The Violent Land

by William W. Johnstone

  “That is not true!” Dieter yelled.

  “Then why don’t you tell everybody what this is really about?” Matt challenged him. “Why don’t you tell Erica how you really feel about her instead of trying to come between her and me?”

  Dieter had been struggling futilely to get loose from Smoke’s grip. At Matt’s words, he stopped fighting. In fact, he sagged in Smoke’s arms like all the starch had gone out of him.

  Erica stepped toward them. Her eyes were wide with surprise. She half-lifted a hand and said, “Dieter, what ... what is Matt talking about?”

  Quietly, with his mouth next to Dieter’s ear, Smoke whispered, “If you’re ever going to grow a spine, boy, this is the time.”

  For a second he didn’t think Dieter was going to react. Then, slowly, the young man started to stand straighter. He squared his shoulders, looked at Erica, and in a voice that trembled only slightly, he said, “It is true, Fraulein von Hoffman. I am very ... fond of you. With your permission, I would like to court—”

  “Schumann!”

  The outraged roar came from behind Smoke. He let go of Dieter and turned to see the baron standing there. Von Hoffman’s face was dark with anger as he glowered at Dieter. Obviously fearing his wrath, most of the immigrants who had gathered around to watch the fight began to draw back. None of them wanted to attract the baron’s attention to them when he was this angry.

  Von Hoffman strode forward and put his face right in Dieter’s.

  “Did I hear you say you wanted to court my cousin?” he demanded. “She is of noble birth, you fool!”

  Dieter started to babble.

  “I know, Your Excellency. I ... I am sorry... .”

  His voice trailed off, and once again he made a visible effort to steel himself.

  “No,” he said. “I am not sorry. I have no wish to offend you, Baron, but I am very attracted to your cousin Fraulein von Hoffman—”

  That was as far as he got before the baron’s left hand came up and cracked across his face in a backhanded blow that sent Dieter staggering. Erica cried out in horror.

  “Friedrich, no!”

  Von Hoffman raised his other hand and started after Dieter, clearly intending to give him a barehanded thrashing. Smoke knew Dieter probably wouldn’t fight back. The way he had been raised would make him just stand there and take whatever punishment the baron dealt out.

  Smoke hadn’t been raised that way. He took a swift step, and his hand closed around von Hoffman’s wrist before another blow could fall.

  “That’s enough,” Smoke said in a flat, hard voice.

  Von Hoffman’s head jerked toward him. The baron’s mouth twisted in a furious snarl.

  “You dare lay hands—”

  “This is America, Baron,” Smoke said, cutting into the man’s bluster. “A man dares whatever he thinks he can back up.”

  For a second their angry gazes dueled at close range. Then, tight-lipped, the baron said, “Release me. I will not strike the boy again.”

  “Good.” Smoke let go of von Hoffman’s wrist and took a step back, but he was ready to move again if he needed to. “He doesn’t deserve a beating just because he likes a girl.”

  “My cousin is not just a girl,” von Hoffman snapped. He cast a scathing glance at Dieter. “She is an aristocrat, noble by birth. He is nothing!”

  “He’s a good man, and he’s been doing a good job for you as a scout. That’s worth a lot.”

  “Not enough.” Von Hoffman’s flinty tone made it clear that he would never be convinced otherwise.

  “Please,” Dieter said. “I ... I have caused enough of a ruckus. With your permission, Your Excellency, I wish to ... withdraw what I said before.”

  “You will not press your courtship of my cousin?”

  “No, Your Excellency.”

  Smoke saw the way Erica’s face fell at that. She had just found out that Dieter liked her—and she probably should have realized that before now, Smoke thought—and just like that he was taking it all back. That had to be quite a blow to her pride. She stepped toward him and said, “Dieter, if I had known—”

  “Enough,” von Hoffman said sharply. “Erica, go inside the wagon.”

  “But Friedrich—”

  “Inside the wagon,” the baron repeated. His attitude softened enough for him to add, “Please.”

