Massacre Canyon

by William W. Johnstone

  His voice was rusty and strained. He tried not to go too long without talking. Sooner or later, he would face Rudolph Kroll again, and he wanted to be able to speak so he could tell the outlaw leader what he really thought of him.

  Not that it would really matter.

  Footsteps echoed hollowly in the corridor outside the cell. This was the only chamber down here under the house, and Luke suspected whoever had ordered it built had designed it so that whoever was locked up would hear his jailers coming and have to dread their arrival for a few extra seconds.

  Why the cell had been built in the first place was a good question. It couldn’t have been easy tunneling through the rock, hollowing out the small space, and then walling it up with blocks of stone. Had it been built to house a specific person? A mad relative of the ranch’s owner, maybe? No one would ever build such a place just in case they might need to lock someone up, would they?

  The answers to those questions were far back in the past. Luke doubted if they would ever be revealed to him. He would die curious.

  But then, death was the ultimate curiosity, wasn’t it? The puzzle to which no living man was ever granted the solution.

  The heavy footsteps stopped outside the door.

  A second later a key scraped in the lock. The door swung back. The huge shape that bulked in the corridor, seeming to fill it from side to side, told Luke that Galt had come for him.

  That meant he was going upstairs. When it was just a meal arriving, one of the servants brought that, followed by a guard with a shotgun.

  Galt rumbled, “Stand up.”

  Luke thought about not cooperating, but then decided there wasn’t any point to being stubborn. His captors fed him barely enough to keep him alive, so he was too weak to fight. Even if he’d been in good shape, he doubted that he could have done much good against Galt, who was almost as big as a grizzly and just as strong and mean.

  Luke pushed himself to his feet. Galt had come down here alone, and for a second, Luke considered the odds of jumping him. The idea was ridiculous, of course. He shoved it aside in his brain.

  Rudolph Kroll had ordered that he be kept alive. Luke couldn’t understand the reason for that. Kroll needed the threat of his death to force Smoke into doing his bidding, but on the outside of the canyon, Smoke would have no way of being sure whether Luke was alive or dead. He would just have to hope that his brother was alive and proceed accordingly.

  Smoke would have some plan in mind. Luke was sure of that. Smoke Jensen wasn’t going to just waltz in here, turn Mordecai over, and then wait to be double-crossed and killed. Even though Luke didn’t really know his own brother that well. He had heard and read plenty about Smoke. If there was a way to turn the tables on the Kroll brothers, Smoke would find it.

  Luke was thinking about that as he struggled to push himself to his feet. When he was upright, he rasped at Galt, “What do you want?”

  “The boss sent me to fetch you. That’s all I know.”

  Luke figured that wasn’t true. He had seen the way Galt paid attention to everything that went on around him without seeming to. The man might look like a mindless, lumbering behemoth, but he was far from it. He knew why he was supposed to bring Luke upstairs, all right.

  He just didn’t want to steal Rudolph’s thunder, Luke thought.

  He felt his pulse quicken. Maybe something was about to happen at last. Maybe after all this time, all these weeks that seemed like years, his ordeal was about over . . . one way or another.

  Right now, Luke didn’t really care all that much which way it was.

  He took a step, almost went down, and then caught himself. He stiffened his legs, determined to walk to meet his fate, whatever it might be, on his own two feet. Galt backed up and raised the lantern he held in his left hand. Luke plodded out of the cell and started toward the stairs at the far end of the corridor. Galt followed behind him.

  Luke stopped at the bottom of the stairs to gather his strength. Galt growled, “Up you go, Jensen.”

  Luke took a step, then another and another. He tried to ignore the weariness that gripped him. It seemed to take an hour, but finally he reached the top of the stairs.

  Then he had to do it again, because Galt said, “Mr. Kroll is waiting for you on the balcony.”

  An attractive, middle-aged Mexican woman stood at the bottom of the curving staircase that led to the second floor. Luke saw sympathy in her dark eyes as he started toward her. He knew her name was Valencia and that she was the housekeeper here, as well as the cook. He suspected she warmed Rudolph Kroll’s bed, too. But that didn’t stop her from feeling sorry for the prisoner. Luke almost liked her. In a way, she was almost as powerless as he was.

