Buchanan's Seige (8 page)

Buchanan's Siege
'
59

Weevil tried, failed. The window was too high.

Buchanan hoisted himself higher. He reached his long
arm inside the building. He found the end of the rope,
pulled it out. He pulled until he had a loop. Then he made
a tie, testing it, hoping it would stand up under strain.

Badger said, "Give it here. O
l’
Muley's got the
strength."

"Right." Buchanan leaned close to the window.
"Coco?"

"I ain't gone no place."

"We're going to try to yank down this wa
ll
. Might need
a bit of help. When you see the rope go tight, you shove,
hear?"

"On the wall?"

"Not on the ceiling. You hear me, Weevil?"

"I ain't all that strong, but I'll do it."

Buchanan got down from the saddle and picked his rifle
from the boot. Trevor already had his long gun cradled
under one arm. Badger led the mule from the building
until the line was taut.

"Might be some quick action if this works," Buchanan
said.

"Right-o,
”
Trevor replied, cheerful as always when
there was action in prospect.

Badger whispered to his mule. The beast strained. The
rope went to its limit, stretching, tightening. There was a
small creaking sound. Nothing happened.

Buchanan said, "Stronger than I reckoned."

Coco's voice came plaintively, "C'n I stop pushin' now?
It kinda hurts."

"You can rest," said Buchanan. "I ain't sure this is such
a good notion."

"If we had a team," said Trevor. "Ah, well. Shall we
storm the bastion?"

"You mean go around to the front door and knock po
lite?"

"Ah
—why not be riotous? Bawdy? Loud? Drunken?"

Buchanan said, "Now, that makes sense. Badger? Can
you keep that dally on the jailhouse?"

"Even so," said Badger.

"Then let's do what Trevor says." He called out,
"Coco?"

"Still here."

"We're comin' in. Be ready to butt your head against
that wall. Weevil . . . you use the bunk for a batterin'
ram."

"You'll get us all kilt but okay, it's better'n chokin' on a
rope," said Weevil.

Buchanan led the way through the alley alongside the
hoosegow. Trevor trod lightly at his heels. They paused
before showing themselves. The sound from the saloons
had increased. Any moment now the lynch mob would
muster the courage to act.

"Two, three guards," said Buchanan. "Can we make
enough noise to fool 'em for a minute?"

"If they are wassailing, they are for us."

"Wassailin'," said Buchanan. "A fancy word for gettin' pie-eyed. Let's move."

They raised their voices to the sky. "This way, boys. No
use to wait no longer. String 'em up."

They swept into the office of the jail. Three men were
pulling at the necks of three bottles. " 'Bout time," said
one. "Take 'em and damn their souls."

"Uh-huh," said Buchanan. He swept the first man down
with the barrel of the rifle, slammed the head of the other
against a desk. Trevor hit the third with the butt of his
gun, cracking the skull, bringing blood.

Buchanan said, "Don't even need keys. These sons left
the doors open for the mob."

"I believe the other sons are advancing," said Trevor.

Buchanan peered out the door. The mob was swarming
from both saloons, joining in the middle of the street. The
night air was polluted by shouts of drunken threat.

Buchanan said, "Hope that old mule can pull with us
helpin'. Otherwise we might be in a mite of a fight."

"Carry on," said Trevor.

They ran into the cells. Weevil had the bunk loose and
was pushing it against the wall. Coco was groaning, but his
shoulder was ready when Buchanan went past him like a freight train, shouting as he went, "Badger! Kick it!"

Trevor was slight, but he could seize the end of the
bunk in Weevil's cell and use it as a battering ram. Bu
chanan shouted once more, and they all hit the wall at
once.

There was a grinding sound. Nails screeched, leaving
lumber. Buchanan smashed at the wall with all his might
and main. Coco bent to the task, grimacing with pain.

And outside, the tall mule made one more effort: The
wall began to give, slowly at first. Buchanan leaned back,
then hit it again with the weight and the strength of two
men. The wall toppled, not without dignity, grudgingly slapping to earth.

Coco gasped, "I'm about beat, Tom."

"Get to a horse. Trevor will help. . . . Weevil, you're an
old wrangler. Can you ride?"

"Anything that's got hair on it." The hotel man hob
bled over the fallen ruins of the wall.

"Badger! Get 'em mounted," called Buchanan. "People seem to be comin' in."

Trevor had already sent one shot crackling down the
·corridor outside the cells. Buchanan saw Pollard duck and
run, yelling for horses as he foresaw the pursuit. It would
be a running retreat, Buchanan thought, shooting low,
knocking down a man over whom others tumbled.

He said, "Got it blocked. Let us make tracks."

"Right-o." They ran for the horses. Badger and the res
cued pair were already galloping into the night. "No fun shootin' ducks on a pond, eh?"

They leaped into the saddles. Now men were shooting
at them, and silhouetted against a starry sky, they were
good targets. Buchanan paused to empty the magazine of
his Remington into the motley crew of attackers, thankful
for the booze they had put away to the detriment of their
aim.

Trevor was riding. In the distance, they could see the
three horsemen ahead of them.

