CHAPTER 7
After checking into the Hancock Hotel, Mackey waited until nightfall before taking the back stairs to the alley and walking across the street to the livery, where he bunked down in the hay for a good night’s rest.
Arthur clearly could not understand the marshal’s logic. “You mean you were able to check into the hotel, even after you brought a dead Hancock back to town?”
“I was,” Mackey told him. “They were even nice enough to give me the big room with the balcony out front.”
“And you paid for it already?”
“One night in advance,” Mackey said. “They insisted. Gave me the nicest room in the place to make up for the policy.”
“So, you’ve got the nicest room in town and you’re sleeping on some old hay in the livery. Why?”
“Safer that way,” Mackey said. “Nice sheets and a fluffy pillow don’t do you much good if you’re dead.”
Now, the marshal’s reasoning was beginning to make some sense. “You think they were being nice to you because they want to kill you?”
“They were setting me up.” Mackey pointed at the hotel across the street. “The room they gave me takes up the entire top floor, and the balcony makes it easy for people to jump down from the roof and blast me while I sleep.”
“So that’s why you’re over here. You think they’re going to try something and you want to catch them doing it.” He scratched his scalp. “That sounds like a good idea for you but not for me. If you shoot them from here, people will know it and they’ll make trouble for me.”
“I won’t shoot them from here.” Mackey doubted he could hit anyone from this far away in the dark, even with the Winchester. He’d have to get up close “Light as few lamps tonight in the livery as possible, Arthur. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here.”
“Don’t got to worry about that.” The old black man padded off deeper into the livery. “Hell, I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here, either.”
* * *
It was not until about an hour or so later when Mackey spotted the man creeping across the flat roof of the Hancock Hotel. Another man soon followed. They carefully slipped over the side of the roof before allowing themselves to drop to the balcony below.
Since there was no way down to the street from the balcony, he knew what was coming next.
They kicked in the balcony door and opened fire on the bed where Mackey was supposed to be sleeping. The dark room lit up four times as each man unloaded his double-barreled shotgun. Four rounds of buckshot at point-blank distance. More than enough firepower to do the job.
Had Mackey been sleeping, he would have been dead by now. Instead, he had been watching the assassination attempt from the livery across the street.
And was very much alive.
Mackey saw the light from the hallway flood his room as the assassins opened it and ran toward the back stairs. None of the people in the rooms below would bother investigating what had happened, even if they had heard the blasts above the noise of the gambling on the first floor.
Mackey grabbed his Winchester and broke into a dead run toward the hotel. The street was eerily quiet except for the drunken cackles of the working girls that accompanied the tinny piano in the hotel lobby.
Mackey slid to a halt at the edge of the lamplight outside the enclosed back stairs. He took a knee and brought the rifle up to his shoulder as he waited for the men who had thought they had killed him to come outside.
The first gunman pushed open the door, quickly followed by the second one. They were both young, maybe twenty, but old enough to kill a man. And they both had the long faces and dead eyes of Hancock men.
Mackey waited until the stair door closed before he said, “Looks like you boys are empty.”
The two men turned at the sound of his voice. Mackey fired and hit the lead man in the chest. He was knocked off his feet and crumpled next to the hotel.
The second one broke open the shotgun and fumbled to eject the spent cartridges.
Mackey chambered a round in the darkness. “Take your time.”
The boy looked around for help as he dumped out one spent cartridge on the ground, then the other. But no help came, for the same sounds of pianos and laughter that had hidden his crime now drowned out any chance for his rescue.
No one had heard Mackey’s shots.
The boy dropped a fresh cartridge from his pocket and threw the shotgun aside as he grabbed for something tucked in the back of his pants.
When he came around with a pistol, Mackey fired and brought the young man down.
The marshal remained in the shadow as he walked back to the livery. He ejected the spent round and fed two new bullets into the Winchester.
Arthur was standing inside the livery in a long nightshirt. He held an old Walker Colt at his side. “I woke up when I heard the shots. Surprised no one else did.”
“I’m not,” Mackey said as he walked past the hostler and back to the empty stall. “They were probably told to ignore anything they heard.”
Arthur followed him into the livery. “Saw you kill those two boys. They the ones with the shotguns who shot up your room?”
Mackey laid the Winchester against the wall of the stall as he lowered himself into the hay. “I wouldn’t have shot them if they weren’t.”
Arthur looked outside, then at Mackey again. “You just killed two men who were trying to kill you and now you’re just gonna go to sleep?”
