“Longarm, we are boxed in here like mice in a cracker barrel with the cat peering over the top!”
“Just do as you’re told and hush. They’re moving down, sort of slow. I’ll tell you what’s going on, so’s to rest your mind. Don’t you raise your fool head, though. I only aim to have my own to worry about!”
“What are they doing now, then?”
“What you’d expect. There’s only one trail down from the top, so they’re riding down in file, and slow. Likely having as much trouble with that shale as we did… yep, pony just slipped some, but its rider steadied it nicely. Looks like that redheaded Kim Stover. She sure sits a horse pretty.”
“Jehosaphat! Everybody from Crooked Lance is coming to pay us a call with guns, and all you can talk about is how pretty that redhead is!”
“Hell, she is pretty, ain’t she? I’d say Pop Wade must be laying for us with some of the others in Bitter Creek. Don’t see Slim Wilson. He’d have led another bunch along the tracks west of Thayer Junction, most likely. The big hoorahs are sticking with the Mountie. All except Captain Walthers. He’s with one of the other scouting parties. That’s good. I was wondering what he’d say about me gutting his walker.”
Longarm removed his Stetson and placed it on a rock atop his wall, peering through a loophole he’d left below the highest course of shale slabs. He moved the muzzle of his Winchester into position and levered a round into the chamber as the band of riders across the way reined in and began to dismount, just upslope from the dead horse. He nodded and said, “Good thinking. They see this wall in front of the smoke and have the range figured. Yep, I see some of ‘em’s fanning out, working the rocks for cover.”
“Longarm, we don’t have a chance here!”
“Sure we do. They daren’t come much closer. They’ll stay on the other side of the creek for now.”
The Mountie, Foster, approached on foot until he was well within range at the edge of the stream. He took off his hat and waved it, calling out, “I see you, Longarm! You’ve made a big mistake, Yank!”
Longarm didn’t answer.
“You can see that it’s eighteen to one! You want to parley or have you gone completely mad?”
Longarm called back, “What’s your deal, Foster?”
“Don’t be an idiot! You know I’m taking Cotton Younger back to Canada!”
“Do tell? speaking of idiots, I just saw one wearing a red coat! You really think the others will let you ride north with him, Foster?”
“Yes. We’ve made our own compromise. The people of Crooked Lance are only interested in the reward for Jesse James. They say the prisoner is mine, once we get a few facts out of him!”
“Sure he is. Why don’t you just move back out of range for a spell?”
“We’ve got you trapped in there, Longarm!”
Longarm didn’t answer. Foster wasn’t saying anything interesting and it was a far piece to holler.
A rifle suddenly squibbed from among the rocks across the way and Longarm’s hat flew off the wall as Foster spun on his heel and ran for cover, shouting, “Stop that, you damned fool!”
Longarm considered speeding him on his way with a round of his own, but it didn’t look like the Mountie could run much faster. The shot they’d put through the crown of his hat had sounded like a Henry deer-load, not a.30-30. Longarm marked the rock its smoke was drifting away from and intended to remember it. Timberline and the girl were behind that other big boulder to the left of it. Likely one of the hands had gotten silly. The midget, Hanks, was behind that low slab, and was almost certainly too slick to be taken in by the old hat trick.
Someone else fired from behind another rock, so Longarm bounced a slug off it to teach him some manners, moving to another loophole with his gun since the one he’d fired from proceeded to eat lead. Longarm counted and marked each of the smoke puffs as they fired at the place he’d just been. A woman’s voice was screaming at them to stop firing, but the prisoner at his side was spooked too badly to listen. He was suddenly up and running—running in a blind panic up the slope toward the sheer cliff of the amphitheater. Longarm yelled, “Hang it all! Get back here, you fool!” But it was too late. The handcuffed prisoner staggered, fell to his hands and knees, and rolled over. Then he was up again and running back to Longarm, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, in a rattle of small arms fire!
Something hit the prisoner hard enough to stagger him, but he kept coming and in another few seconds was stretched out behind the wall, sobbing and carrying on like a cat whose tail had been stomped.
Longarm snorted, “Jesus H. Christ! Of all the fool stunts! Where’d they hit you?”
“All over! I’ve been killed!”
The gunfire died away as cooler heads prevailed across the way. The big lawman crawled over to the prisoner and rolled him onto his back. He whistled thoughtfully and sighed, “Damn it, you did get hit, boy! The one in your shoulder ain’t worth mention. But the one in your side don’t look so good. You feel like throwing up?”
“I just want to be someplace else! Anyplace else! I’m too young to die!”
“You just hold on and lie still, then. You ain’t bleeding too bad. I’ll stuff some wadding in the wound and wrap it tight for you.”
“Gawd, I’m so thirsty, all of a sudden! Can I have a drink of canteen water?”
Longarm had been afraid he’d say that. He shook his head and said, “You’re gut-shot, you poor, dumb son of a bitch! What ever made you do a fool thing like that?”
“I was scared! I’m still scared! You reckon I’m fixing to die?”
“Not for a few hours.”
“You said you was going to bandage me. Ain’t you aiming to?”
“No. Best to let the gas escape as it forms. You just lie there quiet. That fool Mountie over yonder’s waving his hanky at me and I’d like to see what he wants.” Longarm called out, “That’s close enough, Foster!” and the Mountie halted, holding a white kerchief in his hand as he called back, “That wasn’t my idea, Longarm. Did they kill him?”
“Nope. But you’re starting to piss me off. Why don’t you all settle down and make some coffee or something? You know you daren’t rush me before dark and somebody figures to get hurt with all this wild shooting.”
“Longarm, it’s not my job to have a bloodbath here. Why can’t you listen to reason?”
“Hell, I’m about as reasonable as anyone for a hundred country miles. You’d best ride home to Canada before they turn on you, Foster, You ain’t taking my prisoner, now that I have him. Not without killing a U.S. Deputy Marshal for your damned old queen!”
“Damn it! That’s what I’m trying to prevent! This gunplay’s not my idea, Longarm, but your only chance is to hand the prisoner over.”
“You’re not only pissing me off, you’re starting to bore the shit out of me! It’s tedious talking in circles and we’ve all had our say. So ride on out, or join in and be damned to you!”
The Canadian lawman walked back to the boulder that Timberline and the girl were behind. The wounded prisoner gasped, “What’s going on?”
“Beats me. They’ll likely jaw about it for a while. How are you feeling?”
“Terrible. It don’t look like I’m gonna make it to Denver, does it?”
Longarm didn’t answer.
“It’s funny, but I ain’t as scared now as I was. You reckon it’s on account of I’m dying?”
“Maybe. Most men are more scared of it when it’s coming than when it actually arrives. You might make it, though. I’ve seen men hit worse and they’ve pulled through.”
“They say a man knows when he’s sinking, but I can’t tell. It’s funny, but I’d rest easier if I knew for sure, one way or the other.”