Jake's blow had sent her slumbering, but otherwise left her unharmed. The servant placed his hand briefly at Lady Patricia's mouth to make sure she was still breathing.
There was barely six feet separating them. Still, it would take more than Jake's normal dose of good luck to keep from getting a gut's worth of trouble if he dove for the pistol. Nor did a plunge through the door into the house seem like a good option.
The Segallas was still in his belt, tucked beneath his coat. He tried to ease his hands down where he might grab it, but the servant returned his attention to him.
'Keep your hands up and walk through the door.'
'And what if I don't feel in the mood for a stroll?' asked Jake.
'Then I will kill you here and not bother cluttering the courts.'
Egans's face betrayed no emotion. He knew the 'sailor' would soon return with either some story or his weapon drawn, or both. He already had the information he had come for; all he need do now was wait.
That he could do for a long time, as difficult as it was to stomach the stench of the cowardly Englishmen. If duty had not required his returning with the information Jake Gibbs and his friend the Dutchman sought, Egans would surely have attempted killing them all with his bare hands. In such a way, he decided, his mistakes would begin to be corrected, blood for blood.
'You are not a native,' said Bauer. 'Why are you dressed that way?'
Egans did not answer.
'Speak, you race turncoat. Speak. That is an order.' Bauer waved the gun in his face.
'I was born white and adopted. I am an Oneida and a member of the bear clan. No one can steal that identity from me, for it has been sealed with blood.'
'White blood, I would bet,' said Clayton. 'Your soul has been poisoned by the pagans.'
Egans had many rejoinders, but offered none.
'Really, Clayton,' said Lord William. 'I think you should let the soldiers handle this. You are weak from your ordeal.'
'He is undoubtedly another spy!'
'He showed papers.'
'Easily forged. I should kill him now.'
'I don't think that would be wise,' said the sailor, returning from outside. A Southerner caught in the city when the British invaded, James Dewey had joined in several clandestine operations against the British during his sojourn. Baffled by his compatriots' disappearance from outside, he'd decided retreat was now in order, and had produced a gun from under his billowing shirt to effect it. 'Put down your pistol.'
Bauer shook his head. 'I believe we have a standoff.'
'Not in the least.' Dewey had been told by Daltoons that Jake would be inside the house, and so endeavored to tip the balance by calling him out.
'I'm here,' announced Jake, answering his call as he appeared beneath the arch leading to the hallway. 'But not alone.'
The servant stood behind him, pistol poking into his ribs.
Chapter Forty-five
Dewey had always prided himself on his ability at arithmetic, and fully realized that the patriot forces were currently one weapon short. Still, by his reckoning there was no immediate need to comply with Clayton Bauer’s demand that he put down his gun. He was confident that the men who were supposed to be posted outside would eventually reinforce him. “
I can kill you as soon as you fire. And I will,” he told Bauer.
'Brave words, rebel,' said Bauer. 'Bring him over there, George. Where's my sister?'
'Oh my God,' said Lord William. He took a tentative step for the door, but the sailor's voice caught him.
'Move, and your brother will die.'
'She's all right, m'lord,' said the servant. 'I caught this one before he could harm her.'
'Your wife is sleeping,' Jake told Lord William. 'I found it necessary to give her a blow to the head, but there should be no permanent damage. At least she will stay out of the line of fire.'
'My guards will be on you in a minute,' promised Clayton.
'We have replaced your guards,' said Jake. 'Our men are just now disposing of them. Your best course is to surrender; we will spare your lives.'
'I hardly expect, much less would I even accept, mercy from a rebel.'
Jake shrugged and continued to survey the room for some implement or distraction that would change the precarious equation.
Egans made the first move. He had his eyes trained on Jake's guard, and when the servant began moving toward the window to see where the shots were coming from, he crashed against Clayton Bauer with the force of an angry bear. Bauer's bullet flew into the ceiling — but only after it punched a wide hole in Egans's bare chest.
Jake dove to the ground as the servant and sailor shot at each other, the servant's bullet crashing straight through the sailor's heart, killing him instantly. Dewey's aim was just as true, for in that same moment his bullet flew into his enemy's mouth, exploding with gore through the back of his head.
Jake jumped to his feet, Segallas in hand. He grabbed Lord William and fired a single shot directly into his temple. The bullet was too small to kill him instantly, and so the nobleman slumped to the floor, leaving his life to ebb slowly from him.
The patriot spy turned and found Bauer descending on him, wielding his pistol like a hatchet. Jake took a blow at the side of the neck as he shot the Segallas point blank into the Tory's shoulder.
The blow stung Bauer back to the couch.
'Where is Howe going?' Jake demanded, flipping the barrel mechanism around so two fresh bullets were ready to fire.
'Never,' promised Bauer. He threw his gun at Jake, who ducked instinctively, choosing not to fire. If he did not succeed in getting Howe's destination, all of these deaths, and his entire mission, would be in vain.
The Tory took this chance to grab another pistol from its panel at the back of the chair where he was sitting.
Jake dove at him before he could aim. As the two men crashed back and forth, the muscles in Jake's body cried out in despair, every injury inflicted over the past few days renewing itself. Half his body was covered in sticky blood.
Bauer surprised Jake by sinking his teeth deep into his arm — apparently the tactic ran in the family. The pain was so desperate the spy felt the hard shock in his backbone. Jake retaliated by punching the Tory with his head, moving him back but not loosening his grip on the pistol. Both men had their fingers on the trigger; both had their other hand on the barrel, flailing in a desperate struggle to aim or divert its fatal ball.
Suddenly, one of the fingers succeeded in slipping against the trigger, igniting the lock.
Whose finger it was, neither could tell. In the pure moment of silence that followed, it did not matter. Both men felt as if they had been transported, plucked from the tormenting fires of hell and deposited in the sweet clover hills of Oblivion.
And then Clayton Bauer's body fell limp, and Jake Gibbs fell back, the smoking pistol dangling from his bloody hand.
Daltoons's men had succeeded in surprising and dismounting the English soldiers, but he could see his troop was outnumbered and greatly outgunned. They had only enough shot and powder to keep on for a few minutes more; already he had lost two of his dozen men. Redcoat reinforcements kept appearing up the road. While the
