The two moved quickly through the living room and into the small kitchen. He lifted the window, then stepped through it onto the fire escape deck. He turned back toward Sally. “Come on,” he beckoned.
She climbed through the window, as well, then followed him down the ladder. Kelly reached the ground first, and he stepped back to wait for Sally.
“Which way now?” she asked.
“Why don’t you come this way?” Gallagher stepped out from behind a large trash bin, holding a pistol.
“Gallagher!” Kelly gasped.
“I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” Gallagher said. The sound of the gunshot was loud in the close confines of the alley.
“Mr. Kelly!” Sally called out in despair as she saw her would-be rescuer go down with a hole in his chest. He was dead within two more gasping breaths. “You killed him.”
“That I did, lass, that I did. Now, would you please be for putting these on?” Gallagher tossed her a pair of manacles.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
With Mickey Muldoon leading the way, Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal rode the trolley car to within one block of where they were to meet with Gallagher. They stepped down from the car at about ten minutes to twelve.
“There you be, lads,” Mickey said, pointing. “It’s but one block that way, ’n we can’t be for missing it. ’Tis one long building, all joined together. Two stories, they are, ’n mostly boarded up.”
“You don’t think Gallagher will be alone, do you, Smoke?” Muldoon asked.
“No, I don’t. If he intended to meet us alone, he wouldn’t have chosen the site of abandoned and boarded-up cottages.”
“’Twould be my guess that he ’n whoever he has with him are already there,” Muldoon said. “Come, we’ll see what this is all about.”
“Thanks, Mickey,” Smoke said, “but this is as far as you go. We’ll take it from here.”
“But you will be for needin’ me, seein’ as I’m the only policeman.”
“You would like to remain a member of the New York Police Department, wouldn’t you?” Smoke asked.
“Aye, ’tis all I’ve ever known.”
“Then trust me. You don’t want to be with us.”
“’N how, may I ask, will it be legal for you to arrest Gallagher and those who are with him?”
“I don’t intend to arrest them,” Smoke said.
“Then how will you—” Mickey started to ask, then he realized what Smoke was saying.
“Mickey, it’s been good working with you,” Cal said, putting his hand on the policeman’s shoulder. “But you want no part of this. I’d advise you to take the next trolley out of here.”
Mickey nodded, then he took Cal’s hand. “Take care, m’ friend. If Gallagher truly shows up, ’tis for sure ’n certain he won’t be alone.”
“Here comes another trolley,” Pearlie said.
Cal stood with Smoke and Pearlie as Officer Mickey Muldoon, his new friend, stepped onto the car, then waved back at him as the driver snapped the reins at the horses.
“He’s a good man,” Cal said as the trolley moved quickly down the track.
“I’ve no doubt, otherwise you wouldn’t have befriended him,” Smoke said. “All right. What do you say we go get Sally back?”
* * *
At that very moment, less than one-quarter mile away were Gallagher and the six men who had come with him. His force had been decreased by one when he left Kelly in the alley behind his Third Street apartment.
“Brockway, you go up to the second floor of this apartment,” Gallagher said, pointing to the one they were standing before. As he assigned each man, he pointed to three other apartments. “Doolin, you take that one, Quinn, that one, ’n Ryan, that one be yours.” He also positioned McDougal and Keagan, leaving the bottom floor of the middle townhouse for himself.
“Why we doin’ all this for one man?” Brockway asked.
“Sure now, Brockway, ’n you know Kennedy as well as any of us. Are you for thinkin’ that he’ll come here alone? He’ll have some men with ’im, ’n it’ll be his thought to kill us ’n take the woman back without payin’ for her. He’s not like us. He’s not an honest man that can be trusted.”
Despite the peril of her situation, at Gallagher’s suggestion that Kennedy wasn’t an honest man the way they were, Sally couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“’N would you be for tellin’ me why ’tis you’re laughin’?” Gallagher asked in a gruff voice.
“Never mind. I don’t think you would understand,” Sally said.
