Dead Before Sundown

Chapter 17

Frank’s instincts, honed to a razor’s edge by decades of the dangerous life he had led, were the only thing that saved him. Nerves and muscles galvanized into action and sent him diving backward.

The horse reared up, screaming in agony as slugs pounded into its body. The animal shielded Frank as he rolled across the ground into the brush.

Then one of the bullets struck the horse in the head, ending its pain and sending it toppling over backward. Frank had to scramble to keep the horse from falling on him.

The Gatling gun still hammered out its lethal rhythm. Slugs tore through the brush.

“Get down!” Frank yelled to Salty and Meg as he broke free of the brushy barrier into the canyon.

He saw that they had already dived behind the log barricade. He joined them, vaulting over the logs and landing hard on the ground behind them. The jolt went all the way through him as his hat went flying.

A stream of profanity from Salty’s lips threatened to turn the air blue around them. He got the torrent under control and asked over the racket of the Gatling gun, “What in blazes is goin’ on? Did we wander into the middle of a dadblamed war?”

“It sure sounds like it,” Frank said.

Slugs thudded into the log barricade and whipped through the air over their heads. The one thing they had on their side was that the brush across the canyon mouth concealed their position from the attackers. Whoever was using the Gatling gun was sweeping the fire back and forth across the canyon mouth, rather than concentrating his shots on the barricade.

That was good, because at the rate those bullets were coming, after a while they might begin to penetrate the barricade if they were all aimed straight at it.

“Blast it, this is all my fault!” Salty said bitterly. “Somebody must’a spotted me when I was out scoutin’ around earlier.”

Frank had already figured out the same thing, although he hadn’t seen any point in bringing it up.

“Shoot, we wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t wanted to come after that varmint Palmer,” Salty went on.

“Nobody forced us to come with you,” Meg said. “We’re here because we wanted to be.” She flinched and ducked as more slugs slammed into the logs. “Well, maybe we don’t want to be in this exact spot….”

Frank risked a look around the end of the barricade. The dead horse lay about thirty feet away. The animal had fallen so that the side of the saddle where the rifle sheath was strapped was turned up. Frank could see the Winchester’s stock protruding from the sheath.

“I need to get my rifle,” he said.

“Have you gone loco?” Salty demanded. “These logs are the only things keepin’ us from gettin’ shot to pieces!”

“They won’t last forever,” Frank pointed out. “We need to be able to put up a fight, otherwise whoever is out there can take their time about killing us.”

“Let me go get the rifle,” Meg suggested. “I’m thinner than you, Frank. I can stay closer to the ground.”

“Forget it,” he answered curtly. “You’re not going out there and risking your life.”

She glared at him. “You think I’ll be a lot better off in the long run if you get your head shot off? You know I have the best chance of succeeding, Frank. You’re just too damned stubborn to admit it!”

Frank frowned as he considered what she’d said. He couldn’t deny that, in a way, she was right. Her chances of survival would drop considerably if he was dead, and those chances weren’t all that high to begin with.

But it went deeply against the grain for him to stay behind cover while a woman risked her life. He didn’t know if he could allow that.

“Look,” Meg said. “Most of the bullets are going above us, about waist-high to a man. I can stay lower than that, and if they dip a little, I’ll still have a better chance of avoiding them than you would, Frank.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Instead he said, “You get down as flat on the ground as you can and keep your face in the dirt. Try to crawl straight toward the horse. If I see that you’re veering off to the side, I’ll call out to you and let you know.”

A grin flashed across her face, but it couldn’t completely conceal the fear in her eyes as she took off her hat and said, “Now you’re being sensible.”

Pressing herself to the ground, she slithered out from behind the logs. Frank’s heart slugged with worry for her as he watched her crawl toward the fallen horse.

Meg couldn’t move very fast. She had to inch herself along with fingers and toes. The seconds seemed like minutes, the minutes like hours.

Salty said, “Frank, they ain’t gonna just keep on shootin’ with that devil gun. After a while, they’re gonna come in here to see what damage it did.”

“I know,” Frank said with a nod.

“We’ll have a real fight on our hands then. Why do you reckon they want us dead?”

“Well, neither bunch probably wants any witnesses left alive.” Frank’s mouth twisted grimly. “I reckon the main thing, though, is that those smugglers are demonstrating just how effective a Gatling gun can be.”

“They’d kill us just to make a point?”

“That’s what I’m guessing,” Frank said.

“Well, if that don’t beat all. Them sorry buzzards—”

Salty stopped the tirade he was about to launch when Frank stiffened suddenly and caught his breath.

“What is it?” the old-timer asked anxiously. “Did Meg get hit?”

“No. She made it to the horse.”

