Moonshine Massacre

Chapter 36

Matt took more than an hour to work his way into Cottonwood, utilizing every trick of stealth he had learned from Sam and Medicine Horse, not to mention his own experiences. By the time he reached the back alley that ran behind the buildings along the south side of Main Street, the dark clouds had moved in and could no longer be ignored, although the air itself remained still and heavy for the most part. It had a hot, breathless quality that made the hair stand up on the back of Matt’s neck as he pressed himself against the rear wall of the hotel.

He made his way to the corner and then along the side of the building until he could see some of the street. An atmosphere of tense foreboding that had nothing to do with the weather hung over the settlement. The street was deserted, and the only men he saw along the boardwalks were some of the Kane bunch. Matt stiffened in surprise as he recognized Wiley, Nelse, and Dud Kane, the three brothers Marshal Coleman had arrested a few days earlier.

Matt knew that Coleman wouldn’t have released those prisoners. The fact that they were walking around not only free but also heavily armed told Matt that Cimarron Kane must have released them from the jail. That meant Coleman was either dead or a prisoner himself.

Fear for Sam’s safety went through Matt like a cold chill. He knew that his blood brother was well capable of taking care of himself, but the odds would have been mighty high against Sam when the Kanes rode in to take over the town. Clearly, that was exactly what had happened, and Sam might be dead, too, although Matt hadn’t heard any shots as he was sneaking into the settlement.

He needed to reach the jail, Matt decided. If Sam and Coleman were still alive, maybe that was where they were. As for Frankie Harlow, Matt had no idea where she might be, but the first order of business was to find out if Sam was still alive and join forces with him if he was.

Matt was about to slip back down the narrow passage beside the hotel to the rear alley when another gun-hung hombre walking along the opposite boardwalk caught his attention. He recognized the man as one of the special deputies. Since Bickford had ridden in with Cimarron Kane, that came as no surprise. Kane must have let those prisoners out of jail, too, probably including Ambrose Porter.

Things had really gone to hell here in Cottonwood, Matt thought bleakly, and he would be facing an uphill battle to put them right again.

The Good Lord hadn’t included any backup in Matt Bodine, though, so he would fight to the bitter end. He went back to the alley and started making his way along it.

He had just stepped around the rear corner of the hotel when he almost ran into one of the Kanes. The man must have been sent back here to patrol the alley. His mouth opened to raise a shout of alarm, but before any sounds could come out, Matt struck with blinding swiftness. His fist crashed into the man’s face with stunning power, sending him staggering backward. Matt leaped after him, palming out his left-hand Colt and slamming the barrel against the side of the man’s head. The savage blow did the job. The man went down hard. He was out cold when he hit the ground.

Matt knew it might not be long before another guard came along and discovered the unconscious man. He broke into a run toward the far end of town where the jail was located.

He had taken only a few steps when what sounded like a giant clap of thunder shook the ground under his feet. Despite the gathering storm, though, it wasn’t thunder, he realized.

It was an explosion.

Linus Grady, Cimarron Kane, and Ambrose Porter left the jail soon after Kane’s leering threat, leaving Calvin Bickford behind to keep an eye on Sam and Marshal Coleman.

“You can’t expect to get away with this, Bickford,” Sam told the man. “Too many people in Cottonwood know what you were up to before. Now that you’re partners with Kane and Grady, you can’t wipe out the whole town. It would ruin their plans if you did.”

“Nobody’s going to be brave enough to speak up,” Bickford said confidently. “Not with Cimarron being Cottonwood’s new marshal and Linus Grady its mayor. They’ll run things, and folks will go along with them if they know what’s good for ’em.”

Sam hated to think it, but he knew Bickford might be right. The citizens of Cottonwood were common, ordinary people. They weren’t outlaws or professional gunmen, and they wouldn’t stand a chance against a whole clan of killers like the Kanes. Eventually, of course, the facts of what had happened here would filter out to the proper authorities, but by that time the four conspirators would have cleaned up. They could take their loot and run, but probably not without leaving death and destruction behind them.

“You fellas enjoy what time you have left,” Bickford went on. “Cimarron and Ambrose have a couple of dozen men patrolling the town. As soon as Bodine walks into their trap, we can wrap things up and get on with the business of becoming rich men.”

By wrapping things up, Bickford meant murdering Sam and Coleman, Ike and Mike Loomis, and probably Hannah and Frankie, Sam thought. Although it was possible the conspirators might keep the two young women alive as playthings, at least until they grew tired of them. Sam’s jaw clenched so tightly at the thought that he had to force it to relax before he broke some of his teeth.

Chuckling, Bickford strolled out of the cell block. He left the door open as he went into the marshal’s office. Sam heard the chair behind the desk squeak as the crooked lawman sat down.

Sam hadn’t given up on finding a way out of the cell. He was looking around, hoping that an idea would come to him, when he heard a whisper at the window. “Two Wolves!”

Sam sprang to the window and looked out. Barnabas Smith stood there. The little man didn’t look as drunk now as he had been earlier. Barnabas went on. “I heard what those bastards were sayin’ a while ago. Porter’s liable to try to hunt down all of us he had locked up in those wagons, so he can shut our mouths.”

