Lucy had her Sharps strapped to her back. She reached a spot almost directly behind the group on the ground, and settled into a little crease where a boulder jutted out from the bluff. Longarm watched as she brought the Sharps around and lifted it to her shoulder, steadying both herself and the big buffalo gun. He wasn’t sure what she intended to do, but it was obvious all hell was going to break loose around here in a matter of seconds. Longarm tensed and lifted his gun, ready to act as soon as Lucy made her move.
Unfortunately, Lord Beechmuir chose that moment to glance up, spot Lucy on the bluff, and exclaim, “Good Lord!”
Rainey twisted around, yanking Helene with him. The Brazos Devil turned too, just as Lucy fired. The Sharps boomed and the creature staggered, fur flying in the air from its left shoulder where the heavy slug merely grazed it. Longarm knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He burst out of the brush and yelled, “Rainey!”
The outlaw didn’t know which way to turn. He looked around frantically, uncertain which threat to react to first. Longarm couldn’t fire with Helene so close to Rainey, but Booth lunged forward, grabbing for his wife. He shouted, “I’m coming, Helene!”
The Brazos Devil let out a roar and swung a thick arm with surprising speed. The backhanded blow slammed into Lord Beechmuir and knocked him sprawling. The creature bellowed again and lifted both hands, apparently ready to club them down on Booth’s head and crush the Englishman’s skull.
Before the blow could fall, Singh was there, slashing at the Devil with the curved sword. The Sikh shouted his defiance in as fierce a tone as the monster had. He cut and thrust with the blade as the Brazos Devil attacked, enveloping Singh in its long, heavily muscled arms.
In the meantime, Ghote was rushing toward Rainey and Helene. The little Hindu had a dagger in his hand, and despite Longarm’s dislike for Ghote, he had to admit the servant wasn’t lacking in courage. Charging into the barrel of a gun armed only with a small knife was an act of bravery—or desperation. Maybe Ghote just didn’t want to lose all the benefits he had gained from his mistress’s laudanum addiction.
Rainey saw Ghote coming and triggered a quick shot at him. The bullet hit Ghote in the chest and spun him around. While he was falling, a groggy Lord Beechmuir regained his feet and threw himself at Rainey, crashing into the outlaw and loosening his grip on Helene. She jerked free and tried to run, making only a few feet before she stumbled and fell.
But that took her out of the line of fire, and Longarm yelled at her husband, “Get down, Booth!”
Lord Beechmuir didn’t have much choice in the matter. Rainey slashed at him with the gun and the barrel raked along the side of Booth’s head. The Englishman fell.
For the first time, Longarm had a wide-open shot as Rainey turned toward him again. He took it, triggering twice before the outlaw could fire. Both slugs thudded into Rainey’s chest and drove him backward. His eyes widened in pain and shock, but he still tried to lift his pistol and bring it to bear on Longarm.
The next instant, Rainey’s head practically exploded as Lucy Vermilion’s Sharps blasted again. The slug bored through the outlaw’s brain and burst out the other side of his skull. The gruesome corpse swayed there for a second, already dead but not aware of it yet, before it slowly toppled over.
The Brazos Devil was still bellowing as Singh hacked at it. The creature’s arms had completely encircled the Sikh and were crushing him mercilessly. Blood welled from Singh’s mouth and nose as his bones splintered and his organs were pulped. But his arms kept rising and falling with the curved blade, which was now dripping with gore.
Longarm saw Catamount Jack appear at the other side of the clearing, behind the Brazos Devil. The mountain man lifted his Sharps, sighted, and pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into the monster’s back and knocked it forward. Its arms lost their grip on Singh and he slid limply to the ground. Ponderously, the Brazos Devil swung around toward Catamount Jack, whose eyes widened in shock.
“Luther?” said Catamount Jack.
The Brazos Devil roared and stumbled toward the mountain man. Longarm emptied his .44 into the creature’s side, staggering it but not knocking it down. The thick brown fur was covered with blood now from the bullet and sword wounds, but the Brazos Devil was still on its feet, still bent on mayhem. Longarm wondered if it could be killed.
But if it drew breath, cold steel could kill it. Longarm jammed his gun back in its holster and ran forward, bending over to snatch up the sword Singh had dropped. He wrapped both hands around its hilt and lifted it over his head as he lunged at the Brazos Devil. With a primitive yell of his own, he drove the blade into the back of the creature as hard as he could. This close, the stench of the beast was almost enough to overpower a man.
The Devil had just reached Catamount Jack, who had drawn a Bowie knife from a sheath at his waist. Catamount Jack plunged the Bowie into the creature’s chest at the same time as Longarm attacked from behind. The Brazos Devil roared in pain and rage and flailed around with its arms. One of them clipped Longarm and knocked him backward, off his feet.
“Get back, Pa!” Lucy called, and a second later the Sharps boomed yet again. Longarm heard the thud as the slug struck the Brazos Devil, but he didn’t know where the shot had landed on the creature. All he knew was that the monster was still on its feet, even with a Bowie knife sticking out of its chest and the Sikh’s sword protruding from its back. It looked around at the circle of humans around it, then threw back its head and let out a pitiful howl that died away into a whimper. It stumbled a couple of steps, then went to its knees. The Brazos Devil gave a shake of its shaggy head.
Longarm got to his feet and watched along with Catamount Jack and Lucy as the creature fell slowly onto its side like a huge tree. Its breath rasped harshly in its throat for a few seconds, then stopped. A shudder went through the massive body, but after that it was utterly still.
“I reckon he’s dead,” Catamount Jack said into the hushed silence that followed. “Poor son of a bitch. Hope he’s found peace at last.”
Longarm looked at the old mountain man with a frown. “I heard you call it Luther. You knew that … that thing?”
“He’s not a thing,” Catamount Jack said solemnly. “He’s a man. Leastways, he used to be. Him and me, we was friends a long time ago, back in the days when the buffalo still roamed the plains.”
Longarm was still out of breath, and his pulse was hammering in his head. He started to reload his gun with cartridges from his shell belt, and looked around as he did so. Lord and Lady Beechmuir were standing nearby. Booth’s arms were around Helene, and she was crying as she pressed her face against his chest. The Englishman was doing what he could to comfort her. He appeared to be all right.
Rainey was dead, of course, and so were Singh and Ghote. Longarm felt a touch of regret as he looked at the Sikh’s crushed, misshapen body. Singh had been a hell of a fighting man, upholding the reputation of his kinsmen.
Longarm holstered his gun and turned back to the fallen Brazos Devil. Catamount Jack had hold of one of the man’s feet. With a yank, he dislodged the clawed extremity. It was a boot of sorts, Longarm saw now, with what was evidently the paw of a bear attached to it.
“Them tracks we saw put me in mind of these special-made boots ol’ Luther used to wear,” said Catamount Jack. “I never thought it could be him, though. We used to hunt buffalo together, up in Kansas and the Texas Panhandle. I lost track of him ‘bout six years ago, round the time the last of the big herds disappeared. He weren’t right in the head even then, I reckon. Sometimes he claimed he was a buffalo. That’s why he dressed in them skins.”