Man Who Burned Hell!, page 12
By the time Ford was finished, all of them had been deputized.
‘Get them wagons rollin’,’ Ford ordered them. ‘We’re goin’ to town.’
Minutes after their departure, another rider left the ranch. One with long red hair.
Ike Cordis stood on the boardwalk outside the Royal Palace and looked along an almost deserted Absaroka Street. The sun was now descending towards the mountains and the expected attack still hadn’t come. This was the second day after the incident in the church. It was also the day Ford had given for the town to be cleared.
‘Maybe he ain’t comin’,’ Beck said as he stepped out of the saloon and stood beside his boss.
‘He’ll come,’ Cordis said, sounding certain.
‘Well, if they do, they’re in for a shock. We got men hid out everywhere along the street. The son of a bitch will be dead before he gets anywhere near this place.’
‘Do not underestimate our friend the marshal,’ Cordis warned Beck. ‘We’ve done so before and it’s come back on us.’
A man appeared, running along Absaroka Street at a good clip. He stopped in front of the two men, blowing hard.
‘They’re—’ he swallowed hard. ‘They’re here.’
‘How many is “they”?’ Beck asked.
‘I ain’t sure. They brought two wagons with them, though.’
‘What would they want with two wagons?’ Beck wondered aloud.
‘I guess we’ll find out,’ Cordis said. ‘Let’s go and give them a great big welcome.’
Ford stopped the roan about three hundred yards short of town and studied the scene before him. The wagons rattled to a stop and waited for him to give them guidance. Krouse stepped down from the lead wagon and walked up beside the roan.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think we should go in and say hello,’ Ford said. ‘Get them moving.’
Ford waited while they got organized and when they were ready, he removed the Winchester from the saddle scabbard and jacked a round into the breech. He turned in the saddle and called to the two drivers. ‘Let’s go!’
Ford gave the roan a kick and he leaped forward. The gunfire commenced almost the instant they hit the edge of Serenity. The men in the first wagon returned fire as fast as they could. A bullet from a position to Ford’s left snapped close to his ear. A man had taken cover behind some well-placed sacks filled with God knows what.
He snapped a shot in the man’s direction and noticed a puff of dust rise from one of the sacks that the bullet struck. Then he looked about and saw that other items had been placed sporadically along the boardwalks to create firing positions.
Things were about to get interesting.
Without much hope of hitting anything from horseback, the idea was to keep the heads of their enemy down so the thrower could do his job.
Behind him, a hollow boom rang out and the first firing position that Ford had ridden past disintegrated, along with the front of the business and the shooter. Debris was flung in all directions. Large, deadly splinters of wood and glass scythed through the air.
Ahead of Ford, more guns opened up and deadly lead hornets filled the air. He rode through the storm, feeling the tug on the sleeve of his shirt at a near miss.
Unseen behind him, the small band took their first casualty. Smith took a bullet to his chest and fell back into the wagon he was riding in. However, undeterred, the others kept up their rate of fire.
As the attackers drew to the end of their first run, the scene of devastation behind them was clearly visible. As Ford reined in, he turned his horse to survey the scene.
The Royal Palace had taken a direct blast, along with Ike’s Place and the Pink Garter, as they concentrated their assault on establishments owned by Ike Cordis. Smoke was already starting to rise as flames took hold of the destroyed buildings.
There were some other businesses damaged; the result of dynamite being thrown at barricades used by the shooters.
The wagons slowed down near the Joy Club and the thrower was about to lob his deadly load up on to the verandah when Ford noticed a woman standing at an upstairs window.
‘Don’t!’ he shouted and the man stopped mid-throw. ‘There’s women in there.’
Without hesitation, he threw it away from the group and into the vacant area beyond the end of the street. It exploded violently sending a geyser of earth into the air.
‘That was close,’ Krouse called out.
‘Get them turned!’ Ford shouted. ‘We’re goin’ back. How many sticks have you got left?’
‘Four,’ answered Allen.
‘All right, let’s go!’
‘What the hell was that?’ Beck said, coughing.
‘The bastards are using dynamite,’ Cordis said, slapping dust from his clothes.
‘But they’ll destroy the town if they keep doin’ that,’ Beck pointed out.
‘I think that’s the idea.’
