The man put a finger to his lips. “Be careful. You must not anger them. They are very cruel when they are angry.”
“Fine. How about that grub?”
“I have some stew I was heating for my own supper. I will be happy to share it with you. No charge. It will be good to have company. As I said, no one comes in anymore.”
“That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll be much obliged to you, Mister . . . ?”
“Loo. Loo Chung How.”
“They call me Art. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Loo.”
“Please, sit.” Loo gestured at the several empty stools in front of the counter. “I will get the stew.”
“How about coffee?” Preacher asked.
“Oh, yes. There is a pot on the stove.”
“Gettin’ to be more and more of a pleasure meetin’ you, Mr. Loo,” the old mountain man said with a grin.
A few minutes later, Loo put a big bowl of stew in front of Preacher. Hunks of roast beef floated in it, along with potatoes, carrots, and corn.
“No offense,” Preacher said, “but this looks more like an Irish stew than a Chinese one.”
“I cook what my customers like to eat, and I have grown accustomed to it myself.”
Loo set a cup of coffee next to the bowl. Preacher sampled it and found it just the way he liked it—black as sin and strong enough to get up and walk off on its own hind legs.
Loo fetched stew and coffee for himself, and for a few minutes the two men ate in relative silence. Preacher commented on how good the food was, and Loo thanked him.
Then Preacher said, “What in blazes is goin’ on in this town, anyway? Seems like there’s gun-hung hardcases ever’where. What happened to all the reg’lar folks?”
“They are hiding,” Loo said. “Well . . . staying in their homes, anyway. Only a few businesses are open, and not many customers visit them. I am here only because I live in the back. Where else would I go?”
“So they’ve got the whole town treed?”
Loo shrugged. “You could call it that.”
“Well, what about the law? Don’t you have a sheriff in these parts?”
“Sheriff Carson was taken unawares and captured when those men first arrived,” Loo explained. “He is locked up in his own jail, along with his deputies and the mayor and the rest of Big Rock’s leading citizens.”
A relief to hear that Monte Carson was still alive, Preacher thought, even though he and Smoke and Matt couldn’t count on any help from the lawman as long as Carson was behind bars. “Well, what in blazes is it all about? Most of the time when an outlaw gang comes in and takes over a town, they loot the bank and the other businesses and then take off for the tall and uncut. How long’s this been goin’ on?”
“They have been here for several days now. As for what they want”—Loo sighed and shook his head—“I cannot tell you, Art. They have not shared their goals with us. But I can say”—he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level—“it has something to do with Smoke Jensen.”
Preacher arched his eyebrows. “The gunfighter?”
“Yes. He has a ranch near here. There is a rumor that the men responsible for this have captured Mrs. Jensen and are holding her prisoner.”
“Smoke Jensen’s wife?”
Loo nodded solemnly. “That is what I have heard. They want Jensen to surrender to them, but why he is so important to them, I have no idea.”
Preacher couldn’t help but look a little surprised, but he managed to keep his face from expressing the depth of shock he felt. He didn’t like hearing that Sally was in the hands of the varmints. He had known her for so many years that she was like a daughter to him, just as Smoke was like a son. She was part of the family and always would be.
He took a sip of the strong coffee and brought his anger under control. He wanted to march up to one of those owlhoots, shove a gun barrel in the owlhoot’s mouth, and start demanding answers. As satisfying as that might be, it wouldn’t accomplish much in the long run.
Trying to sound casual about it, he asked, “They got Miz Jensen locked up somewheres here in town?”
Loo shook his head. “I have heard she is still out at the ranch her husband owns. The men have taken it over, as well. The doctor is out there.”
“Who’s the doctor?”
“His name is Trask. That is all I know about him. He is in command at the ranch, while Major Pike is in charge here in town.” Loo frowned. “I beg your pardon, Art, but you ask a great many questions.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just sort of a nosy ol’ cuss, I reckon,” Preacher said. “Like to know what I’ve got myself in the middle of. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, though. I can promise you that.”
“You will not say anything to anyone about the things I have told you?” Loo was starting to look a mite worried. He didn’t want it getting back to the outlaws that he had been flapping his jaws about them.
Preacher shook his head. “I don’t plan on talkin’ to those fellas. Don’t have nothin’ to say to them, and I’d just as soon steer clear of ’em.”
Loo relaxed. “That is wise. You would like more coffee?”
Preacher pushed his mostly empty cup across the counter and nodded. “Much obliged.” What he really wanted was to find Matt and share what he had learned, so the two of them could get out of there and find Smoke.
The sooner he knew that Sally had been captured, the better.
And the worse it would be for the men who had captured her, when they had to face the wrath of Smoke Jensen.
Chapter 45
Matt and Lorena Morton walked through the gathering dusk toward the cottage where she lived. It was only a few blocks away from the school, but she hurried them along anyway.
“Major Pike established a curfew the first day,” she explained. “Anyone caught on the street after dark is supposed to be shot.”
“Has that happened yet?” Matt asked.
“No. Everyone’s had enough sense to obey the order. But I don’t doubt that some of those men would be happy to carry out an execution if they caught anyone breaking the curfew.”
