“Pearlie, you’re not going to give me a hug too, are you?”
Pearlie laughed. “You and I are friends, Cal, but we ain’t that friendly.” He looked over at Sally. “Excuse me for saying ain’t.”
“Under the circumstances, Pearlie, you are forgiven.”
“I’d like to ask a question,” Cal said.
“All right, ask away,” Smoke said.
“Where am I? And why is everyone making out over me so?”
“You don’t remember anything?” Smoke asked.
“The last thing I remember is cuttin’ the girth so that Bill fell on his ass in a pile of horse shit.”
Cal’s eyes grew big and he put his hand over his mouth. “Miz Sally, please forgive me. I’m sorry I said that in front of you ’n my angel.”
“That’s quite all right,” Sally said. She chuckled. “And I’m sure your angel doesn’t mind, either.”
“You mean you can see my angel?”
“Yes, of course I can. She’s standing right here.”
“I didn’t know anyone else could see her. But nobody answered my question. Where am I, ’n why is ever’one makin’ over me so?”
“You’re in Dr. Urban’s office,” Smoke said. “And the reason we’re all making over you as you say, is because we’ve been very worried about you. You were shot.”
“I was shot? Who shot me?”
“You don’t remember anything at all?”
“I remember . . . wait, didn’t we go over to Brown Spur to see a hangin’? Yes, I remember that. The people that killed the Condons, we went over to watch them hang. I remember being out on the street waitin’, but I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t even remember seein’ ’em hang.”
Smoke looked at Dr. Urban. “Is that something to worry about, because he can’t remember?”
“No,” Dr. Urban said, shaking his head. “It’s called traumatic amnesia, and it’s quite common. Sometimes the memory comes back, and sometimes it doesn’t. But even if that particular memory never comes back, it won’t matter. As long as it is isolated like that, it doesn’t seem to have any lasting effect. And it is a good sign that he knows everybody.”
“To answer your question, Cal, we didn’t see them hang, because they didn’t hang,” Smoke said. “The Ghost Riders came in with guns blazing, they killed the sheriff, the hangman, the preacher, and some of the people in the crowd. You were one of the people who got shot but, luckily, you weren’t killed.”
“I hope you got a few of them,” Cal said.
“We both did.”
“Good.”
“Doctor, how soon can we take him home?” Sally asked.
“Let him stay here for a couple more days; then we’ll talk about you taking him home,” Dr. Urban said.
“All right.”
“Miss McKnight,” Dr. Urban said. “I have an extra room here, in my office. I don’t have a nurse, and you seem quite proficient. I wonder if you would consider staying on for a while longer? I’ll be glad to pay you.”
“All right,” Julia answered.
“You don’t have to pay her, Doc. I’ll pay her,” Smoke said.
“Is there anything you need, Julia?” Sally asked. “Anything I can get for you?”
“No ma’am, thank you just the same,” Julia said. “I brought a grip with me. It’s out in the buckboard.”
“I’ll get it,” Pearlie said. “Anything for Cal’s angel,” he added with a broad smile.
“I’m glad you folks can see my angel too,” Cal said. “She sure is pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yes, Cal, your angel is very pretty,” Sally said.
“You aren’t going to go away or anything are you?” Cal asked Julia. “I mean, just ’cause I didn’t die, that doesn’t mean you have to leave me, does it?”
“I’m not going to leave you,” she said.
“That’s good. I sort of like having my own angel.”
Smoke made arrangements with the Big Rock Livery Stable to take the buckboard and team back to Brown Spur; then he, Sally, and Pearlie rode back out to Sugarloaf, leading Cal’s horse.
“Oh, Smoke, I don’t know what I would do if we lost Cal,” Sally said.
“He’s a strong kid,” Smoke said. “And now Doctor Urban is sure that none of his vital organs were hit. I think it’s just going to be a matter of time until he heals up. Julia knows what she’s doing, and Cal seems to get along with her all right, so I think I’ll pay her to stick around until Cal is fully recovered.”
“He more than just gets along with her. He thinks she’s his angel.”
“You might say that she is,” Smoke said. “Sally, I really don’t think I could have gotten Cal back alive, if it hadn’t been for her.”
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
Dear Editor:
Readers of the newspapers in which my missives now appear, and I am happy to report that this includes most of the newspapers in the state, will recall that I said that my two men, Toon Taylor and Carl Moss, would not hang. By now, everyone in the state must know that I was true to my word, carrying out a brilliant rescue operation.
Success was assured because I planned every aspect of the operation before I launched the attack.
In the words of the great military tactician Sun Tzu, “The general who wins a battle makes many calculations in his temple before the battle is fought. The general who loses a battle makes but few calculations.”
I am Hannibal,
Commandant of the Ghost Riders.
CHAPTER TEN
Hannibal knew that there were some in his organization who questioned why he wanted them to wear armbands. Initially, he had told them that they were wearing red armbands so that in the confusion of battle, they could quickly determine friend from foe. But there was more to it than that. Wearing the red armbands provided a cohesiveness, a unity, just as uniforms did for the army. He knew that, even though they might not realize it, the red armbands gave the men of his command a sense of belonging to a whole that was greater than themselves.