Both men were covered in grime from head to toe from their proximity to the blast that took out the front of the Royal Palace. Beck’s shirt was torn across the back, exposing an angry red stripe across the bare skin.
Ike Cordis had a torn shirtsleeve and a thin trickle of blood on his brow where a sliver of wood had scored the flesh. He looked along the street and saw the devastation that the first pass had left in its wake. They needed to do something quickly otherwise all would be lost.
One of his gunmen shouted a warning. ‘They’re comin’ back!’
‘All right, let’s take cover again,’ Cordis said, not wanting to be exposed to another mind-numbing blast. ‘Sam, we need to stop them throwing those powder sticks.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Beck assured his boss. ‘Count on it.’
The second run came on with a rumbling of hoofs and wagon wheels. The gunfire recommenced and then an explosion blew up part of the boardwalk, taking out two hidden shooters outside of the saddlery.
As Ford rode past on the blue roan, Cordis took a bead on him and squeezed the trigger. The outlaw boss smiled in satisfaction when he saw the marshal flinch as the bullet struck his right side. Ford swayed in the saddle but stayed upright and continued to ride.
The first wagon rumbled past; the cowhands in the back firing relentlessly. Bullets smacked into the debris field behind which Cordis and Beck had taken cover. Another explosion rocked Absaroka Street, inflicting more damage. The body of a concealed shooter was flung violently into the air, landing sickeningly in an almost unrecognizable heap.
‘Damn it, Sam, stop that son of a bitch!’ Cordis cursed.
Sighting along the barrel of his six-gun, Beck drew a bead on the man in the back of the second wagon. His arm was raised and he was about to lob another stick with a lit fuse towards a large false-fronted building.
Beck fired and the man cried out then collapsed to the wagon bed. The sputtering stick of dynamite dropped from of sight behind the wagon. No sooner had it hit the ground than it blew. The wagon took the full force of the explosion, shattering it like matchwood. The driver was killed instantly by the blast, but somehow the horses escaped unscathed and bolted on, trailing reins and wagon tongue.
‘That showed him,’ satisfaction evident in Beck’s voice.
When Ford and the others reached their starting point just outside of town, he dismounted and reloaded the Winchester. His side throbbed and he could feel the blood running freely down his side.
‘You’ve been shot,’ Krouse said aloud as he approached Ford. ‘Are you OK?’
Ford winced. ‘I’ll live. How are we doin’?’
‘We lost three men,’ Krouse informed him. ‘Smith, Allen, and James.’
Ford nodded grimly. ‘All right, let’s clear them out.’
Ford led them forward into what was fast beginning to resemble the place that Serenity had become known as: Hell. Orange flames had taken hold of the tinder dry wood that the shops and other buildings along Absaroka Street were constructed of. That, coupled with the piles of rubble and the dead bodies, would make a person believe that cannons had fired upon the town.
As Ford and the others began to advance along the street, the fires were forcing Cordis’ hired guns away from the buildings and out into the open. Gunfire erupted once again as the two forces engaged in deadly combat.
Ahead, three men broke into the relative safety of Absaroka Street. They stopped when they saw the advancing men and brought their weapons up to fire. The flat reports of gunshots cracked out. One of the cowboys beside Ford cursed and went down with a bullet in his leg.
Ford wasn’t sure, but he thought that he detected a hint of disappointment in his voice too.
‘Find him some cover,’ Ford snapped as he shot down another of Cordis’ men.
With the wounded man now placed behind a water trough, they continued to advance through the town. The dynamite seemed to have taken the fight out of the defenders and only a few die-hards remained.
‘Split up,’ Ford ordered them.
He walked along the street with a cowhand called Harold Timms. They kept an even pace, scanning their surroundings as they went on. Ford could feel the radiated heat from the flames against the skin of his face. A building that had once been the Cattleman’s Association office collapsed in a shower of sparks and leaping flames. For the first time since the battle had started, Ford began to question his method in trying to defeat Cordis.
‘Too late to go back now,’ he muttered.
The sudden appearance of two figures that broke from cover and moved into the centre of Absaroka Street startled Ford as they brought up their weapons and opened fire. Beside Ford, Timms cried out with pain as a bullet took him high in the chest. Ford fired back and saw the second man throw his arms up and fall backward.
