Cold Copper

Chapter Thirty-two

Captain Hink’s head felt like a swarm of bees had taken up hiving there. He’d gotten hit in the head, along with more than a few good thumps in the side, during that jail brawl. He’d lost blood and the lump on the back of his noggin was making him see double between blinks.

In any normal circumstance after a brawl like that, he’d hit the sky, hole up a while, and drink away the pain until the world straightened out again.

But he was without his ship, without booze, and stuck in a dying man’s church. He was also the last chance Rose Small, the Madders, the Hunt brothers, and Mae had to grab up the Holder and finish off finding the young folk.

He’d told Rose to go. He told her he’d be fine. And he supposed that was true. For as long as their ammunition held out.

“So what weapons do we have left?” he asked.

Miss Dupuis and Mr. Wicks, who apparently had been in the middle of a conversation, both looked over at him.

“We’re surrounded, correct?” he asked as he walked to the back windows and looked out.

“What supplies do we have to fight with?”

“Who said we have decided to fight?” Miss Dupuis said.

“And who said you are the one to make the decisions around here?” Wicks asked.

“I was a captain in the war,” Hink said.

“I am your superior,” Wicks said. “Is there another language in which you’d rather I say that, and in which you might understand? Pirate, perhaps? Or fists?”

“Guns,” Hink said, ignoring his yatter and talking to Miss Dupuis instead. “How many do we have, how many do they have?”

“Father Kyne doesn’t appear to own anything but a hunting rifle. I have my gun, Wicks has his, and you have yours.”

“Bullets?”

She shook her head. “We have two sticks of dynamite, though. We can make a stand, but we won’t win a firefight.”

“This is Sheriff Burchell,” the man yelled. “We’ve given you time to put your guns down, walk out, and turn yourselves in so that justice can be done. If we don’t see every man and woman out here on the ground in front of us in one minute, we will be forced to take care of this in a much less civilized manner.”

“How many men out there?”

Wicks pulled off his glasses and wiped a clean white cloth over the lenses. “Sheriff and his deputy, and the posse they rounded up. Perhaps thirty men, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Dupuis?”

“At least that, yes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hink said.

“Do you have a plan?” Miss Dupuis asked.

“Of course I have a plan,” Hink said as he pulled his gun and strode out of the kitchen toward the front of the building. “Keep shooting until I run out of bullets.”