Massacre Canyon

by William W. Johnstone

  “No, we’ll be leaving it here,” Smoke said.

  He saw the cunning expression that appeared for a second on Mordecai’s face. The outlaw was already trying to figure out his next move, which Smoke was sure would involve getting rid of him.

  Unfortunately for Mordecai, Smoke was already a couple of steps ahead of him.

  “Pull up over there next to the spring,” Smoke said as he pointed toward the trees.

  Mordecai brought the buggy to a halt and jumped down from it. He stretched and grinned in satisfaction.

  “The air sure smells better when a man is free,” he said.

  “I reckon you’re right about that,” Smoke said as he stepped down to the ground. “Hold the horses so they don’t drink too much. As small as that spring is, they might drink it dry.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t want that,” Mordecai said. “This is dry country around here.”

  Smoke set the Winchester on the wagon seat and took off the cassock. It was hot and hampered his movements, and he was glad to be rid of it. He threw it behind the seat, took the collar off, and tossed it into the buggy as well. Under the cassock he wore his usual range clothes, denim trousers and a faded butternut work shirt. He traded the priest’s hat for his own Stetson, which was also hidden behind the buggy’s rear seat along with his gun belt. When he had buckled it on and slipped the Colt into its holster, he felt normal again for the first time since the masquerade began.

  “See, I knew you weren’t no priest,” Mordecai said as Smoke walked up to him, carrying the Winchester again.

  “You’re right,” Smoke said. “A priest wouldn’t do this.”

  He moved so fast that Mordecai had no chance to stop him. He brought the rifle up and smashed the butt against the back of Mordecai’s head, dropping the outlaw senseless to the ground at his feet.

  Chapter 31

  By the time Mordecai Kroll groaned, shifted on the ground, and started to come around, Smoke had him tied hand and foot. He had dragged Mordecai into the shade cast by the mesa, thus sparing him the blazing Arizona sun.

  As far as Smoke was concerned, that was more consideration than the outlaw deserved. Mordecai dying of heatstroke wouldn’t bring him any closer to freeing Luke, however.

  Mordecai pried his eyes open and saw Smoke hunkered next to a small fire, sipping from a cup of coffee. The pot sat at the edge of the flames, staying hot.

  Right away, Mordecai started to curse. Venom and obscenity poured from his mouth. Smoke let the filth spew for a few moments. Then when Mordecai paused to take a breath, he said calmly, “Keep that up, Kroll, and I’ll gag you.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Try me and see.”

  Mordecai lay there glaring murderously at him, then said with a whine in his voice, “Why’d you wallop me? I thought you were helpin’ me get away.”

  “I am,” Smoke said. “But I can’t afford to let you double-cross me. You were already thinking about killing me since you figure I’m not any more use to you now that you’re out of prison.”

  Mordecai didn’t bother trying to deny that. Instead, he asked sullenly, “What is it you want from me? You intend to make my brother pay ransom to get me back?”

  “In a way, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. You said you don’t think I’m really a priest. You’re right about that, Kroll. My name is Smoke Jensen. That mean anything to you?”

  “Same last name as that no-good bounty hunter who got lucky and caught me.” Mordecai frowned. “Seems like I’ve heard of you, too. Smoke Jensen . . . Hell, yeah! You’re that Colorado gunfighter.”

  “I’m also Luke Jensen’s brother,” Smoke said.

  Mordecai sneered at him.

  “I’d say I can see the family resemblance, but to tell the truth, I can’t. I don’t even remember that well what the damn bounty hunter looks like.”

  “Maybe you’ll recognize him when you see him again.”

  “You’re takin’ me to him?” Mordecai asked as a worried look appeared on his face.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Smoke said. He took another sip of the coffee. “Your brother is holding him prisoner. Rudolph sent me a letter saying that if I didn’t bust you out of prison and bring you to him, he was going to kill Luke.”

  Mordecai just stared at him for several seconds. Then, abruptly, the outlaw threw his head back and brayed with laughter.

