Free Longarm and the Voodoo Queen by Tabor Evans

stumbled back a couple of steps. A crimson flower of blood bloomed on the breast of his grayish-white shirt.
    More shots rang out as the other men exploded from the porch of the shack. Rifles and shotguns had appeared in their grimy hands as if by magic. As the wounded man slumped to the ground, his companions looked around for the source of the attack.
    Longarm had twisted in the saddle and drawn his Colt, and beside him, Millard had pulled a gun too. Longarm thought the shot had come from behind them, so he wheeled his horse around.
    Figures wearing derby hats and bandannas over their faces were bursting from the tall salt grass onto the shinnery upstream from the cabins, their guns blazing. Two more of the Cajun smugglers went down. Millard roared, "Royale!" and started firing at the masked men. Longarm triggered a couple of shots, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the men tumble backwards into the marsh with a muddy splash.
    "Let's get out of here!" he shouted to Millard, yanking on his horse's reins. "There are too many of them!"
    Around two dozen men were attacking the cluster of smugglers' shacks, Longarm estimated, though making an accurate count wasn't the most important thing on his mind in the heat of battle. They must have slipped through the marshes in pirogues until they were in position to strike. Longarm didn't want to abandon the smugglers, but it was vital that he keep Millard alive for the time being, until he found out who had really killed Douglas Ramsey.
    Millard didn't seem interested in flight. He was returning the fire of Royale's men as fast as he could. Already a slug had chewed a hole in the crown of his hat, coming within inches of splattering his brains on the ground. Longarm snapped off another shot, then reached over and grabbed hold of Millard's arm.
    "Come on, damn it!"
    This time, Millard went with Longarm. The two of them galloped past the cabins, heading farther east along the shinnery. That left the Cajun smugglers behind to defend their homes as best they could, and Longarm grimaced as he thought about how outnumbered and outgunned they were. Still, there was nothing he could do about it. And he and Millard weren't out of trouble yet themselves, he saw a moment later as a group of riders emerged from a stand of the stunted oaks up ahead and rode toward them, firing as they came.
    "Son of a bitch!" exclaimed Millard. "There's more of the bastards!"
    There was indeed, thought Longarm grimly. Now he and Millard were caught between two forces, and the only way left open to them lay through the treacherous salt marshes.
    They had no choice in the matter. If they stayed on the shinnery, they would be dead in a matter of moments, shot to ribbons by Royale's murderous gang.
    "Come on!" shouted Longarm as he turned his horse and sent it leaping off the path into the salt grass.
    Luck guided him. The ground beneath his horse's hooves was fairly firm at this point. The head-high grass closed around him, cutting him off from the view of the shinnery. Royale's men were able to track his progress through the marsh by the waving of the grass, however, and slugs slashed through the stalks around him. Longarm glanced over his shoulder and saw that Millard was right behind him. Longarm was glad Millard hadn't stayed to fight, because then he would have had to go back and try to pull Millard out of the fire.
    Now all they had to do was survive the hail of rifle bullets that was scything through the salt grass around them.
    "Be careful, Parker!" Millard shouted suddenly. "You're about to run up on some water-"
    He didn't get to finish his warning. Longarm's mount burst from the grass into a narrow open space filled with shallow black water. It splashed up around the horse's hooves, splattering mud on Longarm's boots and trousers. The horse slid to one side, in danger of losing its footing, and Longarm hauled desperately on the reins, as if he could hold the animal up with sheer brute strength. He