worked out. Maybe having Matt on his side would. Matt Bodine was worth ten men in a fight.
“My rifle’s lying out there in the middle of the street where I dropped it,” Sam told his blood brother.
Matt nodded. “I’ll pick it up when I go by. That’ll give me better firepower.” He pressed his back against the wall of the alcove. “You ready?”
Sam made it to his feet and jerked his head in a curt nod.
“Then cut loose your wolf!” Matt called, and with that, he burst out of the alcove, leaped across the boardwalk into the street, and headed for the buildings on the opposite side at a dead run.
Chapter 28
Matt heard Sam’s guns start blasting behind him, but he didn’t look around or slow down. As he ran toward the middle of the street, he spotted the rifle Sam had dropped and angled toward the Winchester. He paused briefly to snatch it off the ground, but that took only a heartbeat.
Even so, it was long enough for one of the Kane gunmen to draw a bead on him. Matt felt a bullet tug at the back of his shirt, ripping it slightly without actually touching the flesh underneath. A couple of inches and a whisker of time earlier, and the bullet would have bored right through his body.
Now he was moving at top speed again, though. He heard several slugs whistle close behind him, but none of them tagged him. As he neared the boardwalk, he launched himself into a dive that carried him onto the planks. His momentum sent him rolling over and over into the shadows at the base of the darkened building’s front wall.
It didn’t take long for more bullets to come searching into the darkness for him, only a matter of seconds. He scrambled to his feet and into an alcove like the one Sam occupied across the street. Using the building for cover, he thrust the rifle’s barrel around the corner and started blazing away at the raiders. At the same time, Sam continued the barrage with both pistols, emptying the revolvers, reloading them, and emptying them again.
Someone else joined the battle, too. Matt had seen an apparently unconscious or dead figure lying behind an overturned rain barrel near Sam’s position, but had no idea who the man was. Clearly, though, he wasn’t dead, and if he had been knocked out, he had regained consciousness. He was taking part in the fight now, firing a six-shooter over the barrel.
The gunfire from the jail picked up with renewed intensity. Rifles cracked and spat lead at both of the front windows. Cimarron Kane and his men had gone from having the upper hand to being trapped in the middle of a veritable hailstorm of bullets. Even though they might still have the advantage in numbers, they were in a bad spot.
So Matt wasn’t surprised when he heard a harsh voice yell, “Grab the horses and let’s get out of here!” He snapped a shot in the direction of the man giving the orders, the same man whose voice he’d heard back at the Kane ranch, but he had no way of knowing if he hit his target.
A moment later, with hoofbeats pounding in the night air, a number of riders burst into the street. They didn’t try to run the gauntlet between Matt and Sam, but instead plunged into an alley, seeking the quickest way out of town. Matt threw lead after them and thought he saw one of the men sway in the saddle, but none of the riders fell and they didn’t slow down.
Matt leaped out of the alcove and ran toward the alley mouth. Muzzle flashes winked in the darkness as the fleeing men twisted around in their saddles and fired wild shots behind them. Matt brought the Winchester to his shoulder and hurried them along with several more rounds, until the rifle was empty.
“Matt!” Sam said as he limped hurriedly up to his blood brother. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Matt lowered the rifle. “They came close a few times but never hit me. How’s your leg?”
“A little sore, but better now. Can you go back up the street and check on Mike Loomis?”
“Red Mike?”
“Yeah. He’s the one behind that rain barrel. He was trying to help me earlier when he got hit.”
Matt nodded. “Sure, I’ll see how he’s doin’. Where are you goin’?”
“The marshal’s office,” Sam replied, and that didn’t surprise Matt at all. He knew that Sam wanted to make sure Hannah Coleman was all right.
As Sam hurried off, Matt turned and walked back to the rain barrel. The man behind the barrel was slumped wearily against it now.
“Red Mike?” Matt said.
The man slowly lifted his head like it was a struggle to do so. “B-Bodine?” he asked. “Is that you?”
“Yeah.” Matt hunkered on his heels next to the wounded man and braced the rifle’s butt plate against the ground to balance himself. “How bad are you hit?” he asked.
“Not too bad…I reckon,” Mike replied. “Feels like the slug…just ripped across my side. Reckon I…lost quite a bit of blood, though. Feel mighty…weak. Head’s sort of…swimmin’ around.”
Matt leaned over where he could take a look at Mike’s side and saw the large dark stain on the young man’s shirt. “You’ve lost some blood, all right,” he agreed. “Stay right there, and we’ll see about gettin’ the doctor to take a look at you.”
“I ain’t…goin’ anywhere,” Mike said with a faint chuckle.
Farther down the street, the door of the marshal’s office swung open before Sam could get there. Marshal Coleman stepped out onto the walk in front of it, holding a Winchester tightly in his hands.
“Sam? Is that you?” he called.
“It’s me, Marshal,” Sam replied.
“Are those varmints gone?”
