They grabbed for their guns, but Preacher’s pistols were already coming up. Smoke and flame geysered from the muzzles of both weapons. At this distance, the double-shotted loads wreaked havoc, blowing holes in three of the men and driving them off their feet. A fourth man fell to his knees and howled from the pain of a shattered elbow.
That left just two men blocking the door, and Preacher struck before they could bring their guns to bear. He leaped onto the porch and lashed out right and left with the empty pistols. Their barrels thudded against the skulls of the guards. The men dropped.
Preacher hurtled over them and into the house. He had spent a lot of time here over the past couple of weeks, so he knew where he was going. The curving staircase was right in front of him. He stuck the empty pistols behind his belt and drew the remaining pair as he started up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.
Cleve appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching a shotgun. Preacher’s keen reflexes enabled him to fire before the treacherous gambler could pull the scattergun’s triggers. Traveling at an upward angle, one ball ripped into Cleve’s throat and bored on up into his brain, while the other smashed into his chest. He went over backward, his finger contracting involuntarily as he died. Both barrels of the shotgun discharged, blowing a huge hole in the ceiling above the second-floor landing.
Cleve had paid the ultimate price for his betrayal. Preacher ran past the dead man and headed for the room where Jessie and Casey were being held prisoner. He knew Beaumont would be there, and maybe some of Beaumont’s hired killers. But no matter what the odds, Preacher intended to prevail. It was time for Beaumont to die.
He heard footsteps thudding behind him and knew that some of Beaumont’s men must have pursued him into the house. Before he could swing around, another figure stepped into the hallway in front of him, blocking his path. This man held a shotgun, too, and Preacher barely had time to recognize him as Lorenzo before the twin barrels were leveled at him.
“Get down, boy!” Lorenzo shouted.
Preacher threw himself forward, diving to the floor as Lorenzo triggered both barrels in a deafening roar. At this range, the double load of buckshot hadn’t had a chance to spread much by the time it passed over the sprawled-out mountain man. Preacher looked back over his shoulder and saw that the lead pellets had scythed into the three men who’d been pursuing him, splattering them in a bloody mess all over the second-floor hallway.
He scrambled to his feet as Lorenzo lowered the smoking scattergun. “You come to rescue them gals?” the old black man asked.
“That’s right.”
“And to kill Beaumont?”
“You’re not gonna try to stop me, are you, Lorenzo?”
“Stop you?” Lorenzo let out a disgusted snort as he started to reload the shotgun. “Hell, boy, I’m gonna cover your back. Probably nobody ever told you . . .” His voice caught for a second. “But Brutus was my son.”
That was a shock, all right. “I’m sorry about what happened to him,” Preacher said.
Lorenzo finished ramming fresh charges down the bores and gave Preacher a curt nod. “You just go finish it with Beaumont. That son of a bitch been lordin’ it over folks for too damn long. I won’t let nobody sneak up behind you.”
Preacher gave the man’s shoulder a quick squeeze and then started along the hall toward the door of the room in which Jessie and Casey were being held prisoner. He was confident that Shad Beaumont was on the other side of that door, waiting for him.
To go charging in blindly would be the act of a damned fool. So Preacher came up to the door, lifted his foot, and kicked it open, then spun to the side, away from the opening, as a gun discharged inside the room.
He didn’t say anything. If he did, Beaumont could aim at the sound of his voice and shoot through the wall. Instead, Preacher stood to the side with the pistol leveled at the door. Coils of smoke curled through the hallway, and he heard the fierce crackling as the fire made its inexorable way through the house.
“Preacher!”
The angry shout made a smile tug at Preacher’s mouth. He had figured that Beaumont’s nerves wouldn’t be able to stand the strain of waiting.
“Preacher, I know you’re out there!”
Preacher still didn’t say anything.
“You’d better get in here,” Beaumont warned, “or I’m going to kill one of these sluts!”
A scream of pain ripped out from the room. Preacher couldn’t tell if it came from Jessie or Casey. The cry trailed away into a sob.
“I just slashed the blonde’s face,” Beaumont said. “The next one goes right across her throat.”
Preacher didn’t doubt for a second that Beaumont was crazy and mean enough to kill Casey. He would still have Jessie to use as a hostage.
“All right, Beaumont,” Preacher called. “I’m comin’ in.”
“Empty-handed!”
Preacher lowered the hammer on his pistol and stuck it behind his belt. With his hands open and empty at shoulder level, he stepped into the doorway. As he did, flames began to lick at the ceiling in the corridor.
Beaumont stood between the chairs where the women were tied. His clothes were disheveled, and his eyes were wide with rage and insane hatred. He didn’t look much like the suave, wealthy, powerful man he had been before Preacher came back to St. Louis.
Beaumont had a knife in his left hand, a pistol in his right. He grinned at Preacher as he raised the gun.
“You’re an uneducated fool,” he said. “I’m going to kill you, then kill these two bitches of yours. I may even leave them here to burn to death. Knowing that they’re doomed will pay you back for all the trouble you’ve caused
