Brotherhood of Evil

by William W. Johnstone

  The bar scraped in its brackets, and the door banged open. Men emerged onto the boardwalk, stomping heavily and coughing. A couple walked out into the street. Preacher slid back a little, knowing that instinct would make the men look up onto the roof. He didn’t want them to spot him.

  “I can’t see anything.” The guard’s voice was hoarse from the smoke.

  “Could be a damn bird got up under that stovepipe cover somehow,” the other outlaw said. “One of us better climb up there and take a look. Something’s got it clogged up, that’s for sure.”

  “Climb up there how?”

  “Well, go find a ladder, damn it.”

  The first man walked off grumbling while the one who had given the order went on. “Scanlon, you stay in there and keep an eye on the prisoners.”

  “Why me?” Scanlon asked between coughs. “That smoke bothers me just as much as it does you.”

  “Well, then, stand there in the doorway and watch the cell block door.”

  “That’s crazy, Rawley. There’s nobody in there.”

  “I’m just saying we don’t want to disappoint the major . . . or the doctor.”

  “No,” Scanlon agreed with a sudden note of worry in his voice. “We don’t want to disappoint the doctor.”

  They were scared of the doctor hombre, whoever he was, thought Preacher. The gent had to be hell on wheels to make a whole crew of hardened gunmen leery of him.

  Preacher waited patiently. Some of the smoke was probably drifting into the cell block, but the men being held prisoner there would just have to put up with it for a while. That was a small price to pay for their freedom.

  The man Rawley had sent to look for a ladder came back after a few minutes, still muttering and cursing.

  Rawley told him, “Prop it there at the side of the building.” He pointed to the alley.

  Preacher heard the ladder bump against the roof.

  “Who’s goin’ up there, you or me?” asked the man with the ladder.

  “You can, Nelson.”

  “Thanks.” Nelson didn’t sound grateful at all.

  Preacher moved to the side of the building where the ladder was. The top of it projected about a foot above the edge of the roof. He reached behind him and drew the Colt from the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. Reversing it, he gripped the barrel and cylinder and waited.

  Nelson grunted with effort as he climbed the ladder. Clearly he wasn’t in very good shape. Spending most of his time in saloons would do that. As long as he could get his gun out in a hurry and shoot accurately, that was all that mattered.

  Nelson’s hat appeared at the top of the ladder. His head was down as he watched what he was doing. In one quick movement, Preacher’s left hand shot out, snatched the hat off Nelson’s head, and threw it away. His right brought the gun butt down hard on the gunman’s skull and he grabbed Nelson’s collar to keep the outlaw from falling. Nelson slumped against the ladder.

  Preacher put the gun down, got both arms under Nelson’s arms, and hauled the man up and over the edge of the roof. He was senseless for the moment, but he might not stay that way, so Preacher picked up the Colt and walloped him again, harder. He knew he might wind up busting the fella’s skull, but considering all the evil the gang had done in Big Rock, he wasn’t going to worry too much about that.

  He had made some racket knocking out the gunman and pulling him onto the roof, but no more than Nelson might have made clambering up. Rawley and Scanlon were still standing on the front porch, talking.

  After a few moments, Rawley stepped out in front of the building again and called, “Hey, Nelson, what have you found up there? The smoke’s still coming out of the stove down here.”

  Preacher didn’t reply, and Nelson couldn’t say anything since he was out cold.

  “Nelson? Damn it, what are you—? Stay here, Scanlon.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Scanlon asked.

  “Looks like I have to climb up there and find out what the hell happened to Nelson.”

  “Let me do it,” Scanlon suggested. “I could use the fresh air.”

  Rawley didn’t answer immediately. After a moment, he said, “All right. Hurry it up. I’m startin’ not to like this.”

  Preacher heard the ladder rattle as Scanlon started up. He dragged Nelson over to the edge and lifted his head and shoulder between the ladder’s side pieces. He grabbed Nelson’s ankles.

  Just as Scanlon glanced up, saw Nelson’s head, and exclaimed, “Hey, what—” Preacher tipped the senseless outlaw over the edge.