Meg had to lift herself up now to reach the rifle, but the horse’s body served as protection for her. She snaked her arm over the animal’s motionless flank and wrapped her fingers around the Winchester’s stock. Slowly, she began to ease the rifle from the saddle boot.

The Gatling fell silent.

“Uh-oh,” Salty said to Frank. “You reckon they’re fixin’ to come chargin’ in here?”

“Could be. Or they might just be letting the gun cool off for a few minutes.”

Meg pulled the Winchester the rest of the way from its sheath.

Then, to Frank’s surprise, she rolled over, surged to her feet, and started running back toward the log barricade.

He knew what was going through her mind. She thought she could get back to the logs before the Gatling gun opened up again.

And maybe she could, but if she didn’t—

In the eerie silence that now hung over the canyon, Frank heard a faint metallic clatter from outside. More ammunition magazines were being racked in the rapid-firer.

Meg was only halfway back to the logs.

Frank sprang up and dashed out to meet her. Her eyes widened in surprise. He left his feet in a long dive that carried him to her. His arms went around her calves and jerked her legs out from under her. She fell with a startled cry.

A split-second later, the devil gun started singing its unholy song again.

The slugs whined through the air above them. Frank rolled Meg onto her belly and pushed her toward the barricade. She had dropped the Winchester when she fell. He picked it up and crawled after her, staying as low as he could.

Luck was with them. They made it back behind the logs to join a grim-faced Salty.

“I thought you two was goners for sure,” the old-timer said.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” Meg said. She was pale, probably from knowing how close she had come to being cut in two by that deadly barrage. “I thought maybe I could get back before they started shooting again.”

He nodded. “It wasn’t a bad gamble. But I heard them reloading and knew you didn’t have time.”

“You saved my life. Not for the first time, either.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he told her. “We’re still in a mighty bad fix.”

The Gatling gun stopped firing again. Frank figured that this time, the men who’d been using it would venture into the canyon for sure, to find out if anyone was left alive in here.

He looked back over his shoulder. He already knew there was no real cover in the canyon; that was why he and Salty had built the log barricade.

But while the logs would do a fine job of stopping rifle fire, they wouldn’t stand up to an all-out assault from the Gatling gun.

Frank knew that, but he also knew they had no choice but to play the hand they were dealt.

He would try to keep the attackers out of the canyon as long as he could. As long as they couldn’t get a good look at the setup in here, they wouldn’t know what bad shape the defenders were in.

Frank rested the Winchester on top of the logs and nestled his check against the smooth wood of the stock as he peered over the sights. He trained the rifle on the brush they had dragged up in front of the canyon mouth and waited.

Several tense minutes ticked by.

A rifle barrel appeared, pushing some of the branches aside. The rifle’s owner was being cautious. Frank held his fire. He wanted the man to show himself.

A coarse, unshaven face appeared under a floppy-brimmed felt hat. The man started to step through the gap he had made in the brush.

Frank shot him in the head.

The .44-40 slug from the Winchester took the man just above his left eye, bored on through his brain, and exploded out the back of his head. Frank saw the pink spray of blood in the air as the man jerked backward and disappeared.

“Get him?” Salty asked.

Frank worked the Winchester’s lever. “I did.”

He heard angry cursing; then the Gatling gun started up again.

Salty ducked his head and said, “At this rate, them varmints are gonna burn up a thousand bullets before sundown.”

“More than that,” Frank said. “With one of those contraptions, it only takes a few minutes to fire a thousand rounds.”

“That’s a lot o’ lead and gunpowder to spend on just three folks,” Salty pointed out.

Frank nodded. “You’re right. It’s almost like they’ve got a personal grudge against us, whoever they are. Like they’re bound and determined to root us out of here.”

But that didn’t make any sense, he thought. They didn’t know anybody in Canada except …

“Palmer,” he said under his breath.

Salty looked over sharply at him. “What’s that you say, Frank?”

“I was just wondering if maybe Joe Palmer is out there with that bunch. We know from what Hopkins told us that Palmer has friends up here on this side of the border. Maybe he didn’t have to go all the way to Calgary to meet up with them.”

Salty took off his hat and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Dadgum it!” he said. “That’d explain why they’re comin’ after us so fierce-like. If Palmer’s with ‘em and knows I’m in here, he’d dang sure want me dead, and anybody who was with me. That’s just one more reason I’m to blame for this whole blasted mess—”

The Gatling gun fell silent yet again.

“Do you think they’ll try to get in here again?” Meg asked.

“Maybe,” Frank said. He started to lift his head to take a look over the logs.

But as he did so, a rifle cracked and a bullet whipped past his ear to smash into the logs.

They were under attack again … but from a different direction this time.