too fast for the outlaws to draw a bead on him accurately, though. He felt the hot breath of a slug on his face as it passed by his head, but that was as close as any of the shots came.
He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and peppered the right-hand slope with four bullets as fast as he could work the lever and squeeze the trigger. Then he turned and sprayed the left-hand slope with four more shots. He didn’t figure he would actually hit any of the outlaws, firing blind like that, but he wanted to make them duck for cover and give them something to think about.
The tactic worked, giving him a couple of seconds’ respite, and during that moment Matt’s horse, stretched out and running at top speed, dashed into the cut, which was about fifty yards long. The bushwhackers couldn’t hit him now from where they were.
Matt slowed his mount, but didn’t wait for it to stop before he kicked his feet out of the stirrups and threw himself from the saddle. He lit running and allowed his momentum to carry him into some boulders nestled against the right-hand slope. He stopped and crouched there for a second as the horse continued running through the gap.
The slope was steep but not sheer. Matt was able to scramble up it carrying the rifle in his right hand and occasionally putting his left on the rocks for balance.
The shooting was still going on. When Matt reached the top, he could see the wagon about a hundred yards away, still careening toward the bluffs. He was relieved to see that Sam was still all right, as was Marshal Thorpe. Sam whipped the team and got all the speed out of the mules that he could.
Only two of the outriders were left, though, Matt noted grimly. He couldn’t see the other two men because of the dust raised by the wagon, but it was likely they were lying back there somewhere with outlaw lead in them. The two surviving deputies had caught up to the wagon and were right behind it now, still turning in their saddles to fire back at the pursuing outlaws.
Matt paused long enough to throw a couple of shots at the owlhoots pounding along about fifty yards behind the wagon. He was rewarded by the sight of one of the varmints throwing his arms out to the sides and then pitching off his horse. That slowed the others down a little.
Then Matt hurried forward and looked down the front slope of the bluff. From up here he could see several of the bushwhackers as they crouched behind boulders to fire at the wagon.
Matt didn’t have any qualms about shooting a man in the back when the bastard was trying to kill innocent people. He drew a bead and squeezed off a round. One of the outlaws was driven forward by the slug that slammed into his back.
Before that man could fall, Matt had turned and homed in on another owlhoot. The man must have heard the first shot and realized that danger now threatened from behind, because he was starting to twist around as Matt’s next shot drilled him through the body.
The outlaw dropped his rifle, slumped against the rock he had been using for cover, and started to slide down it as bloody froth from his bullet-torn lungs bubbled from his mouth.
Now the rest of the bushwhackers on this slope knew Matt was behind them, and they whirled to start shooting at him instead of the wagon. That took some of the heat off Sam and the others, Matt thought as bullets started to whine around his head again. He snapped off a couple of shots, and then darted back where the outlaws couldn’t see him anymore.
The last glimpse he’d had of the wagon, it had almost reached the cut between the two bluffs. Matt ran toward that gap now, hearing the pounding hoofbeats of the team as he approached it. He reached the edge and never slowed down as he saw the wagon flashing past about a dozen feet below him.
Instead he leaped into the air, sailing out from the bluff and trying to angle himself toward the wagon as he fell.
“Son of a
Marshal Thorpe let out that shocked yell as Matt came crashing down on top of the wagon right behind him. Matt’s momentum made him slide on across the vehicle. He grabbed at the edge with his free hand and dug in the toes of his boots to slow himself. He came to a stop just before he would have toppled off the far side of the wagon.
Matt rolled over onto his belly as he stretched out atop the wagon. He still had a couple of rounds left in the Winchester, so he brought the rifle to his shoulder and sent them toward the outlaws who were now entering the cut. With all the dust swirling around he couldn’t tell if he hit any of them or not.
The wagon burst out of the southern end of the gap. Sam yelled at the mules as he lashed them with the reins. Behind the wagon, on the slopes, the bushwhackers who hadn’t been cut down by Matt ran to the southern end and fired after the wagon.
One of the outriders cried out and arched his back as a slug tore through him. Matt saw the man topple from the saddle. That meant only one of the nine men Thorpe had deputized was still with them.
But the marshal had Matt and Sam siding him now, and it wasn’t far to Pancake Flats. Matt didn’t think the gang would follow them all the way into the settlement…but he couldn’t be sure about that. He reached in his pocket, found more .44-40 shells, and began thumbing them into the Winchester’s loading gate.
He didn’t need them, though, because the outlaws on horseback fell back, giving up the chase, and within minutes the wagon was out of range of the riflemen on the slopes. This latest attack had done some damage, but the wagon was still moving and Joshua Shade was still locked up inside it.
On the seat, Sam asked Thorpe, “Do you want to stop to check on Shade?”
The marshal shook his head. “No, keep moving. We’ll reach Pancake Flats soon, and we’ll find out then if he’s still alive.”
Sam nodded. If any bullets had penetrated the wagon, Shade might be wounded and slowly bleeding to death in there…but if that was the case, it was his own fault for giving up his career as a preacher and becoming a loco, bloodthirsty desperado.
Since the outlaws were no longer giving chase, Sam let the mules slow down a little, but only a little. He intended to keep them moving pretty fast until they reached the railroad.
“Do you know when the next westbound train will be coming through Pancake Flats?” he asked Thorpe.
