The bartender’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Sure thing, mister.” He reached under the bar, brought out a bottle, and poured several drinks.
Corrigan snatched up one of the drinks, downed it like water, and sighed. “Ah, ’tis like the Good Lord has breathed the breath of life back into me.”
“Where’d you fellas come from?” the bartender asked curiously. “I don’t recall seein’ you around Big Rock before, and no offense, but it don’t look like you’re from these parts.”
Kingsley threw back his drink as well and felt it kindle a very welcome warmth in his belly. “Right now, we’re just some cold, weary pilgrims. Is there any place in town to get rooms for the night?” He pushed the empty glass across the bar.
The bartender obligingly splashed more whiskey into it and shook his head. “The hotels are full up, I’ve heard. The boss, Emmett Brown, rents out some of the rooms upstairs, but they’re taken as well.”
“By who?”
“Well, I don’t know as that’s any of your—” the bartender began.
Corrigan reached across the bar and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to squeeze, but the bartender suddenly winced in pain.
“The boss asked ye a question, lad,” Corrigan said quietly. “Ye’d be well advised to answer.”
“Well, I-I know that those fellas there at that table rented a couple.” The bartender nodded toward a table where four men were playing poker.
“See, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” said Corrigan.
Kingsley went over to the table where the poker players ignored him for a moment before one of them glanced up and asked in a surly voice, “Yeah? Whatta you want, mister?”
“You gentlemen are going to find somewhere else to stay tonight so we can have your rooms,” Kingsley said bluntly.
“Is that right? Well, the hell with you, mist—”
Corrigan closed his hand on the back of the cowboy’s neck and leaned down. “I know a trick, lad, where I can put me hands on either side of a man’s head and twist it right off his shoulders. D’ ye want to see?” He put his hands on the man’s head, resting them lightly but firmly on either side.
One of the other men at the table said, “Hey, you can’t come in here and—”
“Shut up, Al!” said the first man.
The rest of Kingsley’s men surrounded the table, not making any threatening moves but definitely intimidating the men sitting there.
“Actually,” Kingsley said, “we’re going to rent those rooms from you. That’s only fair.” He took his wallet from an inside pocket of his coat and removed a twenty dollar bill. He dropped the greenback on the table, then looked around the room and went on in a louder voice, “We need two or three more rooms, and we’re willing to pay for them.”
Corrigan said, “Ah, boss, ye don’t have to do that. Let me twist off a few heads. It’s been a while.”
“No, Steve, we’re not looking to cause trouble.” Kingsley smiled. “This is a business deal, pure and simple.”
Corrigan sighed and nodded. “All right. But the other way woulda been more entertainin’.”
Five minutes later, Kingsley and all his men had rooms upstairs in the Brown Dirt Cowboy.
Instead of turning in, though, Kingsley sat at one of the tables with Corrigan and a couple others to warm up more. The Irishman had brought the bottle from the bar, and Kingsley soon had a pleasant glow about him that almost made him forget about how cold he had been earlier.
The saloon had settled down after the few moments of tension. Men were talking at the other tables, and he suddenly sat up straighter as the word orphans cut through the whiskey fuzz in his brain. He looked around, figured out which table the voice had come from, and told Corrigan, “Bring those men over here.”
Corrigan nodded, stood up, and lumbered over to the other table. A moment later, he prodded the two townsmen up to Kingsley’s table like a couple serfs being brought to an audience with their liege lord.
“You men said something about orphans,” Kingsley said without preamble. “What about them?”
The two looked nervous. They were probably stable hands, store clerks, something like that.
One of them swallowed and said, “You haven’t heard about the orphans from the train, mister?”
“The train that’s stuck here because of the blizzard in the mountains, you mean?”
“That’s right. There was a passel of orphans from New York on it. You, uh, you fellas are from back East somewhere, aren’t you?”
Kingsley ignored the question and asked another of his own. “Where are the orphans now?”
