She shook her head. “They left a couple of days ago. Van Goort struck some sort of deal with their leader. He was supposed to return us to Buckskin, I think, in exchange for some ransom money. But he . . . he decided to put us to work for a while first. That way he could . . . make the most out of us, he said.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. He was looking forward to the showdown with Van Goort.
“Do you know where those outlaws were headed?”
Alice shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“What about their leader? You know who he was?”
“I . . . I heard his name mentioned. I think it was Mallory. The first name was odd. Deuce?”
Matt nodded. “Deuce Mallory. That’s right. I’ve heard of him but never crossed trails with him. He’s supposed to be as mean as a skunk, and the men who ride with him are just as bad.”
A shudder ran through Alice’s slender frame. “I can testify to that, Mr. Bodine.
They’re devils, each and every one of them. Devils.” She looked up. “You’re not going after them, are you?”
“Sam and I sort of promised the folks back in Buckskin that we’d try to even the score for them.”
“But there are too many outlaws! You wouldn’t have a chance against them!”
“Sam and I are used to long odds,” he told her. “Anyway, that’s gonna have to wait until we make sure that you and the other ladies are safe.”
“You’ll take us back to Buckskin?”
Matt hesitated. Turning around and taking the women all the way back to Buckskin would put him and Sam more than a week behind the outlaws. It might still be possible to pick up the trail after that, but the chore would be more difficult. Still, what else could they do? Even after the women were freed from the Dutchman, they couldn’t be left alone to fend for themselves and get back home on their own. This was a problem, but Matt didn’t see any other solution to it.
“We’ll get you home,” he promised Alice Fletcher. What else could he say?
She hugged him. “Thank you, Mr. Bodine.”
He thought about telling her to call him Matt, but decided that under the circumstances it probably wouldn’t be a very good idea. After everything she had gone through, she probably wouldn’t want to have anything to do with any gents for a long time.
Something seemed to occur to Alice. She looked up at him and said, “A couple of the outlaws are still here.”
Matt’s interest quickened. “They are? How come they didn’t go with the others?”
“Because they’re both hurt. They got in some sort of fight. One of them was shot in the shoulder, and the other has a broken leg. Mallory left them behind to recuperate.”
Matt rubbed his jaw as he frowned in thought. “I wonder if they’re supposed to meet up with the rest of the gang later.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“I reckon there’s a good chance they’d know where Mallory was headed anyway.”
“You and your . . . blood brother . . . are still going to go after them?”
“If we can,” Matt said. “Right now, though, the main thing is to make sure all of you ladies are safe. You don’t know for sure how many men the Dutchman has around here?”
“I’ve seen . . . eight or nine of them, I think. And there are half-a-dozen Indian women. Van Goort calls several of them his wives. They’re as bad as the men. They beat us and threaten to torture us.”
“I reckon the men are scattered all around the compound, too.” Matt mentioned the guards who had been on the walls when he and Sam rode in.
“I don’t know. We’ve been kept inside ever since we got here.”
What they needed to do, Matt reflected, was get Van Goort and all of his men in one place. That way maybe he and Sam could get the drop on the whole bunch at once. There had to be a way to do that . . .
An idea flickered to life in his head.
“Are all of you kept in the same room?” he asked.
Alice nodded. “That’s right. We’re locked in together, and one of Van Goort’s men is always right outside the door.”
“When you get back in there, tell the others who Sam and I are and why we’re here. But make sure they understand that they can’t act any different than they’ve been actin’. When you leave this room, you’ve got to look like you’ve given up hope, and you have to stay that way.”
“So Van Goort won’t get the idea that something’s wrong.”
“That’s right. Can you do that?”
She nodded again. “If it means getting out of here, I can.”
“All right. I reckon we’ve been in here long enough to have—I mean—”
Alice summoned up a smile. “It’s all right. I know what you mean. And you’re right.” She took a deep breath. As she let it out, the light in her eyes died again.
Her face took on a look of hopeless despair. Matt had to admit that she was putting on a good act. Alice looked as broken in spirit and defeated as she had when they first came in here.
He figured Sam had had the same talk with the women he’d picked out. Cara Wilson was her name, Matt recalled. What he needed now was a chance to talk privately with Sam and explain his idea.
He went to the door and opened it, made a curt gesture for Alice to come out. She followed him meekly. The hard-faced guard lounged nearby with one shoulder propped against the wall. He straightened as Matt and the blonde emerged from the squalid little room. A leering grin appeared on his face.
“Was she worth it, mister?”
“Every penny,” Matt said.
* * *
Sam came downstairs a few minutes after Matt did. He was alone, too, and Matt knew that the prisoners had all been sequestered again. As Sam sat down at the table, Matt asked in a voice loud enough to be heard at the bar, “How was it, partner?”
“Just fine,” Sam replied. “I got exactly what I needed.”
Matt nodded, knowing what Sam meant. The talk Sam had had with Cara Wilson had gone well. Quietly, so that only Sam could hear, Matt asked, “Did you tell her to keep actin’ the same for now?”
