Do Not Forsake Me (9 page)

“Shit!” Lloyd grumbled.

Everyone stood still, waiting. Jeff suspected Jake Harkner very much wanted the hired gun to step out. He even slipped his other gun back into its holster and put his arms out, daring the man to face him.

“Come out, Henry!”

Lloyd kept his guns aimed at the two men who'd given themselves up. Still shaking, and his ears ringing something awful from the boom of so many guns, Jeff rose from where he'd been crouched at the corner of the jail.

“Jeff!” Jake shouted to him. Jeff jumped in surprise.

“Sir?”

“Go inside the jail!” Jake ordered, his eyes still scanning the street. “If Sparky is okay, let him out while Lloyd keeps an eye on those two cowards near the door!”

Jeff wiped at sweat on his forehead and cautiously climbed up the steps. He eyed the two men standing near the door. Both of them looked ready to kill, and not far away, Lloyd Harkner stood with guns pointed at them. Jeff realized he could easily get hit in cross fire, especially if there was still someone armed inside. But Jake Harkner had given him an order, and he suspected it was best to follow it. Across the street, Little Jake continued screaming, and Jake moved right into the middle of the street, arms still held out. “Come on out, Henry!” he ordered again. “Let's get this over with!”

Stu Forbes made a move and Jeff ducked as Lloyd's gun exploded. A hole opened in Stu's chest. He stumbled backward and Marty Bryant held his arms high and screamed, “Don't shoot! Don't shoot!”

A terrified Jeff dashed inside and grabbed some keys from the wall, glad to see that Sheriff Sparks was indeed all right. His hands shaking, Jeff unlocked the cell door and the sheriff charged out, grabbing a shotgun on his way to the jail door, aiming it at Marty.

“Get your ass back inside!” he growled.

The man obeyed, and Jeff peered outside the jail door to see Lloyd lower his guns. He started toward his father.

“Stay there!” Jake ordered.

Just then a man stepped out from an alley, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and two fancy guns.

“This is the day you finally die, Harkner,” he called, stepping closer. “Today I get the reputation of being the man who drew on Jake Harkner and lived to tell about it.”

Lloyd walked past the jail door, a gun in each hand but not aimed.

“Can Jake take him?” Jeff asked quietly.

“Are you kidding?”

“He's wounded—losing a lot of blood.”

“He's also in a royal rage about Little Jake ending up in the middle of things,” Lloyd answered softly. “You don't mess with my pa when he's this angry.”

Pierce Henry walked closer, then stopped.

Jeff watched Jake, who did exactly as he'd told Jeff a man should do. He glared right at Henry's eyes and not his hands. It happened so fast then that Jeff hardly realized guns had been drawn, other than he knew Henry drew first. He'd caught the split-second movement, but before the man's gun was even fully drawn, Jake's was out and fired. Henry stood there a moment, then wilted to the ground, a hole in his forehead.

Jake backed up and everyone in the street froze, not sure if the shooting was over. Jake holstered his guns, but when he turned to go to his still-screaming grandson, the man he'd shot off the roof moved to sit up, not dead yet. Jeff's eyes widened when in a whisper of a second, Jake drew his gun and casually shot the man as he passed him by—no aim, no warning, and no true indication the man meant to shoot back. Just a boom, and the man swooned to the ground.

“Any others?” Jake shouted, turning in a circle. “Lloyd?”

“I think that's all of them, Pa! Sparky is all right.”

Jake holstered his gun yet again, heading for the crate, blood flowing at an alarming rate from his right thigh. Evie also ran for the crate, Brian with her and already carrying his doctor's bag. Jake reached the crate first and yanked Little Jake out of it, grabbing him close.

“Daddy, give him to me,” Evie asked, running up to her father.

Jake whirled. “What the hell was he doing out here!” he literally roared. “He could have been
kille
d
! Don't ever let him slip out of the house like that again!”

Evie literally recoiled, stunned. Jeff had a feeling Jake had never raised his voice to his daughter that way. Randy was running up the street by then.

Jake leaned against a hitching post, clinging to Little Jake, who in turn hugged him around the neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

“It's okay,” Jake soothed. Brian walked up and tried to get his son away, but Jake refused to let go. “Don't anybody come near me or my grandson!” he ordered.

