Chapter Six
"You killed my brother, you bastards!" Roger screamed, as he began firing blindly without revealing himself. It wasn't clear whether he was actually trying to hit anyone, or if he was just blasting away from shock and grief.
Pony Deal, not necessarily distrusting that Danny Fleming was dead but wanting to make sure for himself, had been aiming his gun toward the youngest redhead's body and was about to put another bullet in him, when one of Roger's wild shots whizzed so close that Pony felt the rush of air stir near his right ear.
The black-clad mans attention was quickly turned toward the remaining Fleming. He fired three shots in quick succession, each plunking into the rough wood of the trough. Two bullets skidded across its surface, gouging out two deep furrows, but the third one went all the way through. Water began pouring out of the round hole the bullet created.
To Johnny's further frustration, he had to abandon his attempts to see about Scott. Live bullets flying through the air took precedence. To distract himself, he looked toward his old acquaintance. "You always were a bit of a hothead, Pony. Why waste ammo when your target is hidden?"
Pony Deal scowled. "Let him know I'm still here and pissed off," the man declared in a tone that clearly showed just how pissed off he really was. However, knowing Johnny was right, Pony quit firing, taking the time to reload again. It wouldn't do to get caught without a full load of ammunition should a full-out gunfight begin again.
Pony's shots had forced Roger to pull back as far behind the water trough as possible. Holding his gun tightly, he rubbed his stubbly chin with his knuckles. If Danny was dead, where did that leave him?
Under the wagon, a sudden thought came to Pony, "Where's the law in this town?"
"Sheriff's Val Crawford, a good man and a damn fine lawman. Right now, he's out of town. He should be back tomorrow."
"Great. Law only comes 'round when you don't want 'em or need 'em," Pony grumbled. "A town this big has to have a deputy. Where's he?"
"Don't know," Johnny replied. He hadn't thought about Ron Billings until Pony mentioned the deputy, but he was curious why Ron hadn't made an appearance. Val had left him in charge, and he couldn't imagine Ron shirking his duty. Now that Johnny thought about it, no one else had come to their rescue, either. The Lancers had a lot of friends in Green River, but none of them seemed eager to help out. The only one he didn't want to see get anywhere near a bullet was the doctor, Sam Jenkins. Besides being a good friend, he would also likely be needed later.
Johnny's thoughts were quickly jerked to the ground when he heard an unmistakable groan.
"I think your friend's wakin' up," Pony needlessly pointed out.
As much as it eased Johnny's mind to know Scott was alive and about to rejoin the waking world, he was also afraid that his brother would attract unwanted interest from Roger Fleming before he was aware enough not to call attention to himself. The redhead had no reason not to still think that Scott was Johnny Madrid.
The dark-haired Lancer lowered his head and called out to his brother. "Scott. Hey, Scott. Don't move."
Unfortunately, either Scott didn't hear him or couldn't as yet process the information, because he not only groaned again even louder but was also starting to raise up.
More desperately, Johnny hissed, "Scott, stay down!"
The words and the urgency of his brother's tone finally penetrated Scott's foggy brain. There wasn't enough room to roll over onto his back, so he had to remain in the same position on his left side, though he made a point of keeping his head down.
He immediately thoguht of his brother. "You okay, Johnny?" he whispered, looking up and trying to see his sibling, who was blocked by the height of the boardwalk.
"Yeah, I'm fine," the all-too-familiar answer floated down to him. "Just you stay where you are. We're in a bit of a pickle right now." He immediately chided himself for that last comment. He didn't want Scott to expose himself by trying to do something to help, especially since he wasn't at his fighting best. "We're okay, though," he added, shaking his head at the lame statement.
Scott did want to help, but right then his head was pounding mercilessly. Had someone entered it while he was unconscious and was now setting up some kind of hammering contest with numerous other participants? He had been knocked out more thabn once, but he'd never cracked his head on a wagon wheel before. He didn't care to repeat the painful experience.
As Scott gently began to rub the area behind his left ear where the worst of the torture seemed to be centered, he felt a sizable lump under his exploring fingertips. He winced from the tenderness that was more than a little painful in itself, never mind the hammering contest that was now in full swing inside his skull. Scott was happy to see that his fingers had no blood on them, when he held them up for examination in front of his eyes.
When he raised his right hand to see if it would perchance display bloodstains from an as yet unknown wound, he was a bit surprised to find his pistol tightly clutched in it. He didn't remember drawing the gun and wasn't sure now why it hadn't slipped from his grasp when he had been knocked out.