“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “She said the Dutchman’s got nine or ten hardcases working for him, and that two of the gang that hit Buckskin are still here.”
“Yeah, they’re laid up because of a fight. We’ll have to deal with them, too. But we need to take at least one of them alive.”
“So we can find out where the rest of the gang was headed?” Sam guessed.
Matt nodded. “That’s right. You have any ideas about how to handle Van Goort and his men?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, it just so happens that I do,” Matt said with a smile. He pushed his chair back. “Let’s go check on our horses.”
“Sure.” Sam got to his feet, too, and they started for the front door of the trading post.
Van Goort came in before they reached the entrance. “Leaving already, gentlemen?”
“Not hardly,” Matt replied without hesitation. “Just thought we’d go take a look at our horses.”
“They are in the corral and have been well cared for, I assure you.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second. But Mr., uh, Jones and I are right fond of the critters. They’ve carried us out of some mighty tight spots, if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. Feel free to come and go as you please.” Van Goort laughed. “You are not prisoners here, after all.”
Matt and Sam nodded and went on out as the Dutchman stepped aside. As they strolled toward the barn and the corral next to it, Sam asked, “You reckon he’s suspicious?”
“Fella like that, running a place like this . . . I’d bet a hat he’s suspicious all the time, of just about everybody.”
“What’s that idea you had?”
“We set the barn on fire,” Matt said. “Van Goort and everybody else goes runnin’ to put it out. That’s when we get the drop on them, while they’re all together and not paying any attention to us.”
> Sam frowned. “The barn’s made out of adobe. I don’t think it’s going to burn.”
“Everything that’s inside it will, though, especially any hay stored in there.”
Sam thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “That might work, especially if we wait until after dark to make our move. Nothing like a big fire in the night to attract a lot of attention.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Say we manage to disarm Van Goort and his men. What then?”
“Stampede their horses; drive ’em out of here, and finish burnin’ the place down like the hellhole it is. Then we take the women back to Buckskin.”
“That’s going to put us a long way behind the rest of the gang,” Sam pointed out.
“Can’t be helped.”
“No, I suppose not.” Sam paused. “You know, Van Goort’s probably going to put up a fight.”
Matt’s face was grim as he nodded. “Yeah, I know. After seeing those women and talkin’ to the one who was with me, I almost hope he does. I know right where my first bullet’s goin’.”
They stopped at the corral and looked at their horses. The animals did indeed appear to have been well cared for, as Van Goort had said. The sun was lowering in the western sky, so they had another couple of hours to wait until full darkness had fallen. After that one of them could slip out to the barn and start the blaze that was calculated to draw the Dutchmen and his guards out of the trading post. Whoever stayed inside would have to deal with the Indian women, then join the other blood brother to corral Van Goort and his bunch of gunnies.
They strolled back to the trading post and went inside, figuring to nurse a couple of beers while they killed the time. Van Goort was nowhere in sight. One of the Indian women was behind the bar, while a man the blood brothers hadn’t seen before sat at one of the tables playing solitaire with a deck of greasy cards. The man’s lower left leg was splinted and heavily bandaged and propped up on another chair as he laid out the cards and took an occasional pull on a bottle of whiskey. That would be the man Alice Fletcher had mentioned, Matt thought, the one who had broken his leg in a scuffle. One of Deuce Mallory’s gang.
Knowing that he was this close to a man who had taken part in the raid on Buckskin made Matt want to pull one of his Colts and ventilate the son of a bitch. No telling how many innocent people the man with the broken leg had gunned down back in the settlement. It was a safe bet that he had participated in the assaults on the female prisoners, too.
A bullet was too good for that bastard. He deserved to die at the end of a rope. Unfortunately, out here on the edge of the Cap Rock, the only law was what men packed in their holsters. When the time came, Matt or Sam might have to shoot that fella. Either of them would do it without hesitation, and they wouldn’t lose any sleep over it either.
Patience had never been Matt Bodine’s strong suit. Whenever he had to wait for something, time seemed to drag. That was certainly the case here. But eventually the sun went down and night settled over West Texas. The other man who had been left behind by the gang had come downstairs and joined his fellow owlhoot. This hombre’s shoulder was bandaged and his left arm rode in a sling. Both of the outlaws had glanced at Matt and Sam from time to time, but didn’t seem to recognize them or pay much attention to them. No other hardcases had ridden in during the afternoon, which was a good thing. Matt and Sam already faced a big enough challenge without the odds against them increasing even more.
Van Goort came in and lit several lamps in the barroom. He called over to Matt and Sam, “You want some supper, my friends, yah?”
“That’d be fine,” Matt replied. “Much obliged.”
One of the Indian women went upstairs carrying a pot of stew. Matt supposed that would be supper for the prisoners. He and Sam gave each other barely discernible nods. They had waited long enough. It was time to put their plan into action.
Sam stood up and stretched. “Think I’ll go check on the horses again before I eat,” he announced. Matt nodded, but made no move to get up. It didn’t really matter who set the fire and who remained inside. Each would face his own set of dangers.