  “V-very well.” Looking stunned and unsure of herself, Erica backed toward the wagon. She glanced at Matt, then quickly looked away. She turned and climbed into the wagon.

  Von Hoffman glared at the bystanders who were left. He swung an arm curtly and said, “The matter is closed! Go on about your business.”

  The small crowd dispersed almost instantly, leaving von Hoffman standing there with Smoke, Matt, Preacher, and Dieter.

  Von Hoffman addressed the young man again, saying, “My affection for your late father is the only thing that prevents me from taking sterner measures with you, Schumann. From now on, keep your distance from my cousin.”

  “Of course, Your Excellency,” Dieter said without lifting his downcast eyes.

  Von Hoffman turned to Smoke.

  “As for you, Herr Jensen ...”

  “Yeah?” Smoke asked softly, but in a tone that packed considerable menace.

  Von Hoffman took a deep breath and said, “I realize that your ways and mine are very different. I understand as well that we are in your country, not mine. Therefore I hereby tender you my apology for losing my temper.”

  “That’s all right, Baron.” Smoke was damned if he was going to address any man as Your Excellency. “I reckon it takes a while to get used to the way things are done in a new place.”

  Von Hoffman smiled thinly.

  “Indeed.” He turned to Matt. “I hope you took no offense at anything I said, Herr Jensen.”

  “Why, because I’m one of those filthy commoners who’s not good enough to talk to your cousin, too?”

  “Take it easy, Matt,” Smoke advised.

  Matt shrugged and said, “I don’t want trouble with you, Baron, but the way I see it, it’s up to Miss Erica to decide who she wants to talk to and spend time with. That’s the way we do things here.”

  “Yes, of course,” von Hoffman said. His jaw was clenched tightly enough that a little muscle jumped slightly in it. “But I am her guardian and have only her best interests at heart. You must understand that.”

  Smoke gave Matt a stern look, and Matt shrugged again.

  “Sure. I reckon I can respect that. Just like I respect your cousin, and I’ll continue to do so.”

  “I suppose that will have to do for now,” von Hoffman said.

  “Yeah, I suppose it will.”

  “I’ll bid you all good night, then. We have many more miles to cover tomorrow.” Von Hoffman started to turn away but paused. “That is, if you are still coming with us.”

  “We said we would,” Smoke told him.

  “Ain’t none of us in the habit of goin’ against our word,” Preacher added.

  “Just as I expected.” The baron nodded to them. “Good night.”

  He went to his wagon and climbed inside. Smoke, Matt, and Preacher watched as he jerked the canvas flap closed.

  “Don’t go giving me some lecture, Smoke,” Matt said. “I had every right to talk to the girl.”

  “Sure you did. And so did Dieter. The sooner these folks accept the fact that they’re not in the old country anymore, the better.”

  “Speakin’ of which,” Preacher said, “where in tarnation did Dieter go?”

  Puzzled, Smoke turned and looked around the camp.

  Dieter was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  He had never known torment such as this. Better that wild Indians had captured him and burned him at the stake, he thought. That would not have been as painful as being forced to grovel in front of the woman he loved.

  He had tried to stand up to the baron, Dieter thought as he walked blindly across the grassy plains. The wagons wer
e several hundred yards behind him, and he continued putting more distance between himself and the scene of his shame.

  Eventually he would have to stop, turn around, and go back. He knew that. But right now he couldn’t stand to be there. He couldn’t bear the misery of having Erica look at him and know what a pathetic excuse for a man he really was.

  He should have told her how he felt about her long before now, he thought. The outcome wouldn’t have been any different, of course—he still would have been forced to crawl before the baron’s wrath, no matter when he broached the subject—but at least he wouldn’t have had everything weighing on him for so long.

  On the other hand, by letting Erica believe that he was simply her friend, he had been able to enjoy being around her, to talk to her and see her smile and hear her laugh. That had to be worth something. It was worth a great deal, he told himself.

