Andrews scraped his bowl clean, paid the counterwoman, and said to Stevenson, “I’d better get back to work. Nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you around town.”
“Maybe so,” Stevenson said.
He turned his attention to the last of his stew as the bank teller put on the derby and left the café.
Carl Andrews would be seeing him again, all right, he reflected with a faint smile, but it wouldn’t be around town.
It wouldn’t be a pleasant visit, either.
The Sierra Nevadas
Snow had begun to fall again by the time the stagecoach stopped that afternoon, but it was very light, just a flake swirling down here and there, every now and then. That wouldn’t add a significant amount to the thin layer of white already covering the ground.
But it was a start, Smoke thought as he and Salty switched the teams again. They had reached a crucial point in the journey.
The railroad route was about half a mile to the north, Smoke knew. The main trail, the former wagon road, ran straight ahead, climbing part of the way up a long, fairly gentle slope. Thick growths of snow-mantled pines and firs stretched for a long distance on either side.
As the slope grew steeper, the road curved into a switchback that rose for several miles into the mountains. Then there were more straightaways, more ridges, and finally the climb to Donner Pass itself.
In contrast to the main trail, which was fairly wide and had been packed down rock hard by thousands of iron-rimmed wheels when this was still the Dutch Flats Wagon Road, a smaller trail angled off through the trees to the right. After years of disuse, this path was nothing more than a pair of shallow ruts that were still visible if a person knew where to look. The trees crowded in closely on both sides.
“There she be,” Salty said. “The McCulley Cutoff. Reckon we can get through that way, Smoke?”
“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe it was possible,” Smoke replied. “You can still see the trail all right, can’t you?”
“Sure. My eyes are as good as ever. I’m a mite worried that the trees and the underbrush might’ve grown in too close, though.”
“There’s an ax in the boot, isn’t there?”
“Yep. I made sure Fred put one in, and a shovel, too. You never know when you might need somethin’ like that.”
Smoke nodded and said, “Then we’ll chop our way through if we need to. That might slow us down some, but we’ll do the best we can.”
As before, the passengers had climbed out of the stage to move around while the teams were switched. Frank Colbert was close enough to listen to the conversation between Smoke and Salty. He asked, “How long does it take to go around the cutoff to Reno?”
“In the old days, in good weather, it’d take three, maybe four days from here to Reno,” Salty said. “We don’t know what the conditions’ll be like along the trail these days, o’ course, so it ain’t easy to predict how long. If the weather slows us down, or if the trail’s in such bad shape it’ll take work to make it passable, that could add a day or two.”
“Four days would put us into Reno on Christmas Eve,” Smoke said. “That’s what we’re shooting for.”
Colbert nodded. He pointed at the main trail and asked, “How long if we went that way?”
“We can’t,” Salty said. “The pass is blocked. That’s why the train ain’t runnin’.”
“Yes, but if we could get through on that road, how long would it take?”
“Used to make it in two days,” Salty said with a shrug.
“So you’re talking about half the time.”
“Yeah, but there ain’t no use in worryin’ about it, ’cause it can’t be done.”
“A stagecoach isn’t like a train,” Colbert insisted. “It doesn’t have to follow the rails. It doesn’t have to stick right on a trail, either, if there’s another way through.”
Colbert’s sudden interest in the subject puzzled Smoke. He knew the man was anxious to get to Reno—all of them were—but Salty was right: this discussion was pointless.
“Let’s finish swapping those teams,” he said. “We can still make a good number of miles before dark.”
Colbert pointed along the dimly marked cutoff. “Any stage stations left through there?” he asked.
“No, they’ve long since been abandoned,” Smoke told him. “But don’t worry. We’ve brought along plenty of supplies. We won’t run out of food.”
Louis added from where he stood beside the coach’s open door, “Unless we get stranded for a long time. Then we’ll have to worry about turning out like the Donner Party.”
Brad had already climbed back into the coach. He asked, “What’s the Donner Party, Louis?”
