Hell Town

Chapter 32

Jessica lunged at Hammersmith as he came stumbling in the door of the hotel, blood running down his face from the cut that Frank Morgan’s gun had opened up on his head. She caught hold of his arm and cried, “Gunther! Gunther, what’s going on out there?”

Hammersmith shook his head as if he were still groggy from the blow. “All hell’s breakin’ loose,” he muttered. “Somebody started shootin’…then some other bastards came riding in and gunnin’ people down…”

Impatience gripped Jessica. Hammersmith wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, nothing she hadn’t seen for herself through the hotel’s front window. Munro had ordered her to stay upstairs, but she had ignored him, as she always ignored him when it didn’t suit her purposes to give the appearance of compliance. She had watched anxiously as the miners and the militia confronted each other, and she had seen the big miner called Rogan fall as he was shot. Jessica didn’t know who had pulled the trigger, but Rogan’s killing had set off a firestorm in the street.

Even though she knew it was dangerous, she hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from the spectacle as the battle raged in the street outside the hotel. She had crouched down so that she could peer over the bottom of the window. That was her only concession to caution.

Her hope was that Hamish would be killed in the confusion. That would save her a great deal of trouble later on, and given the circumstances, there was no way anyone could blame her for his death.

But after a few minutes, he had come stumbling out of the melee, seemingly unharmed. As he staggered toward the hotel, Jessica had seen the large dark stain on the front of his trousers, and her nose had wrinkled in distaste. He was such a coward that he had pissed his pants in his fear. How could she have let such a man even touch her, let along some of the things she had allowed him to do to her?

Money, of course. That was the reason. As it always was and always would be. Hamish had the money, and she wanted it.

But she was tired of waiting for it.

She stood up and drew back into the shadows as he came in to the hotel. He never even saw her as he started up the stairs, obviously heading for their suite. She let him go without calling out to him. She had to decide what to do now.

Hammersmith’s arrival had helped her make up her mind. Munro could still die. Hammersmith could kill him and bring his body back downstairs. In all the chaos, if Munro’s body was found in the hotel lobby or out on the boardwalk, no one would ever question that he had been killing in the fighting.

So as Jessica clutched Hammersmith’s arm, she broke through his stunned reverie by saying in an urgent voice, “Gunther, listen to me. It’s time.”

“Time?” Hammersmith repeated. “Time for what?”

“Time to kill Hamish, so that the two of us can be together from now on, truly together as we were meant to be.”

That got through to him, all right. The confusion went out of his eyes as they lit up with lust and avarice.

Jessica reinforced those feelings by saying, “I’ll be all yours, Gunther. And we’ll have Hamish’s money. We can go anywhere we want and always be together, just you and me.”

Of course, the time would come when she would have to find a way to get rid of Hammersmith too, because she would tire of him and he would know too much, but she could deal with that when it became necessary. For now, right at this moment, Hammersmith was the most important man in her life.

“Kill Munro?” he muttered.

Jessica nodded. “That’s right. He just went upstairs. We can do it, Gunther. We can have everything we ever wanted.”

Slowly, Hammersmith nodded too. “Yeah,” he said in a heavy voice. “Yeah.”

He started for the stairs. Jessica let him go.

But she followed closely behind him, so she would be there if he changed his mind. As long as he could see her and hear her voice, she was confident that he would do whatever she wanted him to. They reached the second floor and started toward the suite.

A shot blasted behind the door before they got there.

Jessica’s blue eyes widened in surprise. Had Hamish fired a gun? She couldn’t think of any reason why he would. He never handled guns. He always paid other people to do things like that.

Maybe he had killed himself…. No, Jessica decided, she couldn’t be that lucky.

Hammersmith had stopped at the sound of the shot. He muttered, “What the hell?”

“Get in there, Gunther,” Jessica said. “We have to find out what happened.”

Hammersmith didn’t hesitate. He smashed his shoulder into the door and knocked it open. The crash of the door blended with the sound of gunshots still coming from the street.

Hammersmith went in first, but Jessica was close enough behind him to peer around him and see Nathan Evers whirling around from where Munro’s body lay on the floor. Jessica gasped as she saw the bloody ruin that was the back of Munro’s head. He had to be dead.

And the smoke curling from the barrel of the gun in Evers’s hand made it clear who had killed him.

Evers lifted the gun toward Hammersmith. “Stay back!” he said in a panicky voice.

“Nathan!” Jessica said. “You’ve killed Hamish!”

She didn’t have a chance to tell him that was all right before his lip curled in a sneer and he thrust the gun toward her. “That’s right!” he snapped. “And I’ll kill you too if you get in my way, you bitch!”

Thunderstruck, Jessica could only stare at him. Beside her, Hammersmith growled as he stood there with his hands balled into malletlike fists.