  But it never would have been enough. He always would have wanted more. More than he could have ...

  He stopped and looked up at the millions of stars floating in the ebony sky. Those stars had witnessed his humiliation, too, but they said nothing. They simply hung there, cold and silent, casting their silvery illumination over the prairie.

  After a moment Dieter fell to his knees. He bent forward and covered his face with his hands. The enormity of what had happened threatened to overwhelm him. Once the wagon train reached Wyoming, he couldn’t stay there with the other settlers. He couldn’t bear the thought of being around Erica for the rest of his life, knowing how much he wanted her but knowing as well that he could never have her. He would have to go somewhere else, he decided. He would become a drifter, a saddle tramp....

  He was kneeling there like that when he heard the faint jingle of a bit chain, somewhere far off in the darkness.

  The sound didn’t penetrate Dieter’s consciousness at first. But when it was followed by a hoofbeat, then another and another, he realized what he was hearing.

  Someone was out there in the darkness, moving at a deliberate pace toward the wagon camp.

  Outlaws! Indians! Assassins hired by the baron’s political enemies!

  All those thoughts flashed through Dieter’s mind, temporarily banishing his emotional turmoil. It was possible, of course, that those unknown night riders had nothing to do with the wagon train, but he barely considered that idea before he discarded it. His instincts told him that the strangers represented a threat to the group.

  That meant they represented a threat to Erica as well, and even though he had been humiliated in front of her and could never hope to win her over, he couldn’t let anything happen to her, either. Not if he could prevent it.

  He dropped to his belly and lay absolutely still and silent, listening intently as the men approached. He didn’t want them to realize he was there.

  The hoofbeats came closer, along with the jingling of bit chains and the creak of saddle leather. Dieter started to worry that the men were going to ride right over him, but then the noises stopped. After a moment he decided that the riders had reined in, coming to a halt several yards away from him. He was lying in fairly tall grass, so it was unlikely they would spot him.

  They were close enough to see the campfire from here. In fact, on these plains a good-sized fire was visible for a long distance. Maybe they weren’t going to attack the camp after all. Maybe they weren’t even going to come any closer to it than they already were. He began to hope that they had nothing to do with the baron’s party of immigrants.

  That hope was dashed when one of the men spoke in a low, guttural voice. The words were in German.

  “This should be a good place,” the man said. “The wind is behind us.”

  “I wish it was blowing a little harder,” another man replied, also in German. His voice was higher pitched but had a grating, unpleasant quality to it. “I worry that it will not carry the flames quickly enough.”

  Flames, Dieter thought. Flames!

  These men intended to start a fire.

  Dieter had read about prairie fires in his dime novels. They were terrible things. High-leaping flames raced across the landscape, destroying everything in their path, and there was nothing that could be done to stop them.

  Dieter lifted his head slightly, just enough to feel the breeze that stirred the grass around him. Like the second man said, the wind wasn’t blowing very hard, but there was enough wind to fan the flames and drive them on toward the wagon camp. Even though the fire woudn’t spread very fast, it would be impossible to get the oxen hitched to the wagons in time to save the vehicles. The flames would overtake the slow-moving beasts.

  Some of the immigrants might be able to escape, but everything they owned would be destroyed. Not only that, but they would be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, too, easy prey for these human vultures who sat their saddles so near to him.

  “All right,” the man with the grating, high-pitched voice said. “Get started.”

  The sharp reek of kerosene made Dieter’s nose wrinkle. The first man ordered, “Soak those torches so they won’t go out when you light them and throw them as you’re riding.”

  So that was their plan. They would ride along pitching blazing, kerosene-soaked torches into the grass at various points, and that would create a long line of fire that would be impossible for the immigrants to escape. It was a cruel scheme, and when it succeeded, it would condemn the baron and all his people to either a fiery death or a fatal shot from a hired killer’s gun.

  As far as Dieter could see, there was only one way to stop them. It would probably cost his life, but he had no choice. His life would mean nothing if Erica was dead, anyway.

