“Oh, I’m in, John T.,” Tony was quick to say. “Don’t worry ’bout that.”
“I was wonderin’, after listenin’ to all this talk,” John T. said, pulling out the makings and rolling a tight cigarette. “Just had me a little curious, that’s all.”
The men were all quick to speak up that John T. could count on them. Yes, sir. All the way.
“Good, boys, good.” He smoked his cigarette down and tossed the butt into the fire. “I’m gonna turn in. I got a funny feelin’ in my guts that tomorrow is gonna be a damn busy day.”
“Why do you say that, John T.?” Valdes asked.
“Just got a hunch is all.” He rolled his gunbelt and took off his boots. “I pay attention to my hunches, boys. They’ve saved my bacon more’n once.”
“Good idea, John T.,” Gil said. He got up and wandered off toward the bushes.
John T. Matthey went to sleep counting all the men they’d buried on their back trail. Thanks to that damn Jensen.
Smoke was up and drank the last of his coffee before dawn ever thought about opening its eyes. As he had done before rolling up in the blankets the night before, he climbed up on a ridge and looked to the south. Fires, and a lot of them. Von Hausen and his pack of hungry, rabid skunks were very close. He turned and looked to the north. Several small fires; that had to be Walt and his bunch.
He walked to his camp, made sure his fire was out, and then packed up, saddled up and pulled out. He had to find a place to make a stand this day. If he didn’t, Walt’s group wouldn’t have any more days left to them.
Dawn was just breaking when Smoke rode out. He flirted with the idea of just picking a spot and make a stand to the death. But he didn’t flirt with it for very long. The will to live was too strong in him. And just as strong was his will to win against seemingly insurmountable odds.
He’d have to admit he’d done a pretty fair job of doing just that so far.
No, Smoke would not make any stand-or-die move. No, what he would do is catch up with Walt and the others and then fight a rear guard action after seeing what kind of shape they were in.
They were going to win this fight, by God.
His horse sensed its rider’s excitement and the big ’paloosa quickened its step. “That’s right, boy,” Smoke said. “You feel the same way, don’t you?”
The Appaloosa snorted and swung his head. Smoke laughed.
Above him, an eagle soared.
19
Smoke put some distance between himself and von Hausen. Smoke’s ’paloosa was a mountain horse and as sure-footed as a puma. Many times Smoke just gave him his head and let him go, so strong was the bond between horse and rider.
Smoke pulled up short when he heard voices and the sounds of an axe. “What the hell?” he muttered.
He urged his horse on, knowing that whoever was making all that noise wasn’t setting up any ambush for him. When he climbed up the ridge and made the clearing, Smoke sat his saddle amazed at what he saw.
Just behind the dozen frantically working people, there was a falls, the water cascading down a sheer rock face. He could hear the sounds of running water close-by. Then he saw the stream.
“Hello, Smoke Jensen!” Robert waved and called to him. “Come on into our fort.”
Smoke returned the wave and muttered, “You damn sure got that right. It’s a fort.”
“You can put your horse right back there,” the government scientist said, pointing. “It’s a tiny valley that is accessible only from the front.” He smiled. “Unless you know the back way in. And even Angel and Walt couldn’t find that until Gilbert pointed it out.”
“But...”
“You look tired. There is fresh coffee in the pot. Walt made it,” he added.
“But ...”
“And there is food being prepared now.”
“But ... what about ...”
“They might dig us outta here, Smoke,” Walt said, strolling up on his bow-legs, “but they’ll have one hell of a battle on their hands doin’ it.” He waved to Charles Knudson. “Take his horse, will you, son? Thanks.”
“Damnit!” Smoke yelled. “Von Hausen couldn’t be more than two or three hours behind me. What the hell are you people doing? I thought ...”
“The hosses couldn’t go no more and neither could ’bout half the people,” Walt said. “Gilbert knowed of this place, so here we are. Come on. I think you’ll like what you see.”
He did.