Mackey slid his pistol out of the holster and held it across his stomach. “I would if you’ll let me.” He pitched his hat so it covered his eyes.
But Arthur didn’t go away. “Ain’t you afraid there’ll be any more trouble?”
“Not from them.” Mackey stretched. “Maybe from the other Hancock boys, but not until tomorrow. That’s why I figure I’ll need a good night’s sleep.”
Arthur mumbled to himself as he moved off back to bed. “Can’t understand it. Man kills two men and can go to sleep right after. I just can’t understand it.”
Mackey twitched as sleep began to take him.
Because you’re not me.
* * *
The following morning just after sunrise, Mackey collected his money for the five horses from Arthur. “Been a pleasure doing business with you, old man. Thanks for letting me sleep in your stall last night.”
“I’ve seen the way you handle a gun, Marshal. I couldn’t have stopped you even if I tried.”
Mackey had almost forgotten about the business with the Hancock boys the night before. He looked outside at the hotel and saw no trace of the men he had shot. No bodies. No one looking around the area, either. It was as if two men had not died there only a few hours before.
But Mackey knew. And he knew why, which was even more important. The day he no longer remembered a man he had killed was the day to walk away.
He nodded over toward the Hancock Hotel. “Looks like someone cleaned up during the night.”
“Saw that first thing this morning when I woke up.” Arthur opened the door to Adair’s stall to let Mackey lead her out. The mare had nipped at him and kicked the stall door last night when he fed her. “I’d say that means they know what happened and don’t want to accuse you of it publicly.”
Mackey laughed as he put the saddle on Adair. “What are they going to do? Arrest me for killing the men who thought they’d just killed me?” He cinched the saddle under Adair’s belly. “Not even the Hancocks are that stupid.”
“I hope you’re right for your sake and mine,” Arthur said. “I hope I’m still in business after you leave town.”
“You will be, don’t worry.” He slipped his Winchester in the saddle scabbard. “If you need me, just wire me in Dover Station. I’m less than half a day’s ride from here.”
Mackey was checking his rig to make sure it was securely on the horse when Arthur grabbed his arm. “I’m awful worried about you, Marshal. I know you don’t think much of them Hancock boys, but don’t think too lowly about them, either. They’re a nasty bunch, and there’s a whole lot more of them than you. Hell, there’s a whole lot more of them than anyone in these parts. You’d best watch yourself on the ride back home. They might’ve missed you last night, but today’s a whole new day.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got Adair.” Mackey stroked the Arabian’s neck. “This girl has gotten me through a lot worse than anything the Hancock bunch can throw at me.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Arthur said as he laid the saddlebags across the mare’s back. “What the Hancocks lack in brains, they make up for in pure meanness, and they know every inch of this country like the back of their hand. I’d stick to the open land if I were you. Ride far out of rifle range from anything that could serve as cover for them when you can, ’specially around the hills. No telling how many of them could be scattered out among the rocks between here and Dover.”
Mackey pulled himself up into the saddle and took the reins from Arthur. “You’ve been a good friend to me, old man. If I live long enough, I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t go temptin’ fate by talkin’ like that.” Arthur pulled Mackey’s Winchester from the scabbard beneath his left leg and handed it up to him. “And don’t forget to keep this brandished. Some of the Hancock clan are more easily spooked than others. The sight of a man like you toting a rifle ready to fire is apt to give him second thoughts before he takes a shot at you. Could help.”
Mackey grinned down at the liveryman. “I’ll wire you as soon as I get back to Dover. Let you know how all of this turns out.”
“I ain’t old,” Arthur said, “just experienced. But I’ll appreciate gettin’ that telegram from you just the same.”
Mackey kept the Winchester on his right hip as he brought Adair around and rode down Main Street at a good clip. He didn’t want them to think he was running out of town. He saw the looks he drew from the people who had come to a stop to watch him pass. He wondered if half of them were just glad to see him go or if they were waiting for him to get shot.
When he reached the familiar corner of Norman Fong’s café, he was glad to see the cook waiting for him, apron on and waving at him. Mackey tipped his black hat to him and continued on. At least he had made two friends in town.
As soon as he and Adair were out of sight from the town, he gave the horse its head and let her move at her normal, quicker pace. Dover Station was little more than half a day’s ride from Hancock, and Adair could make the journey even quicker if he let her. Right now, speed sounded like a good idea.
* * *
Mackey was about an hour from Hancock when the first shot rang out. The report echoed across the flatland where he rode, making it nearly impossible for him to gauge where it had come from.
