Twelve Dead Men Read online

  Sutherland got to his feet. “Put the tray on the desk here. I got to take a look, just to make sure. You understand.”

  “Of course.” She placed the tray on the desk, bending over to make sure Sutherland got a good look down the neckline of her dress. The deputy had a wife and five kids, but that didn’t mean he was blind. She could feel his eyes on her.

  Because he was looking at her, he wasn’t watching the tray, so it took him by surprise when she jerked the cloth away from the Colt Navy, snatched up the gun, and stepped back to point it at him, holding it in both hands.

  His eyes widened in shock at the sight of the revolver. He started to reach for the gun on his hip but froze when Dolly used her thumbs to ear back the Colt’s hammer.

  “Don’t yell, Deputy. I don’t want to shoot you.”

  His mouth hung open for a couple seconds, then he said, “You fire off that hogleg and folks’ll come a-runnin’ from all over town.”

  “They’ll come if you start yelling for help, too, so I don’t really have anything to lose, do I?”

  Sutherland swallowed. “Now, Miss Dolly, you don’t want to do this. You know you don’t. You’ve always been a decent gal, for one who works in a saloon. Tell you what. You put that gun down and get on outta here, and I won’t even tell the marshal about this. It’ll be our secret, and you won’t get in no trouble.”

  Slowly, Dolly shook her head. “Come out from behind that desk and turn around.”

  “Miss Dolly—”

  “Do it,” she grated. “And keep your hands away from your gun.”

  With a sad sigh, Sutherland moved around the desk and turned so his back was toward her. “You’re gonna kill me, ain’t you? Son of a bitch. Pardon my language, but I sure would’ve liked a chance to see my old lady and my younguns again.”

  “Deputy, do you ever stop talking?”

  “Well, yeah, sometimes—”

  The sound of his voice had covered up the faint click when Dolly let the revolver’s hammer back down. She stepped toward him, reversing the gun as she went, and raised it to bring the butt crashing down on the back of his head.

  Nobody had to die.

  The unexpected blow made Sutherland fall to his knees. Dolly hit him again, and he pitched forward on his face. With her heart slugging painfully in her chest, she knelt to make sure she hadn’t killed him accidentally. Relief went through her when she saw he was still breathing.

  McLaren had heard enough of the conversation to know what was going on. He didn’t believe for a second that Dixon had sent Dolly with his supper. She was trying to help him escape. He wouldn’t have thought she was that smart . . . or that brave.

  He’d heard the exchange about the gun and the dull thuds, and for a moment his nerves were stretched taut, not knowing who was going to appear in the doorway.

  It was Dolly, and she had the keys in one hand and a Colt Navy in the other.

  “Damn it, girl, you look prettier than I’ve ever seen you!” he exclaimed. “Get over here with those keys.”

  Her feet pattered on the stone floor as she came to the cell door. “Do you really think I’m pretty, Pete?” she asked with the desperate need for approval that often got on his nerves.

  At that moment, he didn’t mind it, that was for sure. “You’re downright beautiful. Unlock the door.”

  She tried but fumbled enough that he grew impatient. Reaching through the bars, he took the keys from her and did it himself. His heart leaped as the door swung open and he stepped out of the cell.

  He wasn’t free and clear yet, though. He took the gun from her without asking and hefted it. The feel of a weapon in his hand was good. “Did you bring me a horse?”

  She shook her head. “No, but there are several tied up at one of the hitch racks outside, just a few steps away. We can grab a couple, Pete, without any trouble.”

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “Well, sure. I-I want us to be together. And I sure can’t stay here in Lone Pine, not after helping you escape.”

  “Did you kill Sutherland?”

  “No, I just knocked him out.”

  “If I kill him, nobody will know it was you—”

  “They’ll guess,” she said, clutching his arm. “Please, Pete. Let’s just get out of here! There doesn’t have to be any killing.”