  She didn’t speak to him as he went past her and started up the stairs. He had to clutch the banister for support. He felt Valencia watching him as he ascended, but he lacked the strength to turn his head and look back at her. He had to concentrate on the task directly in front of him: lifting one foot, then the other. . . .

  He reached the second floor. Galt prodded him into Rudolph’s library. The first time Luke had seen the room with its shelves of leather-bound books, he’d been jealous. He could have happily spent a great deal of time in there reading. Instead, he’d been locked up in what passed for a dungeon in Arizona Territory.

  The French doors on the far side of the library were open, with late afternoon sunlight coming through them. Luke saw Rudolph Kroll standing on the balcony, at the railing. Rudolph turned and beckoned to him.

  “Go,” Galt growled quietly.

  Luke walked across the library, through the doors, and onto the tiled balcony. Rudolph greeted him by saying, “Your salvation has arrived.”

  He waved a hand toward the tree-lined lane in front of the house. Luke swayed forward, caught himself with both hands on the railing. He saw the two riders approaching the big house.

  One was Mordecai Kroll.

  The other was Smoke.

  Chapter 39

  Smoke drew in a sharp breath when he saw the unsteady figure shamble out onto the balcony and stand next to Rudolph Kroll. He and Mordecai still weren’t close enough to make out many details, but the newcomer’s general size was right to be Luke, and so were the dark hair and beard.

  The man’s shaky gait as he came up to the railing made Smoke believe that he was looking at his brother, too. There was no telling what the outlaws had done to Luke, what tortures they might have inflicted on him, but at the very least he had suffered through several weeks of captivity. He wouldn’t be in top shape.

  “Well, what do you know?” Mordecai said. “Looks like Rudolph ain’t killed that bounty-huntin’ brother of yours after all. I reckon maybe he’s savin’ that pleasure for me.”

  “I thought you said your brother was a man of his word,” Smoke snapped. “What happened to your claim that he would honor the deal he proposed to me if I brought you here?”

  Mordecai laughed.

  “Hell, you believed that? I thought you were too smart to get taken in that way, Jensen.” Mordecai paused suddenly and frowned. “You are too smart. You got some sort of trick you’re plannin’, don’t you?”

  It had taken Mordecai long enough to realize that, Smoke thought. Too long, because they were here now and Matt and Preacher had to be somewhere in the vicinity, too. Soon they would be getting the lay of the land and sizing up the situation, figuring out the best way for them to make their move and get Smoke and Luke out of this canyon.

  But Smoke just shook his head and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I kept up my end of the bargain. You’re here, aren’t you? Now all I can do is hope that your brother will hold up his end.” Smoke slipped his Colt from its holster and aimed it in Mordecai’s general direction. “I’m going to give him a good reason to do that.”

  “You do know there’s probably a dozen rifles trained on you right now, don’t you? You’re lucky you didn’t get drilled when you pulled that hog leg.”

  �
��I figured as long as I stay close enough to you, nobody will get too trigger-happy.” Smoke nudged his horse ahead. “Let’s go.”

  They continued riding up the lane. Smoke’s gun never wavered. If he died, Mordecai would die, too. He didn’t think any of the outlaws would risk Rudolph’s wrath if his brother was killed while right here on the verge of being returned safely.

  A massive, bearlike man in a long, beaded vest and flat-crowned black hat waited for them at the open gate in the thick adobe wall. Several other men stood nearby, holding rifles.

  “Galt!” Mordecai greeted the big man as he and Smoke reined to a halt. “It’s good to see you again, you big ol’ buffalo!”

  Judging by the scowl on Galt’s face, he wasn’t as happy to see Mordecai. But he said, “Your brother told me to bring you and this other fella up to see him as soon as you got here.”

  “Well, let’s go!” Mordecai said impatiently. “No sense in wastin’ time.”

  He started to swing down from the saddle, but Smoke snapped, “Hold on a minute, Kroll.”

  Mordecai froze in an awkward position and glared over at him in disbelief.

