the damage. There sure isn’t any sense in standing here jawing while you bleed to death.”
That made good sense to Longarm, so he followed Randy back across the street. Matthew and Clyde Killion were waiting to meet them, and it seemed everyone in Helldorado had gathered around to learn about the cause of the gunfire.
“What happened?” Matthew demanded, big arms folded across his chest and face hard with anger.
Randy pulled up before his father and said, “Custis was ambushed.”
“By who?” Killion addressed his question to Longarm.
“I don’t know,” Longarm admitted. “Someone called out and I turned and was shot. I fired back, and I’m almost certain I hit the man who tried to cut me down.”
“Was it Dean Holt?”
Before Longarm could answer, Clyde pushed forward and interrupted. “Pa, it couldn’t have been Dean. Hell, you saw him! Dean was so beat up he could barely walk.”
But Killion shook his head with disagreement. “Son, when a man is fueled by hatred, he has the power to do amazing things. Hatred fires a man like no other emotion.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Find Dean. If he’s wounded and layin’ up, drag him to me kicking and screaming.”
“Yes, sir,” Clyde said, obviously not pleased with the order but not ready to argue about it either.
“Randy, take our friend Custis over to see Lucy,” Killion said. “She’ll fix him up.”
“We were just on our way over to see her.”
“You didn’t take lead in the gut, did you?” Killion asked, looking closely at the blood seeping from Longarm’s side.
“No, sir,” Longarm replied. “I’ve just been grazed. Maybe the slug splintered a rib. I don’t know, but it feels like I’ve just had a burning branding iron slapped to my hide.”
“Well,” Killion promised, “if Dean turns up shot, he’s gonna wish you’d already put him out of his misery.”
Killion turned slightly, and his voice grew loud as he spoke to every man in Helldorado. “Boys, one rule that I won’t stand to be broken is that we don’t kill each other. I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again. If there is hatred between you, settle it with your fists. When one man can’t rise, the fight is over. You shake hands and bury the hatchet.”
Killion paused, his eyes raking the Helldorado outlaws. “But boys, if one of you uses a gun or a knife against another, you’ll not live long to regret it.”
Longarm didn’t know what Killion had in mind for Dean, and the thought occurred to him that Killion might even torture the wounded outlaw. Either way, Longarm had a strong suspicion that Dean’s punishment wasn’t going to be pleasant to watch. On the other hand, it was hard to feel sorry for the ambusher. Sympathy was wasted on his kind because such men sought no quarter and would kill you without a moment’s hesitation. “Custis, come along,” Randy said impatiently. “Let’s find Lucy before you bleed to death.”
“Sounds like the thing to do.”
They found Lucy tipped back in a saloon chair with her high-heeled shoes resting on a faro table as she examined the runs in her black silk stockings. She was a tall woman, willowy, with long, shapely legs. Her straight black hair was shoulder length, and she obviously took pride in it because it gleamed as the result of heavy brushing. Lucy’s still-attractive face showed the inevitable telltale signs of hard living, although she could not have been over 30. There were dark smudges around her eyes, and her fingernails were bitten to the quick. Longarm’s first impressions were generally correct, and this one told him that Lucy was high-strung, tough, and smart.
“I heard the shooting,” Lucy said, staring at Longarm and his bloody shirt. “I guess that Dean went and plugged you, huh, big fella?”
“I think it was him,” Longarm said heavily, “although I can’t be sure.”
“Who else would do it given that everyone knows what will happen to them if they’re caught? A man would have to be crazed with hatred to do such a foolish thing in Helldorado.”
“Well,” Longarm said, “why don’t you take a look at the damage and we can speculate as to who done it later.”
“Sure,” Lucy said, dropping her feet to the floor. “Come on over here and pull off your coat and your shirt.”
Longarm needed Randy’s assistance, and when he was finished removing the clothing, sweat had beaded on his forehead. Lucy had not even gotten out of her chair, and Longarm sidled up to her so that the woman could make her examination.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, leaning forward with a bar towel and dabbing the blood away, “it’s bad enough to hurt.”
“I already knew that,” Longarm said with exasperation. “is the rib damaged?”
“It appears to be.” Lucy pressed the bar towel down harder and fingered the wound. “But I don’t think it’s broken. Another fraction of an inch and it would have been a real mess. You’re a pretty lucky man.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said drily.
Lucy looked over at several of the other girls. “Myra, Betty, bring me some hot water and clean linen for bandages. And bring me a needle and thread. This needs to be sewn up or he’ll keep leaking.”
Lucy finally came out of her chair and said, “Why don’t you just sit down before you pass out.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
