“No,” Jubal said, “your son was a foolish young man. He tried to backshoot my brother, and he paid for it.”
“Then you’ll both die!” Burkett yelled. Burkett turned to his men and said, “Fire!”
“Down!” Sam said.
Sam and Jubal hit the floor as lead began to rain down on the jail. From inside it almost sounded like rain. Chunks of lead chewed up the wooden shutters, but they stayed in place, relatively intact, except that a lot more light was shining through them when the shooting stopped.
“Is it over?” Jubal asked. He lifted his head and wood splinters fell off it to the floor.
“For the moment,” Sam said, brushing himself off.
“How are we ever to get off a shot?”
“Quiet, Jube,” Sam said. “Let’s here what he has to say.”
“McCall!”
“We’re still here.”
“Send out Coffin.”
“Why?” Sam called. “So you can have another gun? No, thanks. I’m holding Coffin until the federal marshal arrives, and then I’m turning him over for the murder of my brother.”
“Your brother, my son,” Burkett said. “They’re both dead. How many more have to die?”
“That’s up to you, Burkett.”
Sam and Jubal heard Burkett shout, “Fire!” and they ducked down again.
When the second volley of shots sounded Serena bolted for the door of the store. Her father, moving more swiftly than even he thought he could move, grabbed her by the arms, stopping her.
“Let me go!”
“We’ll have to stay here, Serena,” Miller said. “We can’t give Sam anything else to think about, and if you’re on the street, that’s what you’re going to do.”
“Someone has to help them.”
“And you’re that someone?” Miller asked. “Are you going to take a rifle and go out there and help them? You’ll do more harm than good out there, Serena, believe me.”
As most of the townspeople had done, Dude Miller had closed his store, locked it, and remained inside. There was no one on the street except Lincoln Burkett and his men.
As they stood there, eyes locked, the second volley of shots ceased and it became quiet again.
“I want to hear what they’re saying, Papa.”
Dude Miller frowned, but he said, “All right. Let’s open the door a crack.”
They did so, and found that they could hear both Lincoln Burkett and Sam McCall.
“You can’t hold out, McCall. We’ll chew that building to pieces.”
“Go ahead and chew, then,” Sam called back. “We ain’t comin’ out.”
“You know,” Jubal said. “It’d be a lot simpler if you had killed Coffin and we had John Burkett in here.”
Sam looked at Jubal and said, “Sorry I didn’t think about that yesterday.”
“I was just saying,” Jubal said, “not criticizing.”
“I understand, and I agree.”
Sam sneaked a look out the window. The bottom half of his wooden shutter had been blown away. He only had time for a short look because as soon as they saw his head a couple of men started firing. He ducked back down.
“Burkett’s got his men well schooled,” Sam said. “I don’t even have time to get a shot off at him. He’s probably got two men on each window with orders to shoot as soon as they see someone.”
“So then we can’t fire back.”
“Not with any effectiveness.”
As he said that the third volley of shots commenced.
With parts of the shutters gone the lead was able to enter the office. The coffeepot leaped off the stove, lead imbedded itself in the walls, and one or two slugs managed to hit something and ricochet off.
“That’s great,” Jubal said. “Now we have to worry about being hit by a ricochet.”
Sam didn’t reply.
“McCall,” Burkett called, “I’m giving you some time to think over your position—but don’t take too long!”
All of a sudden holing up in there didn’t seem like a very good move. What they should have done was leave town with Coffin and meet up with the marshal somewhere along the way. Still, if they had done that they could have been ridden down by Burkett and his men. At least here they had cover—for as long as the building was standing.
“What do we do if they rush us?” Jubal asked.
“That’s a strong door, it should hold for a while,” Sam said. “First man through the door knows he’ll be dead.
Burkett’s gonna have to find someone who wants to come through first. That’ll take some time.”
“Sam,” Jubal said, sitting with his back to the wall, “I don’t see how we can hold out for two more days.”
“Well” Sam said, scratching his head, “maybe he’ll get here early.”
“And maybe Christmas will be early, too.”
One of the things they had established early on was the lack of a back door. It seemed then that this would work in their favor. Now Sam was thinking of another way out of the jail.
“What are you thinking?” Jubal asked.
“I’m tryin’ to think of another way out of here.”
“What good would that do?”
“Well, if we could slip out it might take Burkett a while to decide that we were gone. By the time he decided to storm the jail we’d be long gone.”
“To where?”
“On the trail,” Sam said. “Maybe we could meet up with the marshal.”
“If this marshal is riding alone, he ain’t going to do us much good.”
“I don’t think Burkett would kill a duly appointed officer of the law. That would undo everything he’s accomplished here so far.”
“Well, the only other way out is through those barred windows in the cells,” Jubal said. “We just have to find a way to get those bars off.”
“Well, then,” Sam said, “let’s look around the office and see what we can find to do that with.”
“Why are you giving them time?” Chuck Conners asked Burkett.
Lincoln Burkett stroked his jaw and said, “I just thought of an easy way to get them out of there.”
“We can set the jail on fire.”
“No,” Burkett said, “that would endanger the buildings around it.”
“What about dynamite?”
“Same thing.” Burkett looked at Conners and said, “I’m supposed to be a good citizen of this town. How would it look if I burned it down?”
“What are we gonna do, then?”
“There’s one person in this town they might come out for.”
“Who?”
“Grab two men and follow me.”
“The shooting has stopped,” Serena said.
“For now.”
“What do you think—” Serena started to ask, but she stopped short when four men appeared at the door.
“Wha—” she said, but the man in front pushed the door open and she staggered back.
“What’s going on here?” Dude Miller demanded.
The fourth man to enter was Lincoln Burkett.
“What do you want, Burkett?”
“I need your daughter’s help, Miller.”
