Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (39 page)

"All right, Taylor," Max said with resignation. "You may inform your employer that we will be out momentarily."

After the young gunman backed out the door and crossed the street, Max turned to the terrified clerk cowering behind the desk. "How many of them rode in? The truth!"

"S-s-six," Zeke'l stuttered, his eyes almost rolling back in his head, all thoughts of the thrill of seeing an actual shootout gone now that he was faced with the reality of the two ice-cold gunmen he'd just watched face off.

"Sky, who's in the street with Taylor?"

She stepped carefully to the window and looked out. "McKerrish and another hard-looking man in range clothes. He looks like another hired gun," she replied, trying to remain as cool as her husband.

"And where, pray, are the other three hidden?" Max asked the clerk.

Zeke'l shook his head. "I dunno, honest, Mr. Stanhope! They rode in a couple hours ago 'n went into the saloon. Word spread they was looking for an Englishman named Stanhope 'n his Inj—his wife," he stuttered, correcting what could have proven to be a serious mistake. "I never seen what went on after that, I swear!"

Max fixed him with a chilling glare, then turned to Sky. "Taylor told us they had the back covered. My guess is one's on the roof above us, overlooking the rear door. The other two could be anywhere nearby."

"Probably one's in the livery to make sure we can't reach our horses," Sky said.

Max nodded. "Yes, but even if we could, they're too tired to outrun McKerrish."

Casting a scornful glance at the clerk whose cousins had been so eager to stable their animals, Sky said, "I imagine Samuel and Davie figure on owning three pieces of prime horseflesh in a few minutes."

"If you're right about the livery, that leaves one gun either on the rooftop here or hidden across the street," Max said as he peered through the window at the wide dusty expanse, its boardwalks now utterly deserted.

"Do you have a plan?" Sky asked as she pulled a box of ammunition from her saddlebags and stuffed extra .44 Henry cartridges in the pockets of her buckskin shirt.

"First I take out the one watching us from the back. Then we slip into the stable and look for the second fellow," he replied, checking the action on his Winchester '76 and stuffing his own pockets with .45-70 cartridges from his saddlebag. "That will bring McKerrish and his other minions rushing to join the fray. Our only hope is to fight a running battle, using the buildings as cover," he said grimly. "Pick them off one or two at a time."

"All right," she replied calmly "But we both go after the one on the roof together, then head for the livery." He considered until she quickly added, "That's the only way we can cover each other's back."

Before he could reply, McKerrish's ugly braying voice echoed from across the street. "Whut's holdin' yew up, red nigger? Got nothin' ta say now?"

Sky yelled out, "How are those chompers working for you, Zeb?"

"Yew'll know real soon, slut, when I'm a takin' a chaw off'n yer tit. Then yew kin tell me how they's workin'. After I kill yer squaw man, I'll shoot yew up jest 'nough ta leave somethin' to play with fer a piece."

"You mean after your hired hands kill me for you, don't you, Zeb?" Max called out. Zeke'l had vanished beneath his desk, but Max dragged him out by his shirtfront and demanded, "How can we get to the roof from here?"

His eyes bugging out, the clerk said, "Up the s-steps. Third f-floor p-porch out b-back has a 1-ladder up. Mr. Stan-h-hope, k-kill 'em. Ain't nobody gonna b-blame ya."

"Stall McKerrish for a minute, then run like hell after me," Max said to his wife.

As he began to take the steps at the side of the lobby two at a time, quiet as a panther, she yelled out the front door, "You're a real ladies' man, Zeb. Do you always have to have two men to hold a woman down for you? Or do you just need the extra time to find your little thingy?"

With that she took off after Max while the cattleman's infuriated voice cried after her, "Yew ain't gonna be in any shape fer me ta need any holdin' down, bitch!"

Max saw the narrow ladder from the porch to the roof as he eased out the open doorway. He heard Sky's soft footfalls coming up behind him and made a quieting sign to her with his hand, then slipped out and tested the first rung. It made no sound. He leaned his rifle against the wall and drew his Smith & Wesson, starting to climb while Sky waited at the bottom of the ladder with her Yellow Boy cocked and ready to fire.