Hannibal wore a blue band, setting himself apart from the others, while still belonging to them. The blue band indicated that he was their leader. Bo Rexwell, who was second-in-command, wore an orange band.
Rexwell wouldn’t have had to wear an armband at all; his appearance was so distinctive that he could be picked out from any crowd. He was bald-headed and his neck was so short that his head looked as if a cannonball was balanced on his shoulders. He also had a purple scar that ran from just above his left eyebrow up across his forehead to just where his hairline would have been if he had hair.
The outfit had been decreased by eight men, Hannibal having lost three at the Condon Ranch and five in Brown Spur when he rescued Taylor and Moss.
“It don’t seem like it was all that good of a trade-off to me,” Rexwell had said after the Brown Spur incident. “We saved two men but it wound up costing us five.”
“That’s because you don’t understand the concept,” Hannibal said. “I want every Ghost Rider to know that we are there for them. Only when you know that it is one for all, and all for one, can you be sure that there will be absolute and unquestioned loyalty. Remember, that is the motto of the Ghost Riders; one for all, and all for one.”
Hannibal had stolen that motto from The Three Musketeers.
Hannibal believed that he needed to find another operation for the men, one that promised a high return for a minimum risk. Such an operation, he knew, would accomplish three things. One, it would make up for the unsuccessful Wiregrass mission. Two, it would take their minds off the men they had lost in the Brown Spur rescue mission, though in Hannibal’s mind, as he had written in his letter to the editor, that had not been a failure. The mission objective had been to rescue his two men who were about to be hanged. And though it had cost him five men, the mission objective had been achieved, and Hannibal believed that achieving the mission, whatever the objective might be, was worth any cost.
And fina
lly, he needed a mission that would provide another infusion of cash, and he knew exactly where, and how, he would do that.
At the moment, because of the loss of eight men, his company was understrength. When he set about building up the Ghost Riders, he had established a table of organizational manpower with a count of thirty men, including himself and Rexwell.
Now, there were only twenty-two, but for what he had in mind, that would be enough. And after this operation, he would recruit more men.
Ten Strike was near the town of Sorento, and Hannibal allowed his men to have a pass into Sorento, but never more than four at a time. And he cautioned them never to wear their red armbands and to always be on their best behavior while they were in town. Any violation of his rules, and they would be court-martialed. And he warned them that if they were found guilty by court-martial, the penalty would be quite severe.
So far there had been no need for a court-martial.
Tonight, as four men were in town and the rest of the men were entertaining themselves with card games and other amusements, Hannibal was planning the next mission. He had, spread out on the table in front of him, a map of Laurette, including the roads approaching the town.
As he examined the map, the plan of operation came to him and he smiled.
“Yes,” he said aloud. “I know exactly how to do it.”
Two days later, Hannibal and the Ghost Riders were gathered just outside the town of Laurette. It was nine o’clock in the morning, and the bank in town had just opened.
“We will split into two groups,” Hannibal said. He had already laid out the plans of the operation to them, but he believed in the old dictum to tell them what you are going to tell them; tell them; then tell them what you told them. That way, there would be no chance of a misunderstanding.
“Rexwell, you will take half of the men and ride down the right side of the road; Taylor, you take the rest and go down the other side. I will be in the middle. Please understand that, for all intents and purposes, we are at war and war is an absolute. To that end, we will shoot everyone who is on the street.”
“Women and children?” someone asked.
“Yes. The shock effect must be terrible and absolute. Believe me, nothing will have a greater shock effect than to see wounded or dead women and children. Ride all the way through to the far end of the road, continuing to shoot everyone you see, then come back to the bank. At that time I will take two men inside. Rexwell, you and the others will fan out into an arc just in front of the bank. I want at least two of you to be armed with rifles, and you will shoot anyone you see, no matter how far away from the bank they are.
“Smith, you and Peters are the best shots with the long guns, so that will be your assignment. But don’t get them out until we reach the bank. You’ll need short guns to huzzah the town.”
Smith and Peters nodded.
“All right, men, draw your pistols.”
Every man drew his gun and awaited Hannibal’s order.
“Charge!” he shouted.
The armed unit galloped into town.
Because it was a warm, sunny morning, the boardwalks on both sides of the street were crowded with pedestrians as people were taking advantage of the weather to get their shopping done. The thunder of galloping horses caught everyone’s attention, and people stopped talking in midconversation to look toward the curious sight.
“What is this?” someone asked. “Who are those fools, galloping into town like that? Someone could get hurt.”
“I don’t know, but we’d better stay out of the street.”
“Engage!” the loud, and to the townspeople, meaningless word, could be heard even above the thunder of hooves.
Suddenly there was the staccato sound of gunshots. Bullets whizzed by the pedestrians, slamming into the buildings, and through the glass windows behind them.
“They’re shooting at us! They’re shooting at—” That was as far as the caller got before he went down.
