The Sunshine Killers (15 page)

McGraw asked tensely, “Anyone know where he is now?”

Saulter had come back around to the front of the saloon. He sat on his horse and studied the place. Then he too glanced up at the sky, estimating the sun's position and how much time he had before nightfall. He sat there wishing he knew how many of them there were left. He could only count on three for sure, four counting Tomlain. That left five of them, including McGraw, but not including Schmidt. But he felt—he had to believe—that he'd done some damage with the blind shots he'd been firing through the roof. There would be ricochets off the oaken floor and the plaster walls and ricochets had to eventually hit someone. Resting, he noticed how tired he was and how he ached and hurt. He had fired his big rifle more and faster than ever before in such a short span of time, and his shoulder had taken a terrific pounding. It was taking all his will and determination now not to instinctively flinch when he pulled the trigger. He didn't know how many more times he could fire it. And his side was hurting him. It was healing and he no longer felt that sick weakness, but the wrenching he'd given it with the riding and the shooting had moved the ends of his broken ribs around and they stabbed him afresh with each new movement.

He was worried about night coming on. If he hadn't finished them off by dark he might be in trouble. He had to keep them bottled up, not allow them to scatter, for once they did he'd no longer be in control. He would have to spend the night in the women's house, for he couldn't survive outside in the cold, but if he did that they would know it by morning and then he'd be the one surrounded. He could just ride away, but he had no intention of leaving Letty, not so long as there was one assassin left alive or unfettered.

So he sat there trying to think of some plan to determine what he was still facing. Everyone might be dead for all he knew.

In the saloon Billy raised his head up cautiously and peered out. He located Saulter on the little hummock. “He's back around on our side. Just out in front and a little around to the left.” He watched another moment and then said urgently, “Get down! He's fixing to fire.”

There was a loud boom and then another bullet came through the roof. They heard it strike the front of the fireplace and come singing off the rock. Then the gunman who'd brought the horses suddenly said, “Ohhh!” and fell over, the back of his head gone. Blood sprayed out and McGraw caught some of the mist on his white shirt front. He looked down at it in dismay and then quickly drew away from the spreading puddle on the floor.

“Well, that's three,” Billy said matter-of-factly. “Me, you, and Jackhammer. And if you want to talk about gunhands that leaves two. Me and Jack.” He looked at McGraw. “I seen you shoot at Schmidt twice and you ain't even hit that fat sonofabitch.”

“Shut up,” McGraw said automatically.

“I will,” Billy said, “if you'll think of something for us to do. You're supposed to be the boss.”

McGraw said, “I think we're going to surrender.”

Jackhammer said, “Bullshit.”

Billy said, “Good luck.”

“Billy,” McGraw said tensely.

“Sir?”

“Take this.” McGraw pulled out a large white handkerchief. He handed it to Billy. “Take that out there and wave it at him. Tell him you surrender.”

Billy shook his head. “Not very damn likely.”

“Do what I say!”

“No thank you. I don't think our Mister Saulter would accept a surrender.”

“We're not going to surrender, you fool. I just want you to draw him down here in rifle shot. Now take this handkerchief and go on. We'll have him covered.”

But Billy shook his head. “He'll shoot me down minute I go out that door.”

“No he won't,” McGraw insisted. “He's a gentleman.”

“Yes, and he's been pushed about as far as he'll go. He ain't going to fall for something like that, anyway.”

“Tell him you're the only one left. That everyone else is dead. Tell him you want to surrender. You just have to draw him a little closer. He's almost in rifle range now.”

“McGraw, I tell you he ain't going to fall for it. He's smart.” Billy raised his head cautiously to take another look at Saulter. He was in the same place, some six hundred yards away, just sitting on his horse. As Billy watched, Saulter raised his rifle and fired again. More of the ceiling came down and the ricochet wound around and buried itself in the wall post a foot to their right.

The third man said, “He's going to freeze us out if nothing else.”

Billy said, “Why should he come down? He'll make me come up.”

McGraw thought for a moment. Finally he turned and slid to where the dead gunman lay. McGraw, with an effort, tore the back out of his blood-soaked shirt. He worked his way back over to Billy and rubbed the blood on Billy's pants leg. Billy jerked away. “Here, what are you doing?”

