The devils work, p.11
The Devil's Work, page 11
‘God damn it to hell,’ snarled Bodeen. ‘How many’s he got up there?’ Viewing his remaining men with disdain, he barked out, ‘Keep off the street and follow me. We’ve got to stop that law dog before he leaves the hotel and goes to ground someplace else.’
Keeping close to the buildings, they all moved along the boardwalk. There was more gunfire, but none of it seemed to be coming their way.
Rance heard the reassuring bark of Angie’s Henry further along the roof. Recovering his own carbine, he risked a look over the parapet. He had expected the slush to be covered with mutilated men and severed body parts, replicating the worst days of the War Between the States. It had not occurred to him that explosives needed to be surrounded by other material to do the maximum damage. Nevertheless, at such close range, blast and concussion had served him well. Four men lay sprawled about, bleeding profusely from their ears and noses. Another had been badly sliced up by flying glass and was completely out of the fight. It was that unfortunate who had done most of the screaming. The remaining gunmen had escaped serious harm and were scurrying for shelter. Disorientated by the explosions, none of them knew where the attack had come from. Two ran for the hotel whilst the others made for the jail. Swiftly lining up on one of the latter, Rance squeezed off a shot. The bullet caught his victim squarely between the shoulder blades, throwing him forward into the already shattered window. Rapidly pumping the under lever, he aimed and fired again. The gun thug must have said his prayers that day, because just at that moment he stumbled on the sidewalk planking and the shot went wide. Rance cursed and levered in another cartridge, but by then the tables had turned. His intended victim was inside the jail and returning fire.
Ducking down, the marshal considered his options. If left to his own devices, that lone gunman would probably end up freeing his compadres in the cell. Casting a glance at Angie, he saw that she was unhurt and reloading her repeater. ‘Where’s Bodeen?’ he hissed.
Jumping slightly, as though shocked out of her own little world, she replied, ‘They’re moving up towards us under cover. I can’t get a shot.’
Mind made up, Rance called back, ‘Get over to the trap door with the shotgun and keep watch.’
Obeying without question, his deputy scurried over to the hatch. Placing her rifle on the roof, she cocked both hammers of the shotgun and crouched down in readiness.
Rance meanwhile selected two sticks of dynamite with undoctored fuses and struck another match. As the explosives flared into life, he stepped well back from the parapet and rose to his full height. Concealed from anyone below, he took aim at the jailhouse and hurled them with all his might. Hissing and twisting in the air, the deadly missiles flew unerringly on to the roof.
Bodeen led his men along the side of the main street without attracting any more flying lead. He had seen two survivors of the explosions head into Pearsall’s and intended to meet them there. Those men still lying in the street in great distress would just have to wait; he had more pressing business. Just as he reached the dry goods store, two flying objects registered on his peripheral vision.
‘Hit the dirt!’ he yelled out, and did just that.
For long seconds nothing happened. The regulators’ leader was just reflecting that he had possibly over-reacted, when suddenly there were two almost simultaneous explosions on the roof of the jailhouse. The whole timber structure collapsed in on itself. Dust and chunks of wood flew everywhere. Fresh screaming emanated from the ruined structure. The horrendous injuries likely sustained from wood splinters didn’t bear thinking about, so he didn’t.
‘Get off the deck and into the hotel,’ Bodeen commanded. ‘The tarnal son of a bitch won’t want to blow himself up.’
As the men pounded past the saloon, he hollered at the two survivors to follow on. Half of his men were effectively out of the fight and he hadn’t even had Toller in his sights once. Rage was boiling within him. That marshal was going to die, even if they had to destroy the whole town to achieve it.
Rance viewed the wrecked jail with genuine remorse, not because of the casualties within it – they had brought such retribution on themselves – but that building had been his place of work for some good years and now it had all gone. As if confirming this fact, smoke began to drift up from the ruin. The contents of a shattered oil lamp must have ignited in the explosion. It appeared as though Clem was to be laid to rest by cremation rather than burial, along with the other unfortunates in the cell. Renewed screaming validated the fact that they weren’t all dead. At least one of Bodeen’s thugs faced a truly horrendous demise.