“Smoke took ’em.”
“Smoke?” Kingsley repeated, then he remembered what the liveryman had said when he’d bought the horses. “You mean Smoke Jensen?”
“Yes, sir. The folks who brought the orphans from New York decided to adopt ’em out to folks in Big Rock and around here. Until they do, the kids are staying out at the Sugarloaf. Smoke and Mrs. Jensen offered to put ’em up for the time being.”
“Very generous of them,” said Kingsley. “Where is this Sugarloaf Ranch?”
“West of here, about seven or eight miles.”
Kingsley nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
“We can, uh, go back to our table?”
Kingsley waved a hand in dismissal.
Corrigan sat down again. “I figured them orphans were gonna be here in town somewhere, not out in the country. This is gonna make it harder to get to ’em.”
“Maybe, but on the other hand, there won’t be any law around when we do find them.” Kingsley remembered something else the old liveryman had said. “This Smoke Jensen is supposed to be quite a gunman.”
Corrigan blew out a contemptuous breath. “He wouldn’t last ten minutes in the neighborhood we come from, laddie.”
“You’re probably right,” Kingsley said with a smile. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We still have a job to do. Tomorrow, Steve, we’re going to take a ride out to this Sugarloaf and figure out the easiest way for us to kill everyone on it.”
CHAPTER 34
Sugarloaf Ranch
Breakfast the next morning was as loud and hectic an affair as supper had been the night before. At least Sally had more warning and time to prepare. She was up well before dawn getting ready, so the long table in the dining room was heaped with food when Mercy, Rinehart, Ace, and Chance brought the children in to eat.
They hadn’t forgotten about the discussion of a Christmas tree. The girl who had brought it up said, “Are we still going to cut down a tree today, Mr. Jensen?”
“We sure are,” Smoke said. “You little ones eat your breakfast, and then we’ll see about getting ready. You’ll have to bundle up good, though. It’s mighty cold out there.” The storm that had blown through during the night had brought even more snow, but he figured the wagons could get through it all right. The draft horses were powerful, and the wagons were sturdily built.
The sky was still overcast, with the potential for more snow later on, but for the moment none was falling.
All the children wanted to go on the outing, so both wagons would be needed. He asked Pearlie and Cal to see to hitching up the teams, then asked the other adults, “Who’s coming with us today?”
“I need to go wherever the children go,” Mercy said. “With Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher back in town, I’m responsible for them.”
Not surprising, considering Mercy’s response, Chance immediately said, “I figured Ace and I would come along.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Rinehart said, which was also what Smoke expected.
“That’s fine,” he told them. “I’ll drive one wagon. Ace, how about you handle the other one?”
Chance began, “I can—”
Smoke held up a hand to stop him. “You and Mr. Rinehart are going to be our outriders.” His firm tone left no room for argument.
Preacher said, “I reckon me and Eagle-Eye are gonna spend the day sittin’ by the fire.”
>
“These old bones of ours take some warmin’ up,” Eagle-Eye added.
“That’s fine,” Smoke said again. He smiled at the orphans, all of whom watched him with eager faces . . . except the solemn little one called Caleb. “I think we’re going to have plenty of help.”
A short time later, the children donned their coats, left the house, and climbed into the wagons. Sally provided a number of blankets and quilts so they could bundle up even better once they were sitting in the wagon beds.
Ace helped Mercy climb onto the seat of one vehicle.
That was a pretty good compromise, thought Smoke. Ace didn’t seem to have any romantic interest in the auburn-haired young woman, so Chance and Rinehart were on equal footing, both looking on with jealous scowls as Ace settled himself beside her and made some low-voiced comment to her that made her smile and laugh.
Smoke put a long crosscut saw and a Winchester on the floorboard of the driver’s box, then took the reins and got the big, sturdy horses moving. The wagons rolled out, their wheels cutting ruts in the deep snow as they left the ranch headquarters and headed into the foothills of the neighboring mountains.
