“Yeah, now that Pine Tree mentions it, I do. It’s a couple hundred yards from the spot where Preacher’s supposed to stall the troopers. That’s within rifle range for a good shot.”
“It doesn’t matter how good they are,” Smoke said. “If Talley and his men open fire when the Paiutes and the cavalry are facing each other across the wash, the sound of the shots is all it’ll take. Somebody on one side or the other will panic and start shooting, too.”
“Then how are we going to prevent that, even if we get there in time?” Matt asked. “If we open up on Talley and the rest of those gun-wolves, then our shots will cause the same result, won’t they?”
Colin Ferguson and Maureen were riding behind the three men. Ferguson moved his horse up alongside Smoke’s ’Paloose. “Let me ride ahead and warn the soldiers. I can tell them what’s going on.”
“One of us could do that,” Matt said.
Smoke shook his head. “As far as those troops are concerned, we’re fugitives from the law, Matt. The officer in charge of them would be more likely to believe Mr. Ferguson.” He turned to Ferguson and nodded. “That’s a good idea. Can you get there on your own while we circle around to come up on that ridge from behind?”
“Of course. I’ve spent most of my time in town, but I’ve done a bit of exploring in the countryside hereabouts. I won’t get lost, I assure you.”
“I’ll go with him,” Maureen said. “The soldiers will listen to me, too.”
“We can hope,” Smoke said. “Just be careful. If you run into any of Longacre’s men, they’ll probably try to stop you, even if they don’t know exactly what’s going on.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Ferguson said. “Just get there in time to stop Talley from ambushing those soldiers!”
He and Maureen veered off from the others. Smoke and Matt led the way toward a low line of red along the horizon. Pine Tree pointed toward it. “Bloody Ridge.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t live up to its name,” Smoke said.
Chapter 34
If Judd Talley and his men were hidden on top of the ridge, as Smoke suspected, all their attention would be on the scene playing out in front of them. That was his hope, anyway. If any of the hired killers happened to look back and see the dust kicked up by the horses approaching the place, the chances of heading off a massacre would shrink even more.
When he and his companions were several hundred yards away, Smoke waved them to a halt. “We’ll go ahead on foot now.” He swung down from the saddle. “Pine Tree, tell a couple of your men to watch the horses.”
Pine Tree passed along the order as everyone dismounted, designating two of the warriors to take care of the group’s mounts. They didn’t look happy about missing out on the action, but did as they were told.
Smoke, Matt, and the others ran toward the ridge. “Use what cover you can,” Smoke said. “We don’t want them to see us coming. And when we get there, try to keep anybody from getting a shot off.”
He drew his knife from its sheath, and the others followed his example. The battle was going to be at close range.
In silence, the men hurried toward the ridge, darting from rock to rock and bush to bush, crouching in little gullies, pausing behind scrubby pine trees. Smoke spotted a couple men holding half a dozen horses each. He pointed them out to Matt. The two of them stole forward while Pine Tree and the other Paiutes hung back for a moment.
One of the men happened to glance around when Smoke and Matt were still a dozen feet away, and he opened his mouth to shout a warning. Smoke flung the Bowie knife in his hand, and the weapon flew straight and true. The keen-edged blade sank in the hardcase’s neck, making him stagger back as blood gushed out of the wound. That caught his companion’s attention, of course, but as the man tried to whirl around, Matt was already on top of him. Matt’s left arm went around the man’s neck to choke off any cry while his right hand shoved his knife into the man’s back. The hired killer spasmed as the blade sliced between his ribs and into his heart. Matt pulled the knife free and lowered the dying man to the ground. The other man had already collapsed, and Smoke was retrieving his knife from the corpse.
Smoke waved the Paiutes forward as the horses began to shift around nervously. Quite a bit of blood had been spilled, and they didn’t like the smell of it.
The men crept up the slope as quickly and quietly as possible. The skittish horses might bolt at any second. If they did, the rataplan of hoofbeats would warn the men on top of the ridge that something was wrong.