“Yes,” Denny said dryly, “why don’t you explain about the Donner Party to the child, Louis?”
“It’s nothing you have to be concerned about,” Louis told Brad. “Just some people who tried to travel through the mountains when they shouldn’t have and got into trouble. But that won’t happen to us.”
“It’s dangerous, though, isn’t it,” the youngster persisted, “traveling through here in the winter in a stagecoach, like we’re doing?”
“You’ll be fine,” Louis said, looking now like he wished he hadn’t brought up the subject. “We all will.” He looked at Melanie and mouthed the word Sorry.
“Are we about ready to go?” Kellerman asked. The white-haired man had the same air of impatience he had displayed ever since the journey began early that morning.
“Just a few more minutes,” Smoke said. He had the last of the fresh horses and was leading it to the front of the coach to be harnessed into the team.
Of course, these animals were only reasonably fresh, as compared to the ones that had been moved to the back of the stagecoach. A few hours of rest wasn’t enough to refresh either team, especially when the horses not actually pulling the stagecoach had to keep moving behind it. This was a makeshift, less than ideal arrangement but the best Smoke could manage.
He hoped resting overnight, once they had stopped, would be enough to put some spring back in the horses’ steps.
Salty climbed to the driver’s box, making the coach sag a little to one side on its thoroughbraces, while Smoke backed the last of the horses into its place. Everyone else was back in the coach now except for Colbert, who stood nearby.
Smoke glanced at the man and frowned as he finished up the task. “Help you with something, Mr. Colbert?” he asked.
“I’m just trying to make sure I’ve got everything straight in my head. Going this way”—he pointed along the McCulley Cutoff—“we’ll get to Reno on Christmas Eve at the earliest, and that’s if we don’t run into any major problems.”
“Yep, that’s right,” Salty said from the box.
Colbert pointed at the main trail. “But that route might get us there two days earlier.”
“I don’t think you were listening,” Smoke said. “The pass is closed.”
“The pass is closed for the train,” Colbert said. “Because an avalanche tore up the snowsheds and piled up tons of snow on the tracks. Back in Sacramento, that’s what they told us the telegram from the hotel at the summit said.”
Smoke gave a little shake of his head. “I don’t get your point, mister.”
“This road doesn’t follow the same exact route as the train tracks, does it?”
Salty said, “It’s pretty close, especially up yonder in the pass. The mountains come in close enough on the sides that there ain’t much room for the old wagon road and the railroad right-of-way to be apart.”
“But you don’t know the road itself is blocked just because the train tracks are. And if you could get through that way, it would cut two days off the trip, at the very least.”
Salty sounded like he was getting a little exasperated as he said, “Mister, you just ain’t listenin’. I been through these parts durin’ the winter, and Smoke has, too. The only way we’re gettin’ to Reno, whether before Christmas Day or not, is
by takin’ the cutoff.” He waved a hand toward the peaks. “They’s a storm still ragin’ up there. Even if the road ain’t completely blocked, you can’t drive through a blizzard. It’s too dang risky.”
Smoke said, “I think you need to get back in the coach now, Mr. Colbert. It’s time we were rolling again.”
“I was just curious.” Colbert reached for the door, which one of the other passengers had pulled closed after climbing into the stagecoach. He fumbled with the latch for a second and then said, “This seems to be stuck.”
Smoke stepped past him and said, “Let me take a look at it.”
As he reached up to take hold of the door latch, some instinct warned him, but the alarm came too late. Smoke started to twist around. As he did, from the corner of his eye he caught a flicker of movement as Colbert struck at him with a gun the man had produced from somewhere.
The next instant, the blow slammed into the side of Smoke’s head with terrific force. The impact drove him against the side of the stagecoach and made bright red explosions go off inside his skull. He grabbed at the door, only vaguely aware that he needed to hold himself up and stay on his feet, but his hand slipped and he fell, landing with his face in the cold snow.
