Whispers on the Wind (24 page)

Not even for
her.

Because those words would
remind her that Carter didn’t love her. She’d been fooling herself
all along.

Not even for her.
Mary wanted to cry for being such a
fool.

Rick barged through the
door. “It’s time. They just shot Hank.”

Carter grabbed his gun off
the desk. “Is Hank alive?” he asked as they raced out the
door.

Mary didn’t realize that
tears had started to tumble down her cheeks. She was left alone
clinging to the cold bars, praying that no one would be killed, and
wondering if Hank was still alive.

Chapter Fifteen

The Red Eye Saloon was
buzzing with activity. It was just past noon and the place was
already crowded as the Carlsons ambled through, winding around the
tables and making their way toward the mahogany bar in the back of
the building.

A honky-tonk piano player
was playing a tune in the corner, but no one paid him any attention
as they were either drinking or playing cards.

Sammy spotted McCoy’s back
at the bar and headed toward him. Sammy sidled up to the bar on one
side of McCoy with Randy on the other side. “See you had to have a
drink, too,” Sammy said and then ordered whiskey. “What have you
heard?”

McCoy tossed down a shot of
red-eye before replying, “They have more help. Sheriff Hank came in
earlier. He had a tall gunslinger with him. I heard Hank call the
man Thunder. If that is true, you boys are in a lot of
trouble.”

“Pretty fast, huh?” Randy
asked.

“Damned tooting. Haven’t
heard anything about him for a few years. But trust me, he’s fast.
I saw him take a man down in Independence before his victim had a
chance to clear leather.”

Sammy refilled his shot
glass. “I’m not so bad myself.”

“Let’s hope so,” McCoy
said. Turning sideways to look at Sammy, McCoy asked, “What’s the
marshal after you for?”

Sammy chuckled. “Not too
sure other than he’s a lawman with a burr under his saddle about
something. Don’t ever remember meeting up with h
im
face-to-face even though he’s
picked off most of the old gang.”

McCoy wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand. “Are you boys still going with my
plan?”

“Yep. Although I’d rather
shoot the marshal down in the street, I like the way you think
about making Monroe suffer for the years he’s dogged my
tracks.”

“I think McCoy’s idea
ain’t half bad,” Randy chimed in. “This way we won’t get charged
with nothing since we aren’t doing the shooting. We’ll come out of
this whole mess lily white.”

“Good.” McCoy smiled. “Now
remember to keep them busy, so I have time to carry out my end.” He
slapped his coins on the bar. “Give me half an hour to get setup
before you call them out”

Randy watched McCoy as he
left, “Something about that guy makes my skin crawl.”

“Yeah. Mine, too, but we
have the same goal this time, so it works,” Sammy said before he
tossed down another shot “Don’t know if I believe what he’s talking
about. Putting somebody to sleep or whatever the hell he called
it”

“Me neither. We’ll have to
see if he can do what he says.” Randy grabbed a cigar off the bar.
“Reckon it’s worth a risk or two.”

“Give me one of those,”
Sammy ordered. “If he don’t, we’ll just put a bullet in him.” He
shrugged. “No big loss.”

“Ah, shit!” Randy swore.
His gaze fixed on the big looking glass over the bar. “Here comes
the local sheriff.”

“Good,” Sammy said. “I
ain’t going to take no sass off him. Not today.”

The telltale smell of
burning tobacco hung in the air as Hank strolled through the
saloon.

“Look, boys. I don’t want
any trouble.”

Sammy leaned back on the
bar. “Our fight is with Monroe.”

“But it’s in my town,”
Hank pointed out. He wasn’t a man of violence, but he wasn’t a man
to back away either. “I won’t have you shooting up the town,” he
informed them.

Sammy straightened, his
hands on his hips. “This has been a long time coming, Sheriff.
Don’t even know why Monroe has dogged my tracks, but I’m real sick
of it. If you don’t want nobody hurt, I suggest you get them off
the street.”

