Bloody Trail (5 page)

While Bill washed and shaved, Cholla kept
nuzzling his shoulders and nipping his ears, despite Bill’s threats
to turn him into dog food. When Bill bent over the trough to rinse
the shaving lather from his face, Cholla clamped his teeth onto
Bill’s belt, lifted him into the air, and dumped him
unceremoniously into the trough. Bill emerged, spluttering, and
muttering various uncomplimentary oaths about Cholla’s ancestry. He
turned at the sound of raucous laughter.

“
Hey, Bill, why the devil are you
takin’ a bath? It ain’t anywhere near Saturday,” Jed Stevens
called. Like Bill, Stevens, head wrangler for the Lazy H Ranch, had
a special affinity for horses. He was the only person in Wolf Creek
who Bill would call a close friend.

“
Wasn’t my idea, it was Cholla’s,”
Bill answered. “I think he’s jealous ’cause I had supper with Ann
Haselton last night.”

“
Well, you’re the one who turned
that animal into a biscuit-eater,” Jed replied. “You spoil that
horse.”

“
I know, but he deserves it,” Bill
replied. “I’d trust him over most of the people I’ve known, no
question. Besides, you spoil your Rojo every bit as
much.”

“
Boy howdy, I can’t argue with you
there, on either point,” Jed agreed. “Never mind your horse,
though. Half the town’s buzzin’ about you bein’ seen having supper
with the schoolteacher. So, tell me about last night.”

“
We had supper, that’s all. Ann’s
a real—”

Bill stopped short, as the sound of gunshots
and pounding hooves shattered the morning.

“
What the hell?” Jed exclaimed. He
pulled his Navy Colt from its holster. “Better see what that’s all
about.”

He and Bill headed for North Street on the
run.

****

The jangle of a bell from the outer waiting
room stopped Logan from lighting his pipe, and with a shrug of
resignation, he stood and crossed the room. A bit of work was
needed to help him stave off the tiredness after his night’s work
and the melancholic mood that was never too far away when he
thought of his Helen.

He opened the door to find himself confronting
the intimidating, unsmiling figure of Charley Blackfeather. The
scout was taller than Logan by a couple of inches and weighed about
two hundred pounds of almost pure muscle. Charley’s father had been
a runaway slave, and his mother was a Seminole. He had the proud,
handsome features of both races. His raven black hair hung down his
back in a single long braid. Eschewing a shirt, he was dressed in a
blue cavalry slouch cap adorned with a single crow feather, a black
vest and canvas pants. His feet were encased in high-topped beaded
moccasins, and about his waist was a veritable armory of weaponry.
He carried an Army Colt, a Bowie knife, and a steel tomahawk that
Logan had once seen him hurl to decapitate a rat at thirty
paces.

“
For you,” he said, holding out a
small sack that seemed to be moving, as if it contained something
alive. “Green frogs. They’re good for pounding into hog fat with
some of the herbs I brought last time. They’ll cure any
ulcer.”

Logan took the bag from the Indian scout and
opened it. A small green frog instantly leaped out, but Charley
Blackfeather caught it in mid-air and deposited it back in the
bag.

“
Thanks, Charley,” Logan said,
tying the bag and pointing to his consulting room. “Come and have a
coffee.”

“
No,” Charley returned taciturnly.
“I have business with Casto Haston at the tannery.” He pointed
through the window to his horse which was hitched outside, and at
the load of hides strapped to the back of his saddle alongside his
bow and the scabbard containing his ’66 Winchester
Yellowboy.

“
You just make some of that green
frog ointment. You’ll find it’s much better than anything else you
got. It’s an old Seminole remedy that my mama used on me many a
time. It works on gunshot wounds, too.”

Logan took a pragmatic approach to medicine
and was willing to try out all manner of the Indian remedies that
Charley Blackfeather supplied him with. He was not too sure about
using green frogs, though.

