of the stairway there was an open landing with a rail at the side and by standing on the rail Edge could reach up and hook his hands over the roof, then haul himself aloft. There were no other Apaches up there, but Edge crouched low, careful not to silhouette himself against the skyline as the Englishman pulled, himself up on the roof.
They, squatted in silence for a moment, surveying the surrounding rooftops in the flickering light of the flamesand hearing the occasional rifle and revolver shot. Then Edge moved forward on all "fours.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Yes?" The 'Englishman was right behind him.
"What are we competing for?"
The Englishman laughed, curtailed it and snapped off a shot across the street. A brave in the process of hauling himself on to the sidewalk canopy in front of a grocery store, screamed and dropped back, clutching at his groin. He died under a hail of bullets from the soldiers and civilians in The 'Lucky Ace below.
"Spoiled it," the Englishman said. ''I wanted the bastard to suffer."
They reached the other end of the saloon roof and stretched out full length alongside each other to look down at the destruction wrought by the exploded wagon. It had ripped the facades off several buildings on the east side of the street and it was difficult to see how many people it had killed.
"Oh dear," the 'Englishman, said, "I don't envy Mortimer if he has to fit all those bits of bodies together before he buries them."
"You didn't answer my question," Edge said.
The Englishman grunted, "You don't gamble, you slept on your own in a bordello and you collected that bounty almost by accident. So I asked myself why you came to Rainbow in the middle of an Apache uprising. I answered that it has to be for the same reason I did."
Edge turned to look at him and saw that the smile had gone, that his companion was wearing the same expression with which he had regarded Carl Drucker moments before he shot him.
"Which makes it a competition, old boy. Because I'm not sharing it."
They held each other's gaze for a moment, then returned their attention to the street as a bugle sounded at the fort. The gates were thrown open and a troop of cavalrymen charged out, firing for effect as they emerged.
"They're playing my tune," Edge muttered.
"What is it?" the Englishman asked as the Apaches were flushed from hiding, pouring into the street on their ponies.
"Never did know the name," Edge replied, starting to fire at the galloping Indians. "Only know it means kill anything that moves."
The Englishman began to fire now, as others among the town's defenders opened up, trapping the Indians in a vicious crossfire as the cavalry showered them with lead from behind.
"Like fish in a barrel," the Englishman shouted gleefully as the braves began to tumble from their ponies, screaming their agonies. A bullet from Edge's Spencer smashed into the chest of a brave a split-second after the Apache had released an arrow which entered the throat of a man shooting from a doorway.
"That was Red Hagan," the Englishman said. "Bounty of a hundred dollars if you want to try to collect." He loosed off a shot and brought down a pony which pitched its rider onto the front of a burning building. A moment later the screaming brave rushed out into the street with his long hair blazing.
"Damn hothead," Edge muttered and ended the man's agony with a bullet in his heart. Another pony went down but its rider leaped clear and landed on the run as he drew a knife. He slashed at something in shadow and collapsed with blood spurting from three bullet holes in his back. A fat man rushed from the shadow, the crimson mess of his partially removed scalp flapping down over his forehead like an opened trapdoor.
"Looks like Sheriff Beale," Edge said easily.
"I always maintained he had a hole in the head," the Englishman came back dryly as Beale's chest was suddenly bristling with a half dozen arrows and his dead body collapsed in the path of the onrushing
They, squatted in silence for a moment, surveying the surrounding rooftops in the flickering light of the flamesand hearing the occasional rifle and revolver shot. Then Edge moved forward on all "fours.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Yes?" The 'Englishman was right behind him.
"What are we competing for?"
The Englishman laughed, curtailed it and snapped off a shot across the street. A brave in the process of hauling himself on to the sidewalk canopy in front of a grocery store, screamed and dropped back, clutching at his groin. He died under a hail of bullets from the soldiers and civilians in The 'Lucky Ace below.
"Spoiled it," the Englishman said. ''I wanted the bastard to suffer."
They reached the other end of the saloon roof and stretched out full length alongside each other to look down at the destruction wrought by the exploded wagon. It had ripped the facades off several buildings on the east side of the street and it was difficult to see how many people it had killed.
"Oh dear," the 'Englishman, said, "I don't envy Mortimer if he has to fit all those bits of bodies together before he buries them."
"You didn't answer my question," Edge said.
The Englishman grunted, "You don't gamble, you slept on your own in a bordello and you collected that bounty almost by accident. So I asked myself why you came to Rainbow in the middle of an Apache uprising. I answered that it has to be for the same reason I did."
Edge turned to look at him and saw that the smile had gone, that his companion was wearing the same expression with which he had regarded Carl Drucker moments before he shot him.
"Which makes it a competition, old boy. Because I'm not sharing it."
They held each other's gaze for a moment, then returned their attention to the street as a bugle sounded at the fort. The gates were thrown open and a troop of cavalrymen charged out, firing for effect as they emerged.
"They're playing my tune," Edge muttered.
"What is it?" the Englishman asked as the Apaches were flushed from hiding, pouring into the street on their ponies.
"Never did know the name," Edge replied, starting to fire at the galloping Indians. "Only know it means kill anything that moves."
The Englishman began to fire now, as others among the town's defenders opened up, trapping the Indians in a vicious crossfire as the cavalry showered them with lead from behind.
"Like fish in a barrel," the Englishman shouted gleefully as the braves began to tumble from their ponies, screaming their agonies. A bullet from Edge's Spencer smashed into the chest of a brave a split-second after the Apache had released an arrow which entered the throat of a man shooting from a doorway.
"That was Red Hagan," the Englishman said. "Bounty of a hundred dollars if you want to try to collect." He loosed off a shot and brought down a pony which pitched its rider onto the front of a burning building. A moment later the screaming brave rushed out into the street with his long hair blazing.
"Damn hothead," Edge muttered and ended the man's agony with a bullet in his heart. Another pony went down but its rider leaped clear and landed on the run as he drew a knife. He slashed at something in shadow and collapsed with blood spurting from three bullet holes in his back. A fat man rushed from the shadow, the crimson mess of his partially removed scalp flapping down over his forehead like an opened trapdoor.
"Looks like Sheriff Beale," Edge said easily.
"I always maintained he had a hole in the head," the Englishman came back dryly as Beale's chest was suddenly bristling with a half dozen arrows and his dead body collapsed in the path of the onrushing
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