CHAPTER 11.

The door of the hardware store was set back in a little alcove. Luke grabbed Consuela's arm and pushed her into it. "Stay there," he told her sharply as he reached for one of the Remingtons. "You ought to be out of the line of fire."

"But what is happening?" she asked, her voice full of alarm.

"A jailbreak, if I had to guess." He couldn't waste any more time talking to her. He had to hope she would stay where she was.

Quite a few other people were on the street. All of them would be in danger if bullets started to fly around. As he broke into a run along the boardwalk toward the jail, he waved his left arm at them and shouted, "Get off the street! Off the street now!"

Men yelled curses and questions, but thankfully most of them also began to scatter. Riders galloped away from the gunfire, and men on wagons turned their teams toward the nearest alleys and cross streets.

On the far side of the street, the door to the jail stood partially open with lamplight spilling through it. Suddenly someone flung it wider. Two figures appeared, dark against the light behind them as they rushed out of the building. The man lunged into the street and leaped at a man trying to ride past.

The rider let out a yell as he was grabbed and flung out of the saddle. He landed hard with his face in the street.

As Luke ran closer, he got a better look at the two people who had rushed out of the marshal's office. Frank McCluskey was the one who had just unhorsed the rider. As the woman grabbed the mount's dangling reins, Luke realized he could think of only one female who'd try to bust the outlaw out of jail.

"Delia!" Luke grated. Was that woman going to plague him forever?

McCluskey grabbed the saddle horn, stuck his foot in a stirrup, and hauled himself up into the saddle. He took the reins from Delia and extended his other hand toward her. She grabbed it and swung up behind him, pulling her dress up brazenly to her thighs so she could throw a leg over the horse's back. The hurried movement caused her sunbonnet to tumble backward off her blond curls and dangle behind her by the strings tied around her neck.

That was Delia, all right, Luke thought as he raised the Remington in his hand and bellowed, "McCluskey!"

The outlaw jerked the horse around and rammed his boot heels into its flanks. The animal leaped ahead and raced straight at Luke. McCluskey leaned forward over the horse's neck to make himself a smaller target as he fired at the bounty hunter.

The slugs kicked up dirt in the road not far from Luke's feet, but McCluskey's gun blasted only twice before the hammer fell on an empty chamber. Luke hated like h.e.l.l to shoot a horse, but he drew a bead on the charging animal and squeezed off a shot. The horse screamed and collapsed, its front legs going out from under it so that McCluskey and Delia sailed off its back and over its head.

McCluskey hit hard but rolled and came up on his feet. Luke fired again and narrowly missed. A second later, McCluskey crashed into him and they both went down. The outlaw grabbed Luke's wrist and twisted, forcing the gun to fall and skitter away in the dust.

Luke swung his left fist into McCluskey's jaw, driving the outlaw to the side, but he managed to stay on top of Luke and hammered a punch to the side of his head. McCluskey got a hand on Luke's throat and bore down hard.

d.a.m.n sick and tired of McCluskey trying to choke him, Luke bucked up violently from the ground and threw McCluskey off. They rolled away from each other, and as each man came up on one knee, Luke saw to his dismay that McCluskey had wound up next to the fallen Remington. The outlaw s.n.a.t.c.hed the gun from the ground and swung it up.

Luke braced for the shock of the bullet.

Before McCluskey could pull the trigger, a shadow flashed behind him and something thudded. The outlaw sagged forward, the Remington slipping from his fingers and dropping to the ground again. As McCluskey toppled onto his face, out cold, Luke was surprised to see Derek Burroughs standing there, gun in hand. Clearly, his old friend and comrade-in-arms had just buffaloed McCluskey, saving Luke's life.

The danger wasn't over, though. Delia had pushed herself up onto hands and knees. She shook her head as she tried to recover from the fall off the horse. Seeing the small pistol lying beside her, she grabbed it.

Footsteps pounded in the street close by. Luke looked over to see Marshal Bob Hatfield rushing toward them. Hatfield didn't know who Delia was and had no reason to think she was a threat. To him she would just be a woman knocked down in the street who needed help.

"Marshal, watch-"

Delia fired at Hatfield. The lawman stumbled and fell.

Luke's shouted warning had come too late.

He scrambled up and dived at Delia as she tried to turn the gun toward him. He knocked it aside and rammed into her. She cried out as he knocked her sprawling again. He grabbed both of her wrists, shook the gun loose from her hand, and then used his left hand to pin her wrists above her head. She bucked and kicked as he straddled her, but she couldn't throw him off.

