* * *
They caught up with Ozark Jack Berlin and the rest of the escapees an hour later. It was only midafternoon, but the storm made the light low and gloomy and cut visibility to less than two hundred yards.
Berlin nodded when they told him of what they’d seen. “I figured the Army wouldn’t give up,” he said, looking around at the land surrounding them.
Up ahead, the trail they were riding could be seen passing between two walls of stone as it traversed through a small valley.
Berlin began to point at different men as he gave his orders. “Billy, you and Moses and Wiley and Jesus take another ten men and head off to the right. Get your horses up that hillock and out of sight, then get the dynamite and gunpowder and plant some charges along the top of that cliff, under boulders and such.” He reached into his saddlebags and handed Billy Bartlett a handful of cigars. “Get these goin’ so you won’t have to worry ’bout gettin’ the fuses lit when the time comes. On my signal, light the fuses and get under cover. After the charges blow, step up to the ledge and use your rifles to pick off any survivors.”
As Billy and the other men spurred their horses up the hill, Ozark Jack told the remaining men to do the same on the other side of the trail. “We’ll box the bastards in and then pick ’em off one at a time,” he said, grinning around his cigar as he followed his men up the trail.
* * *
Sergeant Guthrie was riding point, hunched over his saddle, trying to keep his mustache from icing over. It was no use. Even the bandanna he had over his face was becoming coated with a layer of ice and slush from the frigid wind in his face.
“I knowed I should’a quit when I had my twenty in,” he muttered to himself, grabbing his saddle horn with both hands as his mount’s hooves slipped on icy rock on the trail.
He glanced back over his shoulder. His men were riding two by two along the winding trail, all hunched over as he was. He knew they were in dangerous territory, riding without being able to scout out the area ahead of the troops, but Lieutenant Pike was adamant that they make good time. He’d refused Guthrie’s request to send a small party of men ahead to make sure it was safe to proceed.
“Damned fool’s gonna get us all killed,” Guthrie muttered to himself, watching the fog of his breath torn away by gusty winds.
When the trail turned around a corner and seemed to disappear into a valley between two rock walls ahead, Guthrie reined his horse’s head around and trotted back down the line of troops to where Pike was riding.
“Sir,” Guthrie said, “I don’t like the looks of that valley up ahead. It’s a natural place for an ambush.”
Pike raised his head and stood up in his stirrups to get a better look. He stared at the valley, then at the cliffs overlooking the trail.
“I don’t see anything, Sergeant,” he said after a moment.
You damn fool, Guthrie thought, you expect ’em to stand up and wave at us if they’re waiting to bushwhack us?
“That’s the point, Lieutenant,” Guthrie persisted. “We can’t see nothin’ in this weather. Let me stop the men an’ send a patrol ahead to check it out.”
“You want me to stop the men out here in the open and let them freeze while you go traipsing up ahead to see if anyone’s waiting to fire on us?” the lieutenant asked sarcastically.
“But sir,” Guthrie began.
“No, carry on, Sergeant,” Pike said. “I think it’d be better to get the men into that valley where we have some cover and let them take a break there. We can build some fires and warm up the horses and men and have some coffee before we move on.”
Guthrie shook his head as he jerked his horse around. He hoped the outlaws were as dumb as his leader, or there was going to be hell to pay.
* * *
Guthrie was well into the valley when he heard the first explosion. He looked up in time to see sheets of flame explode from both sides of the cliffs on either side of the men, sending boulders, dirt, debris, and tons of snow cascading down toward them.
Without thinking, Guthrie dove sideways off his horse to land sprawled on his face in ankle-deep snow. He scrambled on hands and knees to get as close to the side of the cliff as he could, hunkering down between two large stone formations there.
Seconds later he was buried under an avalanche of dirt and snow as blackness opened up and swallowed him.
* * *
As soon as their dynamite and gunpowder exploded, Berlin’s men moved to the edges of the cliffs ringing the small valley below.
