“Oh,” Bull said, as if that explained everything. “What are we gonna do?”
Hammer sighed. The burden of leading this group of idiots was becoming almost more than he could stand. “I guess the smart thing to do would be to mosey on off this trail and get ourselves hid until we see the lay of the land. If Van Horne is gonna be sendin’ some men up here to help the others out, we sure as hell don’t want ’em to see us.”
Hammer jerked his horse’s head to the side, and led his men off the blazed trail and deeper into the woods off to the side. “We’ll move on off a couple of miles and set ourselves down and wait and see what happens,” he said to Bull. “Leave Spotted Dog close enough to the trail to watch it, but tell him to stay outta sight and not let himself be seen,” he ordered.
Bull pulled his horse back to talk to Spotted Dog, while the rest of the men followed Hammer away from the trail.
* * *
While Wilson and the others waited for Van Horne and the doctor to arrive, keeping Bobcat warm under blankets and giving him coffee laced with Louis’s brandy to give him energy to fight the shock of his injuries, Bear Tooth and Red and Rattlesnake walked over to the dead grizzly bear.
Two of them grabbed it by its fur and turned the body over onto its back. “Well, would you look at that?” Bear said, pointing to the carcass.
Embedded in the bear’s throat all the way up to the hilt was Bobcat’s skinning knife.
“Why,” Rattlesnake said, squatting down next to the body, “that beast was more dead than alive when we shot her.” He glanced over at Bobcat. “That hairy old beaver done kilt the bear with his knife whilst she was in the middle of trying to eat his head off.”
Red Bingham shook his head. “I ain’t never heard of such an act, a man killin’ a crazed momma grizzly with only his knife before.”
“Come on, boys,” Bear said, pulling out his own knife. “Let’s skin this critter and cure it up for Bobcat to wear. After all, the crazy ol’ coot deserves it after what he managed to do.”
They’d just finished skinning the bear when Van Horne arrived in a wagon with a doctor and ten additional men on horseback, all carrying rifles and shotguns.
He jumped out of the wagon, followed closely by the doctor, who immediately knelt and began to take care of Bobcat’s wounds, pouring carbolic acid over them to prevent infection and beginning to suture them up, with Bobcat, who was well on his way to being drunker than a skunk, laughing and calling for more brandy.
After Van Horne made sure Bobcat was being well taken care of, he motioned for Smoke and Tom Wilson to join him off to the side, with Louis and Cal and Pearlie standing nearby.
“I’ve got some bad news, men,” he said.
“What’s that, Bill?” Tom Wilson asked, wondering what could be worse than one of his men being chewed up by a grizzly.
“Albert Knowles was killed last night while he slept in the medical tent in Winnipeg.”
“What?” Smoke asked, remembering how well the man looked when he talked to him.
“Yes. Someone snuck into the tent in the middle of the night, slugged the male attendant on duty, and cut Albert’s throat,” Van Horne said, his eyes sad and angry at the same time.
Smoke slammed his fist into his palm. “It could only be one man who’d do that,” he said. “Hammerick is the only one who had anything to fear from Knowles.”
Van Horne nodded. “I agree,” he said. “As soon as I found out about his death this morning, I wired the sheriff over at Noyes to see if they were still in jail.”
“A dollar will get you five they’re not,” Louis said, disgust in his voice.
“You’re right, Louis,” Van Horne said. “The sheriff said the judge released them on bail a week ago, and they haven’t been seen since.”
“The son of a bitch barely waited for us to leave town before he set them free,” Smoke said, his voice hard and tight. “And now a good man’s dead because of it.”
“That’s not all of the bad news, Smoke,” Van Horne said, a troubled expression on his face.
“What else?” Smoke asked.
“On our way out here, while we were following Tom’s blazed trail, we found evidence of a lot of horses following the same trail. The prints were fresh and didn’t have any snow buildup in them, and since it snowed last night, they must’ve been made sometime today.”
Tom glanced around at the heavy woods surrounding them. “But we haven’t seen anyone, Bill.”
