Authors: James McGee
Hawkwood
considered the layout of the house. The downstairs was effectively one large
space divided in two by a central chimney breast which effectively formed the
wall between kitchen and parlour. Each room had one window facing the front of
the house and one facing the rear. There were two ground-floor entrances: the
front door, which led into the parlour and the stairs to the upper floor, and
the back door, which opened into the kitchen.
"We
should barricade the front door," Hawkwood said.
"What
about the windows?" Lasseur asked.
"We
need to see them coming, but we don't have enough guns to cover all points so
we'll block one off. The front window in the kitchen will be the easiest."
Hawkwood pointed to the nearby dresser. It was almost six feet tall. "We
can use that."
"It
seems to me you've done this before," Lasseur said as they manoeuvred the
dresser across the floor. The room darkened immediately as the light from
outside was obscured.
"Once
or twice.
Sometimes I've been the one trying
to get in."
They
moved to the parlour, upended the settee and propped it against the front door.
They used the long-cased clock to obscure half of the parlour window at the
front. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
"We
need a redoubt," Hawkwood said.
"Somewhere to make
a stand."
"Don't
like the sound of that," Gadd said.
"There
are more of them than there are of us, and I'm guessing they're a lot better
armed. They're going to get in, sooner or later." Hawkwood indicated the kitchen
table. "We can retreat to the pantry and block off the door with the table
to restrict their access point. Maybe we can use the cellar as a last resort.
Does it have another entrance?"
"No."
"Then
we'll deal with that problem when we come to it."
They
up-ended the table and laid it lengthways in front of the pantry door. As a
place to make a last stand, it was wretched. Hawkwood knew that, if Pepper and
his men got into the house, a kitchen table wasn't going to alter the outcome.
"We
could always give ourselves up," Lasseur offered, reading his mind.
"No,"
Jess Flynn said. "It's too late for that."
Hawkwood
knew she was thinking of Tyler.
"I'll
take the Manton, Jess," Hawkwood said. "You take the pistol. We've
still got one shot left with the rifle. I want to make it count before they get
too close."
No
sooner had
he
spoken than there was a bang from
outside and the rear kitchen window shattered.
Everyone
ducked. No one was hit.
"They're
probably trying to draw fire," Hawkwood said. "Let
them
waste
ammunition." He looked down at the dog. "Put Rab in the pantry, Jess.
We don't want him to get in the way."
Hawkwood
waited until the animal had been removed, then
he
picked up the rifle.
"To your places.
The second
you realize you can't hold your position, fall back to the redoubt."
From
the corner of his eye, Hawkwood saw movement out of the window.
"Here
they come," he said.
Pepper
peered round the corner of the barn. He could see Tyler's body in the dirt in front
of the house. He looked for Tyler's horse and spotted it in the field where it
was grazing contentedly, having bolted from the scene, oblivious to the
carnage.
Tyler's
death had come as a shock - and not just to Tyler. It was clear from his
reaction that the Runner, Hawkwood, had also been taken by surprise. Pepper
didn't think it was a lucky shot either. The woman had been deliberate in her
aim. Her calmness and the cadence in her voice when she'd pulled the trigger
had been proof of that. Pepper wondered what had led Jess Flynn to kill her own
brother-in-law in cold blood.
He'd
been intrigued by Tyler's request as they'd ridden from the trees:
Leave the woman to me.
It sounded as
if Tyler had been harbouring some kind of vendetta against the Widow Flynn.
Jess Flynn's uncompromising declaration of hostilities had confirmed that the
ill feeling was mutual. Whatever her motive, by killing Tyler she had aligned
herself with the two men Pepper and his crew had been sent to eradicate.
Knowing Thomas Gadd's history with the late Jack Flynn, Pepper felt it was safe
to assume that Gadd, too, had chosen sides. It was just as well he'd brought
the number of men he had.
Which brought him full circle back
to Tyler.
Pepper had never liked the man. He'd long considered Tyler to
be a liability. So he did not feel bereaved by his death, only inconvenienced
at being a man down so soon.
A
shot rang out. Pepper heard a window break.
"Hold
your fire!" he called. They were too far out of range for a pistol to do
effective damage.
He
was suddenly aware that his left arm had developed a ferocious itch. He reached
to scratch it and then remembered there wasn't anything there to scratch. It
had been ten years
Suppressing
the impulse to grind his stump into the wall of the barn, Pepper surveyed their
objective. The front of the house was a killing ground, as Tyler had found out
to his cost. The safest approach would be via the rear, using the outbuildings
as cover. From the nearest shed it was only a scurry over the vegetable garden
to the back door. The side wall was reachable through the orchard. From there
the attackers could plant themselves in the lee of the building, where the
angle of the wall would offer protection against shots fired from the windows.
Behind
him, Pepper's crew checked their weapons. Each of them had a brace of pistols.
A couple carried cudgels. Four had short cutlasses held in scabbards on their
belts. Hard, seasoned men, they had all served their apprenticeship either as
escorts, bat men or tub carriers. The four cutlass bearers had all served in
naval press gangs before joining Morgan's organization. Good men to have at
your back in a fight, which was why Pepper had chosen them. He was prepared to
forgive the errant shot a few moments ago. Seeing one of your
number
gunned down like that would spook anyone.
Pepper
wondered about the opposition. Outnumbered they may be, but Hawkwood and
Lasseur had proved themselves.
