The Sharps slug ricocheted and ran off into the night.
Behind the first blast of multiple guns came the second from Emmett and Rikor, roaring as loudly as the first. Above him, he could hear Morgan firing. To the raiders trying to control spinning, wild-eyed horses, it had to look as if they had run into hell. Or so Checker hoped. If they regained their poise, this fight would be over in a hurry.
With his rifle in one hand, he crawled swiftly to the battery of silent guns. Reloading where necessary, he fired each weapon as he came to it, without trying to aim. With his left hand, he also fired his rifle. Hearing the awesome boom of the big Sharps carbine again had to be the breaking point, if there was to be one.
Like a covey of flushed quail, the raiders began leaving, yelling at each other. A few riders fired wildly toward the hillside where Checker and his friends had launched their special ambush. From below, Rule’s rifle silenced one of the shooters and the others fled. He could hear Jaudon cursing in French at his men to stand. Scrambling to a new position, Checker fired as he moved and another of Holt’s gunmen spun from his horse, firing in the air.
Gunshots from Emmett and Rikor were steady and over the heads of the fleeing riders. He didn’t hear any shooting from Morgan.
Checker couldn’t resist the temptation and yelled out, “Sil Jaudon! You’re a dead man if you try this again.”
Only the disappearing rhythm of fleeing horses answered his challenge. He had no idea whether the fat Frenchman heard him or not. But the shouted threat felt good just the same. Alive with shadowy movement of its own, the opposite hillside indicated Emmett and the others were trying to make sense of the retreat and whether it meant the battle was over or just beginning.
Standing up beside a downed tree that was resting its soul against the hillside’s gravel and ironweed, Checker shrugged his shoulders in a slow celebration of the successful moment. He joined Rule at the fake battery.
“Well, John, I think it worked.”
“Looks like it. Some would say we left them to fight again,” Checker said.
“We did the right thing.” Rule said, producing a pocket knife. “They’ve got to be worried now about who’s helping Emmett and Morgan.” He opened the blade and added, “We didn’t kill anyone who wasn’t facing us, either.”
Gathering the tied-up battery was done swiftly. Rule cut the leather strips holding the various triggers, letting the remaining tied end tangle from the triggers. The weapons would be unknotted later. Checker shoved two of the handguns into his waistband, above his gun belt and the box of cartridges held there, and took the Sharps and his Winchester, one in each hand. Rule recoiled the lariat and placed it over his shoulder. Then he pushed the remaining two handguns into his belt, picked up his own rifle and the shotgun.
“Looks like Emmett and Rikor are ahead of us,” Checker said, looking across the road.
“Good. That uncle of mine moves fast for his age. You and I should be so lucky,” Rule replied, and grinned.
“Another line of work would help.”
“Or fewer bastards trying to do in our friends.”
Quietly, they climbed the darkened hill toward Morgan.
“Good. She’s gone on to the horses,” Checker said as they neared her shooting site.
Rule agreed. “That’s quite a woman, John. She’d make a fine wife.”
“What kind of woman would marry me?”
“A good kind. The kind that stands beside you, not behind you,” Rule said as they continued climbing the ridge. “The kind that understands this fight. And supports your involvement in it. A woman like my Aleta.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
They reached the top of the ridge and saw the dark shapes of horses ahead of them as planned. No one called out, but Checker thought that was smart. At this point, they couldn’t be certain if the entire gang had fled or not.
Wind had intimidated any clouds from the sky, making the moment seem more desolate than it was. The top of the ridge flattened out into a large spoon of quiet land. They passed a shallow pond. A struggling cottonwood stood not far from its life-giving water. Nearby was a squatty bowl of land where buffalo once rolled. Rule stared at it and remembered playing in something like that as a child. His best friend jumped into mind. Ian Taullary. They had protected each other growing up and fought beside each other during the war. Sadly, Taullary had gotten caught up in the wrong things in life, but had died trying to protect him. Again. He reminded himself that it was important to remember his friend’s good ways, their good times together.
He was tired and knew Checker had to be. Once a fight was over, energy left quickly, leaving the body drained. He glanced at the Ranger, but Checker was studying the silhouettes ahead of them. Ahead, their horses were grouped around three trees. Shapes of men were knotted against the dark sky.
Checker said, “Something’s wrong, Rule.”
An invisible voice was cruel and demanding. “Come on, Checker. You, too, Cordell. Walk easy toward us. Don’t try anything funny. Or the Peale woman and these two Gardners die.”
Without saying anything, Rule and Checker separated and walked toward the horses.
“Drop those rifles. Do it now.”
Both men let the long guns in their hands slip to the hard earth. The thuds of weapons hitting against the ground were four heartbeats. They dropped their hands to their sides, standing mostly in shadow.
The gray shapes in front of them became four Holt men. Luke Dimitry. Tapan Moore. And two men Checker didn’t know.
Tapan had his arm around Morgan’s neck, holding her close to him. In his hand was a cocked revolver. Dimitry stood, nonchalantly, pointing a rifle on Emmett and Rikor. The other two gunmen stood near the horses, holding rifles. Beside them, Checker saw the motionless body of London Fiss.
“Come on in, boys. The party’s just getting started,” Tapan said, motioning with his gun. “That was a good stunt you pulled on the Frenchman. What a stupid sonvabitch! Lady Holt should’ve had me become the Ranger captain, not him.” Tapan laughed. “Reckon he won’t stop running ’til he hits town. Him an’ his men.”
Checker and Rule stood with their arms at their sides.
Tapan’s eyes brightened. “I see you boys brought along all your big toys.” His smile reached only half of his mouth. “Luke an’ I had a hunch you might try something. So we went a different route.”
Dimitry glanced at the dead Fiss. “Ran into that colored boy and figured we’d just sit tight an’ see who came along. Lo and behold, all kinds of folks Lady Holt wants to see dead came wandering in.”
“Didn’t want to do that before we had a chance to talk with you two. Besides, you would’ve heard the shots,” Tapan explained. “That colored boy wasn’t so lucky. He got his while you all were firing up a storm.”
The curly-headed gunman smiled widely, his white teeth glistening in the moonlight, and continued, “Fact is, we would’ve shot you two when you came up the hill…but we wanted to know something.”
Morgan struggled against his tightened arm and he shoved his gun into her side.
“Stand still, lady. Or I’ll shoot you first.”
“Sorry, John, we done jes’ walked ri’t into this,” Emmett said, waving his arms in frustration.
Rikor’s expression was impossible to read. Was it anger or fear?
“I see you boys are carrying lots of iron. Ready for a war, huh?” Tapan motioned with his gun. “Unbuckle the gun belts. All of it. Real easy, now.”
Checker unbuckled his double-rowed cartridge belt and let it slide down his legs. The cartridge box tumbled ahead of it. Without being asked, he drew Bartlett’s pistol from his waistband and tossed it on the ground. The leather string attached to the trigger fluttered in the air. He drew the other revolver used in the fake barrage with his fingers holding the butt and dropped it as well.
At the same time, Rule unbuckled his gun belt and let it fall. Both of his barrage handguns followed; one had been the backup Colt carried in his front waistband.
