Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (6 page)

Modo came and sat down beside him, his tongue hanging out as he panted. The dog looked at his master, and, when Rowe motioned, lay at his feet.

The afternoon sun slanted across the dusty porch. From Rowe’s vantage point, he had a view of the still-empty road and the stone building. In the few minutes before a battle the senses are always keener Rowe mused. He heard the wind in the pines and smelled the freshness of the high, cool air. He remembered the pungent smell of cedar, the deep red glow of campfires he had fed with mesquite and buffalo chips.

Nightrose.
The name moved like a ghost across his memory. It had something to do with Katy. The sensation of timelessness returned with sudden intensity, and he was in another time, another place. This had happened before. Sometime, somewhere, he had waited, just like this, waited to protect what was his. He shook his head and the feeling was gone. But he continued to think about Katy.

She was tall for a woman, and he liked that. Her eyebrows and lashes were just a shade darker than her hair. The perfect oval of her face with its small, fine nose and full, soft lips were a perfect background for her eyes. They were blue-gray as he had known they would be; and when they met his, they had held a definite shimmer of defiance. It raised her hackles to be told what to do, he thought, with a quirk of his lips. During that first moment when he had looked at her, he wondered if the shock he had felt registered on his face. It was so strange, this feeling of knowing her, knowing how she would fit into his arms, how her mouth would feel beneath his, how her breast would fill his hand, and how passionate she was beneath that cool facade.

The sound of hoofbeats brought Rowe out of his reverie and into the realization that he was about to face three men who would kill him if he stood between them and what they wanted. And if they succeeded, it would be only a matter of time until the women in the stone building were discovered. Katy would not be able to hold out long against them. All the men would have to do was build a fire in front of the heavy oak door and smoke them out.

The sudden knowledge that now he had more than just himself to live for made Rowe extremely cautious. He was a man who took his time to study things out, never one to come to quick decisions or solutions. That single trait in his character had already brought him through a goodly number of crises.

The riders coming up from the south were also cautious. They stopped their horses in the middle of the road and talked together while looking over the town. After a few minutes of discussion, one of the men went east and another west; the man leading the dead man’s horse stayed in the middle of the road.

The damn cow! Rowe thought. They would know there were women in town because no miner or cowman would waste time and effort on a milch cow. After looking behind the buildings on both sides of the street, the other two came back, re-joining the third rider. The three proceeded up the street, walking their horses slowly. They stopped in front of the saloon. The open doors had provided the temptation to lure them to him, just as Rowe expected. After ordering Modo to stay, he stepped out onto the porch and faced them.

“Ride on. There’s nothing for you here.” Rowe’s voice rang loud with authority.

“Who said so?”

“I did.”

“We’re a patrol out of Fort Kearny and in need of a drink of whiskey. Hell! We need a bottle each.” The man who spoke had a wide face and a scar on his cheekbone.

“A patrol?” The sneer in Rowe’s voice told that he knew of the lie. “You must be lost.”

The man didn’t bother to deny it. “Yeah, we’re lost,” he said and laughed. “Are you the marshal here? Haw! Haw! Haw!”

“You might say that. Ride on and avoid trouble.”

“I don’t see anybody backin’ his hand, Arch. I’m thinkin’ he’s here all by his own self.”

“He ain’t by his own self. He’s got a woman ’round here somewheres. That’s a fresh cow out back. A fresh cow means women. I ain’t had me no white woman in quite a spell ’n’ I’m hankerin’ to get me one.”

“May be she ain’t white.”

“I ain’t a carin’. Red, white, or blue, it’s all the same once ya’ve got yore pecker up.” The man called Arch made to step down from his horse.

The rifle in Rowe’s hand came up. “Don’t.”

“You goin’ to hold us all off?” Arch asked and settled back into the saddle.

Rowe didn’t bother to answer. It would be anytime now. The one doing the talking wasn’t the one to watch. He was the diversion for the other two. The man on the left was trying to ease his horse into position so when he drew his gun, he would have an easy target. The other slouched in the saddle, but had kicked his feet free of the stirrups.

