Andrews started to lunge up off the ottoman. Bob thrust the gun closer to his face and eared back the hammer. The sinister, metallic click, plus the looming menace of the gun muzzle, which looked like a cannon from Andrews’s perspective, forced the bank teller to freeze.
Rebecca cried, “No! Leave her alone!”
The man with the knife ignored her. He kept his hand clamped on the back of Sadie’s neck, holding her still as he slid the tip of the blade under the top button of her dress. The knife was a Bowie, so the upper edge along that part held a keen edge, too.
An expert flick of the man’s wrist cut the button loose and sent it spinning away to land on the floor and bounce across the parlor. He moved the knife down to the second button and did the same, followed by the third and fourth.
Then he used the knife to push back both sides of the dress, revealing the shift Sadie wore underneath it that clung to her budding breasts. She trembled and tears ran down her cheeks as he slipped the knife just under the top of the shift.
“That’s enough,” Bob said without taking his eyes off Andrews. The gun in his hand hadn’t budged.
“You sure?” the grinning man asked. “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a look at what I might be samplin’ later on.”
“There’s no need to scare these good folks any more than we already have. They’re going to cooperate and do everything we say. Isn’t that right, Carl?”
“I already told you I would,” Andrews replied, his voice shaking a little from the depth of the emotions he was feeling.
“Here’s how it’s gonna be, then. My friend and I are going to stay right here and keep your wife and daughter company for the next couple of days. You’ll go on to work and act like there’s nothing wrong.”
“I . . . I don’t know if I can do that.”
Bob’s voice hardened. “You’d damn well better be able to, if you know what’s good for your wife and daughter. My friend there is going to be nice and polite to them and they won’t have to worry about a thing . . . as long as I say it’s going to be that way. You don’t do your part, Carl, and I’ll just have to wash my hands of the whole deal and let whatever happens . . . happen. You understand what I mean?”
Andrews swallowed hard, looked down at the floor, and whispered, “I understand.”
“Good. You’ll go on to work, like I said, and come home in the evening, and nobody will be the wiser. Then, Christmas Eve morning, once that money has been delivered, you’ll make sure the back door of the bank is unlocked. That’s all you have to do. Well, that and stay out of our way. Then it’ll all be over and you and these ladies will be safe.”
“How . . . how do I know that?”
“Why, I give you my word. Isn’t that enough?”
Andrews didn’t answer that question. Instead he asked, “How will you keep them from warning anybody, that morning?”
“We’ll have to tie them up and gag them. I regret any discomfort that’ll cause, I truly do, but it can’t be helped. When it’s all over, though, you can come straight here and turn them loose. See? It’s all worked out.”
Slowly, Andrews nodded. “I understand. I’ll do what you say.”
“Carl—” his wife began.
“I know, Rebecca. It’s terrible, but we don’t have any choice.” He sighed. “I’ll be ruined. I’ll probably be sent to jail for helping them. But it’ll be worth it to keep you and Sadie safe.”
“Well, hell,” the grinning man said. “This is disappointin’. I was hopin’ you’d take more persuadin’ than that, mister.” He laid the flat of the blade against Sadie’s cheek, causing her to shudder again. “I was gonna enjoy the persuadin’.”
Rage flared up inside Andrews again. He said, “You . . . you—”
“Settle down, both of you.” Bob lowered the gun slightly and motioned with the barrel. “Carl, go over there to that table by the window and pick up the lamp.”
“What?”
“Do what I told you.”
With a look of confusion on his face, Andrews went to the table. When he had the base of the oil lamp in his hand, Bob went on, “Now push the curtain back. When you’ve done that, move the lamp back and forth three times in front of the window.”
“A signal,” Andrews said as realization hit him. “You have friends watching the house. You’re letting them know I agreed to the plan.”
“Smart, just like I said. Go ahead.”
Andrews opened the curtain and gave the signal.
“All right, put it back down and close the curtain.”
Andrews did so. “Now what?”
Bob chuckled and said, “Your wife’s got what looks and smells like a good supper on the table, and I don’t reckon it’s gotten too cold while we were talking. Is there enough for all of us, Mrs. Andrews?”
Rebecca said, “I . . . I . . . Of course.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, visibly gathering her courage. “I’ll have to set two more places.”
“That’s mighty accommodating of you. I’m looking forward to spending the next couple of days with you and getting to know you better. It’ll be Christmas Eve before you know it.”
“We gonna sit around singin’ carols?” the other man leered.
“I’m sure we’ll find ways to pass the time,” Bob said.
CHAPTER 29
The Sierra Nevadas
Sometime during the night, the snow had started to fall more heavily.
The canvas covers over the windows were pulled down and fastened tightly to keep the wind out as much as possible, and also to keep the body heat from the passengers in. The thick lap robes helped, too, and as a result, while the temperature inside the coach had been plenty cold, no one had even come close to freezing to death.
But that meant they didn’t know what was going on outside, either, until the next morning when Frank Colbert ordered Smoke to open one of the doors.
Smoke did so, and instantly a bone-chilling wind whipped into the coach, bringing with it swirls of snowflakes.
