Free Bullets Don't Die by J. A. Johnstone Page A

breath. “He needs help. A doctor.”
    “Doc Franklin,” Tate said without hesitation. “His office isn’t far from here.”
    Given the source, that might be true, or it might not.
    A woman’s voice called, “What is it? Who’s there?”
    The Kid glanced up to see Constance coming down the street toward them, a lantern in her upraised hand. Bennett was with her, along with several other men, and a couple were armed with shotguns.
    The swamper Bert, Riley Cumberland’s father, was with the group as well. He cried out and rushed forward. “Riley! My God, Riley! What have they done?”
    Bert dropped to his knees beside the unconscious marshal, lifted Cumberland’s head, and cradled it in his lap.
    The Kid got to his feet and turned to meet the others.
    “Sorry it took us a few minutes to get here. I’ll be honest, we had to talk ourselves into it. We didn’t know what we’d find out here.” Constance glanced at Cumberland and lowered her voice. “Is he dead?”
    The Kid shook his head. “No, but he needs a doctor. Marshal Tate mentioned a Doc Franklin . . .”
    “Yeah, he’s still here, the only doctor we have.” Constance turned to the men with her and issued orders in a familiar tone of command. “Some of you boys pick him up and take him to the doc’s house. And be careful with him! There’s no telling how bad he’s busted up inside.”
    Bert didn’t want to let go of his son, but the men gently worked Cumberland’s unconscious form away from him. They lifted Cumberland and carried him to a side street with the rest of the group following.
    A man in a nightshirt and robe met them on the porch of a small, neat house. He had gray hair and a broad, florid face. “When I heard the shots I knew I’d likely be needed, so I got up and got ready. Take him into the first room there.” The doctor shook his head in dismay as he looked at Cumberland and echoed Tate’s comment. “Good Lord.”
    The Kid, Tate, Constance, and Milt Bennett stepped back out onto the porch.
    Constance said, “I could’ve told Riley he couldn’t talk any sense into Harlan Levesy. He was just wasting his time. He’s lucky that bunch didn’t kill him.”
    The Kid shook his head. “Levesy didn’t want to kill the marshal. He wanted him left alive for a reason . . . to send a message to the rest of you here in town.”
    “That message being that we can expect the same or worse from the Broken Spoke?” Constance asked harshly.
    The Kid nodded. “That’s right. The only question is when.”

Chapter 11
    It was close to an hour before the doctor came out onto the porch to report that Riley Cumberland was still alive and had in fact regained consciousness.
    Most of the men had drifted away, going back to the saloon or to their homes. The Kid, Constance, Tate, and Bennett were still there, as was Bert, who sat in a wicker rocking chair rocking back and forth slightly.
    When Franklin delivered his news, Bert jumped up from the chair. “Then he’s going to be all right, Doc?”
    “I didn’t say that,” Franklin cautioned. “He’s been through a lot, been treated mighty rough. I think he’ll recover, but he’ll need a lot of rest.” The doctor frowned. “He ought to be asleep now, but he’s insisting he talk to you, Mr. Morgan.”
    “Me?” The Kid said, surprised. It seemed to him if Cumberland talked to anyone, it ought to be Bert, his own father.
    “That’s what he said. But if you’re going to do it, it ought to be soon. I’m not sure how long he’ll be awake.”
    “Go ahead, Mr. Morgan,” Constance urged. “It could be something important.”
    The Kid supposed she was right. He nodded to the doctor, who led him into the house.
    Riley Cumberland was lying in bed, propped up with several pillows. His eyes were closed, and his face was pale and drawn in the lamplight. Doc Franklin had bandaged the worst of the cuts, but Cumberland’s features were still swollen and bruised.
    His eyes opened slowly at the