Three guards leaped at the caboose and clung desperately to the railing. One fell off and struck his head on a crosstie. Talcott strolled over to where the man lay writhing in pain. He raised his pistol in a salute to the retreating train, then leaned over and shot the man in the head.

I turned away. Isom still stood on the platform, surrounded by bodies. He carefully examined the barrel of his pistol. Albion Freeman crouched behind the luggage rack and cradled C.J.’s head in his lap. C.J.’s belly was a sticky mass of blood and flesh.

“Git Doc!” Albion hollered. “Hit’s real bad.”

I ran toward the hotel. Sam Gore yelled from the doorway of the hardware store, “Git Doc! Antoine, he hurt!” I passed two dead miners sprawled on the ground and met Doc, already on his way, his bag swinging from one hand and his coattails flying.

“C.J. and Antoine!” I cried.

“Lord, lord!”

He knelt beside C.J. first, put his hands over his face for a moment, then looked up.

“I cant do a thing for him,” he said in a choked voice. “I could shoot him full of morphine but I dont expect he’ll last long enough for it to take.”

“Go tend Antoine,” I said. I pulled off my jacket and laid it over C.J.’s midsection to keep away the flies.

“Papaw,” C.J. said. Blood ran out of his mouth and Albion wiped it with his red bandana.

“Oh, papaw.” C.J.’s chest heaved and he was still.

I squeezed C.J.’s hand and started to cry.

“We ought to take him to the hotel.”

Albion Freeman put his hand on my arm. I shook it off. Between the two of us we got him inside and stretched him out on a couch just as Violet burst in. Her screams drove me back outside.

I met Carrie in the street.

“Albion?”

“He’s all right,” I said. “He’s in the hotel with Violet. C.J.’s dead.”

“Oh, Lord,” she said. She looked toward the station. “I got to go. Doc’s taking Antoine to the hospital and I got to tend the others.” She took my hand. “I’m so sorry about C.J. I know you was close.”

I pulled my hand away. “You better run to somebody that needs help.”

I followed her toward the station and then I spied Isom. He was squatting by himself on the track rail, clutching his ankles. I sat beside him. His round face was streaked with tears.

“C.J.’s dead, aint he?”

“He’s dead.”

“He wont never git that land back.”

“No, he wont.”

“I kilt a man, Rondal. I kilt that one right over there.”

“I kilt the short one in the suit. Leastways I fired at him right when he fell. They was shooting all around by then.”

He wiped his nose. “They damn well deserved it. They pushed folks around long enough. How many did we kill?”

“Looks like seven maybe. Where’s my brother?”