He brought Adair to a halt and listened. He knew he was well out of range of any rifle shot from the foothills in the distance. The flatland around him couldn’t offer cover to anything bigger than a field mouse. Unfortunately, that also meant he was without cover as well.
He watched Adair’s ears rotate toward something in the distance. It was only a moment later until he had heard it, too.
The unmistakable pounding of hooves moving fast along the ground. Dozens of them.
A moment later, a group of ten riders rounded a gap through the foothills and sped straight toward him.
Although he was still well out of rifle range, Mackey knew his time was quickly running out. The gang rode closer with every stride.
Mackey stood up in the saddle and looked for anything that might provide any kind of cover. He spotted a small copse of trees down the slope of the floor of the wide valley and snapped Adair’s reins.
The whoops and hollers from his pursuers echoed throughout the valley as he rode toward the sparse outcropping of trees. It did not offer much cover, but it was better than taking his chances with the Hancock riders out on the flatland.
He brought Adair to a skidding stop once he had reached the trees. It was a small watering hole about ten feet in diameter that seemed to be fed from an underground stream from the foothills behind him. A few pines and firs sprouted up around it, casting the area in deep shadow. That alone could provide him enough cover from the ten men bearing down on him.
He dropped from the saddle and pulled the Winchester from the scabbard before moving to the farthest tree from Adair. He would not tie her down. He knew the horse would bolt to safety if too many bullets landed near her, only to drift back toward him once the shooting stopped.
He took a knee behind the thin branches of a sapling and took a closer look at the approaching horde. Ten riders in total, all running down toward him along the gentle slope he had just taken. He could see the nostrils of the horses were already open wide as they drew more air into their lungs. The men had already ridden them to the point of exhaustion and they were on the verge of faltering
And although they were out of range, he still might be able to help himself.
Mackey brought his Winchester to his shoulder, took careful aim at the lead rider, and fired. The bullet struck the ground well in front of the horse, throwing up a small cloud of dust and rock to make the animal shy away.
The lead mount bumped into the horse to its left. Their legs got tangled and both horses faltered, rolling over their riders as they collapsed to the ground.
He wished Billy was here with his Sharps. The whole group would have been easy pickings for the fifty-caliber long gun at this range. But wishing would not save his life. Only accuracy would.
He watched the eight remaining men stop their charge to double back and check on the two fallen riders.
One rider struggled to bring his excited horse under control as it skittered into the extreme range of his rifle.
Mackey levered in a fresh round, adjusted his aim for the great distance, and fired.
His target dropped from the saddle as the sound of the rifle shot echoed through the valley.
Three down. Seven to go.
He ignored the dead man’s panicked horse as it ran down the slope, passed him, and kept running. Instead, he kept his aim on the remaining men scrambling out of their saddles as they tended to the injured men trapped beneath their fallen mounts. He could hear their screams from where he was hidden.
Six of the Hancock men were on the ground while the seventh struggled to keep the six other horses from riding off. The Hancock clan may have been cowpunchers by trade, but their mounts weren’t used to gunfire. Not like Adair.
The man trying to bring the horses under control was well out of range, but another shot might scatter them. A man on foot was more likely to listen to reason than one on horseback.
Mackey fired and, as expected, the bullet fell well short of the group, but was close enough to spook all of the mounts. They broke and scattered as they ran back the way they had come, toward the distant foothills. Mackey could tell by their gaits that they were too tired to run far, but fear had caused them to run far enough away to make their riders vulnerable.
Three of the Hancock men were down. Six were on foot. Only one was still mounted in open country. Mackey was beginning to like his odds better all the time.
He took his rifle with him as he went back to Adair and pulled his field glasses from his saddlebags. He took a closer look at the scene up the incline and found it was as chaotic as he had expected.
Two men attended a man they had just freed from under his horse as he writhed in agony in the tall grass.
The others were trying to help the man still trapped under his horse. The animal looked too exhausted to even try to get up on its own. It seemed perfectly content to lie atop its rider until it caught its wind. Mackey had seen many a man get trapped beneath their horse and knew every second under the two-thousand-pound animal was pure agony, assuming he was still alive. The last rider had thrown down a rope to the others trying to pull horse and man free from each other.
In another place and time, Mackey might have felt sorry for the Hancock men. But he could not forget they had gotten themselves into this predicament by trying to kill him.
It was tough to work up much sympathy for them after that.
He had no intention of staying hidden by the watering hole for the rest of the day.
It was time to do something.
