I could open the cabin door, aim at the man closest to me, and let fly with both barrels of buckshot.
Frowning, Shannon thought about it. She would certainly take one man out of the fight that way, but it would leave Whip still captive to the other Culpeppers, who would likely shoot him out of hand before she could reload her own shotgun.
Then there was the fourth Culpepper to worry about. He had to be around somewhere. Probably he was still in the forest trying to figure out which way she had gone. If he heard shots, he would come on the run.
Maybe I only need one barrel on the closest Culpepper. Then I could fire the second barrel at the other two.
After a moment Shannon decided that was her best bet. She would wait until the other two Culpeppers were within range, and then she would tell them to let Whip go. If it came to shooting, surely Whip would have enough sense to drop to the ground. Knowing his quickness and size, he probably would take a Culpepper down with him.
White-knuckled, Shannon stood by the shutters and watched her front yard with the intensity of a cat at a mouse hole, counting each step Whip and his captors took toward the cabin. If she were really lucky, Whip would manage to separate himself from the group somehow. That way she wouldn’t have to worry about wounding him when the buckshot spread out in its characteristic deadly pattern after it left the barrel.
Slowly, carefully, moving by fractions of inches, Shannon opened the shutters enough to rest the shotgun on the windowsill. She cocked the hammer on one barrel, settled her finger lightly around one of the two triggers, and waited, watching the man who held a gun on Whip.
«Any sign of the gal?» dim asked, dismounting.
Darcy shook his head. «She took off into the forest.»
Beneath Whip’s predatory readiness, relief spread through him, warming the soul-deep cold that had begun when he thought of Shannon’s fate at the hands of the Culpeppers.
«But we’ll get her, just like we got her damned hound,» Darcy added. «Beau’s tracking her now.»
«Looks more like Prettyface got you,» Whip said. «Chewed you up and spit you right out. No hound likes the taste of skunk.»
Darcy shifted his cud of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other and measured Whip for a grave.
«It was the last thing that damned hound did,» Floyd said. «Beau shot him.»
«I should have killed Beau back at Holler Creek,» Whip said. «Live and learn. Or in your case, boys, live and die ignorant.»
Darcy spat a stream of tobacco juice onto Whip’s boots.
Whip just looked at him and wondered what kind of insults it would take to distract Floyd long enough for Whip to grab his six-gun. Then Whip would feed the gun to Darcy. Sideways.
«What do we do now?» Floyd asked.
«Wait for Beau.»
«I need whiskey. Goddam wrist is paining me something fierce,» Floyd muttered, eyeing his right arm in disgust. «Every time my mule takes a step it feels like somebody’s a-hammerin’ on my arm.»
Whip smiled. «It doesn’t look too good, Floyd. All those red streaks. And the smell. Lord above. I’m surprised you can stand it.»
Darcy and Floyd ignored Whip.
«You’ll have to wait,» Darcy said to Floyd. «Beau’s got the tanglefoot with him.»
Behind Whip, Floyd’s mule shifted and stamped its right foreleg, dislodging a deerfly.
«Goddam,» Floyd groaned. «Hurts.»
«Then get down and quit your bellyaching,» Darcy said. «I’m still bleeding from that damned hound and you don’t hear me whining, do ya?»
A saddle creaked as Floyd prepared to dismount.
Adrenaline went through Whip. It was the moment he had been waiting for. From the corner of his eye he could see Floyd’s shadow sliding along the ground as he moved.
He was still holding the six-gun in his left hand, keeping the barrel trained on Whip. Floyd’s natural grip was right-handed. As he dismounted the barrel of the six-gun wavered from its target. It was just for an instant, but an instant was all that Whip had been waiting for.
In a blur of motion, Whip spun around and simultaneously kicked outward. His boot connected with Floyd’s injured wrist. Floyd made an odd sound and forgot all about the six-gun. Pain knocked him senseless.
Whip struck the gun from Floyd’s loose fingers and whirled around again. The side of Whip’s left hand connected with Darcy’s neck.
The sound of the impact was lost in Clim’s bellow of rage. He drew a long knife and lunged for Whip’s back.
But Whip was no longer there. He spun aside so suddenly that Clim went staggering past Whip, off-balance, knife slicing uselessly at air. A flashing movement of Whip’s hands added to Clim’s forward momentum.
Clim went head over heels and landed flat on his back. When he rolled to his feet and lunged again, Whip slipped the knife attack as he had before, grabbed Clim on the way by, and launched him headfirst into the side of the cabin. Clim hit with a force that shook the logs…and then he slid down onto the ground and lay very still.
Just as Whip bent over to check Clim, Shannon screamed from inside the cabin. Her high cry was cut off by the thunder of a shotgun blast.
The window was closer to Whip than the door. He kicked the partially open shutters aside as he vaulted over the windowsill, counting on surprise to help him against whatever he found inside.
Shannon spun toward him, her face pale and her hand frantically cocking the shotgun.
«Easy, honey girl. It’s just me.»
Shannon made a small sound and stood, swaying, her eyes huge in her bloodless face.
«I —» she said. Her voice broke. «A Culpepper — the cave — he —»
Whip saw the open cupboard door behind Shannon. A man’s boots stuck out into the room, toes up. There was blood on them.
Shannon started to turn back toward the cupboard. Before she could finish turning, Whip took the shotgun from her hands and stepped between her and the fallen man, blocking her view.
«You did what you had to,» Whip said gently. «I’ll take care of it now. You go outside and make sure that Floyd doesn’t get into mischief.»
«F-Floyd?»
«The one with the bandaged wrist.»
«What about the other t-two?»
«I don’t think they’ll be much trouble,» Whip said neutrally. He handed Shannon the shotgun again. «Go on, honey girl. I’ll be out real soon to collect their weapons.»
Whip unbarred the front door and watched closely as Shannon walked by him. Her eyes were too dark and her skin was much too pale, but her hands were steady on the shotgun. She kept walking until she was in a place where she could watch all three Culpeppers at once.
«You’ll do, Shannon Conner Smith,» Whip said beneath his breath. «You’ve got real sand.»
Whip turned and went to the cupboard. He lit the lantern and held it above Beau Culpepper. After a single look Whip blew the lantern out and went to Shannon.
«Is he dead?» she asked starkly.
«Yes.»
Shannon closed her eyes for an instant. A tremor ripped through her, but her grip on the shotgun didn’t loosen.
«He had a knife in one hand,» Whip said, «and a six-gun in the other. Don’t feel bad for him. He’s had it coming for a long, long time. It’s just too bad you had to be the one to deliver it.»
Shannon took a steadying breath. «Prettyface —»
She could say no more.
«I’ll look for him,» Whip said. «But first, I’d better see to these boys.»
To Whip’s surprise, Clim was still alive, but only barely. Darcy hadn’t been so lucky. Floyd was already coming back to his senses, moaning and complaining every breath of the way.