After the first few bullets, the shooting became more accurate as men, women, and at least three children went down under the gunfire. The sheriff and his deputy, hearing the shots, came out of their office to return the fire, but they got off only a few shots, none of which hit their target, before they too went down.
By now the screams and shouts were nearly as loud as the gunfire, but the human voices quickly died out as so many of the citizens were shot down and the others fled. In accordance with Hannibal’s plan, the group of riders galloped to the far end of the street, then returned, where they stopped in front of the bank. By now there was no one out on the street.
“Shoot into the bank!” Hannibal ordered.
Everyone began shooting into the bank. After several rounds, there was practically no glass left in the building, and not until then did Hannibal and two more men dismount.
“Peters, Smith, take out your rifles and shoot any target you can see,” Hannibal ordered just before he stepped into the bank.
Inside they found two men and a woman. All three were dead. That left no one alive to open the safe door but that wasn’t necessary. Hannibal had planned this operation with as much precision as he planned any operation, striking just at the start of the day’s business. Because of that, the door was standing wide open.
“You two, empty the cashier’s drawers. I’ll clean out the safe,” Hannibal said.
From outside they heard the sporadic bark of Winchester rifles as Smith and Peters fired at targets of opportunity.
“Let’s go!” Hannibal said, once he had the safe emptied. Coming back out front, Hannibal and the other two mounted their horses.
“We’ll leave the same way we came in,” he said. “Shoot anyone you see.”
The Ghost Riders galloped out of town, but this time there was no gunfire because there was no one left to provide a target. Behind them strewn on the boardwalks and in the street and in the bank, were bodies of men, women, and children.
Forty miles north of Laurette, and totally unaware of the massacre that had just taken place in that town, Smoke was taking Cal back home. Cal was lying on a mattress in the back of a buckboard, and Julia was sitting with him.
As they turned off the Big Rock Road, Julia looked up to see the great arch that stretched across the drive. The words SUGARLOAF RANCH were worked within the arch in wrought-iron letters.
The drive ran at least one hundred yards up to a huge, and Julia thought, beautiful house. She had already seen enough of Smoke Jensen to know that he was courageous and very good with a gun. She also knew that he was one of the nicest men she had ever been around, and in the last couple of years she had been around many men. What she hadn’t known until this moment, was that he was a very wealthy man.
Smoke stopped the buckboard in front of the house, where he was met by Pearlie and one of the other ranch hands. They had a litter, and carefully, they moved Cal onto the litter, then carried him into the house. For the duration of his recovery, Cal would be in what the cowboys called the big house, rather than the bunkhouse.
“I’ll put the buckboard away,” Smoke said.
“Before you do that, shouldn’t you take me back into town?” Julia asked.
“Why do you want to go to town?”
“Well, now that we have him home, I think I should go on back to Brown Spur,” Julia said.
“Must you?” Sally asked. “It is obvious that you know how to nurse. I would be very pleased if you would stay on for a while, at least until Cal is much improved. We would be more than happy to compensate you for your time.”
“Uh, ma’am, I would love to stay, but . . . uh . . . you might not want me to, when you find out who I am.”
“You two work it out,” Smoke said, as he headed toward the barn.
“What do you mean, find out who you are?” Sally asked. “Do you mean your name isn’t Julia McKnight?”
“Oh, no, Julia McKnight is my real name,” Julia said. “But the folks back in Brown Spur know me by my working name as E
legant Sue.”
“I see,” Sally said.
“Yes ma’am, I figured you would see, I mean once you heard what my working name was. So I’m sure you don’t want me to stay around, now that you know.”
“Julia, I had some very good friends once, named Flora and Emma, both of whom worked for someone who called herself Fancy Lil. Now, if I could have friends like that, why couldn’t I have a friend named Elegant Sue?”
“But, were they . . . I mean, these friends of yours—”
“Are you asking me if they were ladies of the evening?” Sally asked.
“Yes ma’am, I guess I am.”
“The operative term in ladies of the evening, Julia, is that they were ladies. They were also my friends, and I would like you to be my friend as well.”
“Oh,” Julia said. “Why, Mrs. Jensen, I would be honored to be your friend.”
“Good. We’ll start with you not calling me Mrs. Jensen. I’m Sally.”
“Sally,” Julia said with a wide smile.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pearlie and the cowboy who had helped him carry Cal into the bedroom where he would be staying, came back out onto the front porch.
“We’ve got him all situated, Miz Sally,” Pearlie said.
“Thank you, Pearlie.”
“You know what I was thinkin’?” Pearlie asked.
“What’s that?”
“He’d more ’n likely love to have some bear claws. That is, if you felt up to makin’ some.”
“Oh, I don’t think it would be good for him to have a whole batch of bear claws all by himself. I mean, with him having a stomach wound, I’m sure it wouldn’t be good.”
“No ma’am, I don’t think so either,” Pearlie said. “That’s why I’d be glad to take some of ’em, just so that he doesn’t eat too many.”
Sally smiled. “Pearlie, that is awfully nice of you to volunteer like that.”
“Well, Cal is my friend, so I just want to do right by him, is all.”
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