"You know the back ways?" asked Buchanan.

"Not so well as our mountain man."

"Then keep him in sight."

Buchanan dropped back. Trevor hesitated, saw the rea
soning behind Buchanan's order, went on. Alone Buchanan waited. One horseman appeared, then another.

He fired at them. The first man went down. The second
veered off wildly, reined around, and rode helter-skelter
back into the town.

Buchanan rode. He could see Trevor ahead. If worse
came to worse, he thought, he could find his way back to
Kovacs' place. He was a plainsman, he could retrace any course he had once traversed.

No other horsemen appeared. He spurred into the
night. They would not risk his gunfire now. They knew
well his destination. Cool heads would restrain all but a
drunken, headstrong few, he thought. Tomorrow it would
begin.

Tomorrow the siege would be laid. The Cattleman's As
sociation could wait no longer. It would be their sincere
endeavor to do away with all witnesses of what had thus
far taken place. They would know that the Kovacs' house
was the logical point of last defense for the people of the
Wyoming plains.
" - ,

Coco's ribs were broken. Fever set in due to the hard ride
from town. Buchanan was worried by the sight of his
friend's sunken eyes and by his muddled muttering.

Raven went out into the night with a small, sharp knife.
When she returned, her arms were laden with certain plants from the fields behind the house. Dan Badger
worked with her over the stove, preparing a poultice and a steaming gruel. Coco lay in the Kovacs' bed and breathed
with greater ease, slumbering.

Badger looked over Weevil's wounds and found them
painful but superficial. "He's an old man, tough but a bit
feeble. Put him on blankets in thar with Coco. Wish we hadn't made 'em bang down that wall."

"Saved their lives," Buchanan said.

"But now we know they'll be after us by mornin', eh?"
Trevor was calm as always. Sometimes he seemed a bit
too cheerful, perhaps.

Buchanan said, "They'll be gatherin', all right. It won't
be any joke. It's an army they're puttin' together."

The others were silent. Raven moved about, watching
Coco, attending to Weevil as he groaned at every motion
of his aching body. It was a pitiful group, Buchanan
thought. There seemed no way they could prevail.

He went outside. There was no sound but the chirping
of insects, the song of birds, and the ripple of the nearby
creek. The stone barn was close to the house, which, he
knew, could be good or bad as the case might be.

Dan Badger joined him. "Right nice night, ain't it?"

"Just fine."

"Got me a cabin up in Crow country. Got an old Sharps
that's oiled and ready. Got lead and powder. I'll be mo
s
eyin' along for now."

"But you'll be back."

"That gun'll shoot straight and far. Hate to use it on
people. Comes the time a man has to take a side."

"You and me, we got no stake here," said Buchanan.
"Save only one: folks shouldn't be ground down for rea
sons of greed."

"You savvy, Tom Buchanan. The Lord looks down."

"And thanks for takin' care of Coco," Buchanan said.

"A black brother. Jim Beckwourth was my friend afore
he went over. A good man. Plenty black men in the old
days. People don't know."

"There's whole heaps that people don't know." Bu
chanan sighed deeply.

There was the sound of a wagon approaching. Buchan
an's hand dropped to his gun butt. Badger faded from
sight like a ghost in the night.

A voice bellowed, "Halooo the house. It's me. Durkin."

The door opened behind Buchanan, and he moved
quickly out of the light thrown from within. Trevor
stepped into the dimness, rifle in hand.

"Bull Durkin?"

The wagon came closer. The loud voice called, "Got
the news from Jackson. Been travelin' since sunset. Cactus
and Sutter is with me."

"What do you want?" Trevor's voice was harsh.

"To come in. That you, Trevor?"

"It is, indeed. Why should you come here?"

The springs of the wagon creaked, and a man came into
the light. Inside the house, people crowded the door and
the two front windows. Trevor held the rifle steady.

The man was no more than five feet seven inches tall.
He was as wide as a barn door. His arms hung to his
knees. He had a wide face and a protruding jaw. He
looked
—he looked like a bull, Buchanan thought.

"I come because I caught them damn rustlers this morn
n
.
" The man's conversational voice come from the deep
chest like a foghorn on the river. "Tried to tell Dealer
Fox. He put ten men on me, run me off. They lynched
Adam, they gone too far."

"But you're not in it," said Trevor. "You're up in the
hills, on the high plain."

"I ain't in it now," said Durkin. "You wanna bet I
wouldn't be in it when they clean yawl out?"

Trevor half turned to Buchanan. "He's a wild one.
Fights everyone, including the association. I can't guaran
tee him."

Buchanan stepped into the light. "Bull, when did you
tarn rancher?"

"Buchanan. Heard you was around. This here time we
are on the same side." Durkin's voice was not friendly, but
it sounded respectful.

“
They ran you out of New Mexico. You still hangin'
rustlers?”

"Strung up two this mornin'," said Durkin doggedly.
"Think on it. Because of them, Adam Day got lynched,
thi
s war is made possible. Nobody'd believe me agin the
association, that blames the rustlin' on the settlers."