Ray kept his rifle trained on him all the way.

  As soon as Burt reached his brother, Ray stood, rifle at hip level, and started to walk towards them.

  Burt had used his bandanna as a tourniquet to try and stop the bleeding in Chad’s leg. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sheriff approaching. Suddenly, Burt lunged forward and made a grab for the Colt that Chad had discarded, but Ray was ready; he loosed off a shot that caught Burt in his gun hand, his trigger finger took the full force of the .45-40.

  Burt let out a scream that shattered the prairie nce. He clutched his hand and screamed again as he saw the index finger barely hanging on, only the tendons stopped it from hitting the dirt.

  ‘Damn fool thing to do,’ Ray said, emotionlessly, and tossed his own bandanna to Burt. ‘You better wrap that hand up.’

  Reaching into the back of his gun belt, Ray dragged out two sets of handcuffs. He threw one set to Chad and ordered him to put them on. The other set he roughly put on Burt.

  ‘Now,’ Ray said, ‘we’re gonna take a nice ride back to Bristow. You try anything and you’re dead men. Savvy?’

  Both men nodded morosely.

  Ray gave a loud whistle and, in a matter of minutes, his mount returned.

  ‘Now you help your brother to mount up and no funny business,’ Ray said as he got on his horse. He put his rifle back in the scabbard and took out his Colt. ‘I’m keeping you both covered. Remember that.’

  The ride back to Rochester, though tedious, was uneventful and Ray was glad the local deputy sheriff agreed to lock them up for the rest of the night and get a doctor in to look at the men’s wounds.

  Ray took the horses to the livery and got them bedded down before going back to the sheriff’s office. It was too late for either food or a bed for the night, so Ray had no alternative but to take a brief sleep in one of the vacant cells. The deputy produced coffee and a cookie jar. ‘Best I can do, I’m afraid.’

  ‘This is more than welcome,’ Ray thanked the man.

  Fortunately his cell was out of sight of the Slim brothers. He sat on the cot, drained his coffee and ate a couple of the cookies before lying back and falling asleep almost instantly.

  The sun had been up for nearly an hour when movement woke Ray from a deep sleep. Looming over him, holding a tray in both hands, was the sheriff.

  ‘Figured you could do with breakfast,’ the sheriff of Rochester said. ‘Name’s Art Derby. Deputy told me what gives here.’

  ‘I’ll be outa your hair shortly,’ Ray said. ‘Get these killers back to Bristow.’

  ‘Well, the doc fixed their legs up some, an’ amputated the trigger finger of one of them. Kicked up a fuss and my deputy had to—how shall I put it—send him to sleep for a while.’ The sheriff grinned. ‘Sure is a resourceful boy,’ he added.

  Sheriff Derby was relieved to hear that Ray and his two prisoners were leaving early. He liked a quiet life and let many things slide past both him and the law.

  ‘I’ll leave you to eat. I’ll be in the office if’n you need anythin’,’ the sheriff said as he backed out of the cell.

  ‘Thanks for the breakfast,’ Ray said to the departing sheriff.

  It didn’t take Ray long to wolf down the breakfast and drain his coffee cup. He took the tray to the front office and put it on the sheriff’s desk.

  ‘Got the livery man to bring your horses round,’ Derby said, ‘they’re on the hitch rail outside.’

  ‘Thanks, Sheriff, and thanks for your hospitality. Guess I’ll be heading off to Bristow now.’

  ‘I’ll get the prisoners.’

  ‘Right behind you,’ Ray said and the two men entered the cell block. Ray cuffed Chad first and then a grumbling Burt. ‘Let’s go, we got an eight hour ride ahead of us an’ I ain’t stopping.’

  Both men limped out of the cell, Derby in front and Ray behind, his revolver drawn.

  Between the two sheriffs, they managed to get the Slim brothers saddled up. Ray took his lariat and tied their horses together and tied the end to his pommel. Satisfied the killers were secure, he mounted up.

  ‘Be seeing you, Sheriff and, once again, thanks for your hospitality.’ Ray tipped his hat in a farewell gesture and the three left Rochester.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The weather had taken a turn for the worse. A strong wind, coming from the north, seemed to be bringing winter early. The sky had turned a dull grey, almost blotting out the sun completely. Sand was being whipped up and small dunes were already forming.