“Hold still,” McGraw ordered. He finished rubbing the blood on. “Limp when you go out. Tell him you're wounded.”

Billy said, “You're crazy. It won't work.”

“Start up toward him and then fall down. Act like you can't walk. He'll have to come down. Just a hundred yards and we've got him.”

“I'm not going to do it,” Billy said. “He'll shoot me on sight.”

“I'll give you two hundred dollars.”

“No,” Billy said.

McGraw looked at him steadily. “I'll give you five hundred.”

Billy was uncertain. “Five hundred?”

Jackhammer said, “Hell, I'll do it for that, Mister McGraw.”

But McGraw went on looking at Billy. “No, I think he'll be more friendly with Billy. He knows he talked up for him. Saved his skin. Didn't you, Billy?”

“It seemed like the right thing at the time,” Billy said, looking down.

“Five hundred.”

“Cash?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me.”

“It's over in the women's house. I'll pay you as soon as we're rid of Saulter. Well? We wouldn't be in this fix if it weren't for you.”

“Oh hell,” Billy said in resignation. He rolled to his hands and knees. “Gimme that handkerchief.”

Holding the handkerchief in one hand and his rifle in the other he crawled along the wall to the door. Looking back over his shoulder he said, “Just you don't forget you owe me that five hundred. And you make sure before you fire.” He turned back to the door. Cautiously he stuck his head in the opening, frantically signaling with the handkerchief.

Up on the knoll, Saulter straightened in the saddle. His eyes narrowed as he studied the surrender flag. He raised his rifle.

Cautiously, Billy slowly eased out in the door, desperately waving the handkerchief. He raised himself in the doorway, calling out, “Don't shoot! Don't shoot!”

Saulter peered down the sights of his rifle at him. Billy took a hesitant step out on the porch. He had both hands over his head, the handkerchief in one, his rifle in the other. He took another step, faking the limp, and threw his rifle out in the snow. Before moving, he called back to the door, in a hoarse whisper, “Don't you shoot till you're sure. You hear? Don't you miss him!”

He took another limping, hesitant step forward. Looking up at Saulter he called, “I surrender. They're all dead. And I'm wounded.”

Saulter didn't answer. Just stared at him over the sights of his rifle.

Billy kept coming one slow step and then another. “I can't walk!” he called. “You've nearly blowed my leg off.”

Letty was peering through the curtains of the house at the little drama. “What the hell? Look there, Flora, can you see a head behind that window? Look close.”

Carefully, faking the limp very effectively, Billy stepped down off the porch. He took two steps out in the snow, waving his flag. “Saulter! Help me! I'm bleedin' to death.” He walked a few more steps then appeared to stagger. Clutching at his leg, the one with the blood smeared on it, he suddenly pitched forward in the snow. Saulter slowly lowered his rifle. Billy rolled over, clutching his leg, waving his surrender flag. “Saulter! Help me!” He made as if to rise, struggling up on his mock wounded leg, and then collapsed back in the snow. He was sure now Saulter wasn't going to shoot him. “Please,” he called, “please, for god's sake! I'm all that's left. You've wiped us out!”

In the saloon McGraw was peering over the ledge, just at the corner of the window.

The other gunman asked tensely, “He coming yet?”

“Not yet,” McGraw said. “But he looks like he's going to. He's not going to shoot.”

The gunman said, “Listen to old Billy, would you? Boy, he's really playactin'. I'd never knowed he had it in him.”

McGraw said sharply, “Be ready with your rifle. He could come at any second.”

“I'm ready,” the man vowed. “Just one shot at that sonofabitch.”

“But you don't fire until I give you the word,” McGraw ordered, still peering out intently at the corner of the window. “You must not miss!”

Saulter sat there staring thoughtfully at the figure in the snow. The safe thing would be just to pump a bullet into the man and wait. If there were anymore left they'd have to make a move sooner or later. But he hated to shoot Billy. No matter what he was or who he was in with, the man had gone to the well several times for him. And he did look hurt and act hurt. He could see the blood very distinctly against the gray of his breeches. And more, Billy just didn't seem like the kind of man who could play such a sham trick. It all made sense; there hadn't been a sound out of them for some time now.