“Always parading yourself around,” Evers went on in a voice trembling with rage and hate. “Munro never saw you for the slut you really are. He was a fool, a blind fool, but not for that reason alone. He never had any idea that I’ve been bleeding his fortune away from him for years!”

That brought another gasp of horror from Jessica. “You…you stole from him?”

“Thousands and thousands of dollars,” Evers gloated, “and he never knew. Now he never will. He’s dead, and you and Hammersmith soon will be too. All I’ll have to do is say that some of those crazy gunmen broke in here and shot the three of you, and no one will ever suspect otherwise. This is the perfect opportunity for me. I can finally stop groveling!”

“You’re the one who’s crazy,” Hammersmith said. “Put that gun down.”

Evers shook his head as he swung the pistol back toward Hammersmith. “No. You first, and then the slut.”

With a roar of rage, Hammersmith threw himself toward Evers. The gun in the treacherous secretary’s hand blasted again and again as Evers jerked the trigger and screamed. Hammersmith stumbled a little as the bullets thudded into him, but they didn’t really slow him down. Evers was cut off in mid-shriek as Hammersmith crashed into him and drove him over backward. Hammersmith’s sausagelike fingers closed around Evers’s neck and twisted hard as both men fell. Jessica heard a loud cracking sound, and then the crash as the two men hit the floor.

A shudder ran through Hammersmith, and then he lay still as he sprawled on top of Evers. Jessica stood there motionless as she stared at them for a long moment. Then, carefully, she moved closer, bending over to take a look at them. Evers had dropped the gun, which was probably empty now anyway. His eyes were open and blankly staring. His head was twisted at an impossible angle on his shoulders. Hammersmith had broken his neck.

Jessica couldn’t see the wounds in Hammersmith’s chest, but she saw the pool of blood creeping out onto the rug around the two men. Blood ran from Hammersmith’s mouth too, and his eyes were as empty and lifeless as Evers’s were. Jessica straightened, confident that both men were dead, as was Hamish Munro. She was alone in the hotel room with three corpses.

And as the full implications of that sunk in on her, she began to smile.

Frank knew he couldn’t stop all the outlaws who were charging his position behind the water trough, but he gripped the Colt tightly and steeled himself to take as many of them with him as he could.

At that moment, a shotgun boomed and several shots blasted from a handgun, and as Frank raised himself into firing position, he saw that a couple of the outlaws’ horses were now riderless. As a bullet ripped past his head, he triggered the Peacemaker and sent slugs pounding into the other two desperadoes. They somersaulted backward off their mounts.

Tip Woodford and Garrett Claiborne ran toward Frank, reloading as they came. Tip had the scattergun, while Claiborne clutched a Colt revolver in his good hand. As the two men came up to Frank, Tip shouted, “We got to get folks organized! Who the hell are those raiders?”

“An outlaw gang led by a man named Jory Pool,” Frank replied. “Pool’s the big hombre with the blond beard.” He thumbed more cartridges into his Colt as he added, “Come on. We’ll form up at the Silver Baron!”

As they ran through chaos and flying lead toward the saloon, Frank spotted Leo Benjamin, Professor Burton, and Ed Kelley, all of whom were armed and trying to mount a defense against the invaders. Frank called to them and waved for them to follow him and Tip and Claiborne.

As they neared the Silver Baron, the group of defenders picked up three more members in Amos Hillman, Claude Langley, and Langley’s helper Roy. Frank saw Starkwell and shouted, “Colonel! We’re forming up at the saloon!”

Starkwell nodded as he squeezed off a shot from his revolver and sent another outlaw tumbling out of the saddle. The colonel began shouting orders to his men, some of whom were still able to respond. Frank yelled at the miners he saw as well, and they joined the band of fighters headed for the saloon.

Fighting their way along the street, the group of defenders numbered about twenty strong by the time they reached the Silver Baron. Miners and militia men were fighting side by side now instead of battling against each other. Johnny Collyer pushed through the batwings to join them, coughing but determined, the sawed-off Greener he kept under the bar now clutched in his hands.

About a dozen of the outlaws were down, which made the odds roughly even now. The deadly accurate fire of the defenders had drawn Jory Pool’s attention. He bellowed orders to his surviving men, gathering them around him for an all-out assault on the Silver Baron. “Kill ’em!” he screamed as he kicked his horse into a run. “Kill ’em all!”

The gang surged forward like a tidal wave of death. As bullets flew, men on both sides dropped. A huge gray cloud of gunsmoke filled the street and stung the noses and mouths of the men who were fighting desperately. A militia man beside Frank grunted and doubled over as he was hit in the belly. He dropped his Winchester as he fell. Frank’s Colt had just run dry again, so he jammed it back in its holster and snatched up the fallen rifle. He brought it to his shoulder and began to fire as fast as he could work the weapon’s lever.