Van Goort seemed to pay no attention as Sam went out, but Matt figured that wasn’t really the case. The Dutchman struck him as a man who didn’t miss much. But Van Goort had no reason to suspect them of wanting to cause trouble. The man’s business was providing sanctuary for outlaws, and they had given him no reason to think they were anything else.
Time continued to slip by with maddening slowness after Sam left. Matt took a sip of his beer. It had gone flat and hadn’t been that good to start with.
Then what he had been waiting for happened. A strident shout of alarm came from outside.
“Fire! The barn’s on fire!”
Chapter 10
Sam Two Wolves could see almost as well in the dark as a cat. A few minutes earlier, as he’d ambled across the courtyard inside the compound toward the barn and the corral, he had seen tiny pinpoints of orange light, the glowing ends of quirlies being smoked, that marked the positions of the guards on the parapet near the gates. The parapet ran all the way around inside the wall, and Sam figured the Dutchman had sentries posted on all four sides of the compound. Plus there was a lookout in that watchtower, one of the Indian women. The blood brothers had spotted her earlier when they were outside.
A long, low adobe building to Sam’s left was probably the bunkhouse where the men who worked for Van Goort lived. A couple of the hardcases lounged just outside the door, sitting on stools and passing a jug back and forth. Sam counted up in his head. He had most, if not all, of the guards located and accounted for. He paused at the corral fence and gave a low whistle. His saddle horse came over to him and nuzzled his outstretched hand. Sam scratched the horse’s nose and talked to him in a low voice for several minutes. That would be enough to lull any of the guards who might be watching him into ignoring him. When he judged it to be safe, he started edging along the corral fence, knowing that his shape would blend in with the dark bulks of the horses as they milled around inside the enclosure.
When he reached the corner of the barn, he slid along the wall to the double doors, one of which was already partly open. The gap was wide enough for Sam to be able to duck through it. He found himself in near-total darkness, but his eyes adjusted even more and after a few moments, he was able to make his way around, guided by the faint starlight that came through the open door and a window up in the hayloft.
That loft was his destination. He found the ladder and climbed it. When he reached the top he took a match from his pocket, cupped his other hand around it, and snapped it into life with his thumbnail. His hand shielded the glare so that it couldn’t be seen from outside. At least he hoped that was the case. He didn’t want the Dutchman’s guards to notice the fire too soon, so that he was trapped in here before he could get out.
The light from the match showed Sam the pile of hay on one side of the loft. He went over to it, kicked at it until he had a trail of hay that led almost to the ladder.
The match burned down almost to his fingers, so he had to shake it out. He climbed down the ladder until only his head and shoulders were above the level of the loft. Then he lit another match and reached over to drop it at the end of the trail of hay. The dry stuff caught instantly and began to burn toward the much bigger pile.
Sam hurried down the ladder. Above him, the glare of flames grew brighter and brighter against the ceiling of the barn as the fire spread. Suddenly, the hay pile caught with a whoosh! and the burst of flame lit up the whole barn. Sam let go of the ladder and dropped the remaining few feet. Landing lithely, he ran toward the rear door of the barn, which opened out into the corral. As he passed the stalls, he glanced into each one to make sure it was empty. He didn’t want any horses getting trapped in the blaze. The stalls were unoccupied. All the horses were outside in the corral.
Glad of that, Sam ducked through the door into the corral himself. The horses had caught whiffs
of the smoke now curling from the hayloft and were spooked by it instinctively. They began milling around even more. The presence of a strange human in their midst didn’t help calm them down any.
Sam crouched behind a water trough near the fence as the two men who’d been drinking outside the bunkhouse earlier came over to the corral.
“What the hell’s wrong with those horses?” one of the hardcases asked.
“Beats me,” the other man replied. “Somethin’s sure got ’em spooked.
Maybe—” The man stopped short, then exclaimed, “Look up at the hayloft!”
The other man must have looked, because a second later he bellowed, “Fire! The barn’s on fire!”
The two men were only a few yards from Sam. He could have gunned them down from his hiding place with no trouble. They would have died without having any idea what was going on.
Cold-blooded murder wasn’t in Sam’s nature, though, even when his enemies were evil men who didn’t really deserve such consideration. But he had a practical reason for holding his fire, too. Shots would warn the other men in the bunkhouse, inside the trading post, and on the parapets that something else was going on besides a mere fire. Sam and Matt wanted all of them together before they sprang the trap.
So Sam Two Wolves waited tensely, crouched behind the water trough in deep shadow as the crackle of flames from the barn grew louder.
* * *
As the shout came from outside, Van Goort whirled away from the bar, moving fast for a man of his ungainly bulk. The wounded outlaw shot to his feet, but the one with the broken leg stayed where he was.
Matt figured he’d better get up, too, so the others wouldn’t get suspicious of him just yet. He followed Van Goort and the owlhoot to the door of the trading post.
The Dutchman yelled what was probably a curse in his native tongue, then turned his head and called over his shoulder, “Everyone out to the barn! We must put the fire out!”
Texas Gundown Page 8