As Matt neared the crest, he heard Judd Talley’s voice telling the rest of the hired guns, “Remember, shoot into the troopers, not the redskins. They won’t think about where the bullets are coming from, they’ll just open fire on the Paiutes.”
Matt reached the top and saw Talley and a dozen of Longacre’s hired killers crouched behind rocks, aiming rifles at the cavalrymen down below. Talley heard the scrape of boot leather on stone, and whipped around, his eyes widening at the sight of Matt lunging toward him.
Matt thrust the knife ahead of him, intending to sink the blade into Talley’s chest, but Talley used the rifle he held to ward off the blow. The Winchester’s barrel cracked painfully across Matt’s wrist and sent the knife spinning away, as he crashed into Talley.
The two of them bounced off the boulder Talley had been using for cover. Matt’s momentum drove Talley back, and suddenly the ground fell out from under them. Both men tumbled down the steep slope of Bloody Ridge.
Smoke, Pine Tree, and the Paiutes fell on the rest of the gunmen, striking fast so the men didn’t have a chance to fire. A couple died instantly as knives plunged into their bodies or slashed across their throats, but the others put up a fight. They were hardened killers, and Smoke and his allies found themselves in desperate struggles.
Smoke closed his free hand around the barrel of the rifle his opponent tried to bring to bear on him and wrenched it upward. He stabbed his knife at the man’s throat, but the man caught his wrist and turned the thrust so it cut across his shoulder instead. The man’s knee came up sharply as he fell back against a rock. The blow was aimed at Smoke’s groin. Smoke twisted his hips at the last instant, saving himself from the crippling impact and taking the gunman’s knee on his thigh instead. It was enough to knock Smoke off balance, and both of them went down, grappling with each other. The gunman lost his hold on the rifle, and it went clattering down the rocky slope.
Smoke brought his knee up, got his foot in his opponent’s stomach, and heaved the man up and over his head. The man cried out in alarm for a second before he crashed down on the ground. He rolled over and clawed at the revolver on his hip. Before the gun could clear leather, Smoke landed on top of the man and drove the knife into his belly. Smoke ripped the blade from side to side, feeling the hot gush of blood over his hand.
All along the top of the ridge, similar life-and-death struggles played out. The man Pine Tree had tackled knocked the knife from his hand, but the Paiute warrior got the fingers of one hand locked around the man’s throat while with the other he grabbed the gun the man had drawn. The Colt’s hammer went back and then fell, but Pine Tree had already slid his hand along the cylinder so the hammer landed on the web between his thumb and index finger. That was a painful way of keeping the gun from going off, but it worked. Pine Tree maintained his grip on both gun and throat, bearing down until the gunman’s face turned purple and his tongue protruded as his eyes glazed over in death.
And while all this was going on, the stand-off below continued, with the soldiers and warriors facing each other across Big Bear Wash having no idea what was going on, knowing only that they were ready to kill their enemies.
The sudden drumming of hoofbeats in the distance shattered the tense silence and made Preacher lift his head in surprise. Across the wash, the sergeant called, “Riders comin’, Cap’n!”
McKee wheeled his mount around. “More savages, Sergeant?”
“I don’t think so,” the burly noncom repl
ied. “They look like white folks to me.”
That was true, Preacher realized. As the pair of riders galloped closer, it was impossible to miss the long red hair streaming out behind one of them. “Cap’n McKee!” the old mountain man called. “That looks like Maureen Ferguson and her uncle from Halltown. You better listen to what they have to say.”
“Don’t presume to give me orders,” McKee snapped. But he went on, “Sergeant, escort those civilians to me. The rest of you . . . hold your fire unless I command you to shoot.”
That was progress, Preacher thought. McKee was at least curious enough to want to know what was going on there. Preacher hoped the newcomers could explain.
The ranks of troopers parted to let the sergeant through as he rode out to meet Maureen and Ferguson. Preacher could see both newcomers well enough to be sure that’s who they were. The sergeant brought them to the edge of the wash on the soldiers’ side. Their horses were lathered and exhausted from a hard run, and the two riders looked pretty worn out as well. Ferguson had dried blood on his forehead from some sort of injury.