* * *
As Mackey rode toward them, he saw they had managed to drag the fallen horse off their relative, who was as dead as his horse. The one horse they had left stood hobbled close by and was more interested in the grass at its feet than the troubles of the humans.
Mackey brought Adair to a stop about forty yards away from the men. The butt of the Winchester was flat against his leg. “Looks like you boys are in a bad way. Kind of takes all the fun out of running down a man.”
The men flinched as they looked up to see the man they had been trying to kill looming over them on horseback.
The biggest man in the group reached for his sidearm, but one of his friends stopped him. “Don’t be a damned fool, Al. He could’ve started slamming into us from way over there if he wanted.”
Mackey looked the would-be gunman over. “Al. You’re the same hothead from the café, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Al struggled against his kin to get to his pistol. “And I’m the same one who’ll put you in your grave.”
Mackey lowered the Winchester until it was aimed at the center of Al’s chest. “Let him try.”
The man, who looked like the oldest of the bunch, wrapped his arms around Al and glared up at Mackey. “Don’t you think you’ve killed enough of us for one day?”
“You counting just here or back at the hotel?” Mackey asked. “I’m afraid I’m losing count.”
“I don’t know about that business back at the hotel,” the man said. “I only know what’s happening here.” He looked around at the rest of his men. “Unbuckle your gun belts, boys, and toss them over there. Let’s not give this bastard any excuses to kill more of us.”
Mackey watched the man unbuckle his belt and swing it away from him. The others did the same, except Al. The older man took his pistol from the holster and tossed it on the pile with the others.
“You’re the first Hancock I’ve met who talks sense.” Mackey shifted the Winchester so it aimed at the sky. “What’s your name?”
“Carl Winslow,” the man told him, “but I’m a Hancock just the same. My daddy changed it when he tried going respectable a few years ago. Made the rest of us change it, too, but Hancock’s my right name.”
“A man can change his name, but not who he is. Mad Nellie send you out here after me?”
Carl nodded. “We call her Nellie, if it’s just the same to you.”
“And I’d call you stranded afoot in the middle of nowhere with two dead men, a cripple, and a halfwit like Al here to make things worse.”
Al moved toward the pistols, but Carl and two other Hancock men were able to hold him back.
Carl let the other two handle Al as he walked toward Mackey. “You ride all the way back up here to gloat, mister, or help?”
“What makes you think I didn’t come up here to finish what I started?” Mackey asked.
“Because you would’ve done that from farther away if you had blood on your mind. You didn’t tie down your rig for a silent ride just to gun us down in broad daylight.”
Mackey liked the way the man thought. “Guess that means I’m not the cold-blooded killer Nellie says I am.”
“You’re a killer, Mackey, and one who deserves to be put down for what he’s done,” Carl said. “To Henry and maybe some other folks, too. But none of us are in a position to do much about that now, so there’s no use in discussing it at present. Just about the only thing that matters is what you plan on doing to us right here and now.”
Mackey knew these men had tried to kill him once and would probably try again. But they were unarmed, on foot, and stranded in a valley in the middle of nowhere. Only one of them still had a horse. He probably had every right to kill them where they stood, but that would be wrong. The war might not be over, but this particular battle was done.
He looked down at the man who had been crushed by his horse. “He looks pretty bad.”
“Damned near every bone in his chest is crushed or busted,” Carl said. “I don’t have the heart to put him down, and neither do any of the others. Not even Al, here. If we had our horses, we might be able to figure out a way to get him back to the ranch, but he won’t survive on foot.”
“Won’t survive it on horseback,” Mackey said. “Or by you dragging him somehow. You boys know that.”
Carl looked at the other Hancock men. None of them looked at him. “Yeah. We do.”
Mackey knew the injured man had been intent on killing him only a few moments before, but the sight of another human being writhing in agony made him set that aside. “How about we come to an agreement?”
Carl glowered up at him. “What kind of an agreement, seeing as how you’re the son of a bitch who did this to him.”
“While he was trying to kill me,” Mackey reminded him. “Along with the rest of you. But I’m in a charitable mood, so here’s what we’re going to do. Carl, you’re going to get on that horse and gather up the mounts who rode off. They’re pretty tired after your big chase, so they didn’t go far. Probably just past those foothills over there. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding them.”
Carl thought it over. “And what about the rest of us?”
“Al here will lead them in walking back the way you came. Once you gather the horses, you’ll bring them to the others and keep riding back to your ranch and stay there.” He looked at Al when he said, “I’ve already stopped you boys once, and it cost three of you your lives. Come at me again, and none of you ride out alive. Understand?”
