Crane. "No good British whoremaster."
Trevor nudged Buchanan, who nodded. Badger sat on the mule and shook his head. They went around behind the jail, which was a wooden building, not much more than a shack. There had been little use for a strong hoose- gow up until now. It was staunch enough for overnight drunks or vagrants, no more.
There were two barred windows, high up. Buchanan reined his horse close to the wall of the jailhouse and spoke into its ear for a moment, calming it. Then he gin gerly climbed upon the saddle, bracing himself against the wall while Trevor held the bridle. There was glass, which he did not want to break for fear of alarming the jailers, who might be sober. He managed to get out his Barlow, open it, and attack the putty. He removed the glass and handed it down to Badger,
Coco's voice came from the darkness within, soft and confident. "That you, Tom?"
"It ain't Santa Claus," said Buchanan. "How you doin' in there?"
"Wantin' out, mainly."
"How's Weevil?"
"He's bad. But they give him his leg back."
"Where's it hurt most?"
"Thought they broke my leg. Guess not altogether. Banged up my ribs good, though."
"You got any power left?"
"How much you need?"
"Might need a shove against this wall."
"You need it ... I better have it. They gonna hang us, Tom."
"Yeah. So I hear." Badger was handing up the rope. "Grab hold of this. Pass it on to Weevil."
He got down, moved the horse to the other window. He removed that pane of glass.
"Weevil, you hear me?"
"I do."
"How many guards in there?"
"Two, three. Drinkin' a lot of booze right now."
"Sure they are. Stick your end of the rope out to me, can you? Get on the bunk or whatever."
Buchanan's Siege ' 59
Weevil tried, failed. The window was too high.
Buchanan hoisted himself higher. He reached his long arm inside the building. He found the end of the rope, pulled it out. He pulled until he had a loop. Then he made a tie, testing it, hoping it would stand up under strain.
Badger said, "Give it here. O l’ Muley's got the strength."
"Right." Buchanan leaned close to the window. "Coco?"
"I ain't gone no place."
"We're going to try to yank down this wa ll . Might need a bit of help. When you see the rope go tight, you shove, hear?"
"On the wall?"
"Not on the ceiling. You hear me, Weevil?"
"I ain't all that strong, but I'll do it."
Buchanan got down from the saddle and picked his rifle from the boot. Trevor already had his long gun cradled under one arm. Badger led the mule from the building until the line was taut.
"Might be some quick action if this works," Buchanan said.
"Right-o, ” Trevor replied, cheerful as always when there was action in prospect.
Badger whispered to his mule. The beast strained. The rope went to its limit, stretching, tightening. There was a small creaking sound. Nothing happened.
Buchanan said, "Stronger than I reckoned."
Coco's voice came plaintively, "C'n I stop pushin' now? It kinda hurts."
"You can rest," said Buchanan. "I ain't sure this is such a good notion."
"If we had a team," said Trevor. "Ah, well. Shall we storm the bastion?"
"You mean go around to the front door and knock po lite?"
"Ah —why not be riotous? Bawdy? Loud? Drunken?"
Buchanan said, "Now, that makes sense. Badger? Can you keep that dally on the jailhouse?"
"Even so," said Badger.
"Then let's do what Trevor says." He called out, "Coco?"
"Still here."
"We're comin' in. Be ready to butt your head against that wall. Weevil . . . you use the bunk for a batterin' ram."
"You'll get us all kilt but okay, it's better'n chokin' on a rope," said Weevil.
Buchanan led the way through the alley alongside the hoosegow. Trevor trod lightly at his heels. They paused before showing themselves. The sound from the saloons had increased. Any moment now the lynch mob would muster the courage to act.
"Two, three guards," said Buchanan. "Can we make enough noise to fool 'em for a minute?"
"If they are wassailing, they are for
Trevor nudged Buchanan, who nodded. Badger sat on the mule and shook his head. They went around behind the jail, which was a wooden building, not much more than a shack. There had been little use for a strong hoose- gow up until now. It was staunch enough for overnight drunks or vagrants, no more.
There were two barred windows, high up. Buchanan reined his horse close to the wall of the jailhouse and spoke into its ear for a moment, calming it. Then he gin gerly climbed upon the saddle, bracing himself against the wall while Trevor held the bridle. There was glass, which he did not want to break for fear of alarming the jailers, who might be sober. He managed to get out his Barlow, open it, and attack the putty. He removed the glass and handed it down to Badger,
Coco's voice came from the darkness within, soft and confident. "That you, Tom?"
"It ain't Santa Claus," said Buchanan. "How you doin' in there?"
"Wantin' out, mainly."
"How's Weevil?"
"He's bad. But they give him his leg back."
"Where's it hurt most?"
"Thought they broke my leg. Guess not altogether. Banged up my ribs good, though."
"You got any power left?"
"How much you need?"
"Might need a shove against this wall."
"You need it ... I better have it. They gonna hang us, Tom."
"Yeah. So I hear." Badger was handing up the rope. "Grab hold of this. Pass it on to Weevil."
He got down, moved the horse to the other window. He removed that pane of glass.
"Weevil, you hear me?"
"I do."
"How many guards in there?"
"Two, three. Drinkin' a lot of booze right now."
"Sure they are. Stick your end of the rope out to me, can you? Get on the bunk or whatever."
Buchanan's Siege ' 59
Weevil tried, failed. The window was too high.
Buchanan hoisted himself higher. He reached his long arm inside the building. He found the end of the rope, pulled it out. He pulled until he had a loop. Then he made a tie, testing it, hoping it would stand up under strain.
Badger said, "Give it here. O l’ Muley's got the strength."
"Right." Buchanan leaned close to the window. "Coco?"
"I ain't gone no place."
"We're going to try to yank down this wa ll . Might need a bit of help. When you see the rope go tight, you shove, hear?"
"On the wall?"
"Not on the ceiling. You hear me, Weevil?"
"I ain't all that strong, but I'll do it."
Buchanan got down from the saddle and picked his rifle from the boot. Trevor already had his long gun cradled under one arm. Badger led the mule from the building until the line was taut.
"Might be some quick action if this works," Buchanan said.
"Right-o, ” Trevor replied, cheerful as always when there was action in prospect.
Badger whispered to his mule. The beast strained. The rope went to its limit, stretching, tightening. There was a small creaking sound. Nothing happened.
Buchanan said, "Stronger than I reckoned."
Coco's voice came plaintively, "C'n I stop pushin' now? It kinda hurts."
"You can rest," said Buchanan. "I ain't sure this is such a good notion."
"If we had a team," said Trevor. "Ah, well. Shall we storm the bastion?"
"You mean go around to the front door and knock po lite?"
"Ah —why not be riotous? Bawdy? Loud? Drunken?"
Buchanan said, "Now, that makes sense. Badger? Can you keep that dally on the jailhouse?"
"Even so," said Badger.
"Then let's do what Trevor says." He called out, "Coco?"
"Still here."
"We're comin' in. Be ready to butt your head against that wall. Weevil . . . you use the bunk for a batterin' ram."
"You'll get us all kilt but okay, it's better'n chokin' on a rope," said Weevil.
Buchanan led the way through the alley alongside the hoosegow. Trevor trod lightly at his heels. They paused before showing themselves. The sound from the saloons had increased. Any moment now the lynch mob would muster the courage to act.
"Two, three guards," said Buchanan. "Can we make enough noise to fool 'em for a minute?"
"If they are wassailing, they are for
Similar Books
