Buchanan's Seige (19 page)

"You expect me and Morgan to go down there?" screamed Dealer Fox. "We're payin' for people to do
that."

"Dead men can't collect," said Pollard.

"We ain't scared," Crane insisted. "It just ain't our job
whilst we can hire men."

Pollard looked at Tanner and Geer. They shrugged,
nodding agreement to his leadership. The foreman of the
Bar-B turned his attention to the dead, the wounded,
those who were left of the bunch behind the knoll.
Torches burned low, there was a queasy expression on the
faces of too many of them.

Pollard said, "So far it's been a dumb play. You want to
listen to good sense or don't you?"

"We're the boss here," said Fox, but he had followed
Pollard's inquiring survey, and his voice was weak.

"Then you go ahead and run it without Toad and Geer
and me," said Pollard indifferently. "My boss seems to
have lost interest. I'd as soon quit."

"Now, wait," said Fox. "That ain't no way to talk. Let's
all have a touch of that good whiskey and talk things
over."

"Don't need booze," said Pollard. "We can augur right
here and now."

Geer and Tanner moved in. The three of them were
formidable, and Fox realized that, under the circum
stances, anything could happen both to him and to Crane,
who was as drunk as any of them. His devious mind de
scribed a huge circle.

"Okay, Sime. Reckon you're right. Reckon we a
in’t
done any good 'til now." His voice was oily, he managed
to
grin. "Reckon we'll have to go in the next time. Show t
he
men we're with 'em all the way."

"The dynamite," said Pollard. "We got to use it. Wag
ons and the dynamite."

"Can we do that?"

"I can do it," said Pollard. "I know about dynamite."

Morgan Crane was emptying the first barrel, st
ill
mouthing obscenities to the watching men. Fox
away from him.

"Sime?"

"Yep."

"You pull it out. Then we'll talk real business."

"Like about Brad?"

"He's through, you know that. And look at Morgan.
Only you and me are makin' any sense."

"You figurin' to do away with Brad?"

"It'll be an accident. Like when they drive out in their
carriage. Maybe one of your sticks of dynamite?"

"Mebbe."

"Then you run the Bar-B."

Pollard shook his head. "Then I
own
the Bar-B."

"Now, Sime don't be a hawg."

"I own it. I been a drover all my life. Now you all got
me into this. And I know where I stand. I'll take care of
Toad and Dab. But I get to own Bar-B."

Fox looked at the hard-faced lean foreman, saw danger,
saw raw ambition. He also saw intelligence, possibly a way
to get through this dangerous setup.

He dissimulated. "Well
...
if that's the way it has to
be."

"That's the only way," Pollard said coldly.

"But first we got to finish this job clean."

"We let 'em sweat. Come sunup, we hit."

"You're the boss."

"Right," said Pollard. "And you go down there with us,
you and Morgan."

"Agreed."

"Sure. Agreed. And I'm goin' to see you do it." Pol
lard's laugh was without mirth.

"Okay, Sime. It's your wagon."

"Wagons. Me and Toad and Dab. We'll convince the
m
. We blow up the house from the wagons. Forget the
da
m
n
barn, we only lose at the barn."

"And they'll expect us to hit there."

"You're catchin' on, Dealer." Pollard walked away.

There went a really dangerous man, Fox thought. Now
h
e would have to think real hard. He could, of course,
sta
rt down on the attack. There was bound to be confusion.
He
could slip away to safety.

No use to worry about Morgan. He had slid down to the ground, his head against a wagon wheel, snoring.
Many of the men were sleeping, either from exhaustion or
because of the booze.

He walked around the knoll and up to where he could
look into the glade. The Bradburys slept against each
other, but Miguel was awake and on guard with the shot
gun. The man left to watch them was also partially awake.
It didn't matter right now.

Dealer Fox looked up at the sky. He took a
deep
breath. He suddenly felt more alone than he had ever been
before.

Buch
anan awakened with the touch of Coco's hand upon is arm. He started. The smell of dawn was on the air. He
was still in the barn.

Coco said, "The trees, Tom. They beginnin' to move
in the trees."

“Wh
o's on the roof?"
"Them Whelans. He got a. bullet in the side, but he
went
up there with her. His wife. They mighty tough peo
ple,
Tom."

"Mighty good people." He rinsed off his face at the
water bucket, from which they had sipped water during all
the previous day and night. "I had a dream."

"Good dream or bad dream?"

"I don't know. It told me they wouldn't try the barn,
here, next time."

"Shoot, didn't need no dream for that. They got
knocked out twice, tryin' it here."

