He turns to her and gestures impatiently that she should go to the next window. She crouches down and reluctantly breaks the window glass the same way that he did. Maybe it isn't McLaren after all and it's just the ranch hands come back to apologize? She will regret the windows if that is the case.
Wilson fires.
The riders are barely in range but the shot scatters them off the road and behind trees and boulders.
'Should you have done that?' She asks. 'We don't even know who they are yet.'
'The man at the front was McLaren.'
So he has worked out that she duped him and has brought men to help him. She wriggles out of the frying pan and into the fire.
'Who were the others?'
'Various low-lifes that spend their time in the saloon. I'd be surprised if any of them is sober enough to pose a serious threat. I thought I'd take the chance that a couple of well-placed rifle rounds would make them think twice and head back to the safety of their whisky bottle. I imagine that's what they're thinking about right now.'
'Or we've warned them that we're watching for them and they'll try to sneak up on us instead.'
'Yes, that is also a possibility.'
They wait.
A man runs from one side of the road to the other. Wilson fires another shot. The man dives for cover.
'They're not going back to the saloon are they?' She says.
Wilson grunts and continues watching the twitching of tree branches.
'McLaren works for Humby. Did you know that?' she asks.
It's as though he can't hear her. Has the rifle damaged his ears?
'I told McLaren that Humby had double-crossed him.' She says a bit louder, hoping for some reaction. 'I told him that Humby had paid someone to blow up his house. McLaren believed me and that's why he let me escape.'
Still Wilson reacts rather less than the windowsill she's leaning on.
'You should have told me that sooner,' he says suddenly, just as she was about to start talking again, leaving her gaping in surprise. 'That does explain why they ain't goin' anywhere.'
'Why?'
'You told him Humby dynamited his house? A man like him is going to confront Humby about that and probably wave a gun in his face too. When he finds out that it wasn't Humby and that you tricked him, he isn't going to leave until we put a bullet in him. Damn. If you'd said that earlier I'd have put the first shot between his ears instead of between his feet.' Wilson banged his fist on the windowsill in frustration and the rifle rattled against the broken glass, tinkling some more shards onto the stones below.
'I'm not sorry I fooled him. Humby was going to force me to marry him.'
'But are you sorry that you blew up McLaren's house?'
She splutters unable to think of a suitable response. Too late she realizes that he doesn't know that she was involved and is just fishing to see her reaction. She should be being more careful around deputies.
'That's a ridiculous remark.' She says carefully, trying to conceal her alarm.
'Is it really? Everybody knows it was you. I'm surprised McLaren was too stupid to realize it.' He laughs.
She can feel anger rising at his laughter. At a time like this, and he's laughing? Whose side is he on?
'Wait,' he says, stopping laughing abruptly, 'I can see movement closer to the house. They're trying to sneak up on us. Go back there and warn the others, we're going to have to be ready to make a run for it.'
She starts to question him but is cut off by firing from Wilson's rifle. She sees a man fall to the ground alarmingly close to the house and a flash of return fire from behind a nearby tree. There's a rattle of splinters hitting the wall. She looks at Wilson's determined concentration as he tries to get in another shot and decides to do as he says and heads back to find Laura and Logan.
'Where's Laura?'
'She's with Billy.' Logan says. 'They're both pretty scared. I really don't see how we're going to get Billy up onto a horse but he seems willing to try.'
'Poor kids.' She says. She feels so guilty for being the cause of their troubles.
'Laura seems mostly scared of the gunfight. Billy seems scared you'll tell Wilson what he did.'
'He told you?'
'I figured it out. I'd like to say I could predict how Wilson will react when he finds out, but I'm not so sure I know who he is or what he's doing here.'
'I think I'm glad he's here though.'
'Me too.'
'There's a bunch of lowlifes, including McLaren, who are trying to sneak up on the house. Wilson is trying to pick them off but they're getting closer. He said we should be ready to make a run for it.'
'There are five horses saddled up and ready to go and tied up right outside. Just say the word.'
With a crash, the door flies open and the room fills with smoke and noise.
Logan and Emily dive under a table as bullets ricochet round the small space. Shards of wood and glass and broken crockery seem to make no noise as they bounce on the floor round them, their sounds drowned out by the hammering noise of the guns at the door.
She grabs Logan's hand as if to steady herself and forgets that she was ever mad at him.
Then the gunfire stops. A trickle of paraffin dribbles onto the floor where a lamp has been hit by a stray bullet. Logan wrestles his big colt from its holster with his good hand. She peers out from under the table, trying to work out where the invader has gone. Is he coming for them? Does he even know where they are?
'I'd shoot you right where you're hidin' Miss Nixon if we didn't have something more unpleasant in mind for you. Besides,' He stands over her, pointing the revolver at her as he reloads it, chewing on a smoldering cigar, 'besides, McLaren wanted to kill you hisself.'
'Who are you?' she says, almost to herself.
Logan squeezes her hand. The man hasn't noticed Logan hiding behind her. And Logan has a gun.
'Come on out now Miss Nixon, or I'll shoot you someplace painful.'
A door rattles.
The man turns to see where the noise is coming from. He fires.
Her ears are ringing from the gunshots but she still hears him make a strange sighing noise as he crumples slowly onto the floor. His gun skitters away and his cigar rolls out of his contorted mouth. She wipes something wet off her cheek.
'Who is it?' She calls out, not knowing who has killed the invader. Not hearing a response she adds 'Are you alright?'
There is still no response so she scrambles out from under the table. Logan pushes himself up to a seated position with his good arm. His gun lies unused on the floor. When she looks at him he says 'Wilson' but he says it so quietly that she can't hear his voice over the whooshing in her ears and has to guess what he has said from the movement of his lips.
She peers cautiously over to the door but can't make out who is there. Then she can make out a boot. A boot with the toes pointing in the air. A man lying on his back. Is he dead? Wilson, the man she didn't trust, the man she'd feared, her most dogged protector. Is he dead?
'Wilson!' she cries 'No!'
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
'We need to leave right now,' he says.
'He's hurt badly,' Emily says, crouching over Wilson who lies on the floor in a patch of slippery glistening blood.
'Even so, we really do need to leave right now.' Logan directs her attention to the other side of the room and she freezes in terror at the sight.
The whole wall is yellow with flame. Half of the table they had hidden behind is blackened and smoking. The burning cigar has rolled into the spilled lamp oil and created a fast spreading blaze that is already too big to be smothered.