Part 35 (2/2)

”My own blamed fault. I just knowed I should've plugged Prue and the fatty back when we took the horse. Just gave 'em credit for more sense than they turned out to have.” He lifted his bandanna and mopped some sweat off his forehead. ”This is what comes of having a generous nature.”

”It is a shame they showed up when they did,” I said.

”You never know. At least we ain't got them to worry about no more.”

”I'd rather have dealt with those two on my trail than a whole crowd.”

He laughed softly. ”Well, there ain't gonna be a crowd much longer.”

I looked over my shoulder and was glad to see that the gap between the piled boulders was still empty. The low thunder of hoofbeats sounded louder and louder.

”What you might wanta do,” McSween said, ”is dig in your spurs and light out.”

”That's what I intend intend to do.” to do.”

”It's right now I mean.”

”Now?”

”That's what I'd like you to do, w.i.l.l.y. Go on and skedaddle. No point in you being in on this. At the best, you'd only b.l.o.o.d.y your hands. At worst, you'd end up killed. Go on, now. We'll handle this here posse. Things work out, I'll catch you down the trail.”

”I'm not a b.l.o.o.d.y coward,” I told him.

”Why, I know that.”

”It's only because of me that we have have this posse after us.” this posse after us.”

”That's no call for you to stick with us.”

”It's all the call I need,” I said, talking quite a heap braver than I felt.

”Reckon it's too late, anyhow,” McSween said.

I was still watching the gap. It was still empty. But now the thunder was so near I almost thought I could feel the air quaking.

”This is it, w.i.l.l.y,” McSween said. He shouldered his Winchester and thumbed back its hammer. ”Ride fast, keep low, and shoot straight. And G.o.d be with you.”

”You, too,” I told him. It came out no louder than a whisper.

A lone horseman rode through the gap. His head was turned. He seemed to be talking to someone behind him, though he was too far off for me to hear his voice. McSween's rifle spoke. The fellow pitched backward. His horse reared. He fell off, but one of his feet got hung up in a stirrup. The horse scampered to the right, dragging him.

”Hightail!” McSween yelled.

We didn't linger. We hunched and dug in and bolted.

From behind us came shouts. ”There!” and ”b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!” and ”Get 'em!”

It was Whitechapel all over again, a mob after my blood, only this time they had guns.

They blasted away at us.

Bullets whinged off rocks, buzzed past my head. I kept an eye on McSween racing alongside me low in his saddle with the wind shoving his hat brim up. He didn't look like he'd been hit yet. So far, I'd been lucky, too. I figured a slug was on its way toward my back. I waited for it to whack me, but all I could feel was General das.h.i.+ng like mad, the hot wind rus.h.i.+ng into my face so quick it wanted to choke me.

The mouth of the pa.s.s hadn't seemed like more than a stone's throw away when me and McSween had picked our spot to wait for the posse.

But that stone's throw seemed more like a mile now that the mob was on our tails, spitting lead.

I wished I hadn't been so eager to play bait.

None of the others had volunteered for the job, however, and I'd figured McSween shouldn't have to go it alone.

Even though it was was his own daft idea. his own daft idea.

”You don't never wanta try this trick on the redskins,” he'd said. ”Why, h.e.l.l, it's their their trick. You take your white folks, though, they fall for it every time.” trick. You take your white folks, though, they fall for it every time.”

I'd neglected to ask him how many redskins got themselves shot dead while leading their pursuers into such traps.

At long last, we galloped between the boulders at the mouth of the pa.s.s. The gunfire slackened off a bit, so I raised my head and glanced about. I didn't see hide nor hair of the boys up there among the rocks. What if they'd they'd lit out? The notion shook me. But I reckoned they weren't the sort to pull such a dirty stunt. lit out? The notion shook me. But I reckoned they weren't the sort to pull such a dirty stunt.

I took a chance and looked back. Here came the posse, two at a time, racing at us down the narrow pa.s.s, only the pair in front firing. The rest had quit shooting so they wouldn't hit their own.

Me and McSween kept riding just as fast as our mounts could carry us.

The boys kept waiting.

If they were here.

Suddenly, puffs of smoke bloomed on the canyon walls as four guns crashed and four men tumbled off their horses.

McSween cut to the left. Rifle in hand, he hurled himself to the ground and dashed behind a clump of rocks. I reined in General, s.n.a.t.c.hed out my Winchester, and leaped down to join him.

He was already scurrying up the slope. I followed, rather hoping it might all be over before we found a proper perch.

It sounded horrid. The canyon just roared with gunfire. Horses squealed and whinnied. Men shouted, cried out.

They came to kill us, I told myself.

Too soon, McSween picked himself a rock. It was big enough for both of us. We rose up behind it and shouldered our rifles.

Down below was mayhem. Dead men. Dead horses. A few fellows rode breakneck for the mouth of the pa.s.s in a panic to escape. Others stayed. Of those that stayed to fight, some simply crouched in the open and returned fire, some scampered up into the rocks, some hunkered down to take shelter beside their fallen mounts, and a few rode in their saddles, shooting this way and that as their horses wheeled and bucked.

McSween's rifle deafened my ear. One of the men on a circling, snorting horse keeled over sideways.

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