Hank looked at the outlaws
long and hard. If he’d been ten years younger, he’d have already
slapped these two in jail. But age had a way of making one
cautious. “You boys are going to regret this,” he warned them one
last time, then made his way to the front where he’d left Rick
standing by the bat-wing doors.

“Not as much as you will,”
Sammy muttered under his breath to Randy. “Get one of the boys to
take old Hank out.”

Randy nodded. “He’s a
mouthy old coot.”

“He also made a big
mistake when he killed our brother a few years back,” Sammy said
tightly, then motioned for the bartender to bring another bottle.
“We’re going to get revenge big-time today.”

Hank and Rick sauntered out
of the saloon and onto the street. What they didn’t see was Randy
giving a signal from the saloon doors.

Hank rubbed the back of his
neck as they walked. The clinking of harnesses and the squeak of
saddle leather sounded pretty normal at the moment. “I got a bad
feeling about this. Those two are shifty-eyed scoundrels—can’t
trust them.”

“I agree,” Rick said. “I
think they intend to shoot up the town.”

“Yeah. Me, too. And we
don’t have enough guns to defend it.” Hank pulled out his pocket
watch; the sun glinted off the gold. “We got fifteen minutes.
Better start warning folks to stay inside.”

“I’ll take this side of
Main Street,” Rick said as he started across the dirt

They both knocked on doors
and warned the citizens that there was going to be a gunfight and
they needed to stay inside. Most folks nodded, but none volunteered
to help out

Rick was getting ready to
step off the sidewalk to meet Hank when he saw a flash and heard a
shot. He crouched down and fired at the rooftop, sending the outlaw
toppling over the side of the building and down to the ground with
a bone-crunching thud. Rick didn’t pay any attention to the body
because Hank lay sprawled out in the street, and he wasn’t
moving.

Rick ran to Hank’s side,
then dropped down on his knee. He saw that Hank’s eyes were open
and he breathed a sigh of relief. “How bad is it?” he asked,
helping Hank to a sitting position.

“Pretty dam bad when you
get shot in the back,” Hank grumbled.

“I got the slimy bastard
who did this,” Rick told him, then he grasped Hank’s arm. “Here,
let me help you to your feet. We need to get you to Doc’s before
they start shooting some more.” Rick looked at Hank’s arm. “Appears
to be in the shoulder.”

“Yeah. The same damn
shoulder I was shot in two and a half months ago.” Hank grimaced as
he stood. “I don’t have time for the doc. You boys are goin’ to
need help.”

Rick steadied Hank. “You’re
in no condition to be in a gunfight. I think one bullet hole is
enough for one day,” Rick told him while guiding Hank in the
direction of the doctor’s office.

“You saying I’m no
good?”

“Just not at your best At
least you have one good arm,” Rick cajoled as they hobbled across
the street He constantly scanned the buildings to make sure someone
else didn’t take a shot at them before they could get to
safety.

“My shooting arm is still
good,” Hank admitted. “But I’m beginning to wonder if I ain’t too
dang old for this job.”

“You’ve just been down
lately. First the flu and now two new bullet holes.” Rick opened
the door to the doc’s office. “Hey, Hank has been
wounded!”

Doc Moore sauntered out to
meet them, took one look at Hank, and said, “Again?”

“Yep. I’m getting slow,”
Hank admitted.

“I’m going to leave him
here,” Rick said on his way out the door. “There might be more
coming.”

Rick ran all the way to the
jailhouse, burst through the door, and shouted, “Hank’s been
shot!”

Carter paused just outside
the jailhouse door and strapped down his gun. He straightened and
looked out at the now deserted street. There were no riders or
children playing, only quiet and the wind whipping down the street,
causing a whorl of dust. He felt the tension; his long awaited day
had arrived.

