Chapter Thirty-One

As the gunfight continued, I could feel something hot and wild flowing through me. Since the first time Tumbleweed asked that fateful question— “Are you gonna have the right stuff, Gene?”—I had been haunted by why I couldn’t answer him. But now, face pressed to the side wall of the cabin, with Wendell’s rifle blazing and a herd of longhorn cattle on the loose, I was about to find out the answer.

Shaking out the stiffness in my legs, I crept to the rear of the cabin. Sure enough, there was a back window on the side of the house where I’d seen Tumbleweed. But there were also three people—a man, a woman, and a teenage girl, bound and gagged, sitting wide-eyed against the back wall. These must be the cabin’s owners. Now, thanks to the Gang’s desperation, they were hostages.

At the sight of me, the man began squirming, mouth moving frantically against the gag. I ducked low and raced to them. Though I was on the backside of the cabin, there was plenty of chance of a stray shot finding its way to me. I removed the gags and pulled Pa’s knife from its holster at my side. Soon, all three were free of their bonds.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “My name is Eugene Appleton, and I’m here to rescue you.”

“But this is our cabin,” the man said. “You’re on our land.”

“Oh, uh, right,” I said. “Well, you’re going to want to get away for awhile. Fast.”

“Get away?” the man asked.

“There’s no time to explain,” I said. “There are two horses tied to your hitching post. Take one, and get out of here. I’d appreciate it if you left the other for us.”

“But the gunfire…” the woman began.

“The man who’s shooting is aiming to the far side of the cabin,” I said. “He’s just shooting as a diversion. If you ride back around this side, and stay wide, you should be safe.”

The man nodded, and he pulled his wife and daughter to their feet. The three of them started past me.

“Wait!” I said. “And your cattle are loose. I’m really sorry about that.”

They disappeared around the corner. The rifle shots stopped. Praying I hadn’t taken too long and left Wendell out of ammunition, I dashed to the back window and peered inside. Plunkett and Hackensack weren’t visible. I rapped on the window. Suddenly. Tumbleweed’s freckled face appeared beyond the glass. He reached for the window and yanked it open.

“Eugene! Boy, am I glad to see you. But how—”

“I’ll explain later,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“No argument from me,” Tumbleweed said “’Cept—” He ducked out of sight. When he re-appeared, he was stuffing something into the pocket of his pants. “Now,” he said, “let’s go.”

Wendell’s rifle sounded again, and I heard the sound of breaking glass and a yelp from Berger. Was he hit? I got my answer when his rifle boomed in reply. “Follow me,” I said, remembering what had to happen next. Tumbleweed hobbled after me along the back of the cabin. I drew up short in front of the hitching post.

“Berger’s horse? Can you ride that thing?” Tumbleweed asked.

“‘Course I can,” I said. “Now let’s get. We’re in the line of fire.”