The huge, mounted figure of Jory Pool suddenly loomed up right in front of him. Frank had to dive to the side as Pool leaped his horse onto the boardwalk. Shouting curses, Pool yanked the animal around in a tight turn and began firing at Frank, who rolled across the planks as the boss outlaw’s bullets chewed splinters from them. Frank knew he was only a heartbeat from death.

Then someone leaped past him, gun blazing, and Frank heard Clint Farnum shouting, “No, damn it, no!” The little gunfighter went right at Pool, firing wildly, but he had taken only a couple of steps before a pair of slugs crashed into his chest and picked him up, driving him backward.

Clint’s valiant action had given Frank the chance to come up on his knees and lift the Winchester again. He didn’t know how many rounds were left in the rifle, but he prayed at least one still remained. As Clint fell, Pool tried to swing his gun toward Frank again, but he was too late. Frank pressed the Winchester’s trigger.

Pool’s head practically exploded in a grisly spray of blood, brains, and bone as the rifle bullet smashed through his skull. The outlaw leader toppled out of the saddle, falling to the boardwalk.

Pool’s death took the fight out of the remaining outlaws. Some of them whirled their mounts and retreated, trying to get away before they could be cut down. A few made it. The others threw down their guns and thrust their hands in the air, shouting for the defenders not to kill them. Seeing that the back of the attack was broken, Frank surged to his feet and shouted, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” He looked along the boardwalk, saw Catamount Jack among the defenders, and told the old-timer, “Jack, start rounding up the prisoners and take them down to the jail.”

“Them cells are gonna be crammed plumb full,” Jack said with a grin. He had been nicked a couple of times by flying lead, but seemed to be as spry as ever.

Frank turned to Starkwell and asked, “Colonel, will you give my deputy a hand?”

Starkwell glanced at his men, who were now eyeing the miners with suspicion once more, then said, “Of course, Marshal. I think we could use a truce right about now.”

Frank nodded in agreement. The last thing he wanted after fighting off this outlaw raid was a resumption of the hostilities that had been going on before Pool and his gang rode in.

He turned toward Clint Farnum and knelt at the little gunfighter’s side. The front of Clint’s shirt was soaked with blood and more crimson leaked from his mouth, but he was still alive. His eyelids flickered open as Frank put a hand on his shoulder.

“F-Frank…” he rasped out. “You’re…all right?”

“Yeah, thanks to you,” Frank told him. He could tell that Clint didn’t have much time left. Minutes maybe, or even less. “Thanks to you,” Frank went on. “You saved my life, Clint. Pool would have ventilated me in another second.”

“That’s…good…I’m sorry I…”

Whatever Clint was trying to apologize for, it went unsaid, because at that moment a long sigh came from him and his bloody chest ceased to rise and fall. The light went out of his pale blue eyes.

“You were a good deputy, Clint,” Frank said, hoping that somehow Clint could still hear him. Gently, he closed the man’s eyes and then stood up.

Dr. Garland had arrived on the scene and was checking over the wounded defenders. Frank walked along the boardwalk, noting that Roy was dead, along with a couple of the miners and one of the militia men. A number of others had wounds of varying seriousness, but Garland seemed to think that all of them would pull through.

The doctor paused in his work long enough to tell Frank, “Considering how badly the town was shot up, we’re lucky more people weren’t killed.”

Frank couldn’t bring himself to feel all that lucky at the moment, but he knew what Garland meant. “If there’s anything I can do to help, Doc, just let me know.”

Tip Woodford and Garrett Claiborne came up to Frank. “We still got the same mess as before,” Tip said. “What’re we gonna do about those strikin’ miners?”

“Now that the parts Munro and Hammersmith played in everything have come out, maybe we can talk some sense into them,” Frank said. “We’ll have to have another meeting.”

Claiborne looked around and asked, “Where are Hammersmith and Munro? I don’t see them in the street or anywhere along the boardwalk.”

“They must have made it back to the hotel when all hell broke loose.” Frank had set the Winchester aside and was reloading his Colt. “I’ll go find them.”

“Better let us come with you,” Tip suggested. “Since they know they’re facin’ a lot of legal trouble now, they’re liable to put up a fight. That bruiser Hammersmith anyway. I ain’t sure Munro knows how to fight with anything except money.”

Frank considered the offer, but then shook his head. “You fellas have already fought your battle today. This is a job for Buckskin’s marshal, and that’s who I am, at least for now.”

He started toward the hotel. Behind him, Tip called, “Frank? What do you mean by that, Frank? Dadgummit—”

Frank didn’t pay any attention. He kept walking until he reached the boardwalk in front of the hotel. As he stepped into the lobby, he stopped short at the sight of Jessica Munro sitting on the stairs leading up to the second floor. Her face was red and streaked with tears, but she was still beautiful despite that.

“Marshal,” she said as she looked up and saw Frank. She came to her feet. “It’s terrible. They’re dead. They’re all dead.”

She hurried across the lobby to Frank, threw her arms around him, and sobbed.