Carter, Thunder, and Rick
shuffled out into the dirt street At the far end they saw five men;
Carter knew two of them had to be Sammy and Randy Carlson. They
were spread across the street, poised, ready.

“Does it strike you as odd
that the Carlsons are at the far end of the street instead of in
front of the saloon?” Carter asked.

“Maybe they wanted to get
away from the townsfolk,” Rick suggested.

“I don’t think so,”
Thunder said.

Carter glanced to his left
“Let’s hear what you’re thinking.”

“Could be an ambush,”
Thunder told them as he adjusted his black Stetson over his eyes.
“Only white men are stupid enough to walk down the middle of the
street and shoot at each other.”

Carter cleared his throat
“Should I point out the fact that you
are
a white man?”

“Ah.” Thunder smiled. “But
I was raised by the Cheyenne.”

“Are we going to stand
here and jaw-jack all day,” Rick asked, flexing his hand
impatiently, “or get on with it?”

“Youth,” Thunder said.
“Why don’t you two go ahead, and I’ll even out the fight by seeing
who’s lurking on the rooftops.”

“Good idea,” Carter
agreed.

Thunder darted into the
alley so quickly, he seemed to have disappeared before their eyes.
Carter and Rick started walking, making sure they didn’t take their
eyes off the enemy.

“You think we can take
them?” Rick asked.

“They’re pretty fast,”
Carter drawled. “But I think we can take them. I especially want
Sammy—he’s the one who rode out with my sister, and he’s always
escaped my grasp in our previous encounters with the
gang.”

As they passed the saloon
there was a noise. Both men crouched down and swung to their left.
They saw Thunder wave briefly before he disappeared
again.

“I believe Thunder is
still a little savage,” Rick said as he straightened and they
started forward again.

Another sudden thud
followed the first, catching their attention for a moment. Carter
realized that Thunder was making good on his promise. They hadn’t
heard any shots so he was either knocking them unconscious or
slitting their throats.

Maybe Thunder truly was the
savage.

“As I was saying. What are
you going to do when you no longer have to worry about the
Carlsons?” Rick asked.

“I don’t know,” Carter
answered truthfully.

They stopped about thirty
feet in front of the outlaws. They were within easy speaking
distance of the men and could see them clearly. All five of them
were spread out across the street, feet apart, fingers flexing,
waiting for someone to make the first move.

“I think we’re a little
outnumbered,” Rick commented.

“Will one more help?”
Thunder called from the boardwalk before strolling over to stand
with them.

“What took you so long?”
Carter asked sarcastically.

“The last guy was pretty
stubborn.”

One of the Carlsons shifted
his stance. “Our fight ain’t with you, mister.”

Thunder’s mouth spread into
a thin-lipped smile. “It is now.”

“Suit yourself.” The
taller one sneered.

“Which one of you is Sammy
Carlson?” Carter asked.

The taller one spoke. “I
am.”

“Then you are under
arrest,” Carter told him.

“I heard you been lookin’
for me, Marshal.” Sammy’s words were directed at Carter. “What
for?”

“You’re under arrest for
the murder of my sister,” Carter snarled.

“Just who the hell is your
sister? And how do you know I killed her?”

“Think back five years
when you were in this very town.” Carter spoke in a hard, strong
voice. “You were drunk and shooting up the town. However, that must
not have been enough because on your way out of town you picked up
a young woman who was sitting in a wagon—long blond hair, blue
eyes.”

“Oh yeah, I remember now,”
Sammy said with a slow smile. “Fine little piece, too.”

Carter’s gun cleared the
leather in a flash. But he was so angry his bullet only hit Sammy
in the arm. He grunted and grabbed his wound.

Then all hell broke
loose.

A bullet caught one of the
men just about the belt buckle; blood sputtered as he went
down.

Bullets were flying as both
of the Carlsons ran into the dry goods store where they could hold
off the law. Seeing this, Carter, Rick, and Thunder dove behind a
wagon and water trough.