Because his attention was so strongly held by the grim scene, it was some time before other movement beyond that building registered with him. Alarm and puzzlement seized him with equal measure as he peered over at the new development. People were advancing out into the virgin snow. Lots of people, large and small, young and old. They were riding horseback, on wagons and in buggies. The whole population of Devil’s Lake was getting safely out of range of the war that had abruptly broken out in their town. As if to emphasize the soundness of their decision, the crash of a shotgun came from behind him. Twisting around, he saw powdersmoke drifting away from Angie’s weapon.
‘The devils are in the corridor, Rance.’
Bodeen cursed fluently as he was showered with plaster and woodchips. The shotgun had discharged the very second that they had reached the top of the stairs. Moving back down behind his men, he yelled out, ‘Let’s rush them, boys. There can’t be but two of them up there.’
The hired guns shuffled about, but made no move to comply. All of them knew that they weren’t up against some tenderfoot, who would just scare at the first rush.
‘God-damned pansies,’ snarled their leader as he stormed back down to the deserted lobby. His powerful form barrelled over to the main entrance. He was met by a penetrating scream emanating from the flaming jailhouse. It was accompanied by the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh. He was in no all-fired hurry to venture on to the street, but thankfully he suddenly discovered that he didn’t need to. One of those men stunned by the first explosions had somehow got to his feet and stumbled to the nearest shelter. Blood trickled from his nose and ears. He was staring wild-eyed into the middle distance. It was quite obvious that he was in severe shock.
Grabbing him by the collar, Bodeen frog-marched him into the hotel. The man mumbled unintelligible protests and vainly tried to struggle free. Swiftly drawing his Colt, his supposed leader rammed it hard into his ribs. ‘Get up those stairs, asswipe, or I’ll shoot you myself.’ Then to the others, he called out, ‘Make way there, god damn it!’
Those men huddled at the top of the stairs looked on askance at the treatment of one of their own. A tall, hard-faced character, with what looked like a duelling scar on his left cheek, even had the temerity to protest. ‘Hey there, Dan. You ain’t got no call to treat him like that. He ain’t himself yet.’
Bodeen sprang at him like a striking snake. His vitriol came hard and fast and seemed strangely jumbled. ‘Then he shouldn’t have got himself blown up. That marshal is cutting us down like ripe wheat. He and his whore are up there laughing at me. No one gets the drop on Dan Bodeen. No one!’
Far from backing off, the other man merely sneered, ‘The way I heard it, Toller did that and more. Even locked you in a cell.’
The gunshot was so unexpected that even the gang of hardened cutthroats flinched. Powder flash-induced smoke blossomed from the man’s coat. He peered down at it in stunned amazement, before giving a strangled cry. Blood pumped out of the ghastly wound and splashed over his boots. As all feeling left his body, he fell heavily against the banister, which promptly collapsed under his weight.
Dismayed at their companion’s sudden death, the other men backed down the stairs. Bodeen swung round to cover them with his still smoking Colt. His brutalized features were contorted with rage. So distracted was he that he failed to react to the sound of rending wood and metal that came from the trapdoor. Instead, he stated his case to the watching gunnies.
‘I aim to kill me that marshal and his bitch. You’re either with me or agin me. Anybody else want to drop out?’
The group clustered on the stairs regarded him warily. They were all hardened to violence, but Dan Bodeen was in a different league. He was an unhinged mad dog, who, unfortunately, just happened to pay their wages. Taking their silence as acquiescence, Bodeen turned back towards the hotel corridor. The injured man who had inadvertently sparked the gunplay was sitting on the stairs, oblivious to the turmoil. As it turned out, he was no longer needed.
The single gunshot was clearly audible up on the roof.
‘Looks like they’ve having a little disagreement,’ Rance remarked lightly. Joining Angie at the trapdoor, he added, ‘If they’re starting to kill each other, we might get out of this yet. Cover me with that scattergun.’