Just then, Ann Haselton passed the window with
the four Li boys following her in a line, each carrying a basket.
Logan guessed that they were now on their way to the newspaper
office. Little Chang was bringing up the rear, a broad grin on his
face. They all waved as they passed. Logan was sure that Li Chang
would have been delighted to see the bagful of green frogs, but
probably less enamored at the fate that Charley Blackfeather
proposed for them.

Logan and Charley chatted for a few minutes
more, and then Charley turned and reached for the doorknob. He
stopped and stood still, sniffing the air.

“
Something is burning!” he
said.

Logan smelled it too.

Then there was the sound of a gun. It was
followed by another from somewhere further off. Almost immediately,
there was the cadence of galloping hooves.

The sudden sound of a child’s scream sent a
shiver down Logan’s spine. He immediately knew who it was, for he
had heard the sound not long before.

Charley Blackfeather pulled the door open and
he and Logan rushed out. They saw a burning wagon belching thick
black smoke skewed across halfway up the street. A dead mule lay
before it.

“
What in blazes?” Logan
began.

Then a gun fired, and a bullet sent them
dashing back into the office. From all over town came startled
voices and cries. The noise of horses’ hooves pounding could be
heard and then the noise of more gunfire. Lots of it.

“
It’s a raid!” shouted Logan,
rushing into his consulting room and grabbing his bag.

Charley stopped him as he tried to go back
into the waiting room.

“
If there is shooting, there will
be wounded. I’ll be needed.”

“
You won’t be needed dead, doctor.
Go the back way.”

Together they left Logan’s place via a back
window, and gingerly skirted round the back of the
office.

“
You there, lay down that gun!”
they heard a voice cry from Second Street. “I’m Deputy Marshal
Garvey and I order you—”

There was a gunshot, then a scream.

As they hurried round the side of the office,
they saw Fred Garvey’s body lying in the dirt, blood gushing from a
chest wound.

“
You mangy dog!” cried Marshal Sam
Gardner, running toward the blazing wagon, firing both guns through
the smoke.

Another shot rang out and the marshal was hit.
Blood spurted from his left leg, and he collapsed on his side. More
bullets dug up clouds of earth around him, and he crawled
sidewinder fashion, dragging his shot leg, to the cover of a horse
trough.

“
You got a gun, Munro?” Charley
Blackfeather asked.

Logan opened his bag and drew out his
Beaumont-Adams revolver. “I carried this through three wars. It is
a fine weapon.” He hefted it in his firm surgeon’s hand. “And I can
use it.”

Charley gave the curtest of acknowledgments.
“We need to get past this gunman. If you pin him down, I’ll see if
I can get around in back of him.”

Logan obliged. Intermittently, he peered round
the corner of the office and discharged a shot. With each one, a
returned shot gouged out part of the wall. Whoever was firing from
the other side of the grisly barricade knew how to
shoot.

Suddenly, there was a dull thud and a
harrowing scream that went on and on, as if someone was in mortal
agony. Then, abruptly, the noise stopped.

“
Logan!” Charley Blackfeather
called.

Logan peered round the corner, and through the
smoke, saw Charley Blackfeather gesturing to him. In one hand he
held his metal tomahawk and in the other, his big Bowie knife. Both
were dripping with blood.

“
Maybe you should take care of the
marshal,” he shouted. And without another word, he turned and
disappeared into the smoke.

****

Masked, armed men had galloped into Wolf Creek
and seemed to be everywhere on both North and Lincoln Streets. They
had pinned the town down, having shot mules and set fire to wagons
that blocked off both Fourth and Second Streets. Already, a pall of
acrid smoke had drifted down the streets, adding to the
confusion.

As the gang rode in, they had split into
smaller groups, and while some had dismounted and systematically
pillaged businesses and shops, others had either remained on
horseback and raced back and forth between the connecting streets
or dismounted and taken up positions where they could cut off any
resistance.