"But we need cover here." He brushed the last vestige
of sleep from his eyes. "Trevor. How's his arm?"

"He been shootin'. Him and Weevil. At them trees."

"Miz Day?"

"She fixin' food and all. She loadin' guns with me.
Maybe she got an hour sleep or so."

"The
Kovacs?"

"They just set. They'd do anything to stop it, I do be
lieve. When the little old Injun gal went away, they was
finished."

"Uh-huh. And how do you feel?"

Coco brightened. "Little old Injun gal, she done
wonders for me. It hurts. .. but I can navigate."

"So we got Weevil and Trevor and the Whelans, four
guns. Maybe Amanda to fire a few shots. We got Badger
outside. Then there's you and me."

"I can't shoot no gun."

"I know." He weighed the odds in his mind. "We better get to the house before there's light to shoot us by."

"Me and Amanda, we brought out the other corpus,"
said Coco, pointing. "Put him there with his daddy. Them
other two, couldn't get to them. They're in the yard where
they fell."

"Amanda?"

"The Whelans was on the roof. Trevor's hurt. Weevil's
got but one leg. The Kovacs, they just set and stare." Coco
spread his muscular, huge hands. "Wasn't for my ribs, I'd
be all right."

"You keep 'em bandaged tight. And come on, now."
Buchanan led the way to the house in the deceptive light
that precedes dawn. It was the time when all energies are
low, when people cannot see the light after a long night. It
was the lowest ebb of fortune.

Amanda held the door. There was coffee on the stove
and a pot of hot gruel, a porridge of sorts. Buchanan swal
lowed the coffee, admiring the widow's coolness and
courage.

A bullet came through one of the windows, missed a
hanging mattress, skipped off the stone wall, whistled into
the kitchen. Amanda pushed back a strand of hair as it clanked against the stove and fell harmless to the floor.
There were dark hollows beneath her eyes.

"Pieter and Jenny have given up," she said, ignoring the flight of the deadly hunk of lead. "Weevil is exhausted.
Trevor's wound is infected in spite of the Indian herbs . . .
I may have applied them wrong."

Buchanan said, "Won't take a long while to decide it
now. One way or another."

"I can see only one way," she said, low-voiced. "There
are just too many of them."

"That ain't the way to look at it." He went to the closet
where he had manufactured his dynamite bombs and
began to stow them in his pockets. She followed him.

"We began this together." She stood very close to him.
"Mainly because of me you're in it."

"Nope," he told her. "Just a notion of mine that people shouldn't be lynched. Nor beaten and jailed, like they did
Coco and Weevil."

"Still, we were in it from the start."

"Uh-huh." He looked down at her from his considerable height. "I call it good company, no matter how it
goes."

The tired eyes of the woman flashed. "Yes. Good
company. Don't forget that, Buchanan."

"Couldn't forget it," he told her. "You been somebody
else, all the way. Keep it that way."

"Isn't there anything I can do? To help?"

"Just what you been doin'," he said.

She nodded. She was disheveled and not too clean, but
there was a wild beauty ab
out her. "It seems we've been h
ere forever. Doing what we can. All the killing. I can't
quite take it in, not yet."

"Don't try," he advised her. He walked into the big
front room, death in every pocket of his jacket and pants,
death in his revolver, in his rifle. He looked at Trevor,
then at Weevil.

"I'm bringin' down the Whelans," he said. "Coco and
me, we'll take the roof."

"The barn?" Trevor was flushed in the light of the shel
tered lamp. "What of the barn?"

"They'll be comi
n
' right to us this time," Buchanan
said. "It figures. They got the wagons. They'll have
learned somethin' by now."

"Learned?"

"How to use 'em. The fools have died. Pollard's no
dummy. This'll be the big one."

Weevil said, "Dynamite. They got to have more'n you
took away from the first wagon."

"Right," said Buchanan. "So we'll need all the fire
power here. If they go the other way, then the Whelans
can swing out and I'll be with 'em."

"If they get close enough, we're goners," said Weevil.

"You might say it that way," Buchanan agreed.

"By God, I'd rather take it outdoors."

"You might get the chance, too." Buchanan went into
the bedroom and looked at the owners of the stone house.

Pieter and Jenny still sat on the bed, close together.
Their eyes were devoid of emotion, now. Jenny fingered a
rosary, her lips moving.

Buchanan said, "Sorry about all the damage. But the buildings are solid, nothin' can happen to them."

"Is lost our lil girl," said Pieter.

"She'll be back."

"No." He was positive. "Her people no fight, kill."

