There was a tapping on the jail door, and Single-Foot entered. They barred the door behind him. The Apache was grim.
“Man sent to fort. Horse came back.”
Matt shoved his hat back from his brow. “So the army isn’t coming.”
“I get ’em,” Single-Foot said.
“That means we got another night in this jail. But you be careful, Single-Foot.”
“White-eyes not scare me.”
Matt saw a bit of pleasure in Single-Foot’s face, and he smiled. “Let’s go see the judge and get you a letter to carry. It’ll be daylight soon.”
“Maybe they won’t hit us tonight,” Stoney said. “I mean, why should they be in a hurry? They know the army ain’t comin’. They’re just waitin’ for us to head out on our own.”
Stoney was right. Single-Foot left town, and nothing happened. Daylight came with drizzling rain. Matt went out for a stroll, keeping his rifle ready and taking time for hot coffee in the hotel cafe with no sign of the Driscolls or Bonnie.
At noontime Matt returned to the jail, and before long Bonnie McClain appeared at the jailhouse door, a slicker over her riding clothes. Matt pulled her inside. She looked so pretty with wet glistening in her yellow hair, but he was worried about her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted you to know what I heard.”
“From who?”
“Kerby Driscoll.”
“I told you to stay away from him.”
She smiled up at him, then looked at the glaring Pollard and the sleepy Stoney. “Can we talk outside?”
“Ain’t safe,” Matt said, leading her to the desk.
She sat in the wooden chair, and he sat on the edge of the desk, his elbow on his knee as he leaned down toward her. She sure was glorious to look at, and just being near her, he felt good inside.
“Kerby was bragging how you would never leave this jail alive.”
“Why did he tell you that?”
“I’m afraid I made him a little angry. He was getting too friendly, and I—” She blushed. “I mean, I told him if he didn’t leave me alone, I’d tell you about it.”
“What else did he say?”
“Enough to mean everyone in here was going to die, including Pollard.”
“Hey, you’re lyin’,” Pollard shouted.
“You can’t stay here, Bonnie.”
“I know, but I wanted to see if you were all right.”
She gazed up at him with mist in her eyes, and then he took her soft hand in his rough one. He pulled her to her feet. As he led her to the door, she glanced at the angry Pollard and the curious Stoney, who spoke abruptly.
“That Miss Adriane. She have Lenny with her?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
At the door, as Matt removed the bar, Bonnie paused, her hand on his arm. He drew a deep breath and held it, staring at her golden hair and blue-green eyes. He wanted to kiss that turned-up nose.
“God protect you, Matt.”
And she turned in to his embrace, her hand sliding up to his neck and pulling his head down. Her soft lips caressed his, and he turned to jelly. As she drew back he tried to swallow and couldn’t.
Pollard shouted. “Now ain’t that sweet?”
“I think it is,” Stoney snapped.
Matt reddened as Bonnie backed away from him.
When she was gone, Matt finally swallowed.
“I wanna talk to King Driscoll,” Pollard snarled.
“No one’s coming in here,” Matt said.
Later that day the men built a fire long enough to cook, also feeding Pollard, who was still complaining. And that night they all stayed inside. It was so cold, they took a chance on letting the fire burn in the small stove.
Rain beat noisily on the roof. Peering out the windows with the lamp turned down, they saw men still watching the jail. It was around midnight when a rock slammed against the front door.
They turned out the lamps and peered outside, and there was Single-Foot’s horse coming down the street, reins trailing. Matt felt a tightness in his middle as he barred the door again.
Stoney turned up the lamp. “He didn’t make it.”
“But if he did, he’s on foot, and we’re gonna be stuck in here a lot longer than we figured.”
“I don’t like sittin’ here and waitin’. Why don’t we go out there and do somethin’?”
“There’s more than forty of ’em,” Matt reminded him.
* * *
King Driscoll and his son were in the hotel lobby, standing alone near the window. King was wiping his brow, but he was smiling.
“Looks like they got that Apache,” Kerby said.
“I’ll believe it when I see his body.”
“You ain’t scared of an Indian, are you, Pa?”
“I heard plenty about them Apaches. An officer I knew told me they could outlast a horse on foot. Got big chests, like an elephant.”
“But this one’s old.”
“I don’t think they ever get old. Just meaner.”
“You’re sweatin’, Pa.”
“Never mind. Are the men set up?”
“Yeah, sure. They’re making those bombs out of black powder. Got enough for three bottles. And they’re usin’ lamp wicks, but they’re plenty scared of blowin’ theirselves up when they light ’em. You know, before they can do somethin’ with ’em.”
“Well, they’d better follow orders. I don’t want anyone pointing the finger at you or me. We got backers to answer to, and I’m not losing what we have because of any fool like Pollard. So he’d better be dead in a hurry. Him and Landry.”
“If it don’t work, I got me a plan.”
King grunted. “You?”
“Sure. I saw that Bonnie McClain over at the jail. Now ol’ Matt’s sweet on her. So I’ll just grab her, and they’ll have to trade.”
King grimaced. “Sure, that’s real smart. We’d both go to prison. Listen, Son. We want to get rid of Pollard without any witnesses. That powder will blow open the jail, but the rest of the town will be too scared to come and look. So it can be over and done with in the middle of the night.”
Kerby merely smiled. The long night dragged on with the rain held to a drizzle.
Matt had his chair by the rifle slot that faced the street near the barbershop. With the lamp turned almost out, he could see men milling around on both sides of the street.
It was nearly three in the morning. With Stoney asleep, Matt struggled to keep his eyes open. He was thinking about Blackie and wished he was here. The dog had meant a lot to him, and he worried the herd had overrun Blackie, trampling him somewhere out there in the hills.
Suddenly, Matt stiffened as he peered out the opening. In front of the barbershop five men were moving toward the jail. The man in the lead was Crutz. He had a bottle with a wick dangling from it in his hand. Shielded by another man’s hat, Crutz struck a long wooden match. It burst into flame, and he lit the wick.
The men were between the barbershop and the jail where the alley was some ten feet wide, and Crutz lifted the bottle as if to throw it.
Matt aimed his rifle and fired, hitting the bottle.
The explosion shattered the front of the barbershop and sent the five men reeling like rag dolls. It rattled the jail. The roar hung in the air for a long moment. Crutz and the others lay lifeless on the boardwalk and in the street. A light went on in the back of the barbershop as Tuck must have been awakened with a jolt.
“They ain’t too bright,” Matt mumbled.
Stoney had jumped off his bunk and come to peer out the small opening at Matt’s side.
“Hey!” the prisoner shouted. “What was that?”
“They tried to blow up the jail,” Matt said.
Pollard was snickering in his cell. “Your lives ain’t worth a plug nickel.”
“Yours neither,” Stoney said.
“Well, it’ll be daylight in an hour,” Matt said.
Stoney walked over to the cell, and Pollard backed off.
“You’re a dead man, Pollard. You just don’t know it.”
“Quiet,” Matt said suddenly.
The men hushed, all eyes turned to the roof. They could hear boots up there, and the rattle of the tin chimney as the cap was being knocked off. Matt grabbed his rifle.
Matt had barely reached the door when he realized something was in the stovepipe, clattering down.
“Oh no,” Matt muttered. “A bomb’s coming down the pipe. Hit the floor!”