His voice was strong, though. “Captain, you’re in command of these troops?”
“That’s right,” McKee said. “I’m Captain Edward McKee, and I’ll ask the questions here, sir. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“Colin Ferguson’s my name. I own one of the hotels and a general store in Halltown. This is my niece Maureen. We’re here to stop you from making a terrible mistake, Captain. It’s Cyrus Longacre who’s to blame for all the trouble here, not Walking Hawk and his people.”
McKee grimaced. “Not another crazy story about Mr. Longacre. I’m surprised a successful businessman would believe such a thing.”
“Would you believe that Longacre sent his hired killers out here to ambush you and your men so you’d start a war with the Paiutes?”
“That’s insane!” McKee snapped.
“Is it?” Maureen demanded. She pointed. “Then look up there on Bloody Ridge!”
Just as all eyes swung in that direction, two struggling figures appeared at the ridge’s crest and plunged over the edge into a wild, out-of-control tumble down the slope.
The fact that the ridge wasn’t a sheer drop saved Matt’s life, but it was steep enough that he couldn’t catch himself as he and Talley slammed into and bounced off rocks. They didn’t come to a stop until they reached the bottom, some forty feet below where they had fallen.
Matt had lost his gun on the way down, but so had Talley. They were on even terms, other than the fact that Talley was several inches taller and probably forty pounds heavier. Both of them, shaken up by the fall, struggled to their feet about the same time. Talley shook his head like a bull to clear out the cobwebs, and then, still like a bull, he bellowed in rage and charged.
Rage of his own filled Matt. He met Talley’s attack with a hard right punch that landed solidly on Talley’s jaw. At the same time, one of Talley’s big fists crashed into Matt’s chest and knocked him back gasping for breath. For a second Matt feared the brutal blow had stopped his heart.
But the hammer of his pulse pounded inside his head, and he swung his fists in time to it, standing toe to toe with Talley and slugging, right, left, right, left. Talley dealt out as much punishment as he absorbed. Matt found himself forced to give ground. Talley was too big, too strong, and maddeningly fast. If he had any weak spots, Matt hadn’t found them.
He was too busy to tell how the rest of the fight was going. The cavalry and the Paiutes could have been blazing away at each other across the wash, and Matt wouldn’t have known it. He blocked one of Talley’s punches but couldn’t get out of the way of another. He weaved to the side and took the blow on his shoulder.
It landed with less force than the punches had earlier, Matt realized. Talley was tiring. His face was red, and he was struggling to draw breath. He had the size, but not the wind.
That realization gave Matt the effort he needed to redouble his efforts. He bored in, cutting and slicing Talley’s face with short, sharp blows. Talley’s swings became wilder, taking on a sense of desperate flailing. Matt caught him in the throat with a punch, making Talley stagger back as catching his breath became even harder for him. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Matt peppered Talley’s face with more blows.
He got too close. Talley roared and flung his arms around Matt, catching him in a bear hug. Matt felt his feet lifted off the ground. Now he was the one who couldn’t breathe.
As Talley stumbled around, trying to crush his opponent, Matt got a foot behind one of Talley’s knees and yanked. Talley’s leg buckled and he went over backward with Matt on top of him. As they crashed to the ground, Talley’s grip was knocked loose. Matt dug a knee into Talley’s belly as hard as he could and levered himself up into a kneeling position. He brought a fist down into Talley’s face in a savage punch that made the back of Talley’s head hit the ground. Again and again, alternating fists, Matt pummeled the big man, pounding his face into a swollen, bloody mess. Talley wasn’t fighting back anymore. He couldn’t.
Somebody grabbed Matt from behind and dragged him off. Matt tried to twist around and strike out at the new enemy, but he heard Smoke’s voice in his ear. “It’s over, Matt! It’s over!”
Matt heard hoofbeats then, and looked around through bleary eyes to see the cavalry captain riding up, along with Colin and Maureen Ferguson. Preacher was with them, too.
“That’s enough,” the captain called out.