  “You really mean to tell me you ain’t given up yet?” he asked. “Just look around you, Jensen. You shoot me and two seconds later you’ll be so full o’ lead they could use you as a sinker on a fishin’ line! Not to mention ol’ Galt there could bust you in half and tear you apart with his bare hands.”

  “I don’t doubt either of those things,” Smoke said, “but you’d still be dead, wouldn’t you?”

  Galt asked, “What do you want, Jensen?”

  “I hang on to my gun.”

  “Nobody’s asked you for it, have they?”

  Galt had a point there. Smoke said, “I want my brother brought down here. He’s going to take a couple of these saddle mounts and ride out of here. I’m going to watch him until he’s gone through the pass. Then, and only then, I let you have Mordecai.”

  “You’ve gone loco!” Mordecai exclaimed. “Rudolph will never agree to that. Tell him, Galt.”

  “I don’t speak for the boss,” Galt said. “I’ll have to go talk to him.”

  “Then do it,” Smoke told him.

  “Dadgum it!” Mordecai exploded. “I’ve waited all this time to see Rudolph again, and now you tell me I got to wait more?”

  “It won’t be long,” Galt said. Smoke could see the scorn in the big man’s eyes. He had a hunch the rest of the gang tolerated Mordecai because of his brother, rather than him wielding any real power over them.

  Galt told the riflemen, “Keep an eye on them,” then turned and lumbered through the gate in the wall. Smoke watched the big man as he made his slow, stately way back to the house and disappeared inside.

  “I’m gonna see to it that you pay for this, Jensen,” Mordecai said. “You should’ve just gone ahead and died like you was supposed to. Would have been quicker and easier on you that way. Now I’m gonna make you suffer.”

  “I’ve been doing that all the way from Yuma,” Smoke said. “I had to listen to you.”

  He thought he saw grins on the faces of a couple of the guards as they quickly looked away. They probably didn’t have much use for Mordecai, either. That wouldn’t really be any help to him in the long run, more than likely, but it was good to know he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

  The minutes stretched out slowly, and Mordecai’s continued profane grumbling didn’t help them pass any faster. Finally the door into the big house opened, and Galt emerged again.

  He wasn’t alone this time.

  Luke was with him.

  And so was Rudolph Kroll.

  Even though this was the first time Smoke had seen the man close up, he had no doubt who he was looking at. Kroll was dressed plainly, in brown trousers and vest and a collarless shirt buttoned at the throat. As far as Smoke could see, he wasn’t carrying a gun or any other sort of weapon.

  But he carried himself as if he were king of this canyon, and in a very real way, he was. He possessed the power of life and death over everyone here.

  Smoke didn’t really spare Rudolph Kroll more than a cursory glance. Most of his attention was concentrated on Luke, who walked under his own power but was clearly unsteady on his feet. Anger welled up inside Smoke as he saw how captivity had transformed his vital, powerful brother into a gaunt, hollow-eyed, bearded shadow of himself.

  Then they were close enough for Smoke to look into Luke’s eyes, and he suddenly felt a little better about things. Defiance and intelligence still burned in Luke’s eyes. He hadn’t given up. Being a prisoner hadn’t knocked the fight out of him.

  Smoke hadn’t expected that it would—Luke was a Jensen, after all—but it was nice to see confirmation of that hunch.

  Kroll came to a stop, and so did Luke. Before Rudolph could say anything, Mordecai exclaimed, “Howdy, big brother! I’m back!”

  “I can see that,” Rudolph said. That curt reply was the only one he gave Mordecai. He swung his attention to Smoke and said, “You’d be Smoke Jensen.”

  “I would,” Smoke agreed.

  “Why are you pointing that gun at my brother? Don’t you know you won’t stand a chance of getting out of this canyon alive if you shoot him?”

  “I know that,” Smoke said. “I just want you to understand . . . anything happens to me or my brother, Mordecai is going to die. That’s a hundred percent guaranteed.”

  “You can’t know that for sure,” Rudolph snapped.

  “Close enough.”

  Smoke’s simple, confident answer made Rudolph frown. Mordecai said, “You see how he is? Just go ahead and kill him, Rudolph. Shoot the son of a bitch. He ain’t near as good as he thinks he is.”

