“Let’s check that out,” one said.
The other man nodded and they both walked out onto the boardwalk in front of the general store.
Smoke slipped into the large area of the store. Looking down, he saw that Ed was awake and staring at him through wide and very frightened eyes. Smoke nodded his head at the man and put a finger to his lips, urging Ed to keep silent. Ed nodded his head.
Picking up an axe handle, Smoke slipped up behind the rapist, busy at his ugly work. Smoke hit him on the side of the head with the axe handle. The man’s skull popped under the impact and he fell to one side, dying as he was falling. Smoke glanced at him for a second. The man’s head was split open, his brains exposed.
Smoke jerked Peg to her unsteady feet and handed her a blanket. She looked at the blanket through dull and uncomprehending eyes. Glancing toward the open front door, Smoke could not see the two TF gunnies who had stepped outside. Walking swiftly to the counter, he picked up one half-empty bottle of whisky and returned to Peg. He tilted her head back and poured the raw booze down her throat. She coughed and gagged and gasped as her eyes cleared a bit.
She pulled the blanket over her nakedness and slowly nodded her head in understanding.
“Get to the back of the store,” Smoke whispered. “And wait there for us.”
She walked slowly, painfully, toward the rear of the store.
Smoke didn’t bother cutting Ed’s bonds. He just picked the man up and slung him over his shoulder. He walked swiftly out of the show and business area of the store, joining Peg on the loading dock. There, he dumped Ed on the dock and cut his bonds.
“Hitch up your team, Ed,” he spoke softly. “And do it very quietly and very quickly. Take the old road that circles the town and head for Big Rock. A couple of miles out of town, pull up and wait for Spalding and Arden.”
“My store!” the man protested.
Smoke almost hit the man. He controlled his temper at the last second and said, “Get your goddamned ass moving, Ed. Or I’ll turn you back over to those TF riders. How do you want it?”
Shocked at the cold threat in Smoke’s voice, Ed moved quickly to his barn, Peg walking slowly behind him, the blanket clutched tightly around her.
Smoke walked back into the store just as more gunfire erupted throughout the town. Smoke entered the store just as the two TF gunslicks walked back in through the front door.
They all saw each other and jerked iron at the same time. Smoke’s Colts roared and bucked in his hands. The TF men were thrown to the floor as the .44 slugs from Smoke’s guns hit big bones and vital organs. Smoke’s draw was so fast, his aim so true, the men were unable to get off a single shot before death took them into its cold arms.
Smoke quickly reloaded and holstered his .44s. He walked to the gun rack and took down a sawed-off shotgun, breaking it down and loading it with buckshot, then stuffing his pockets full of shells. He took two new .44 pistols from the arms showcase, checked the action, and loaded them full, tucking them behind his gunbelt. Shotgun in hand, Smoke stepped out onto the boardwalk and prepared to lessen the odds just a tad.
The passed-out gunslicks in the store snored on, probably saving their lives…for the time being.
A TF gunslick made the mistake of riding up just at that moment. Lifting the Greener, Smoke literally blew the man out of the saddle, dumping him, now a bloody mass, onto the dusty ground.
He looked around him, his eyes picking up the black-dressed figure of Louis Longmont, standing on the boardwalk across the street. Louis had a Colt in each hand, the hammers back.
“Where’s Johnny?” Smoke called.
“Right up there,” Louis said returning the call, pointing with a Colt.
Smoke looked through the smoky night air and spotted Johnny North, about a half a block away.
“I got the pilgrims on the way!” Johnny called. “Looks like Monte’s gonna make it if he can stand the trip.”
Reloading the Greener, Smoke called, “Let’s do some damage and then get the hell out of here!”
One of the duded-up dandies who had been strutting about picked that time to brace Johnny North. “Draw, North!” he called, standing in the dusty street.
Johnny put two holes in the punk before the would-be gunhand could blink. The dandy died on his back in the dirt, his guns still in leather.
Two gunhawks came running up the street, on Louis’s side. The gambler dropped them both, his guns roaring and belching gray smoke and fire.
Smoke heard a noise to his left and spun around, dropped to one knee and lifting the shotgun. As he dropped, lead whistled over his head. He pulled both triggers on the Greener, the buckshot spreading a TF rider all over a storefront and the boardwalk.
At the far end of town, Bull Flager was holding his own and then some, the old gunfighter Crooked John Simmons by his side, both gnarled hands full of Colts. Bull’s shotgun roared and Crooked John’s pistols belched death with each cocking and firing.
“Let’s go!” Smoke shouted, and began falling back. He stepped into Ed’s store just as one of the drunken TF riders reared up, a pistol in his hand.
Smoke shot him in the chest with the sawed-off and the gunnie died amid the corsets and the bloomers.
Running out the back, Smoke got his horse and swung into the saddle. He cut into an alley and came out just on the far edge of Fontana. With the reins in his teeth, both hands full of guns, Smoke galloped straight up the last few blocks of the boom town now going bust. Johnny North was right behind him and Louis Longmont just behind Johnny. Bull and Crooked John were waiting at the end of town, rifles in their hands, and their aim was deadly.
The five gunfighters took a fearful toll on Tilden Franklin’s gunhands those last few blocks.
