sheriff’s office as Longarm watched in horror.
A thunderclap split the night as the dynamite exploded and blew out what little glass remained in the windows of the building. Big chunks were knocked out of the adobe walls. Longarm grated a curse, knowing that Sheriff Sanderson had probably been killed by the blast.
Heavy footsteps thudded on the boardwalk behind Longarm. He whirled around, ready to fire, but his finger froze on the trigger as he saw Lazarus Coffin running toward him. “What the hell happened?” bellowed the big Ranger.
“El Aguila just blew up the sheriff’s office!” Longarm shouted back. Then he jerked his gun up and triggered a shot practically in Coffin’s face.
Coffin stumbled backward and yelped in surprise, but Longarm’s bullet had already sizzled past his ear to bury itself in the chest of a mounted outlaw who had been drawing a bead on the Ranger’s back. The desperado slid from his saddle and toppled lifelessly to the street. Coffin glanced over his shoulder at the corpse and grunted in appreciation for what Longarm had just done.
Longarm wasn’t looking for any thanks. He snapped, “Get back to the hotel!”
“But-“ Coffin began.
“Move, damn it!” ordered Longarm. “If those owlhoots go after Barton
and the others for some reason-“
Longarm didn’t have to finish the sentence. Coffin was already wheeling around and running toward the hotel, which was several doors away on the same side of the street.
Longarm’s Colt held only two more bullets, and he fired them both at the outlaws who were still milling around in front of the dynamite-blasted sheriff’s office. He ducked behind the barrel again as lead clawed the air around him. Desperately, he dumped the spent shells from the gun’s cylinder and started thumbing in fresh cartridges.
As Longarm had suspected, getting rid of Sheriff Sanderson had been the gang’s goal in this raid tonight. Now, with the pounding of hoofbeats, they were fleeing once more. Longarm snapped the cylinder closed on the reloaded Colt and tensed, ready to raise up and open fire on the outlaws as they fled.
That was when he heard the very last thing he wanted to hear right now.
“Senor Long!” screamed Sonia Guiterrez.
Longarm twisted around and saw her stumbling toward him along the edge of the street. Behind her, bearing down hard, one of El Aguila’s men was galloping straight toward her.
Chapter 9
Longarm flung his revolver up and fired, but the masked outlaw had already veered his horse to the side so that the bullet whipped harmlessly past him. He didn’t intend to trample Sonia at all.
What he had in mind was even worse.
Sonia screamed again as the rider leaned down and grabbed her, looping an arm around her as he jerked her up off her feet. Longarm bit back a curse. He couldn’t fire again, not with Sonia thrashing around in the man’s grasp like that. There was a better than even chance he would hit her if he tried to make a fancy shot.
But that didn’t mean he was going to let the son of a bitch just ride off with her. Jamming his Colt back in its holster, Longarm left the boardwalk in a desperate dive that he timed to intercept the outlaw as the man rode past.
Unfortunately, the owlhoot saw Longarm coming and kicked his left foot free of the stirrup. His leg came up and the heel of his boot slammed into Longarm’s chest, catching the lawman in midair. Longarm was knocked backward, where he crashed into a hitch rack next to the boardwalk. All the breath was knocked out of him, and although he tried to maintain his balance, he slipped to his knees as he gasped for air. The only thing that kept him from falling on his face was the hitch rack, which he grabbed, reaching behind him, in an effort to stay upright.
The outlaw who had snatched Sonia was well past him now, racing on down the street to join the rest of the gang. Longarm pushed himself to his feet and drew his gun again, then gave another bitter curse as he realized he couldn’t even try a shot at the fleeing outlaw’s back. The .44 slug could easily tear through the man’s body and strike Sonia. Longarm started looking around for a mount of his own. If a horse was tied nearby at one of the hitch racks, he could commandeer it and take off after the outlaws.
But all the horses that had been tied along Del Rio’s main street had gone crazy and pulled their reins loose when they were spooked by the continuing volleys of gunfire. Longarm saw several broken reins still dangling from the thick poles that formed the racks. By the time he found a horse to ride, El Aguila’s gang would be gone.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t pick up their trail, though. He turned and ran toward the closest livery stable, thinking that he could find a mount there.
Longarm’s route took him toward the ruined sheriff’s office, and just as he reached the building, a bloody, tattered figure reeled out through the half-destroyed doorway. Longarm leaped toward Sheriff Sanderson as the local star-packer began to collapse. He caught Sanderson under the arms and gently lowered him to the ground.
“I didn’t expect to see you alive again after that dynamite blast, Sheriff,” Longarm said grimly.
“I reckon I’m ... about half dead,” gasped Sanderson. His clothes were little more than bloodstained rags, and there were a couple of ugly gashes on his head that were still oozing crimson. He surrendered to a series of wracking coughs, his lungs no doubt full of smoke from the fire that was burning inside the office. When he was able to speak again, he rasped, “When I saw that ... dynamite come in through the door ... I jumped behind my desk as fast as I could.”
Longarm recalled the sheriff’s desk from his visit to the office right after his arrival in Del Rio. It was an old, heavy piece of furniture, covered by nicks and scars and burned spots. But obviously, it had provided enough shelter to save the sheriff’s life.
“Blast turned it over ... on me,” Sanderson went on. “Had a devil of a time ... pushin’ it off ... ‘fore the fire got me. Feels like my ... left arm’s busted.”
