The Fire in Ember - DiAnn Mills [50]
As the men made their way closer to the small deserted cabin, the sound of gurgling water from a white-churned mountain stream drowned out their arrival. The nine men spread out around a grove of juniper and pinion trees in case Leon decided to make a run for it.
“Don’t open fire,” Bob said for the third time. “Leon Wilson, you in there?”
John studied the brush leading up to the cabin. Broken sticks and boot prints showed two men had come and gone.
“We need to ask you a few questions,” Bob continued. “No need to get alarmed. Just come out peaceful like so we can talk.”
Empty moments ticked by.
The bubbling stream didn’t miss a beat. Neither did the birds.
A hawk flew overhead, reminding John of Sage’s red-tailed pet, a bird of prey that had saved her life before she and Parker were married. She and Parker’s experience with a gang reminded John too much of what was happening around him.
An elk tramped through the woods.
A marmot dashed from the brush.
“I’m going in.” John leaned on his saddle horn. “Don’t think anyone’s there anyway.”
Bob raised his rifle to signal the others to keep John covered. “Leon’s not happy with you. Be careful.”
“Yer right about that.” John recognized Leon’s voice. “I ain’t hangin’ for something I didn’t do.”
Surprised to learn the man was actually inside the cabin, John made his way to the door. “Leon, we’re not here for a hanging. You already know how I feel about upholding the law. Marshal Culpepper feels the same.”
“He’s right,” Bob said. “All we want to do is ask a few questions.”
“I’m no fool. Seems to me a marshal who’s a undertaker is an enemy.”
John dismounted and stole closer to the back of the small dilapidated cabin. No windows revealed his whereabouts, unless Leon could see through the cracks in the logs.
“Then let’s talk about it,” Bob said. “I’m not making an accusation.”
“I’m supposed to believe you? Oberlander fired me, and his ranch hands are ridin’ with you. Timmons is chapped ‘cause I tried to hang that gal for stealing a horse.”
“I’m here to uphold the law. Like John said.” Bob’s voice thundered above the sounds of nature.
“Bull. You won’t take me alive.”
The sound of gunfire pierced the air, and a sharp sting dug into John’s upper left arm. He dove onto the ground while rifle fire exploded around him.
Bert had just removed an apron and draped a wet towel over the back porch rail, opposite of where the chickens had been cleaned, when Bess called for her. Every muscle in Bert’s body ached for rest. She’d not slept last night or for the past several nights worrying about what was going on with Simon. Surely Bess didn’t have another chore for her before the prayer meetin'. Any other time, Bert would have welcomed the work to occupy her thoughts, but not today.
Bess stood in the doorway leading inside to the hotel’s kitchen. “Got some bad news. Thought you should know about John.”
Bert’s gaze flew to the woman’s face. Her heart plummeted to her feet, shaking her body in the fall. “What about him?”
“He’s been shot in the arm. Not bad, and the doc’s treating him now.”
Bert’s stomach sickened. Too many scenarios raced through her mind. “How did it happen?”
“The marshal, John, and some deputized men rode out to find Leon Wilson. He refused to come out and opened fire. John was in the way.”
Bert gasped. “But he’s going to be fine?”
Bess nodded. “That’s what one of the deputies said. We could walk down to Doc’s and see for ourselves.”
“Yes. I’m ready.” The two hurried inside, through the kitchen, the entrance of the hotel, and on outside to the boardwalk. Bert’s head whirled with the thought of John being wounded. “At least they got Leon.”
Bess didn’t answer right away, and Bert studied her as they kept up a good stride. “He’s dead,” the older woman said. “Hate to see a man end his life in violence, but the local ranchers can relax ‘cause the