But he had miscalculated. Just as he made it halfway to the roof, a shot rang out from the second-story window of the building across the alley. It barely missed Max, who dropped cat quick back onto the porch. Sky raised her rifle and took aim at the glint of the gun barrel, then saw a man's head appear through the curtains. She fired. His rifle discharged into the air as he pitched backward.

"One down, five to go," she whispered to Max.

"Follow me," he hissed, holstering his revolver and grabbing his Winchester before climbing over the edge of the porch rail. He shinned awkwardly down the support post to the second-floor porch. By the time he'd climbed over its rail, pausing to cover her, she was down the pole after him. "I'll jump, then catch you after you toss me the rifles," he said, handing her his Winchester as he looked at the dusty earth a dozen feet below. Sounds of curses and pounding boots drew nearer. "Pray I don't break anything."

With that he dropped to the ground and caught his rifle, then hers, tossing them at his feet. When he raised his hands to catch her, Sky did not hesitate, but followed him, landing in his arms. They grabbed their rifles and took off running for the livery, where Max could see a man's head sticking out the back door. Without breaking stride, he fired from the hip and the head vanished inside. He cursed and flattened himself against the back wall of the livery, inching forward, Winchester cocked.

Sky was right behind him, but when he crouched low and ducked into the dim stable, all he saw was the blurred silhouette of the shooter running toward the front, yelling, "They's in here, Mr. Ze—"

Max fired his Winchester and the gunman pitched forward into the street. 'They'll expect us to make a run for it," he said as he yanked open a gate and led the skittering horse inside the stall toward the back door, then swatted it on the rump.

Realizing his plan, Sky did the same with a second horse, which followed the first down the back alley in a mad stampede.

''Slip into that stall and wait," he ordered, crouching inside the opposite stall, resting his rifle barrel on one of its rails. The other horses nickered in terror, penned in, kicking against the slats of the gates.

One man rushed in. Neither McKerrish nor Taylor followed. When the gunman looked toward where Sky was hidden, Max yelled. As the killer's gun turned toward him, he fired. "Three down, three to go," he said over the noise of the panicked horses. Then he shoved her toward the front of the livery.

When they neared the front door, they each flattened themselves against opposite sides of the wall. Max made a sign for her to remain still and watch the back as he looked out and scanned up and down the street. Taylor and the other professional were not foolish enough to rush their fences. McKerrish was too cowardly. That third man might still be inside the saloon or up on its rooftop across the street. That worried Stanhope. But then, so did Taylor. The kid was no fool.

If he could only kill McKerrish, it might end. But how? Then an idea presented itself. "When I fire, cry out my name and act as if you've been hit and I'm not here," he whispered to her, raising his revolver with the barrel pointed to the ground.

As soon as he fired, Sky screamed over the frantic nickering of horses, "Ahhh, Max! Where are you?" She followed that with moans as he quickly replaced the spent round in his Smith & Wesson and holstered the weapon.

"Bitch, I tole yew I'd make yew crawl!" McKerrish's triumphant laugh came from her side of the livery.

The instant she heard him, Sky dashed to the loose wooden plank wall and peered through a knothole. She could see, even smell his filthy body. Her Yellow Boy ready to fire, she positioned it carefully and pulled the trigger. McKerrish's tall, lanky figure stumbled backward and then dropped.

"Your employer is dead, gentlemen. I suggest you leave while you are still able to walk," Max called out with confidence he was far from feeling. It could not be this easy.

That was when Taylor peered around the corner of the saloon across the street. "Very fine ploy, Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope. I applaud your acting ability, but I'm afraid I have a job to finish."

Sky returned to Max's side and started to raise her rifle, but he pushed the barrel down. "No, if you miss or even graze him, he'll duck into that alley. It's not worth the risk. At least now we know where he is. I'm going out—"

"No!" she hissed.

