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They all waved as they passed. Logan was sure that Li Chang
would have been delighted to see the bagful of green frogs, but
probably less enamored at the fate that Charley Blackfeather
proposed for them.
    Logan and Charley chatted for a few minutes
more, and then Charley turned and reached for the doorknob. He
stopped and stood still, sniffing the air.
    “ Something is burning!” he
said.
    Logan smelled it too.
    Then there was the sound of a gun. It was
followed by another from somewhere further off. Almost immediately,
there was the cadence of galloping hooves.
    The sudden sound of a child’s scream sent a
shiver down Logan’s spine. He immediately knew who it was, for he
had heard the sound not long before.
    Charley Blackfeather pulled the door open and
he and Logan rushed out. They saw a burning wagon belching thick
black smoke skewed across halfway up the street. A dead mule lay
before it.
    “ What in blazes?” Logan
began.
    Then a gun fired, and a bullet sent them
dashing back into the office. From all over town came startled
voices and cries. The noise of horses’ hooves pounding could be
heard and then the noise of more gunfire. Lots of it.
    “ It’s a raid!” shouted Logan,
rushing into his consulting room and grabbing his bag.
    Charley stopped him as he tried to go back
into the waiting room.
    “ If there is shooting, there will
be wounded. I’ll be needed.”
    “ You won’t be needed dead, doctor.
Go the back way.”
    Together they left Logan’s place via a back
window, and gingerly skirted round the back of the
office.
    “ You there, lay down that gun!”
they heard a voice cry from Second Street. “I’m Deputy Marshal
Garvey and I order you—”
    There was a gunshot, then a scream.
    As they hurried round the side of the office,
they saw Fred Garvey’s body lying in the dirt, blood gushing from a
chest wound.
    “ You mangy dog!” cried Marshal Sam
Gardner, running toward the blazing wagon, firing both guns through
the smoke.
    Another shot rang out and the marshal was hit.
Blood spurted from his left leg, and he collapsed on his side. More
bullets dug up clouds of earth around him, and he crawled
sidewinder fashion, dragging his shot leg, to the cover of a horse
trough.
    “ You got a gun, Munro?” Charley
Blackfeather asked.
    Logan opened his bag and drew out his
Beaumont-Adams revolver. “I carried this through three wars. It is
a fine weapon.” He hefted it in his firm surgeon’s hand. “And I can
use it.”
    Charley gave the curtest of acknowledgments.
“We need to get past this gunman. If you pin him down, I’ll see if
I can get around in back of him.”
    Logan obliged. Intermittently, he peered round
the corner of the office and discharged a shot. With each one, a
returned shot gouged out part of the wall. Whoever was firing from
the other side of the grisly barricade knew how to
shoot.
    Suddenly, there was a dull thud and a
harrowing scream that went on and on, as if someone was in mortal
agony. Then, abruptly, the noise stopped.
    “ Logan!” Charley Blackfeather
called.
    Logan peered round the corner, and through the
smoke, saw Charley Blackfeather gesturing to him. In one hand he
held his metal tomahawk and in the other, his big Bowie knife. Both
were dripping with blood.
    “ Maybe you should take care of the
marshal,” he shouted. And without another word, he turned and
disappeared into the smoke.
    ****
    Masked, armed men had galloped into Wolf Creek
and seemed to be everywhere on both North and Lincoln Streets. They
had pinned the town down, having shot mules and set fire to wagons
that blocked off both Fourth and Second Streets. Already, a pall of
acrid smoke had drifted down the streets, adding to the
confusion.
    As the gang rode in, they had split into
smaller groups, and while some had dismounted and systematically
pillaged businesses and shops, others had either remained on
horseback and raced back and forth between the connecting streets
or dismounted and taken up