“Jake, you're hurt,” Brian reminded him. “And that's my son you're holding. Give him to me before you end up hurting him yourself.”

Jake tried to walk away and began to stagger.

Lloyd handed his guns to Sheriff Sparks, because he wasn't wearing his gun belt. “Hold these!” He ran over to his father. “Pa, you're bleeding bad! Give me Little Jake before you fall on him!”

Jake whirled on him. “He could have been killed today, and it would have been
my
fault!”

“Pa, he's fine, and not everything is your fault. Please give him to me. You're about to pass out.”

Blood ran almost in a stream, soaking the right leg of Jake's denim pants. “It's just like with you,” Jake told Lloyd, “back in California. You were little like this.” His eyes actually teared. “I did everything I could to protect you…bullets flying everywhere…your mother…stabbed…” He started going down. Lloyd grabbed at Little Jake, but Jake still wouldn't let go of him, and the boy kept clinging to his grandfather's neck, still crying. Lloyd hung on to both of them as they went down, struggling to keep his father from falling on top of Little Jake. Even once he was down, Jake continued clinging to the boy.

“Brian, get over here!” Lloyd yelled. “He's bleeding to death!”

Jeff also ran over to the site. “What can I do?”

Lloyd was trying to get Little Jake from his father's grasp. “Take his guns!” he ordered Jeff.

Jeff could hardly believe his ears. “
What?
”

“Take his goddamn guns! He's losing blood and it will affect his brain. He might think we're outlaws trying to get Little Jake from him.” He wrestled for Little Jake. “Jesus Christ, how can a fifty-six-year-old man who's lost half his blood still be this strong?” he growled.

Brian straddled Jake's legs and sat on them, doing his best to press on the wound to stop the awful bleeding. “Somebody go get the blacksmith!” he shouted. “
Anybody!
Have him come over here with a hot iron!”

Lloyd struggled to pin Jake and the child in his arms to the ground. “Take his guns, damn it!” he ordered Jeff again.

Terrified, Jeff knelt down and yanked one gun from its holster and threw it aside, then managed to reach over and get hold of the other gun, scared to death one of them would go off and he'd accidentally kill someone. He jumped back, one gun still in his hand.

“Damn it, Pa, settle down before I punch you out!” Lloyd yelled. He finally managed to get Little Jake away. He handed him over to Evie, who was crying. By then, Randy reached them as Jake roared for Lloyd to give Little Jake back to him. He swung at Lloyd, slamming his jaw but weak enough to do no real damage.

“Pa, you're going to bleed to death if you don't settle down and let Brian look at that wound!” He literally laid across Jake's chest then, his own lower lip bleeding from Jake's blow. It clearly took every ounce of strength he had to keep the man down. “Lie still, you sonofabitch! Don't make me hurt you!”

“Jake!” Randy knelt close to him. “Dear God!”

“Get out of the street!” Jake told her, his voice growing weaker. “You'll get shot!”

“Jake, it's over. Little Jake is fine. And
I'm
fine.” She leaned closer, placing her hands on either side of his face. “Jake, it's me—Randy. Let Brian help you. You're bleeding to death!”

Just the sound of her voice seemed to help him relax. “Randy? I told you…not to come out here.”

“I'm fine, Jake. It's over. Please, please lie still.”

“Little Jake…”

“He's okay!”

“Jake saved the boy's life,” Jeff spoke up, not even sure why he felt compelled to say it. “I saw the whole thing. He got shot protecting Little Jake.”

Jake's eyes closed. “Randy…don't leave.”

“Jake?” Randy leaned closer. “Brian, he's passed out! He's bleeding to death! He's
bleeding
to
death
!
Do
something!”

“I'm trying!” Brian answered. “Where's the blacksmith?” he shouted.

“He's coming!” someone yelled back.

Brian ripped open Jake's pant leg with a scalpel. “Damn, the blood is flowing like a fountain!” He looked around. “I need something to tie this off!”

Randy leaned down and kissed Jake's forehead. “Jake? Please wake up!”

A storekeeper ran out with a piece of rope. Brian tied it tightly above the wound. “It's slowing now.” He looked up “Where's Pete?” he shouted again.