  “You want to bet your life on that?” Rudolph asked. “Because that’s what you’d be doing.”

  Mordecai sat back in the saddle a little and didn’t say anything.

  Rudolph turned his attention back to Smoke and asked, “What do you want?”

  “Your man Galt didn’t tell you?”

  “I’ll hear it from you.”

  “Fair enough,” Smoke said. “I keep this gun pointed at Mordecai until Luke gets on a horse and rides out of the canyon.”

  For the first time, Luke spoke. In a rusty croak, he said, “No! You can’t do that, Smoke. They’ll kill you.”

  “I’ll take my chances. First order of business is to get you out of here to where you’re safe.”

  “Hell, no,” Luke rasped. “I’m not leaving without you. If the situation were turned around, would you ride out and leave me behind?”

  Smoke had hoped his brother wouldn’t ask him that question. The answer was no, of course he wouldn’t do that. When he’d seen Luke’s condition, though, he had hoped that his brother might have enough sense to agree.

  It never paid to underestimate the stubbornness of a Jensen, though.

  For the time being, Smoke ignored Luke’s refusal to go along with his impromptu plan. He looked at Rudolph and said, “How about it, Kroll? Do we have a deal?”

  Rudolph fixed him with a cold stare and said, “I’ve killed men for trying to dictate terms to me.”

  “They probably didn’t have your brother’s life for leverage,” Smoke pointed out.

  “But we have your brother’s life in our hands,” Rudolph said. “Galt!”

  Smoke tensed, ready to open fire. Despite the fact that his gun was aimed at Mordecai, his first shot would be directed at Galt, since the bear of a man seemed to be the biggest threat to Luke. Then he would drill Rudolph and finally Mordecai.

  By then he’d probably have several slugs in him. But as long as he could draw breath and pull the trigger, he would continue to kill outlaws.

  He hoped Sally would forgive him someday for not coming back to her.

  Galt stepped forward and whipped a knife from under his long vest. Moving with surprising speed, he wrapped an arm around Luke’s neck and jerked him back against his broad chest. Galt’s forearm pushed up against Luke�
��s neck to expose his throat under the beard. Galt put the blade’s edge against Luke’s throat but didn’t press on it.

  Smoke controlled the instinct demanding that he kill the big man. Luke’s life hung by a thread . . . but then, so did a number of other lives.

  “It appears that we have a classic Mexican standoff,” Rudolph said.

  “Yeah,” Mordecai said, “except none of us are Mexicans!”

  That prompted a gale of laughter from him. None of the other men gathered in front of the gate joined in his amusement, and after a moment his cackling trailed away.

  “What it comes down to, Kroll, is whether or not you’re a man of your word,” Smoke said. “Mordecai tried to convince me that you are, but then after we got here, he went back on that and claimed you were going to double-cross me. So what’s it going to be? I brought you what you wanted. Do you let my brother and me ride out of here or not?”

  “So, Mordecai told you I’m not an honorable man, did he?” Rudolph muttered. “I can’t say that I’m fond of the idea of letting you go. You Jensens have been a major annoyance to me.” He shrugged. “But a deal’s a deal. Galt, let the bounty hunter go.”

  Mordecai’s eyes widened in surprise. He exclaimed, “Rudolph! You can’t mean it! You can’t let these two skunks ride outta here!”

  “I still give the orders,” Rudolph grated. “You’d do well to remember that, Mordecai.”

  “But . . . but they know where the hideout is!” Mordecai sputtered. “What’s to stop ’em from goin’ and tellin’ the law or even the army?”

  Rudolph looked like he was thinking, and after a moment he said, “That’s a fair point. Believe it or not, I like to think of myself as an honorable man. But I’m even more of a practical man. Galt, hang on to Luke Jensen. Smoke Jensen, drop that gun now . . . or go ahead and pull the trigger.”

  Smoke came mighty close to doing just that. In an earlier time, he would have.

  And both he and Luke would have died in the next thirty seconds. Even though surrender ran counter to everything in his nature, a life of danger had forced him to become a practical man, too.