The last thing he knew was the roar of a gunshot.
CHAPTER 26
As Jensen went down under the vicious blow, the old man on the driver’s box yelled, “Hey! What in tarnation—”
Stevens dropped the reins and surged to his feet. He reached under his coat to claw at the old revolver he wore, but just as the weapon came free, Colbert lifted his gun and shot him. The blast slammed Stevens off the box and dropped him on the snowy ground on the other side of the coach.
Colbert didn’t know how badly he had wounded the man. He glanced at Jensen, saw that he appeared to be out cold, and then ran around the front of the team to check on the old-timer.
Stevens was sprawled on his back, still alive and trying to get up. Blood had left red splatters on the snow around him. The gun he had drawn a moment earlier lay about six feet away, where he had dropped it when he fell off the driver’s box.
Colbert stalked forward and swung his gun up, ready to finish off the old man. Jensen could handle the team. Stevens was just extra baggage.
Colbert wasn’t worried about any of the others in the coach. Jensen and Stevens were the only real threats. He could keep an eye on one of them if the other was dead. His finger tightened on the trigger.
The coach door flew open and slammed against his hand as he fired, causing the bullet to fly off harmlessly into the woods beside the trail.
The next instant, a wildcat landed on Frank Colbert.
* * *
For a second, Denny couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the big, ugly man named Colbert clout her father with a gun.
But then he tilted the revolver up and fired, and the blast jolted Denny out of her shocked state. She knew the shot had to be directed at Salty, and when she heard a thump from the other side of the coach, she jerked her head around and saw the feisty old jehu lying on the ground where he had fallen.
Denny’s first instinct was to go to Smoke and make sure he was all right, but Salty had been shot. She lunged across to the coach’s other door, past Melanie Buckner, who had started screaming in fear at the sound of the shot.
Louis cried, “Denny, wait!,” but any time trouble broke out, she wasn’t in the habit of sitting around and waiting for things to get worse.
The canvas covers over the windows had been raised while the coach was stopped. Through the window in front on the left, she caught sight of Frank Colbert as he rushed around to that side, still brandishing the pistol he had used to hit Smoke and shoot Salty.
Colbert tried to bring the gun to bear on the fallen old-timer, but Denny flung the door open and whacked his arm with it, sending the shot whining off into the trees.
Denny was right behind the door, leaping out of the coach and tackling the man.
The impact made Colbert stagger to the side. Denny tried to wrap her legs around his waist but couldn’t manage it because the skirt of her traveling outfit bound them too much. She got her arms around his neck and stuck a foot between his calves instead, tripping him. They both sprawled in the snow.
Denny landed on top. Colbert’s right arm was out to the side with the gun still clutched in that hand. Denny grabbed his wrist with one hand to pin it down and tried to pry the gun free with the other. Colbert seemed a little stunned by the ferocity of her attack, but she knew that wouldn’t last, so she didn’t have long.
Not long enough. Colbert snarled a curse and clubbed at her head with his other hand. Denny had to duck. His fist raked the hat from her head and caused her blond curls to spill around her shoulders. He heaved his body up and threw her to the side. He was too strong for her to stop him.
But as Denny rolled on the ground, she caught a glimpse of her brother aiming a kick at Colbert’s head. Louis was no fighter; even when they were kids, it had been her saving him from bullies instead of the other way around. But he didn’t lack for courage and was trying to come to Denny’s aid.
Colbert twisted and took the kick on his shoulder. As Denny came to a stop on her belly, she knew a second of terror because she thought Colbert would shoot Louis.
Instead, Colbert caught hold of Louis’s ankle and heaved, throwing the younger man over on his back. Louis hit hard and rolled onto his side, gasping for breath because the landing had knocked all the air out of his lungs.
Denny scrambled up, ready to go after Colbert again, gun or no gun.
