Something was wrong! Something was definitely wrong! Caleb felt a sharp chill drip down his spine and it wasn’t because of the night air, although a chill had set in as the sun sank below the far horizon, leaving only darkness and a vast purple sky; empty, save for the myriad of twinkling stars studding the velvety fabric of the heavens. A three quarter moon backlit the tapestry and flooded the landscape. Light poured out of the windows of the town establishments that were still open. Music strains from the Chessman floated out into the crispness of the night.
Hackles on the back of Caleb’s neck bristled as he approached Mose Brillick’s livery. A wariness set in and he slowed his step as he came close to the big double doors.
Caleb’s sharp eyes narrowed and his brows grew close with consternation. The shadows were deep and dark almost hiding the slightly opened gap between the two big double doors of the livery. Caleb was sure that Mose had said he had closed up by sliding a cross bar into place. The bar was already slid to the right and the doors were definitely left askew. Caleb played Mose’s words over in his brain. He could recall and hear them plain as day.
Could Mose have been mistaken and had forgotten to slide the bar in place? No. Caleb didn’t think so. The old man was sharper than he appeared.
Someone had been here after Mose left. Who? Had The Whispering Bandit returned to retrieve the black horse? Possibly. Or perhaps someone else, like himself, had merely needed to retrieve something or a horse. Something told Caleb that that was probably not the case. And if not, perhaps whoever had been here, might still be inside the livery. But why? Waiting for someone, perhaps? For whom? Certainly not for himself, Caleb thought. He didn’t know anyone here. There was no one to have any reason to be looking for him. Sure, he had roughed up a couple of Ladder A waddies, but they had been shifted out of town by Bart Allen’s cowpokes. Or had they? No, of course not. The big rancher was not the type of man to be disobeyed. Then remembering the night before in Alamogordo, he thought of the remaining Lowery brothers. But how would they know he was here? Besides, had there been enough time for them to find out about the other two brothers, take care of them before riding out and trailing him to Gila Bend? Again, Caleb didn’t think so. He didn’t think his trail could have been followed. There had been too much traffic. No. He couldn’t have left a trail. Being a cautious man who had survived countless dangers in his lifetime, Caleb Gant was not a man to assume anything or discount possibilities.
Slowly and quietly, Caleb tiptoed toward the doors, sliding his pistol out of its holster as he neared. He held it straight out at the ready, in front of him, lowering his center of gravity into a half crouch; ready for action. Gently slipping the fingers of his left hand inside the leading edge of the right hand door, he flung the door wide open with a sudden burst.
He jumped through the opening like a springing cat setting his feet in a solid stance, swinging the barrel of his pistol back and forth as he tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness inside and search out any danger.
Light from the overhead sky and the street outside flooded inside the livery, fading the total darkness and shadows to a graying black.
It was only a split second as Caleb braced his feet. Everything was dark, but out of the darkness, darker shadows appeared. They were moving. One was large and the other smaller.
Caleb felt the impact from both as they ascended upon him. He fell back a half step. His right arm lifted high above his head. He still clutched his gun tightly in his fist but could not lower his arm to bring it to bear against his assailants. The larger shadow was behind him and Caleb had stumbled backward and felt his body pinned against hard flesh and massive arms wrapped around his chest. Caleb could smell sweat and sour body odor. The smaller shadow loomed in front of him and sank a hard fist into Caleb’s midsection.
His lungs ached as the air was driven from them. His body wanted to bend at the waist, but the man behind him held him up and rigid. Caleb’s toes lifted almost off the floor, boot leather barely scraping the straw strewn board floor beneath him. Caleb’s pistol slipped out of his grip and fell to the floor.
Another fist drove hard against his left jaw, snapping Caleb’s head sharply to the right. Bones in his neck cracked as it twisted and lolled against the broad chest of the man behind him. Pain flashed in his brain like a lightning flash.
Despite the blow, Caleb managed to muster enough strength to lift his feet and kick out at the assailant in front of him. His feet caught the man in his mid-section and sent him reeling backward to land flat on his back on the floor in front of Caleb. At the same time the force pushed him back into the man holding him. With surprise, the man loosened his grip and stumbled backward under the force of Caleb’s broad back against him. His hold remained, though, and as he sprawled backward to the floor, Caleb fell backward on top of him. The two men rolled, still entwined, but Caleb managed to break the big man’s hold and rolled free.