The raid was carried out with military
precision, the effect being much as Danby’s crew would have wished.
Most of the townspeople were panicked.

Two of the gunmen rode up the streets shooting
at close range all the horses that were tied to the various
hitching rails. The horses, sensing their danger, were panicking as
well, with much snorting, squealing and screaming.

“
You damned murdering dogs!” cried
Slim Tabner, one of the tannery workers, running down Lincoln
Street with an old Dragoon revolver. He stopped as soon as he came
within range of one of the mounted men, took aim and fired. He hit
the outlaw in the chest, and he was thrown sideward, landing in the
dust in front of Wright’s Bakery. Immediately, one of the
dismounted gunmen fired back, the bullet hitting Slim in the head
and splattering blood and brain matter on the ground behind
him.

At the other end of the town, Jim Danby, Wes
Hammond and their men had converged on the Wolf Creek Savings and
Loan. Melvin Lohorn, the owner, had been startled by all the noise
and the sudden appearance of five armed men who had kicked and
barged their way in and immediately shot down Hank Jones and
Jeremiah Barnes, the two tellers on duty. Three of the men had then
forced staff and customers onto the floor while the leader had made
Melvin open the safe, himself. The other kept a watch at the
door.

Once they had loaded up their saddlebags, for
good measure they knocked out Allen Cook, the accountant, and
Melvin Lohorn with the butts of their weapons. Then they departed,
firing a few shots into the walls above the heads of the prostrate
customers.

“
Anyone who makes any move to come
after us will get to lie down permanently!” Danby
growled.

****

At the first sound of gunshots, Bill Torrance
and his friend Jed Stevens had left the livery and run to North
Street. The sight of a small army galloping along North Street
toward them, and the other riders heading off down Fifth Street,
left them in no doubt as to what was happening. It was a raid on
the town, but most likely the main aim was to hit the
bank.

“
Holy smoke!” exclaimed Jed,
clenching his Navy Colt. “Let’s hope Marshal Gardner and Sheriff
Satterlee and their deputies are close by. I’m going to see what’s
happening.”

“
They’re shooting up the whole
place,” gasped Bill. “I’m going to make sure Ann and the school
kids all stay off the street.”

“
You watch yourself, buddy,” Jed
said. “Everybody knows you never carry a gun, but these yahoos
might not care.”

As Jed ran down one alley, Bill turned and
darted down another, then dashed across North Street into the
school.

Marcus Sublette, the headmaster, was looking
out the window when Bill rushed in. He had already shepherded the
children to the other end of the classroom and forbidden them to
allow their curiosity to get the better of them.

“
Where’s Miss Haselton?” Bill
asked in surprise.

“
She—she hasn’t come in yet. She
was running some errands with the Li Children first. It’s for
the—”

Full of fear for Ann, Bill dashed out and
almost ran into Derrick McCain, who was running up an alley toward
North Street.

“
Have you seen Ann Haselton?” Bill
asked, urgently.

“
Yeah, I saw her duck into the
Expositor office with those Chinese boys. She’s safe enough
there.”

The two men had never gotten on, having
different allegiances during the War, but Bill put a hand on the
younger man’s shoulder and heaved a sigh of relief. He was about to
say something when the sound of repeated shots from the bank rang
out. Then the door flew open and a handful of gunmen charged out,
each carrying a heavy saddle-bag. The leader whistled, and a moment
later, a mounted raider came around the corner trailing the reins
of their horses. They threw their bags over their saddles, mounted
and wheeled round in readiness to make their escape.

Then, Danby spied Bill and Derrick on the
other side of the street. A hard light came into his eyes. “Hey,
remember this son of a bitch?” he shouted to Wes Hammond. Danby
laughed mirthlessly. “This is like old-home week! Bet I kill him
first!”

And, almost simultaneously, they both raised
their guns and fired.

Instinctively, Bill and Derrick dived for
cover. Bill hit the ground and rolled over to find the protection
of a shed. Derrick dived over a trough.