Putting rifles to shoulders, they waited for the dust to clear. Below them was a scene of unbelievable carnage . . . men and horses were half-buried under tons of rocks, dirt, and snow. Horses and men were screaming in pain and terror, trying to escape the falling boulders.
As the dust settled, blown away by rushing north winds, Berlin’s men began to fire their weapons into the milling mass of humanity below.
One after another, both men and horses were felled by hundreds of bullets raining down upon them. A few gallant soldiers managed to draw weapons, and fired blindly into the night sky, unable to even see their targets.
Within moments all movement in the valley had ceased, though eerie sounds of moans and muted cries for help still came from some of the men who were wounded but still somehow alive.
Berlin and his allies climbed on their mounts and descended to the valley of death below, holding their guns at the ready. They lit torches and held them aloft as they walked their broncs among the dead horses and men scattered along the valley floor. Occasionally, they would come upon someone still alive, moving slightly or raising a hand pleading for mercy.
The outlaws were relentless, stopping momentarily to gaze down upon helpless soldiers before slowly taking aim and putting them out of their misery with a single gunshot to the head or chest....
* * *
Guthrie came awake, choking and gagging as he tried to breathe dirt. He managed to get his hands up to his face and clear a small opening so he could breathe.
He shook his head, trying to remember where he was and what had happened to him. It felt like his horse was lying on top of him, and he could barely move his arms.
When he realized what had happened, he slowly began to dig his way out of the dirt and snow covering him. He managed to get his face clear and wipe his eyes after about ten minutes. It was full dark now, with no sign of any light from stars or moon.
He was lying between two boulders under a pile of small boulders and dirt, hidden from view in the darkness. His body was still covered, and he couldn’t get his hand down to his pistol when he saw several men riding around with torches in their hands. He put his facedown on the dirt so they wouldn’t see the whites of his eyes, and listened.
He could hear men moaning and screaming in pain, some crying out for help or begging for mercy. Then he heard several shots ring out as other men laughed and yelled curses at the wounded men.
“Sons of bitches are slaughtering my men,” he said to himself as he struggled to free his lower body and get to his weapon.
Still unable to reach his gun, he lay still when two horses rode within six feet of him. He could hear the men talking as they walked their mounts up the trail.
“We got all the guns and ammunition we can carry, Ozark,” one of the dark figures on horseback said.
“Good. Hurry up and kill anyone left alive and let’s make tracks. Colorado’s waitin’ for us, Blue Owl.”
They rode on out of sight, swallowed by the night, as Guthrie struggled to free himself from a half ton of dirt and rocks.
By the time he was able to scramble out from between the rocks, all of the outlaws were gone, leaving behind forty-five men lying dead in the snow, some still on horseback, their dead mounts beneath them.
Guthrie walked among his men, tears stinging his eyes and freezing on his cheeks as he looked up the trail after the outlaws.
“I swear to God, I’m gonna come after you and see every one of you bastards in the grou
nd for what you done here tonight,” he vowed, shaking his fist in the air.
Finally, he turned to the grisly task of searching each and every body lying on the ground to see if anyone had survived the ambush.
He found Lieutenant Pike sitting with his back to a boulder, over fifteen gunshot wounds in his body, his right leg twisted at an unnatural angle beneath him.
Guthrie stood over him, shaking his head. “You were a damn fool, Lieutenant, but nobody deserves to die like that, not even you.”
After he made sure there were no survivors, having to shoot several horses that were too badly injured to survive, Guthrie hunted down a horse among the few that had managed to survive and were scattered in the surrounding area, got in the saddle, and headed up the trail.
Before he left, he made the rounds again of his fallen comrades, taking several extra rifles, a couple of extra pistols, and as much ammunition as he could stuff in his saddlebags. He also took as much food as he could carry, knowing it was going to be a long, hard ride through the high country and food was going to be scarce.
He loaded the extra rations and weapons on the back of another horse, and tied a dally rope to its saddle, using it as a packhorse.
