Bullets Don't Die by J. A. Johnstone Page A

battle was taking place in the next block as several of Levesy’s men tried to overrun the townsmen who had taken cover behind a water trough. The defenders were about to be flanked, and as soon as that happened it would be easy for the killers to cut them down.
    The Kid ran along the street, heedless of the bullets flying every which way, and shouted, “Hey!” as the gunmen closed in on the defenders.
    He emptied the wheel—four remaining rounds—in the space of no more than two heartbeats, and four would-be killers went spinning off their feet with The Kid’s lead in them.
    That left him with an empty gun and no time to reload as another rider charged at him, firing as he came. The Kid leaped aside, and spotted Jared Tate suddenly step out from an alley.
    The gun in the old lawman’s hand roared and bucked, and the hired killer doubled over as a bullet punched into his belly. He didn’t fall off the horse, but remained doubled over in agony as the animal raced away.
    The Kid scrambled to his feet and nodded to Tate. “Much obliged, Marshal,” he said as he quickly reloaded the Colt. “You’ve saved my life again.”
    “Glad to do it,” Tate said. “Where’s Cantrell? Let’s get that damn scumdog!”
    Tate thought he was fighting Brick Cantrell’s gang again. Under the circumstances it didn’t matter, but The Kid didn’t want Tate getting too confused and start shooting innocent citizens. “Come on, Marshal! Let’s head back to the Trailblazer! We’ll make our stand there!”
    “Lead the way, Deputy,” Tate snapped.
    So I’m a deputy now, The Kid thought. For all intents and purposes, he supposed he really was.
    With Tate at his side, he raced toward the saloon. Gunmen charged them from both directions. The Kid and Tate fired right and left, battling their way through. By the time they reached the Trailblazer, only a few of Levesy’s men were left to fight.
    They charged the saloon in a last ditch attack.
    The Kid and Tate swung around to meet them. The Kid dropped to one knee in front of the steps, Tate stood tall beside him, and Constance stepped out of the saloon with her shotgun to join them. Their guns roared and blasted, and the remaining killers went down in a welter of flailing hooves and shredded flesh.
    Constance came down the steps, sliding fresh shells into the shotgun’s chambers. “Is that all of them? Is it over?”
    “We got ’em, all right,” Tate said with a big grin on his weathered face. He turned to Constance, taking her by surprise as he put an arm around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her mouth.
    “Why, you . . . you old geezer!” she said breathlessly as he stepped back a moment later. Then she let the shotgun slip to the ground as she put both hands on Tate’s face and pulled him closer. “C’mere!”
    The Kid chuckled as he turned away to let them share their moment.
    He thumbed fresh cartridges into his revolver and looked along the street. All the outlaws were down, although some were still alive and moaning in pain. Smoke came from a couple buildings, but the townspeople were already fighting those blazes. He thought they stood a good chance of bringing the flames under control.
    He wondered how many of the citizens had been killed in the fighting. It was a foregone conclusion the people of Copperhead Springs hadn’t escaped without any casualties. The question was how bad the tragedy had turned out to be.
    An incoherent shout made him spin around just as he pouched his iron. Having regained consciousness, Harlan Levesy burst out of the saloon with a gun in his hand. His face was contorted with hatred as he thrust the weapon at The Kid and pulled the trigger. Flame gouted from the pistol’s muzzle.
    Levesy was too crazed to aim properly. Marshal Tate grunted in pain and staggered as Constance cried, “Jared! No!”
    The Kid didn’t waste any time. Palming the Colt out again, he fired from the hip, triggering two shots that smashed into Levesy’s