  Hunched forward in their saddles, the three men tried to keep the sand and debris out of their eyes, as did their animals, but it was a futile job. The sand got everywhere eventually and the men felt as if their skin was being blasted.

  ‘Hell, can’t we find shelter and get out of this wind?’ Burt yelled. His right hand was throbbing and he could swear he still felt his index finger, even though it was wrapped in a bandanna and tucked in his saddle-bag.

  ‘No, there ain’t no shelter till we hit Bristow,’ Ray replied.

  ‘Where the hell is this sand coming from?’ Chad yelled against the noise of the wind. ‘All I can see is grass.’

  ‘Wind picks it up and dumps it, comes from further north,’ Ray replied and stopped his horse. Pulling the other two horses closer, he then tied bandannas over the two men’s faces, covering their eyes, nose and mouth.

  ‘You ain’t got no reason to see an’ this’ll help keep your eyes clear of sand,’ Ray said before digging his heels into the horse’s flanks and continuing on southbound to Bristow at a trot.

  It was four hours later when the three men reached the outskirts of Bristow. The wind had abated slightly and the stinging sand had come to a rest. Shopkeepers were out in force, brushing down the boardwalks and levelling out small dunes from Main Street.

  Reining in at his office, or at least what had been his office, Ray stretched out his tired limbs, took his Stetson off and shook it to get rid of the trail dust and took his duster off and did the same thing.

  He left the Slim brothers mounted and entered the office. Otis jumped to his feet and gave a broad smile.

  ‘Good to see you, er, Sheriff.’ He faltered.

  ‘I see you got the job, Otis. Don’t worry, I’ve come back with the Slim boys and I aim to take in Waring, Lowe and Jenkins.’

  ‘Federal marshal is in town,’ Otis said. ‘I gave him the papers last night and he’s planning on confronting Waring any minute now.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Ray asked.

  ‘I jus’ took him breakfast. He stayed in one of the cells last night.’

  Ray took off his badge and put it on the desk. ‘Guess I won’t be needing this.’

  Otis didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just lowered his eyes to the floor.

  ‘I got the Slim boys outside, you might wanna bring them in and lock them up. They’ll need help dismounting.’

  Ray went through to the cell block to introduce himself to the marshal and to fill in the details of what he’d discovered.

  Their conversation was, however, cut short as a gunshot shattered one of the front windows of the sheriff’s office.

  Ray and the marshal immediately drew their side irons and ducked through to the office.

  Otis was standing at the front door, seemingly frozen.

  ‘Get down, Otis!’ Ray shouted.

  After some hesitation, Otis dived to the floor and lay still.

  Another shot rang out, thudding harmlessly into the woodwork surrounding the door.

  ‘What the hell?’ the marshal whispered.

  ‘Beats me, but I think I’m the target,’ Ray said.

  ‘You sure about that? I don’t think me being here is welcomed,’ the marshal said.

  ‘I don’t know who the shooter is, but I know who’s behind it,’ Ray said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Waring and his cohorts?’

  ‘Stake my life on it,’ Ray replied. Then to Otis, he said, ‘Get back here, Otis, you’re too near the window there.’

  Otis scrambled to the cell block door, keeping low. More shots rained in, glass and splintered wood shot through the air.

  ‘There’s more’n one of ’em,’ the marshal declared. ‘There a back door?’

  ‘Yeah. Otis, stay in the cell block, you’ll be safe there. I’m gonna get the rifles from the rack, cover me,’ Ray said.

  The marshal and Otis started to fire as Ray ducked down and reached a gun rack. Keeping as low as possible, he reached up, brought three Winchesters down and grabbed boxes of ammunition.

  He slid the rifles across the floor, followed by the bullets. He then crawled back to the cell block.

  Standing behind the cell door, he took a glance out through the shattered windows.

  The Slim brothers had gone.

  ‘Damn it to hell!’ Ray uttered. ‘They’re gone. They won’t get far, they each took a slug in the leg and they’re cuffed. We’ll concentrate on the shooters.

