He lugged out bundles of shovels and picks, kegs of nails, and miscellaneous farm tools.
Then he filled a new trough with water and put it against a wall. He scattered some grain around to give the animals something to do. Emptied, the room was good sized, at least large enough to board three horses for a few days. Of course, Slick and Austin’s horse would give Jane’s behemoth most of the room, but Will didn’t expect any serious fighting; neither horse would challenge Jane’s.
Will led his and Austin’s horses into the room, leaving Jane’s where he’d been ground-tied. He went back out and approached the animal slowly, talking quietly—nonsense words with a little humming added—and reached for the reins. If he were a hair of a second slower, he’d have been a dead man: a steel-shod hoof that seemed the size of a wagon wheel snaked out toward his face. Will threw himself backward, landing clumsily and hard on his back.
Jane rushed out of the store. “I should have told you! I am so sorry—are you all right?”
He helped Will to his feet. “He’s trained that way—I didn’t realize you were going to try to lead him.”
Will brushed off his butt. “It’s a sure thing nobody’s gonna steal him from you,” he said. “Come on, bring him along.”
Jane tossed the reins over his horse’s head and began walking around the building. The horse followed him like a puppy following a boy. “Again, I apologize,” Jane said.
Will waved him off. “No harm done,” he said casually, but the fear in his eyes showed he knew how close he’d come to having his head cleaved open like a ripe melon.
Jane’s horse immediately took over the water trough, clicking his teeth at the other two, cringing against the far wall. “They will settle,” Jane said.
“You might could check on them real often,” Will said. “If there’s trouble, you’re the only one who can do anything about it.”
“I will do this.”
Will was about to turn away, but stopped. “Say—does that critter have a name?”
“Of course. His name is Partner.” Jane’s grin showed again. “Although you know as well as I do that naming a horse makes as much sense as naming a chicken, no?”
The three men sat at the table the store owner provided for checker players. Austin was alternating between gnawing an apple and taking belts from a bottle of whiskey.
“We could use a couple men on the roof,” Will said.
“Could use a Gatling gun, but we ain’t got one of them, neither.”
“Our biggest danger,” Jane said, “is if they decide to use fire arrows to burn us out. We must drop any man who shows a flame on an arrow or a torch, immediately.”
“That’s what I meant about men on the roof. Be a whole lot easier to see from up there.”
“Well, hell. How ’bout we chop a hole in the ceilin’ an’ put a stepladder there. Ever once an’ a while one of us can pop up for a look-see,” Austin suggested.
Jane and Will looked across the table at one another, almost stunned by the simple efficiency of Austin’s idea. Will spoke for both of them. “Boy, you’re somethin’, pard.”
Jane nodded toward the two broad front windows. “That’s an awful big opening,” he said. “We need to barricade it with whatever we can, just high enough so that we can shoot over it.”
The next couple of hours were spent grunting, sweating, and cursing—even Jane said “Dammit!” when he dropped a crate of yard goods on his foot. The barricade was a bizarre-looking affair, but the men felt it would be effective. It was made up of a small piano, two desks, several barrels of apples and carrots, a number of plow blades stacked atop one another, four saddles upon which crates of textbooks were stacked, a couple of butter churns holding up a crate of canned peaches, and so forth. It was a bit better than waist high on Will and it offered good cover the length of the two storefront windows.
Will sat on the floor and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“How’s that hand?” Austin asked.
“Pretty much as good as new—fingers work good. I figure I’ll cut them stitches out in a couple more days.”
“You oughta take the ones outta your face too—they’re uglier’n a goat’s ass.”
“I’ll give those a little more time,” Will said, ignoring the insult. “I can still feel ’em pullin’ a bit.”
“The window glass,” Jane said, “will shower us when it is hit. The shards and pieces will be sharp and dangerous.”
Austin was the first to draw and he shot hell out of the expanses of glass, exploding them out into the street. Will joined in, firing until his Colt was empty.
“I always liked to bust glass,” Austin said. “With stones when I was a kid an’ later with bullets.”
“Me too,” Will admitted. “There’s somethin’ about the way it shatters that makes a man feel good.”
Jane shook his head but didn’t comment.
It was hot in the store and growing hotter as the sun reached and crossed its peak. The destroyed windows would have allowed fresh air to enter, but there wasn’t a breath moving outside.
Will had his Colt partially disassembled on the checkers table and was working with a piece of cloth and a can of gun oil.
“How do you think they’ll attack?” Austin asked.
“One Dog is an Indian, and he won’t come at night. Their initial attempt will probably be at first light in the morning,” Jane said. “It’ll probably be a sweep, as if they were closing in on a wagon train.”
“I dunno,” Will said. “I saw more white men than Indians earlier today. Seems like they might could convince One Dog to try a sneak-attack type of thing, even today. We gotta be on watch all the time.”
“I can’t see them scum changin’ Dog’s Injun ways—’specially with all that medicine horseshit he believes in.”
“Will is right. We must watch constantly.”
Austin pushed out from the barricade where he sat, watching the street. “There sure ain’t nothin’ out there now but heat,” he said. “If I’m gonna set here gawkin’, I’m gonna have a couple buckets of beer keepin’ me company.” He began climbing over a crate of goods to the street. “I won’t be but a minute,” he said.
“This is not wise,” Jane said.
“No—but try tellin’ Austin that. He wants his beer an’ he’s gonna get it. Tell the truth, I wouldn’t mind a sip myself.” Will put his pistol back together and spun the empty cylinder. It gave off a smooth, whirring whisper. He filled the chambers with cartridges and holstered the .45. Jane crossed the room to the spot Austin had vacated. Will rolled a smoke, lit it, and sat back in his chair.
The HW wouldn’t be the biggest spread in West Texas, but it’d be large enough to give Hiram and his family and me, and maybe even a family for me, a real good living. We’d have a few good horses as well as our working string, and as many beef as our land could graze. We’d hire decent hands—no drifters or saddle tramps—and pay them well for their work. And we’d work with them. Hiram an’ me ain’t the types to set around doin’ nothing. A mental picture of Hiram’s daughters—whom Will had never actually seen—playing on an expanse of lush, green grass near the house was so pleasant that he dwelled on it, half-asleep, almost able to hear the giggles and screams of the girls as they chased after one another.
A rattle of gunfire down the street dragged Will from his dream as quickly as a bucket of ice water in his face would have. He rushed to the window near Jane, snatching up a rifle. The shooting seemed to go on forever, round after round, constant, nonstop. Then it stopped abruptly.