“Not only the barkeep,” Chad added. “Look around the place. Weren’t there some folks in here when we came in a few minutes ago?”
“Yes, there were,” Jim answered, looking around in surprise.
“Yeah, well, except for us, this place is totally empty,” Chad said.
“Where the hell did everybody go?” Frank asked.
“I know we been on the trail a while, but I didn’t know we smelled that bad,” Tennessee teased.
For a second, Jim was as confused as everyone else. Then a sudden awareness of danger pricked him.
“Holy shit!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Everyone get down!”
Almost on top of Jim’s shout, gunfire erupted from out in the plaza. A fusillade of bullets smashed through the windows and crashed into the mirror behind the bar. Several bottles of liquor shattered as well. Even as the shooting continued from outside, the boys could hear the gurgling of the rotgut and tequila pouring out of them.
Jim turned over a table and the others did the same thing. They moved three of the tables together, making a barricade.
“Who is out there?” Tennessee asked.
“If you ask me, it’s the whole town,” Chad replied.
“Why are they shooting at us? We haven’t done anything!” Tennessee said. “I’m going to tell them it is a mistake!”
Rising up from behind the table, Tennessee started toward the front door.
“Tennessee, you fool! Get back here!” Jim shouted.
Jim’s warning went unheeded and Tennessee took two steps toward the front door, his hand raised chest-high. Then he was hit. Putting his hand to his chest, Tennessee spun around with a surprised look on his face and with blood spilling through his fingers.
“Barry?” he said in a strained voice. He tried to return to the tables, then pitched forward, falling facedown.
“Tennessee!” Barry shouted, crawling toward the man he had ridden and bunked with for the last three years.
“How is he?” Jim called over the sound of snapping gunfire and whistling, crashing bullets.
“He’s dead!” Barry replied.
“Jim, what are we going to do?” Frank asked.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Jim said. He looked toward the back door. “All the shooting is coming from the front, so we’ll go through the back. That’s where our horses are, anyway!”
“We’ll never make it to the back door,” Chad warned. “You saw what happened to Tennessee.”
“Pull the tables along with us. We’ll crawl across the floor, using the tables as shields until we reach the back door.”
“Well, if we’re goin’ to do it, let’s git!” Frank said. “It’s getting’ hot as hell in here!”
As the bullets continued to whip by them, banging into the tabletops but not punching through the thick wood, the men crawled low across the cantina floor. They reached the back door without anyone else being hurt.
“All right, we’re here! Let’s go!” Ken shouted. He stood up and kicked open the back door. As he did so, he saw a Mexican standing just outside the door, holding a double-barreled shotgun. The Mexican pulled the triggers and both barrels discharged in a loud roar. With a gaping hole in his chest, Ken was hurled back into the room.
The Mexican killed Ken at the cost of his own life, for all five survivors fired simultaneously. The Mexican went down, riddled with bullets.
Frank went out first, followed by the others. Jim was the last one out. Amazingly, except for the one man with the shotgun, no one else was waiting out back for them.
As soon as they mounted they saw the next problem facing them. The area between the cantina and the hotel was actually an enclosed courtyard with only one exit. That single avenue was along the north side of the cantina, opening out onto the plaza. In order to reach one of the roads leading out of town, they would have to ride right through the middle of that plaza. That was going to be extremely difficult for, at present, the plaza was brimming with nearly two dozen armed men.
“Look where this leads to! It opens right onto the plaza. What’ll we do now?” Chad called.
“Barry, you and Gene get Tennessee and Ken out here,” Jim ordered.
“What?”
“Hurry! Get them out here.”
“What are you talking about, Jim? They’re dead!” Gene shouted.
“Do you think I don’t know they’re dead! That’s why what I have in mind can’t hurt them,” Jim said. “Just do what I say! Chad, you and Frank watch the side in case anyone starts back here.”
Almost as soon as he spoke, four Mexicans started running along the side of the cantina. Chad and Frank cut two of them down, and the other two turned and ran back to the front.
Barry and Gene returned inside the cantina they had just evacuated. A moment later they reappeared, pulling the bodies of their two dead friends behind them.
“Put them up on their horses,” Jim ordered. “Not belly down. Sitting up.”
“How the hell are we going to make them set up?” Gene asked.
“Figure out a way, dammit!” Jim shouted as he fired at two Mexicans who had moved from the corner of the adjacent building to try to get a better firing position. Though he didn’t hit them, his bullets did come close enough to dissuade them from their attempt.
“Use their rifles,” Chad suggested. “Stick the rifles down the back of their shirt to hold them upright. Then tie their bodies into the saddle with rope.”
“Good idea!” Jim said. “But hurry!”
It took but a moment to have Ken and Tennessee sitting upright, or nearly so, in their saddles. When Jim looked at them and saw their ashen, lifeless faces, he felt a great sadness and a twinge of regret for the way he was about to use the bodies of his friends.
“Boys, wherever you are, if you can see what’s going on here and help us out, we can sure use it,” Jim said praying to their departed spirits.
The horses were a little skittish and hard to control. They smelled death, and it was obvious they weren’t eager to accept the burden of carrying riders who were dead. The animals wanted to bolt, and Jim hoped that their skit tishness would work to his advantage.
“What are you aimin’ to do with them fellas?” Gene asked.
“Get mounted,” Jim said. “I’m going to send Ken and Tennessee out first. When they get everyone’s attention, we’ll go, but not until then.”
“Which way will we go?” Gene asked.
“Watch Ken and Tennessee. Whichever way their horses break, we’ll go in the opposite direction,” Jim explained. “Now get ready!”
A slap on the two horses’ flanks sent them galloping out into the square. Just as Jim had hoped, the galloping horses and their grisly riders caught the attention of the men in the plaza. The two horses bolted toward the north, and at least two dozen men from the plaza ran after them, firing as they ran. Jim saw dust fly up from the backs of both Tennessee and Ken as several bullets found their mark. Even though he knew they were already dead, he couldn’t help but wince for them.
“Now!” Jim shouted.
Slapping his legs against the sides of his horse, he started south. The others followed him and were halfway across the plaza before Gonzales or any of his impromptu deputies realized they had been tricked. Turning, the posse opened fire on the five escaping gringos.
Jim bent low over the neck of his horse, riding hard. Hot air seared his lungs as he drew in great, ragged gulps. His chest pounded and his skin tingled because he expected a bullet in his back at any moment.
Although none of the citizens of Escalon were mounted, Jim held his little group at a gallop for at least five minutes before he felt they were out of immediate danger. Then, holding up his hand, he signaled the others to stop. As they sat there, he could hear them, man and horse, gasping hard for breath.