It was a good thing he was familiar with every foot of the Sugarloaf. The thick coating of snow would have made it difficult for him to know where to drive otherwise. As it was, he was able to follow a familiar trail into the pine-dotted hills.
As he drove, he cast several glances toward the slopes looming above them. The two nights of heavy snowfall had filled many of the gullies and crevices and piled up thick drifts on the mountainsides. He didn’t expect that to cause a problem, but still, it would be a good idea to keep an eye on the situation. More than once, he had seen avalanches come thundering down those slopes, but always from a safe distance.
They needed to find a good tree, cut it down, and get back to the ranch.
* * *
Laird Kingsley and Big Steve Corrigan knelt behind the thick trunk of a fallen tree and watched the wagons crawl forward several hundred yards below them. Kingsley had a small spyglass that he pressed to his eye. Through the lens, he studied the people on the wagons. He didn’t recognize any of them, but he was able to make a head count of the children and knew that all twenty of the orphans were there.
Somewhere among them was the little boy they were to kill.
Kingsley lowered the spyglass and said, “Sometimes an opportunity presents itself, Steve, and a smart man knows when to seize it.”
“I never claimed to be smart,” said Corrigan. “That’s why I always leave the thinkin’ to you, laddie.”
Kingsley turned his head and looked at a clump of large boulders a few yards to their right. Lower on the slope were several huge snowdrifts. If something were to dislodge one of those drifts, like some falling rocks, and started it sliding down the snow-packed gully . . .
A smile drew his lips back, but the expression was a cold, deadly one.
He hadn’t expected the scouting expedition to provide him with the means to carry out his job, but like he had told Corrigan, a man had to know when to strike. When they had ridden out from Big Rock, he hadn’t planned on doing anything except getting the lay of the land. They had located the ranch headquarters, spied on it from a distance, and then moved up to higher ground to keep an eye on the wagons when the group left the ranch house. They were right in his sights, figuratively speaking.
“Look at those boulders over there, Steve,” he said to Corrigan. “Do you think you could push one of them down so it would get the others rolling?”
A smile equally as menacing as Kingsley’s appeared on Corrigan’s big, brutal face. “Aye, that I could! Ye might have to help me a bit. I don’t know, but I think ’tis a splendid idea, lad.”
“Let’s give it a try, then.”
* * *
Smoke heard a cracking sound and muttered, “Blast it!” as his wagon lurched sharply. As hard as he had tried to avoid all the obstacles hidden under the snow, the odds had been against him. He just hoped the wagon wasn’t damaged too much.
He hauled on the reins and pulled the team to the side. Waving Ace ahead with the other wagon, Smoke called to the brothers and Rinehart, “Got a little trouble here. I’ll see how bad it is and then catch up if I can.”
“What about the kids in that wagon?” Ace asked as he pulled the second vehicle alongside.
“There’s not room for everybody in one wagon, so they’ll stay with me.”
That brought a chorus of objections from the children in Smoke’s wagon.
He waved them down. “You’ll still be able to help with the tree later, even if the others find the one we’ll be cutting down.”
He took the saw from the floorboard and handed it to Ace,who placed the saw at his feet then slapped the reins against the backs of the horses and got his team moving again. The wagon rolled on, heading up a gentle slope toward a large stand of trees. Just beyond the trees, the snow-covered mountainside reared up sharply.
Smoke jumped down from the box and bent over to look under the wagon. Sure enough, he saw a crack in the front axle. That was what he had heard. The damage wasn’t too bad, he decided. The axle was just cracked, not broken. In fact, he thought it might hold together well enough for him to get the wagon back to the ranch house. Once there, he could do some repairs before returning it to Big Rock.
* * *
The deep snow made it hard to walk, but Corrigan went first and broke a good trail with his elephant-like legs. He and Kingsley used the trees for cover as they made their way across the slope. It took them several minutes to reach the boulders, even though the actual distance they covered wasn’t all that far.
