Shortly later, Mrs. Poole and Nancy came bustling into the building in the company of Max.
“Wes, I hear you’ve managed to get yourself shot again!” Mrs. Poole exclaimed. “Nancy, please have a look at him, while I see to the Sheriff here.”
She looked first at my neck wound and indicated it wasn’t serious but needed cleaning. She’d just begun to undo the makeshift bandage on my leg when Nancy interrupted.
“We need to get this man to the house quickly, Emma. He needs more help than I can give here. He has a bullet in him that has to come out.”
“Ah’ll take him, Miz Emma,” Max volunteered.
“Thank you, Max. Please hurry,” Mrs. Poole said.
Max scooped Wes up off the floor and cradled him in his arms like a baby. He and Nancy hurried out the door.
Mrs. Poole surveyed the room looking for other injured people. She confirmed everyone still on the floor was indeed dead. She asked Bob if he was hurt. He just shook his head.
“I don’t know how even one of you could have survived this,” she said sadly.
“I never wanted it to go this way. I intended to make an arrest of just two people, and it turned into a blood bath,” I said.
“Well, all I can say is when you say you’re going to clean up a town; you manage to take out most of the trash yourself.”
“Not like this. Why did everybody start shooting?” I asked.
“I guess there were several men in here who didn’t want to be arrested this evening. You killed Martin Pogue. He was sitting at the table with the Thorndykes. He couldn’t afford to be arrested. He faced hanging for sure. He just lost his head,” Bob said.
“This place was a den of low life criminals, cutthroats, and thieves. A pity you didn’t get Ian McGregger while you were at it. Can you walk, Sheriff?” Mrs. Poole asked me.
I nodded.
“I can hobble pretty well.”
“Bob, you’d better help him up. We’re going to the house to get you all patched up.”
“Okay, Emma,” Bob replied
It dawned on me they knew each other.
“How do you two know each other?” I asked, stupidly.
They both just stared at me.
I limped over and picked up my John Browning designed Winchester shotgun from where I’d dropped it. I reloaded it with shells from my jacket pocket.