Scott's eyes widened when a bullet hit the side of the wagon near the bottom, almost directly over his head. Before he could turn over, he heard a gun fire from under the wagon. When he looked, he saw the man Johnny had called Pony Deal. From the man's location, there was no way the shot could have come from him, so the man must be on their side.
It didn't take too long for Scott's foggy mind to sort through the facts, as he knew them, and size up the situation. There was at least one gunman behind the water trough a few yards away and an unexpected gunman helping him and Johnny.
When he looked toward the front of the wagon to see if there were more men aiming guns at them, he saw the body of one of the Fleming brothers, the youngest one, it appeared. He looked dead, but that didn't necessarily mean he was. Scott had learned that hard lesson in the war. Mistaking a live enemy for a dead one had almost cost him his life.
Scott lifted his shoulders, propping himself up on one elbow, and raised his gun, pointing it straight at Danny's inert form.
Finally, Scott decided the man must be beyond causing trouble. He was just about to turn away and devote his attention toward Roger's position, when he saw a slight movement from Danny, who evidently wasn't quite as dead as he appeared.
Not sure if the movement was indicative of something that could lead to danger, or if it was simply the last vestiges of life before death settled in, Scott watched to see what would happen next.
When Danny moved again, the blond wasn't willing to take any chances with his brother's, Pony Deal's or his own life, so he took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
Danny's body gave a small jerk. Then, there was no further movement.
Scott had only a fleeting pang of regret. He wasn't especially proud that he had shot a man lying on the ground and obviously badly wounded, but he told himself Danny had been trying to kill them and would not have hesitated to try again, if he had had the chance.
Danny Fleming was quickly forgotten.
Johnny had to smile. Good old Boston was watching his back, as usual. He was also taking care to keep himself as safe as circumstances would allow, which was the most important thing to the ex-gunhawk. 'One down and one to go', he thought grimly.
Seemingly in answer to Scott's shot, Roger fired toward the blond, this time hitting the wagon wheel between him and Scott.
The elder Lancer quickly flattened himself on the ground again. An oath escaped his lips, but not even Pony, who heard it and grinned, could quite make it out. He just knew it probably wasn't something the blond's mother would approve of. Then again, if she was anything like Pony's own mother, she might have taught it to him.
No one moved or said a word for long moments, each apparently waiting for someone else to make the next move. Roger's position behind the water trough was particularly quiet.
It occurred to Johnny that Roger might be planning something, though he couldn't figure out what that might be. He didn't believe even someone as dumb as Roger Fleming had proven to be, would try to confront three armed men, especially considering he no longer had his brother to help him.
Suddenly, the loud explosion of gunfire erupted again, shattering the uneasy silence that had descended on the small group of four.
Roger was now looking to take out Johnny, who he considered merely an inconvenience. His next target after that would be the man in black. That would leave him alone with Madrid.
Despite the fiasco that had ensued when he and Danny had drawn down on the three men they had faced, Roger was sure that he would be able to take out Madrid with no interference. Then, he would not only avenge his brother's death but earn him the reputation he so coveted.
Johnny, having a pretty good idea what the redhead was thinking, wasn't about to let that happen.
Roger crept along the back side of the water trough until he came even with the end nearest the wagon. He stopped then, trying to figure out how he could pick off the two gunmen with Madrid. If he popped up, who would he fire at first? One was up on the boardwalk, while the other one was under the wagon. If he shot at one, the other could get him. Of course, he knew Madrid wasn't going to just sit and do nothing.
"Hey, Fleming," a voice called out. "Give up now, and we won't kill ya."
"Speak for yourself, Johnny," Pony hissed.
Johnny swore. There was no way Roger wouldn't have heard that remark, and now the man knew the words were false, and he would likely be shot, if he tried to gave up.
"Liar," Roger yelled.
"Nice goin', Pony," Johnny growled. "Now, he won't dare give up, and one of us might get hurt or killed before this is all over."
"I want that son-of-a-bitch dead," Pony growled back. "Just leave, if you don't wanna continue. I'[ll take care of him myself."
"You're an idiot," Johnny returned. Now, he remembered why he and Pony had never developed any kind of real friendship. The man wanted what he wanted and wouldn't let a thing like caution get in his way. He was only out for himself, and when he got his blood up, he couldn't see reason when it stared him in the face.
Three against one shouldn't have been that much of a problem. But, that one had a gun, so things weren't quite so simple. Johnny was well familiar with that scenario.
Johnny inched his way a little farther toward the water trough, holding his gun out in front of him, only able to guess at just what it was he was about to encounter.
TBC