As the others took their positions, Gallagher kept Sally, who still had her hands manacled, close enough to him so he could keep an eye on her, or so he told the others. In truth, she was acting as his shield. If Kennedy really did want her alive, he would be careful where he shot for fear of hitting Sally.
With everyone in position, Gallagher stood with gun in hand, waiting for Kennedy to show.
“Hey, Gallagher,” Brockway called down. “They’s three men comin’ this way from Tenth Street.”
“What did I tell you? I tol’ you he wouldn’t be alone.”
“That ain’t Kennedy,” Doolin called. “I don’t know who they are.”
“Look at that feller on the left,” Brockway said. “He’s the man that was with the woman the night we took ’er. He’s also the one that kilt O’Leary, but I don’t know who the other two are. They’re not cops, I can tell you that. All three of ’em is dressed just alike ’im, ’n all of ’em is wearin’ pistol belts.”
“Smoke!” Sally said the name involuntarily, her excitement overcoming caution.
“Son of a bitch. I should have known Kennedy would be for tryin’ somethin’ like this,” Gallagher said angrily. “Brockway, you ’n the others hold your fire ’till they get real close. When you’re sure you can’t miss, start shootin’.”
Sally moved into position so she could see through the window and that it was Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal approaching. How many times since she had married Smoke had she seen this very thing—Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal facing death together? Even though she knew that their situation and hers was precarious, she couldn’t help but feel confident that rescue was at hand.
She waited until just before she thought that Brockway and the others would start shooting, then she yelled. “Smoke, look out! It’s a trap!”
That forced the issue, and though the three approaching men were not yet within a very easy, can’t-miss range, Gallagher’s men had no alternative but to start shooting. They were hampered by the fact that none of the three approaching men were close enough for a sure shot, and also because the warning had caused the three men to split apart so that none offered an easy target.
Pearlie was able to take cover behind one of the denuded and dead trees that grew in the front of the buildings, while Cal hurried to a rock pillar that anchored one end of the rusting, iron stake fence. Smoke stood in place, gun in hand, looking at the building waiting for the first shot.
The first shot came from a second-story window right in the middle of the row of connected buildings. He returned fire and saw a man tumble from the window. He didn’t move when he hit the ground.
Firing broke out in general then, with several shots coming from various positions within the old abandoned buildings. The firing was answered, shot for shot, as Pearlie and Cal were well positioned.
The only one still exposed, Smoke was anything but an easy target. He moved around, snapping shots back at the wisps of gun smoke that drifted from the windows. He saw a shooter appear in one of the windows, preparatory to taking a shot. Before the shooter could get off a round, Smoke fired, saw a little mist of blood fly from the shooter’s head, and knew he had made a killing shot.
At almost the same time, Pearlie killed one, and Cal another. Smoke had no idea how many they were against, but while the shooting continued, the intensity of the shooting diminished as each of the ambushers were killed until finally, the shooting stopped.
“Brockway?” a voice called. “Ryan? Doolin, McDougal, Keagan, Quinn?”
There were no answers to the call.
Since Gallagher had not been one of the names shouted out, Smoke realized the caller was Gallagher and shouted, “They’re all dead, Gallagher. You’re all alone.”
“Where is Kennedy?” Gallagher shouted back from the middle apartment.
Smoke knew it was the same apartment from which Sally had called her warning. For that reason, not one of them shot through that window. “Sally?” Smoke called.
“I’m all right, Smoke,” Sally answered.
“Where is Kennedy?” Gallagher asked again.
“Kennedy is dead.”
“Are you the one who killed him?”
“No. I planned to, but someone else killed him first. Send my wife out.”
Although Smoke had not really expected any response to his demand, the door opened, and he saw Sally standing there. “Sally, can you come toward me?”
“No.”
Almost as soon as she responded, Sally did start toward him, but it was easy to see that she wasn’t moving of her own volition.
