They waited there between the buildings, and Fallon cursed himself for a fool.
He should never have bothered with Spike Maloon, or allowed himself to be baited
into a fight to the finish with him. He could have been miles from town, instead
of stuck here in a defenseless position with a girl to take care of. Unless, he
reflected, remembering the events of the last hour, it was she who took care of
him.
The shooting ceased, and there was quiet.
Fallon glanced at the shadow of the building beside which he stood … the
afternoon was well advanced, and with night the smaller numbers of the
defenders, with their wives, children, and property to defend, would have small
chance. Whatever was to be done must be done now. Undoubtedly Bellows was
delaying for just that reason.
Ginia suddenly stood up. “Mr. Fallon, we need to know where our friends are,
don’t we?”
“That’s it,” he agreed. Then he indicated the shadow of the building. “It grows
late. If they can hold us off until dark, we’ll not have much of a chance. If I
could get to Teel and the others—Shelley, Riordan, Devol, and Yearly—I think we
could run them out.”
“Where do you think they are?”
He thought for a moment “I’m guessing that your pa made it back to the
blacksmith shop … Jim will be with your ma and the others, right behind the
shop. They will be able to help each other that way.
“Our headquarters was the Yankee, and Brennan would try to get back there, but
he may not have made it. The others—unless they went to their families—would be
with Brennan. So I’ve got to get to the Yankee Saloon. More than that, wherever
they are, they’ve got to know what I’m planning. If they aren’t in the Yankee,
they’ll be at my old claim at the end of the street… we worked out an
agreement.”
She faced him. “I will find out for you.”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“I am not.” She looked at him coolly. “Mr. Fallon, I have been told that I am
pretty. I am also young. You warned pa and the others that when Bellows came he
would be after women … in that case I don’t believe he would shoot me.”
He leaned back against the building and looked at her with respect. “You know,”
he said, “you’re quite a girl.”
“Thank you … I will go out on the street, and I will walk up the street to the
Yankee Saloon, seeing everything I can. When I get there I will have them fire a
quick shot for every man there.”
“There’s a catch to this. Suppose they put a gun on you and tell you to come to
them—or else?”
“I shall have to keep walking. I must chance it.”
He nodded. “I’ll say this for you. You’ve got sand. You’ve got nerve.”
She held out her hand and looked him in the eye. “What shall I tell them?”
“That I’ll join them if I can. If I can’t, tell them we must attack, now. We
must root them out, wherever they are, and start moving now. Tell them they may
be killed now, but they surely will when dark comes.”
He took her hand, then suddenly he drew her closer and kissed her lightly on the
lips. “You are very lovely,” he said, and was surprised to realize how true it
was. “Far too lovely for this life.”
She turned her back squarely on him and walked into the street. She took two
steps to the outer edge of the boardwalk, where she would surely be seen by all,
then she started up the street.
There was silence, then a shout. “Come back here, girl! You come right here an’
you won’t be hurt.”
She continued to walk.
“You take another step”—the voice was harder now—”an’ I’ll sure enough shoot.”
Ginia Blane walked on. Fallon could hear her boots on the walk.
He went to the very edge of the street. He could see her up the street … she
was still walking. The shot came, and the bullet lacked dirt only a few feet in
front of her, but her step did not falter. And then she vanished from his sight.
He edged to the street. He saw the glint of the rifle barrel and promptly fired,
holding his sight just under the rifle muzzle. The grunt of the bullet-struck
man could be heard even where Fallon was, and the man’s rifle fell into the
street with a clatter.
In the instant after he fired, he dropped, and bullets smashed into the wall
where he had stood. Running to the back of the buildings, he did not take time
even to glance out, but ducked around the corner and ran for the Yankee Saloon.
He had scored three running steps before he heard the bang of the rifle and saw
dirt kick in front of him. Then chips flew from a corner ahead of him and he
dropped behind a water barrel and rolled out of sight just as a bullet smashed a
hole in the barrel and spilled a stream of water where he had been a moment
before.
His luck was running out, and he knew it. Blood had started to trickle again
from his split lip. His head ached heavily. “You damn fool!” he said to himself.
“You waited too long!”
The hotel stood out from the other buildings, and it was probably from there the
shots were coming. He stepped to the corner and smashed a shot into each window,
then ducked and ran, bent over and trying hard for the Yankee.
He made it, slamming through the back door and bursting into the room. He slid
to a stop and straightened up to see two guns on him, and half a dozen of
Bellows’ men, including Bellows himself. They were standing there smiling, and
they had Ginia with them.
He’d bought himself a packet, and he didn’t hesitate. They were grinning at him,
confident, sure, and they had the drop. Only he was a gambler and a bit of a
damned fool, and that they should have known. He swung the muzzle of the Henry
up and opened fire as fast as he could work the lever.
He saw the confident grin on Bellows’ face, the taunting smile on Semple’s lips
vanish in horror. At a range of twenty feet you don’t miss with a rifle, and he
didn’t. He knew he was going to die. He felt it in every bone, but he was going
to give Ginia her chance. You don’t bargain with men of the Bellows type, and he
knew it.
He saw Bellows jerk with the impact of his first shot. He had caught them
flat-footed when he had fired instead of dropping his rifle. His was the act of
a madman, but because of that very fact it came near to working—only there were
too many of them.
He swung the muzzle of his rifle and let drive at Semple. Then he saw Tandy
Herren suddenly step inside the door and lift his pistol, and Fallon levered two
shots at him. Ginia was struggling with one of the men and she managed to lunge
against another, spoiling his aim.
They were a pack of coyotes, and none of them wanted to face a rifle in that
small room. Several lunged for the door at once and spilled into the street. He
started toward the door, and then a heavy blow struck him and he was turned
halfway around. He turned the rest of the way and saw the marksman on the
gallery above him step back out of sight. He levered two shots through the
floor, guessing at where he would be.
Something hit him hard in the leg, and he fell, feeling the whip of bullets past
him. Ginia was fighting like a cornered wildcat with the man who had held her.
Now he was only trying to get free. Suddenly he did break loose, but she had his
gun and as he scrambled for the door, she shot him.
Fallon was up on one knee. He shoved hard against the floor with his rifle stock
and got up on his feet. Bellows was lying on the floor bleeding and crying for
somebody to help him. Fallon stepped past him.
Ginia, her dress torn, caught at his arm, screaming, “No! No!”
He pulled away from her, fell against the door jamb, and stared stupidly into
the street. The dirt of the road seemed to come alive with tiny spurts of dust,
and three men lay sprawled there, dead … Bellows men.
He felt his knees weakening and he let go the rifle to get a better grip on the
door jamb, but his fingers lacked the strength and he slid to the floor.
Somebody was crying and somebody else was shooting, and far off he could hear