  Grudgingly, he said, “All right.” He would have liked to get rid of Sutherland, but a shot would draw attention, and it would take valuable time to hunt up a knife and cut the bastard’s throat. Maybe Dolly was right and it was best to light a shuck as quick as they could.

  Anyway, having her along for a while might not be too bad. He could always leave her if he got tired of her. Might even be able to sell her and raise a little money, he thought.

  He caught hold of her hand. “Let’s go.”

  More ideas flashed through his head as they crossed the office to the door. He didn’t like the idea of spending the rest of his life as a fugitive, but he supposed it had been inevitable. He never would have been happy, trying to fit in as a law-abiding type.

  Maybe he would go find Otis—he had a pretty good idea how to get word to his brother—and together they could return to Lone Pine and tree the town, but good! That thought put a savage grin on his face. He had warned all those sons of bitches that the buzzards were going to roost again, and soon they would see he was right!

  With his brain burning from the lust for revenge, he jerked open the office door and stepped out onto the boardwalk.

  A dozen feet out in the street, Marshal Hoyt Dixon stopped in his tracks. Both hands were full with the supper tray he’d been bringing from the café, but that didn’t stop him from dropping the tray and clawing at the holstered revolver on his hip. The old lawman wasn’t the sort to back down, whether he was at a disadvantage or not.

  McLaren didn’t stop to think. He brought up the Colt Navy and a split second later it roared and bucked in his hand.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dixon cleared leather and even managed to raise his gun and pull the trigger, but he was already reeling to the side as the Colt blasted. The bullet went well wide of McLaren and shattered the window of the marshal’s office.

  Blood bubbled from the wound in Dixon’s chest. His face was washed out, drawn tight from pain and shock. He stayed on his feet, though, and even tried to swing his gun back in line with the escaping prisoner.

  McLaren saw the revolver’s muzzle angling toward him and fired again before Dixon had a chance to. This slug struck the lawman an inch above his right eyebrow, shattered his skull, and bored on into his brain, killing him almost instantly. He fell loosely to the ground in the street.

  The three shots had blasted in as many seconds. People along the boardwalks were taken by surprise and didn’t know what was going on, though it wouldn’t take them long to look toward the marshal’s office and see for themselves.

  Meredith gasped and jumped back at the sudden flurry of gunshots, spilling the newspapers to boardwalk.

  Ace knew the shots had come from across the street somewhere. He grabbed Meredith’s arms and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I—What in the world?”

  Satisfied that she hadn’t been hit by a stray bullet, he pushed her toward the door of the store she had just come out of.

  * * *

  McLaren knew he couldn’t waste any time getting out of there.

  “Hey! You son of a bitch!” The shout came from his left.

  He thought it sounded like that night deputy, the greaser. What was his name? Didn’t matter. McLaren whirled in that direction, thrust out the Colt Navy as he drew back the hammer, and then pulled the trigger. The gun slammed out another shot.

  Too late to stay his finger, he realized Dolly was standing there.

  Her mouth opened in a surprised “Oh!” as she staggered back. Crimson welled from the hole in her flesh just above the neckline of the equally red dress she wore. Her eyes were huge. She stood there for a second
that seemed longer.

  McLaren couldn’t see past her, but he heard running footsteps and more shouts.

  Then Dolly crumpled to the boardwalk like a wax statue melting, and McLaren could see the night deputy running toward him. The gun in the young lawman’s hand spurted flame now that he had a clear shot.

  The slug whipped past McLaren’s ear. He returned fire automatically. One of the deputy’s legs jerked out from under him, spilling him to the boardwalk. The fall made him drop his gun.

  Ace whirled toward the sounds of violence and saw Pete McLaren standing on the boardwalk in front of the marshal’s office, and Miguel Soriano fall down. Two more people, wounded or maybe dead, sprawled not far from McLaren. Things were moving too fast for Ace to identify them.

  McLaren could have put another bullet in the deputy, but he knew it might be his last chance to get away. Without another glance at the fallen lawman—or Dolly, for that matter—he leaped the other way, toward the nearest hitch rack.