Montana got his hat blowed off when he rounded the bend in the trail. He left the saddle hollering for the others to lie back and get down.
From his position in the timber, Montana stared up in amazement at the sight on the ridge. It was a fort. A gawddamned fort in the middle of the wilderness. And they had ’em a regular United States flag just a-flappin’ in the breeze, all stuck up on a tall pole.
Von Hausen crept up to Montana’s side and looked. And looked. Then he started cussing in several languages. He finally wound down and waved for John T. to join them.
John T. looked and shook his head and sighed mightily. “This ain’t worth a damn, boss. This just ain’t no good at all. I betcha there ain’t but one way up there and we’re lookin’ at it. It’d be suicide.”
“Yes,” von Hausen agreed. “I’m afraid you’re right. But there is one point in our favor. They can’t get out.”
“True. But how long will it be ’fore the Army sends in troops lookin’ for them soldier boys we killed?”
“Not long,” von Hausen reluctantly said.
“Where’d you get the flag?” Smoke asked, belly down behind the ramparts on the ridge.
“We always carry a flag with us,” Gilbert told him. “Anytime we’re doing expeditionary work in the wilderness, whether it be in Africa or in the territories.”
Smoke had agreed that the fort was solid and very nearly impregnable. While the men were busy fortifying the site, the women had busied themselves gathering up firewood, and not just for use as cooking. Both Walt and Jensen knew how to make smoke ‘talk.’ If they could hold out for a couple of days, the Army would, very probably, be sending patrols in to find out why the initial patrol had not returned and they would, hopefully, see the talking smoke.
Smoke had inspected the hidden opening at the rear of the falls. Nature had done her work very well. The entrance/exit had to be pointed out to him. Still, Smoke had insisted upon posting a guard near the entrance. If any of von Hausen’s people found their way into the valley, those inside the natural fort would be in real trouble.
“Standoff,” Smoke said to Gilbert. “At least for as long as there’s light. They’ll try to rush us as soon as it’s dark.” He thought for a moment. “Gather up any clothing you don’t need and tear it into rags. We’ll make torches. When they rush us, we’ll light them and throw them over the side.”
The stone ramparts were high and any openings between the huge rocks had been plugged with timber and dirt, gun slits added. Smoke walked the line of defenders, making certain all had plenty of ammo.
“Don’t fire at shadows,” he told each one. “We’ve plenty of ammunition, but not so much that we can afford to waste it. If you’re not sure of a target, don’t fire. We can wait them out. Tonight is going to be our biggest test of nerve. I want every other person to nap for a couple of hours. Then stand guard and let the others rest. Do that until dark.”
Smoke walked to his blankets and laid down, a saddle for a pillow. He called, “If anything important happens, wake me up.”
“There does not appear to be a nerve in his body,” Blanche remarked.
Smoke awakened several times during the afternoon, when one of von Hausen’s men would throw a shot at the fort on the ridge, the bullet thudding into wood or dirt or howling off a boulder. He would close his eyes and go back to sleep. As the shadows began to lengthen, Smoke rolled from his blankets, put on his hat, buckled his guns around his lean hips, and walked to the fire, pouring a cup of coffee.
“It’s quie
t,” Angel told him. “But I think when the darkness comes so will they.”
Smoke sipped his coffee. Hot and black and strong. “Yes. Von Hausen is fighting out of pure desperation now. But if we can beat back the first wave—and I see no reason why that can’t be done—those gunslingers down yonder will have second thoughts about doing it again. Did you get some rest?”
“I napped off and on. I feel fine. I made sure the others got some sleep.”
“Good. There damn sure won’t be much sleeping come the night. Was the guard changed behind us?”
“Every two hours, to relieve the boredom.”
Smoke drank his coffee and ate a biscuit. He checked his .44-.40. He shoved in a couple of rounds, then checked his .44’s. He walked to the stone and timber walls. “How are you doing?” he asked Gilbert.
