CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Garfield was reaching for his gun as he approached the table. The sound of the explosion literally saved Taco’s life, for he had decided to blow the little Mex’s head clean off.
“What the hell—” Seaforth yelled, standing.
When the second explosion came both Seaforth and Garfield ran for the door. Seaforth took a moment to turn to the bartender and say, “Point your shotgun at him. If he’s not here when I get back, you won’t be either.”
He followed Garfield out.
The bartender brought a shotgun out from beneath the bar and pointed it at Taco.
“Señor,” Taco said, “you do not want to do that.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” the man said. “But I will.”
“Drop it!”
Both the bartender and Taco turned toward the voice.
Jake and Curly made their way to the rear of the Sunrise Saloon. There was a flimsy back door that they forced easily, and entered. They found themselves in a back storeroom; a doorway was across from them. When they reached it and looked through it, they saw the interior of the saloon.
Jake resisted moving with the sound of the first explosion, but when the second one came, and Seaforth and Garfield ran out, he stepped through the door with his gun out.
“Drop it!” he told the bartender.
The bartender looked like he was about to cry.
“Mister, I can’t,” he said. “The Major will kill me.”
Curly moved in next to Jake, pointed his gun at the man, and said, “I’ll kill you if you don’t!”
“I—I’ll kill the Mex first,” he stammered.
“Wait!” Jake said. He moved farther into the room. “I have an idea,” he said to the bartender.
“What?” the man asked, and his shotgun lowered an inch.
Jake raised his gun and shot the man in the shoulder. The shotgun discharged harmlessly into the floor. The bartender sank from sight.
Jake walked around the bar and looked down at the man, who was holding his shoulder.
“There,” he said, “now Seaforth can’t say you didn’t try.”
The bartender looked up at him, grimaced, and said, “Th-thanks.”
There was a third explosion and Jake said, “Okay, that’s it. No more dynamite. Let’s go!”
Taco sprang from his seat and followed Curly through the door to the storeroom. Jake backed his way to the door, covering them, then turned and ran.
All three hurried out the back door and out of town, hoping that Dundee was doing the same.
When Garfield and Seaforth exited the saloon they stopped and looked around, seeking the source of the noise. They saw a man down the street, standing in front of the Red Cherry Saloon.
“There!” Seaforth said, and they started running.
They had almost reached him when the man turned and saw them.
“Kill him!” Seaforth shouted, drawing his gun. Garfield did the same.
Dundee enjoyed both explosions.
The laughter from inside the saloon turned to cries of pain and surprise. He might have tossed the dynamite farther into the saloon than Jake suggested, thereby injuring or killing some of the raiders. He’d apologize to Jake for that, later. Meanwhile, he might have reduced the threat.
He turned and saw two men running toward him, recognized Major Seaforth. He knew Jake wanted to kill the man himself, but he still lit the fuse on the third stick of dynamite and threw it at the two men. It landed in front of them and exploded . . .
As the stick of dynamite came toward them Garfield acted quickly. He turned, grabbed Seaforth around the waist, and took them both to the ground. The dynamite exploded, sending up a geyser of wood and dirt. When the cloud began to clear Garfield got to his feet, and helped Seaforth to stand.
“Where is he?” Seaforth demanded.
The man who had thrown the dynamite was nowhere to be seen.
“Gone,” Garfield said.
“Check inside the saloon,” Seaforth said. “I’m going back to that Mexican. He knows something.”
They split up. Garfield ran to the Red Cherry while Seaforth headed back to the Sunrise.
Jake, Curly, and Taco ran back to their horses, hoping to find Dundee there.
“He’ll be here,” Curly said.
“I’m gonna take Taco to his horse,” Jake said. “You wait for Dundee. We’ll meet you below that rise. Then we’ll put some distance between us and here and regroup.”
“Got it,” Curly said.
Jake mounted up, reached down to pull Taco up behind him. As he did so they saw Dundee running toward them.
“What happened?” Jake asked.
“I tossed the third stick at Seaforth and his man, and got out of there.”
“Did you kill Seaforth?”
“I doubt it,” Dundee said, “but I gave him an earache.”
He and Curly mounted up, and they all rode to where Taco had left his horse.
Seaforth entered the Sunrise Saloon and saw that it was empty. He could see where a shotgun blast had struck the floor. Then he heard a groan from behind the bar. When he went to look he saw the bartender on the floor, bleeding from the shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Major,” the man said. “I tried.”
“Who was it?”
“Two men.”
“What’d they look like?”
“One was older, one younger. The older one shot me.”
“Motley!”
Seaforth turned as Garfield came running through the doors.
“How are the men?”
“Two dead, four injured. Where’s that Mexican?”
“Gone,” Seaforth said. “Big Jake and another man were here. They shot the bartender.”
Garfield walked to the bar and peered over it at the injured man.
“They can’t have gone far,” he said.
“By the time we saddle up, they will,” Seaforth said. “Let’s see how many men we have who can ride. We can mount up and track them.”
“And what about Sequoia and Walker?”
“We’ll leave some injured men behind to tell them what’s happening,” Major Seaforth said. “Then they can ride out and join us.”
“How are they going to know where we are?”
“Don’t worry,” Seaforth said. “That breed will track us down.”