"Yes. While I start out, I'll keep him talking. The boy likes drama. You watch for any sign of that last man. Apparently they both feel a professional obligation to see this through," he said.

"Taylor wants the reputation of killing you, nothing more."

Max shrugged. "Perhaps, but first we have to know where his companion is."

"I think I know," Sky said, firing her rifle at the figure who had just slipped inside the back door. She heard a grunt, but after her own performance, could not risk rushing to investigate. She flattened herself against the wall and listened. Nothing. After what seemed like an eternity, a tiny rustling noise caused one of the horses to start nickering again.

They both waited, listening closely. The bright sunlight pouring in the front door hid them in shadows but left the man in the stall exposed if he tried to step out for a shot at them. It was a standoff.

Then Taylor's voice taunted again. "I'm losing patience, Mr. Stanhope. After we complete our rendezvous, I give my word I will not harm your wife."

Max dared not reply lest he reveal his exact position to the man in the back of the stable. Understanding that, Sky set down her rifle. Because of the cramped close quarters, it would be easier to use a revolver. She withdrew her Merwin & Hulbert from her holster and moved from the door, slipping quickly between the lower rails into the first stall.

Seeing what she was doing, Max started to do the same from the opposite side, but then he heard Taylor's voice growing closer. He probably was slipping from one doorway to another, too cagy to completely expose himself. Max dared not leave the deadly young man unattended.

Sky used the uneasy nickering of the horses to cover her movements as she crawled beneath the bars of the next stall. Two more to go. It was difficult to see out the gate without risking being shot. She was almost certain she'd hit her target, but did not know how badly he was hurt. When a horse in the stall across from her nickered, she slipped between the gate rails into the third stall and stroked the pinto confined there until it calmed.

No sign of motion from the back. Good. But outside, Taylor was becoming more vocal. "I know a man such as you, Mr. Stanhope, wouldn't hide behind a woman."

Sky knew time was running out. Soon Max would step out to kill or die protecting her. She had to do something, fast. Standing up, she peered over the divider into the next stall, where a bay horse shook his head nervously. She seized a pitchfork leaning at the rear of the stall, barely able to reach the handle. Carefully raising it until she had a good grip on it, she prodded the horse's rump. When the big bay reared up, she shoved the gate to his stall open with the fork. The horse lunged out and headed for the back door.

Using the diversion, she slipped from the pinto's stall and edged closer to where her target had gone down.

Max yelled, "Sky, no, dammit!" and whirled to fire as soon as he could see the gunman.

But Sky was ahead of him. The man had been crouched against the back wall of the last stall. When she heard him cock his revolver, she opened up, firing from the cover of the stall's partition. The distance was ten feet or less. One of his bullets grazed her ribs but her .38 found its mark. She pumped four shots into him and watched as he slid down the wall.

Turning around, she saw Max silhouetted in the front door. "All right, young Taylor. All your companions and your employer are dead. You have earned your money. Walk away. Now."

"You know I won't do that, Mr. Stanhope." Taylor laughed. "I do believe I'd rather face you than your wife. I'm certain those last four shots were hers."

"As you wish," Max said quietly.

As Sky ran down the aisle of the livery and out the front door, two shots blended together. She looked at the two men still standing in the street thirty feet apart. Her heart hammered as she clutched the Yellow Boy she'd seized in her headlong rush. Max lowered his Smith & Wesson. For a moment Taylor seemed frozen, but the hand holding his Colt Lightning had also lowered. Then the revolver dropped from his nerveless fingers and he crumpled.

Sky watched her husband walk toward the man he had just shot, who now lay stretched out on the ground. Max knelt and stared down at the dying young man, shaking his head as he did so. Max appeared unscathed. She ran into the street after him and heard the dying gunman's last words to Max.

"I...was...actually faster."

"Yes, Taylor, but it's accuracy that kills," Max said softly. Then he heard Sky running to him and stood up to embrace her. "You're hurt!" he said, seeing the blood seeping from her side.