The Hancock men grumbled, but it was Carl who spoke first. “What about our guns?” He gestured at the dying man on the ground. “And poor Dan here?”
“You can pick them up when you come back to collect Dan’s body later on.” He gestured back to the watering hole. “I’ll hide them over there so no one comes along and takes them. And if you go peacefully, I promise I won’t throw them in the water.”
Carl drew in a ragged breath. It was clear he hated the idea of giving up and going away. He did not like anything about any of this. And he also did not have a choice. “You promise you’ll help Dan pass as painless as possible, Marshal? You give me your word?”
“I give you my word on everything I’ve told you today.” Mackey had Adair take one step closer to him. “Every single thing.”
A heavy wind picked up and blew down the length of the wide valley. Mackey dipped his brim below the wind to keep his hat from blowing away.
“Just wait a second,” Al protested as Carl and the other remaining Hancock men began to walk away. “We can’t just leave Dan here! Not with the likes of him!”
But the other men urged the younger man to join them as Carl swung up into the saddle. The others were cowhands and older than Al. They had spent more of their lives grateful for the pleasure of sunrises and even more so for the sight of the setting sun. They knew a good day’s work when they saw it and knew what a man could expect from himself. They had lost and their men were dead. Best to get home and get ready for tomorrow.
Carl kept his horse back until his men were out of earshot.
Mackey watched them go. “You’d best get on, too, Carl. You don’t want to be part of what happens next.”
“That’s just it,” Carl said. “I didn’t want to be part of any of this. I don’t even know how it all started.”
He looked down at Dan, who had quieted some in the past few moments. “But none of that really matters anymore because, after today, you and me have our own score to settle, Marshal. I don’t know what happened between you and Nellie and I don’t care, either. You killed three of my family today, Marshal Mackey, and law or no law, I won’t let any man get away with being able to claim that. Not before he answers to me. I’m grateful for you letting me and mine live, but I also know gunning us down would’ve been murder, and you ain’t no murderer. But the next time I see you, you’re a dead man.”
Mackey could not blame Carl for being angry. He also had no reason to doubt every word that Carl said was true. He imagined the man would kill him the next time he saw him. And just like he might have felt sympathy for him in other circumstances, he may have saved himself the aggravation of anticipation and simply shot Carl right out of the saddle. He’d be well within his rights to do so, both as a man and as a lawman.
But he knew that would also be playing into Mad Nellie’s hands again, and he wouldn’t allow himself to make that mistake.
“I’ll scabbard my rifle if you’d prefer to go at it with pistols right here and now.”
Carl seemed to think about it for a moment. “I’d like to, but I’ve got men afoot who need horses and good men who’ll need burying before tomorrow. Can’t do that if I lose.”
Mackey was glad the man had made a wise decision. “You ever been to Dover Station?”
Carl gripped the reins tighter. “I could ride there blindfolded in the dead of night.”
“Good, because if I ever see you there, it won’t be by accident, and you won’t have a chance.” He jerked his chin toward the men on foot. “Get to riding, Carl. Right now.”
He watched Carl wheel the big bay around before putting the heels to her flanks, bringing her to a full gallop. The horse had rested some since they had been forced to stop, but it still looked winded from the charge and the excitement. If Carl wasn’t a good horseman, he’d wind up afoot like his relatives.
Mackey waited until the men had walked a good five hundred yards or so away before he nudged Adair closer toward the fallen man. He was proud of the way the warhorse didn’t shy away from the scent of blood or the moaning of the broken man.
Dan’s ragged breath came in shallow gasps as he struggled to breathe. To live.
Mackey lowered the Winchester to the dying man’s head and fired once. The shot killed him instantly.
He heard Al’s shrieks of “No!” echo throughout the valley, followed by the sounds of struggle from the men who tried to keep him from running after Mackey.
The man who had caused that misery in the first place.
Mackey had no idea what relation the dead man might be to Carl or Al. He could have been a brother or a distant cousin.
None of that mattered now. Not to Mackey. Not to the man he had just killed. Blood didn’t mean much to the dead. Only the living.
He tucked his Winchester into the scabbard under his left leg, touched the brim of his hat to the soul of the dead man, and began the long ride back to Dover Station. He changed his mind and decided to leave the pistols where they were, piled like a nest of snakes in the tall grass.
Al’s cries of mourning were carried on the wind that followed Mackey through the valley.