Bullet for a Stranger

Buttons and all but one of his charges came in at first light.

“The sick Mexican died,” he said. “We left him out there. We can give him a decent burial later.”

“Seems like,” Buttons said. “Cope and the other professors have been beaten pretty bad, and they’re done. We can’t depend on them in a battle. But we can give the Mexican a rifle. He helped us escape, and the little feller’s got spunk. I don’t know about the Chinaman.”

“What happened, Buttons?” Red said.

“I’ll tell you later. We killed one of Winter’s men, and my guess is he’ll be right on top of us soon.”

“Mr. Muldoon!” Hannah Huckabee called out, running toward him. “Dahteste? Where is she?”

“Miss Huckabee . . .” Buttons’s words choked in his throat.

“Where is she?” Hannah said. “Tell me!”

“Miss Huckabee . . .”

Hannah looked stricken. “Dahteste is dead, isn’t she?”

“Maybe . . . or she wishes she was . . . I don’t know.”

“Did they . . . what did they do to her?” Hannah said.

“I don’t know,” Buttons said. “They took her away with them, and later I heard her scream. It doesn’t bode well, Miss Hannah. It just doesn’t bode well for Dahteste, and I’m real sorry.”

Hannah’s pith helmet was tipped low against the morning sun, and her eyes were in shadow. “If Dave Winter harmed Dahteste, I’ll find him, and I’ll kill him,” she said.

It was no idle boast. Red Ryan could tell by her voice, each word like the clang of an iron sword.

“Miss Huckabee,” Buttons said, “I reckon that before this day is done, you’ll get your chance.”

John Latimer stepped beside Red. “Mr. Ryan, how will they come?” he said. “Straight at us, or will they try a flanking movement?”

“Latimer, right now all Winter knows is that he’s chasing Buttons, a Chinaman, a couple of Mexicans, and a bunch of professors, but when he sees us, I don’t think he’ll be impressed,” Red said. “So, in answer to your question, he’ll come straight at us, shooting. That’s Dave’s way of doing things.”

Latimer nodded. “Good, then we’ll position the steam wagon broadside to the trail Mr. Muldoon and the others made, hoping that’s the way Winter will arrive. But Miss Carter will remain in Aurora should the machine need to be redeployed.”

Buttons was tired and irritable from his long walk and from what had gone before, and he was outraged. “Here, who made you the boss, Latimer? I ain’t taking orders from a coward, and a Limey coward at that.”

Latimer smiled. “Fine, then tell us what to do, Mr. Muldoon. We don’t have much time.”

Buttons looked at Red, who said, “If you got a plan, let’s hear it.”

“Damn it all,” Buttons said, “I say we stand on this ground. Right here.”

“That’s a good start, Mr. Muldoon,” Latimer said. “How should we deploy?”

Buttons said, “How should we what?”

“Where should we take up our fighting positions to meet Winter’s charge?” Latimer said.

Buttons looked baffled, and Red said, “Somebody better come up with a plan right quick. I’m sure I saw the sun glint on a rifle barrel to the south of us.”

“Well, it’s downright obvious, ain’t it?” Buttons said. Then, pretending exasperation, he added, “You tell him, Red.”

“Latimer, Blanche stays in the driver’s seat. Where do you want the rest of us?” Red said.

“I’ll be with the Gatling,” Latimer said. “Picket the remaining horses, Mr. Ryan, and you and the rest take cover behind the steam wagon. Arm anyone who can fight with the rifles stored in Aurora, and here, Mr. Muldoon, this is yours.” Latimer handed Buttons his gun and belt. “Thank you for the loan.”

“Think nothing of it,” Buttons said, scowling, smarting at his poor showing as a general.

“Mr. Ryan—”

“Call me Red, for God’s sake. Folks who could soon die together should be on first-name terms.”

“Red, when I get behind the gun, cover me as best you can with the canvas tarp,” Latimer said. “There’s always a chance that Dave Winter knows what a Gatling gun looks like, and that could make him shy.”

“Anything else?” Red said.

“No, that’s it, except for one thing,” Latimer said. “Red, you’re going to ask Hannah to play a very special role, and it won’t be easy.”

Red was suspicious. “What won’t be easy?”