Smoke smiled grimly. “And you won’t, Tom, not until they decide to attack us,” he said. “It’s got to be Hammerick and his gang. They managed to kill one witness to their crimes, and now they’ve come to get rid of me and my men to put them out of danger of being hung.”
“Well, I won’t have that,” Van Horne said angrily. “I’ll leave these men here with you for protection,” he said, but Smoke shook his head.
“No, Bill, that’s not the way to handle this.”
“Why not, Smoke?” he asked, puzzled at Smoke’s refusal of help.
“Because if there are too many men around, Hammerick will just sit back and bide his time until he can catch us alone, and then he’ll strike.” Smoke shook his head again. “And I’m not going to live looking back over my shoulder and waiting for the son of a bitch to come after me.”
“What are you gonna do, Smoke?” Tom asked.
Smoke bared his teeth in a savage grin. “Why, I’m going after him, of course.”
“But according to your report, he has over twenty men riding with him,” Van Horne said. “It’ll be suicide for you to try and go up against that many by yourself.”
“No, it’s the right thing to do. Hammer won’t be expecting me to come after him alone, so when I make my move, he won’t be ready for it.”
“You mean when we go after him, don’t you, Smoke?” Louis asked, his eyes flashing.
Again Smoke shook his head. “Not this time, Louis, old friend. I’ll stand a better chance and be able to move quicker and faster if I’m alone.” He cut his eyes at Cal and Pearlie, who had angry expressions on their faces. “And besides, Sally would cut my throat if I let anything happen to Cal or Pearlie while she wasn’t here.”
“But Smoke,” Pearlie began, until Smoke cut him off.
“This is the way it’s got to be, son,” he said, not unkindly. “It’ll be safer for me this way, and Tom still needs your help in the surveying in case of Indian attack.”
Tom nodded, his face sober. “I agree with Smoke,” he said. “One man has a better chance out in the wild against a larger force ’cause he can maneuver faster and hit and run better than a group of men, no matter how good.”
“If that’s the way you want it,” Van Horne said, though it was clear he didn’t like the idea.
Louis spoke up. “Bill, when you get back to Winnipeg, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure, Louis. What is it?”
“Would you wire the sheriff and Judge Harlan Fitzpatrick in Noyes that no matter what happens to Smoke, I will be paying them a personal visit when this is over to discuss their actions in this matter.”
Van Horne felt the hair stir on the back of his neck at the anger and hatred in Louis’s face, and he was glad he would never have cause for it to be directed at him.
“Certainly, Louis,” he said. “Anything else?”
“You can tell them Pearlie and me’ll be there too,” Cal said, “and you can add that they shouldn’t make any long-range plans!”
“At least, not any plans that require them to be breathin’ to carry ’em out!” Pearlie added.
29
When Van Horne readied the wagon to take Bobcat back to Winnipeg, Rattlesnake offered to stay with Tom and the others, but they all knew his heart was with his partner, so they made him ride back in the wagon with Bobcat.
After Van Horne and his men had left, Tom said, “Until you tell us it’s safe and the threat of the outlaws is past, we’ll all ride together while doing our surveying. Louis,
you and the boys will ride out front, and Bear, you and Red will bring up the rear. The Mc-Cardells and Frank McCabe and I will do the actual surveying, with the rest of you acting as guards so we can’t be snuck up on.”
“That’s a good plan,” Smoke said. He moved over to his horse, took an extra rifle boot off the packhorse, and added it to the one already on his mount. He put his Henry in one boot, and a short-barreled ten-gauge express shotgun in the other.
While Smoke checked his pistol loads, Louis glanced over at Tom Wilson. “Tom, you got any more of those signal rockets left?” he asked.
“Sure, Louis,” Tom said, grabbing a couple off his packhorse and handing them to Louis.
“If somehow you get your back up against a wall, old friend,” Louis said as he passed the rockets over to Smoke, “fire one of these off and we’ll come running.”
“I don’t expect that to happen, pal,” Smoke said, smiling at he took the rockets. He stuck them in his saddlebags next to a handful of dynamite sticks he’d taken off the packhorse earlier.