One second the tired horse Arch was riding stood with his head down; the next second he had reared and plunged. It was a practiced tactic that they had probably used before. Rowe shot to kill the man on the left, but because of the moving horses, the bullet struck the rider on the hip, knocking him sideways out of the saddle. The two bullets shot at Rowe were equally off target. One grazed the side of his head and hit the doorjamb; the other ripped splinters from the porch at his feet. A third bullet tore into his thigh as he dived inside the building. As he went down, the rifle flew from his hand.

Rowe blinked rapidly against the pain, then pushed himself erect as he heard boot heels hit the porch of the saloon. With a weaving, drunken gait, he took the necessary steps, getting himself in position to meet the men who were bent on killing him as they charged through the doorway and dived to the floor, rolling toward the protection of the bar.

“Attack!” he yelled. Modo sprang on the man nearest the door.

Rowe opened up a blinding roar of gunfire with the Smith & Wesson. His bullets struck the man kneeling on the floor. The intruder reared back, then sprawled, arms outstretched. Surprised and off balance by the big dog’s attack, Arch fanned his gun. The range was close, and Rowe felt the searing impact of the bullet that passed through his upper arm. The gun in his hand felt like a hundred-pound weight, but he lifted it and aimed point-blank at Arch’s head. The shot entered above the ear and the man slumped to the floor.

“Modo,” he called. The dog released his hold on the dead man’s arm and padded obediently to his master.

Rowe’s head felt as if it were a huge drum, and someone was pounding on it with a hammer. Half-blinded with pain and his own blood that dripped from his lacerated scalp, he leaned against the wall and thumbed shells into the Smith & Wesson. Two of the three men were accounted for. The one he had knocked from the saddle was outside. If he still lived, he would be like a wounded bear because he had nothing to lose. Rowe staggered to the door and peered out into the street. It was empty. Had the wounded man ridden out?

A bullet coming in through the doorway struck the glasses on the bar, sending shards of glass in every direction. It answered the question. Rowe cursed and fell back. He wiped the blood out of his eye with his shirt sleeve. He hadn’t even seen where the bullet had come from. The man was in no better condition to run than he was. Maybe he would surrender.

“Hey, out there!” he called. “Your friends are dead. You’ve been hit. Give up and I’ll let you ride out.”

“You stupid son of a bitch! Ya’re in worse shape than I am, if I know Arch ’n’ Roberts. I aim to keep ya in there till ya bleed to death!”

Rowe wondered if he had the strength to climb the stairs to the second floor so he would have a better view of the street. Then he remembered the windows on the front were still boarded up. They wouldn’t do him much good. The only place the man could be hiding was behind the stone wall built around the well in the middle of the street.

Blood from the wound in his thigh had run down into his boot, squishing when he walked. Blood from his arm dripped onto the floor. His head was beginning to feel light. He sat down in a chair and tried to tie his neckerchief about his thigh. The sun coming in the doorway told him it would be hours before dark. He leaned forward in the chair to prop himself against the table. The straight line of the bar tilted and then vanished into a wavering mist. It returned for a brief instant before darkness fell.

To Katy and Mary, it seemed an eternity since the first shots were fired. Defying Rowe’s orders, Katie had watched from the slit in the wall as the men rode into town and stopped in front of the saloon. Standing on tiptoes, she had a clear view. They heard Garrick Rowe ask the men to leave and heard their taunting answers. The presence of the cow had told the men that there were women in the town.

The violence had come suddenly. Garrick Rowe was talking to the men, then the shooting began. Katy saw one man fall from the saddle and drag himself behind the stone wall surrounding the well across from the saloon. Her heart leapt to her throat when Rowe fell back out of the doorway. She knew he had been hit. Almost before she could catch her breath, the two men had jumped from the saddles and charged into the building. The frightened horses bolted down the street, their reins dragging. Six shots were fired inside the saloon in rapid succession. It was unbelievable that one of them hadn’t killed Garrick Rowe.

With her eyes glued to the doorway, Katy waited for someone to appear. Then, for only a brief instant, she saw a tall, lean, buckskin-clad figure, his face blood-streaked. The man behind the stone well fired, and Rowe backed from the doorway. Katy slumped against the wall during the quiet that followed.

Theresa began to cry a whimpering sound, trying to obey her mother’s request not to make any noise.

“Shhh . . . darling. Don’t cry now. You’ve been a brave girl. We must be as quiet as we can.”