  ‘You and me, Marshal, we’ll split up. You to the left, me the right. You see any muzzle flashes, Otis?’

  ‘Nary a one,’ Otis replied, busily loading a Winchester. His eyes were bright with excitement and, Ray thought, a little fear.

  ‘You keep your head down, Otis. On the count of three, you start firing, that should distract whoever is out there while we leave. OK? And by the way, don’t shoot us,’ Ray added with a grin. ‘One … two … THREE!’

  At the shout of three, Otis began firing as the two men dashed to the back door. Once outside, they split up and slowly made their way around the sheriff’s office and towards Main Street.

  The shooting stopped.

  One dim lantern shone from the bank’s front window.

  In the manager’s office sat three very nervous men. They flinched when the shooting started, and started to sweat when an eerie silence pervaded the town. Nervously, Waring lifted a decanter and poured its contents into three glasses, spilling some on his highly polished desk.

  Lowe and Jenkins leaned forward, picked up a glass each and knocked the contents down in one gulp.

  ‘It’s too quiet,’ Waring said, his voice quivering. ‘We have no idea what’s going on out there,’ he added.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Jenkins said. ‘We go take a looksee.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ Lowe said. ‘We’re likely to get out heads shot off.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jenkins said. ‘We’re two blocks away from the sheriff’s office. We can’t just sit here and wait to see what the outcome is.’

  ‘Clint’s right. We’ll go out of our minds just sitting here,’ Waring agreed.

  Jenkins took out his gun and checked its load, adding a sixth slug to the chamber.

  ‘You intend on using that?’ Lowe asked, a look of horror on his face.

  ‘Ambrose, it’s our men out there. How would it look if we just stood and stared like some yeller belly?’

  Jenkins holstered his pistol and stood. ‘Let’s go. We need to get this finished, one way or another.’

  Ray was at the corner of the sheriff’s office and he hoped Sam Brown was on the opposite side.

  He scanned Main Street, looking for any sign of movement or, at least, muzzle flashes. But the street was deserted, townsfolk hidden in their homes or businesses.

  The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the whinnying of a horse. Ray looked to where the noise had come from and saw his two prisoners, still mounted, but their horses tied to a hitch rail outside the mercantile store. Neither man was able – or capable of – dismounting on their own.

  He watched the two men, their heads bent low; all the fight and bravado had been drained from them. As he watched, he saw three figures approaching, keeping tight to the buildings.

  ‘Well, well. They finally showed their hand,’ Ray said to himself. He could see Clint Jenkins leading, Curtis Waring came next and lastly, Ambrose Lowe.

  Jenkins had his pistol out.

  Ray was distracted by a shot coming from the other side of Main Street. He saw the hat of the man who had fired; at last he had a position. From inside the sheriff’s office, Otis loosed off a couple of shots, but it was obvious Otis didn’t have a bead on the man as the shots split wood way over to the man’s left.

  Ray tucked the Winchester tightly under his arm and sighted down the long barrel.

  The man was behind a water trough outside a millinery store.

  Ray aimed at the trough. With luck, the force of the .45-40 would go straight through.

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, Ray gently squeezed the trigger, feeling the slight resistance just before the shell erupted from the barrel and winged its way towards its target.

  In an explosion of wood and water, Ray heard the yelp and then short-lived scream as the bullet found its target.

  Ray quickly cocked the rifle, ready for another shot. But there was no need: the man was either dead or badly wounded.

  Sam heard the shot and the following yell and muttered, ‘One down, how many more to go?’ He sighted down his rifle, watching and waiting.

  The three members of the town council inched their way forwards, halting as they heard the sound of gunfire, but the shots weren’t aimed at them.

  It was then that Jenkins saw the two mounted men. ‘Isn’t that the Slim boys?’ Jenkins said.

  ‘Damn!’ Waring swore. ‘If they talk, we’re done for!’

  ‘It also means Ray Cairney is back in town,’ Lowe said.

  ‘They ain’t gonna talk,’ Jenkins said in a harsh voice.

