It was the horses that woke him, whinnying in fear and panic. He jumped up from the rocker on the porch, rifle gripped tight in his hands, and rushed to the corral. He could see the flames licking at the back of the barn, reaching up higher and higher into the night sky, and he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, in the same panic and fear as the animals. By the time he reached the barn Noble had kicked down part of the gate to his stall and Bart reached up and unlatched what remained of it; the gelding went flying past him, running only because the flames hadn't yet come any closer. Next the black stallion, then the Arabian, and finally the little black mare, which he had to physically lead out of her stall and into the corral before she would leave the burning structure.
As soon as he escaped the barn he started yelling at the top of his lungs, praying to God that his brother and Molly would hear him screaming. He ran back towards the house, searching everywhere for the man or men that had set the fire, but saw no one in the dark of night. His head throbbed and his lungs burned but he had to find the arsonist and stop them before the house could be set aflame.
A form dashed across the back of the corral and Bart turned and ran towards it. He raised the rifle and shot but knew the bullet went wide, as did the bullet fired back at him. He glanced quickly at the house and thought he saw some kind of light come on inside; if he was correct, someone had heard him. Another shot came his way, this one much closer than the last one, and he hit the ground and rolled behind one of the water troughs. "Is that you, Sanders?" he yelled out and was met with silence, providing him with an answer.
He still couldn't see anything, even with the glow from the burning barn, but he thought he heard footsteps headed towards the bunkhouse. Bart scrambled to his feet and ran towards the sound; if he was right, it was the marshal and he was headed for the now empty building. He aimed for the pile of wood around the back; it was the easiest place to set a fire. There was movement just ahead and to his right – he took a chance and pulled the trigger. His bullet struck something and once again he heard the 'ooof' generated by hitting his mark. This time there was no sound of a body falling, and he knew the marshal was still upright and moving. Suddenly the wood pile burst into flames and he could momentarily see his target; it was Sanders and his left arm hung limply at his side.
Bart raised the rifle but the marshal got off a shot first that struck him in the right calf, and he went down. Now he could hear someone running from the house towards the barn and he knew his brother was out there. He tried to hold onto the rifle but it skidded away from him as he fell and he instinctively rolled as he grabbed for his Peacemaker. The bunkhouse quickly caught fire and served to light up the surrounding area, and Conrad could see him just as clearly as he could see the marshal.
They shot almost simultaneously and the only thing that saved Bart was the marshal's aim – his gun was pointed where the gambler had been, not where he rolled. Conrad wasn't moving and Bart's bullet hit its target, driving the marshal through the back door and into the burning bunkhouse. Maverick couldn't see what happened but he could certainly hear the man's screams as he found himself caught in the very fire that he'd set. There would be no escape from the inferno.
Once the fire got its head there was no stopping it, and Bart dragged himself as far away from what remained of the bunkhouse as he could. Finally he could hear Bret yelling for him and he answered back "Over here!" as both structures continued to burn until there was no more fuel to feed them. By the time his brother found him, there was little left of either building.
"Where is he?" Bret questioned him, and all he could do was point. "Inside?" was the next question and he nodded and began coughing violently from all the smoke he'd taken into his lungs. "Can you walk?" was the last thing Bret asked him, and he shook his head 'no.'
"Come on, let's get you outta here," and with one pull upward he was back standing on one foot and leaning heavily on his brother. From out of nowhere Molly appeared, still in her nightclothes and dressing gown, and helped steady him for the second time in two nights. He glanced down at the girl between coughs and managed to tell her, "I'm sorry."
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and questioned, "Is he dead? Is it over?" Bart kept coughing and nodded. She patted his arm. "You've nothing to be sorry for. I still have my horses and my house. And you two are alive."
It was even slower going back to the house than it had been the night before, and all three were spent by the time they got there. The light from the fires was almost gone but sunrise was just over the horizon, and Bret turned to his brother once they'd gotten him down into a rocking chair. "I'll bring the doctor and Delgado. You hang in there, hear me?"
Before Bart could answer Bret was gone, running back to what was left of the corral and whistling for Blackthorn. The stallion appeared, still wearing his bridle, and Bret swung up on his horse bareback, the way they'd ridden when they were kids. In what seemed like mere seconds they had disappeared, and Molly sat on the porch in the early morning light and held his hand tightly. He started coughing again, almost as violently as he had at first, and she ran to get water.