Bent over behind her in such a way, Gallagher offered nothing as a target. “I have a gun pressed up against your wife’s back. Put the ten thousand dollars down in front of you, then all three of you drop your guns and walk away. If you don’t do that, I’ll kill the woman.”
“Then what?” Smoke asked.
“What do you mean, ‘then what?’ If I kill her, she’ll be dead.”
“So will you,” Smoke said.
“’N are you for tellin’ me, that you’d be for riskin’ yer own wife’s life?” Gallagher asked.
“I can get another wife. You can’t get another life.”
Sally laughed. “Smoke, I can’t believe you would say something like that.”
“You could always bow to my brilliance,” Smoke said.
“I guess I could, couldn’t I? Here’s to you, oh brilliant one,” Sally replied. Then, not in any sudden move as if trying to escape, but even as she was still laughing, she made a deep bow.
Sally’s unexpected move caught Gallagher completely by surprise, but he wasn’t surprised long. A bullet from Smoke’s gun hit him right between the eyes.
Sugarloaf Ranch
Smoke was standing on the ground in front of a magnificent black horse with a white face and three white stockings. This was the son of the Seven who had been killed. Technically, his name was Seven Number Four, but Smoke called him, as he had those before him, just Seven.
“Where is the sugar, Seven?” he asked.
Seven put his nose first to one shirt pocket then the other, then lifting his nose, he pushed Smoke’s hat back. Smoke took off his hat and removed the lump of sugar he had concealed there.
“Ha!” Thad grinned from atop his horse. “You can’t fool Seven. He’s almost as smart as Fire.”
“Almost, huh?” Smoke replied.
“But you can’t blame Seven. He’s still learning.”
“Fire might be smart, but he isn’t as handsome as Sir Charles.” Lorena leaned forward in the saddle and patted her horse on its neck.
“I can’t believe you named your horse Sir Charles,” Thad teased. “He’s probably so embarrassed by his name that it’s a wonder he can even move.”
“Really? Catch me.” With a quick slap of her legs against the sides of Sir Charles, the horse burst forth like a cannonball.
Thad dashed out after them, his and Lorena’s laughter filling the air.
“Cute kids,” Sally said as she, Smoke, Pearlie, and Cal watched the two riders grow smaller in the distance.
“I wonder if they’ll remember this when they are both in their seventies?” Cal asked.
“Why not?” Smoke replied. “They’ll be able to remind each other.”
Keep reading for special preview of . . .
THE FIRST MOUNTAIN MAN
PREACHER’S KILL
A fur trapper by trade, Preacher can smell a bad deal from any direction no matter how well it’s disguised. It wasn’t always that way—he’s got the scars to prove it. Now he’s ready to pass on his deadly survival skills to a boy named Hawk who just might be his son . . .
Preacher and Hawk ride out of the Rockies and into St. Louis loaded with furs. It’s Hawk’s first trip to civilization, and the moment he lays eyes on young Chessie Dayton he’s lost in more ways than one. When Chessie unwisely signs on for a gold-hungry expedition into the lawless mountains, Hawk convinces Preacher to trail the outfit, because they’re all headed straight to the sacred Indian grounds known as the Black Hills—a land of no return. To come out of it alive a lot of people will have to die. And Preacher’s going to need a heap of bullets for this journey into hell . . .
Coming this January,
wherever Pinnacle Books are sold!
CHAPTER ONE
A rifle ball hummed past Preacher’s head, missing him by a foot. At the same time he heard the boom of the shot from the top of a wooded hill fifty yards away. He kicked his feet free of the stirrups and dived out of the saddle.
Even before he hit the ground, he yelled to Hawk, “Get down!”
His half-Absaroka son had the same sort of hair-trigger, lightning-fast reflexes Preacher did. He leaped from his pony and landed beside the trail just a split second after the mountain man did. A second shot from the hilltop kicked up dust at Hawk’s side as he rolled.
