Sidewinders (21 page)

Sarlat and Jake wouldn't have taken Lauralee to the Star C, that was for sure. More than likely they had headed back to that cabin east of town with her. That was where Bo and his family and the Star C punchers would go, too, in an attempt to catch up to Sarlat and bring him to justice.

But where in blazes was Scratch? He ought to be around here somewhere, Bo told himself. He would wait a little longer, let the second posse of the night rush out of Bear Creek on a fool's errand, and then take a better look around the settlement for his partner.

Maybe he could nab Veronique, too. She might make a good bargaining chip if they had to lay siege to the cabin.

The group of townsmen split up, but it didn't take long for them to round up their horses and guns and get together again to gallop out of town to the south, more than three dozen men heading for the Star C. That probably didn't leave very many able-bodied men in the settlement, Bo thought as he watched from the eastern side of the creek, which must have been what Sarlat was after all along.

Bo had lost track of Veronique during the confusion of the new posse forming, but he assumed she was still around somewhere. The first place to look was the medicine show wagon. Once things had quieted down, he trotted across the bridge and swung into Main Street, which was now deserted.

Along the way he kept an eye out for Scratch and paused several times to give the call of a hoot owl, a signal that he and his trail partner used on occasion. So far there had been no response, no sign of Scratch, which was pretty worrisome.

Bo stopped as he realized the medicine show wagon wasn't parked next to the public well, where it had been earlier. He looked up and down the street and didn't see the vehicle anywhere.

But he heard the querulous voice of the elderly hostler at the livery stable as the old man called, “Hey, you can't . . . Come back here, dadgummit!”

A figure on horseback galloped out the front of the stable, where one of the big doors stood open. The rider turned to come toward Bo, who spotted long red hair flying in the wind. Veronique must have stolen a horse from the stable and was trying to get out of Bear Creek now that she had finished her work here, Bo thought.

He didn't want that to happen.

He drew back into the shadow of an alley mouth and waited in the darkness, timing his move until Veronique had almost reached him. Then he lunged out, reached up, and wrapped an arm around her to jerk her out of the saddle. She yelped in surprise and flailed at him as he swung her around and dropped her to the ground.

When she got a look at him, she exclaimed, “Jake!” then tried to scramble away as she realized her mistake. Bo leaned down and caught hold of her ankle. She kicked at him, but he blocked the blow with the rifle.

“Take it easy, miss,” he told her. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Let me go!” she panted. “I'll scream! I'll tell everyone the Bear Creek Butcher has got me!”

“Who are you going to tell?” Bo asked. “The town's almost empty, at least as far as anybody who could help you goes. You sent them all away to look for me.” He paused. “And for Lauralee Parker. So help me, if you people have hurt her—”

He stopped short as he heard something unexpected. It sounded almost like the rumble of distant thunder, but the sky was clear tonight. Those were hoofbeats, Bo thought, the hoofbeats of a dozen or more horses. A large group of riders was approaching the settlement, from the north this time so it couldn't be the bunch that had ridden out a few minutes earlier.

Veronique sneered up at him from the ground and said, “Now you will wish you had kept running.”

The riders swept into town. Veronique leaped to her feet and ran. Bo let her go. He swung to face the newcomers, and as he did he saw moonlight reflecting from the barrels of their guns.

Now it all made sense. Those heavily armed strangers galloping toward him were outlaws, and they had to be working with Sarlat. The professor had orchestrated events so that the town was sitting there defenseless, with no one to stop them from coming in and cleaning it out.

No one, that is, except him . . . the man Bear Creek had turned on and declared a monster and a killer.

One of the raiders spotted him and yelled a warning. Guns began to roar. Muzzle flame split the night.

Holding the Winchester at his hip, Bo opened fire.

He didn't stay where he was. He made too good a target out in the open. After cranking off four rounds as fast as he could work the rifle's lever, he turned and sprinted for the nearest cover, which was an alcove on the front of one of the buildings where the business's entrance was located.

