Wind Walker (47 page)

“Will you listen to me?” she said, scooting up on her hip. “Man like you, seems you’re always attracting trouble like flies to syrup.”

He snorted, flicked a glance at the open ground between them and the sound of those guns, then looked at her. “Awright, what you got in mind?”

“I can shoot, Pa.”

“Pistol?”

“I can hold it.”

He squinted a moment at her. “Maybeso you give me a break to get them guns, Amanda. Here,” and he pressed the big horse pistol into her hand. “When I bust outta these rocks, they’re gonna aim at me real quick. So when I start movin’, I want you to count to three while you’re aiming off there at them trees—”

“That where they are?”

“I think so, but I ain’t for sure,” he admitted. “You count to three, then you shoot that pistol at the trees. That oughtta make ’em flinch a wee bit. Mayhaps gimme time to grab them rifles an’ get ’em back in here.”

“If you don’t get back here with them?”

“Then you reload that pistol from my pouch,” he said, staring her hard in the eyes, “an’ you keep it cocked till they come real … real close—so you can stop one of ’em.”

“You think they’re comin’ for me?”

He shook his head. “I hope it’s me they’re comin’ for. Now, cock that hammer an’ tell me when you’re ready to start countin’.”

“I’m ready.”

Quickly touching her cheek with his fingertips, Titus crouched in the gap between rocks, then rasped, “Start countin’!”

He was counting himself as he exploded from cover. While his mind roared with the number one, a gun thundered from that copse of trees off to the south. Too quick a shot, indicating he had caught them by surprise. The ball went wild as he reached the rifle’s on the count of two. And turned, scooping up the pistol and stuffing it in his belt as he kept moving in a half circle. Three—

Her pistol barked. Immediately answered by a rifleman she must have scared a shot out of, for that man’s ball went wild too.

Scratch was thinking he was going to make it back to the rocks with his weapons, scuffing through the sage on that sandy ground when he slipped and spilled onto a knee. A ball cut a furrow across his hip, pitching him into the brush with a grunt.

“Reload, Amanda!” he cried as much in anger at himself as in pain.

“Pa—”

He started to gather the rifles against him again, painfully, when he interrupted her, “Reload!”

“Old man!”

Jerking his good leg under him, Titus froze at the call from the trees, trying his damnedest to place that voice.

“We come only for you!”

A second voice shouted, “Like to get my hands on that friend of yours too, but he can wait.”

The lead ball plowed into the ground right near his cheek as he lay gasping with the pain of the hip wound, wondering how bad it was, if it had broken a bone, if he’d walk again, if it was the sort of deep injury that would eventually mean a slow and terrible death.

“You ready, Amanda?” he whispered with a grunt as he cocked the good leg under him.

“Ready.”

“Shoot!”

Her pistol roared as he rocked forward, lunging a few yards before he landed again in the sage—almost to the rocks. “Take the guns from me!” he ordered.

Her hand came out, grabbing the muzzle of the first rifle, yanking it back inside her fortress. She was pulling at the second when another ball smacked the rock near her arm. She flinched, withdrew her arm, then quickly reached out again and snatched the rifle out of sight. Dirt exploded near his shoulder, and another ball slapped against the boulder—sending slivers of rock spraying over him, cutting his cheeks and eyelids as he tried to turn away too late.

“Pa!”

When he opened his eyes, he saw Amanda’s arm sticking from the cleft again, farther this time. She was holding it out for him. As he brought his good leg under him again he stretched out for her hand, grabbed it. Together they pulled and got Titus between the rocks as another ball stabbed against the boulder overhead, showering them with tiny chips of lead and rock.

“How bad you hurt?”

Rolling onto his rump, Titus pulled up the bloodstained hem of his long calico shirt and saw how the ball had gone through the tie that knotted his legging to the belt, into the hip muscle, and must have come back out through his buttock.

“Damn,” he muttered as he interlaced his fingers around that right knee and pulled the leg up. It hurt, but not the way it would have made him pass out with pain if the ball had hit bone. “I ain’t gonna die,” he told her, sweat dripping in his eyes. “Not just yet, I ain’t.”

“C’mon out, old man! Just get this over quick and we’ll be on our way.”

Titus dragged one of the rifles over and passed it to Amanda. “Here, you hold on to this while I shoot this’un. Then we’ll swap an’ you reload.” He shoved the loaded pistol across the dirt toward her feet. “Keep that’un right by you. Don’t use it less’n they get me an’ you can take one last shot when they get close to the rocks. Keep it … keep it for yourself till the very end.”

“Who are they?” she asked as she got to her knees and looked at him.

With a shrug, he said, “White fellers. Out here, shootin’ at me—I got a purty good idee, Amanda.”

“Who?”

That’s when Scratch flung his voice toward the copse of trees: “Hargrove with you stupid niggers?”

“No!” the voice cried. “He’s back with the train.”

“Like I figgered,” Titus yelled. “Just like afore, he sent you boys to do a man’s work, again.”

A ball smacked the rock, but this shot came from much closer. He was immediately worried, but didn’t want her to know as he grinned and said, “’Pears we made ’em mad.”

“That was close, Pa.” Amanda was shaking.

Likely she figured that out for herself from the sound. So he said, “Just gonna make it interesting—”

Bass heard the scrape of feet somewhere behind them. He dragged the hammer on the rifle back to full cock and prepared to rise on the good leg. Popping up with the rifle already into his shoulder, he spotted the man just darting away from a clump of brush, making for the rocks. The rifle slammed against him as it roared, the ball catching the attacker in the side of the chest. Spinning him back into the brush where his legs thrashed as Titus sank back into their fortress, two balls hissing overhead where he had been standing for but an instant.