“Fine. Wonderful, in fact. The excitement is building among us, almost to a fever pitch. All of us here have gotten over our fright, for the most part. Now a sense of deep anger and resentment toward those below us has taken its place. Our rights have been violated and we are all prepared to use force to get them returned.”
Walt grinned. “In other words, y’all are ready to kick some butt.”
“That sums it up rather well,” Carol said.
Smoke looked at the woman anthropologist. He still wasn’t all that sure what it was, exactly, that she did. And he was afraid to ask. He thought it had something to do with old bones. Carol wore a pistol in a military-style holster and held a long-barreled shotgun.
“I’m really quite good with the shotgun, Smoke Jensen,” she said. “If I can hit a bird on the wing, I can certainly hit a man. And believe me when I speak for all of us here, sir: there will be no shirking among us. If those murderers down there come up that ridge, we will not hesitate to shoot.”
There was a set to her chin and a determination in the woman’s voice that gave Smoke no reason to doubt her. These gentle people had been pushed to their limits. Now they were going to do some pushing of their own.
Smoke smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and walked on. He stopped at Charles Knudson’s position. Harold Bailey was a few yards from him, manning another post. The young surveyors smiled at him, Charles saying, “We’re ready, Smoke.”
“Good men,” Smoke told him. He walked the interior of the fort which formed a crude half circle, stopping to talk for a moment with everybody. Paula and Thomas had left to guard the rear exit of the valley, relieving Robert at the lonely post. Two were sent so one could sleep while the other stayed awake during the long night. It might get so busy that they could not be relieved for many hours. And Walt had wanted the shift changed while there was still light to see.
He found Angel cleaning his rifle. “Senor Smoke,” the Mexican gunfighter greeted him with a smile. “I think for some out there,” he pointed toward the edge of the ridge, “this is going to be a good night to die.”
“It might be a terrible thing to say, Angel; but I sure hope so.”
“Not so terrible a thing when bad men chase good people,” Angel said soberly.
“You do have a point, Angel.” Smoke returned to his bedroll, slipped into a jacket, for the late afternoon was turning very cool, and filled his jacket pocket with cartridges. He poured another cup of coffee and then took the plate of food that was handed to him. He ate with a good appetite and rinsed out his plate in a pan and returned to the ramparts.
Walt had done a really bang-up job in securing the interior of the fort. The tents were set well back, too far back for anyone to throw a torch into them. A stray bullet might ricochet and scream off the rock of the sheer face behind them and hit someone, but that would be a long shot. All things considered, their position was a secure one.
“I have always heard that this was the hardest part of a battle,” Gilbert said. “The waiting.”
“You heard right,” Smoke told him. “When the shootin’ starts, a man doesn’t have time to be scared. Scared-time is over. You don’t have time to think about anything except staying alive.”
“Would it make me sound callous if I said I believe I am actually looking forward to this fight?”
Smoke smiled. “No. It’s like you said: you folks are feeling a lot of anger and resentment toward that pack of hyenas down the ridge. With good reason. You want to strike back at them. That’s understandable. I do too, believe that.”
“Sometimes you speak like a very well-educated man, Mister Jensen.”
“I married a schoolteacher,” Smoke said with a smile. Gilbert chuckled as Smoke moved away, making yet another round inside the fort.
Roy Drum returned from his afternoon’s circling around the mountain. He poured a cup of coffee and shook his head. “There ain’t no other way in. If you want them folks, Baron, we got to go up that ridge and take ’em. And before you ask me if I’m shore about there bein’ no other way in, yeah, I’m shore.”
Von Hausen looked disdainfully at the man. “It isn’t just a matter of me wanting them, Roy. It’s you and all the rest of the men as well.”
“Yeah,” Roy said wearily. He sat down on the ground with a sigh. “I know that. But I ain’t makin’ no suicide charges up that ridge. And it would be suicide. I just ain’t gonna do that, for nobody.”
“If we done it durin’ the day,” John T. said,“ I’d agree with that. But they can’t see no better at night than we can. We can look at the damn ridge and see there ain’t no traps set for us. That’s as plain as the nose on your ugly face.”
