I read you, Mr. Gunnarson. You are a killer, sir, and it will be my pleasure to see you hanged.”
“The girls are on their way to a doctor?”
“You somehow did the right thing, not removing the knife from the younger one. She would have bled to death. The broad blade proved to be a decent plug that kept her alive.” The lieutenant looked around and bellowed, “Are there any spare mounts?”
When no answer came, he said to Leif, “You have quite a walk ahead of you back to Kinney.”
“Any chance you could go after the gang that was attacking me and bring a little justice to them for killing the girls’ parents and . . . sibling?” Leif fought to keep the image of the three charred bodies from making him gag.
“So that’s what happened?” The lieutenant shook his head. “They might have killed them, as you say, but my orders are to bring the road agents to heel.” With that, he wheeled about, issued curt orders, and led the column back toward the plains.
Leif started to call out that those owlhoots might be Simkins and his gang, but he held his tongue. He stood stock-still, hoping to be ignored. His luck didn’t run that way. The private inched closer and said, “I’m s’pposed to look after you. You better get to walkin’, or I’ll have to rope and drag you. I wouldn’t want to do that.”
Leif began slogging along, his legs like lead and his feet hurting. He had been through too much recently. Being the headliner for the Wild West Show had been both glamorous and tedious. He missed both the glamour and the tedium now as he walked toward a noose.
The column pulled away, traveling faster than Leif could walk. Squads of five or six occasionally cut off from the main troop and galloped away, returning an hour or two later. The lieutenant was serious about scouting for the road agents. They just never patrolled toward the canyon. That the woman outlaw and the man Leif was accused of murdering had ridden in this direction convinced him Simkins was holed up somewhere near. It pleased him that the officer took his orders seriously and still tracked the outlaws, but nothing deterred him from getting his sole prisoner into a civilian jail.
“Why’d you do it?” the private unexpectedly spoke up. “There wasn’t any call for you to do it.”
“I didn’t shoot the owlhoot in the back.” Leif looked up at the private, who was obviously wrestling with the question.
“Not that. Why’d you go and give me such a fine story? You coulda kilt me dead, right then and there when you had the drop on me.”
Leif wasn’t going to tell the youngster that he had been bluffing since he had already convinced himself that Trickshot had the upper hand. Both his six-shooters had still been in their holsters while the soldier had the drop on him.
“I’m not a killer,” Leif said, images of all the men he had killed in the past weeks racing in front of his eyes. The worst had been the outlaw back in camp guarding the children. That was murder pure and simple, yet it had been necessary. There wasn’t any way he could have escaped with the captive girls without silencing the guard permanently.
“There was other things, but you didn’t tie me up or knock me out.”
“Any of those would have landed you in the stockade,” Leif said. “It wasn’t your fault you found me before any of the others.” He considered the matter a few paces and added, “If your corporal had found me, he’d have shot me while I slept.”
“He’d have done that very thing,” the private said, nodding in agreement. “He’s got a mean streak. All you done to him’s made it a sight worse, too. If the cut on his face doesn’t heal right, he’ll have a scar from the chaining you gave him.”
Leif vowed to watch his back around the corporal.
“That was a mighty fancy hat you left behind,” the private said. “The silver must be worth a fortune.”
“Traveling with Wyoming Bob’s Wild West Show pays well. And since I was the star attraction, I needed something flashy to draw attention. I got those conchas when we put on a show down Sonora way.”
The private turned around and fumbled in his saddlebags. The first rays of morning sun flashed off silver.
“Here. You ought to get your belongings back. The hat, well, the corporal was so mad, he shot even more holes in it and then had his horse stomp on it. I picked up the silver after he was done.”
Leif took the battered conchas and stared at them. They represented better days, less deadly ones in spite of using his six-guns to make his living.
“You won’t get into trouble giving them back to me?” He stared up at the grinning youngster.
“Sayin’ things like that makes me wonder if you did shoot down that fellow back in the woods. Always thinkin’ of others. Naw, they don’t even know I took ’em.”
Leif trudged along in silence a few minutes, then looked up and saw the private shake his head vehemently. “No, sir, I ain’t gonna look the other way whilst you sneak off.”
“Do you have a carbine? To replace the one I shot up?”
“Don’t,” came the reluctant answer.
Leif sagged.
“Losing both your rifle and your prisoner means you’ll be in a world of trouble. I can’t let you take blame for something that’s my doing and not yours. If you’d lied about your carbine, I would have tried to escape. You’re honest as the day is long,” Leif said. “I have to respect that.”
The private nodded and pointed to the horizon.
“It’s a good thing. We’ll be in Kinney ’fore you know it. That’s smoke risin’ from all the chimneys in town.”
Leif shielded his eyes with his hand against the sunlight and saw the smoke spotted by the soldier from his higher vantage point. Even if he had figured a way of slipping away, being this close to Kinney dashed his hopes of even trying to escape. The marshal need only snap his fingers to form a posse. Hunting for an escaped prisoner this close to town would draw willing vigilantes by the score. They wouldn’t have far to ride to earn their shot of whiskey for their service.
By moonrise, Leif Gunnarson was securely locked up in the town jailhouse.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I brought dinner for the prisoner.”
Leif Gunnarson stirred, then sat up on the hard cot in his jail cell. Peering around a partially open door leading to the marshal’s office, he caught sight of the woman belonging to the soft, lilting voice.
“Let me look. I want to make sure you’re not smuggling in a gun.”
