Inside the manor, Cian was now playing it safe. He wouldn't send any more men out into the plaza. There was too little cover. The sixteen men he had left out there were all that remained of his initial force.
Counting the thirty cavalrymen, the fourteen sentries in the watchtowers, and the twelve men he had in reserve behind the stone walls, he had about seventy men left at his command. It was only because a sixty-man escort had just returned from a mission that he had this many. This was the center of Denver, after all. A few dozen guards and five machine guns should have been more than enough.
Cian had been chosen as the commander of the manor's guard for one reason: his caution. Now, with the enemy's numbers and capabilities unknown, and with nearly half his men already lost, he decided to wait. He would not charge out again. He would hold the manor until dawn.
He ordered the thirty cavalrymen to dismount and return their horses to the stable, but to leave them saddled. He then positioned the dismounted riders behind the stone walls near the main gate. He also sent men to the armory to retrieve the last three machine guns and the two 12-pounder mountain howitzers and set them up at the gate.
In the main hall of the manor, Brendan McKinley and another of the family elders, a man named Rocky, sat in silence. They had been there since the first shots were fired, anxiously awaiting news. It was the first time in the fifteen years since the manor was built that it had come under a direct, sustained attack.
They now knew they had lost seventy-five men, and as far as they could tell, the enemy consisted of a single, bearded man.
"Do you know who it is?" Rocky asked, his brow furrowed.
Brendan pinched the bridge of his nose. "From the guards' description—tall, a master gunman, wearing a mask—I can only assume it's the Sheriff from Frisco, Henry. He arrived in Denver today."
"Then his strength is far greater than we estimated," Rocky said, his voice grave. "The events at Dwyer Manor and the smelting plant… he must be directly involved. The question is, how many men does the Sinclair family have with him?"
"A considerable number, I would imagine," Brendan replied. "Henry is just the tip of their spear. I'm now convinced that he and the Sinclairs were also behind the destruction of the black market an hour ago."
"Then we are in serious trouble," Rocky said. "If they killed over two hundred men at the black market, that means the Sinclairs have a force of at least twice that number. If they are waiting in ambush on the road outside this manor, we are completely cut off."
Brendan took a long drag from his cigar and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his face hidden behind the haze. His only hope now was that their seven machine guns and two howitzers could hold the manor until dawn. As long as the enemy didn't have artillery of their own, they should be safe.
But the Sinclairs have had years to build their power, he thought. Of course they have cannons.
He was furious. He knew the mining tycoons were a dangerous breed, but he had never expected the Sinclairs to react with such overwhelming, brutal force. He had only killed a score of their men and put a bounty on a young upstart. He hadn't touched any of the core family members. Was such a response truly necessary?
I should have bought more cannons.
Outside, Henry used his last two corpses to draw their fire again, taking out the new machine gunners in the main gate's watchtowers. The exchange cost him two green pearl husks and four white ones.
With all four Gatling guns temporarily silenced, he stepped out and began shooting out the gas lamps.
He stood his ground, absorbing the fire from the sixteen guards in the plaza, and in seventeen seconds, all thirty-four of the lamps were dark. The cost was another fifteen white pearl husks.
Under the cover of darkness, he fired six more shots, dropping six of the exposed guards.
"The devil can see us!" one of them screamed. "Take cover!"
Annoyed, Henry put two more bullets into the man to silence him, costing him another two white husks.
He moved to a new position and continued to fire, taunting the guards to reveal themselves. In a dozen seconds, he killed four more guards and two more men who had tried to man the machine guns.
Suddenly, a wave of pure, primal terror washed over him.
He stored his rifle and sprinted for the cover of the corner.
BOOM!
A red flare shot into the sky, bathing the plaza in a ghastly light. At the same time, the roar of machine guns was joined by a new sound: the high-pitched shriek of an incoming artillery shell, followed by the deafening blast of canister shot tearing through the air. The trees behind his former position were shredded into splinters.
He peered around the corner. Two howitzers and three more Gatling guns were now positioned behind the main gate. The air was thick with the promise of death.
Cian ordered ten more men forward to replace the fallen, and the two watchtowers at the main gate were re-manned. They now had five Gatling guns ready to fire.
Henry checked his status. He had now "released" eighty-nine of the manor's guards.