He intended to go after the outlaws until he had a chance to avenge his men. Sergeant Bob Guthrie was going to war, and he didn’t intend to stop until he had killed every one of the men who’d slaughtered his friends.
He’d heard the leader of the band mention Colorado as their final destination, and he was going to ride hard and fast and see if he could be there waiting for them when they arrived.
8
Smoke and Sally Jensen were sitting on the porch of their cabin, enjoying the first cup of coffee in the morning, when a rider approached.
“Yo, the cabin!” called the voice of Monte Carson, sheriff of Big Rock.
Smoke stood up. “Howdy, Monte. Come on in.”
Monte dismounted, tied his horse to the hitching rail near the porch, and ambled up the steps.
He tipped his hat. “Mornin’, Sally,” he said.
“Good morning, Monte,” she answered, getting to her feet. “Would you like some breakfast, or coffee? Smoke and I were just fixing to have some eggs and bacon.”
He nodded, a grin appearing on his face. Sally’s cooking was known far and wide as the best in the area. “That’d sure hit the spot, Sally.”
After she’d gotten him a mug of coffee, Sally went back into the kitchen to fix breakfast while Monte and Smoke stayed on the porch.
Monte built himself a cigarette and leaned back, crossing his legs with the mug on his knee.
“What brings you way out here to the Sugarloaf so early in the day, Monte?” Smoke asked.
Monte took a drag on his cigarette and let the smoke trickle from his nostrils as he answered. “I got a wire from the mayor of a little town in Utah called Lode yesterday.”
“Lode? I don’t think I know it,” Smoke said.
“It’s a small mining camp a few hundred miles from Salt Lake City. It’s just up in the mountains there.”
Smoke nodded. “And what did this wire say that was so important you had to ride out here?”
Monte took a sip of his coffee. “It seems there was a prison break at the Utah Territorial Prison a few days ago. Evidently more than thirty of the most dangerous felons in the place managed to break out and make their getaway.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They proceeded to steal some horses and guns and made their way up to this little town. When they got there, they stole more guns and horses, and lots of supplies, and headed up into the mountains after killing the livery owner.”
Smoke frowned. “What’s that got to do with us here in Colorado?”
“The Army sent men after them, and the man in charge asked the mayor of Lode to wire all the towns near the border in Wyoming and Colorado that the escapees might just head on down our way if they made it through the mountains.”
Smoke smiled, shaking his head. “That won’t be an easy task, with the winter storms starting in the high country.”
Monte nodded. “I know it’s a long shot, an’ we’ll probably never see hide nor hair of ’em, but I thought I’d use the wire as an excuse to ride around the area and warn all the outlying ranchers to be on the lookout.”
“Well, I’m glad you did, Monte. It’s been far too long since you’ve paid us a visit out here. Sally was just asking the other day about how you and Mary were doing.”
“My wife’s fine, Smoke, though her cookin’ don’t compare to Sally’s.”
“I heard that, Monte,” Sally said from the doorway, “and I intend to tell Mary what you said next time I see her.”
Monte assumed a look of horror and held up his hands. “Don’t you dare, Sally. She’d have my hide if she heard that.”
Sally laughed. “Come on in, you two. Breakfast is on the table and it’s getting cold.”
While they ate, Smoke told Sally what Monte had said about the escaped criminals.
“Do you really believe there’s any chance they’ll come all the way down here before they’re caught?” she asked.
Monte shook his head and spoke around a mouthful of scrambled hens’ eggs and bacon. “No, I don’t really think so, Sally. I imagine the Army will catch up with them before they get too far. In my experience, men in prison aren’t smart enough to escape the Army for long.”
“I hope you’re right, Monte,” Smoke said. “There are lots of folk living up in the high lonesome that wouldn’t stand a chance against those kind of odds.”
Monte grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about all your old mountain-men friends who still winter up in the mountains.”