  He pulled his pistol from its holster, gathered his courage, tensed his muscles, and suddenly sprang to his feet. A couple of the nearby horses neighed in surprise and shied away from him as his gun came up.

  “Eat hot lead, you sons of bitches!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as he started pulling the trigger.

  The shots blasted out from his revolver as he aimed at the shadowy, mounted figures. Men yelled in surprise and alarm, and one of them howled in pain. When Dieter heard that, he knew at least one of his bullets had found its target.

  “Light the torches!”

  That order came from the man with the grating voice. Dieter swung his gun in that direction and pulled the trigger again, hoping he could kill the leader. The gun bucked against his hand, but when he pulled the trigger again, the hammer fell on an empty chamber. He had emptied the cylinder without realizing it.

  Which meant he was at their mercy. A sheet of muzzle flame split the darkness as several shots roared as one. Dieter felt the blow of a giant fist against his body. They were going to kill him now, he thought.

  But the yelling and the shots must have alerted the camp, and Smoke and Matt and Preacher would stop these evil men. Dieter knew that. It was what he’d really been hoping for all along, not his own survival.

  Now it was up to Smoke and the others, he thought as he fell. More shots thundered, practically on top of him, and that was the last thing he knew as oblivion claimed him.

  Smoke and Preacher walked around the camp, and it took only a few minutes to confirm what Smoke suspected. Dieter wasn’t there, but the horse he’d been riding was. Smoke didn’t think any of the other horses were missing.

  “Boy stomped off on foot,” Preacher said. “He’s just walkin’ around out there tryin’ to cool off after that scuffle with Matt and the chewin’ out the baron gave him. I wouldn’t worry too much about him.”

  “You’re probably right,” Smoke said. “Still, he might run into some kind of varmint out there in the dark.”

  “What? A prairie dog?” Preacher chuckled. “I reckon even ol’ Dieter can handle that.”

  “I was thinking more of a snake, maybe even a panther or a bear.”

  “If there was a panther or a bear out there, which ain’t very likely to start with, it heard this bunch comin’ a long time ago and took off for the tall and uncut. D
ieter’ll be fine, Smoke.”

  Smoke nodded.

  “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “But you want to go find him anyway.”

  “He was pretty upset. He’s probably not thinking very clearly right now.”

  “No young fella in love ever does.”

  Preacher had a point there, Smoke supposed. But it didn’t ease his worry.

  “I think I’ll go take a look around,” he said.

  “I’ll come with you, if you’re bound and determined to do it,” Preacher offered. “You want me to get Matt?”

  Smoke shook his head.

  “I don’t imagine he’s very happy with Dieter right now. Let’s let him cool off, too.”

  The two of them stepped over one of the wagon tongues and walked out about a hundred yards from the camp. From that point, they began walking in a large circle that would take them all around the wagons. If they didn’t find Dieter doing that, they would go out farther and repeat the maneuver.

  Smoke thought about calling Dieter’s name, but he wasn’t sure the young man would answer even if he heard them. What Dieter had gone through had to be pretty humiliating. He probably didn’t want to face anybody right now.

  Smoke and Preacher had made only part of a circuit of the camp when both men suddenly stopped short and listened.

  “You hear it, too?” Preacher whispered after a moment.

  “Yeah,” Smoke replied. “Horses. Over to the right, coming toward the camp.”

  “More of Klaus’s men?”

  “Maybe Klaus himself,” Smoke said as he dropped to a knee so he wouldn’t be as visible. Preacher hunkered beside him.

  Smoke forgot about Dieter for the moment. This was a more pressing problem and might represent a real danger to the immigrants. While it was possible the riders he and Preacher heard didn’t have anything to do with the baron’s party, Smoke didn’t believe that for a second. That would be too much of a coincidence.

  The faint hoofbeats stopped. Preacher whispered, “We gonna get closer?”

  “Yeah,” Smoke replied. He went down onto his belly.