  He yanked loose the reins of the first of four horses tied there, grabbed the saddle horn, and vaulted into the saddle.

  Ace’s first instinct was to pull his gun and blaze away at the escaping prisoner, but he realized it might not be a good idea to have even more lead spraying around the street. Quite a few people were out in the open, in danger.

  Ace sprinted into the street. He couldn’t allow McLaren to get away. The man had just shot down at least three people. No telling how many more he might hurt or kill if he wasn’t stopped.

  As McLaren wheeled the horse around and kicked it into a run, Ace timed his leap perfectly. He crashed into McLaren, wrapped his arms around the man, and knocked him out of the saddle.

  Lucky for him, he hadn’t had time to get his feet securely in the stirrups, or the galloping horse might have dragged him down the street to his death.

  As it was, McLaren landed on his back in the street with a resounding “Ooofff!”

  Ace landed beside him, and the impact was enough to knock the air out of his lungs. Both young men rolled over and lifted their heads to gasp for breath.

  Ace recovered first, intending to pull his gun and cover McLaren, but the gunman writhed around, lashed out a leg, and hooked it behind Ace’s knees. He swept Ace’s legs out from under him and dumped him unceremoniously in the dust.

  McLaren got his hands under him and pushed himself upright. A shot blasted somewhere close by and made him duck. Ace looked around and saw Miguel Soriano limping toward them, powder smoke curling from the barrel of the gun in his hand. The deputy might be wounded, but he had a look of fierce determination on his face.

  McLaren snapped a shot that came close to Miguel’s head and made him dive for cover behind a water trough. The fugitive used that brief respite to grab the reins of another horse.

  Ace was about to go after him when another form flashed through the air and tackled McLaren. Chance and McLaren hit the ground and rolled almost underneath the hooves of the horses tied at the hitch rack. As the animals spooked and danced around, their steel-shod hooves slashed through the air around the two fighters.

  Chance threw a punch that connected with McLaren’s jaw, but the next instant, as Chance tried to follow that up, McLaren planted a foot in his midsection and heaved. Chance sailed backwards, arms flailing.

  At least it got him away from the danger of being trampled.

  With a speed born of desperation, McLaren sprang up, darted around the horses, and reached for the reins again.

  By that time, Ace was on his feet again and met him there. A fast, straight right to the face jolted McLaren’s head back. Ace followed that with a left hook to the body, then a right that sunk his fist into McLaren’s belly. McLaren doubled over in pain. Ace chopped down with the side of his right fist on the back of McLaren’s neck and hammered the escaping prisoner to the ground.

  McLaren appeared to be stunned. Wary of a trick, Ace bent, looped his right arm around McLaren’s neck, and hauled him upright. McLaren remained limp, so Ace dragged him away from the horses to keep both of them from getting a foot stepped on and busted.

  Chance hurried over to join his brother. “You got him?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Deputy Soriano limped up and pointed his gun at McLaren. The barrel trembled a little, due to the depth of rage showing on his face. “Let go of him and step back,” the lawman ordered.

  Ace hesitated. “What are you going to do, Deputy?”

  “He’s an escaping prisoner. Only one way to deal with that.”

  “Ley de fuga, eh?” Chance said. “He’s not escaping anymore. In fact, it looks to me like he’s out cold. So the law of flight doesn’t really hold, does it?”

  Tired of holding McLaren up, Ace lowered the unconscious man to the ground and moved so he was between Miguel and McLaren. “You can’t kill him in cold blood. The marshal wouldn’t want that.”

  “The marshal’s dead. What he’d want doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I reckon it does. Anyway, are you sure he’s dead? Hadn’t somebody better check on him and whoever else it was McLaren shot?”

  That question prompted all three young men to look toward the marshal’s office, where they saw Doc Bellem kneeling next to the motionless form of Marshal Hoyt Dixon. As Ace, Chance, and Miguel watched, Bellem lifted a solemn expression toward them and shook his head.