Getting down on to his knees, the lawman used the butt of his Winchester to smash at the hinge securing the ladder to the ceiling below them. It soon crumbled under the violent impact, enabling him to drag the wooden steps up on to the roof.
‘What are you about, Rance?’ queried Angie curiously.
‘We were never going to come down off this roof through the hotel: there’s too many guns down there. Likewise, Bodeen’s not coming up. So, we’re back to the usual choices: wait us out or burn us out. That skunk hasn’t got the patience to just sit around.’
Her eyes flitted over to the burlap bag. He laughed and shook his head. ‘Using that down there would like as not blow us both to kingdom come. No, our best bet is to just let him do what he’s going to do.’
Bodeen acknowledged the lack of a roof ladder by calling back to his men. ‘Get me some oil lamps up here, burning bright.’
They duly arrived, their wicks adjusted to provide a vivid flame. As though in recognition of the threat, a shotgun blast came from the trapdoor. Its deadly projectiles peppered the corridor, but no one was hurt.
‘Heave them at the walls, boys,’ commanded Bodeen.
As the lamps smashed, burning oil flared up the papered walls, rapidly turning the corridor into a blazing inferno.
‘That marshal likes to play with fire,’ remarked Seth gleefully, having witnessed the barn fire at first hand. ‘Let’s see him get out of this one, hey.’
The regulator might not have been so smug, if he could have seen what ‘that marshal’ was about. Having anticipated the new turn of events, Rance had carried the stepladder to the rear of the hotel. Lining it up with Pearsall’s Emporium, he nodded to Angie and simply let go. As the shotgun crashed out, the ladder slammed down on to Pearsall’s roof. Its length was only just sufficient to cover the gap between the two buildings.
Rance shivered as he regarded the drop. Although only two floors, it still looked an awfully long way down. Heights of any kind had always made him nervous and the open spaces between the individual steps left little to the imagination. Angie joined him at the edge, weighed down with weapons and the remaining dynamite. The sight of the burlap sack gave him an idea. Removing three sticks, he returned swiftly to the trapdoor. Down below, flames were taking hold on the woodwork. They would inevitably be drawn upwards by the fresh air. Rance placed the explosives near the opening and hurried back to his companion.
They had to move fast. Bodeen’s men would only remain in the hotel until they were sure that he could not drop down through the hatch. After that they would most likely spill outside to prevent any escape. He was heartened to see that Angie was already on the ladder. With her Henry in one hand and his empty shotgun in the other, she was moving steadily and without any apparent fear from rung to rung. Safely across on the roof of the saloon, she turned to him with a triumphant smile.
God, she’s attractive, he thought, not for the first time, before his own particular predicament returned to haunt him. The gap appeared a lot wider than it had before. Signalling for her to catch the bag of dynamite, he threw it over to her. Deftly catching it, she then waited for him to join her.
Gripping his Winchester far more tightly than was necessary, Rance gingerly stepped on the first rung. He knew that he had to be quick, before either the dynamite blew or he was spotted. Yet that knowledge only seemed to make things worse. As he looked down, the ground seemed to drift closer and then retreat. He felt strangely light-headed. Maybe it was the burst eardrum that was affecting him. As sweat began to form on his brow, he forced himself to advance. First one rung, then another and then the ladder seemed to tremble. He froze in terror. What if it couldn’t take his weight?
‘Rance, what’s wrong?’ Angie’s voice was low and urgent.
Seemingly rooted to the spot, he couldn’t even answer her. Every fibre of his being was concentrated on just staying aloft. She obviously realized his predicament, because she next attempted to give advice.
‘Rance, whatever you do, don’t look down. Look at me instead. Look straight at me, Rance!’
At that moment there was movement below him. Two of Bodeen’s hired guns came around the front of the hotel and down the alley. They were there to watch the roof, which is exactly what they did. The one in front looked up and saw the marshal looming above him, immobile on the ladder. The man’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Tarnation, it’s him,’ he called to his companion, as he raised his rifle.