“What the hell!” Colbert exclaimed. “It’s a damn blizzard out there!”
Smoke jerked the door closed, cutting off the wind. He loosened the canvas over the window beside him and pulled it back enough to look out.
“No, not a blizzard,” he said. “The wind’s not blowing hard enough for that, and the snow isn’t falling that heavily. This is just a fairly bad snowstorm.”
“How deep is it going to get?” Colbert demanded to know.
Smoke shrugged. “That’s hard to say. Eight or ten inches, maybe a foot. Could even be deeper. Depends on how long it goes on.”
“How deep is it now?”
Smoke checked outside again. “Maybe three inches. There might be some deeper drifts in places.”
“Well, that’s not going to stop us,” Colbert said. “You and your son get out there and see to the horses. Get a fire going again. We need some coffee.”
They had left some bacon and biscuits from what Melanie had cooked the night before, so they would have food ready for breakfast this morning. But the coffeepot was cold and would require a fresh fire before more could be brewed.
Smoke looked at Louis. The young man still had a grayish look about his face, which was gaunt and hollow eyed from lack of sleep. All of them had passed a restless night and were weary this morning.
“Louis can stay in here,” Smoke suggested. “Stansfield can help me.”
Louis began, “I’ll do my part—”
“You have been,” Smoke interrupted him. “Come on, Stansfield.”
Colbert smiled grimly. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I’m just the man with the gun, giving the orders.”
“You have any objection?” Smoke asked.
“As long as the work gets done and you don’t try anything, I don’t care who does what. Anyway, maybe it’s better having both of your kids in here with me. You’ll be less likely to try something that way.”
“I told you I was going to cooperate, mist
er. You’ve got the upper hand.”
Those words were bitter gall in Smoke’s mouth.
“And don’t forget it,” Colbert snapped. “Now get busy.”
Stansfield looked like he wanted to complain about being drafted to help out, but he didn’t say anything. He followed Smoke out of the coach as quickly as possible so they could close the door behind them and keep the cold air and snow out of the vehicle.
“You’re not going to try anything, are you?” the reporter asked quietly when they were both outside.
Smoke waved a gloved hand at the snow falling around them and piling up on the trees and ground. “All I could do is take one of the horses and run off, and where would I go in this? When a man starts wandering around in a snowstorm like this, he generally gets lost and freezes to death. Besides, my children are in the coach. Do you think I’d abandon them to that owlhoot?”
“You think Colbert is a criminal, then?”
Smoke tried not to look and sound disgusted as he replied, “I don’t reckon there’s any other explanation, do you?”
He didn’t wait for Stansfield to answer. Instead he went to the back of the coach where the horses were picketed. The animals all stood with their heads down and their tails to the wind. Snow dusted their manes. They seemed to be all right.
Having checked on them, Smoke turned away and said, “Let’s get the fire built first. Knock the snow off some of that wood Louis piled up.”
While Stansfield was doing that, Smoke knelt by the remains of the previous night’s fire and cleared the snow away from it. He took the branches Stansfield handed to him and arranged them in a conical shape, then crumbled some dry bark to serve as tinder.
Under his skilled, experienced hands, the fire was soon burning strongly enough that it wasn’t in danger of the snow putting it out. The flakes sizzled and evaporated as they fell into the flames.
Smoke melted snow in the coffeepot and then dumped in coffee to boil. While it was doing that, he and Stansfield began getting the freshest of the draft horses into harness.
“I have to say, I’m a little disappointed,” Stansfield commented as they worked.
“About what?”
“You’re supposed to be the fastest, deadliest gunfighter alive. You take on entire armies of outlaws and killers single-handedly and gun them all down, one by one. You’ve never been defeated. You’re a mythical figure, Jensen. And yet . . . you’re just a man.”
“Never claimed to be anything else,” Smoke said, making an effort to control the irritation he felt.
“You know what I mean. My God, one man and one grieving widow are able to get the best of you? You should have been able to rescue all the prisoners and deal with those villains without making more than the slightest effort. You’re not living up to the legend of Smoke Jensen!”
“If you’re trying to rub me the wrong way, Stansfield, you’re doing a good job of it.” Smoke tightened the harness on one of the horses. “You’ve read too many of those blasted dime novels. The fellas who write those just make things up to suit themselves. They’ve got me wandering around having gunfight after gunfight, and that’s not the way it was in real life. Sure, I’ve burned more than my share of powder, but I’ve always tried to do it so that innocent folks were protected . . . like the people Colbert has under his gun in there.”
“So you’re just biding your time, waiting for the proper moment to unleash all your righteous fury on him.”
“You said that, not me. Can’t you fellas who string words together for a living ever talk like normal people?”
Before Smoke or Stansfield could continue the conversation, the coach door opened and Melanie Buckner climbed out, obviously stiff from the night spent inside the vehicle, trying to sleep sitting up.
“Mr. Colbert wants me to get him some coffee,” she said.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Smoke said. “He needs to let everybody get out so they can move around a little before we get started.”
“I’m sure he will.” Melanie looked around at the falling snow. “Can you drive the coach in this storm, Mr. Jensen?”