Amanda was already reaching for his empty rifle, passing him the loaded gun. “That’s one of ’em, Pa.”

“You any good with one of these?”

She shook her head. “Roman, he taught me how to load, and shoot too. But, I didn’t hit much when we went hunting. Everything was so far away I never did any good—”

“This time, things gonna be much closer, Amanda—”

A loud voice interrupted him, “Did he get Ohlman?”

Another voice, closer still, shouted in reply, “Dropped ’im. Ohlman’s out of it.”

“All right, Corrett, you an’ Jenks work in on him.”

“Remember you promised,” a new voice was raised, “promised I could kill ’im.”

“That’s right, Jenks—you get to do the honors this time since you messed things up so bad for Hargrove before.”

“Jenks?” Scratch hollered. “You the one I beat like a half-growed alley cat a few nights back?”

“Goddamn you, old man!” the voice shrieked in fury.

“I’m here for you, Jenks,” he needled the young bully. “Just waiting for you, boy. You an’ me here now. So you even the score with me … since these other niggers saw how bad I whupped you—”

A ball splattered against the rocks.

“Jenks!” the leader’s voice shouted. “Don’t be a damn fool like that!”

“Yeah, Jenks,” Titus prodded as he watched Amanda pour priming powder into the pan. “Don’t be doin’ anything stupid like that again!”

“You hear that?” she asked in a rough whisper.

“Yeah.”

Another one of them was coming. This time from the north side of their rocks, where they were more vulnerable. He waited, and waited, listening carefully each time the angry voices paused. Listening for the sounds of the man’s approach. Then the voices fell silent. And he heard the sound of them coming from the south too. Three of them now. Two behind the rocks, one in front.

“Amanda, you just might have to show me you can hit something up close here real soon.”

She swallowed hard, her mouth firm and determined though doubt showed in her reddened eyes, and nodded once.

“Gimme that pistol you loaded.”

Passing him the second pistol, Amanda leaned back against the rock and clenched her eyes shut.

“Just like I told you when Lucas was passin’, this here’s come a time when you gotta be strong. Take a deep breath an’ hold on the target. You’re gonna be strong for me, ain’cha?”

Her eyes popped open. “Y-yes, Pa.”

“Get ready for the third one behind us, that way. I’m takin’ on the other two.”

He popped up with that rifle, afraid he didn’t give himself enough time to aim before he snapped off the shot. The ball went wild as the two men ducked aside, then immediately got their feet under them and started running at a full gallop for the rocks. Bass let the rifle slip out of his grip as he heard her gun roar behind him.

“You hit ’im?” he asked as he slapped the pistol into his right hand.

“I-I dunno,” she whimpered. “I don’t see him!”

Bass double-handed the pistol, held for a breath, and pulled the trigger as the man zigged through the brush. The ball caught him in the leg, spun him around a half turn as he flopped to the ground. But the second man kept coming at a crouch through the sage. With no time to reload, he’d have to use the only weapon they had loaded.

“Pa!” she shrieked as he was turning in a crouch to scoop up the pistol.

He saw him. The fourth attacker. Side of his belly was bloody, but he was back on his feet and still coming, that rifle held low in his hands, lunging toward them from the north side of the rocks. And the one who looked like Benjamin—advancing on horseback at a lope from the south.

“Reload me, Amanda!”

“Go on an’ get ’em, Jenks!” the horseman yelled. “They ain’t got a loaded gun between ’em now!”

Back and forth he looked, then decided on Jenks. Closer than Benjamin. Bass swallowed down the burning pain in his hip, setting the butt of the pistol on top of the rocks. Hunching up behind the weapon, he aimed it right as Jenks brought up the muzzle of his rifle and fired an instant before Bass’s ball slammed into the bully’s chest, just below the throat.

Titus was sinking to the ground and dragging the pouch toward him, sensing in the pit of him that one of the bastards would get him now. He didn’t want her to see it—lose a son, then her father too.

“Now you’re mine, old man!” promised that disembodied voice of the horseman.

Plug came out of the powder horn, and he spilled the black grains down the muzzle of the pistol.

The hoofbeats slowed, then stopped. Then there were footsteps as the voice came at him again. “Hargrove wants you real bad—had everything going his way till you came in the picture.”

Desperation overtook him as his fingers scrambled for a ball from his pouch. Pushing it into the muzzle with his thumb, he yanked out the ramrod and drove it home just as another voice yelled.

“Outta the way!”

Whirling with the pistol, he found the wounded man standing just outside the rocks, his rifle wavering as he growled at Amanda. Something in the bully’s desperate eyes told Bass he was going to shoot anyway—

But Titus fired his pistol instead, sending ball and that short ramrod both toward the target.

“That means you’re empty now, old man!”

He spun around with the empty weapon, realizing Benjamin was right. Dead right. Shifting the pistol to his left hand, Titus reached at the small of his back for a knife.

With a wicked and broadening smile, Benjamin stopped, as if enjoying this moment. When the bully brought the rifle to his shoulder and took aim at Titus down the long barrel, he laughed and said, “Looks like you just run outta chances—”

With the rest of his words swallowed by a sudden gunshot that made Titus flinch in surprise.

The sun blazed down hot as a new blister now that it had ducked below the wide brim of his old felt hat.