“Here, Brian.” A sweaty, soot-covered, bearded man barged through the crowd yelling for people to watch out for the hot poker he carried. “What do you need?”

Brian quickly cut open the wound more. “There! Press the hot end of that poker right into the wound! I don't know how else to stop it but to cauterize it.”

Jake roused again and began struggling.

“Jesus,” Lloyd groaned. “Mom, get away! Somebody lay across him with me. I can't hold the stubborn bastard down by myself!”

The storekeeper pulled Randy away as quickly but as gently as he could, then bent down to press on Jake's shoulders while Lloyd continued to lie across his middle, trying to keep Jake from flailing his arms. Jeff moved closer to Randy, just staring.

“Do it!” Brian ordered Pete.

Randy turned away, clinging to Jeff, who stood there not knowing quite what to do. He still held one of Jake's guns but moved his other arm around Randy to comfort her as best he could, wondering if she even realized she was clinging to a complete stranger.

“I knew this would happen,” Randy wept. “I
knew
it would. I felt it when he left the house this morning.” She shriveled against him and grasped the front of his jacket at the awful hissing sound. Jake screamed from the pain as Pete burned out the wound. People gasped and some turned and walked away.

“Once more!” Brian ordered the blacksmith.

“Pa, hang on!” Lloyd yelled. “It's the only way to stop the bleeding.” He stayed on top of him but grabbed one of Jake's hands and held on tight as the blacksmith again laid the hot iron against the wound.

Jake screamed again.

“Damn it, Pa, why didn't you come and get me first?” Lloyd growled, voice hitching as if he were fighting an urge to cry. There came no reply. Jake had passed out again.

“Let's get him to my office,” Brian said then. “I can clean and stitch up the wound there.”

Fenton Wales, the farmer who'd driven by earlier, came clattering back in his wagon. “Put him in here!”

Brian, Lloyd, and the storekeeper loaded Jake into the wagon. Pete backed away, shaking his head. Lloyd walked up to Randy and pulled her off of Jeff. “Come on, Mom. I'll help you into the wagon.”

Clearly shaken by the pitiful cauterization, Randy stumbled to the wagon and Lloyd lifted her into it, then climbed in with Brian. The wagon driver charged off toward Brian's office, which was adjacent to his house. They passed Evie walking with Little Jake, who was still sobbing. Evie hurried to catch up with the wagon. Katie had reached the scene by then and stood there in a housecoat looking scared and confused. She turned to follow the others back to Brian's office.

Jeff just stared after them for a moment, then turned to pick up the gun he'd thrown aside. He made the mistake of grabbing it by the barrel. “Ouch!” He was surprised at how hot it still was from being fired so many times. He carefully picked it up by the handle instead, then just stared down at the guns.

I'm holding Jake Harkner's guns
, he thought. They had just been used to kill five men, faster than the eye could follow. One of them, the man in the alley who'd dared to stir, had been shot as casually as blinking. He couldn't get over the contrasts in Jake Harkner—a murdering wild man one minute and clinging to his grandson the next.

He had a lot of things to process, and he decided the best thing he could do was to go back to his room and write all this down while it was still fresh in his mind. He headed for the Guthrie Inn, still carrying Jake's guns, which were far heavier than he thought they would be. How did the man draw and fire them so easily, let alone actually hit his targets?

He passed a man standing on the boardwalk and studying the bloody scene in the street. It was the same man Jake had had a few words with on Sunday when he came out of church holding Randy Harkner's arm. The man reached out to stop Jeff.

“Did you see what happened?” he asked.

Jeff looked down the street where the wagon was stopped in front of Brian's house. “Yes.” He looked back at the man Jake had called Peter. He had blue eyes and sandy hair that showed a touch of gray at the temples. He was very good-looking for his age, clean shaven, his hair perfectly combed—a man Jeff guessed to be close to Jake's age, maybe a little younger. He wore what Jeff recognized as an expensive suit, the kind normally found only in bigger cities.

“You're Peter…Brown, is it?” Jeff spoke up. “I saw you yesterday after church, when you were talking to Jake.”

Brown studied him quietly for a moment, then nodded. “Randy Harkner works for me off and on, mostly when her husband is gone. It keeps her busy. At any rate, I'm good friends with the woman. Is she all right?”