She had no idea why he had attacked Smoke and shot Salty. From what she had overheard of the conversation going on outside, they had been arguing about whether the coach should take the McCulley Cutoff as planned or try to make it over the mountains on the old wagon road. That didn’t seem like anything to fight over.
Before Denny could do anything else, Melanie screamed, “Bradley, no!”
The boy leaped down from the coach and charged Colbert. “You leave Miss Denny alone!” he yelled.
Colbert backhanded him and knocked him flying, drawing more screams from Melanie. She dropped from the coach to the ground but didn’t go after Colbert. She hurried to Brad’s side instead. Denny couldn’t blame her for that.
Reaching down, Denny scooped a handful of snow from the ground and threw it in Colbert’s face as he turned back toward her. She knew it wasn’t going to hurt him, but it might blind him for a second. He was on his knees, so she lowered her shoulder and tackled him again.
The gun went off right beside her head, the report slamming into her ear like a giant fist. She couldn’t help crying out in shock and pain.
But Colbert went over backward, and as Denny landed on top of him again, she tried to dig a knee into his groin. A grunt exploded from him, so she hoped she had hit her target. She pulled herself up, laced her fingers together, and swung her clubbed fists at his jaw as hard as she could. The blow jerked his head to the side.
For a second, he was stunned, unable to fight back. Denny raised her arms, ready to hit him again and knock him out.
Before that blow could fall, another gun roared. Denny flinched involuntarily as she heard the slug whip through the air above her head.
“Stop it! Get away from him right now, or I’ll kill you!”
The shrill voice was panicky, almost hysterical, but Denny knew a hysterical person could pull a trigger and kill just as easily as one who was calm. She looked over her shoulder and saw Alma Lewiston standing a few yards away with a heavy old Colt clutched in both hands as she pointed it toward Denny.
That had to be Salty’s gun. Alma had gotten out of the coach, picked it up . . . and taken sides in this battle, whatever the hell it was about.
“Put that gun down, Mrs. Lewiston,” Denny said. “You’re going to hurt somebody.”
“Damn right I am—the bitch daughter of the man who made me a widow! Get away from him now or I’ll shoot, I swear it!”
Denny hesitated, and as she did, Colbert recovered enough to smash a fist against her jaw and knock her off of him. With her head spinning from the punch, she slid through the snow and came to a stop a few feet away.
Colbert clambered up, still holding the pistol, and told Alma, “Keep her covered.”
“Are you all right, Frank?” she asked.
“Just do what I told you!” he roared. He strode over to where Melanie had pulled a groggy Brad into her lap. She screamed again as he reached down with his free hand and grabbed the boy’s arm. He jerked Brad away from her.
Denny lifted her head, still seeing stars, but her vision was clear enough to see Smoke come around the back of the coach with the Colt Lightning in his hand. Colbert saw him, too, and wheeled around, putting Brad in front of him. He had his left arm around the boy’s neck and rammed the gun muzzle against Brad’s head.
“Not another step, Jensen, or this little bastard’s brains are gonna be splattered all over the snow!”
Smoke stopped in his tracks. Blood trickled down the side of his face from the cut on the side of his head he had suffered when Colbert hit him with the pistol.
“Take it easy, Colbert,” he said. “You don’t want to hurt that boy.”
“I don’t give a damn about this boy. But if you do, you’d better toss that gun away.”
Denny looked around. Melanie was still screaming as she huddled on her knees. Louis had recovered a little from getting the breath knocked out of him and had pushed himself up on one elbow, but he wasn’t in any position to do anything. Salty wasn’t moving anymore, but Denny couldn’t tell if he was dead or just had passed out from being shot.
Over at the coach, Peter Stansfield and Jerome Kellerman gaped from the windows, but neither of them appeared to be willing to take a hand.
That left Alma, her face pale but resolute as she pointed Salty’s gun at Denny.
Colbert rasped, “If Jensen doesn’t do what he’s told, shoot that bitch, Alma.”
Smoke said, “Mister, I’m gonna kill you.”
A High Sierra Christmas Page 19