William MacDonald - Shoot Him On Sight

From outside came the sound of galloping hoofbeats, wild yells. Jeff rushed to the window, then turned hopelessly back. "They didn't even wait until midnight. The house is surrounded—"

A volley of wild shots struck our thick adobe walls. A window crashed.

"So, the argument is settled," Topaz said coolly, getting to her feet.

Taggert swore. "We wasted too much time arguing in the first place. We're in for it."

There hadn't been any need of orders as lights were quickly doused all over the house. Men were taking places at windows, guns at ready. There came another burst of gunfire against the walls, more wild yelling. Horsemen loped their horses around the house and down near the corral, discharging firearms wildly.

Outside the country was bathed in moonlight, making everything as plain as day, which gave us some advantage.

Taggert said once, "They sound like they're all drunker'n hoot-owls. If everyone is set, unload your fire, but make sure of your mark."

From within the house came the sudden rattle of rifle shots and six-shooters. I don't know what luck the others had, but I know I dropped one rider as he started around the side of the house. I was crouched low at the window ledge, Topaz kneeling by my side.

Someone outside yelled an order. Topaz said, "That's Webster's voice. And I was hoping I'd never hear it again."

The firing of the Webster forces suddenly ceased, the riders drawing to one side. Webster's voice came again:

"You hombres within the house, can you hear me?"

None of us replied.

Webster's voice again, pitched louder. "You know by this time you haven't a chance, so give up. I give you my word if you'll come out, you may leave in safety."

"Liar!" Taggert yelled back. "A rat doesn't have any decent word to give. If you want a fight, we aim to give it to you!"

Kneeling at his window, he snapped three fast shots from his six-shooter. Someone let out a yell, but it wasn't Webster's voice. "Missed, dammit!" Taggert growled disgustedly. "There was four or five skunks bunched there. I wa'n't sure which was him, but—"

He had no time to say more as a rattle of gunfire flattened against walls. We could hear windows being shattered at the front of the house. Three slugs whined harmlessly through the room. The crazy yells increased, as riders coursed 'round and 'round the house.

There were half a dozen windows on each side of the house, four in front and three at the rear. I was at a side window, Topaz with me. Both of us, as were the rest, were keeping heads down, raising only to shoot from time to time.

At least we had moonlight to spot the enemy by, and from various agonized cries I judged we were all making our shots count. From a front window I heard Jeff say, "Maybe there were fifteen-hundred of those coyotes due here, but I got a hunch Webster couldn't round up that many."

"How many you figure?" Mike asked.

"I don't reckon Webster has more than three hundred riders with him."

"That's a big relief," Topaz said dryly at my side. "Only three hundred against us." She lifted a rifle, tightened finger on trigger. I spied a man go sprawling from his saddle, and a shot of mine knocked over a horse.

"What's out there sounds drunk," Marshal Taggert said, above the drumming of firearms. "Could be the rest of the fifteen-hundred were too soused to sit a horse."

One of the vaqueros at a rear window called, "Those cabrones— they try to set the fire to the bunkhouse."

There came more crazy yelling. Jeff said, "Luckily, adobe doesn't burn easily."

Glancing around, I caught a brief flash of ragged, crimson streaks at the windows. I could feel the perspiration pouring down from my forehead. My eyes and throat and nostrils burned from the acrid fumes of burned gunpowder. Smoke swirled through the room. I felt Topaz give my arm a squeeze. "Nice shindig, eh?" she laughed coolly.

I stared at her through the gloom. "Good Lord, you must have steel nerves."

"Something very necessary in the life I've been leading—" She broke off, lifting her gun for another shot.

The din was terrific, guns and galloping hoofs, as some of the bandits coursed round and round the house, like a gang of wild Comanches, encircling a wagon-train.

From time to time, I'd catch news of one of our men being hit, but apparently no one had been wounded seriously. Mama Benita bustled about, bringing steaming cups of coffee and helping bind up wounds.

Mateo, at a front window, called suddenly, "They have brought that big timber from the rear. They intend a battering ram against the front door." Now we could hear Webster shouting harsh orders.

"Hold your fire until they get close," Taggert yelled. We all listened. Then there came running, stumbling steps on the gallery, sounds of men grunting under a heavy load.

"Now!" Taggert shouted.

Gunfire and powdersmoke spurted at the front of the house. We caught the sounds of agonized cries and then a heavy thud on the gallery as the battering-timber was dropped. There were quick, retreating footsteps. Taggert reported a moment later, "We stopped that, anyway. Four of the scuts are sprawled out on the gallery. The rest got off—" Again he snapped two quick shots. "Got one of them."

I could hear Webster's cursing voice above the terrific booming of guns. Leaden slugs continued to spatter against the adobe walls on all sides. Somewhere outside a horse screamed and went down.

Abruptly, the wild yelling was redoubled as were the sounds of guns. There was a sudden rush of horses' hoofs. " Por Diós !" Mike groaned. "That must be the rest of the fifteen-hundred arriving!"

My heart sank, then I paused, scarcely able to believe my ears, at what I was hearing. Surely, those must be military commands! A bugle call split the night air. Someone was yelling for Marshal Taggert.

From the raiders there came sudden frantic yells. There were renewed hoofbeats, vanishing toward the south, as the raiders retreated in wild confusion, with pursuing hoofs running fast at their rear.

"It's Mackley—Colonel Mackley!" Taggert yelled triumphantly. "How in the devil—?" He didn't wait to say more, but started to tug at the front door.

Several of us followed him through the doorway. Outside, a large number of riders, civilian and cavalry, sat horses. To the south, more men were on the trail of the raiders.

Taggert was glancing up at a tall rider in blue. "Welcome, Colonel," he was yelling triumphantly. "But how did you happen to cross the line? I never expected—"

"One of the prisoners we took in Onyxton knew what Webster intended. He wanted to save his own skin. So I gambled," the colonel explained stiffly, "that Washington and the Mexican Government will give their approval to my operating without orders. We started as soon as the prisoner confessed what was under way."

"God, I'm glad to see you—we all are."

I glanced around. Dead men and horses were scattered everywhere, it seemed. I asked if Webster had been captured. The colonel didn't know yet. I began to search among the bodies, but couldn't find trace of Webster. I went farther afield, and was just passing a tall cottonwood when I heard a voice:

"Cardinal, you bastard, I'll get you anyway!" Webster's voice! The tones were shaking with rage, as he stepped from behind the tree-trunk, an orange stream of powder and flame spurting from his gun-barrel.

It was his voice that saved me. At the sound, I swung around, causing him to miss his intended aim. The slug caught me in the shoulder, spinning me off balance, causing him to miss a second shot.

Even as I went down, I was reaching for my .44, my first shot thrown almost at random. I missed, but it caused him to hesitate just long enough for me to roll over and trigger another shot from the ground. I saw him stagger back, clutching his stomach as the gun slipped from nerveless fingers. As he struck the earth, I fired again. I saw his body twitch as the bullet sent up a puff of dust from his vest, but that was the only movement he made.