  Miguel cursed in Spanish and again swung his gun toward McLaren, who was starting to stir around and moan softly. From the fury in the deputy’s eyes, it was obvious that he wanted to pull the trigger and the law be damned, but he controlled his anger and said in a taut voice, “Get him on his feet.”

  Ace and Chance each took an arm and lifted the groggy McLaren, who shook his head, blinked his eyes, and peered around fuzzily.

  “Take him back to the jail,” Miguel ordered. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  As they started across the street, Ace glanced back at the limping deputy. “How bad are you hit? You probably need some medical attention, too.”

  “No, I don’t,” Miguel said curtly. “McLaren’s bullet missed me. He shot the heel off one of my boots, though, and that knocked me down.”

  Ace was glad to hear that Miguel was all right. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said of Marshal Dixon. The front of the marshal’s shirt was soaked with blood, and his open eyes stared sightlessly up at the night. Doc Bellem should have at least closed his eyes, Ace thought, but the medico had been in a hurry to check on the other wounded person.

  Dolly Redding wasn’t moving, either. Bellem stood up after examining her. He hadn’t even opened his medical bag. “The young woman is dead, too,” he reported to Miguel as the group passed him on the boardwalk.

  “I hate to think about what we’re gonna find inside,” Miguel muttered. He was talking about the other deputy.

  Norm Sutherland was stretched out on the office floor, but at least there wasn’t a pool of blood around him.

  They took McLaren straight through into the cell block. He had recovered his wits enough to know what was going on and began to struggle as they approached the open cell door.

  The Jensen brothers had good grips on his arms, though, so he wasn’t able to pull free. They gave him a good hard shove that sent him stumbling through the doorway and toward the bunk. Ace slammed the door closed before McLaren could catch his balance and turn around.

  Miguel stood at the door with the gun still in his hand and glared at the prisoner. McLaren seemed to realize just how close to death he really was. He blanched slightly.

  Then, with an angry sigh, the deputy holstered his gun.

  The law had won out, at least for now.

  Doc Bellem appeared in the cell block door and announced, “Deputy Sutherland will be all right. He got walloped a couple times, it looks like, and I’m sure he’ll have a devil of a headache when he wakes up. His skull is nice and thick, so I don’t believe there’s any real damage.”

  “That’s good to know, Doc. Thank
s.” Miguel turned back to the cell to look at the prisoner. “You’re right back where you started, McLaren, only you’re not facing prison now.”

  McLaren gripped the bars. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I mean you’re going to hang for murdering Marshal Dixon and that poor girl. And I’m going to enjoy watching you get your neck stretched, you son of a bitch.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They left McLaren in the cell and went back into the office. At Doc Bellem’s suggestion, Ace and Chance picked up Norm Sutherland and placed the unconscious deputy on an old sofa that sat against the wall.

  “Don’t try to bring him around. He’ll come out of it naturally before too much longer.” Bellem looked out the window. “I see Nelson’s here with his wagon. I’ll go make sure the marshal is tended to properly. And that unfortunate young woman, too, of course.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Miguel said after he slumped into the swivel chair behind the desk.

  Bellem paused in the doorway. “You’re the law in Lone Pine now, Miguel. Or should I say Acting Marshal Soriano?”

  “It’s too damned early to worry about that,” Miguel snapped. “Marshal Dixon’s barely cold. Anyway, I reckon Norm will take over. He’s been a deputy longer than I have.”

  Bellem shook his head. “No, he’s going to need to rest up and recover from being hit in the head. Anyway, I’m on the town council, and all of us know Hoyt Dixon had more confidence in you than he did in Norm. That’s why he trusted you to watch over the town at night. But, like you said, we can talk about that later. At least McLaren didn’t get away, so you don’t have to take a posse out after him.”

  “Yeah,” Miguel said with a glum nod. “But that’s not much comfort.”

  The doctor just shrugged and went out.

  Miguel looked at the Jensen brothers. “I appreciate your help. If you hadn’t stepped in, McLaren might have gotten away.”