Chapter 16
The supper consisted of venison stew, slabs of cornbread with fresh-churned butter, and wild greens boiled in bacon grease. Coffee and hot or cold tea were available to drink. This was all spread out on a long table made from split tree trunks with the upturned flat sides planed smooth and varnished to a glossy finish.
While the bowls of food and pots of drink were passed back and forth, following a brief prayer spoken by an elderly gent with a totally bald crown and a mane of white hair flowing down the back of his neck, Eagle began making the promised additional introductions around the table.
As names were given for the new faces surrounding him, Luke nodded politely in response and made a mental note of each as they were presented. As a consequence of his trade, Luke had developed a strong knack for remembering names and faces and there was enough distinction in this group of refugees so that he felt fairly confident he’d be able to recall all of their identities pretty well by the time the meal was over.
In total, there were eight women, four youngsters, and ten men, not counting Eagle. Considering the situation they were in—the struggle to turn back Parker Dixon’s forces from maintaining the takeover of their town and valley—Luke automatically appraised the men and based on their appearance judged which ones might amount to anything in a direct confrontation against the likes of Hacksaw Ferris’s gun wolves.
Sadly, his conclusion wasn’t promising. Less than half, from what he saw in his quick once-over, looked as though they might be able to stack up, and even a couple of them were marginal.
Whit Barlow, a rawboned widower in his late forties, seemed like one of the better prospects. He, along with his tomboyish seventeen-year-old daughter Betty, had been struggling to make a go of a small horse ranch before Ferris’s gunnies ruined them—stampeding the herd, shooting several head, then burning their cabin and corrals. Barlow exhibited the kind of tough spirit and thirst for revenge that under the right circumstances could deliver some serious payback to the interlopers. And if Betty had been a boy, her kind of pluck, though decidedly green, would have had the potential for fighting at his father’s side.
Howard MacGregor, a solid physical specimen of thirty or so who’d had a small but promising farm that he worked with his wife Colleen before Ferris’s gang ran them off, was another who looked capable of putting up a good fight.
The remainder of Luke’s four consisted of a couple of old prospectors—Isaac Turley and Red Baker—who’d been driven from their mountain claim. Both men were up in years, but the hardscrabble life they’d led for decades in their pursuit of gold, scraping out barely enough to keep going and keep their dream alive, had toughened and hardened them to a pair of walking, talking slabs of rawhide. And their rage at getting chased from finally being on the brink of “the big one” had them equally primed to strike back.
That left Ben Pettigrew, formerly the town’s blacksmith, a man competent at his trade and powerfully built from the waist up—but limited by having only one leg, courtesy of a Civil War cannon ball. Pettigrew’s eighteen-year-old son Heath might have been a prospect if he’d had his father to fight beside, but lacking that and exhibiting a bit of chip-on-his-shoulder attitude, marked him as having limitations.
Next came Neal Vickers, the town barber, an amiable and willing gent who suffered from being so overweight that his mobility was restricted to frequently needing to sit and catch his breath. Then there was Dewey Akron, also a victim of the late war—in his case mentally affected by the carnage he’d seen, to the point of becoming a quietly babbling shell who’d previously existed by swamping out saloons for sleeping privileges and a daily plate of beans to go with whatever he could mooch in the way of alcohol to dull the scenes of horror that played inside his head.
And finally, two gentlemen whose advanced years made them too slow and frail to contemplate participating in any kind of physical conflict: Jonathan Wray, who had said the pre-meal grace, skilled at boot repair and leather work, and Clarence Copley, a widower who dabbled in cabinet making.
All told, with such a meager assemblage of what Luke would term “fighting men” at his disposal, Tom Eagle’s hope of somehow reclaiming his town and valley seemed like an impossible task. Luke couldn’t help recalling the question he’d earlier put to the former sheriff about what was keeping him in the fray? The response Eagle had given then seemed even more admirable in the face of this—yet also more impractical, if not downright hopeless.
