“Get the hell down!” he shouted. “Get down and stay there!”
More shots slammed into the wagon. Jake jumped out then, running and rolling to the pump house. Two men came charging out of the main house, and Jake caught sight then of Hank running at the house from the back. Someone fired from the barn, hitting Hank in the back. The man cried out and sprawled onto his face.
“Damn!” Jake fumed. There was only him and Charlie now, and Charlie was wounded. He whipped out his revolver and fired at the two men coming toward him from the house, swiftly ending their lives. Revolver in his left hand and rifle in his right, he made a mad dash for the bunkhouse, charging inside, revolver ready. The bunkhouse was empty. He scrambled to think as he shoved two more bullets into his revolver to replace those he had used. He had downed at least seven himself. Charlie and Hank had each got one, and even Miranda had killed one. That made ten, maybe eleven, if Miranda had shot someone back at the waterfall. He was apparently the only one left to end this, and his own left shoulder was bleeding and hurting. As far as he could determine, there was someone left in the house and in the barn. He couldn’t be sure how many, and now there was Miranda to worry about.
“What the hell is going on?” a voice shouted from the house. “Who the hell is out there?”
Jake scurried to a window. “That you, Latimer?” he shouted.
“It’s me.”
“It’s Jake Harkner! You’ve got my son, you sonofabitch! You’re gonna die for it!”
“Give it up, Harkner! The boy is already dead! Leave now, or you’ll be dead too!”
Jake closed his eyes. The man had to be lying! He had to be! Lloyd!
Lying flat in the tall grass along the west fence, Miranda felt the tears coming. No! It couldn’t be true that her son was dead! God wouldn’t do this. She wanted to go and try to help Jake, but she knew the rest was up to him now. If she went running into the line of fire, she could be the cause of him getting himself killed.
Neither of them knew that their son was hanging by his wrists inside the shed, his body battered by a whipping and a beating, as well as two bullet wounds. The nearly unconscious young man thought he heard a lot of shooting outside. He decided he must surely be dying, for he thought he’d heard his father’s voice. It’s Jake Harkner…you’ve got my son.
“Pa,” Lloyd muttered, tears forming in his eyes. How he wished it could be true his father was coming for him, but that was impossible. He hated him all the more for being in prison where he couldn’t come to his aid, hated him for being the reason he was suffering this ungodly pain at the hands of Jube Latimer. His own father had been just as bad once, and it sickened him. That little voice that had plagued him since he had first deserted his family tried to tell him his father couldn’t have done the things Jube Latimer was capable of doing, that he still loved his father and it was his own fault he hung here now near death. But he didn’t like to listen to that little voice. If he could just have some whiskey, he could make the voice go away. Blood kept dripping from a bullet wound to his thigh, and wishing for the blessed relief of death, he slipped back into unconsciousness.
“You’ve got one chance, Latimer,” Jake shouted from the bunkhouse. “Show yourself, and I’ll give you a chance in a fair gunfight. That’s the only way you can hope to live!”
“Fair? Against Jake Harkner after I’ve killed his son? No way, Harkner. You’re gonna have to come in and get me. I’ll blow your guts out before you reach the back door!”
“And you’re a goddamned coward, Latimer! You’re brave enough when you’re surrounded by your men, brave enough to torture and kill one helpless kid, but you can’t face a man one on one, can you?”
“Jake! It’s Charlie! I’m comin’ in!” Jake whirled to see Charlie plunge into the bunkhouse by a back door. His left arm was bleeding badly. “I managed to work my way around here. You go on and rout them out in the barn! I’ll keep the ones in the house busy. I can do that much.”
Jake nodded, heading for the back door. He ducked outside, and Charlie began firing toward the house, shattering windows. Jake ran for the barn, flattening himself against an outside wall. He was out of sight of the house now. He inched toward a door, then heard a click behind him. Like lightning he whirled and fired, hitting a man who had sneaked around the back side of the barn. At the same time someone shoved open the barn door where he stood, slamming the door into him and knocking him flat. Rifle and revolver both flew out of his hands, and he rolled onto his back just in time to see his attacker coming at him with a pitchfork.