  Nelson plummeted, crashing into Scanlon and knocking him off the ladder.

  Preacher went down right behind him, sliding down the ladder as much as climbing.

  Scanlon was pinned to the ground with Nelson’s dead weight on top of him. He was trying to yell but couldn’t muster much volume from that position. Preacher silenced him with a swift kick to the head.

  He’d caused enough commotion to alarm Rawley, who charged around the corner with a gun in his hand. “What the hell—”

  Preacher tackled him, going low at Rawley’s knees so that the outlaw tumbled over him and went down hard.

  Rawley was tough and stubborn, and hung on to his gun as he rolled over and came back up. Preacher couldn’t afford the sound of a shot, whether it hit him or not. He leaped at the man and closed his left hand over the cylinder of Rawley’s gun, knowing the weapon couldn’t fire if the cylinder couldn’t turn.

  Rawley hammered a punch into the old mountain man’s body. Preacher grunted from the impact but didn’t loosen his grip on the gun. He jabbed a right into the middle of Rawley’s face. Blood spurted from the outlaw’s nose as his head rocked back.

  Preacher had learned how to wrestle from Indians who were expert at it. He got a foot between Rawley’s ankles, grabbed the front of his shirt, and heaved. The throw sent the outlaw off his feet, and as the man went down, Preacher twisted his gun arm so that the fall put a lot of strain on his bones and muscles. Rawley cried out in pain and let go of the revolver.

  A split second later, Preacher slammed the heavy gun against the side of Rawley’s head. The outlaw went limp and sagged to the ground.

  The plan had worked. With a little luck on his side, Preacher had managed to knock out all three guards.

  All he had to do was go inside and free Matt, Monte Carson, and the other prisoners.

  Preacher left the unconscious outlaws lying in the dark passage beside the jail and hurried to the door. Coils of smoke wafted from the opening. The air inside the sheriff’s office was thick with it. He coughed but ignored the smoke as best he could. He knew from previous visits to Monte Carson’s office that the keys to the cells were on a ring hanging on the wall behind the sheriff’s desk.

  He snatched the key ring from its nail and went to the cell block door. It was locked, so Preacher had to take precious seconds finding out which key opened it. His eyes stung and watered from the smoke as he tried one after the other.

  The sixth or seventh key opened the door. He pulled it back and hurried into the cell block.

  In the light that came from the office lamp, Preacher saw that Matt had regained consciousness. The young man stood at the barred door with Carson. He still looked a little groggy but was able to say, “Preacher, I sure am glad to see you.”

  “Likewise,” Preacher grunted as he started trying keys in the cell door.

  “Let me.” Carson thrust his arm through the bars. “I know which one it is.”

  “Good idea.” Preacher handed over the key ring.

  Carson quickly sorted out the right one and thrust it into the lock. He was able to turn it from inside the cell, and the door came open.

  Before the prisoners could charge out, figures appeared in the doorway between the office and the cell block.

  A man’s sharp voice ordered, “Mow them down!”

  Carson grabbed Preacher’s shirt and jerked him into the cell. The prisoners sprawled back away from the bars as
gouts of flame blossomed from the twin barrels of a shotgun wielded by one of the men in the doorway.

  Preacher felt the sting from a couple buckshot but knew he wasn’t badly hurt. That condition might not last long, as more men with Greeners rushed into the cell block.

  “Hold your fire!” the same man ordered.

  The shotgunners moved aside to let him step forward, but they kept their weapons trained on the men in the cell.

  Preacher saw that the man in charge had a limp and knew he must be the major, the hombre he had seen earlier when Matt was captured.

  The major had a pistol in his hand and pointed it at the prisoners. The cell door was still open, but if the men inside tried to make a break for it, they would be slaughtered. He slammed the door shut and pocketed the keys, ending any hope of escape.

  Preacher knew he had failed, but he wasn’t the sort to give in to despair. A setback just made him more angry and determined.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do at the moment to change things.

  “Get up,” the major said curtly. He frowned at Preacher. “I don’t remember you.”

