Read Online The Killing Season by RALPH COMPTON - Free Book Online

roared. Wounded in the leg, Emma screamed. The soldier dropped the pistol and raised his hands. Benton, the house dealer, drew his Colt and would have shot the soldier in the back, but for Nathan. He drew his Colt and shot Benton. That should have ended it, but Edward Beard cut loose with a Colt. The soldiers who had argued with Emma escaped, but Beard, firing wildly, gunned down two innocent soldiers. Private Doley took a slug in the throat, at the base of his tongue, while his companion, Private Boyle had his right ankle shattered. Every other soldier in the saloon went to the aid of their wounded comrades, taking them away. The Colt still in his hand, Beard stalked across the floor and confronted Nathan.
    â€œDamn it,” he shouted, “if you had to shoot somebody, why didn’t you shoot the fool who shot Emma?”
    â€œBecause Benton was about to shoot an unarmed soldier in the back,” said Nathan coldly. “You’ve just shot two men who had done nothing. I’d say you’re in deep enough, already.”
    â€œI’ll be the judge of that,” Beard shouted. “Now you and Kinzer tote Benton out back. This is bad for business.”
    Nathan and Kinzer carried Benton out the back door and put him down. Kinzer wiped his brow and spoke.
    â€œHe’s bought himself a mess of trouble. Hurt a soldier, and the rest of them will come down on you like a pack of lobo wolves.”
    Nathan said nothing, but Kinzer spoke the truth. Wound or kill a soldier—whatever the reason—and his comrades were likely to show up with fire in their eyes and guns in their hands. It was but a matter of time, and for Edward Beard that time arrived quickly.
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    Nathan had taken a hotel room in Wichita, stabling his horses in a nearby livery. Each time he rode to Beard’s saloon, he had taken to leaving Cotton Blossom at the livery, with the packhorse. The dog hated saloons, was ever on his guard, and was capable of biting some clumsy drunk. The night after Beard had shot the two soldiers, it was ominously quiet, with nobody at the poker tables. Two or three men were upstairs, but none of the soldiers had returned.
    â€œThey’ll be back,” Kinzer predicted, “and there’ll be hell to pay.”
    â€œJust shut up!” Beard shouted, but he obviously was worried, for in addition to his Colt, he carried a Winchester under his arm.
    â€œThey’ll come back and kill us all,” Emma whined.
    Nathan said nothing. He had no intention of being caught on the short end of a gun fight with the Union army. It started with the sound of a shot, the tinkle of glass, and a slug through a saloon window.
    â€œEver’body out,” a voice shouted, “and nobody gets hurt. We’re burnin’ this place to the ground.”
    â€œLike hell,” Beard replied. He cut loose with the Winchester, firing wildly through the windows into the darkness. “Shoot, damn it,” he bawled at Nathan and Kinzer.
    â€œThere’s nobody to shoot at, you damn fool,” said Nathan in disgust. “You’ve played out your string. Don’t make it any worse.”
    But Beard seemed not to hear. He continued firing into the night, and while he had no targets, the soldiers did. The dozen hanging lamps began exploding, scattering flaming coal oil everywhere. One of the lamps showered Beard with burning oil. He dropped the Winchester and threw himself on the floor, rolling, trying to extinguish the flames. There were screams from upstairs, as the attackers took aim at lamps through upstairs windows. Girls practically fell down the stairs in various stages of dress and undress, while men fought their way down, boots in their hands. But the vengeful soldiers were not depending on the shattered lamps and scattered coal oil. They had brought coal oil of their own, and soon flames were racing up outside walls and licking in through shattered windows. Smoke swept down the stairs