“I think the bullet that struck his head creased bone and tore off the top of his ear,” Longarm said. “But I don’t think it pierced the skull.”
“Let’s find out,” the doctor said, quickly removing the bandage, then using a clean bandage to wipe the wound. Longarm realized he was holding his breath as the doctor ran his index finger along the welling crease in Walker’s scalp.
“Well?”
“You’re right. He could bleed to death from this, but there shouldn’t be any brain damage. What about the shoulder? Did the bullet hit him in the lung?”
“Not that I could tell,” Longarm said. “I’ve seen a few men that were lung-shot, and he doesn’t look or sound like one to me. Also, the bullet passed through the shoulder. I tried to stop the bleeding on both sides, but I’m not sure that I entirely succeeded.”
“Hmmm,” the doctor mused as he placed a stethoscope to Walker’s chest and listened closely to the man’s breathing. “Sounds normal.”
The doctor pushed himself to his feet. He was old enough to have had a lot of experience, but young enough to have attended a real school of medicine back in the East. Longarm quickly judged him to be both decisive and knowledgeable.
“Marshal, we need to get Pete over to my office just a few doors away where I can patch him up as quickly as possible. Can you help me carry him?”
“Sure,” Longarm said, still wanting to try to save the five train robbers for a jury.
“You’re bigger and stronger than I am,” the doctor said. “Let’s grab one of those blankets on the bunk, lay him on it, and pick up the ends. We can sort of lug him over to my surgery as if he were lying in a hammock.”
“Dr. Davis, I’ll help you,” the older woman said. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“Thanks, Mabel,” the doctor said, “but I think it would be easier on our friend if just the federal marshal and I did it together. If Pete were accidentally dropped, it could prove fatal.”
They carefully placed the unconscious marshal on a blanket, and twisted up both ends so that he really was in a hammock. Then, with Longarm hoisting the heavier end, they carried Walker outside and a few doors up the sidewalk to the doctor’s office. Longarm could hear the lynch mob shouting and raising hell just a block or two away.
“You don’t want to be there anyway,” Davis said as they laid the marshal down for a moment so he could open his door. “You couldn’t stop that mob. If they’d shoot Marshal Walker, they’d certainly do the same to YOU.”
“I suppose,” Longarm said grimly. “But this sure doesn’t sit well with me.”
“It doesn’t sit well with any of us,” Davis reminded him. “I’ve lived in Auburn for over ten years and this is only the second lynching I’ve seen. But I’m afraid that, with Marshal Walker down, it might not be the last. There is a lawless element here that will quickly take things over.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Longarm replied. They struggled inside, and somehow managed to hoist Walker up on a small operating table.
“Anything more that I can do?” Longarm asked.
“Don’t go down to the park,” the doctor warned. “Just wait here and-“
“I can’t just wait here,” Longarm said, “any more than you could if you saw a dying man, no matter how evil he might be.”
“Yes,” Davis agreed, “I see your point. But this town is about to become completely at the mercy of its worst element. Marshal Quaid is dead. Marshal Walker is out of commission, maybe even dying. And if you get killed, well …”
But Longarm wasn’t listening as he headed outside and then began to run down the street toward the park. It was quite likely that the hanging party was already over, but he had to find out for himself and damn the consequences. As he ran, he could hear the shouting and the sound of gunfire, and asked himself what one man could possibly do to stop what was happening. Probably nothing, but he figured he had to try.
The park was ablaze with uplifted torches, and it was a scene straight from Hell. Three of the prisoners were still violently kicking their way into eternity, their necks twisted at grotesque angles. Their hands had been tied behind their backs, but their legs were loose and churning madly as if they were trying to outrun Satan himself.
Noah Huffington was standing in a wagon bed, pleading for the crowd to stop the lynching and to spare the last two prisoners, who were groveling in the dirt, shaking with terror.
“This is wrong!” Noah shouted. “Without benefit of a trial, this is murder! Please don’t hang these other two men! Haven’t we seen enough death already!”
But the lynch mob wasn’t nearly satisfied. If anything, the gruesome sight of the three men thrashing wildly at the end of their ropes, faces purple and bloated, eyes bulging and mouths distended in silent screams, acted to fuel their dark passions.
Longarm drew his six-gun and slammed into the crowd as the mob berated Noah Huffington, and then someone hurled an empty whiskey bottle that struck the young minister flush in the face and knocked him down into the wagon.
Longarm bowled people over as he surged through the crowd toward the three hanged men. He grabbed a big hunting knife from a man’s belt and cut the nearest train robber down, knowing that the outlaw’s neck was broken and that he was already dead.
Before he could reach the other two, the bloodthirsty mob roared like a single, mindless animal. Longarm pistol-whipped an attacker, then spun him around to use as a shield. He placed his pistol against the unconscious man’s temple and shouted, “Enough or I’ll kill him and open fire on all of you!”
The crowd was drunk … but not so drunk that it couldn’t see that Longarm wasn’t bluffing. It pulsed with hatred and men cursed and screamed, but no one dared to accept Longarm’s challenge.
“Disperse!” Longarm shouted. “I’m a United States marshal! Mayor Yarrow, damn you! Get up here!”
Yarrow had removed his hood, just like many of the others. Now, as the other two hanged prisoners stiffened in death, the mayor sheepishly stepped forward.
“Tell these good citizens of yours that I’ll call in the United States Army and have this whole damned town put under arrest if this crowd doesn’t disperse!”
“All right, folks,” Yarrow said, “this man is a United States marshal and things have gotten out of hand. We all know that these other two will hang, but let’s show the government that we are law-abiding citizens. Let’s go home.”
The mob grumbled, but they slowly turned and headed back to the saloons. Longarm figured the trouble was over. He dropped the man he held as a shield and jumped up into the back of the wagon.
“Noah? Are you all right?”
Huffington sat up looking groggy. “What hit me?”
“A whiskey bottle,” Longarm told him. “That crowd was so bloodthirsty that you’re lucky they didn’t hang you.”
“Did they hang all the prisoners?”
“Three of them are dead. The other two are wishing they were already dead. It’s over.”
“Is Marshal Walker alive?”
“Barely,” Longarm said, helping the man down from the wagon. “Are you able to walk?”
“Yeah, I’ll survive,” Noah said, holding his face, “but I’m not going to look so good for my wedding.”
“You’ll look fine,” Longarm said even as he noted how rapidly one side of Noah Huffington’s face was swelling. “Now, I’d better collect these two living prisoners and get them back to jail.”
“Noah!”
It was Stella and she had a gun in her hand as she came racing across the park. “Custis! Are you all right?”