“The asking won’t be easy. She might not like your suggestion one bit.”

“And if she doesn’t like it, she might shoot me, huh?”

“With Hannah, all things are possible.”

“And what kind of suggestion might it be?”

Latimer told him, and Red exclaimed, “Are you out of your mind?”

“No, I’m quite sane. We have to bring Winter into the Gatling,” Latimer said. “Bring him in any way we can.”

* * *

All seven professors, even those who’d been beaten by Winter and his boys, armed themselves with sporting rifles, but Red Ryan doubted their effectiveness as a fighting force. The professors took cover behind the steam wagon that was now broadside to the tracks Buttons and the others had left earlier. Thanks to the rain, the tracks were faint, but Red knew Winter would be a good enough scout to follow them . . . or at least he hoped that would be the case.

Latimer took his place behind the big gun, and Red covered him with the canvas, allowing just enough of a crack for him to see what was happening. Mr. Chang, armed with a knife, stuck close to Latimer, for some Oriental reason appointing himself the Englishman’s bodyguard.

Red sought out Hannah, took her aside, and told her what he wanted. “Blanche can’t do it, because she has to stay with the steam wagon,” he said. Then, feeling an explanation was necessary, “Winter has to come in. He has to charge straight at us. We need bait, Hannah.”

Hannah raised an eyebrow and said, “My dear Mr. Ryan, the last time I put my bosoms on display was at the Czar of Russia’s birthday ball. It was a contest between me and another twenty women and I won, though I was blue with cold. The Czar said he was very impressed and presented me with a golden egg. I later donated it to the Washington Ornithological Institute and to this day they call it a ‘blue tit’s egg.’”

“Sorry, but I’m not the Czar of Russia. You’ll be displaying them on the cheap today,” Red said.

“Well, I value my life more than a golden egg,” Hannah said. “All right, I’ll do it. Was this your idea?”

Unwilling to land Latimer in more trouble, Red said, “Yeah. It was my idea.”

“I might have known,” Hannah said.

“I’ll tell you where and when,” Red said. “All we can do now is to wait for Dave Winter to make the next move.”

“I’ll live through this, Red,” Hannah said. “If Winter has harmed Dahteste, God won’t let me die until I kill that sorry piece of trash.”

Red’s face showed his concern. “Hannah, don’t take on too much. Dave Winter is no bargain.”

“Neither am I, shotgun man,” Hannah said. “Neither am I.”

* * *

Red Ryan had been right when he said he’d seen the light of the rising sun glint on metal. What began with dots in the distance soon took form as fourteen riders, strung out in a skirmish line. Because of the earlier rain, the horsemen raised no dust as they came on at a determined canter, and Red swallowed hard. Fourteen skilled gunmen were a handful and could well be an unstoppable force. The Gatling gun might tip the scales, but if it didn’t . . . well, he and the others were already dead.

Blanche Carter sat in Aurora’s red velvet driver’s seat and Hannah, Buttons Muldoon, and Red stood beside the steam wagon’s V-shaped front. One of the professors coughed, loud in the morning quiet, and the Mexican peon muttered a prayer in a language no one around him understood.

Winter’s men came on . . .

Red’s eyes narrowed, his mind working.

For God’s sake stop, Winter. Take a look before you charge.

Then alarm bells clamored in his head. Damn them, they were coming straight in at a gallop . . .

Red was about to raise the alarm when Winter, at a distance of a hundred yards, suddenly lifted a hand and drew rein, his men following suit.

Dave Winter prospered in a dangerous business because he was a careful man, and the presence of the huge steam wagon had made him cautious. What the hell was it?

As Red watched, Winter held out a hand and the man next to him passed over a brass ship’s telescope. The outlaw put the glass to his eye and scanned what he saw in front of him, the machine, the tent, and the people around both. It seemed to Red that Winter lingered on himself and Buttons, whom he no doubt recognized, and finally Hannah.

“Latimer, get ready,” Red said. “The ball is about to open.”

He took Hannah’s arm, and both of them walked forward. After fifteen yards, Red stopped and said, “All right, Miss Huckabee, the one with the carroty hair is Dave Winter. Bring him in and someday I’ll buy you another golden egg.”

