Blood Bond: Deadly Road to Yuma

“Let’s see what we can do about the others,” Sam said.

They grabbed the reins again, whirled their horses, and charged toward the running battle that was going on between the outriders and the rest of Joshua Shade’s gang.

The deputies were putting up a valiant fight, Matt saw, but one of them was down already and they had been badly outnumbered to start with. Thorpe never should have tried to transport Shade to Yuma with such a small force accompanying him. By doing that, he was practically asking the outlaws to try to take the prisoner away from him.

But it was too late to change things now. Matt and Sam would just have to hope that the element of surprise would be to their advantage.

As they closed in, Sam called, “Something’s happened to the driver! That team’s a runaway!”

Matt saw he was right. Thorpe appeared to be alone on the wagon. The marshal was stretched out on the top of the vehicle, firing his pistol toward the outlaws as the wagon careened along.

“It’s gonna wreck if it keeps goin’ like that!” Matt shouted.

“That’s the least of our worries right now!” Sam called back.

That was true. Another deputy pitched off his horse as outlaw lead riddled him. Matt and Sam were close enough to join the fight now, though, and they did so as they came up slightly behind and to the side of the gang.

In a flank attack, they gashed into Shade’s men with their Winchesters blasting as fast as the blood brothers could work the levers. That sudden hail of unexpected shots took a heavy toll. Half a dozen members of the gang were down before they knew what was going on.

The rifles clicked on empty after a moment, though, and there was no time to reload. Matt and Sam jammed the Winchesters back in the saddle boots and drew their Colts.

Blinding, choking dust filled the air. Flames spurted from the muzzles of the twin revolvers in Matt’s hands as he guided his horse with his knees. He fired right and left as he tore through the gang in a mad dash. Laughter floated around him, the laughter of a man who was never more alive than when he was daring death to reach out and take him.

Sam’s attack was more deliberate but no less effective. He skirted the edge of the gang, making for the wagon as he fired at the outlaws he passed. A couple of them fell, and another man reeled in his saddle as he was hit, but managed to hang on.

Sam came alongside the vehicle, and saw Thorpe start to swing the shotgun toward him. “Don’t shoot, Marshal!” he shouted.

Thorpe recognized him and held off on the Greener’s triggers. Instead, the lawman twisted back the other way and touched off a blast toward a couple of outlaws who had almost drawn even with the wagon on that side. The buckshot shredded one man and blew him out of the saddle. The other man fell back, pawing at his face where one of the balls had ripped his cheek open and caused a cascade of blood.

Thorpe fired the other barrel a second later, but Sam didn’t see where that charge went. He had already pulled ahead, and was now galloping alongside the runaway mules. A glance at the driver’s box showed him that that driver was crumpled on the floorboard, either unconscious or dead. He lay near the edge on the far side from Sam, and as the wagon gave another bounce and lurch, the man began to slip off.

There was nothing Sam could do for him except hope that he fell clear of the wagon wheels. The driver slid out of sight and was left behind in the roiling dust.

Sam brought his horse closer to the lead mule on the left side. In the past, he had pulled off the trick he was about to attempt, but it was damned dangerous. Still, there was no other way to stop the madly galloping mules except to shoot one of the leaders, and that would cause the wagon to crash. The reins had slipped completely off the box and were trailing under the vehicle now.

Sam took a deep breath, slipped his feet out of the stirrups, and threw himself from the saddle. For a harrowing instant, he hung in midair between his horse and the mule. Then he crashed down on the mule’s back.

A pained grimace twisted Sam’s face as he tangled his fingers in the mule’s mane and hung on for dear life. Landing like that was guaranteed to be pretty damned uncomfortable on a man’s privates, but he would recover. As he settled himself securely on the mule’s back, he pushed the pain to the back of his mind and reached for the harness.

“Whoa! Whoa, you jugheads!” Sam shouted as he hauled back on the harness. The mules responded almost instantly to his firm touch and began to slow down.

He didn’t want them to slow too much, though. Those outlaws were still back there giving chase, so the mules needed to keep running.

Or were the outlaws back there? As Sam twisted his neck to look over his shoulder, he saw to his surprise that the gang had fallen back. From the looks of it, they were peeling off and abandoning the attack. A few rifle shots still cracked here and there, but the gunfire had diminished considerably.

To his great relief, Sam spotted Matt and saw that his blood brother appeared to be all right. Matt rode toward the wagon as Sam pulled back on the harness again and slowed the mules even more.

Marshal Thorpe slid from the top back onto the seat. “What happened to the driver?” he called to Sam.

“Don’t know,” Sam replied with a shake of his head. “He fell off a ways back. I couldn’t tell if he was still alive or not.”

Sam checked on the outlaws again as the mules slowed to a halt. The shooting had stopped entirely now, and the dust trailing off to the north made it clear that the outlaws were leaving.

That might be a trick, though. They could always double back and attack again. Because of that, Sam didn’t think it would be a very good idea for the wagon to remain stopped for long.

The team really needed some rest after that hard run, though, or else they might collapse. It was a double- edged sword on which the situation was perched right now.

Matt rode up, as glad to see that Sam was all right as Sam had been about him. Behind him, the surviving