“The snow’s not deep enough to cover up the trail . . . yet.” Smoke shook his head. “No telling what the rest of the day will bring.”
During the next hour, the passengers climbed out of the coach, tended to their personal needs, and ate the sparse breakfast, all under the guns and the watchful eyes of Frank Colbert and Alma Lewiston.
Smoke saw the anger on Denny’s face and worried that his daughter would try something foolish, but if Denny felt those urges, she kept them under control. Maybe she was beginning to understand that sometimes restraint was the best option.
Of course, when it came time to stop being restrained and cut loose your wolf, then the only thing to do was let that wolf go ahead and howl....
* * *
The thick overcast and the white, swirling clouds of snow made it difficult to see for more than a few yards. It was also hard to tell what time it was. The sun was up, but that was all Smoke knew without hauling out his pocket watch to check the hour.
He figured it didn’t really matter, anyway. When all the preparations were complete, Colbert ordered everyone except Smoke back into the stagecoach.
“Same as yesterday, Jensen,” he said. “Get us up this mountain and through the pass before the storm gets too bad.”
Smoke knew it was probably past that point already, but he didn’t see any reason to say that to Colbert. The outlaw wouldn’t believe him, anyway.
He climbed onto the driver’s box, took up the reins, released the brakes, and got the team moving. The coach lurched ahead. Snow on the hard-packed trail crunched under the wheels.
Smoke had tied a bandanna over the lower half of his face to protect his nose and mouth from the cold. His hat brim extended over his eyes and kept too much snow from blowing into them and sticking on his lashes.
The icy wind bit hard on every inch of exposed skin, though. He kept his head down so his hat shielded his face as much as possible. Even so, he knew he was at risk for frostbite before the day was over. Frequently, he reached up with one hand and rubbed his cheeks and around his eyes to keep the blood flowing in those areas.
The horses didn’t like the snowflakes spinning and dancing around their heads, but they kept moving without spooking. For now, Smoke had no trouble telling where the trail was. The route it followed through the trees was pretty obvious. The snow would have to get pretty deep in order for him not to be able to see it . . . and if it was that deep, the stagecoach wouldn’t be able to get through anyway.
Smoke had no doubt they were going to reach that point, and he wondered what Colbert would do when they did. Clearly, the man was ruthless enough to attempt anything necessary to get what he wanted, but no matter how merciless and cold blooded he was, he couldn’t command the forces of nature. The snow wouldn’t disappear just because he threatened to shoot one of his hostages.
If it came to that, Smoke knew he would take action. There wouldn’t be any point in holding back any longer. The balance would have tipped so that it would be more dangerous not to do anything.
But maybe a chance would come along before then. If it did, Smoke would strike.
He wasn’t even thinking anymore about reaching Reno before Christmas. All that mattered to him was getting his children and those other innocent folks in the stagecoach out of these mountains alive....
* * *
The slope grew steeper again and the trail entered another series of switchbacks. Before starting on that stretch, Smoke switched the teams again. Louis insisted on helping with the chore this time.
“How are you feeling?” Smoke asked him.
“I’m all right. A little short of breath and light-headed now and then, but it’s nothing to worry about, Father. You heard what Dr. Katzendorf said. I have a long time left.”
“If you take care and don’t exert yourself too much,” Smoke reminded him.
“He
lping you with these horses isn’t that much exertion.” Louis lowered his voice so that, with the wind blowing the way it was, none of the others could hear him, only Smoke. “Colbert has figured out that my health is bad. That’s going to make him think I’m not any sort of threat. He’ll let his guard down, and I might be able to get close enough to take him by surprise and grab that gun away from him.”
Smoke shook his head and said, “Forget about that idea. Colbert’s tough and dangerous. Even taking him by surprise wouldn’t give you enough of an advantage to overcome him. You’d just get yourself killed.”
Louis looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment he nodded and said, “All right. As long as he doesn’t try to hurt Melanie or her son. But if that were to happen, I make no promises, Father.”
Smoke paused in the work he was doing with the team. “You like that young woman, don’t you?”
“I’ve talked to her enough to know that she’s gone through quite a few difficulties over the past few years, after her husband died, and she’s borne up under them as well as could be expected. And she loves the boy very much. I admire her.”
Smoke nodded. He had a hunch that what Louis was feeling was more than simple admiration, but under the circumstances, they had more important things to worry about . . . such as staying alive.
Alma Lewiston pushed the canvas back on one of the windows, stuck her head out, and called, “Frank wants to know if you’re done yet.”
“Almost,” Smoke told her. “We’ll be rolling again in just a few minutes.”
Alma nodded and closed the canvas again. Louis said, “I could take one of the saddle horses and ride for help, Father. Denny likes to tease me about my lack of riding ability, but I assure you, I can stay on a horse just fine, even bareback.”
“You don’t know this part of the country at all, son. Like I told Stansfield earlier, making a break would be a good way to get lost and freeze to death.”
“I’m willing to risk it.”
“I’m not,” Smoke said emphatically. He gave a tug on the harness and made sure all the horses were hitched up properly. “Get back inside with the others.”
A High Sierra Christmas Page 22