"Derek, cover McCluskey," Luke said. To the townsmen who were still on the street, he snapped, "Somebody see how bad the marshal's hurt! Some of you men need to go check on the deputy, too."

Delia was still struggling as Luke tore the bonnet off her head and used its strings to bind her wrists together. She spit and snapped at him like a wildcat.

She was pure-dee crazy, he thought, consumed with hate and obsessed with a no-good outlaw.

When he was satisfied that she couldn't get away, he stood up and drew his left-hand Remington, which had stayed in its holster. He looked at Burroughs still covering McCluskey. The owlhoot showed no signs of regaining consciousness yet.

"You all right, Derek?"

"Yeah, I've got this one, Luke. He's not going anywhere."

Luke hurried over to the men who had gathered around Hatfield. When the crowd parted a little and he saw that Hatfield was sitting up.

"Looks like he was just creased on the hip," one of the townies reported. "He'll be all right."

"I'll be the judge of that," Hatfield said as he lifted a hand. "Somebody help me up."

"I'm not sure you should be walkin', Marshal-"

"d.a.m.n it, I have to see if Fred's all right."

Luke understood the worry over the deputy. If Ordway was still hale and hearty, it was unlikely McCluskey would have gotten out of the jail.

Luke clasped wrists with Hatfield and lifted the young man to his feet. Hatfield's jeans were dark with blood at his left hip, but the injury didn't stop him from heading for the office, although he limped badly along the way.

Consuela hurried to meet him, still carrying the basket containing McCluskey's supper. She said anxiously, "Bob!" In her fear for him, she obviously wasn't worried about keeping things formal between them.

"I'm all right, Consuela," he told her as he reached the boardwalk in front of the marshal's office. "At least I reckon I will be." He disappeared inside with her right behind him.

Luke reached down and grasped Delia's arm. She kicked at him as he hauled her to her feet. He turned her around so she was facing away from him, took hold of both of her arms, and marched her toward the marshal's office.

"I don't know how the h.e.l.l you got here from Rimrock," he told her, "but you're going behind bars just like McCluskey."

She flung out curses that would have done a muleskinner proud.

Luke ignored them. "And if you killed that deputy, I wouldn't be surprised if you wound up hanging for it."

"That fat fool's not dead," Delia said.

Luke hoped she was right.

As he shoved her into the marshal's office, he saw Hatfield and several other men through the open cell block door. They had Fred Ordway propped up against the bars of an empty cell. The deputy's left shoulder was covered with blood, but at least he was alive and conscious. Consuela knelt beside him, mopping at the blood around his wound.

Hatfield turned toward Luke, swayed, and almost fell. He caught himself with a hand against the doorjamb and asked, "Who's this?" as he nodded toward Delia.

"She's the one who shot you and tried to bust McCluskey out of here," Luke explained. "She may be dressed prim and proper now, but she's just a saloon girl from over in Rimrock who fancies herself in love with him."

"I am in love with him!" Delia screeched. "And I'll kill all of you to save him!"

"It would be a good idea to lock her up, Marshal," Luke said.

Hatfield nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. Put her in that cell across from the one where McCluskey was."

Luke forced Delia into the cell and clanged the door closed behind her. He asked the marshal, "How's your hip?"

"Hurts like blazes, but the bullet just creased me. Didn't break any bones as far as I can tell. I'll live. I'll just be a mite gimpy for a while. Where's McCluskey?"

"A friend of mine knocked him out and is keeping an eye on him."

"We need to get him back behind bars."

"I'll take care of that." Luke went to the door and motioned to several of the men crowding onto the boardwalk to peer into the marshal's office. "Some of you fellas pick up McCluskey and carry him in here."

They toted the senseless outlaw into the building and dropped him none too gently on the bunk in the cell he had occupied previously, causing some signs of coming around to appear. It was the third time he'd been knocked out in the past few days.

It was a wonder his skull wasn't getting a little mushy by now, Luke thought.

Seeing that Burroughs had followed the men carrying McCluskey into the jail, Luke nodded to him. "I'm sure obliged to you, Derek. You not only saved my life, you made sure McCluskey didn't get loose to keep on robbing and killing."

"Well, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing when I saw him about to shoot you, now could I?" Burroughs said with a grin. He clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder. "What are old friends for if not to save each other's lives every now and then?"

"Well, it's a debt I won't forget," Luke said.

A little bird-like man in a dark suit hurried into the office. Seeing the medical bag in the man's hand, Luke pointed to the cell block door. "Your patients are in there, Doctor."

The sawbones nodded and bustled past them.

A moment later, Hatfield came out of the cell block, being helped by Consuela. "I told Doc to tend to Fred first. He's hurt a lot worse than I am."