Bo leaped onto the boardwalk and ducked into the opening, then thrust the Winchester's barrel around the corner and continued firing. His shots had caused the gang's charge to break up a little. Several of the riders milled around, obviously confused because they hadn't expected anybody to put up a fight.

There were at least two dozen of them, though, which meant the odds against Bo were overwhelming. He might manage to hold them off for a few minutes, but that was all.

It might be enough.

He traded shots with the outlaws, a fast exchange of lead that sent splinters flying into the air as bullets chewed into the building's walls around Bo. He felt one of the sharp slivers sting his cheek but ignored the pain. He had to keep the raiders occupied for just a little longer . . .

John Creel and the crew from the Star C came boiling off the end of the bridge with guns blazing and smashed into the outlaws from the side. Instantly the street was a scene of chaos with revolvers roaring, horses smashing into each other, and men crying out as slugs tore into them. John and his sons and his ranch hands didn't have any way of knowing who they were fighting, but from the way the raiders had galloped in and started shooting up the town, they knew the men were up to no good.

Bo darted out of the alcove and raced toward the battle. He spotted his father as John Creel fought to keep his wheeling horse under control. At the same time, the gun in John's hand leaped and spat fire as he triggered at the outlaws.

Bo saw one of the raiders driving in behind his father and snapped the rifle to his shoulder. It cracked and sent a bullet ripping through the outlaw's body. The man flung his arms in the air and toppled loosely out of the saddle, landing in the limp sprawl that signified death.

John yanked his horse around, saw his oldest son, and shouted, “Bo!”

Then he jerked and sagged forward, and Bo knew he'd been hit.

“Pa!”

Bo moved even faster, racing to catch his father as John fell. He got an arm around John, whose weight drove Bo to one knee. One of the outlaws bore down on them.

Bo lifted the rifle and fired it one-handed, blowing the man backward out of the saddle. Then he dropped the Winchester and put both arms around his father.

“Pa, how bad are you hit?” he asked over the roar of gunfire.

“I'm all right, damn it!” John insisted. He had managed to hang on to his pistol. He pressed it into Bo's hand and went on, “Shoot some more of those sons of bitches!”

Bo did what his father told him, kneeling there and holding John up as he aimed the Colt and fired until the weapon was empty. His deadly accurate shots dropped several more of the raiders.

The shooting began to die out. The Star C crew had been outnumbered, but they had taken the outlaws completely by surprise and inflicted a great deal of damage in the opening seconds of the battle. They had the upper hand now, and the remaining outlaws started to surrender. The ones who didn't throw down their guns were blasted off their horses in short order.

Riley, Cooper, and Hank galloped over to Bo and John. Bo's brothers threw themselves out of their saddles and rushed up.

“Pa!” Riley cried.

“How bad is he hurt?” Cooper asked.

John said, “I'm fine, blast it. Got a little graze in my side. Now one of you scoundrels help your old pappy up, why don't you?”

Hank and Cooper took hold of John's arms and lifted him to his feet. Riley pulled up his father's shirt to examine the wound and agreed that while it looked messy, it really wasn't that bad.

Pete Hendry came over and reported, “We've got five prisoners, boss. The rest of that bunch are either dead or hurt too bad to give us any trouble. Who are they, anyway?”

“Better ask Bo about that,” John said. “This is his fandango.”

“Well,” Bo said, “I'm not exactly sure.”

“Not sure!” Riley exclaimed. “Good Lord! We fight a pitched gun battle with a bunch of men and kill a lot of them, and you don't even know who they are? The law may be after all of us now, not just you!”

“I don't know exactly who they are,” Bo went on, “but I'm pretty sure they were here to raid the town and clean out the bank and all the businesses.”

“Pretty sure?” Cooper said.

“Give your brother the benefit of the doubt,” John snapped. “Although not many folks around here have done that lately, including some of my own kinfolks, I'm ashamed to say!”