  “Mister, that’s just about the funniest turn of events I ever heard of,” he said as the echoes of his ugly laughter bounced between the twin buttes. “Your brother is responsible for me bein’ in that hellhole, and you have to get me out to save his life! Mighty fittin’, don’t you think?”

  Smoke didn’t think so at all, but he wasn’t going to waste time saying as much to Mordecai Kroll. Instead, he told the outlaw, “Rudolph gave me instructions in his letter. He said I was to get you out of Yuma—although he didn’t say how, he left that up to me—and told me I was to bring you to the gang’s hideout by myself. He said you’d tell me how to find it and that if I didn’t come alone, he’d kill Luke. Once I’ve turned you over safely to him, he’ll let Luke and me go.”

  Mordecai nodded, solemn now, and said, “He’ll do it, too, if that’s what he told you. My brother’s a man of his word. Just because he’s an outlaw, that don’t make him a liar.”

  Smoke didn’t believe that for a second, but he wasn’t going to make an issue of it at this point. Instead, he said, “I hope you’re right, because I’ve risked everything in order save my brother.”

  Mordecai wiggled around in an effort to get more comfortable where he was sitting with his back propped against a rock. He said, “Now that you’ve told me all this, how come you got me tied up? Seems to me like we’re workin’ together, not against each other?”

  “I need you alive and well to tell me how to find the hideout, but like I said before, you don’t really need me anymore. If you got a chance, you’d kill me and take off back to your brother and the rest of the gang on your own. Once you got there, you could kill Luke. I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

  “I won’t lie to you,” Mordecai said. “I surely would enjoy it. But a deal’s a deal. You made one with Rudolph, and he’d be upset with me if I didn’t honor it. So you can turn me loose now—”

  “Forget it,” Smoke cut in. “You’re staying tied up until we get where we’re going. That’s my best chance to get my brother out of this mess alive.”

  Mordecai glared at him again.

  “I’m gonna tell Rudolph how you mistreated me,” he threatened. “This is gonna backfire on you, Jensen.”

  “I’ll take that chance. In the meantime, after the horses have rested for a few more minutes, I’ll get you in a saddle and tie you onto one of the mounts. We’re taking all six animals with us, so we’ll always have fresh horses for the journey. If you want to, you can go ahead and tell me where the hideout is.”

  “So you can kill me and go after your bounty-huntin’ brother by yourself?” Mordecai shook his head. “No thanks. Like you said, you need me alive as long as you don’t know where the hideout is. I reckon we’ll keep it that way.” He grinned. “And we’ll see who stays alive the longest. . . .”

  Once Marshal Simon Ford had told Darcy all about Smoke Jensen’s plan, it hadn’t taken long for her to find out even more.

  She had sent several telegrams and within a couple of days had received replies that told her considerably more not only about Smoke and Matt, but also about an old mountain man known as Preacher who seemed to be a close friend of the Jensen brothers. Close enough to be considered an adopted uncle or even a surrogate father.

  Although the details were sketchy, it was rumored that in the past the Jensens and Preacher had banded together to clash with several powerful politicians and businessmen. In certain circles, they were regarded with suspicion and outright hostility.

  This case had nothing to do with their political activities, but that background was still enough to make it a more interesting sto
ry. Readers loved tales of corruption and chicanery in the halls of power. The slightest connection to that was enough to perk up a story.

  The public also enjoyed reading about outlaws and gunmen. Jesse James, although he seemed to be lying low in recent months, was still a major celebrity known from one end of the country to the other. Before Darcy was through, the Kroll brothers would be even more notorious than Jesse and his brother Frank.

  Blood and thunder, political wheeling and dealing—what else could you call that meeting with Governor Frémont?—lawbreakers, brotherly love on both sides.... It was too bad there wasn’t a beautiful woman involved somewhere, preferably as the object of romantic rivalry between two men, she thought as she walked toward a livery stable in the town of Yuma, Arizona Territory. Then the story would have everything.

  She would just have to do the best with what she had, she told herself.

  To further that end, she wore a riding outfit today, a split brown riding skirt, a white shirt open at the throat, a brown vest, and a flat-crowned brown hat. She knew she looked fetching, which never hurt when she was about to ask a favor of a man. Or in this case, two men.

