“You are talking nonsense,” Chester Luce told him.
That did it. Seamus hit him, as fine a punch as was ever thrown, flush on the point of the mayor’s dumpling chin. Chester Luce went down and did not stir once he hit. Seamus stalked to the window, and careful not to show himself, hollered, “This is Sheriff Glickman! You will account for yourselves and your antics!”
“This is Abe Haslett! You ain’t takin’ us in, you hear, tin star?”
“Why in hell would we want to?” If Seamus were any more confused, he would swear he was drunk.
“You don’t fool us!” Abe shouted. “We know you know about Crooked Creek Sam!”
Seamus began to think the entire world had gone insane. “Crooked Creek Sam Hoyt?”
“You figured out we were in on his killin’,” Abe yelled. “Us and the Larns. That’s why you did the Larns in. But you won’t do us like you done them. No siree!”
“They say they had a hand in murdering Crooked Creek Sam?” Seamus said, more to focus his thoughts than anything else. “Those and the four dead ones we found? Am I getting this right?”
“The countryside is overrun with cutthroats,” a posse member remarked.
Seamus was still putting the mental pieces together. As near as he could tally it, he had four killers—dead killers—in accidental custody, and four more killers were out in the street with the intention of waging war on his posse. “This is a hell of a note.”
“What do we do?” the blacksmith’s apprentice asked. He was young and stocky and had more muscle than hair.
“What do you think we do?” was Seamus’s rejoinder. “We shoot the hell out of them.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Thunder revived Adolphina. Crashing thunder in the distance, she thought. But she did not open her eyes or stir. Her head hurt too much. She struggled to remember why and it came back in a wave of pain and anger; that damned rascal Jeeter Frost had walloped her with her own frying pan.
Rage galvanized Adolphina into sitting up. Almost instantly she regretted it as spikes of pain tore through her. Her head felt ripe to burst. Groaning, she touched her temple and stared at a drop of blood on her fingertip. “The weasel. The miserable weasel.”
Thunder rumbled again, only now Adolphina recognized it for what it was: gunfire. She looked about her, then rose and gazed down the hall. The killer and the schoolmarm were nowhere to be found. “Miss Prescott?” she called out. “Are you there?”
Reassured by the lack of a reply, Adolphina moved toward the front of the store. The din in the street was nearly nonstop now. She figured the posse had spotted Jeeter Frost and the runt was being shot to bits. “Nothing would please me more,” she said aloud.
The store was dark, yet to be lit by the glow of the rising sun. Adolphina crept to the window and eased onto her knees. A wretched-looking man was crouched behind a water trough near the store, firing a rifle at the saloon. But it was not Jeeter Frost. She did not know what to make of it. Suddenly lead thudded into the wall, and she ducked down. No sooner did she do so than more shots, from the saloon, struck the window. Three holes appeared, along with a hairline crack.
Adolphina remembered how much that window cost her and Chester. Anger bubbled within her. “The fools!” she fumed, and rose. Heedless of the danger, she yanked the door wide and bawled, “Watch your shooting over there! You are hitting my store!”
The man behind the water trough glanced around in surprise. He abruptly heaved erect and sprang toward her.
Adolphina did not know what he intended, but she was not about to let him in. She slammed the door, or tried to. He hit it with his shoulder, the impact bashing the door against her, and she teetered on her heels. Although she recovered her balance almost immediately, the harm had been done. He was inside, his back to the wall, his rifle leveled.
“That wasn’t very nice, you tub of lard.”
“I beg your pardon?” Adolphina said. She was prickly about her size. It was not her fault nature had not endowed her with a shape men found more appealing.
“Trying to close the door in my face,” the man growled. “You could have gotten me killed.”
“Leave these premises this instant, whoever you are,” Adolphina demanded.
The man snorted. “That is not about to happen, lady. Me and my brothers are in a tight, and I figure you are our salvation. I am Abe Haslett, by the way.”
“My condolences to your mother,” Adolphina said.
Abe Haslett glowered. “Makin’ me mad ain’t too smart.”
“What is all this shooting about? I was told a posse is in town. Am I to infer you and the posse are at odds?”
“They want us for a killin’ but I will be damned if they will treat us to a strangulation jig,” Abe said. “Which is where you come in.”
“I am afraid I do not understand,” Adolphina admitted.
“There are too many of them and not enough of us. We could light a shuck, but they would be after us in no time. So I aim to make good our escape by holding you over their heads.”
“You are no gentleman.”
“Dire straits play hell with manners, lady. But don’t fret. We won’t harm you if you don’t give us cause.”