"You need medical attention, too," Consuela said to the marshal.

"I'll get it, as soon as I know that Fred's going to be all right. Just help me sit down. I'd just as soon get off this leg."

Luke and Consuela helped lower him into the chair behind the desk. Once Hatfield was sitting, he frowned and reached out to pull a book lying on the desk toward him. "What's this?"

"It looks like a Bible," Consuela said.

"That's what it was." Luke took hold of the leather-bound volume and opened it to reveal that someone had carved out a s.p.a.ce in the pages. When the book was closed, no one would be able to see what had been done to it. "I knew Delia must have smuggled a gun in here somehow and then gotten the drop on Deputy Ordway. I guess when he's up to it he can tell us exactly what happened. But for now it's enough to know that she-devil tried to help McCluskey escape-and failed."

"It's a good thing we've got her locked up, then," Hatfield said.

Luke nodded solemnly. "Truer words were never spoken, Marshal. That's exactly where she belongs."

CHAPTER 12.

Marshal Hatfield's only other deputy was Chuck Helton, a middle-aged part-timer whose main job was as a hostler at Peterson's Livery Stable. Having heard the shooting, he showed up a short time later, was introduced to Luke, and took over the office.

Several men carried Fred Ordway over to the doctor's house on a stretcher, since he was hurt badly enough to need quite a bit of care for a while. The sawbones believed that Ordway would recover, which was a relief.

He cleaned and bandaged the wound on Hatfield's hip and sent the lawman home with Consuela. By that time, Hatfield had started to worry about Bucky having been left there alone.

"I expect that boy of yours is fine, Marshal," Luke told him. "From what I saw, he's pretty level-headed and can take care of himself."

"Well, I hope so, but he's only ten years old," Hatfield said with a frown. He limped out of the office, leaning on Consuela.

She would get him home all right, Luke was certain of that.

Helton seemed relieved that Luke was going to spend the night at the jail. He said as much once everybody had cleared out. "I'm glad you're here, Mr. Jensen. The only law work I've ever done is helpin' Bob haul in a few drunk cowboys or prospectors every now and then. I never had to be responsible for prisoners like those two."

"They're behind bars now where they can't hurt anybody," Luke said. "Just be careful and keep your distance from them, and you'll be all right."

It had been a long day. Weariness gripped him. He went into the storeroom, stretched out on the cot he found there, and closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come right away, however.

He could still hear Delia cursing and carrying on in the cell block. He had a feeling he might wind up hearing that unpleasant sound in his dreams.

Or in his nightmares, more likely.

Luke had agreed to meet Derek Burroughs for breakfast the next day, before the train pulled out. The meal was going to be on him. It was the very least he could do to repay his old comrade for saving his life and preventing McCluskey's escape.

Delia had finally run out of steam, stopped pitching a fit, and gone to sleep sometime during the night. McCluskey was asleep, too, when Luke checked on them the next morning.

The outlaw had never gotten his supper the night before, but Luke couldn't muster up any sympathy for him, not after the way he had gunned down Fred Ordway in addition to all his other crimes.

"Morning," Deputy Helton greeted when Luke entered the marshal's office. "What do you think Bob will do with that lady prisoner? Are you gonna take her to Cheyenne with you, Mr. Jensen?"

Luke leaned a hip on the corner of the desk and frowned in thought. After a moment, he said, "As far as I know, the only place where charges would be against her are right here in Rattlesnake Wells or maybe over in Rimrock. From what Deputy Ordway was able to tell us last night, she came here posing as a missionary. She had to get here somehow, so she must have stolen a horse and a buggy or a wagon in Rimrock. Maybe when the marshal feels a little more spry, he can ask around and find out. But there's no point in me taking her to Cheyenne." With a grim smile, Luke shook his head. "As long as she stays locked up until I'm on that train later this morning, I don't really care what he does with her. She's the one who shot him, so I imagine he'll charge her with a.s.sault and attempted murder for that. She'll probably go to prison."

With that settled, as much as it could be, Luke left the marshal's office and headed over to the cafe where he and Burroughs were supposed to meet. He found his old friend already there, drinking coffee. Luke signaled the waitress for a cup of his own, then sat down at the table.

Burroughs grinned. "I've already got flapjacks, bacon, and eggs on the way for both of us, Luke. That sound all right to you?"

"It sounds just fine to me. We sure would have enjoyed a meal like that during some of those campaigns in the war, wouldn't we have?"

"Shoot, I'd have settled for real coffee instead of that muddy water they had us drinking!"

Luke grimaced. "I don't think either of us would ever want to go back to those days."