  “That’s ’cause I wasn’t in here before,” the old mountain man replied. He stood up and brushed himself off, ignoring the pain in his leg and back where he had picked up a couple buckshot in the blast.

  “Who are you?”

  “A feller who ain’t got no use for scum like you awaltzin’ in and takin’ over a whole town full o’ good folks,” Preacher replied defiantly.

  A man said from the office, “Major, the three men who were on guard here are all in the alley, out cold. That old geezer must’ve knocked them out.”

  The major let out a scornful grunt. “That hardly seems possible.”

  “Possible or not, I done it,” Preacher said. “Damn near got away with gettin’ these boys outta here, too. Then you’da had a fight on your hands, believe you me.”

  “Then it’s lucky I noticed the smoke coming from here and decided to investigate,” the major said. “You were responsible for that, weren’t you?”

  Preacher just folded his arms over his chest, squinted one eye, and glared at the major.

  The major holstered his gun and rubbed his chin “An old, old man who can still outthink and outfight men half his age . . . You’re the one they call Preacher, aren’t you? Smoke Jensen’s friend?”

  Preacher still didn’t respond.

  “It doesn’t matter whether you deny it or not,” the major went on. “I know who you are now.” He laughed. “We’ve made quite a haul tonight without even meaning to. We have Jensen’s brother and his mentor, as well as his wife and scores of his friends. He’ll have no choice but to go along with the doctor’s plans.”

  “Mister, I don’t know nothin’ about no doctor,” Preacher said. “But I do know that when you went after Smoke Jensen, you done raised hell and shoved a chunk under the corner. It’s sorta like layin’ hands on a mountain lion . . . you might be able to, but then what’re you gonna do with it?”

  “Wait and see, old man. Just wait and see.” The major jerked his head toward the door. He and the shotgunners began to back away. Over his shoulder, he ordered, “One of you men get up on the roof and clear that stovepipe. Open some windows and get this smoke out of here.”

  The cell block door slammed closed behind them, and the key turned in the lock with a sound of finality.

  This is far from over, Preacher thought as he turned to look at Matt and Monte Carson. He saw the same thing in their eyes that he was feeling.

  For the moment, it was all up to Smoke.

  BOOK THREE

  Chapter 51

  The night got cold in the cave high on the mountain, but Smoke and Sally were warm enough snuggled together in Smoke’s bedroll. Pearlie and Cal had to make do with wrapping up in blankets and having Dog sleep between them.

  The big cur was an excellent sentry. No one came close enough during the night to alert his senses.

  In the morning Sally built a small, almost smokeless fire, boiled coffee, and fried some bacon. It was a meager breakfast but better than nothing. After they’d eaten, she and Smoke stood in the opening and looked out over the rugged, beautiful landscape. Smoke didn’t see anything moving. The morning sunlight didn’t reflect off any metal.

  “What are you going to do, Smoke?” she asked quietly as she slipped her hand into his.

  “Now that I know you’re safe, Pearlie, Cal, and I will circle around and head for Big Rock. Once we meet up with Matt and Preacher, we’ll figure out a way to turn Monte Carson and the other prisoners loose. I figure we need to deal with the men Trask left in town before taking on the ones at the ranch.”

  “You’ll be badly outnumbered wherever you go,” Sally cautioned him.

  Smoke smiled. “Being outnumbered sort of seems to be a way of life.”

  “Yes, I know, and you’ve never let it stop you from doing what you thought was right.”

  “If a man only fought the easy fights, the ones he knew he could win, it wouldn’t take much courage, would it?”

  She leaned against him, rested her head on his arm. “You’ve never lacked for courage,” she said softly.

  He put his arm around her and drew her closer. They stood like that for a few minutes, then Sally slipped out of his embrace and stepped back.

  “I won’t keep you from what you have to do. Go on and don’t worry about me. Dog and I will be all right up here.” She paused. “Just don’t forget to come back and get us when it’s all over.”

  Smoke grinned. “Not much chance of that.”

  The men got their horses ready to ride.

