Chester ignored him. He stepped over a spreading pool of scarlet and on past the last of the shelves to the counter. Skirting the pickle barrel, he moved behind it. From where he stood he could not see the door or the window and the posse could not see him. He took a silver flask from a drawer, opened it, and swigged.
“I am sorry about your wife.” Jeeter Frost was crouched at the end of the counter.
“Thank you,” Chester said.
“I got here too late to save her.” Jeeter did not mention hitting her with the frying pan.
“They don’t know it is you in here,” Chester said. “Not for sure.”
“It would be nice if they could go on thinking that,” Jeeter said. “Have they sent anyone around back yet?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“The dandy in charge isn’t much good at this.”
“Seamus Glickman,” Chester said.
“That’s him,” Jeeter said. “My wife and I tied him up back at her boardinghouse, but he must have come after us.” One eye on the front of the store, Jeeter sidled along the counter to Chester. “Listen, I can’t stay. As soon as they think of it they will send someone to watch the back door to keep me from getting away. I have to be gone by then and now is as good a time as any.” He held out his hand. “I thank you for your help and wish you the best. Again, I am sorry about your wife. Now that I have one of my own, I know what it would mean to me to lose her.”
Chester was touched. “I hope you and the schoolmarm have a good, long life,” he said. “As for the posse, I will do what I can to delay them so the two of you can get away.”
“You would do that for us?”
“For my Adolphina,” Chester said. “She and I once had what you two have. I will delay them out of respect for her.”
They shook hands, and Jeeter Frost smiled. “I was wrong about you. You are more of a man than I reckoned.” He hurried off.
“Good luck,” Chester said. Turning, he made for the gun case over against the north wall. He was grinning as he opened it.
Glickman and the posse were in for a surprise.
Chapter 31
Seamus waited five minutes by his pocket watch. Then his patience ran out. Cupping his hand to his mouth, he shouted, “Mayor Luce! What have you found in there?”
Chester did not reply. He had taken out a pair of Colts. Not new but used, a pair he had received in trade for merchandise back before Coffin Varnish went to hell in a handbasket. From the bottom of the case he had brought a box of ammunition and now he was loading the second six-shooter. He had never shot a gun before, but he was confident he could keep the posse out there long enough for Jeeter and Ernestine to escape. It served the posse, and especially Seamus Glickman, right, Chester reflected. Had they not shown up, the gun battle with the Larns would not have taken place and Adolphina would still be alive.
“Mayor Luce!” Seamus hollered. “Why don’t you answer me? What is taking so long in there?” The posse members were looking at him expectantly, all except for Lafferty, who was hunched over behind the water trough, scribbling as if any moment the world would end.
Chester hefted a Colt in each hand. They were heavier than he thought they would be. He tried twirling one and nearly dropped it.
“Mayor Luce?” Seamus tried again. “If you can hear me, get down. Lead will soon be flying every which way.” He cocked his Merwin and Hulbert. “Are you ready, gents?” he whispered to the others. They did not appear ready. They looked nervous as hell.
Winston cleared his throat. “Are you sure it is smart to go charging on in there? Whoever killed those Larns must have killed the mayor, too.”
“Weren’t you the one eager to go rushing in a few minutes ago?” Seamus said in contempt.
“Too many have already died,” another man remarked. “I would rather we don’t get added to the list.”
Their timidity rankled Seamus. “We have a job to do and we will damn well do it. On the count of three, in we go.” He paused. “One.”
Chester Luce heard every word. He had crept to within ten feet of the front door, and now he extended both his arms across a shelf lined with folded pants and shirts. He aimed at the center of the doorway, thumbed back the hammer of the right-hand Colt, and fired.
Seamus swore he heard a slug buzz past his ear. Crouching, he spotted a plume of gun smoke. The killer had given himself away. He snapped off a shot, then ducked back.
Chester saw a pile of pants jump as if alive, and winced at a searing pain in his side. He had been shot! It was so preposterous that he glanced down at a spreading stain on his shirt to confirm it. Suddenly his delaying tactic was not nearly as amusing. “I will be damned,” he said to himself.
When there was no outcry or return fire, Seamus risked another look. He made out a vague outline behind the shelf but could not see who it was for all the clothes. “You in there!” he bellowed. “Give up while you can!”
Chester giggled. A silly thing to do, him just being shot, but the whole situation was silly. Here he was, he had never harmed another soul in his life, and he was buying time for the most notorious killer in the territory. What kind of sense did that make? he asked himself. To make it even sillier, Glickman had gone and shot him.
Then Chester peered past the pants and out the front door and beheld his wife lying dead and cold in the street. Suddenly he did not feel like giggling. Suddenly he was boiling mad. All he ever wanted was to make a success of the town he helped found. But no. Dodge City destroyed any hope Coffin Varnish had. Dodge City had killed Coffin Varnish. Now that he thought about it, Dodge City had killed Adolphina, too. “Damn Dodge, anyhow,” he said aloud.
“Did you hear something?” Seamus asked his men. He had, but then he was next to the open door.
“What was it?” Lafferty inquired from the safety of the water trough.
“A voice,” Seamus said. He leaned out, wondering if it had been the person behind the clothes.
Chester frowned when his view of Adolphina was unexpectedly blocked by the head and shoulders of the undersheriff. By the very man who, in Chester’s estimation, was most to blame for her untimely passing. A man from Dodge, Chester fumed, and fired both revolvers.
Seamus cried out as lead tore through his shoulder. He went down on one knee, then immediately threw himself clear of the doorway so he would not be shot a second time. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he realized he had dropped his revolver. Hands seized him, and he was half-carried, half-dragged over to the water trough and deposited next to Lafferty, who reluctantly made room.
“How bad it is, Sheriff?” a cowboy asked.
“If you die can I have that fancy revolver of yours?” Winston inquired.
Seamus would love to shoot him with that fancy revolver. Instead, he said, “This is what we get for not doing our job. If we had rushed him like I wanted a minute ago, I wouldn’t be shot.”
“First you didn’t want to rush, then you did,” Winston said. “If anyone is to blame, it is you for not making up your mind.”
“There is no predicting being shot,” a clerk added.
“One of you go fetch the rest from the saloon,” Seamus commanded. “I have had enough. We are ending this and getting me to a sawbones.” He was not bleeding a lot, which was a good sign, but he had to watch out that infection did not set in. More people died of infected gunshots than from actually being shot.
“Fetch everybody?” Winston said.
“And while you are at it, send two or three around to the back so the bastard can’t get away.” Seamus realized he should have thought of that sooner.
Deputized citizens scurried to obey. Seamus twisted and dipped his hand in the water trough. The water was lukewarm and had a smell to it that discouraged him from splashing it on his wound.