Instead of pistols or shotguns, two of the men carried bottles with rags stuffed into them. The third man stepped ahead of the others, gripping a brick in each hand. Before Caleb could do much of anything, those bricks were already being flung toward the window.
Caleb dropped to the floor. The only part of Hank that he could grab was the barkeep’s belt, but that was enough for him to be able to drag Hank down along with him. Both men hit the floor as the first brick smashed through plate glass.
The sound of breaking glass filled the saloon and was quickly followed by the thump of a brick pounding against the bar. A second brick crashed through the remains of the window, sailed over the bar, and made short work of the rectangular mirror that hung lengthwise behind a shelf of liquor bottles.
Caleb winced at the sound of more breaking glass. With his body pressed against the floor, he could feel the patter of broken shards raining down onto him. Just outside the window, heavy steps thumped against the boardwalk.
[29]
Throughout the saloon, folks were shouting or stumbling over each other to get away from the window.
The gunman who’d tossed the bricks stepped aside while fishing a smaller bottle from his pocket. The other two jumped in front of the window, carrying full-sized bottles in their hands. The man at the front of that group extended his free arm and scraped a match along a nearby post and touched the little flame to the end of the rag sticking out of his bottle. After lighting the rag in the other man’s bottle, he flicked away the match and cocked his arm back.
The Flush’s window was nothing more than an open space with a few rows of stubborn glass that looked more like jagged teeth. Aiming for a spot in between those teeth, the first man prepared to toss his bottle into the saloon. Before he could complete the throw, he saw Caleb stand up, bring a shotgun to his shoulder, and pull his trigger.
The weapon exploded in a thunderous, smoky roar. Hot lead spewed from the barrel, shattering the bottle in midair while also tearing off a good portion of the hand that held it.
Before the man realized he’d been hit, alcohol from his own bottle sprayed across him, and sparks from his fiery rag set the alcohol on his clothes to burning. With blood still spraying through the air behind his mutilated hand, he was soon engulfed in crackling flames.
Still holding his own bottle at the ready, the second gunman watched in wide-eyed horror as his partner began a stumbling, frantic dance to try and put out the fire that consumed him. When he turned and saw Caleb standing there with shotgun in hand, he tossed his own bottle straight at him.
Caleb gritted his teeth and emptied the shotgun’s second barrel while ducking out of the bottle’s path. Although he heard a bit of glass chipping, he knew he’d missed his target.
“Son of a bitch!” Caleb shouted as the bottle slammed against the wall no more than a few feet away.
He could hear the roar of a fire and could feel its heat on his face. The next thing Caleb felt was himself being roughly hauled from his feet.
“Get the hell away from there!” Hank shouted as he grabbed Caleb’s arm and pulled him back.
Caleb stumbled backward and soon found himself landing hard on his rump. Even as a good amount of air was knocked from his lungs, he was still opening the shotgun and pulling out the spent shells. “Everybody clear out!” he shouted.
Saying those words at that time was less necessary than telling a bird to flap its wings when it flew. Once the front window had shattered, practically everyone had jumped to their feet. By this time, there was already a stampede for the side door with Thirsty leading the charge.
Scrambling to his feet, Caleb dashed behind the bar to where he kept the box of spare shotgun shells. As he reloaded, he saw the flames licking around the edge of the broken window frame. Fortunately, the fire wasn’t spreading much past the window.
“Looks like that last bottle didn’t make it through,” Hank said.
“That just means the outside of my saloon is on fire rather than the inside.”
“Considering what side of the wall we’re on, I’m willing to accept that.”
Closing the newly loaded shotgun, Caleb gave Hank a quick nod. “Good point. Catch.” With that, he tossed the shotgun toward the barkeep.
Hank caught it and swung its barrel toward the burning window. “What about you?”
“I’ll do just fine,” Caleb replied as he reached for the holster hanging behind the bar. “Serves me right for not wearing this damn thing.” The moment he got the holster buckled around his waist, Caleb felt that knot in his stomach finally loosen up. He drew the old Smith & Wesson, took position next to Hank, and watched the window for the first sign of movement.
“We can’t wait here for long,” Hank said anxiously. “This place is still burning.”
“You’re right. Stay here, and I’ll head out first.” Without waiting for a reply, Caleb ran for the window so he could take a quick look at the damage that had been done.
There was a fair amount of smoke billowing into the saloon, but the window was wide enough for Caleb to see the street beyond the flames. By the look of it, the fire was still confined to the part of the wall that had been wetted by liquor. The early evening breeze was still relatively calm, so there wasn’t much else to fan the flames.
The next sound to fill the Busted Flush wasn’t from gunfire or another burst of flame. It was the slam of the front door being kicked in.
With the door still rattling on its hinges, the gunman who’d tossed the bricks reached inside to lob something else into the saloon. This bottle wasn’t as big as the others, but it shattered just as well against the bar, and its contents ignited, thanks to the flaming rag stuffed down its neck.
Reflexively, Caleb turned and fired at the door as flames worked their way up the side of his bar. The pistol bucked against his palm again and again as he sent round after round toward the bastard who’d tossed in that most recent bottle.
Since the gunman had delivered his package, the bullets were whipping past his head and the fires were growing hotter by the second. Rather than trade shots with the saloon’s owner, he jumped back out the same way he’d come in.
Caleb didn’t think about the fires burning around him or the guns filling the air with blazing lead. Instead, he stomped toward the door with a fire of his own burning deep inside his chest.
The moment Caleb stepped outside, he heard a shot blast through the air. A bullet whipped past him, punching out a chunk of the doorframe along the way. While Caleb twitched away from the shot, it was only so he could snap his own hand up and pull his trigger. He didn’t come close to hitting either of the two gunmen outside but managed to force them back a few steps.
“You’re through in this town!” one of the gunmen said as the other ducked behind some cover. “If you survive this night, we’ll just have to come back some other—”
The threat was cut short by a single shot from Caleb’s revolver. It cracked through the air, drilled a hole through the gunman’s face, and exploded out the back of his head. For a moment, the gunman just stood where he was, still holding his weapon as if he meant to take another shot. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he dropped to the ground and crumpled into a lifeless heap.
“Where’s your friend?” Caleb asked as he walked over to the twitching body.
The sounds of the approaching fire brigade were growing louder by the second, but Caleb didn’t even notice them. He was walking farther into the street and searching for any trace of the third gunman. What caught his eye was a flicker of light from across the way and a few doors down.
That third gunman was kneeling behind a trough with another bottle in one hand and a sputtering match in the other. His face was twisted in an anxious grimace as his eyes darted back and forth between Caleb and the bodies of his partners.
The moment Caleb saw him, he raised his pistol and sighted along the barrel.
“No!” the other man shouted. “Here, see?” With a trembling smile, he stood up and dropped the bottle into the trough. “It’s all over.”
