Mankillers

“You will be,” Rufus snarled, “if’n you don’t do as you’re told. Here’s your choice. Ride out with me or die right here.”

The pimply-faced farm boy stared at him. It took a few seconds to realize Rufus meant what he said. “Sure, boss. Sure.” He grabbed the reins of a brown bag of bones and climbed into the saddle.

The rest of them mounted their horses without comment.

“They’s probably slowed down by now,” Rufus said, “maybe even stopped to catch their breath. Now’s the time to attack. Just remember, the doc’s mine. Anyone of you kill him, and I’ll kill you. Got that?” Heads nodded. “Now get going. I’ll be right behind you.”

They cantered off on the road toward the first bend. About halfway through it, Hank, who was in the lead, pointed to the overturned stagecoach. “Sitting ducks,” he said and laughed. “Boys, here’s the payoff.”

#

Wes, Freddie and the women were fleeing into the woods. Buck was about to follow when he looked past the overturned coach and saw Tracker sprinting toward him from the riverside bend in the road.

“Where the hell you been?”

Not even breathing heavy, Tracker answered, “Checking to see who’s behind us. Five of them, and they’ll be here soon.”

“Since you didn’t tell me about these explosives earlier, you better do it now and fast.”

“Leave the box in the coach,” Tracker told him. “That way they won’t see it and skedaddle. I’ll stick in a fuse. We can light it before we run. The tricky part’ll be the timing.”

Buck could hear hoof beats echoing off the bluff walls. How long would it be before Rufus and his gang appeared? Minutes or seconds? “Can your surprise be set off with a rifle shot?”

“I told you it can’t. That’s why it’s been safe for me to carry it the way I have.”

“How about lighting the fuse with a rifle shot?”

Tracker stared up at him incredulously. “You’d have to be exceptionally accurate. I don’t see how anyone—”

“You run fast. I shoot straight. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Buck dismounted and helped Tracker position the box on the upper side of the coach, snug against the rear wheel.

“Set your fuse, Mr. Bouchard. Do it fast and make it very short.”

“You’re ahead of me, doctor.”

“Put the end in a pool of powder about the size of a butterbean on the metal rim. I’ll fire into it and hope the spark it produces sets things off.”

“You that good?” Tracker looked at it skeptically.

“I’ll see it and I’ll hit it.”

Just as they completed the task, they heard the sound of horses approaching.

“Go,” Buck ordered.

The two men dashed into the forest twenty yards away. Buck stopped at the base of a hickory. Without having to be told what to do, Tracker boosted him up to the lowest branch, then took cover behind a towering cypress. More limber than the last time he’d gone tree climbing, Buck ascended hand over hand from bough to bough. He straddled a limb and faced the wrecked coach.

He’d barely had a chance to aim his Henry when the gang charged around the bend of the road. Whooping and yelling like a bunch of kids at the sight of candy, they kicked their sorry mounts into a gallop and headed straight for the wagon. The men jumped off their moving horses and ran to the coach, still yelling. Buck waited until they were within a few feet of the box before he squeezed the trigger.

The men paused at the sound of the rifle fire. The ricochet whined as the bullet struck the wheel rim. The fuse sputtered into life.

The explosion that resulted a few seconds later shook the earth.

A billowing cloud of smoke and dust erupted into the placid summer air. The silence that followed was broken by the spatter of debris falling from the sky. Not since the battle of Sayler’s Creek had Buck seen such carnage as the body parts of four men rained down, no piece fully identifiable. A red mist hung over the remains of the coach.

Buck looked back along the road. At the far bend he saw a man trying to calm a rearing horse. For a split second the two men made eye contact. By the time Buck had shouldered his smoking rifle, Rufus Snead had turned his mount and fled.

The redheaded man had escaped. Again.

#

Buck found the others in a small pocket of bushes in the woods not far from the second bend in the road. Janey was shivering in Sarah’s embrace.

“It’s all right,” Sarah said softly. “You’re safe.”

“Yessum, but all them men— I ain’t never seen—”

“Shh,” Sarah soothed her. “It’s all over now.”

Buck watched and listened, amazed at the woman’s strength and stamina. Her father had died in her lap. She’d been shot. Now she’d seen four men blown to bits in front of her, and here she was consoling a terrified black girl, though she had to be every bit as u

“What now?” Tracker asked from behind him.

What indeed? Buck had too many unanswered questions. Where had the redheaded man retreated to? How many men did he have left?

“How far are we from Charleston?” Tracker asked Wes.

“Three miles to the nearest settlement, another mile from there to the city.”

“We need a wagon or buggy to get the ladies out of here,” Tracker told Buck.

“Too dangerous. They’d be open targets.” Buck turned to Wes. “You and Freddie stay with the women and keep down. Y’all’ll be safe enough here.”

Buck examined the young man’s left arm. Whoever had wrapped the wound—Sarah, he was sure—had done a good job. The bleeding was no more than a slow ooze. It might require sutures when they got a chance, but for now he was in no danger.

“Sorry this happened to you, son.” Buck handed over his Colt. “If you have to use this—”

“You can count on me, doc.”

“Are you coming with us?” Sarah asked.

“In a few minutes. I need to talk to Tracker first about how we’re going to get y’all to Charleston.”

This has to end today. I have to go after the mankiller, otherwise he’ll come after us again sooner or later. I can’t let that happen.

“Stay with Freddie and Wes,” he told her. “We’ll join you in a few minutes.”

As soon as the others had started walking away, Buck motioned Tracker to join him behind a stand of pines.

“What do you have in mind, doctor?”

Ever since the coach had turned over, Buck had been trying to figure what his next move should be. It seemed to him he didn’t have many options. Stand fast and hope the mankiller got tired of waiting and left the area. But how long could they hold out, especially with Freddie’s injury. Try to get the others out of the area? Without a wagon, it didn’t seem possible, and even with a wagon they’d be easy targets. Or be aggressive, find Rufus and kill him. Buck knew without making a conscious decision that the last option was the one he’d chosen.

“If I were Rufus right now, I’d be climbing up that bluff from the other side.” Buck told Tracker. “That’d put him in a position with a clear view of the road. If I sneak up on him from the other side—”

“You don’t know where he is.” Tracker scratched his chin. “It’s a big bluff with a lot of trees. He might spot you first.”

“It’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

“Maybe I can even the odds.”

Buck regarded him skeptically.

“If you had a decoy to draw his fire—”

“A decoy? What’re you suggesting?”

“Give me your coat and hat. I’ll show myself for a second, pull back, then make a mad dash to the other side of the road. There’s a bar ditch over there I can take cover in.”

“No. Too chancy. You’d be out in the open too long.”

Tracker smiled. “You’ve seen me run. This time it won’t be in a straight line. Didn’t you say he has trouble with moving targets?”

“Still sounds like a suicide mission to me.”