“It’s what we don’t expect that can get us killed, partner,” Louis said.
Smoke swung up into the saddle and smiled. “Don’t be concerned if you hear some explosions and gunfire tonight, men,” he said. “I plan to have a busy night.”
* * *
It was almost dusk by the time Spotted Dog rode up into the outlaws’ camp. Hammer had a small fire going between a couple of large rocks so it couldn’t be seen from a distance, and the men were drinking coffee and whiskey and standing as close to the meager flames as they could to try and keep warm.
Spotted Dog hailed the camp so he wouldn’t be shot coming in, and jumped down off his horse and hurried over to the fire. “Give me some coffee, quick,” he said, his teeth chattering. “I’m ’bout froze clear through.”
Hammer handed him a steaming mug, and while Dog warmed his hands on the cup and inhaled the steam, Hammer asked, “Well? What did you find out?”
“The surveying crew had a man injured somehow,” Dog said. “I watched when the men who’d come from back down the trail returned with a couple of men in a wagon. One was covered with blankets that had blood on ’em, an’ the other was sitting next to him, like he was a friend or something.”
“So, Van Horne and his men have all gone back down the trail?” Hammer asked.
“It seemed so. At least they had the same number of riders they had when they went up the trial.”
“So, Smoke Jensen and his men didn’t get any reinforcements, huh?” Hammer asked, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“I guess not, Boss, an’ now they got two less men than they had before up there,” Spotted Dog said.
Hammer looked up as snow began to fall and the wind picked up. “Looks like we got us another spring storm brewin’,” he said, smiling.
“How come that makes you so happy, Boss?” Bull asked, wrapping his coat tight around him.
“The storm will give us good cover to attack the surveying camp,” Hammer said. “While they’re sitting around a fire trying to keep warm, we’ll ride in and blow them all to hell.”
Smoke, who was lying on his belly twenty yards away behind a fallen log, smiled when he heard this. He’d cut Spotted Dog’s tracks earlier and followed the half-breed all the way to the outlaws’ camp without being seen.
Now, as he lay there and the snow began to fall, he considered his options and how he was going to play things . . .
* * *
As the gang broke camp and mounted up, Smoke ran silently to his horse and jumped up into the saddle. He knew his greatest ally in the upcoming battle would be fear, and he planned to create as much fear and confssion as he could in the men up ahead.
Hammer moved his men slowly through the forest toward where he figured the surveyors’ camp would be. The men walked their horses in single file so as to make as little noise going through the brush as they could.
Smoke rode parallel to the outlaws until he was a little ahead of them, and then he got down off his horse and squatted behind some bushes near where they would pass.
As the outlaws filed by, Smoke pulled out his bowie knife and held it ready at his side.
When the last man in line approached, Smoke leapt out of hiding and jumped up on the man’s horse behind him, wrapping his left arm around his mouth and jerking his head back, exposing his throat. Smoke’s blade sliced through veins and arteries and tissue like a hot knife through butter, and then he let the man fall to the side. He hadn’t made a sound, so far.
Sam Johnson was riding next to last in the line. When he felt and then saw a horse’s head moving up next to his leg, he half-turned to tell Jack McGraw to slow down and stop crowding him.
“Hey, Jack,” he began, and then he saw fierce eyes staring out at him from under an unfamiliar hat. “What the . . . he said as the man swung his right arm at him. A burning pain speared his chest, and he looked down and saw a stream of black blood spurting from a hole in the front of his coat. “Oh, shit,” he moaned, and then he toppled off his horse and onto the snow.
Smoke reached down and grabbed Johnson’s horse’s tail, and tied the reins of the horse he was riding to the other’s tail. As the two horses followed those in front, Smoke jumped down and jogged along the trail toward the next man in line.
He did this four times until the last four horses in the line were empty and walking with tails tied to reins of the horses behind them.
Smoke finally stopped and waited for the horses to get almost out of sight, and then he whistled sharply and turned around and ran back to where he’d left his horse tied to a tree.