The woman, too, though there
was no telling how she would fare in the event of an assault on the house.
As for Gadd, he'd seen action before, but he was old and he was a cripple. I
low effective would he be? Pepper knew that they had weapons at least two long
guns and a pistol - but did they have anything in reserve? Pepper doubted it.
The
safest option would have been to wait it out, but Pepper and his crew had an
appointment to keep, and it wouldn't do to be late.
Certainly
not tonight of all nights.
Best to get the matter over
with as quickly as possible.
Pepper
drew the pistol from the holster across his chest.
"Billy,
you stay with the horses. Keep them calm. Deacon, Roach and Clay - you're with
me. The rest of you, go round
the front. It's
the Runner and the Frog we're after. As far as they're concerned, it's no
quarter given or expected. If the widow and the old man get in the way, that's
their misfortune."
Pepper
waited as the four men he'd dispatched to the front entrance worked their way
to the other side of the barn and ran in single file towards the corner of the
house, using the orchard as cover. No one shot at them.
"On
me," Pepper said. Pistol half-cocked, he stepped out from the wall. With
Deacon, Clay and Roach at his heels, he ran towards the nearest outbuilding.
They made it without incident. Pepper took stock. He could see that the other
half of the crew had reached the orchard and were making their way through the
trees. Two of them had drawn their cutlasses. Pepper looked towards the back
door and the broken kitchen window. He could see vague movement inside the
kitchen, but the rays of the low-hanging sun were reflecting off the remaining
glass and the gloom inside the house prevented him from making out details.
The
second outbuilding - the one nearest to the house - was only a few paces away.
An eager Deacon sidled out from the wall. Pepper, seeing a dark shape move
behind the broken window, opened his mouth to hiss a warning only to be
silenced by a sharp report. Deacon's body was flung back against the outhouse
wall. It remained motionless for several seconds, as if suspended from a hook,
before toppling to one side like a puppet with severed strings. As Deacon hit
the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his chest, a volley of small-arms
fire sounded from the front of the house.
Hawkwood
lowered the Manton. The gun wasn't as comfortable in his hands as a Baker
rifle. Thankfully, the target had been an easy one. He had been hoping to get a
clear shot at Pepper, but it had been one of Pepper's crew who had showed
himself first, and beggars couldn't be choosers.
That
left eight.
All
they had now was the fowling piece and the two pistols, and not enough shot
between them to make much of a difference.
As
he laid the rifle down, Jess Flynn passed him the pistol. A second later he
heard Gadd yell in the other room and then the seaman's cry was obliterated by
an explosion of gunfire and the splintering of glass.
Hawkwood
took the spare ball from his pocket and laid it next to the sink with the flask
of powder and one of the squares of wadding. It looked as insignificant as a
pea left at the side of a dinner plate. Knowing he probably wouldn't have time
to reload anyway, Hawkwood drew back the pistol hammer and spoke over his
shoulder. "If one of us goes down, you pick up the gun. Make each shot
count."
Jess
nodded nervously. "I understand."
Now let them come,
he thought.
And
they did.
At
Pepper's nod, Roach broke from concealment, and Clay poked his head round the
side of the outhouse and aimed a covering shot towards the kitchen window. As
the pistol cracked, Roach, his cutlass drawn, veered left, heading towards the
parlour end of the house.
Clay
loosed off his second pistol and ducked back behind the outhouse to reload.
Pepper
waited to see what would happen.
From
the kitchen, Hawkwood saw Roach come into view. He heard the report and saw the
puff of powder smoke by the corner of the outhouse wall, and ducked just as the
ball broke the surviving window pane and thrummed past his ear. He heard a
plate break into pieces on the dresser behind him.
Before
the shattered china hit the floor, Hawkwood's pistol was up, tracking the
running man. As the man's companion let off his second shot, Hawkwood fired.
The ball struck the running man in the groin, pitching him to the ground with a
ragged cry. His companion's pistol ball buried itself in the wall beneath the
window frame.
Pepper
emerged from cover, pistol in hand and running towards the corner of the house,
as Roach went down.
Hawkwood
stepped back from the window, rammed the ball
down
the pistol barrel, placed the powder in the pan and snapped the frizzen in
place. His hands were steady as he thumbed the hammer back. By the time he was
done, Pepper had disappeared from view.
Hawkwood
swore.
Behind
him, Jess Flynn was crouched by the fireplace. From the other side of the
chimney breast came the sound of somebody trying to kick in the front door.
"Jess,
find out what's happening out there!" Hawkwood whispered.
In
the parlour, Tom Gadd had been busy proving he could hit more than rabbits. Another
of Pepper's crew
lay
dead, his throat pumping blood
into the dirt beneath one of the apple trees. Gadd had whooped aloud as the
ball from his fowling piece struck home, only to have his exclamation of
triumph cut short as the dead man's companions returned fire with venomous
fervour.
The
window and the clock case took the brunt of the damage, but it been a close
shave. Gadd recalled Hawkwood's remark about rabbits not shooting back.
Crouching by the wall, the old man tapped powder into the muzzle of the fowling
piece and reached into his pocket for his final round. He glanced across at
Lasseur and grinned, only to lose the grin as the front door shook under a
bombardment of boots. He looked up as Jess Flynn called his name from the
kitchen.