Webb's Posse (34 page)

“It'll have to do,” said Dahl, shooting a quick glance toward the old Spanish mission. “They'll be coming back soon. We need to cover some ground before they catch on to us.”

“Anything you say, posseman,” said Murdock. He turned, half carrying, half dragging the two crates toward the brush. Junior stood up from the dirt and trotted off behind him as if following an old friend.

They slipped into the cover of brush and rock and moved along in a crouch until they came to the base of the hillside where Sherman Dahl had stashed his rifle. Doc Murdock had stopped a few feet in front of Dahl. When he looked back and saw the rifle in the young man's hands, he silently commended himself for not having tried to make a move on Dahl just yet. He was learning more about this man every step they traveled. He would bide his time. “You're full of surprises, ain't you, posseman?”

“Stop calling me posseman,” said Dahl. He checked the rifle with a serious expression and cradled it in his arm. “My name's Sherman Dahl.”

“All right then, Sherman Dahl.” Murdock agreed with a nod, catching his breath, taking advantage of their stopping if only for a moment. “You don't strike me as a full-time lawman. What are you, a deputy? A town councilman?”

“Neither,” said Dahl. “I'm Rileyville's schoolmaster.”

“You're kidding?” Doc Murdock stifled a surprised chuckle. “A nice young schoolmaster out here on a manhunt? How the hell did that come about?”

“I came along because your pals the Peltrys burnt down the schoolhouse. Whatever bounty reward we get, my cut of it goes to rebuild the school.” He nodded at the uphill path before them. “Let's get going. We've got a hard climb.”

“Right,” said Murdock, yet he made no move toward grabbing the rope handles of the ammunition crate. Instead, his right hand rested on his pistol butt as he wiped a shirtsleeve across his sweaty face. “Only, I was just thinking. What's keeping me from shooting you right here, leaving these heavy crates where they lie, working my way on up this trail, finding those horses for myself and getting out of here?” He spread a crafty grin.

“What about helping your men escape?” Dahl asked.

Murdock shrugged. “I already told you how I feel about them. They knew the risks.” His stare turned sharper, bolder.

“Then I suppose there's nothing keeping you from it,” said Dahl, straightening up, letting his right hand poise near his pistol butt, “provided you're a good gambler.”

“Good gambler?” Murdock's brow raised slightly. He still bore the crafty grin.

“That's right,” said Dahl calmly. “You'll be betting on my having told you the truth about there being horses there. You'll be betting that even if there are, you can kill me so quick I won't have time to put a bullet or two in you…slowing you down while the
Federales
come running.” Dahl returned the crafty grin. “It's a whole lot to be betting on, you have
to admit.” His hand inched a fraction closer to his pistol butt.

Doc Murdock chuckled aloud now, his hand coming up away from his pistol. “It would be at that.” He reached down with both hands, grabbed the rope handles and started off up the path. Junior trotted along close at his heels. “Anyway,” he said over his shoulder, “I don't want to rim out. I've got some unfinished business with Goose Peltry that needs settling.”

“Oh?” That was all Sherman Dahl said, but it was enough to keep Murdock talking.

“Yep. The fact is, I'm going to kill that sucker,” said Doc Murdock.

“But he's one of the leaders,” said Dahl. “How do you expect to pull that off? What about his brother?”

“Ha! I'm not worried about his brother. If Moses wants to jump in, that's all right too.” Murdock glanced back as he moved ahead. “I suppose hearing something like that surprises the hell out of a man like you, but that's the cold, hard way things work in this world me and the Peltrys live in.”

“Yep,” said Dahl, hurrying along behind him. “It does surprise me. But I'm getting more used to it every day I'm out here.”

At the top of the path, Doc Murdock came upon the Gatling gun abruptly, seeing it sitting back from the edge of the rocky ledge two hundred yards above Punta Del Sol. “I'll be damned,” he said, out of breath, dropping both ammunition crates. “Talking about gambling…you sure took a big chance leaving that gun sitting out here in full view. Anybody coming along here could have spotted it.”