“I’ll con-cede the trap part,” Roy said with a smile. “But they’s some ladies who think I’m right cute.”
“They must be blind,” Montana Jess said.
Von Hausen stood quietly, letting the men banter back and forth. This was not something he could just flatly order them to do.
“It might work to our advantage to let them stew for one night,” Gil Webb said.
John T. shook his head. “You’re forgettin’ about all them dead soldier boys back down the trail that probably was supposed to have reported back in a long time ago. Every hour we stall, means we’re that much closer to a hangman’s noose.”
“I’ll stick a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger ’fore I let myself be tooken in alive,” Utah Red said. “I don’t favor stretchin’ no rope.”
The men were unanimous in that.
“Well,” John T. said. “Let’s talk this thing out. We all know what we got to do, it’s just when that’s gotta be settled.”
“I’ll leave that up to you men,” von Hausen said. He returned to his tent and closed the flap against the chill of the approaching night.
“Damn big of him,” Cat Brown said.
Smoke had gone to where Angel had stacked his gear from the pack horse and dug out the sack of dynamite and caps and fuses. He prepared a dozen sticks and using thin strips of rawhide, tied them to nice-sized throwing lengths of branches he’d cut off. He gave three to Walt, three to Angel, and kept six for himself. He went to the pile of torches and passed them out.
“Put out the fire,” he ordered. “That will give us better night vision.”
“It’ll be cold,” Perry said.
“I’d rather be cold alive than cold dead,” Smoke put a stopper in that kind of talk quickly.
Gilbert grinned at him in the waning light. “Very aptly put, Smoke.”
Smoke watched as Carol broke open her double-barrel shotgun and checked the loads. She had a bandoleer of shotgun shells looped over one shoulder.
She was not a big woman, and had elected not to use buckshot. She was afraid the charge might knock her down. But she was using a heavy load of birdshot that would make life miserable for anyone who caught a load of it.
Smoke smiled, thinking if she caught someone in the butt with that birdshot, they’d be damned uncomfortable sitting a saddle for some time.
He peered out through one of the gunslits. Night was gently closing in around them. Nothing moved below. That he could see. But they would come this nig
ht. He was sure of that. He’d bet on it.
They all were, with their lives.
20
Smoke caught a glimpse of a shadow moving near the base of the hill. He stared; there it was again. “Here they come,” he whispered to Gilbert, manning a post a few yards away. “Pass the word.”
The alert was quickly and quietly passed up and down the line of defenders.
“I can’t see a thing,” Gilbert whispered.
“They’ve probably blackened their faces with mud,” Smoke returned the whisper. “For sure they’ve taken off their spurs and dressed in the darkest clothing they had with them. Those down there might be trash, but they’re professionals, too.”
“And desperate men,” Blanche added. She was posted only a few yards to Smoke’s left.
Smoke had not had to tell the women what would happen to them should the man-hunters breech the ramparts and get their hands on them. The women knew.
“I see something moving down there,” Blanche whispered hoarsely.
“Let them get closer,” Smoke said. “Make damn sure you’ve got a target. The closer they are, the better your chances of a good hit.”
A figure loomed close to the ramparts. Carol’s shotgun roared twice. An outlaw screamed over and over in pain. The birdshot had taken him on the shoulders, neck, and the lower part of his face. He dropped his rifle and put both hands to his birdshot-peppered cheeks and jaw. He screamed again, lost his footing on the slope, and went rolling elbows over butt down the hill.
“One down,” Carol muttered, and pulled out the smoking hulls, tossing them to the ground and reloading.
Smoke’s lips moved in a warrior’s smile. No doubts now as to how Carol would react.
“Good,” Gilbert said. “Very good shot, Carol.” He lifted his rifle and fired at a shadow. The bullet howled off a rock and the outlaw dropped belly-down on the ground.
Pursuit Of The Mountain Man Page 16