Her return with the water found him leaning over the porch railing vomiting out all the smoke he had to inhale in his pursuit of Conrad Sanders. She rubbed his back as spasm after spasm shook his whole body, and helped him into the rocker when they finally stopped. Molly gently wiped his face and mouth with the towel she'd brought to clean his wounded leg, then helped him rinse his mouth with some of the water and take several big, gulping swallows of the rest of it. With his coughing finally diminishing she was able to take a look at the leg. It was still bleeding slightly and it appeared that the bullet was in the wound, but nothing vital had been hit. He flinched as she tried to carefully clean the dried blood away but said nothing.
"What happened?" Molly asked him when she'd done everything she could for his leg. Bart remained silent, with Molly sitting on the porch at his feet, and she asked him again. "What happened, Hancock? Please?"
When he started to answer her, his voice was so faint she had to strain to hear the words. She would have asked him to speak up but she had the feeling the volume was all that he could manage. "We guessed last night they were gonna try to burn you out, but we wanted you to have a night of peace. The three of us decided not to tell you till mornin'. Delacroix and I split up the watch last night – he stayed out here first, then he came an got me. I musta fell asleep, cause the barn was already on fire when the horses woke me. I ran an got them out, then started lookin' for Sanders. I hit him with a shot, but not bad enough to stop him. He caught me over at the bunkhouse with the first one, then we shot at the same time. He missed. I didn't."
Molly sat and waited for more, and when he said nothing further she asked, "And the marshal?"
Bart closed his eyes; he could still hear Sanders screams. "Burned."
Molly prayed that God would forgive her for what she was about to say. "Good."
They sat on the porch like that for another fifteen or twenty minutes until Doc Bradley drove up in his buggy. "Molly, are you alright? Delacroix told me what happened last night – er, this morning. Hancock, I understand you've got another bullet hole for me to look at."
Bart nodded. "I think this one's still got a bullet in it for ya, Doc."
"It does," Molly added.
"Molly, can you get me another towel or two? Something that won't matter if it gets bloodstained?" Doc asked.
Once the girl was gone Doc became solemn. "Are you sure he's dead, Hancock?"
Bart was surprised to hear the easy-going tone in Bradley's voice replaced by one of intense dislike. "I'm sure, Doc."
"Good riddance. I know I'm not supposed to think that way, but that man has been nothing but a thorn in Yuma's side since the day he got here. Maybe now the Town Council will use their heads and make Deputy Hernandez the sheriff."
"One can hope, can't they?"
Doctor Bradley said no more and worked on getting the bullet out of Bart's leg while causing as little pain as possible. It moved just a bit but the physician finally got a firm hold on it and pulled it out, causing a slight gasp from the gambler just as Molly returned with the requested towels. "You don't have to be brave for me, son. I've taken out enough of these – I know how much it hurts."
"Not . . . bein' . . . brave," Bart replied through clenched teeth. He breathed a rather large sigh with the removal. "I've heard enough yellin' for one night. And I don't think I could do any if I tried. Stitches, Doc?"
"Yes, sir, probably three. Hold still now and I'll get this taken care of."
Molly watched the doctor, then Bart, and asked the gambler as the physician stitched, "Doesn't that hurt?"
"Sure . . . does," he answered, again through clenched teeth. Just as Bradley finished, Bret and Del Hernandez rode up. Blackthorn now had a saddle on him. "I see you got some new gear," Bart commented.
"Yeah, well, if somebody hadn't burned up all my old gear . . . " Bret ran up the porch steps; Del followed closely behind. "You alright, son?"
"I've been better, Pappy," Bart replied. "Deputy Hernandez, I imagine you want to speak with me."
"Acting Sheriff Hernandez," Del corrected, and turned quickly to Molly. "How are you? Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
Bart heard the concern in Delgado's voice and looked at his brother. Bret shrugged and grinned, then mouthed, 'Love.'
"Hurt me?" Molly asked. "I didn't even see him! He just burned down half my ranch. He'd have burned the rest of it if not for Hancock."
The deputy turned back to Bart. "Unofficially, good job. Officially, what happened?"
Bart went through the story one more time, and when he got to the part about Sanders falling into the burning bunkhouse, Acting Sheriff Hernandez just nodded. "When you come to town to buy a new saddle, come see me. I'll have your statement ready for you to sign."
"What are you gonna do about the rest of the consortium?" Bret asked.
"I've got all of Sanders personal effects, includin' some fascinating papers. I would imagine I'm gonna be arrestin' the remainin' members. And the Mayor, just as soon as I get back to town." He stopped and took Molly's hand. "Are you sure you're alright?" The girl nodded and smiled shyly, and the acting sheriff continued. "Molly, Sanders had a bank account. With a nice little bit of money. I'm sure there's enough in it to pay for a new barn and a bunkhouse."
"And a wedding?" Bart whispered to his brother.
"I would imagine so," came the reply.