Before the first man fired his gun again, Ford knew he was in trouble. Two shots cracked out and he felt a burning pain in his left leg as a bullet tore into his thigh. He collapsed into a heap as the wounded appendage refused to support his weight.
Another shot sounded and a bright light flashed in Ford’s head as the slug burned along the left side of his face, just above the hairline. He fell on to his back, head spinning, and unconsciousness threatened to consume him. Overhead, great plumes of dirty brown smoke started to blot out the sky above.
Footsteps pierced the foggy haze of Ford’s brain and he turned his head to meet the sound. He stared at the figure that loomed over him but his eyes wouldn’t focus. Ford blinked to clear his vision and momentarily the sneering face of Ike Cordis swam into view.
‘You son of a bitch. You’ve ruined everything,’ he snarled and raised the six-gun in his fist.
The thunder of gunfire crashed out and everything went black for Ford.
Chapter 18
The first thing Ford became aware of was the throbbing in his head. It felt like miners were inside trying to dig their way out with picks. He moaned and lifted his hand to the place where the bullet had bitten him. His fingers came away sticky with blood.
Then it struck him; he was still alive. He opened his eyes and saw the outline of a figure kneeling close to him. At first, he thought it was Cordis, but the killer didn’t have red hair, and as his vision cleared further, Eddie’s smiling face became visible. Her face and clothes were blackened with soot.
‘Keep still while I tie this bandage off,’ she said to him.
‘What happened?’
‘Ike Cordis shot you.’
Then Ford remembered. ‘Where is he?’
Eddie nodded to his left.
Ford turned his head and he saw the figure of Cordis to his left, lying on his back, dead. He looked back at Eddie.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I couldn’t let him kill you, could I?’
‘For that, I thank you, but what are you doin’ here?’
‘I followed you and waited for a chance to get Cordis for what he did,’ she told him.
‘How long was I out?’
‘Ten minutes, not long.’
‘The others?’
‘Krouse came past and said that the others capitulated and they chased them out of town. I guess once Cordis died, they had nothing left to fight for. Can you get up?’
With help from Eddie, Ford managed to climb to his feet, swayed a little when pressure was applied to his wounded leg and then steadied himself.
‘When we find somewhere better, I’ll look at those other wounds of yours.’
‘You look like you’ve been through hell, by the way,’ Ford deadpanned.
‘Speak for yourself,’ she retorted with a smile.
‘Pick my rifle up for me?’
‘Are you wounded or something?’
Biting back a wave of pain, Ford said, ‘You could say that.’
Rolling her eyes, Eddie bent and picked up the Winchester. ‘Here, you need to toughen up a little, Marshal.’
‘Is that an offer to help?’
An alarmed expression sprang to Eddie’s face. ‘Hell, no. You’re too much trouble for me.’
Ford laughed and immediately wished he hadn’t.
‘Come on,’ Eddie said, moving to his side, ‘lean on me and we’ll find a place to look at you.’
They were making their way along the street through the smoke haze when Ford noticed the three men leading their horses along Absaroka Street.
‘Aw shoot,’ Ford said. ‘This will go well.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Eddie asked.
Ford nodded in the direction of the three men.
‘Who are they?’
‘See that feller in the middle?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s United States Marshal Bass Reeves. My pa.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, “oh” is right.’
Ford and Eddie stopped in front of the three lawmen. He gave his father a wry smile and said, ‘Hey, Bass, where you been?’
The look on Reeves’ face said it all and in a low rumbling voice he asked, ‘What the hell have you done?’
‘How did he take it?’ Eddie asked as she started to tend his wounded side.
‘About as well as I expected him to,’ Ford told her. ‘And he didn’t fire me so I guess that’s somethin’. He’s talkin’ to Krouse at the minute.’
Behind them, the main street still burned orange, although the flames were beginning to abate. The sun was about gone behind the mountains and in the twilight, Ford suddenly felt like a large weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
‘Where to for you now?’ Eddie asked.
‘Into exile I’m afraid,’ Ford told her. ‘Bass is sending me to Texas.’
‘What’s in Texas?’
‘More bad men I guess.’
Eddie smiled. ‘Well, it’s lucky for you that I’m headed for Texas.’
Ford smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. Very lucky.’
Sam Clancy, Man Who Burned Hell!