“Luckily they didn't though,” said Dahl matter-of-factly. He also dropped his two crates. Then he
walked over to a rock half the size of a saddle, turned it over and picked up the Gatling gun's black metal firing mechanism. “Of course, the gun wouldn't have done anybody any good without this.”

Murdock grinned, once again reminding himself how wise he had been not to kill this schoolteacher too soon. He would have been stuck with a machine rifle without a firing mechanism. But so much for waiting. Now was the time to get out of here. He glanced down at Dahl's dusty boots, sizing them up as he once again slipped his hand atop his pistol butt. “That was good thinking on your part, schoolteacher,” said Murdock. He looked all around for the horses, but saw none. Looking down at the ground, he saw only one set of fresh hoofprints in the dust.

“Looking for the horses?” Dahl asked in a quiet tone. As he spoke, his hand levered a round into his rifle chamber and kept the rifle pointed and cocked.

“Yeah, sort of,” Murdock said warily. “I don't see but one set of prints here.”

“That's because I lied to you. There's only one horse. Guess who's going to be riding out of here on it?” As if knowing what was about to happen, Junior moved out from between the two men and took a seat on the hot ground beside the Gatling gun. He looked back and forth, his tongue lolling from his gaping mouth.

“Whoa now!” Murdock tried to laugh off the seriousness of Dahl's words and actions, but it wasn't easy, seeing the deadly look in Dahl's flat, level stare. How the hell had he been caught off-guard like this? By a damned schoolteacher at that! “We made a deal! We both gave our word! What kind of man are you?”

“The kind who's going to leave you lying here dead. I've been listening to you tell me how nobody's life means anything but your own. You must be an
idiot, telling me all that. Then you expect me to keep my word on anything I tell you?”

“Jesus, man!” Murdock sweated more freely. “I trusted you! I kept my end of the bargain. I could've shot you at any time, but I didn't!”

“Only because you fooled around, overestimating yourself, underestimating me. You figured, ‘No hurry; what's this schoolteacher going to be able to do?'” said Dahl. “Well, now you know. You had a gun to my head; you should have used it. That was pitifully stupid, too stupid to stay alive out here.”

“Wait!” Murdock shouted. “You're going to need me! How will you fire the machine rifle by yourself?” His hand made a fast, desperate grab for his pistol.

“I'll manage somehow,” said Dahl, cool, calm, prepared for Murdock's move. He fired three times, spacing the shots a full second apart as he levered his rifle, taking a step forward each time Murdock rocked backward with another bullet hole in his chest.

Two soldiers had dragged a kicking and screaming Goose Peltry away and up the stairs. Sergeant Hervisu stood flanked by two armed guards in the narrow corridor among the prisoners. The guards held the prisoners at bay with their cocked rifles. Hervisu held a saber thrust out at arm's length, the tip of it almost touching Moses Peltry's chest. Still, Hervisu did not like the looks of this situation. “
Capitán
, let us move to the top of the stairs,
por favor
,” he said to Oberiske. Any second, these outlaws could rush them. Oberiske had to be blind not to see it, Hervisu thought.

Yet Captain Oberiske stood with his hands folded behind his back, his chin tilted up at a haughty angle. Ignoring Hervisu, he said to Moses Peltry, “You have exactly ten minutes to decide,
Herr
Peltry. Either tell me where the Gatling gun is hidden, or your brother will be the next one to die.”

Will Summers, Teasdale and Abner Webb held Moses back. “You dirty, low-down sonsabitch!” Moses bellowed in rage, struggling against Summers and Webb. “If you harm one hair on my brother's head, I'll rip your heart out and eat it!” His men stood seething, ready to make a lunge at the guards, waiting for only one word from Moses to start a bloodletting.