But at the same time, Luke also couldn’t help remind himself, neither had he opted to ride away from the trouble he’d found here. What was more, as he took in the welcoming faces of the people around him, people he was now breaking bread with, he realized he was feeling even more drawn into it . . .
* * *
Halfway through supper, the rain suddenly stopped. By the time everyone was done eating, the cloud cover that had remained so stubbornly in place all through the day finally began opening up and sections of clear sky with the faint glimmer of a few early stars were able to peek through.
This break in the weather provided the chance for Eagle to draw Luke back out from under the canopy and show him the rest of the encampment’s layout. This basically amounted to a row of various-sized tents and rough-hewn lean-tos spread along the north canyon wall, these being the individual living quarters for the folks Luke had just met. Supper, the main meal of the day, was always taken collectively under the big canopy, which served as a sort of “village square” for the camp; meetings and Sunday prayer services were also held there. Other meals, personal and family matters, and sleeping arrangements took place in the separate dwellings.
Against the opposite wall of the canyon, a corral and a larger lean-to that constituted a “barn” had been erected for the animals—a collection made up of eight horses (not counting Luke’s two), three pigs, three goats, and a smattering of chickens. Farther down the valley, Eagle pointed out, there was a plentiful water source and some good-sized patches of graze for the horses and goats, to go with the sacks of grain that had been brought in by those owning animals.
Eagle also told Luke how the nameless old prospector’s original dig, the mine shaft extending into the north wall where supplies and miscellaneous gear were stored, was being gradually expanded by the men of the group in anticipation of winter.
“If things haven’t been settled by then and there are some of us still hangin’ on,” he explained, “that will give us the shelter we’ll need to keep warm and dry in order to survive even the harshest weather. The shaft goes back pretty far now, and if we keep scourin’ away to deepen and widen it even more, we’ll have room to fit all who are willin’ to stick it out.” Then, his somber expression shifting to a sudden grin, he added, “Maybe we’ll strike gold in the process and end up bein’ able to buy our valley back from Dixon . . . not that I’d be willin’ to make it so easy on that snake, even if I could.”
The two men had been stretching their legs as they talked and by now had reached a corner of the corral quite a ways from the others. Luke stopped and leaned against one of the posts, eyeing his host. “You really prepared to carry on this fight for that long?” he asked.
Eagle met his eyes. “I’m prepared to keep goin’ until hell freezes over or until I’m six feet in the ground. One or the other.”
“And your wife and kids—is it worth the risk to them? What would become of them if you do end up in the ground?”
“It’s for Jane and the kids that I’m doin’ this,” Eagle insisted. “If I don’t make a stand against Dixon, what have I got? I was nothing but another half-breed caught between two worlds before I took the sheriff job that nobody else wanted and from there made myself and the badge into something that mattered and was respected. Dixon’s done his best to not only take all that away from me but to also ruin my name and my chances for startin’ over anywhere else. It ain’t in me not to fight against lettin’ him get away with that. And when Jane gave me her heart, she understood how I was
and we both understood we would stand together to face whatever trouble came our way.”
“You’re a lucky man to have a woman like that at your side.”
“I know.”
“What about the others? Are they as committed as you to this fight?”
“They share in Dixon havin’ took everything from ’em and leavin’ ’em with no good options, if that’s what you mean. Do they have my same thirst for revenge or as strong a will to fight? I can’t say for sure. I believe most of them do. But then, once you get past will, you come down to things like ability and endurance, right?”
The question hung in the air for a long moment. Luke knew it was rhetorical.
“I saw you all durin’ supper, takin’ stock of the other men in my group,” Eagle went on. “What did you conclude?”
Now it was Luke’s turn to pose a rhetorical question. “As a fighting force to throw against the likes of Hacksaw Ferris and his bunch?” He paused just a beat, then continued. “Maybe half of them look able to put up a fair scrap. I’m talking out away from here, that is—taking the fight to Dixon’s men. So that excludes the one-legged blacksmith and the heavy, ponderous fella who can hardly get around. If it came to defending this encampment, you could probably add them as well. Along with everybody else, came to that. But I’m guessing that letting this place be discovered and making a stand here is what you want only as a last resort.”