Hannah had already unbuttoned her safari jacket and unlaced the front of her bodice. Now she pulled the bodice down and bared her breasts. Later Red Ryan would say, “If any woman could flaunt her assets, it was Hannah Huckabee.”

Smiling, Hannah jiggled, cupped her breasts in her hands, bent forward and pursed her lips as though offering a kiss, moved her hips in a mighty suggestive fashion and, in short, made a whore of herself on the Texas plains. Mr. Chang would later comment on her performance, “Sometimes Miss Huckabee can be very naughty lady.”

Hannah’s show worked, because cheers, jeers, and laughter went up from Winter’s men, and a couple of riders broke ranks to take a closer look. Winter collapsed the telescope and waved his men forward. He’d seen enough to convince himself that there was no real danger from a bunch of professors and a stagecoach driver. Red he dismissed as just another Texas waddie who used his six-gun to string wire. And he badly wanted the woman with the big tits.

To Red’s relief, Winter and his boys advanced at an unhurried, menacing walk, taking their time, giving the men taking cover behind the big machine time to realize just how futile their resistance would be.

Seventy-five yards . . . Hannah still flaunted her charms.

The grinning outlaws continued their advance.

Sixty yards . . .

Fifty . . .

Red yelled, “Latimer! Now!” and threw himself on top of Hannah, flattening her into the damp ground.

Before the woman could utter the outraged cuss that was on her lips, the Gatling cut loose, shooting over them, making a noise like a brass bedstead dragged across a knotty pine floor.

Bullets zipped over Red’s head and he heard a few rifles and revolvers firing, but the dominant weapon was the Gatling. Designed to put an end to warfare because of its terrible firepower, that day the big gun was a grim reaper that cut men down in swathes.

After a few moments, Red looked up . . . and beheld a scene of carnage and chaos.

Men and horses were down, screaming and kicking in their death throes, the stream of lead from the Gatling’s six barrels chopping them to the ground like a gigantic meat cleaver. Red saw a bloodied gunman stagger to his feet and curse his defiance. His Colt bucking in his hand, he was scythed down where he stood, his life blood exploding around him in a scarlet cloud.

“Get the hell off of me,” Hannah said. After Red rolled away, she looked up at the murderous butchery the Gatling had wrought and whispered, “Oh, my dear God in Heaven.”

In the space of a few seconds, more than half of Winter’s men had been cut down, and the rest, most of them wounded or riding bloody horses, were looking to get the hell away from there, several already streaming back across the prairie. John Latimer had been a trained soldier of a great empire, and in Richard J. Gatling’s gun he’d found his calling. His eye was unerring, his aim true, and the slaughter he’d brought down on Dave Winter and his men had been as quick and devastating as the wrath of God.

Red drew his Colt and fired at Winter, who was shrieking curses as he vainly tried to rally his remaining men. Red missed with several shots, but Winter realized the hopelessness of his position and he, too, turned his horse and fled the unequal fight.

After the clattering clamor of the cranking Gatling ended, a church-like silence again descended on the prairie, and gunsmoke drifted like the spirits of the slain.

Winter’s butcher’s bill was high.

He had lost eight men, all of them dead, including one terrifyingly wounded man without a lower jaw who’d been put out of his agony and misery by Red. The dead included a man Buttons identified as Bean Gosford, the bandit chief’s second-in-command and a known killer.

There were no casualties on Red’s side. The surprise attack with the Gatling had been so successful he doubted that very few of Winter’s men had managed to get off a shot.

Red helped Hannah to her feet, and when she saw the direction of his eyes, she pulled her safari jacket closed. A couple of professors moved among the dead, searched for signs of life, but found none. Professor Cope dispatched a couple of wounded horses, and when he looked at Red his face was ashen.

“A terrible business, Mr. Ryan,” he said.

“I hope I never see its like again,” Red said.

“It was necessary, I suppose,” Cope said. “We had no alternative, did we?”

“We were fighting for our lives,” Red said. “It doesn’t get any more necessary than that.”

Cope nodded. “Yes . . . that’s what I’ll tell myself.”

“Red, did Winter make a clean break?” Hannah said.

“Yeah. I don’t think he got hit. He has the devil’s own luck, does ol’ Dave.”

Hannah nodded. “When I find him, his luck will run out.”