Jerry Barnes heard the whistle behind him and turned in his saddle, expecting to see one of the gang behind him. Instead, he saw the dim outlines of four horses with empty saddles following him down the trail.
“Jesus!” he whispered, and he drew his pistol and yelled, “Hey, Boss, you’d better come look at this!”
Minutes later, the men were gathered around the horses, all talking excitedly among themselves. “Keep it down,” Hammer cautioned, not wanting the sound of their voices to warn Jensen and his men up ahead.
He walked his horse next to one of the empty saddles and reached out and touched a black stain on the side. When he put his hand in front of his face and smelled it, he frowned. It was blood.
He looked angrily at Barnes. “How could somebody kill four men right behind you and you not hear it?” he growled.
Barnes, who now had a sheen of sweat on his forehead, just shrugged. “I don’t know, Boss. There weren’t no sound to hear is all I can say.”
Hammer drew his gun and eared back the hammer. “Spread out, men. It’s got to be Jensen and he’s right in the area. Find him and kill him,” he ordered.
The men all pulled out rifles and shotguns and pistols and moved off in different directions, just as Smoke had wanted them to do. With any luck, he’d have them shooting each other in the dark before it was all over.
As two men approached the tree Smoke had his horse behind, he leaned out and aimed the express gun at them. He let go with both barrels from a distance of less than twenty feet. The shotgun exploded with a roar, blowing flame and molten slugs from the twin barrels that shredded the men in front of him and tore them from their saddles. They never even heard the shot that killed them.
As soon as he pulled the triggers, Smoke leaned low over his saddle horn and spurred his horse away from the area, knowing what was going to happen.
Within seconds, eight guns opened fire from the darkness around him, aiming at the muzzle flash of his shotgun and the sounds of the shots.
Luckily, by this time, Smoke was already gone from the place, and the shots hit the tree he had been behind but missed him by dozens of yards.
Two other outlaws weren’t so lucky. Directly in the line of fire, they screamed as their friends’ bullets tore into their chests and killed them instantly.
As Smoke rode off, the snow stopped as quickly as it ha
d begun and a full moon peeked through scattering clouds, bathing the forest in a ghostly light.
“There he goes!” Juan Sanchez shouted when the moonlight revealed a fleeing figure among the trees.
Juan and three other men who were nearby began to fire as they spurred their horses after the dark man up ahead.
Smoke jerked his Palouse around a clump of trees, and reached up as he passed beneath a large oak tree. He grabbed a low-lying limb and let his horse’s momentum swing him up onto the branch. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree and drew his pistols, earing back the hammers.
His horse, when Smoke’s weight lifted out of the saddle, slowed and came to a stop thirty yards from the tree.
As Sanchez and his three companions rode toward the horse, they slowed when they saw the saddle was empty.
“Where the hell is he?” Sanchez hollered, sweeping the area with the barrel of his gun.
“Right behind you, boys,” Smoke said softly.
As the men jerked around in their saddles, Smoke let loose with both handguns, firing so fast it almost seemed like one long continuous burst of gunfire.
The four men were slammed out of their saddles and were dead before they hit the ground.
Smoke’s pistols were empty, and he needed his rifle in the rifle boot on his horse. He gave a low whistle, and the horse picked up its head and moved slowly back until it was under the tree. Smoke lowered himself into the saddle just as several gunshots rang out and bullets tore bark off the oak behind him.
Smoke jerked his Henry from its boot and spurred his horse into a dead run, whirling around the tree and heading straight for the outlaws who’d fired on him.
Surprised that their quarry was attacking them instead of running away, three men hurried their shots, and Smoke could hear the buzzing of slugs as they passed over his head and to the side.
Shooting from the waist without taking the time to aim, Smoke fired and jacked the loading lever and fired, again and again, until the three men flopped off their mounts and fell dead in the snow.
As he passed them, Smoke threw his empty Colts into his saddlebags, grabbed two more he had there still fully loaded, and stuffed one into his right-hand holster and the other under his belt in front.
Quest of the Mountain Man Page 20