As he rolled free onto his back, he was half rising. Just enough to see the shape of the smaller man outlined against the light from the street outside of the open doorway, struggling to rise above him. The big man meanwhile, rolled toward Caleb, half rising and half pitching forward to sprawl across Caleb’s body. Caleb managed to roll away just as the man’s massive arms reached out for him. They landed across his shoulder and a heavy boot struck his thigh as he twisted onto his side.
In one fleeting glance, Caleb saw the other man, now standing erect, framed by the open livery door. His pistol was half slid from his holster. Caleb quickly rolled back toward the big man on the floor next to him. Reached out with both hands, grasping the man’s shoulder and with a mighty heave he rolled the other way pulling the man forward above him providing a shield from the man with the gun.
The gunman must have hesitated, momentarily, for no shot ensued.
Caleb pushed himself upward, pushing the man with him back toward his partner. He half rolled and half stumbled into the gunman and they both fell to the floor in a writhing pile.
The gun! The thought flashed through Caleb’s brain. Where was his gun? Where was the damn gun? Caleb rolled back onto his chest and stomach; his arms splayed out, reaching and feeling the straw and rough board floor in the darkness beneath and before him.
He panicked as he saw the two assailants rising and he had not yet found his weapon. His hands groped frantically finding nothing but wooden splinters and a hand full of straw. His heart was pounding in his head now and adrenaline was flowing like a flood.
The two men were almost on their feet now. Caleb pushed himself backward and came to a halt against the side partition of an empty stall. His broad back crashed hard against it. With no place to go, he scooted backward and found the open end of the stall and crawled behind it just in time to protect himself from a barrage of bullets from the two men, now standing and pouring lead from flaming gun muzzles in a thunderous roar. The bullets slammed into the stall partition just above Caleb’s head, punching gaping holes and sending a hailstorm of wooden splinters dripping on his head and shoulders.
Caleb ducked back to the stall opening, crawling flat on his chest and stomach. Just as he reached the corner where he could see the two men advancing, still spewing lead, Caleb’s fingers touched hard steel on the floor in front of him. The gun! His gun that had fallen from his hand during the attack! At first it was just the barrel he touched, but he recognized it immediately. His pulse raced with excitement as his fingers twisted over it, groped along its sleek length, finding the pistol grip. He spun the weapon around deftly, gripping the handle tightly, lifting the piece shoulder high and earing the hammer back as he catapulted himself to a sitting position squeezing the trigger, cocking the hammer again followed by another squeeze. Then two times more. Above the roar of his sixgun, he heard a man yelp in pain and in the flash of muzzle flame, Caleb could see the larger man stumble and stoop, grasping at his right leg. The other man was holding him up. As one they both turned and ran out the open doorway into the dim light of the street.
Caleb pushed himself to his feet and dashed forward after them. They were already two buildings down the street and on the other side, when Caleb came to a halt in the street in front of the livery. He could see the men plainly now, but not clear enough to identify them if he saw them again.
The two men were headed toward an alleyway next to the barber shop. Caleb fired his pistol once more and the bullet tore a gash into the wall just above the fleeing assailant’s heads. Caleb squeezed the trigger once more and the hammer fell on an empty chamber with a disappointing click just as the two men disappeared into the darkness of the alley.
He started forward after them, striding swiftly, spilling empty cartridges from the cylinders while pulling new loads from his gun belt and shoving them inside the weapon smoothly.
By now, the recent gunfire had brought a crowd of onlookers into the street. They had spilled from the Chessman and other establishments that were still open. Sheriff Gib Randall was already in the street, having left the door to his office open as he hurried, bareheaded out into the street with a shotgun in his hand at the ready.
“I might have known you’d be involved in this, Gant,” he said angrily as he closed in beside Caleb.
“They’re getting away,” Gant said, still striding toward the alleyway.
“Well, first, you’re gonna tell me what’s going on here,” Randall ordered, grasping Caleb’s right arm and pulling him to a halt.
“Oh, hell,” Caleb growled with annoyance.
****
Chapter Seven