Chapter 14

 

Hunk Threadgill lifted the filthy bandanna covering his left eye to reveal a puckered empty eye socket. “Yuh damn near did kill me, Jack. Besides losin’ the eye, I got a bunch of places all over me where you stuck your pig sticker. You just missed my gizzard.”

“Well, Hunk, I’m glad you lived through our tussle.” Silverjack ran a finger down his scar. “My face still gives me some trouble now and then.”

Hunk grinned. “That’s good to know, Jack.”

Pharaoh fidgeted in the saddle. “We need to see Buck Burdock right now.”

“He ain’t here,” said Handlebar.

Hunk turned to the little man. “Buford, don’t be lyin’ to Silverjack here. He’ll put your candle out before you can spit your cud. Burdock’s in the back of the house, Jack. There’s two hardcases with him. They’re playin’ moon. The old man sent us out here to kill y’all.” He turned the shotgun toward the marshals.

Silverjack’s hand dropped to his six-gun, but he made no move to draw. “Burdock’s a lyin’ son-of-a-bitch, Hunk. You gonna stand with him?”

“When I hire on for a job, Jack, I generally stay with the brand.”

“That’s admirable of you, Hunk, but this feller ain’t worth the horse flop on your boots. Besides killin’ a bunch of innocent people, his men raped two women. You don’t belong with that trash.”

“Aw, hell, Jack, I didn’t know. That trumps all deals with me.” Hunk shifted the shotgun, pointing it at Buford. “Buford, I reckon we need to take a little walk. Go on and head for those rocks out yonder where Black Tom’s pointing that Winchester at us.”

Buford jerked his head toward the rocks. Then back to Hunk’s shotgun. Without saying a word, he started shuffling off the porch away from the house.

“I saw y’all when you topped the rise, Jack,” said Hunk. My one eye’s better’n most folk’s two. After y’all finish the dance, me and Buford will help you pick up the pieces.” He stepped from the porch and followed the smaller man.

Pharaoh looked at Silverjack, who rolled his eyes and grinned. Pharaoh nodded and stepped out of the saddle. Silverjack followed suit.

“Jack, give me a minute to sneak around back. Then you kick in the front door and holler your ass off. We’ll trap these boys between us.” Pharaoh ducked low and started creeping around the side of the house.

Silverjack gave Pharaoh enough time to get in place and stepped onto the porch. He pulled his .44. Then he reached down and slipped his hideout gun from his left boot. Sucking in a deep breath, he raised his boot and drove it into the door. The cheap pine door busted in two big pieces, splinters and small chunks of wood careening in every direction. “Give it up, Burdock!” yelled Jack. “Territorial marshals got you surrounded. You ain’t got a chance.”

Flattening himself on the porch, Silverjack just missed being riddled by the fusillade of lead spitting from the house. He covered his face against the chunks of wood and adobe that showered him.

At the back of the house, Pharaoh hollered. “Drop your guns, Burdock! Surrender and you’ll get a fair trial!”

Scrambling to his feet, Silverjack snuck a peek around the door jam. The gunfire rained toward the back of the house. He cocked both pistols and stepped inside. A bullet screamed in front of him, tearing his hat off. Both pistols came up firing, and a loud groan echoed from behind a half-closed door. Silverjack poured more lead into the door. The bullet-riddled panel swung open, and a body pitched forward. Silverjack kneeled and reloaded his pistols.

Pharaoh snapped off a series of shots into the back of the house. His six-gun clicked on an empty chamber, and he dropped to one knee behind a rock-walled well to reload. Before he could get a shell in the chamber, a man came running out of the house, firing at his position. Pharaoh ducked his head and rolled around the well. He managed to cram one bullet into his six-gun before the charging man burst upon him. A fiery chunk of lead tore into the meaty part of his right arm. He border shifted his six-gun to his left hand. When the wild-firing gunman loomed over Pharaoh, the marshal fired his one bullet into the man’s chest. Pharaoh tied his bandanna around his arm and reloaded. Readying himself to fire again, he realized the gunfire had ceased. “Burdock, this is your last chance. Give up, or face the consequences.”

“Okay, marshal, you’ve got me. I’m done. All my men are dead. I’ll come out with my hands up.”

“No, stay where you are. Throw out your weapons, and lie down on the floor.”

A .44 Smith and Wesson and a .45 Colt flew from the house and bounced in the dirt.

“That’s all I have, marshal.”

“Jack, are you all right?”

“Yeah, looks like I might get out of this alive.”

“Good. Get Burdock, and bring him out the back way. And be careful.”

Silverjack eased into the room where Buck Burdock lay. The rancher cringed on the floor, his arms outstretched in front of him. “Get up real slow, Burdock. My pardner wants to take you in alive, but I’d just as soon shoot you and get it over with.”

Burdock placed his hands under him and pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. He stood with his back to Silverjack. He started for the back door and staggered to one side. “Marshal, I’m sick,” he murmured. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

The rancher weaved like he was about to fall. Silverjack started to step back and give the stricken man some room. His boot heel caught on the curled edge of a rug, and he stumbled and looked down. As he regained his balance, he looked up in time to see a blur whistling toward his head. He ducked, but something caught him on top of his head, and he dropped to the floor.

Burdock squeezed the piece of firewood that he had clobbered Silverjack with, watching the marshal crawl around dazed on the floor. When Silverjack tried to stand up, the rancher picked up both of his pistols.

“Now you get up, marshal. You’re sure not too careful for a lawdog. That suits me fine.

You just gave me a chance to get out of here with my hide. I said get up!”

Silverjack tried to shake the cobwebs away with little success. He managed to reach his feet, but he was in no condition to fight Burdock. The rancher jabbed him in the ribs with his own .44, and Silverjack staggered out the back door. Burdock stuck to him like a shadow.

“I got your pardner, marshal.” Burdock’s voice exuded confidence. “You try to stop me, and I’ll blow him to little bitty pieces. Drop your iron and get on your feet.”

“Aw, Jack,” Pharaoh said, laying his pistol on the ground and standing up. “Burdock, you won’t get away with this. We’ll hunt you down wherever you go.”

“Hard for dead men to hunt anybody down, marshal. This one’s clumsy.” Burdock again jabbed Jack in the ribs with the .44, eliciting a groan. “And you’re so stupid, you actually dropped your gun when I told you to. I reckon they don’t make lawdogs like they used to.”

Buck Burdock reared back his head and let loose an evil laugh. A Winchester cracked, and the rancher flopped over on his side. A thumb-sized hole dribbled blood just in front of his ear.