Matt figured she was right about that. Innocent life probably meant less than nothing to a lot of those hired killers. But the curfew disposed of his worry that some of the townspeople might see them and Lorena’s reputation might be compromised. No one from Big Rock was out and about that late.
The only ones who saw them were members of the gang that had taken over, and even though they watched the pair suspiciously, none of them seemed unduly alarmed by Matt’s presence. The outlaws he’d had that fracas with earlier must have told the others that he was Lorena’s brother.
They reached the cottage and went in. It was small but neatly kept. Lorena lit a lamp in the front room. Matt took off his hat and tossed it casually onto a chair, as he might do if he actually lived there, just in case any of the outlaws were watching through the window.
Lorena pulled the curtains tightly together, then turned to Matt. “You can at least have supper before you try to get out of town, can’t you?”
“Sure. I don’t know when Preacher will be showing up at the school, but he’ll wait for me if I’m not there.”
“I’m afraid all I have are some beans and cornbread . . .”
“That sounds fine,” Matt said with a smile.
“And I can brew some tea.”
“Even better,” he said, although he would have preferred a hot cup of coffee. He wasn’t going to risk hurting Lorena’s feelings by saying that, however.
“Make yourself comfortable.” She went into the kitchen.
Matt poked up the embers in the fireplace and got a little blaze going, then sat down on a divan.
Lorena came back a few minutes later, told him that the beans were warming on the stove, and took a seat on the divan, leaving a suitable distance between herself and Matt.
“I’ve heard a lot about your brother. He’s very well-known here in Big Rock. He wasn’t in the area when I arriv
ed in town, though, so I’ve never met him. I’m afraid I haven’t heard much about you.”
“There’s not that much to tell,” Matt said with a smile. “I’m just sort of a drifter. Shiftless and no-account, if you want to know the truth.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Lorena said.
“No, it’s true,” Matt insisted. “I’ve never held a job for very long. I’ve scouted some for the army, worked as a shotgun guard for a stage line, done some prospecting and trapping, even pinned on a deputy’s badge now and then. But no matter what it is, after a while I get sort of fiddle-footed and have to move on.”
“That’s not the same as being shiftless. You just haven’t decided what you want to do with your life yet. That’s understandable. You’re young.”
“Not as young as you, and you’re already a teacher. You know what you want to do. You’ve settled down.”
“Goodness, you make that sound so . . . so stifling! I’m still capable of acting on impulse.”
“Are you?”
Somehow she had gotten closer without him noticing. In fact, she was close enough that when she leaned toward him a little, her shoulder touched his. She lifted her head, and her breath was warm against his face as she said, “I think everyone should be spontaneous at times . . .”
“Do you now?” Matt murmured as he lowered his head to hers and kissed her.
She responded eagerly. There was definitely nothing sisterly about the kiss. Matt slid an arm around her, pulled her closer.
After a long moment she drew back. “I . . . I really should check on those beans. I don’t want them to burn.”
“All right.” He didn’t particularly want to let go of her, but he knew she was right about the food. Besides, he was in the middle of the enemy camp, and lives might well be at stake, including hers. He didn’t need to let himself be distracted by a pretty girl and her hot, sweet kisses.
She stood up and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, she called, “Supper’s ready.”
There was no dining room in the cottage, so they ate at the kitchen table. The beans and cornbread might have been left over, but they were good. So was the tea she brewed. Matt enjoyed the meal, and her company made it even better.
The atmosphere in the kitchen grew more solemn as she asked quietly, “Do you know why those men have taken over the town and your brother’s ranch? Why would they kidnap your sister-in-law?”
“Only one reason I can think of,” Matt replied. His voice was grim. “They want to force Smoke to surrender to them. They figure if they hold Sally’s safety over him, along with that of all his friends here in Big Rock, he won’t have any choice but to go along with whatever they want.”
“That still doesn’t explain why.”
Matt’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Maybe they just want to kill him. Smoke has made a lot of enemies over the years. Or maybe they want him to do something for them.”
“Something illegal?”
“It’d have to be, if they believe they’d have to force him to do it.” Matt pushed his empty plate away from him and took a sip of tea from the china cup. “Do you have any idea how many men they have here in town?”
“Oh, goodness. I’ve never tried to count them.”
“Just a guess.”
Lorena frowned in thought. “I’ve heard people say there were at least a hundred men in the raiding party that took over the town. I’d estimate that at least half of them are still here.”
“Then fifty men, roughly,” Matt mused. “Some of the bunch were probably killed during the fighting when they took over. That’d make it between forty and fifty men here, and an equal number out at the ranch.”
Lorena nodded. “That sounds reasonable to me. Are you going to ask the army for help, once you and your friend get away?”
“By the time we reached the nearest army post and then got back here, it might be too late. That would probably take a week or more.”
“How about sending a telegram asking for help?” Lorena suggested. “That would be quicker.”
Matt shook his head. “They’re guarding all the roads in and out of town, and they’ve got the railroad cut off. I’m sure they’ve pulled down the telegraph wires, too. No, I’m afraid Smoke and Preacher and I are pretty much on our own.”