  Smoke dropped to one knee next to Dog and rested his hand on the back of the big cur’s neck, ruffling the thick fur. “You’re staying here with Sally. You protect her, understand?”

  Dog whined a little, deep in his thick throat.

  “I know. But Preacher will be with us when we come back to get you. You’ve got my word on that.”

  Dog sat with his tongue lolling out. Smoke knew from the intelligence in the animal’s eyes that Dog understood. The bond between Preacher and Dog was stronger, but Dog and Smoke got along well. Smoke knew Dog would follow his commands.

  “Stay,” he repeated as he stood up. “Stay.”

  Sally rested a hand on the big cur’s head. “We’ll be fine, Smoke.” She had a rifle in her other hand, and a revolver was tucked into the waistband of the trousers she was wearing.

  He put a hand on her shoulder, bent down, and kissed her. The kiss wasn’t a long one, but it packed plenty of meaning into those few seconds.

  He turned and went to where Pearlie and Cal were waiting. The three men started down the slope, leading their mounts. When the ground leveled out enough for them to ride, they swung up into the saddles and headed for Big Rock.

  They rode like men on the dodge, staying in cover as much as they could to avoid being skylined. At different times in their lives, Smoke and Pearlie actually had ridden the owlhoot trail, so they knew what it was like to be hunted. Cal followed their lead.

  Several times during the morning, they had to lie low in thick stands of trees while groups of armed men rode past in the distance. No doubt those were some of Trask’s men, out looking for Smoke.

  Passing a trail leading to Sugarloaf headquarters, it was difficult for Smoke not to follow it and head home. He knew that it made more sense to go to Big Rock first, find Matt and Preacher, and do what they could to whittle down the odds against them before setting out for a showdown with Trask.

  At one point, Pearlie asked, “Smoke, you got any idea why this doctor fella wants you so bad?”

  “None at all,” Smoke replied honestly. “I never came across a doctor named Jonas Trask or anybody by that name in any other line of work, as far as I recall. Or a major named Pike, either. From what I’ve seen of the men working for them, they’re the same sort of gun-wolves I’ve crossed trails with many times, but Trask and Pike have to be something
different.”

  Cal said, “Well, when you come right down to it, no matter what brought them here, they’ll still get what’s comin’ to them.”

  “You got that right, kid,” Pearlie agreed.

  Smoke didn’t say anything. He wanted to settle the score for all the evil Trask and Pike had done, true enough, but a part of him also wanted to know why they had raided Big Rock and Sugarloaf.

  A little later Pearlie asked, “Did you decide on a meetin’ place with Matt and Preacher when you fellas split up?”

  “Knob Hill,” Smoke said. “I hope they’ve already found out what we need to know and will be there waiting for us.”

  Pearlie nodded. The hill had steep, rocky sides and was choked with brush, although there was a path to the top if you knew where to look for it. And once up on the summit, the elevation commanded a good view of the surrounding countryside.

  They had to hide from one more patrol before they came in sight of the hill. Closer to Big Rock than to the ranch, they were cautious as they approached. Still in a thick clump of trees about two hundred yards from Knob Hill, Smoke reined to a halt. Pearlie and Cal did likewise.

  “You fellas stay here,” Smoke said. “I’ll take a look around.”

  “I thought we was in this together,” Pearlie protested.

  Smoke smiled. “We are, but if I ride into trouble, I’ll be counting on you two to gallop in and bail me out.”

  “It’s usually the other way around,” Pearlie said, “but I reckon that makes sense.”

  He and Cal sat on their horses in the trees while Smoke rode toward the looming, beetle-browed hill. His eyes moved constantly as his gaze roved over the countryside around him. He didn’t see any movement, but that didn’t really mean anything. He put more trust in the hair on the back of his neck. It told him that no one was watching.

  He reached the hill and left his horse in the trees that grew around its base. There was no sign of other mounts, which was a little worrisome. He had been halfway convinced that Matt and Preacher were waiting for him.

  He found the narrow game trail that led to the top and started the arduous climb, being careful not to disturb the brush too much. If anybody saw the branches waving around, it would be a dead giveaway that somebody was up there.