He looked up at the sun, noticing how much lower it was in the sky. It would be dark in not too long and the sky was taking on that leaden look that meant more snow. He made up his mind and decided he would go down, cautiously, and have a look. Perhaps it was all over. He would be very relieved if that was so. He was tired and hurting and cold. He thought of Letty. It would be nice to be with her in that house, drinking whiskey and lying in bed together. He put his spurs lightly to his horse, urging the animal ahead slowly.

McGraw said, tightly, “He's coming!”

“One shot,” Jackhammer mumbled, “just one shot.”

“We want him close,” McGraw ordered. “Don't you jump the gun.” With the chance to finally close with his enemy, McGraw was regaining some of his composure.

Saulter came on, picking his way hesitantly. He was fifty yards closer. Another one hundred and he'd be in reasonable range for the type of rifles Jackhammer and McGraw had.

In the saloon McGraw slowly came to his knees, his rifle at the ready. On the other side of the window Jackhammer was also ready.

Billy lay in the snow, calling over and over. “Help! Saulter, I'm bleeding to death. Help me!”

With a little over three hundred yards to go Saulter pulled his horse up and studied the façade of the saloon. Then he looked left and then right. The only sign of life was Billy laying in the snow waving his surrender flag.

“He's stopped, goddammit!” McGraw gritted out through his teeth.

“I could try a shot,” Jackhammer said. “Might have a chance.”

“No! As soon as you put your rifle through the window he'd see it and break. Maybe—he's moving again.” He edged his face around the sill further to see Saulter better, now going down and coming up a small hummock. “Just a little further. At a hundred yards we'll have time for several shots.”

On Saulter came, riding slowly, his eyes sweeping the terrain in front of him. He was within two hundred yards.

Letty had her face pressed against the windowpane. She was almost certain she could make out some dark shadow at the corner of the saloon window. She suddenly made up her mind. “Goddammit, it's a trap.”

She whirled and dashed for the back door. Saulter was still beyond the women's house, from the saloon, and about fifty yards to one side. Letty was yelling at him as she hit the snow. “Saulter! Look out! It's a trap, they're laying for you.” She sprinted toward him, having heavy going in the deep snow.

He swung in the saddle, startled, looking toward her. He could tell she was agitated by the way she was waving her arms, but the wind was against her and he couldn't make out the words she was yelling. But then she broke past the end of the house and McGraw was able to see her from the saloon. He let out a string of curses. “Fire, fire!” he yelled at Jackhammer. “Shoot him!”

At that moment, Saulter made out one word Letty was yelling: “... trap!” He instinctively reined his horse back hard. The animal came up, wheeling and rearing. It was at that moment that they began firing from the saloon, but the horse, up on his hind legs, was hiding Saulter with his body. In the saddle Saulter could feel and hear the shells hitting his horse. He felt the animal falter, stumble, and still on his hind legs, begin to fall. He timed his leap, kicking loose from the stirrups and jumping free just before the animal hit the ground. He landed behind the animal and, without pause, wiggled up to the shivering carcass and threw his rifle down in firing position. He saw that Letty had already thrown herself facedown in the snow. “Stay down!” he yelled at her.

At his words, Billy, who realized they'd missed, suddenly jumped to his feet and broke for the saloon. He hit the porch, skidded on the slick snow, and lost his balance. As he whirled to his feet, Saulter fired. Billy was almost facing back the way he'd come by the time the bullet took him. It hit him in the left wrist, blowing off his hand. But the bullet, hitting bone, was slightly deflected and instead of taking him square in the chest plowed a furrow through the flesh of his side. The impact knocked him into the front of the saloon and then to the porch floor. He lay there, his stump right in front of his eyes pumping out blood. “My god,” he said in shock and horror. He could feel his strength going, feel a blackness behind his eyes. He knew he must get a tourniquet on his arm before he bled to death. With his other hand he tried weakly to wrap the surrender handkerchief around his arm just at the elbow.