“Everybody just take it easy,” Bo said. “Hank, see if you can patch up that wound in Pa's side. Were any of our men killed or badly wounded?”

Hendry said, “We've got a few ventilated, but not too bad. All of 'em can ride except one or two.”

“Good,” Bo said. “Because I know where we can find the answers to the rest of everybody's questions.”

 

 

Scratch tensed his muscles, preparing to throw himself in front of Lauralee and shield her body with his own. He wasn't sure how much good that would do, but since she wasn't tied up, maybe it would give her a chance to make it to her feet. She could rush Sarlat and try to wrestle the gun away from him.

Before the professor could fire, Jake leaped up and said, “Pa, no! We don't need to kill anybody else!”

“You don't know what we need to do, Jake,” Sarlat snapped. “Now sit down and be quiet. You don't have to hurt anyone. I'll take care of this.”

“If I let you hurt them . . . it's the same thing as me doin' it,” Jake insisted.

“That's enough! If you don't want to sit down, then go outside. That might be better anyway. There's no need for you to see this.”

With a sullen expression on his face, Jake started around the table toward the door. Sarlat had lowered the Remington slightly while he was talking to Jake, but now he raised it again.

Jake tackled him from behind.

The impact made Sarlat's arm jerk up, so when he pulled the trigger the bullet went into the cabin's roof. The gun's roar was deafeningly loud in the close quarters, but Scratch heard Jake cry, “No! Nobody else gets hurt!”

Sarlat screamed curses and writhed around, slashing at Jake with the gun barrel. The sight raked across Jake's cheek and left a bloody welt behind it.

“Get away from me!” Sarlat yelled. He chopped at Jake with the Remington. “Let go of me, you damned idiot!”

“Stop it, Pa!” Jake shouted right back at him. “Don't make me hurt you!”

Scratch and Lauralee watched in horrified fascination as Sarlat and his adopted son struggled, knowing that Jake was the only thing keeping them alive right now. Jake was taller and heavier and younger than Sarlat, despite the professor's so-called extra vitality from his elixir. Scratch could tell that it wouldn't take long for Jake to overpower Sarlat.

Then Sarlat jabbed the gun into Jake's body and pulled the trigger again.

The explosion was muffled. Jake staggered back, blood springing out on his shirt. He stared at Sarlat in disbelief and said in a hollow voice, “Pa . . . you hurt me.”

“You've been giving me too much trouble lately, anyway,” Sarlat snarled. “The last thing I need is an idiot with a conscience. It's time to move on—”

Jake righted himself and sprang toward Sarlat again. The professor screamed a curse and jerked the trigger twice more. The slugs pounded into Jake's body but couldn't stop him. He smashed into Sarlat and bent him back over the table as his fingers closed around the professor's throat.

Sarlat hammered at Jake with the gun, but nothing was going to budge Jake's fingers now. They were locked around Sarlat's throat like bands of iron. Scratch was barely breathing as he watched Sarlat's face turn purple and then blue. The professor's feet came up off the puncheon floor and kicked spasmodically. Finally, after a long, horrible couple of minutes that seemed even longer, Sarlat's body went limp. The Remington slipped from nerveless fingers and thudded to the floor.

Jake gave a slow, ponderous shake of his head and gazed down into the professor's wide, sightlessly staring eyes.

“Pa?” he whispered. “Are you gonna stop fightin' now, Pa? Are you gonna stop . . . hurtin' people . . .”

Jake tried to straighten up, but he collapsed onto the table next to the professor and then rolled off, falling on the floor. The front of his shirt was sodden with blood.

Lauralee buried her face against Scratch's shoulder and sobbed.

“He . . . he saved us,” she got out.

“That he did,” Scratch said in an awed voice. “I don't know if it makes up for all the bad things he done . . . but it's a start.”

Normally he would have let Lauralee cry it out, but Bear Creek was still in danger from that raid by Deuce Ramsey's gang. After a few seconds Scratch went on, “You better untie me now, and we'll round up some horses so we can light a shuck for town.”