Eagle nodded. “You’re thinkin’ about the same as me. As far as what I got in the way of men as well as how best to use ’em. One or two halfway decent riflemen could hold off an army from making it through that boulder maze. But sooner or later, a siege would wear down and starve the encampment . . . No, the only way to beat Dixon is to do it out there in the valley. Throw the fight against him, like you said.”
“But if his gunnies did discover your camp and tried to get at you here, is there a back door for folks to get out?” Luke asked.
“I wouldn’t bottle everybody up if there wasn’t,” Eagle told him. Then he pointed, adding, “The canyon runs for another half mile or so off to the west, with high, steep cliffs on either side that can’t be scaled up or down. At the far end, where it pinches shut, there’s a waterfall that pours down from some higher source. The water continues on in a fast-moving stream that steps the rest of the way down the mountain over three or four shorter falls until it goes windin’ off into the valley at the bottom. Runnin’ beside that stream and down along the sides of those smaller falls is a rocky path that can be followed. Not by any horse, but people on foot, movin’ in single file and pickin’ their way careful, can manage it. That’s our back door.”
Luke glanced over toward the big canopy where most of the others were still gathered. “Brings us back to what you’ve got in the way of a force that can ride out to confront Dixon’s thugs. I know you’ve done some supply gathering and harassing, but have any of the others gone with you?”
“No, not so far,” Eagle admitted. “Up until only a short time ago, we were gettin’ things put together here so’s everybody had acceptable livin’ accommodations and there was a reasonable order to things. But I got a couple men—Whit Barlow, mainly, and Turley and Baker, that pair of old prospectors—who are itchin’ to get out and do some strikin’ back. Pretty soon, whether I got any kind of plan ready or not, I may not be able to hold ’em back.”
Luke considered for a minute and then, his mouth curving into a lopsided grin, he said, “Well, then I reckon we’d better get to work and come up with a plan.”
Eagle eyed him under an arched brow. “You mean that? You dealin’ yourself in deep enough to ride out with us?”
“I told you. I mean to find out what Dixon’s game is where I’m concerned, and then turn it back on him and shove it down his throat.” Luke’s grin turned cold, his teeth becoming bared like a feral animal’s. “I might as well have some company while I’m doing that and at the same time help you find a way to take his plans and come up with a place to shove them, too!”
“Oh, I’ve got some ideas for that. Believe me I do,” Eagle assured him. “In fact—”
He was interrupted by the hurried approach of his wife, coming from the direction of the big canopy. “Tom?” she said anxiously. “Have you seen Dewey Akron? Is he out here with you?”
Eagle scowled. “No. No, I haven’t seen him since we were eating. What’s happened?”
“I don’t now for sure.” Jane’s pretty face looked worried. “Nobody can find him. I fear he’s wandered off again!”
Chapter 17
“Aw, blast it. This happens every once in a while, whenever the ugliness in his head starts stirrin’ up,” Eagle told Luke as they hurried back toward the canopy with Jane. “Dewey goes to wanderin’, thinkin’ he’s lost on a battlefield full of dead men, steppin’ over the bodies tryin’ to find his way back to his command.”
Luke felt a pang of sympathy for the tormented old soldier, but didn’t know what to say. They reached the others, who were milling around, talking among themselves, and looking as anxious as Jane Eagle.
As Eagle reached them, Isaac Turley, one of the prospectors who’d been driven off his claim, said, “I checked his hut, Tom, but he’s not in there.”
Pettigrew, the former blacksmith, balancing himself on a sheepskin-padded crutch, reported, “I looked all through the mine shaft, no sign of him there, either.”
“All right,” said Eagle, “who can remember the last anybody saw of him? I know he was here at the start of the meal because I introduced Jensen to him. What about after that?”