Smoke let go of Matt. “More than enough, Captain.” He pointed at Talley’s senseless form. “You must have seen this man with Longacre in Halltown. He’s Judd Talley, the boss of the hired guns who work for Longacre. He and a dozen of Longacre’s men were up on that ridge, ready to ambush you and start an Indian war, so Longacre could get rid of the Paiutes.”
The officer frowned. “That’s insane.”
Smoke took him by surprise by saying, “You’re right. Longacre’s so arrogant and full of himself, I reckon you could call him loco. He’d rather spill a lot of innocent blood to get what he wants, all to make a point that no one dare stand up to him.”
“I . . . I don’t believe that.”
Matt’s chest was heaving from the exertions of his fight with Talley. He managed to catch his breath enough to say, “Longacre had a young woman killed . . . just to frame me for her murder. That’s how crazy he is, Captain.”
“And we can prove it,” Preacher put in. “All you got to do is talk to the witness Longacre and Talley forced to lie at the boy’s trial.”
The officer looked around at all of them and shook his head. “This is all too confusing,” he declared. “We’re going back to Halltown, all of us, and I’m going to get some answers, by God!”
“You mean your troops, too?” Preacher asked.
The captain hesitated for a second, but he nodded. “Yes. I’m not going to be responsible for starting an Indian war if someone has lied to me.”
“Well, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said,” Preacher snapped.
Smoke smiled wearily. Leave it to Preacher to speak the plain truth. Luckily, the captain didn’t look too offended.
With a nod toward Talley, Smoke said, “You’d better take him and any of Longacre’s men who are still alive back to town with you. Preacher, you fetch Spivey and meet us there.”
The old mountain man nodded and wheeled his horse.
The captain frowned. “Just who are you to be giving orders here?”
“Name’s Smoke Jensen. If you want to get in touch with Washington and ask about me, go right ahead. I’ve done a few favors for the War Department in my time, and some other folks back there, too.”
“Don’t worry, we’re going to get this all sorted out. If you and your friends have been lying to me, Jensen, you’ll pay the price. I’ll see to that.”
Smoke, Matt, the Fergusons, and Captain McKee rode ahead of the main body of soldiers as they approached Halltown. Several troopers accompanied them to act
as guards over Talley and the three hired killers who had survived the battle on Bloody Ridge. Quite a commotion erupted in the settlement as the group rode in.
Cyrus Longacre heard the shouts, and stepped onto the porch of the Sierra House, backed by the rest of his gunmen. His teeth tightened on the cigar between them when he saw the bloody, battered, semiconscious form of Judd Talley surrounded by cavalrymen. Longacre’s eyes glittered with hate as he looked at Matt.
Matt saw that as he reined to a halt in front of the hotel along with the others. He smiled grimly at Longacre.
The railroad man appeared to recover his wits. He took the cigar out of his mouth and said, “Well, well, Captain McKee, I see that you’ve captured a couple fugitives. That man”—he leveled a finger at Matt—“is a murderer! He killed an innocent young woman. Brutally slaughtered her. He was supposed to hang yesterday. I suppose we can have a hanging today, though, eh?”
“There’s not going to be any hanging,” McKee snapped.
“Oh? Matt Jensen was found guilty in a court of law and legally sentenced to death.”
“By a judge you bought and paid for!” Ferguson said. “You’ll not get away with it this time, Longacre.”
Longacre shook his head and smiled tolerantly. “Really, Captain. Surely you can see these people are all lying. Why, a reputable witness testified at the trial that he heard the victim scream right after Jensen went up to her room.”
Smoke looked back along the street. “What witness would that be, Longacre?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That one?”
Longacre turned his head, and his jaw tightened visibly as he saw Preacher and Joseph Spivey riding into Halltown.
Matt saw Roscoe Goldsmith in the crowd forming in front of the hotel. He called the lawyer over, bent down in the saddle, and spoke a few quick words to him. Goldsmith seemed a little more sober than usual. He nodded to Matt, then stepped toward McKee and raised a hand. “Captain, a word?”
The Family Jensen Page 26