With tears still running down her face, Lauralee nodded. She started to stand up.

That was when they heard the swift rataplan of hoofbeats coming from outside.

 

 

Bo kicked his horse into an even faster run when he heard the shots coming from somewhere up ahead. That was somewhere around the cabin where he hoped to find Scratch, he thought. The shots made him even more certain that his friend was there, and up to his neck in trouble, as usual.

Close behind Bo came the rest of his family, even John Creel, who had a makeshift bandage wrapped around his torso. They thundered up to the cabin. Bo was out of the saddle even before his horse stopped moving.

His father's Colt was in his hand, ready to roar, as he kicked the door open.

The sight that greeted him was totally unexpected. Scratch and Lauralee were sitting on the floor near the fireplace, apparently unhurt. From the way Scratch's arms were pulled back, Bo could tell that his wrists were tied up. For some reason, Lauralee was wearing Scratch's buckskin jacket, and that appeared to be all.

The really amazing sight, though, was Professor Thaddeus Sarlat's body lying on the table, his face a mottled blue, his tongue protruding, and his eyes bugged out. He was dead, beyond a doubt.

Lying on the floor beside the table was Jake, the front of his shirt soaked with blood where he had been shot several times. Jake . . .

Bo's brother.

“He saved us, Bo,” Scratch said hoarsely. “Killed the professor and saved our lives.”

Bo took an unsteady step forward and then went to a knee beside Jake. He set the gun on the floor and reached out to lift his brother's head and cradle it in his lap.

John Creel and his other sons crowded through the doorway. John stopped short and groaned at the sight that met his eyes, a sound that held all the pain and grief in the world.

Bo thought Jake was dead, too, but Jake's eyes opened and he stared up at his brother.

“Wh-who . . . ?” he breathed, with a rattling sound to the words that told Bo there was no hope. “You look just like . . . me.”

“I'm your brother, Jake,” he said. “Your real brother. And your real pa is here, too, along with your other brothers.” Bo could hardly force the words out. “Your family's here, Jake. Your family's come for you.”

“I . . . I didn't know . . . I thought I was alone . . .”

“Not hardly,” Bo said, almost overcome by emotion. “Pa, boys . . . come here.”

They all crowded around. Riley had to hold John up. John grasped Jake's hand and held it tightly.

“Son,” he said. “Son.”

“You're my . . . pa? My real . . . pa?”

“I am. And I've missed you so much.”

“I've done . . . some bad things, Pa. I hurt . . . those women. I never really . . . meant to. Pa . . . my other pa . . . said I had to.”

John nodded as tears streamed down his rugged, leathery face.

“I know. It's not your fault, son. I . . . I know you've got a good heart. I can tell by lookin' at you.”

Scratch said, “He saved our lives, Mr. Creel. That boy of yours, he saved our lives.”

John bent and brushed his lips over Jake's forehead. He whispered, “I know. I know he's a good boy. He's a Creel.” He looked over his shoulder at his other sons. “Say hello to your brother.”

Riley and Cooper and Hank leaned in, all of them crying, too, and said hello to Jake. He looked around at them in wonderment and said, “I . . . I really do have a family.”

“You sure do, Jake,” Bo told him. He felt the spasm that ran through his brother's body, saw the end come in Jake's eyes. But Jake was smiling now. Smiling, and at peace . . .

After a long, solemn moment, Bo eased Jake's head to the floor. Gently, he closed his brother's eyes.

“We'll lay him to rest . . . next to his ma,” John rasped.

Bo nodded.

“I think they'd both like that,” he said.

He got to his feet and went over to the fireplace, where Lauralee was untying Scratch.

“Are you two all right?” Bo asked anxiously.

“Yeah,” Scratch said as he flexed his hands to get some feeling back in them. “Lauralee's got a cut on her neck where Sarlat took a knife to her—”

“I'll be fine,” she said. She put her arms around Bo and rested her head against his chest. At the same time, Scratch put a hand on Bo's shoulder.