Rowe’s voice, yelling from inside the saloon, brought Katie up on her tiptoes so that she could see out again. The man behind the well had his gun pointed at the doorway of the saloon.

“I aim to keep ya there till ya bleed to death.”

The words sank into Katy’s mind. If Rowe was badly hurt, the man behind the well could do just as he said, keep him pinned in the saloon.

“We’ve got to do something.” Katy turned to her sister sitting on the bunk. “Mr. Rowe can’t come out the front or the side door without that man shooting him.”

“What can we do?” Mary asked quietly.

“We can’t help him from here, that’s certain. I’d shoot the low-down bast—” She looked down at Theresa and cut off the word. “The angle isn’t right.”

“We can’t get out the door without him seeing us.”

“I don’t think he’ll shoot a woman. He needs help too.”

“You mean to go out in plain sight. Mr. Rowe told us to stay in here regardless of what happens.”

“He can’t help us now. We’ve got to help ourselves and him. This is what we can do if you’re willing, Mary. You could go out and walk up the street toward the saloon. He’ll not be expecting a woman to do that. While he’s watching, I’ll slip out the door, go around behind this building, and shoot him.”

“Oh, Katy. Are you sure you can do that?”

“I’ve got to, Mary. If Mr. Rowe dies and that man lives, we’ll have to kill him sooner or later.”

“You’re right. If you can do
that,
then I can walk down the street toward the saloon. I’ll carry Theresa. If something happens and we don’t come through this, I’d rather she die with us than die here all alone.” Mary set the child astraddle her hip and went to the door.

Katy took the little pistol from her pocket and put it in Mary’s. “It’s loaded,” she said softly and kissed her sister’s cheek. “Walk just as if you didn’t know he was there. He’s not going to know what to make of it at first, and it’ll give me a chance to get behind him.”

“Be careful. I love you, Katy.”

“I love you too, sister.” Katy placed a kiss on Theresa’s cheek and lifted the bar from across the door. She peered out, then opened it wide enough for Mary and Theresa to slip out. “I’ll wait until you’re across the street before I go out.”

Mary shifted Theresa to the side away from the gunman and walked into the dusty, deserted street. Katy watched as seconds ticked away. Near-panic coiled in her stomach. There was silence until Mary reached the other side and started down the boardwalk. Then a shout.

“Hey! Woman! Where the hell ya goin’?”

Mary continued to walk.

“Come here. I won’t hurt ya none.”

She walked on and Katy slipped out the door and behind the building.

“I ain’t wantin’ ta shoot ya or the kid, but I will.” The voice was hard and desperate. “Gawddammit, woman, take another step—”

A bullet kicked dirt only a few feet from Mary, but her steps did not falter.

“I ain’t lettin’ ya go in there. I’ll shoot ya ’n’ the kid too, by Gawd. Stop—”

Katy stepped out from behind the building. The gunman’s back was to her. He had propped his six-shooter up on the stone wall and was aiming it at Mary and Theresa. Katy raised the rifle and sighted between the man’s shoulder blades, her mind numb to what she was doing. She steadied herself and squeezed the trigger just as her brothers had taught her to do long ago in Alabama when they hunted wild turkey. The bullet struck, throwing the man against the stone wall. He threw up his hands and fell back. The bullet, passing through his body, ricocheted back from the wall and tore a gaping hole in his chest.

Katy stood as if in a trance, then lowered the gun barrel until the end pointed to the ground. At the sound of the shot, Mary had stopped walking. Katy went alongside the building toward the street. She continued putting one foot in front of the other automatically, her head whirling, her stomach churning. By the time she reached the front of the building she could no longer hold back the bile that filled her throat. She grabbed hold of the corner for support, bent over, and the contents of her stomach came spilling out. When it was over, she wiped her mouth on the hem of her dress and crossed the street to where her sister waited.

Four

A menacing growl greeted Katy and Mary when they reached the doorway of the saloon. The big brown dog, his teeth bared and the hair standing up on his back, stood between them and Rowe, who was slumped over a table. After the first glance, the women kept their eyes averted from the bodies on the floor. When Katy took a single step into the room, the dog lunged forward and snapped his teeth. She retreated and he backed off.