  Moving closer and keeping tight against the livery building, Jenkins took aim with his pistol.

  The Slim brothers, their heads still bowed and practically asleep, were totally unaware of the situation.

  Jenkins pulled the trigger and Burt Slim’s head exploded in a volcano of blood and gore.

  Chad immediately sat bolt upright. He tried to heel his mount away as fast as possible, but the two animals were still tied together and Burt’s horse was on its hind legs. It wasn’t going anywhere.

  Jenkins fired again, this time the slug buried itself deep in Chad Slim’s chest, sending him flying backwards to land in the dirt.

  ‘That’s one problem solved,’ Jenkins said, taking out the used shells and replacing them with fresh slugs. ‘Now all we gotta do is get rid of Cairney and the federal marshal.’

  Waring and Lowe were both speechless and horrified at what they had just witnessed. Neither man had seen this side of Jenkins before and suddenly they were even more afraid.

  The two shots from Jenkins’s pistol made Ray swing his head and rifle to his left. He watched as one of the Slim brothers flew through the air and even heard the thud as he hit dirt.

  He saw Jenkins, his pistol still in his hand and smoke coiled from the barrel. God damn, he thought, what the hell?

  But his attention was brought back to his own predicament as rifle shots started up again from across the street. Immediately Sam and Otis began to fire. The noise was deafening as whoever it was that was intent on killing him and the federal marshal, had taken heart and intensified their efforts.

  Ray counted at least five shooters. At that point one of the shooters made a mistake.

  Stationed on the roof opposite, he raised his head just a tad too high, and Ray took a shot and the man exploded. The rifle he was holding went flying down into the street, while the man himself was hurtled backwards to disappear from sight.

  Another one down, Ray thought.

  Sam had seen the man on the roof and shot at him almost the same time as Ray, but he was wide of the mark. A great volley of shots now erupted from the remaining shooters, but then suddenly stopped as quickly as it had started.

  Josh Kincaid had decided a change of tactics was needed. The frontal assault, coupled with the element of surprise, hadn’t worked.

  ‘Clem, you and Jim-Bob circle round the back of the sheriff’s office. Here,’ he tossed a full box of vestas. ‘Get what you can and torch the place, wood’s tinder dry, should flush ’em out and we can pick ’em off.’

  Clem and Jim-Bob knew exactly what to do. The lure of $100 each for their help was more than enough incentive.

  They ran round the back of the buildings opposite the sheriff’s office and then, two blocks down, emerged onto Main Street.

  The street lanterns were within easy reach and, making sure they had oil in them, Clem grabbed one and Jim-Bob another. They crossed Main Street, unseen by either Ray or Sam, and made their way down the alleys that led to the rear of the sheriff’s office.

  Meanwhile, out front, Kincaid and the two men with him opened up with a barrage of random shots that kept Ray, Sam and Otis under cover, giving Clem and Jim-Bob time to set things up.

  They reached the rear of the sheriff’s office and Clem and Jim-Bob set the lanterns on the ground. Clem took out the Lucifers, struck one and lit both lanterns.

  ‘OK,’ Clem said, ‘on the count of three!’ They both swung the lanterns back and forth. ‘One, two, three!’

  Tossing them high in the air, both lanterns landed on the wooden shingles of the roof of the sheriff’s office.

  Inside, Otis heard the thump as they landed and kept his eye on the ceiling. The sound was too soft for it to be a person up there, but what the hell was it?

  Burning oil ran down the tinder-dry shingles and within a few minutes, the roof was ablaze, sparks lifting into the air on the thermal.

  Kincaid grinned as he watched the flames begin to engulf the building.

  The townsfolk, who had been hiding in their homes and stores across the street, keeping their heads down, began to see the flames shoot skywards as the fire took hold.

  There were very few stone buildings in Bristow, wood being readily available, and the worst nightmare of any small town was fire!

  The gentle wind blowing in from the prairie was enough to fan the flames and pretty soon the buildings either side of the sheriff’s office began to smoulder. If something wasn’t done – and soon – the whole town could burn to the ground.

  Waring, Lowe and Jenkins looked on in horror as they watched the fire hungrily devouring anything its path.