Smoke shook his head. “No, not at all. If they try to bother any of those old beavers, they’ll find out they’ve bitten off more than they can chew,” Smoke said. “But, since gold has been discovered up in the Rockies, a lot of miners have moved up there with their families, and most of them are pilgrims that don’t know how to take care of themselves against a crew like these prisoners.”
Monte finished off his eggs and bacon and took a final drink of his coffee before standing up. “Well, it most probably won’t come to that anyhow. Thanks again for the food, Sally. It was wonderful, as usual.”
As he walked out the door, Sally called, “Give my regards to Mary.”
“I’ll do it,” Monte answered, climbing on his horse.
“And let us know if you hear any more news about those men,” Smoke added.
“Will do. Adios,” Monte called as he waved good-bye and spurred his horse down the road toward the next ranch.
Smoke reached inside the door and got his hat and gunbelt off the peg next to the door.
“What are you doing?” Sally asked.
“I’m gonna ride on up to the north pasture where Cal and Pearlie and some of the boys are mending fences. Might as well let them know to be on the lookout for any strangers.”
“Just a minute,” Sally said, walking into the kitchen. She took a platter of fresh biscuits, put them in a paper sack, and handed it to Smoke.
“Take these with you. It’s been a couple of hours since Pearlie has eaten, so I know he’ll be hungry.”
Smoke laughed. “Pearlie’s always hungry, but I’ll take the sinkers. It’ll give him an excuse to quit working for a while and eat.”
9
The early winter storm was clearing, and a bright sun filled azure skies without giving out much heat as Ozark Jack Berlin and his men rode a trail down Blue Mountain toward the banks of the White River.
Berlin held up his hand to stop his men as he pulled a map taken from the general store in Lode out of his saddlebag.
He lit a cigar and puffed as he used his finger to follow the line on the map that was labeled “White River.” He glanced up, peering into the distance to where he could see a scattering of buildings near the riverbank where a smaller creek branched off.
Blue Owl walked his horse up next to
Berlin. “You figure out where the hell we are yet, Boss?” he asked.
Berlin nodded. “That looks like the White River, an’ that there smaller branch seems to be Douglas Creek. If that’s so, then that town must be Rangely, Colorado.”
“Don’t look like much of a town to me,” Blue Owl said.
“It ain’t. Probably just a bunch of miners an’ such tryin’ to scrape a livin’ outta the rocks up here.”
Blue Owl pulled a pair of binoculars out of his saddlebag and put them to his eyes. They were marked U.S. ARMY, and he’d taken them off a soldier just after he put a bullet through his head.
“I don’t see no telegraph lines nor poles,” he said, grinning. “That means they ain’t heard about us yet.”
Berlin returned the smile. “Yeah, an’ this time of the mornin’, most of the men are gonna be up in the mountains diggin’ in their mines. Won’t hardly be anyone left in town to give us any trouble.”
Blue Owl nodded. “I hope they’s some womenfolk in town. It’s been too long since I had me a woman.”
“Well,” Berlin said, putting his map away and drawing his pistol, “ain’t but one way to find out, is there?”
He spurred his horse and took off at a gallop, his men riding hard behind him.
They raced across the wooden bridge over the White River, their hoofbeats beating a hollow tattoo of sound as they entered the town’s limits.
The town consisted primarily of faded clapboard buildings and wooden cabins arrayed in a straight line on either side of the main street. There was an assay office, a general store, three saloons, a two-story hotel and boardinghouse, a livery stable, and fifteen or twenty smaller houses on the outskirts of the town.
As the thirty outlaws raced down the main street, several older men and a few women ran for doorways, ducking into buildings to get out of the way of the running horses.
Two middle-aged men stayed in the street, both reaching for pistols, to be gunned down before they could clear leather.
Berlin jerked his horse to a stop in the center of town. “Fan out!” he hollered to his men, waving his arm in a circle. “Make sure there ain’t nobody left armed until we can see the lay of the land.”
Warpath of the Mountain Man Page 5