With no apparent fear, Captain Oberiske turned on his boot heels and walked to the bottom of the stairs. Hervisu and the two guards inched backward until they joined him. “Make no mistake; your brother
will
die!” He looked from one face to the next. “Every one of you will die if you refuse to turn over the gun—”

Oberiske's words stopped as three rifle shots resounded from the hillside above them. His eyes cut to Sergeant Hervisu and the two guards. “Sergeant, follow me. Let us see what the gunfire is about! You guards, stay here. If these men cause any trouble, shoot them. Shoot as many as you must to maintain order!”

“There it is,” Will Summers whispered near Moses Peltry's ear as they continued holding him back. “That's our schoolmaster giving us a signal.” Moses eased down a bit. They watched Oberiske and Hervisu bound up the stairs and close the thick wooden door behind them. They heard the large latch fall into place. “Get ready,” Summers added. “The guard on the right has the key to these cuffs. As soon as we hear the Gatling gun, your men are going to have to rush him.”

“We'll get the key, no problem,” Moses Peltry whispered. “But how are we going to get through that door?”

“That's a good question,” said Summers. No sooner had he said it than the sound of the Gatling gun rattled long and loud above them.

On the dirt street, Cherokee Rhodes and the two wagon guards had heard the three rifle shots as they'd returned to the supply wagon. Then, just as they'd found the other guard sitting propped up on the wagon gate with a trickle of blood running
down the corner of his mouth, the Gatling gun began to spit lead down from the hillside two hundred yards above the streets of Punta Del Sol. “What the hell is going on?” Cherokee Rhodes shouted, staring into the dead eyes of the guard, who stared back at him as if in shock.

Bullets from the distant Gatling gun ran in a line along the roof of the old Spanish mission, kicking up chunks of orange clay tile. On its sweep coming back, bullets thumped into the water trough, split the hitch rail and toppled it and sent
Federales
diving for cover. In the dirt street, the bullets nailed the two guards who stood with their rifles aimed at Goose Peltry's chest. Goose grabbed a key from the belt of one of the fallen guards and quickly freed himself of the handcuffs and ankle chain. He snatched up a rifle and ran screaming and firing at the cowering
Federales
on his way back to the mission door.

“Someone kill him!” Captain Oberiske shouted, pointing his pistol and firing at Goose Peltry. He fired three shots. Two of them hit Goose—one in the upper arm, the other in the thigh—causing the outlaw to fall to the ground. Three
Federales
rose and fired with their rifles. One shot hit Goose low in the belly. Another sent a graze along the side of his head. Blood flew.

But Goose Peltry came up screaming, firing back, his shots sending Oberiske ducking for cover. “I'm coming, brother Moses!” He ran staggering toward the mission door.

“Somebody stop him!” Oberiske raged. He stood up and fired at Goose Peltry, but this time the sweep of the Gatling gun came back along the street and forced him down. Horses from the broken hitch rail ran in a frenzy, circling in confusion, their reins still tied to pieces of the broken rail.
Federales
ran back
and forth wildly in the dirt street, seeking cover from the deadly assault of the machine rifle.

“We've got that bastard,” Cherokee Rhodes shouted, running over from the corral, the two guards close behind him. Rhodes dropped onto one knee and took careful aim at Goose Peltry with his pistol as Goose stood up and grabbed the door handle. Rhodes' shot hit Goose in the center of his naked back and slammed him against the mission door. Goose slid down, then turned with his back against the door, blood spilling from his lips. Through the roar of gunfire, Cherokee Rhodes shouted, “I got that crazy sonsa—!”

His words cut short as a shot from the rifle in Goose's hands lifted him off his feet and slammed him backward into the two guards, who were squatting behind him. They threw Rhodes aside and fired at Goose as he pulled himself up and managed to fling open the mission door. Sergeant Hervisu saw what Goose was attempting to do. He hurried, running in a low crouch through the heavy gunfire to enter the mission behind Goose Peltry. He fired as he hurried over toward the cellar door, where Goose had pulled himself up and grabbed the latch with both hands.