"Uh-huh. Reckon most of your fight was for her." Bu
chanan shook his head sorrowfully. "Once into it, there's no way to stop. You saw them cowboys get killed. Talk
stops after the first shot is fired. That's just the way it is."

"It can never be right again. If we live . .. we go," said
Pieter Kovacs. "Is not worth it."

"I'm right sorry. You got a nice spread here." He left
them. Words could do nothing at this time, and he knew
the first rays of morning would soon spread into the
Wyoming sky. Some people were like that, brave as brave until that certain nerve was exposed. With them, it was the
Indian girl they had reared, who had become so important
to them. They should have left with her, he thought now.
It would have been better all around if they had gone to
the far hills and the Crow tribe.

He beckoned to Coco, and they climbed the ladder to
the roof. Bullets flew above their heads as they crawled to
the parapet.

Rob Whelan said, "They are sure settin' up somethin'."

"You note their target."

"Yeah. The house."

"Like we said before. You want to go back to the
barn?"

"You got a good reason?" Whelan scowled, dubious.
"Seems like we need all the guns right here."

"Look at it this way: if they hit here full force, a flank
in' fire from the barn'll come in mighty handy. And if
Badger's still out there, it might do a heap of good."

Fay Whelan said, "You ain't lettin' me out because I'm
a woman, are you, Buchanan?"

Buchanan grinned. "Beggin' your pardon, but you
haven't been actin' girlish since this whizbang began."

"Now, that's the nicest thing's been said to me in a long
time," she said.

"You totin' that dynamite?" asked Rob.

"Figured it might be useful." Buchanan stretched out
and removed two bombs from his pants pocket. "Me and Coco, we can handle this. You might leave an extra rifle, pick up another downstairs."

"It makes sense," said Rob, eyeing the stick of dyna
mite with distrust. "I don't know nothin' about that stuff."

"Come on, honey," said Fay. "I'll bet Buchanan
knows."

He had, indeed, experienced an occasion when explosives had saved some lives under different circumstances.
It did not give him too much confidence about these
crude, homemade bombs. But he thought of the war wag
ons that the enemy had for its attack and took out the
rest of the bombs, stowing them close to the parapet where
they would be safe from a random bullet. Coco was re
loading the rifle left behind by Whelan,

Buchanan said, "This won't be a picnic, you know
that."

"Don't expect a picnic," Coco said. "Hope that little
old Injun gal got clean away, is all."

"She did. I talked to Badger."

"Then they didn't get the old man."

They went to the ladder. Coco was awkward making
the climb, favoring his broken ribs, using the power of his
long arms to haul himself up. Buchanan carried the rifles and ammunition. They snaked their way under constant attack from the trees. Darkness prevented sharp marks
manship, but the first tendrils of dawn were spreading in
the east.

Buchanan said, "Damn trouble is those people. They
got the nubby on us."

"Guns," said Coco. "Stinkin' guns."

Buchanan picked a spot from which much of the firing seemed to be emanating. He watched for dots of red, then shot into a dim mass of thick branches. For a couple of moments, nothing happened. He persisted.

Bodies made sounds, and there were hoarse cries as
men fell from their perches. Limbs creaked and splintered. Heavier fire came at once from other sections of the small
forest.

"They must be about ready to hit us," Buchanan said.
"Keep that dynamite handy. And be careful."

"Careful? I treat it like thin-shelled, white hen's eggs,"
Coco said.

"Be ready with the matches."

"If I can hold 'em steady. This here stuff's worse'n
guns. It goes off, it kills us all."

"Don't let it go off. Hold it ready, is all."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Coco told him. "Thing is,
what am I ready for?"

Buchanan had no answer. He could only wait. He believed the attack would come at the house. If it did not, he
would transfer the dynamite and his body and Coco's to
the barn. It was once more a matter of waiting and sweat
ing and hoping he was correct.

Dealer Fox moved away from the main body at the
knoll. It was just before dawn, and the torches flickered.
In his pocket was a capped stick of dynamite attached to a
very short fuse, like a firecracker. He had thought about
this all night, and his courage was screwed up to its high
est pitch.

Pollard, he thought, would be next. He could handle
Morgan Crane and the others. Bradbury, then Pollard,
that was the way it had to be.

He came to the glade. He spoke to the guard, sending
him to join the main body. Bradbury sat with the rifle
loosely held in his hands. Consuela stood, expressionless. Miguel held the shotgun ready.

Fox said, "Conny, Brad. This is goin' to be it. This is
goin' to blow 'em out. Pollard's got it figured."