Kingsley studied the arrangement of the rocks, picked out the one he thought was the best for their purposes, and rested a gloved hand on the boulder. “This one.”
“Outta me way.” Corrigan moved into position behind the boulder and crouched down, then leaned forward and placed his shoulder against the curving surface of the rock. He shifted his feet around in the snow, searching for the best place to brace them.
When he was satisfied that he was where he needed to be, he started to push. A low-pitched grunt came from his throat as he shoved against the boulder. It didn’t budge. He grunted again and pushed harder.
Kingsley looked down the slope and stiffened as he saw that the two wagons had veered apart. One of them was sitting off to the side while the other was still coming on. That was annoying, but it couldn’t be helped.
Well, he told himself, if the avalanche is big enough, it will still crush both vehicles and all those troublesome orphans under tons of snow and rock.
* * *
Mercy pointed to one of the trees they were approaching. “How about that one? It’s perfectly shaped.”
“It sure is,” Chance said from horseback as he rode alongside the wagon on the left side.
“I’d be glad to help cut it down,” Rinehart offered from his mount on the right side.
“I don’t know,” said Ace as he brought the wagon to a stop. “It’s not very big. On the other hand, it is pretty, and I reckon it’d be a lot easier to get into the house than some of these other trees.”
“It’s settled, then,” Mercy said with a smile.
Chance swung down hurriedly from his saddle and held out a hand to Ace. “Give me that saw.”
Rinehart had already dismounted, too. He offered, “I can take it.”
“I’ve got it,” Chance snapped.
“Here,” Ace said as he handed the saw to his brother. “It needs a man on both ends, so you can both use it.”
Chance and Rinehart took hold of the saw and positioned the blade against the tree trunk, kicking some of the snow away first so they could make their cut fairly low to the ground. Ace wrapped the reins around the wagon’s brake lever and leaped to the ground. He moved over to the tree and reached between the branches to grasp the trunk higher up and steady it. The saw’s teeth made a rasping sound as they bit into the rough bark.
With both Chance and Rinehart putting their best efforts into it in order to impress Mercy, it didn’t take them long to saw through the tree. From the back of the wagon, the children called encouragement to them.
* * *
“Lend a hand here, will ye, Laird?” The big man sounded slightly breathless from his exertions.
“Of course,” Kingsley said as he moved over beside Corrigan. Both of them leaned down and put their shoulders against the boulder. They braced themselves and started to shove.
The rock continued to resist their efforts.
Both men grunted and panted and pushed . . . And then, with a faint grating sound, the boulder shifted. Quickly, so as not to lose what they had gained, they renewed their efforts and the boulder moved a little more. It was tipping forward.
One more good shove would do it.
* * *
In the clear, crisp air, even though he was a couple hundred yards away, Smoke had no trouble hearing the shouts from the excited youngsters. He smiled, glad that they were enjoying themselves.
He glanced idly up the mountainside beyond the trees, and something caught his eye. Rising from behind one of the boulders up there was what looked like puffs of smoke.
No, it wasn’t smoke, he realized. It was steam. Somebody was up there breathing hard . . . puffing away like an engine, in fact. Their breath was fogging up in the cold air. What could they be doing to make themselves breathe so hard, he wondered?
The answer that came to him a split second later sent horror stabbing into him.
He jerked his gaze back to the other wagon. Rinehart and the Jensen boys had just lifted the tree they had cut down into the back of the wagon, setting it up in the middle of the excited children.
Smoke cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Ace! Chance! Get the hell out of there!”
This was no time to worry about cursing in front of the orphans. Smoke wanted his young friends to understand how important it was for them to move. He saw their heads whip around toward him, and he pointed up the slope.
With a low rumble, the boulder he had noticed a minute earlier began to move, rolling slowly and ponderously toward the other rocks below it.
A Colorado Christmas Page 23