Preacher had already come up on one knee. His long-barreled flintlock rifle was in his hand when he launched off the rangy gray stallion’s back. Now, as he spotted a spurt of powder smoke at the top of the hill where the ambushers lurked, he brought the rifle to his shoulder in one smooth motion, earing back the hammer as he did so.
The weapon kicked hard against his shoulder as he fired.
Instinctively, he had aimed just above the gush of dark gray smoke. Without waiting to see the result of his shot, he powered to his feet and raced toward a shallow gully ten yards away. It wouldn’t offer much protection, but it was better than nothing.
As he ran, he felt as much as heard another rifle ball pass close to his ear. Those fellas up there on the hill weren’t bad shots.
But anybody who had in mind ambushing him had ought to be a damned good shot, because trying to kill Preacher but leaving him alive was a hell of a bad mistake.
Before this ruckus was over, he intended to show those varmints just how bad a mistake it was.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Hawk sprinting into a clump of scrubby trees. That was the closest cover to the youngster. Hawk had his rifle, too, and as Preacher dived into the gully, he wasn’t surprised to hear the long gun roar.
He rolled onto his side so he could get to his shot pouch and powder horn. Reloading wasn’t easy without exposing himself to more gunfire from the hilltop, but this wasn’t the first tight spot Preacher had been in.
When he had the flintlock loaded, primed, and ready to go, he wriggled like a snake to his left. The gully ran for twenty yards in that direction before it petered out. Preacher didn’t want to stick his head up in the same place where he had gone to ground. He wanted the ambushers to have to watch for him.
That way, maybe they’d be looking somewhere else when he made his next move.
No more shots rang out while Preacher was crawling along the shallow depression in the earth. He didn’t believe for a second that the men on the hill had given up, though. They were just waiting for him to show himself.
Over in the trees, Hawk fired again. A rifle blast answered him. Preacher took that as a good time to make his play. He lifted himself onto his knees and spotted a flicker of movement in the trees atop the hill. More than likely, somebody up there was trying to reload.
Preacher put a stop to that by drilling the son of a buck. A rifle flew in the air and a man rolled out of the trees, thrashing and kicking. That commotion lasted only a couple of seconds before he went still . . . the stillness of death.
That luckless fella wasn’t the only one. Preacher saw a motionless leg sticking out from some brush. That was the area where he had placed his first shot, he recalled. From the looks of that leg, he had scored with that one, too.
Were there any more would-be killers up there? No one shot at Preacher as he ducked down again. The mountain man reloaded once more, then called to Hawk, “You see any more of ’em movin’ around up there, boy?”
“No,” Hawk replied. Preacher recalled too late that Hawk didn’t much cotton to being called “boy.” But he was near twenty years younger than Preacher and his son, to boot, so that was what he was going to be called from time to time.
“Well, lay low for a spell longer just in case they’re playin’ possum.”
Now that Preacher had a chance to look around, he saw that his horse, the latest in a series of similar animals he called only Horse, had trotted off down the trail with Hawk’s mount and the pack mule they had loaded down with beaver pelts. The big wolf-like cur known as Dog was with them, standing guard, although that wasn’t really necessary. If anybody other than Preacher or Hawk tried to corral him, Horse would kick them to pieces. But Horse and Dog were fast friends, and Dog wouldn’t desert his trail partner unless ordered to do so.
That was what Preacher did now, whistling to get Dog’s attention and then motioning for the cur to hunt. Dog took off like a gray streak, circling to get around behind the hill. He knew as well as Preacher did where the threat lay.
Preacher and Hawk stayed under cover for several minutes. Then Dog emerged from the trees on the hilltop and sat down with his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. Preacher knew that meant no more danger lurked up there. He had bet his life on Dog’s abilities too many times in the past to doubt them now.
“It’s all right,” he called to Hawk. “Let’s go take a look at those skunks.”
“Why?” Hawk asked as he stepped out of the trees. “They will not be anyone I know. I have never been in . . . what would you say? These parts? I have never been in these parts before.”
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