  Persistent inquiries had led her to Smoke Jensen, and once she’d found Smoke, she found his two companions as well. The young, big, handsome blond man was Matt Jensen. The grizzled old-timer in buckskins was Preacher. They were in the stable saddling their horses when Darcy came in. A couple of pack animals, already loaded with supplies, were hitched nearby.

  Matt Jensen glanced at her, then looked again. Darcy was used to that reaction from men, but she had to make an effort not to smile anyway. She nodded and said, “Mr. Jensen?”

  She spoke to Matt instead of Preacher because she had already noticed that the older man was regarding her warily. A man of his years was more likely to prove immune to her charms, although if she could get him to remember the days of his youth, she could probably change that.

  “I’m Matt Jensen,” he said politely. “Have we met, ma’am?”

  “Not until now. I’m Darcy Garnett.”

  Now she smiled. Matt smiled back, which she took as an encouraging sign.

  “Matt Jensen, Miss Garnett,” he said as he reached up to tug on the brim of his hat. “It is Miss Garnett?”

  “It is,” Darcy said.

  Matt leaned his head toward his companion and said, “This is Preacher.”

  Preacher nodded, but the only sound he made was an unfriendly grunt.

  “Don’t mind him,” Matt went on. “He’s rough as an old cob. Not used to being around civilized folks. What can we do for you, Miss Garnett?”

  “Well, you see, I’m a reporter. I’ve been writing for Harper’s Weekly.”

  It was only one story she had sold to the magazine, but she didn’t consider her statement too much of a stretch.

  “When I heard that the famous Jensen brothers were in town,” she continued, “I knew I had to see if the two of you would grant me an interview.”

  Now Matt looked almost as wary as Preacher. He shook his head and said, “No offense, miss, but nobody would want to read about Smoke and me.”

  “Are you having a bit of sport with me, Mr. Jensen? Your brother is one of the most famous gunfighters in the West, and you’re making a name for yourself that’s going to rank you as his equal very soon. Everyone wants to read about the two of you.”

  She paused, weighed the situation, and decided she might as well go ahead and play her trump card. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with flattery or playing up to Matt. He might enjoy it, but it wouldn’t sway his decisions.

  “Especially since you’ve joined forces to rescue your other brother from the clutches of the Kroll gang,” she said.

  Matt drew in a sharp breath, obviously trying not to reveal his surprise but failing.

  “You know about Luke?” he asked.

  “I wrote about his capture of Mordecai Kroll, as well as Mordecai’s trial and conviction. And I know that he’s been captured by Rudolph Kroll, who has threatened his life if your brother Smoke doesn’t rescue Mordecai.”

  “How the hell—Beg your pardon, Miss Garnett.”

  “It’s all right,” Darcy said. “I’d be startled, too, if I were you. You thought all of this was a secret, didn’t you?”

  Preacher asked in a harsh voice, “What do you want, gal?”

  “It’s really quite simple,” Darcy said. “I know the two of you are going to trail Smoke and Mordecai back to the Kroll stronghold.” She smiled again. “I want you to take me with you.”

  Chapter 32

  Simon Ford and Jesse Clinton were in the saloon when a man rode up outside on a lathered horse, swung down from the saddle, and hurried into the building. He came straight to the table in the back where Ford and Clinton were sitting. He was the man with the face like an ax blade, Clinton’s segundo Lew Hooke.

  Without sitting down, Hooke said, “I followed the buggy all the way to the ferry over the Gila River. They crossed over, and then Jensen took an ax to the ferry rope.”

  “He was making it look good for Kroll,” Ford said. He pushed away the glass of bourbon he’d been nursing. The waiting was over, and he was glad. “He wanted Kroll to think he did that to keep the posse from following them, but the posse had already turned back, hadn’t it?”

  “As soon as they came up to the spot where Jensen left the prison superintendent,” Hooke reported. In the several days Ford had known him, he had never seen Hooke smile even faintly, and that didn’t change now.