“Put that down,” came Marta Esquivel’s scolding words. “The food’s for him, not you.”
“Elsie never fixes anything near this good when I go eat at the restaurant. How’s it that she does chicken and dumplings for the likes of him?”
Leif cringed. He imagined the marshal jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the cells and scowling to show his disdain. For two cents, the lawman would let him starve to death. This was only the second meal he’d had in the two days since the cavalry patrol had turned him over.
“Does he get it, or do I take it back?” Marta demanded. “I am not letting you eat it.”
“Be like that.” Keys jangled. The light coming through the partly open door dimmed as the marshal’s bulk filled it. Then he came back and shoved the key into the cell door lock. “Get back and set yourself down on the bed, or I’ll make sure you never see another crumb.”
Leif did as he was told. Even with his swift reflexes, there wasn’t any chance for him to leap off the cot, cross the cell, and bowl over the marshal. The lawman stepped away to let Marta into the cell. He held the keys in his left hand and rested his right on the butt of his six-shooter. He wasn’t taking any chances with his slippery prisoner.
“I’ll stay while he eats,” Marta said.
“Set down the tray and get out of the cell.” The marshal locked the iron-barred door and grabbed a chair. He put it as far away as possible. “You set yourself there and don’t stand up without letting me know. Otherwise, I might come in with my gun blazing.”
“I’m sure you’d enjoy that, Marshal,” Leif said. He moved the tray to the end of the cot and inhaled deeply. The aroma made his mouth water and his stomach growl. A sample here and there further whetted his appetite.
“No whispering, either,” the marshal said. “I don’t want you two conspiring to break the law even more.” He gave Marta a final once-over look and returned to the front office. After settling into his chair, he hiked his feet up onto the desktop.
Leif looked at Marta, who gestured at the tray. He pushed back the napkin over the food. Pinned to the cloth was a note. Carefully removing it, he scanned the sheet, then looked up in surprise. He shook his head.
She had laid out a scheme to break him out of jail. He crumpled the paper and stuffed it into his vest pocket. If the marshal saw it, Marta would be tossed into the cell next to him.
“I can do it, Leif,” she said.
“I don’t want you to even try.” He picked his words carefully to keep the eavesdropping lawman from getting suspicious.
“The circuit judge comes to town tomorrow.”
He nodded. “I heard. Rather, the marshal made sure I heard. I want to stand trial. The judge has the reputation of being an honest man. When he hears my side of it, he’ll have to see that I’m innocent.”
Marta made a face. She fumbled in her skirts and found another piece of paper. Using a stub of a pencil, she began writing as she talked.
“The judge might be fair, but the jury gets more whiskey if they convict.” She scribbled the rest of her note, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into his cell.
He picked it up. Again she outlined her plan to break him out.
“This is too dangerous,” he said. “I won’t do it.”
“After the trial,” she said. “Will you do this thing then when they convict you?”
“If,” he corrected. “If they convict me.”
“You put too much faith in your powers to convince. You will not sweet-talk your way out of this.”
Leif grinned broadly and said, “It’s worked on you so far.” He enjoyed her shocked expression. She started to argue, then fell silent. As she watched intently, he finished the meal. “Those were mighty good victuals. Pass along my appreciation to the cook.”
“Leif, I—” Marta was halfway out of the chair. The marshal burst in and shoved her back down.
“I told you not to budge.”
“There’s no need to be so rough with her,” Leif said. “She was only coming over to pick up the tray.”
The marshal unlocked the cell door and stepped back, hand on his six-shooter again. Marta took the tray and the licked-clean plate.
“I will thank her for you, Mr. Gunnarson.”
“You might send in your request for a last meal,” the marshal said. “There’s no way you won’t get a suspended sentence.” He made a choking noise, then laughed. Seeing his mockery, Leif almost called to Marta that she should try to spring him from jail. The marshal herded her away before he made such a mistake.
The door to the outer office slammed shut, leaving him alone with his desolate thoughts. He fell asleep with the belief that he had done the right thing denying her plan. The slightest mistake would get her killed. And doing the right thing would get him hanged.
* * *
* * *
The saloon was packed to overflowing with spectators. Six chairs, still empty, stretched along the bar, as much to show where the jurors would sit as to keep the horde from trying to order booze. The judge’s table sat at the rear of the saloon, with a large sign stating that no one would be served until the case was tried. Leif wasn’t sure if that made him feel better. If the jurors were knee-walking drunk, maybe they would ignore the prosecutor’s case. The man was dressed all in black and had a serious demeanor. Spring-held glasses perched on the end of his nose, giving him a learned look. Learned and mean.
The lawyer beside Leif reeked of liquor and had eyes of indeterminate color because they were so bloodshot. If he had been dragged behind the stagecoach, his clothes couldn’t have been in more dirty disarray. A couple books open on the table in front of them revealed legal cases that had no bearing on the crime for which Leif was charged. A shaky hand reached out and pointed. The lawyer cleared his throat and spat, missing a cuspidor by a foot. He never noticed.
“This here’s how I’m gonna get you off.” The defense attorney half turned to Leif. “You got money to pay me, right?”
Leif touched the silver conchas in his pocket. Those ought to be more than enough, but he found himself wanting the prosecutor on his side rather than the counsel he had. Marta had asked around town, and these two were the only lawyers. He had a suspicion they took turns prosecuting, and, if so, he had the bad luck to get the drunk while the competent lawyer intended to send him to the gallows.
