Death In Helltown by John Legg

wearing a threadbare suit, “can ride up in the box with me.”
    “What about Mr. Judd?” the same woman asked.
    “What about him?” His face betrayed no sympathy.
    “But he’s injured and…”
    “He brought his misfortune on himself.” There was no sympathy in his voice either.
    “But, Mr. Bloodworth…”
    He glared, but then said, “A couple of you men want to stuff him in the coach on the floor, that’s your concern. But first, jam those outlaws’ bodies in the boot. Toss whatever luggage you need to up top. You got five minutes and then I’ll be off.”
    He limped away, tiredness beginning to take the edge off his rage. He picked his own pistol as well as the shotgun. He holstered the former after tossing his box gun up under the seat. The latter soon followed. He walked around the other side of the coach as the two men who were to ride above climbed up.
    “You see who shot you, Gil?” Bloodworth asked though the window.
    “Fellah over near the trees.”
    “I saw him, just a glance, though.”
    “I looked over at him when the ruckus began. He waited only a few seconds, then fired at me.”
    “You get a good look at him?”
    “Nope. He was masked, like the others. He wore a high-crowned brown hat and was riding a palomino.”
    Bloodworth nodded. He turned and in a moment was in the box. Not caring whether everyone was in the coach or not, he got the team moving. He stopped at Wilson’s just long enough for the horses to be changed. The passengers had barely enough time to take care of business and grab some bread and jerky to bring along before they were on their way again. Not sparing the horses, they arrived in Dodge just before midnight.
     
                 
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Bloodworth pounded on Marshal Redmon’s door. The lawman, none too pleased, finally yanked open the door. “You!” he snapped. “What the hell do you want?
    “I want you to do your job,” Bloodworth said tightly.
    “Sure. I will, in the mornin’. Now get the hell away from me.” He stated to close the door.
    Bloodworth slammed it back open and grabbed Redmon by the shirtfront. “You’ll do it now! We got two dead miscreants and…”  His voice caught in his throat, “Miz Wickline…”
    Redmon snapped to alertness. “What? The hell you say. What happened?” he babbled.
    “Several devils held up the stage. Some damn fool passenger tried to stop ’em, and did nothin’ but get Edith killed. Gil’s bad hurt, shot to hell. We got him over to Doc Shelby’s.”
    “They get away?”
    “I sent two of ’em across the divide. The other two made their escape. One of ’em’s hit but I don’t know how bad.”
    “Come on in,” Redmon said. “Set while I get dressed. Redmon hurriedly pulled on trousers and shirt. As he was buttoning the latter, he said, “I’ll get a posse up soon’s I can. Might be tough right now, what with the whole damn town asleep.”
    “Wake ’em,” Bloodworth growled.
    “Oh, I intend to,” Redmon said, sitting to pull on socks and boots. “You’ll be comin’ along, yes?
    “No.” When the lawman looked at him in surprise, Bloodworth said, “Soon’s I can get me a horse, I’m ridin’ out. Y’all can catch up when you can.”
    Redmon nodded. “You don’t have a horse, do you?”
    “No. Nor tack either.”
    “We’ll fix that straight off. You need anything else?”
    “Winchester, cartridges, bedroll, canteen.”
    Redmon rose, all business now. “Let’s go.”
    They hurried to the livery, where Redmon roused a sleepy, grumpy liveryman. “Get Mr. Bloodworth here a horse, Gus—one of your best, a sturdy one with stamina. And whatever tack is necessary. The best.”
    “But, Marshal …”
    “Don’t but marshal me, Gus. Just do what I say. And be quick about it. We’ll be back directly.”
    “That’ll be mighty costly.”
    “I don’t much care. Maybe the town will pay for it. Or the stage company.”
    Gus’ brow furrowed. “Something’s