A few hours before dark, they spotted a rider coming from the barn on a farm a couple of miles outside Cedar Vale. They became aware of movement around the house and few outbuildings and near the cottonwoods and willows lining Cedar Creek.
“This don’t look so good, Jace,” Milstead said.
“Nope. Ain’t much we can do about it but keep ridin’ and hopin’ we can talk our way out of any trouble that arises, or shoot out way out if not, and it sure as hell seems like trouble is comin’.”
The two stopped when the rider did, about ten yards apart. “What’re you boys doin’ here about?” the rider asked.
“Just passin’ through.”
“Headin’ where?”
“East,” Coppersmith said flatly.
“I didn’t ask what direction, I asked where was you goin’.”
“Can’t see that it’s any of your business, friend.”
“I ain’t your friend and I’d be obliged if you was to tell me where you’re goin’.”
“Like I said, it‘s none of your concern. We’re just passin’ through, maybe stop for some grub, then mosey on.”
“You ain’t moseyin’ nowhere ‘less’n you tell me where you‘re headin’.”
“Just get the hell out of the way, mister,” Coppersmith snapped. “Either move or we‘ll ride over you.:”
“The devil you will.” The man began levelling his rifle at them.
Coppersmith and Milstead yanked out pistols and fired at the same time. Two bullets punched holes in the rider’s chest.
But it set off a fusillade from all around.
Coppersmith’s horse went down, and he grunted as a bullet pierced his side, just under the armpit, and exited at an angle out the back. He managed to jump clear of the mount as it went down, and he took what protection he could from the jerking animal. He finally had to shoot it in the head so it would stop kicking and trying to rise, which had made it damn difficult to use it for something of a fortification. He reached out and grabbed his Winchester and began firing slowly but steadily.
Milstead snatched his Winchester out of the scabbard and slid out of the saddle. He tried controlling his horse to no avail, so he let the animal go. A moment after the horse bolted, leaving him wide open, the bounty hunter took a bullet just under the lowest left rib. As he was falling, another slug caught him high on the right side of the chest and spurted out the back. “Damn,” he muttered as he fell.
“Reese? You all right, Reese?”
“Just dandy,” he gasped. “You pay attention to yourself and keep on firin’ at those boys over by the buildings.”
“Ah, hell, and here I was gonna take a rest while you took care of things. Now I got to work because you let yourself get shot.” He fired a few more rounds and heard at least one man howl as if he had been hit.
“Let myself get shot?” Milstead gasped in return, making it as lighthearted as he could with his wounds.
“Well, maybe not let yourself. You gonna be all right?”
“Ain’t sure but now ain’t the time to worry about it.”
Things quieted down for a bit, and Coppersmith said, “Best reload, if you‘re able. I got a feelin’ they’re gonna rush us soon. I think they think we’re both down.”
“Let ‘em come,” Milstead said, but his voice wavered and had a note of pain in it.
“Hold on, Reese. Soon’s we get out of this, I’ll get you to a doctor back in Dexter.”
“Might not be necessary.”
“I know. But those bastards’ll pay dearly for puttin’ us under.”
“Amen to that, Jace.” He coughed, then groaned a little. “Dammit all,” he muttered.
Suddenly three men burst forth from inside the barn, and four darted out from the trees, all letting fly a steady barrage of lead as they raced forward.
Coppersmith and Milstead provided their own volley. Milstead, lying out in the open, had a bullet take off a piece of his ear and another scrape across his scapula as he lay there. But he kept firing and before the three men who were charging him had gotten halfway to him, the bounty hunter had laid waste to them.
A dozen or so bullets plowed into the horse Coppersmith was sheltering behind, and he flinched each time a hunk of lead hit, but he remained calm and fired carefully, steadily. Three went down quickly. The fourth made it to within five feet of the bounty hunter before Coppersmith put a slug into him. The man stumbled forward a bit and fell across the dead horse.
“How’s things on your side, Reese?”
“Got ‘em all.”
“They dead?”
“Ain’t sure. But I reckon so. None of ‘em is movin’. Your side?”
“I got ‘em all too. I think one of ‘em is tryin’ to crawl back to the trees. I’ll make sure of him, then check your side. Just stay where you are. Conserve your strength.”
Milstead just grunted in response.
Coppersmith checked all the outlaws on his side and had to finish one off with a bullet to the head. Then he checked the ones Milstead had shot, and he finally, carefully, checked the house and the barn. All were empty.
He reloaded the Winchester and tossed it into the bed of a small farm wagon, then began hurriedly hitching up a team to it. He drove it out, stopping next to Milstead. “Come on, Reese, time to get you some help.”
“You’re not gonna take all these boys with us? Reckon there’s rewards on most of ‘em if not all of ‘em.”
“You can’t ride up front with me.”
“I can rest on the pile of bodies.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.” He laughed, though it was forced and set off a spasm of coughing. “What the hell, I might be joinin’ ‘em soon. It’d save you the trouble of haulin’ me up there.”
“You ain’t joinin’ ‘em if I can help it.” Coppersmith went around and tossed each body into the wagon bed. He finally stopped next to Milstead again. “All right, partner, up you go. Don’t know how much of a cushion these boys‘ll provide but it might be better than the wood,” he said as he helped his companion into the wagon.