There was a moment of silence while everybody traded looks, then a trim, attractive woman who’d been introduced earlier to Luke as Dinah Mercer, at one time the proprietress of a café in Hard Rock, said, “I fixed his plate for him when we were ready to eat. He took it and went over and sat on that stool beside the mine opening, like he often does when he’s in one of his moods. When I looked around a little later, to see if he wanted anything more to eat, he was gone. But I don’t know when he got up and moved.”
“So he was in one of his moods, then?” Eagle asked.
Again the quiet exchange of looks before Turley spoke again. “Yeah, I noticed he was startin’ to get a little fidegety late in the afternoon. From bein’ cooped up on account of the weather, I guess. He mumbled something about the constant drummin’ of the rain soundin’ like the tromp of Rebel infantry. I gave him a snort of my home brew, thinkin’ it might calm him down some. He went to his hut for a while after that and I didn’t see no more of him until it was grub time. I didn’t get a chance to notice how he was actin’ then.”
Eagle sighed. “Well, the only thing for it is to break up into some search parties and go find him. Turley, you and Baker go look through the other dwellings to see if he got confused and ducked into one of them instead of his own by mistake. Anybody who doesn’t want their place searched by someone else, go do it yourself. Barlow, how about you and Heath try the landslide? See if he wandered into the boulder maze again. Me and Jensen will go on down the canyon to the west, although I don’t know how he could have gone far in that direction without somebody noticing. Grab some lanterns and at least be thankful we don’t have to contend with the rain for this.”
“Perhaps, if she would be so kind, Mrs. Wray could get her violin and play something,” suggested Dinah Mercer. “We all know how much Dewey enjoys that. If he hasn’t wandered too far, maybe he’ll hear it and be attracted back on his own.”
“Good idea,” agreed Eagle. “I’m sure Mrs. Wray wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not,” replied Edna Wray, a tiny, white-haired lady standing nearby. “Anything to help soothe that poor suffering man and keep him from harm.”
“I’ll go fetch your instrument, my dear,” announced her husband Jonathan as he turned and marched in the direction of their tent.
Eagle picked up an oil lantern and turned to Luke. “Hope you don’t mind that I volunteered you to accompany me. It shouldn’
t take long to find the poor devil—most likely he’s in the boulder maze. Once we get him accounted for then you and me can settle down a bit, too. Get out of these wet clothes and set you up with a place to bunk down for the night.”
“Sounds good,” Luke said. “I’ve spread my bedroll everywhere from deserts to mountains and I’ve slept in the beds of the finest hotels. When it’s time to catch some shut-eye, I can manage just about anywhere.”
As they moved farther away from the camp, the sky overhead continued to clear. Wind high up in the clouds was breaking them up into small clumps and shoving them rapidly apart from one another, making room for larger slices of star-sprinkled sky. As the vision of the two men adjusted to the silver-blue wash of starlight, the glow of the lantern Eagle carried became less necessary. Behind them, the lilting strains of a violin began floating on the night air.
“The woman who suggested the violin music, the one you said used to run a café in town,” Luke said. “She seemed like a pretty level-headed sort.”
“She is,” Eagle agreed. “Dinah Mercer was a real fine addition to the town, and equally so to our group here. And in case you didn’t notice, mighty easy on the eyes.”
“I noticed.”
Eagle grinned. “Uh-huh. I noticed you noticin’. Hard to believe any fool of a man would run out on a gal like that, ain’t it?”
“That what happened to her?”
“That’s the story that eventually made its way around town after she showed up.” Eagle shrugged. “But since I try to steer clear of gossip, I guess all I can say for sure is that she’s unattached and don’t seem interested in lookin’ to change it.”
They continued on, spread several yards apart so they could scan each side of the canyon as they moved along. Although Luke didn’t have a lantern, the starlight provided enough illumination by now that he couldn’t have missed anything as big as a man.
All at once Eagle stopped moving.
Hired Guns Page 10