  Clinton, on the other hand, seldom stopped grinning. That’s what he was doing as he said, “Pretty smart fella, that Smoke Jensen. His mistake was letting you find out about his plan, Simon.”

  Ford managed not to grimace when Clinton used his first name. The gunman seemed to think they were friends of some sort now, just because he and his men were working for Ford. That wasn’t the way Ford saw it at all. He could never be friends with a man who was probably an outlaw himself.

  But he needed Clinton and the others, so he had to tolerate the man’s familiarity. He had promised that Clinton and his men could have all the rewards for the Kroll brothers and their gang, which would add up to a small fortune. Ford didn’t want any of the bounty money for himself.

  He just wanted to see justice done.

  “Are you sure Jensen didn’t spot you trailing them?” Clinton asked Hooke.

  “I was careful,” Hooke said. “Stayed ’way off to the east and watched them through field glasses. It wasn’t too hard. They were in a buggy. Jensen got into the prison by pretending to be a priest.”

  “A priest?” Clinton repeated. He guffawed and slapped his thigh. “I like this man Jensen. He’s got audacity.”

  “He’s a stubborn fool,” Ford snapped.

  “Maybe . . . but he got Mordecai Kroll out of Yuma Prison, didn’t he?”

  That plan had been risky enough that Ford wouldn’t have been surprised if it failed. Clearly, though, Jensen had pulled it off, and now he was on the way to the Kroll gang’s hideout.

  Soon, Ford would be, too, with his newly acquired allies.

  “What do we do now?” Lew Hooke asked.

  “Matt Jensen and the old man will follow Jensen and Kroll,” Ford said, somewhat irritated that he had to go over this again. Hooke was a good tracker and a dependable man, according to Clinton, but he wasn’t too bright. “We’ll follow them, and sooner or later they’ll lead us to the hideout.”

  “I’ve got a man watching the livery stable,” Clinton added. “He’ll let us know when Matt and Preacher ride out. That’ll probably be pretty soon, so you’d better round up the other men and tell them to be ready to ride at a moment’s notice, Lew.”

  Hooke nodded but didn’t turn to leave just yet.

  Ford pushed himself to his feet, leaving the bourbon undrunk on the table.

  “I’ll go see to my horse,” he said. “All my gear is packed already.”

  He walked out of the saloon, glad for the opportunity
to spend a final few minutes alone, away from the unpleasant company of the hired guns. Soon enough, he would be spending all his days and nights with them.

  But the goal at the end would be worth it, he told himself: Rudolph and Mordecai Kroll and all their men, either dead or on their way to prison and ultimately the gallows.

  Yes, very much worth it, indeed.

  Hooke jerked his head toward the bat wings where Ford had just stalked outside and said, “He’s crazy, isn’t he?”

  “Loco as he can be,” Clinton agreed. “He’s been chasing the Kroll brothers for so long that they’ve crawled into his ear and burrowed into his brain like devil worms. But he’s going to help us get rich.”

  Hooke said, “I don’t see why we even have to take him along. We can follow the other Jensen and the old man without Ford’s help. We can just leave him here.” He paused, and then added, “Better yet, kill him and leave him in the desert somewhere.”

  “No, I believe in following my hunches, and I’ve got one that tells me it might come in handy to have him along, sooner or later. He’s like a dog that’s been trained to attack, Lew. When the time comes, we’ll point him at the Krolls and turn him loose.”

  Even though Clinton was still smiling, his voice held a hard undercurrent that made it clear he was the boss here and gave the orders, not Hooke.

  “Then once the Krolls and their bunch are wiped out, we can kill Ford and the Jensens and the old man, and nobody will ever know they weren’t gunned down in the fighting. We collect the bounties, but more importantly, we take all the loot the Krolls have cached, too. Nobody’ll know that, either. It’ll just be a shame that everybody who knew where the money was hidden got killed before the law could question ’em.”

  “I’ve said it before, Jesse, but I’ll say it again. You are one smart hombre.”

  The cocky grin flashed across Clinton’s face again as he said, “And handsome, too!”