The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [187]
His hand was close to his face and his fingers moved to touch his cheekbone. The skin felt swollen hard and tight over the bone, and just touching it was painful. He thought then: Are you afraid for your own neck? Of course I am!
But it was more than fear that was making his heart beat faster. There was an anger inside of him. Anger adding excitement to the fear and he realized this, though not coolly, for he was thinking of Ward and Mary Ellen and himself as they came into his mind, not as he called them there.
Ward had said, Roll off the cot.
All right.
He heard the back door open and instantly Ward muttered, “You awake?” He turned his head to see Ward sitting on the edge of the bunk, his hands at his sides gripping the mattress. He heard the footsteps coming up the hall.
“I’m awake.”
“Soon as he opens the door,” Ward said, and his shoulders seemed to relax.
As soon as he opens the door.
He heard Cass saying something and a key rattled in the lock. The squeak of the door hinges—
He groaned, bringing his knees up. His heart was pounding and a heat was over his face and he kept his eyes squeezed closed. He groaned again, louder this time, and doing it he rolled to his side, hesitated at the edge of the mattress, then let himself fall heavily to the floor.
“What’s the matter with him!”
Four steps on the plank floor vibrated in his ear. A hand took his shoulder and rolled him over. Opening his eyes, he saw Cass leaning over him.
Suddenly then, Cass started to rise, his eyes stretched open wide, and he twisted his body to turn. An arm came from behind hooking his throat, dragging him back, and a hand was jerking the revolver from its holster.
HANLEY MILLER tried to push away from the bars to bring up the shotgun. It clattered against the bars and on top of the sound came the deafening report of the revolver. Hanley doubled up and went to the floor, clutching his thigh.
Cass’s mouth was open and he was trying to scream as the revolver flashed over his head and came down. The next moment Ward was throwing Cass’s limp weight aside. Ward stumbled, clattering over the tray in the middle of the floor, almost tripping.
Given saw Ward go through the wide-open door. He glanced then at Hanley Miller lying on the floor. Then, looking at Ward’s back, the thought stabbed suddenly, unexpectedly, in his mind—
Get him!
He hesitated, though the hesitation was in his mind and it was part of a moment. Then he was on his feet, moving quickly, silently, in his stocking feet, stooping to pick up the sawed-off shotgun, turning and seeing Ward near the door. Now Given was running down the hallway, now swinging open the door that had just closed behind Ward.
Ward was on the back-porch landing, starting down the stairs, and he wheeled, bringing up the revolver as the door opened, as he saw Pete Given on the landing, as he saw the stubby shotgun barrels swinging savagely in the dimness.
Ward fired hurriedly, wildly, the same moment the double barrels slashed against the side of his head. He screamed as he lost his balance and went down the stairway. At the bottom he tried to rise, groping momentarily, feverishly, for his gun. As he came to his feet, Pete Given was there—and again the shotgun cut viciously against his head. Ward went down, falling forward, and this time he did not move.
Given sat down on the bottom step, letting the shotgun slip from his fingers. A lantern was coming down the alley.
Boynton appeared in the circle of lantern light. He looked from Obie Ward to the boy, not speaking, but his eyes remained on Given until he stepped past him and went up the stairs.
A man stooped next to him, extending an already rolled cigarette. “You look like you want a smoke.”
Given shook his head. “I’d swallow it.”
The man nodded toward Obie Ward. “You took