Chapter Fifteen
The shock of discovery overcame Rance’s dread of heights. Swinging his carbine down, he took rapid aim and fired. The bullet took the leading gun hand in his chest. The momentum threw him back at his companion just as that man also fired. The bullet flew high and wide, but did succeed in stirring Rance into action. Choosing movement over gunplay, he advanced on the ladder.
The man below him levered in another cartridge and tried again. With a tremendous crack the projectile struck the side of the wooden ladder. Panic-stricken, the lawman released his carbine and dropped to his knees. They jarred painfully against a rung at the same instant as his Winchester landed in the slush. Cursing fluently, the gunman again pumped the action of his repeater. In the heat of the moment it never occurred to him to check the rooftops.
Angie drew a careful bead and squeezed the trigger. Her aim was true and, as the second man crumpled to the ground, she hollered out, ‘You hear me, Rance Toller? Stop this tomfoolery and get over here now!’
His eyes met hers across the void. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied, getting to his feet. Spread-eagling his arms like Christ on the cross, he placed his trust in her and began walking. Within seconds he was on Pearsall’s roof, feeling decidedly foolish but not a little relieved.
‘What was all that about?’ she enquired curiously. She appeared little troubled at having just killed another human being. The brutalizing effect of combat was already beginning to show.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ he replied as he shoved the ladder clear of the roof. Even as it fell to the ground, he realized his mistake. They could possibly have used it again in some way. Shaking his head in dismay, he continued, ‘We need to find a way down and fast.’
In the hotel lobby, Bodeen heard the rapid exchange of gunfire as he watched the flames billowing down the stairs. ‘Get out there,’ he bawled, at the dwindling band of men around him. Dutifully, they raced outside and spread out along the boardwalk, keeping clear of the open street. They were all acutely mindful of their opponents’ lethal ability with any weapon that came to hand. As their leader arrived at the end of the alley, he took in the ladder and the two dead men and groaned.
‘Any man who brings me the head of this son of a bitch gets a five hundred dollar bounty!’
That generous offer was greeted by a monstrous explosion on the hotel roof. Blazing timber rained down around them, followed by a cloud of ash. Glancing around fearfully, the gunmen retreated down the street, past the saloon and on to the dry goods store. For some time they milled around in confusion, wondering just what might happen next.
‘That cockchafer’s blowing this town all to hell,’ remarked one of them apprehensively. Even as he spoke, there was a roar as the far wall of the hotel fell in to the building. The whole structure had become a raging inferno, which was quite capable of spreading to Pearsall’s Emporium.
Recovering from the shock of the blast before his men, Bodeen recalled the position of the ladder and suddenly knew exactly where his prey was. ‘They’re in Pearsall’s’ piss pit. Get in there now!’
Rance and Angie were in a corridor on the first floor of the saloon when the dynamite detonated. They had discovered a trapdoor on the roof, which had allowed them access to the building. The timber structure seemed to tremble under the shock of the violent explosion. Instinctively, Angie gripped his arm for reassurance, which was somewhat laughable, as he had caused the devastation in the first place. He welcomed the intimacy, but something else had also taken his attention. From beyond one of the doors he had just heard a heavy footfall. If all the town’s citizens had fled, then anyone remaining had to be a potential threat.
Rance cocked his reloaded shotgun and, without hesitation, kicked in the flimsy barrier. To his surprise the curtains were drawn against the weak December light, so that the room was not only cold but dark as well. That did not prevent him spotting the small shape huddled near the bed.
‘Show yourself,’ he demanded. His big gun was aimed unwaveringly at the figure as it slowly moved towards him. For some reason he shivered involuntarily, prompted by a strange uneasiness. Although a shawl concealed the features, from the size it had to be either a woman or child. The figure halted directly in front of him, face tilted downwards. Something stopped him from reaching out with his left hand. Instead he used the gun muzzles to remove the wrap.
