CHAPTER 36

Billy knew he had hit Grant, but there was no way of knowing for certain if he had killed him. And he could not afford to stay where he was long enough to find out.

Grant had no sooner disappeared from the window when Billy picked up his rifles and scrambled back up the incline toward the tree where his horse was tied off. He slid the Sharps into the scabbard before climbing into the saddle, keeping the Winchester in hand.

He brought the horse around away from the trees so he could see any riders coming his way while he fed more cartridges from his saddlebag into the Winchester. He was far from empty, but doubted he would have the chance to reload once the Hancocks came riding after him.

The rifle fully loaded, Billy stood up in the stirrups to get a look at the scene on Front Street. Six men were darting across the thoroughfare from the alley next to the Municipal Building lugging a large log from the sawmill. They were headed straight for the jailhouse.

They were going to ram the door.

Billy brought the Winchester up to his shoulder and snapped off a quick shot at the men. The bullet missed and struck the log instead. One of the men at the back flinched and fell back, letting go of the makeshift battering ram. But it was not enough to stop the momentum of the others.

He levered in a fresh round and aimed at the prone man in the thoroughfare when bullets began to whizz past him from right to left. But none of them had found their mark, and Billy still had a shot to make. He aimed carefully down at the fallen man and fired. The shot struck his target in the chest and laid him flat in the mud.

Billy dropped back into the saddle and snapped the reins. His horse broke into a dead run away from the gunfire toward the town cemetery. He did not bother to look back at his pursuers. He imagined there was a lot of them and there was no time to lose.

He heeled his mount into a full gallop. The horse responded by giving him everything she had. The ridge behind him filled with rifle and pistol fire, but all of the bullets sailed wide of him. They’re firing at a dead run, Billy thought as he opened the distance between them. Good. Let them waste their bullets. My shots will count.

For he knew however many of them were chasing him, it was that many fewer Hancock men firing at Jerry and Aaron in the jailhouse.

The gunfire behind him continued to fall short and wide as he sped toward the cemetery.

He had just about reached the low iron fence that enclosed the cemetery when his horse shuddered from the impact of a bullet in its left flank. The mare reared up from the shot but tried to keep her footing as her left leg failed.

Training and instinct led Billy to spill off the right side of the saddle as the mare collapsed to the left. He hit the ground hard but kept his grip on the Winchester as he rolled free. He got to his feet and kept running toward the cemetery.

He hurdled over the low iron fence before sliding to a stop behind a large gravestone.

His fallen horse began to scream in pain as Billy aimed his Winchester at the mass of horses and riders bearing down on him. He judged them to be about twenty or so, clustered together in the narrow path along the ridge above Dover Station.

Clustered together would be their downfall.

Billy’s first shot put his mare out of her misery with a single round to the head. She had been a good horse to him and did not deserve to suffer.

He levered in a fresh round as he shifted his aim to the approaching riders, intent that her death would not be in vain.

He shot the lead rider in the chest, sending him tumbling backward out of the saddle. The Hancocks were so bunched together on the narrow trail that the falling man caused chaos for the men and horses behind him.

Billy watched several of the horses falter as they trampled the rider in their charge toward the cemetery. But there were still plenty heading right for him at a dead run.

Billy aimed at the next man in the lead and fired. The bullet caught him in the right shoulder and sent his rifle back across the face of the man riding next to him. Both fell from their horses, causing even more of a knot of confusion on the narrow pathway.

Two startled horses shied away from the knot and brought their riders with them as they slipped over the ridgeline and tumbled down among the rocks. The screams of injured horses and men would have bothered Billy if he had the time to hear them.

But he did not have time, for two riders pressed on beyond the fray and kept coming at him.

Billy cursed as his next shot went wide, but his next shot hit the second rider low in the belly. The man cried out and dropped his rifle.

But the lead rider kept coming, kicking his horse into a full gallop.

The horse was faster than it looked and closed the distance quicker than Billy expected. His next shot only nicked the rider in the side as he tried to get the frightened animal to leap the low iron fence surrounding the cemetery.

But the horse was not a jumper and its front hooves caught the fence, sending it and its rider tumbling into the cemetery, bowling over a few gravestones at the edge.

He decided the fallen man would be out of the fight for now and shifted his aim back toward the main body of Hancock riders who had come gunning for him.

The knot of horses in the middle of the path was beginning to loosen as another mount lost its footing and tumbled off the ridgeline.

One of the riders managed to get off a lucky shot that struck the gravestone Billy was using for cover. The men were clustered so tightly together that Billy had no trouble picking them off as they tried to regain control of their mounts.

Three more Hancocks fell before the remaining men brought their horses around and rode away from the killing ground as fast as they could.

They had given up the fight, but Billy had not.

He rose and drew careful aim at the last rider in the bunch, but his shot went wide as he was tackled by the Hancock man who had tumbled into the cemetery.

The Winchester clattered among the gravestones as Billy was knocked off his feet. His attacker straddled him as he pummeled him with a flurry of blows that mostly struck the deputy’s back and shoulders.

When the Hancock man finally stopped, he looked toward his escaping kin and was about to call out when Billy threw a right cross that connected with his attacker’s jaw.

The man smacked his head off a gravestone as he tumbled back.

Billy pulled himself up into a crouch and drew his bowie knife from the back of his belt. He was ready to plunge the big knife into his attacker’s heart when the man twitched as his last breath escaped him. His eyes fluttered before the last spark of life left them forever.

The man was most likely dead, but Billy had learned most likely was never good enough where the Hancocks were concerned. He brought down the knife anyway, just to be sure. No sense in wasting a bullet. He would need every round he had left.

Billy snatched his Winchester and took cover behind another gravestone. The Hancocks were still riding away from him, back toward the burning Van Dorn House and town, where he imagined they would come up with another plan to hit him.

If they were smart, they would split their force and charge the cemetery from two directions at once. One from the ridgeline they had just fled and one from Front Street. Maybe bring more men with them this time.

Billy knew that not even he could cover two positions at once. If he stayed where he was, he would never leave the cemetery alive. At least they wouldn’t have far to carry me.

But one Hancock man had laid hands on him that day, and that was one too many.

He might not be able to fight them all off before they got him, but if he had to go, he would bring as many of them with him as possible.

If he was going to die that day, he might as well die among friends. His life after the cavalry had begun in the crooked old jailhouse on Front Street. He could not think of a better place to end it, if it came to that. Among friends. Among Aaron and Jerry.

Not friends. Family.

He tucked the bowie back in his belt and began to run down the hill toward the jailhouse when a loud boom carried on the wind from Front Street.

The men were ramming the jailhouse door.

Billy ran as fast as his legs could carry him.