Chapter Twenty-Six

Turner slowly dropped his .45 to the floor, “You’ll be wanting to pull that knife away from his throat, Thompson.” 

Thompson snarled, “I don’t think you’re in any position to be threatening me, you bastard. You think you can come into this town and take away everything I have?” 

Turner’s nose was full of the scent of smoke from downstairs. Clearly his fun with dynamite had started a fire and was being fueled by all that whiskey. He had to figure a way out of here and he had to do it quickly but also ensure that Thompson didn’t slide the knife across Will’s throat. 

Turner calmly held up his hands, “You crossed a line yourself, Thompson. What gave you the inclination that you had any kind of right to ride onto my land and burn my place, kill my dog and take that man away from me?” 

“This man was mine first!” Thompson bellowed, his hold on the knife tightening. Will’s body flopped in his grasp. 

“It’s over, Thompson. The saloon is gone, the brothel is burning, your men are dead. Give me Will and I’ll spare your life.” 

It was a bold faced lie and Thompson saw it for what it was. He laughed humorlessly, “I am not naïve enough to believe that.” Turner shrugged, “Now take off all your weapons or I’ll kill him right here and now.” 

Turner nodded. He unhooked his gun belt slowly and dropped it to the floor. Next he untied his knife from his leg, the other was still lying beneath Timothy’s corpse. 

“Your boots too, you son of a bitch,” Thompson growled. Turner pulled off both his boots and Thompson sneered when he saw the boot knife, “You aren’t as smart as you think you are.” 

“Never claimed to be,” Turner replied. 

Thompson nodded toward the bed, “Now lay down there.” 

“Why?” 

The knife blade pierced Will’s skin and blood trickled down his neck, “Do it!” Thompson screamed. 

Turner’s blood boiled and he couldn’t wait to kill this man. Slowly Turner went to the bed and laid down upon the sheets that were wet with Will’s blood, “Don’t move,” Thompson ordered. 

He dropped Will to the floor, bending to lay him almost gently upon the floorboards. Turner used that second of distraction and grabbed the derringer that had been holstered against his shin. He palmed the gun in his big hand and was laying just as Thompson had ordered when the man returned his attention to him. 

Thompson held the knife out, “I’m going to tie you up now. Don’t try anything, Turner, because if you do I’ll spur him in the throat.” 

Turner nodded. That explained the careful way that Thompson had positioned Will. He’d done so, not out of concern, but to ensure that he still had something sharp pointed at his neck. 

Thompson bent over Turner, tying his ankles to the bedpost first and then he moved for his arms. When Thompson leaned across him, Turner smiled up at the man’s face. Thompson’s blue eyes narrowed and then widened when the derringer popped twice, point blank, into his stomach.

Thompson stumbled back and Turner swiftly undid the ropes holding him and launched himself at the man. 

Over and over Turner drove his fist into Thompson’s face, his wounded gut, his sides. Thompson cried out with pain and pleaded for mercy. Turner shook his head, “Mercy is God’s business. Killing you is mine.” 

Turner could feel the heat building in the brothel, he could smell the smoke filling the air and he knew he had to hurry. As much as he wanted to take his time and make Thompson suffer for hours, there simply wasn’t time for that. Will needed a doc and he needed one quickly. 

Turner dragged Thompson’s whimpering body to the bed and tied him up tight. Blood oozed from his stomach and when he coughed a bit spewed across his chin and lips. 

Turner sneered at the sobbing man. He hooked his gun belt back around his hips and reunited himself with all his weapons, other than the rifle he’d forgotten downstairs. 

“Please, Turner, don’t let me burn to death…that’s too cold! I don‘t deserve that!” 

Turner nodded. “Alright then.” He pulled his remaining stick of dynamite from his pocket and struck a match. 

“What are you doing?!” Thompson demanded. 

Turner lit the twelve inch fuse and shoved the other end of the dynamite down the front of Thompson’s trousers, “You finally messed with the wrong man, Thompson. Seems your paying for it.” 

Turner gathered Will up into his arms, though the man didn’t respond, and then he ran out the door with Thompson screaming in the background. 

Turner went down the hall to the door, trying desperately to shield Will from the flames that were singing the air on his head. 

He burst outside and down the steps. Just as his feet made contact with the dirt the dynamite blasted and what was left of the brothel quickly became engulfed in angry red flames. 

Turner didn’t waste time looking back. He ignored the townspeople running around frantically attempting to control the flames and figure out exactly what was going on. He ran with Will in his arms, ignoring the pain in his shot up leg. All he could think was that Will could not die… he refused to believe that the man might already be dead--though it was completely possible that Thompson had been lying and hiding behind a dead man the entire time. 

Turner powered through the snow and mud, slipping and sliding but never falling. He arrived at the doctors house on the hill just outside of town and banged the door. The doctor opened it quickly, fully dressed with his bag in hand. Clearly he’d been on his way to town to see if he was needed with all the chaos. 

“What in the world?” he gasped as he scratched his white hair, “Turner, what happened to this man?” 

“Thompson and his men.. They beat him up bad, doc. Help him…” Turner sounded more like a child than the tough man he was as he hoped against hope that Will could be saved. 

The doctor waved his hand and ushered Turner toward the room where he tended his patients. “Bring him in. Bring him in.” 

Turner laid Will down on the bed and wrung his hands, “Can you save him?” 

“I’ll have to look him over before I’ll know the answer to that,” the doctor replied, washing his hands off and undoing Will’s shirt, “Get on in the kitchen and get a cup of coffee. I have some heated up there. I’ll tend to your leg when I’m done.” 

“Aren’t you gonna ask what happened?” Turner questioned, skeptically. 

Doctor Rawling shook his head and Turner clenched his fists at the sight of Will’s swollen and bruised side, “He’s got internal bleeding looks like to me. And probably some broken ribs. A concussion if I had to guess. He’s closer to dead than he is to alive. And it’s not my business to know the details; I just patch up the sick. Far as I can see, Thompson Caudill got what had been coming to him for a long time.” 

Turner didn’t want to leave Will’s side but the doc shooed him out and he dragged himself to the kitchen. Turner sank down in a chair and buried his face in his hands. 

He sat there a long time when the front door burst open. Turner couldn’t see who had come in but the sound of their thudding boots went straight to the patient room, “Doctor Rawlings! Turner’s done went crazy! Half the damn town is going to burn, bodies are piling up, they’re forming a lynch mob to hang his ass… and doc? Timothy was in that brothel… he was having a meeting with Thompson… no one has seen hide nor hair of your son since the explosion.” 

Turner rose to his feet and slipped out the back. There wasn’t no way he could stay now… he never even got to tell Will goodbye or learn if the man was going to live or die….

A/N: did i do it again? I just can't help myself it would seen... i'm off to bed now!