Free The Crossings by Jack Ketchum Page B

sidearm."
    "A pistol's not good for much of anything at this range, Hart," I said. "You know that."
    "Be that as it may."
    He held out his hand.
    She handed him the knife which he slipped into his belt and then the rifle. He checked the load and placed it down next to the one he'd taken off the guard and stripped off his shirt. He propped the Winchester up against his chest and tied it in place with his shirtsleeves and then picked up the other rifle.
    "See you," he said. Then stood up and started walking. Not hurrying, just walking — and I thought of the story about Hart and the stolen cattle and felt something leap inside me that was at once glad to know that I had lived to see this man this day and fearful for its outcome.
    "Give me your pistol, Bell," Elena said and I did.

    I don't know what it was that made them turn, some intuition or some signal from the other guards which they were able to see but we didn't but Fredo and Gustavo whirled on him nearly as one. It was too late all the same. Hart pumped two bullets into Fredo's fat belly and a third into Gustavo's chest before they could get off a single shot and then walked to where Fredo lay rolling on the ground and put a fourth bullet into his ear.
    He moved to Mother and cut him down and laid him gently on the ground.
    I heard Ryan yelling something from the porch, standing with his hand in the air, telling his people to hold off.
    Hart knelt there mostly obscured by the wagon and reloaded.
    Then he was up again and walking into what my heart told me was going to be a vicious line of fire like he was taking a stroll on a sunny day. The moments seemed to stretch and expand, time all out of whack. He was waging a war of nerves here. It was a war that the man standing at the well lost first, his shot going wide. Hart aimed and fired and the man went down. Then all hell broke loose, Hart still that slow-moving target, bullets kicking up muddy dirt all around.
    I'd already picked my man, exposed in the corral over by the horses. I fired at him and missed the first and second time but not the third.
    There were horses between me and the other two men so I looked for a better target and saw Hart moving toward the outbuildings, taking one of the men down at the first building and then whirling and firing toward the second and I had a clear shot at one of the guards there too so I fired and Hart fired and have no idea which of our bullets cut him down.
    The remaining two men at the outbuildings had hidden behind wooden water barrels when the shooting started but Hart kept marching toward them. I saw him throw away the first rifle and tear the Winchester off his chest and fire into the nearest barrel over and over again while I followed suit with the second, aware suddenly that Elena was not beside me — Celine was, but not her sister — and for a moment I thought she'd been shot though that was hardly likely and then I considered it no further but concentrated on the man behind the barrel.
    I saw Hart take a bullet in the thigh and side almost simultaneously. They staggered but didn't stop him and he was nearly on top of the first barrel when the man slid away limp behind it under his fire. He turned toward the second. I needed to stop to reload. As I fumbled with the cartridges I saw him toss down the Remington and pull out his pistol as a bullet hit him low in the shoulder and spun him down to the mud.
    I saw Ryan smiling from the porch, the heavy oak door his cover.
    His shot, his bullet .
    Hart was like a bull in a corrida now, managing only to get to his knees as still another bullet took him in the thigh again and I thought, Christ, it's not a corrida it's a goddamn slaughterhouse as another slapped into his chest and yet another into his upper arm, that arm his gunhand so that he could barely raise the gun enough to switch it to the other hand but switch hands he did and fired into the corral and I could see one of the men fall beneath the panicked horses' hooves