She stared across the table at him. “Three men against almost a hundred? That . . . that’s insane!”
“Those are pretty hefty odds,” Matt agreed with a faint smile. “But sometimes you just have to play the hand you’re dealt. Anyway, Smoke’s got a habit of coming out on top no matter what the odds. The first big fight he was in, he killed eighteen men.”
“Merciful heavens!”
Matt shook his head. “Those men were responsible for the deaths of his first wife and his son. Heaven would have been the only thing merciful that day, since it sure as hell wasn’t Smoke Jensen.” Matt’s jaw tightened. “If anything happens to Sally, there’s gonna be hell to pay all over again.”
Chapter 46
The little Chinese man explained that no one was supposed to be on the streets after dark. “Major Pike said that anyone caught like that would be shot on sight,” Loo warned.
“Well, then, seems to me like the thing to do ’d be not to let nobody see me,” the old mountain man said.
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’m pretty good at sneakin’ around.” Preacher didn’t elaborate. He slid a coin across the counter and went on. “I know you said I didn’t have to pay you for that meal, but I’d take it kindly if you’d let me do it anyway. Your business is bound to be pretty bad since those fellers took over.”
“Business? What business?” Loo pushed the coin back to Preacher. “But you will insult me if you fail to accept the hospitality I offered.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to give no offense . . .” Preacher scooped up the coin and put it back in his pocket. “Tell you what I’ll do. When this is all over, I’ll stop back by and let you pick out anything you want from that wagonload o’ goods I got. There’s all sorts of pots and pans and cookin’ utensils and gimcracks like that. We’ll call that me bein’ hospitable to you.”
Loo thought about it, shrugged, and nodded. “I think we can do that, but you must hurry now, Art. It will be dark soon.”
“I know.” Preacher put on the derby hat he’d gotten from Isaac Herschkowitz and left the little café.
The sun was down, but a reddish-gold arch remained in the western sky. He saw one of the gun-hung hardcases leaning against a post not far away and approached the man, who straightened and moved his hand to the butt of his holstered revolver.
“Don’t get all het up there, amigo,” Preacher said to the man. “I know it’s late and I’m s’posed to be gettin’ off the street. But I got to put my team up. Can you point me to the livery stable?” He knew good and well where Big Rock’s livery stable was, but he wanted to maintain the pose of being a stranger here.
“It’s back up the street a couple blocks,” the outlaw responded in surly tones. “Better get a move on, old-timer.”
“Could you maybe go with me? That way if some o’ your compadres see me, they’ll know you got ever’thing under control and won’t get no itchy trigger fingers.”
The man scowled. “Ah, hell. The saloon’s that way, and I was thinkin’ about goin’ and gettin’ a drink anyway. Come on, you old coot.”
“You boys sure like to point out that I’m a mite long in the tooth,” Preacher said as he untied the team from the hitch rail and led the mules with the reins. The two of them started walking toward the stable.
“Long in the tooth?” the gunman repeated with a laugh. “Hell, you’re about as old as Methuselah, ain’t you?”
“Reckon I could give him a run for his money,” Preacher agreed. He didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t look any older than he had a decade and a half earlier when he had met Kirby Jensen for the first time, along with Kirby’s pa Emmett. Preacher seemed to ha
ve reached a certain age and then just stopped getting older, something that he attributed to clean living. Of course, Smoke always laughed whenever Preacher made that assertion.
When they reached the livery stable and wagon yard, the gunman said, “Maybe you’d better ask the hostler if you can sleep in the hayloft tonight, old-timer. You don’t need to be wandering around anymore. It’s likely to be dangerous.”
“I’m obliged to you for the advice. I’ll do that.”
The man nodded curtly and moved on toward the saloon.
Preacher sighed. He had hoped to lure the outlaw into the stable and then cut his throat, or at least knock him out, tie him up, and gag him—that would improve the odds by one, anyway—but it hadn’t worked out.
That was all right, Preacher told himself. There would be plenty more chances for killing before it was all over.
He didn’t recognize the young hostler who was working in the stable. That meant the youngster was less likely to know who Preacher was.
“You’re out too late, mister,” the hostler said as Preacher led the team and the wagon into the barn. “The sun’s down, and it’ll be dark in a few minutes.”
“I know. I was hopin’ maybe I could bed down in the loft after we get this team unhitched. I’ll give you a hand with that.”
“Well, I don’t know . . . I don’t own the place, you understand. I just work here. But I reckon it’s all right, since you’ll be paying to have your animals stabled here.” A bitter laugh came from the young man. “It’s not like we can afford to turn away business. In fact, other than those fellas who’ve taken over the town, nobody’s come in here for the past couple days.”
“I don’t reckon they’re payin’ for the feed their hosses eat, neither,” Preacher commented.
The hostler snorted. “Not hardly.” He looked at the wagon, noticing for the first time its distinctive appearance and went on in an excited voice. “Hey, you’re the fella who brought those dead owlhoots in earlier today.”
Brotherhood of Evil Page 18