“That’s right,” Sam said with a nod. “Listen, my friend Matt may be in town. Have you seen him?”

“Nope. But you don’t need him to get you outta there. I can do it.”

Sam frowned. “It’s too late to get the keys,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low. “Bickford’s in the office.”

“Don’t need the keys. Those varmints left their horses in the livery stable when they took Ike Loomis prisoner, so I was able to slip in there and get somethin’ even better outta Bickford’s saddlebags. Back when I was a prisoner, I saw where he keeps ’em.”

“Keeps what?” Sam asked in exasperation.

“This,” Barnabas said as he lifted a round black object into Sam’s line of sight. A fuse dangled from it.

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s a bomb!”

“I know,” Barnabas said calmly. He lifted his other hand, and Sam saw a match in it. Before Sam could say anything, Barnabas snapped the match into life with his thumbnail and held the flame to the end of the fuse. “Better grab the mattress off that bunk and get under it. I’ll put this down at the base of the wall.”

“No!” Sam exclaimed. “Put that fuse out! Get rid of it, Barnabas—”

“No time for that now,” Barnabas said as he bent to the ground. “Better duck!”

Then his running footsteps pounded away along the alley.

Sam did the only thing he could. He yelled, “Get down!” at Marshal Coleman, snatched the thin mattress off the cell’s bunk, and curled up in a corner as far away from the wall as he could get, wrapping the mattress around himself. He heard Bickford run into the cell block, shouting, “What the hell?”

When the blast came a second later, it was like being caught in the middle of the biggest thunderclap that ever sounded. A wave of force smashed into Sam and drove him back into the corner. A huge weight crashed down on top of him. He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to, his ears were ringing and the smell of burned powder was so sharp that it seemed to slice into his nose like a thousand knives.

But he was alive, no doubt about that. The weight was still on top of him, making it difficult to breathe. He shoved against it, and some of it fell away. Sam continued to struggle, fighting his way free of the rubble that was heaped on top of him.

He still couldn’t hear anything as he pushed the chunks of broken wall off him and climbed to his feet. He saw the chips of rock fly from a big piece of wall as a bullet struck it, though. Twisting around, he saw Calvin Bickford getting ready to fire another shot through the bars, which had withstood the explosion. Bickford’s face was covered with blood from the gashes that flying debris had left on it.

Sam grabbed a fist-sized shard of rock and let fly with it, aiming for a gap between two of the iron bars. The missile flew true and caught Bickford in the head just as he pulled the trigger. The impact threw off his aim and made him stagger backward.

That brought him within reach of Coleman, whose hands shot through the bars and caught Bickford around the neck. The real lawman jerked the corrupt one back against the door as hard as he could. Bickford’s head clanged against the bars. He went limp, and his gun slipped out of his fingers.

“Sam, go on!” Coleman shouted as he lowered Bickford’s unconscious form to the floor. “Get out of here!”

Sam tilted his head and gave it a shake. He heard the words vaguely, enough to understand them, and realized that his hearing was coming back after the explosion. He saw Coleman waving a hand toward the far wall and looked in that direction to see a gaping hole in it. Barnabas Smith and several other men were waiting outside in the alley.

“Come on, Two Wolves!” Barnabas urged. “We’ll help you! We got a score to settle with Porter!”

It was true. Barnabas’s companions were some of the men who had been imprisoned in the wagons, and they all had guns. Barnabas held out a revolver butt-first, offering it to Sam.

Those men were farmers and drifters, and some of them probably really were moonshiners. A motley army, to be sure. But a hell of a lot better than nothing.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Coleman. “Go!” the marshal urged again. He was reaching through the bars, searching Bickford’s pockets. “I’ll see if I can find the key to unlock this door. If I can, I’ll come and find you. But you got to get Hannah away from those bastards, Sam. You just got to!”

Sam gave him a curt nod of agreement. “I’ll get her, Marshal,” he promised. Still a little shaky on his feet, he climbed through the hole that the bomb had blasted in the wall and joined Barnabas and the others in the alley.

Barnabas pressed the pistol into Sam’s hand. “I saw Porter and the others headin’ down toward the doc’s house,” he said.

Sam nodded. “We’ll have to fight our way through,” he warned. “Some of us probably won’t make it.”

Barnabas grinned, and the expression was positively fierce, especially for such a small man. “Like I said, we got scores to settle with those sons o’ bitches.”

Sam was about to lead the way when he heard someone call his name. “Sam! Sam!” He turned and saw Matt running toward him, a gun in each hand.

Matt grinned as he came up and waved a Colt toward the destroyed wall. “What’d you do, blow the place up?”

“No, Barnabas did,” Sam replied. “Hannah and Frankie are being held down at the doctor’s house, along with the Loomises. Kane, Porter, and Grady are there, too.”

“Grady!” Matt exclaimed.

“It’s a long, ugly story,” Sam said.

“Then save it for later. Just tell me this. Is Grady one of the varmints behind all this trouble?”

“That’s right.”

“Then we’ll shoot him, too,” Matt said. “Come on!”