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All Janes had was a glimpse of the figure that crossed the street in the wake of the buggy. He was sure Calder had been positioned somewhere close to the alley. It had to be him
. Giles had got it in the leg and couldn’t possibly run. The other three were up the street.
He had made a hunting search of the shadows where Calder had to be hiding and decided he had to be using the rain barrel. It hadn’t occurred to Janes to warn Reynolds that Calder had made it to this side of the street. His sole interest had centered on getting rid of Calder, then Giles.
There was a gap between the two buildings behind Janes just wide enough for a thin man to squeeze through. He had faded into it to slip around the building so he could slip up on Calder from the side.
He had circled the building and was sneaking up the side when he heard the sudden sharp exchange of gunfire and the thud of a body falling. He paused to listen, guessing that it had been Reynolds who got it.
With his left arm useless, reloading would be too slow. Benteen leaned against the building and slid the revolver into his holster, reaching for the spare gun in his waistband. Across the street, he saw Bull Giles standing sideways behind an upright post, but he couldn’t see where any of the others were.
Benteen didn’t have the vantage of Bull Giles’s position. At first Bull wasn’t certain the outline he saw at the corner of the building was a man. It moved slightly. The cold realization ran through him that the narrow shape belonged to Loman Janes. Somehow he’d slipped behind the building to sneak up behind Benteen.
Bull’s glance swept back to Calder, wondering if he was aware he was being stalked from behind. It was impossible to tell if he knew, although Bull suspected he didn’t. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but nothing came out.
If Benteen died, Lorna would be a widow. The ugly thought came to him unbidden. He clamped his mouth shut, hating himself.
He had left it too late for a warning. Janes was coming away from the corner shadow to make his ambush of Calder.
Benteen began to inch along the side of the building, his ears straining for sounds other than the loudness of his own breathing and the rush of blood through his veins. There was a sudden movement across the street as Bull stepped from behind the post, exposing himself.
“Janes!” Bull shouted the challenge and fired.
A gun cracked behind Benteen, and he whirled to face Loman Janes. In the span of slow seconds, he thought of Lorna and home as he fired his gun. He watched Janes’s gun kick up from its first shot that went wide with Benteen’s turning. The barrel steadied on him again as Benteen fired the second time and heard his shot strike home.
There was a quick, small cough from Janes. Surprise went through his eyes as he began to tip backward. He fell against the rain barrel and slowly slid to the ground.
The echoes of the shots faded away and the street became quiet. It was over. Fatigue ran deep into his bones. With the pistol still in his hand, Benteen gripped his left arm, throbbing from the wound in his shoulder. He swayed and staggered into the street. Dully he was aware of people filtering cautiously out of buildings, but all he wanted was to go home—to Lorna.
A wagon clattered up the street. Benteen stopped in irritation to let it pass, but its team was halted before it reached him. His weary gaze thought it watched Lorna springing from the wagon seat. When her hands touched his face, he realized it was really her.
“What are you doing here?” The rasping tiredness was in his voice, but his eyes were alive to her.
“I couldn’t wait any longer.” She was checking him over, inspecting his wounds with her hands and her eyes.
“Take me home,” he said.
“I’m taking you to the doctor first,” she insisted.
Then he remembered something that was important —the way Giles had stepped out and drawn Janes’s fire after the man had sneaked around the building.
“I think Giles took a bullet meant for me,” he said. “Go see how he is.”
“But—”
“I’m all right,” Benteen assured her.
Lorna half-turned and ordered, “Barnie, get him to a doctor.” Then she hurried across the street.
Bull was lying on the ground, propped against the sidewalk. There was a ghastly pallor to his face, and his left knee was soaked with blood. His right arm was held awkwardly across his stomach while blood stained his sleeve.
When Lorna knelt down beside him, Bull looked at her and smiled weakly. “He sent you here, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” she admitted, and bent to look at the wound in his knee. It was a shattered, pulpy mess.
“It looks like it was a good thing I got some practice drivin’ a buggy for Lady Crawford. That’s about all I’ll be ridin’ from now on,” Bull said, acknowledging it was a crippling wound.
“We’ll get you to the doctor. It’s amazing the things they can do nowadays.” But she knew that he was right.
