We didn't talk as we walked down the boardwalk. In fact, it was about all I could do to stand. I felt like someone was building a brush fire inside me.
Across the way, pacing us step for step, was Sled Driver. Once I looked back and seen that the crowd from the saloon was following us.
Albert pulled the Mexican's pistol out of his belt and shot at the boardwalk in front of them a few times, and they disappeared down it, and into the saloon like rabbits being chased by a hound.
'They just like to watch,' Albert said. 'They ain't so much for getting shot at.'
'Me neither,' I said.
We passed the sled with the horseless carriage on it. The mules had been taken away, but the sheriff was still there, though someone had gone to the effort to set him in the seat of his rig. His head was slumped, and he just looked like he was resting in the rain.
By the time we come to the end of the boardwalk and the overhang, there wasn't nothing but rain and wind and darkness, and that big yellow lightning cutting now and then, and once when it flashed bright we saw the church.
We were almost on top of it. It was small with a cross on the steeple, shutter doors at the top, and a white picket fence around it. At the gate, holding two pistols, was a man.
Albert pushed me away with his elbow, out of the line of them pistols, and the Springfield fell off his shoulder and into his hands, neat as you please, and he fired.
The shot hit the man in the head, and the head went to pieces, like a sack full of straw. It caught on the wind and was whirled away.
The headless man did not fall.
We eased over there, and seen what we should have known. It was Wild Bill Hickok. Billy Bob had tricked us. We had announced ourselves and come into pistol range.
The shutters at the top of the church flung open, and there was Blue Hat. I seen him good in the lightning flash, just before everything went dark, and in that instant he fired, and I jerked my pistol up and fired at where I thought he was.
Blue Hats shot was a good one. It hit Albert in the shoulder and he dropped the Springfield and went to his knees with a groan.
When lightning flashed again, I seen that I had missed Blue Hat. I probably hadn't even hit the church.
I tried to fire again, but before I could, Albert had pulled that Mex's pistol and took a shot.
Blue Hats head popped back, his hat tossed off, then he rocked forward out the window, his pants legs catching on the sill, keeping him hanging until they ripped and he dropped on his head with a sound like a washer- woman slapping out wet laundry on a rock.
The wide, double doors were kicked open then, and there was Billy Bob, looking just like one of them jaspers in a dime novel. He had a pistol in either hand and he was blazing.
Albert had just got back on his feet, and now he was hit a bunch of times. He went backwards, dancing on one foot before he fell in the mud. As he fell, the pistol flew out of his hand and hit me in the side of the head,
I did a little crawfish shuffle, and it was like that lick woke me up, made me crazy.
When lightning flashed again and I seen Billy Bob, I yelled, 'Wild Bill,' and jerked a shot at him.
Then things went dark again. I stood there with my pistol pointing it where he had been, waiting, and when there was another flash, I seen him. He was lying on the ground. Somehow, I'd hit him.
He got up on his knees and started screaming at me, something about the head of his father and death to all niggers.
Then, before it could go dark again, there came a cut of lightning so thick and long, it was darn near bright as high noon.
I shot at him again.
And missed.
But he didn't.
He fired twice, and had he not been hurt, I don't figure they'd have been wounds but kill hits. One shot tore my right shoulder and the other hit me low and in the left side. I sort of melted to the ground,
That long chain of lightning finally played out, and while it was dark, I wallowed around in the mud, trying to get turned back toward the church, and trying to find my pistol or the one Albert had tossed.
Then there was lightning again.
Billy Bob wobbled to his feet, staggered for the gate. He was coming to finish me at close range. It seemed just as well to me right then. I hurt something awful.
The storm turned wilder and the lightning did like before, only really noisy this time, sizzling like bacon in a hot pan, and it was so bright it hurt my eyes.
And then there was someone beside Billy Bob. I didn't see where he came from, probably out of the woods and leaped the gate, but I thought at first it was a man in a buffalo coat. But it was Rot Toe.
Rot Toe hooted and slapped his chest with both hands, stretching tall as he could. Billy Bob stepped back, shot the ape in the chest.
Rot Toe didn't even slow down. He ran at Billy Bob and grabbed him in a hug, pinning Billy Bobs arms and pistols to his sides.
Finally the light went away, and it was dark for some time before it flashed again, and now it came in short bursts, one right after the other.
Rot Toe had Billy Bob by the back of the collar now, and was dragging him. He reached the vine-covered latticework beside the door and started up it, dragging Billy Bob with him.
Wild Bill Daniels still had his pistols, and he was trying to turn and get a shot at Rot Toe, but the way the ape was holding him, he couldn't get twisted for it.
When the ape had him halfway up the church, Billy Bob finally managed to get turned enough to shoot Rot Toe in the foot.
Rot Toe went wild, scuttled on up the latticework, some of it cracking beneath him, then he jumped for the open loft doors, hit with one foot on the sill, and caught the roof with his other hand. He never let go of Billy Bob with the other, and Billy Bob never let go of them damn pistols.
Rot Toe swung hard and up onto the roof, cranking Billy Bob up after him. When Billy Bob's boots touched the roof, he tried to get them under him, but he couldn't. Rot Toe, using one arm and his feet, started climbing the steeple.
They reached the top, and hanging by one hand to the cross. Rot Toe began to flap Billy Bob against the steeple with all his might, screeching all the while. The wind was so high, I reckoned it would blow them off, but Rot Toe held.
The sky got full of lightning again, that long-lasting, sizzling kind, and the wind howled louder than Rot Toe could screech.
Billy Bob's head slipped down inside his shirt, and it looked like he was going to drop out of it. I could just see the top of his head and his eyes.
Trying for a shot, Billy Bob arched his back against the steeple, pressed the soles of his boots against it, and pointed his pistols over his shoulders.
They clicked empty.
Billy Bob cussed.
And a long, ugly streak of lightning reached out of the sky and hit those pistols, turned them silver, lit up Rot Toe and Billy Bob bright as a harvest moon.
Then it was over. The smoking meat that had been Rot Toe and Billy Bob fell to the churchyard.
That was all for Wild Bill Daniels and Rot Toe the wrestling chimpanzee, and when I closed my feverish eyelids and heard the sound of thunder in my head, smelled the sulpher of lightning, I reckoned that it was all for me too.
