He figured he wouldn’t have long to wait. Most times sentries were changed about the time of the evening meal, so the men coming on duty could eat before taking up their post, and the men relieved of duty could have a hot meal waiting for them on their return.
Smoke climbed up on one of the boulders and peered over the cliff edge at the canyon below. He could see food being prepared at the large campfire in the center of the canyon. He was surprised at the number of women he saw working around the fire, but then realized these weren’t the kind of men to deprive themselves of female company for any length of time. He supposed most of the women were prostitutes, as men like these weren’t likely to be the marrying kind.
Before long his patience was rewarded with the sound of two men making their way up the trail toward the sentries on duty.
“Yo, Curly and Mike,” one of the newcomers yelled. “Don’t go shootin’ us. It’s just Joe and Charley comin’ to relieve you.”
“It’s ’bout time,” the larger of the two sentries called back. “Mike and me are ’bout to freeze our balls off up here.”
The man who spoke, evidently named Curly, was just about Smoke’s size. He was tall and broad through the shoulders, had a heavy whisker growth that made his jaws look blue in the fading light, and wore a bright red flannel shirt under a thick, black woolen coat and a dark hat pulled low over his forehead.
“He’ll do,” Smoke thought as he watched the four men talk for a moment before changing places.
“What’s fer supper tonight?” Curly asked, rubbing his hands together and hunching his shoulders against the cold.
“What do ya think?” Joe answered. “Elk meat and beans and tortillas.”
“Goddammit,” Curly growled. “Don’t those whores know how to cook anythin’ else?”
Joe laughed. “They wasn’t brought up here ’cause of their skills with a skillet, Curly.”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “Leastways they know how to keep a body warm at night.”
“Yeah, but I’ll bet that little lady the boss has in his cabin is a sight better at it than those whores,” Curly said, his teeth showing in a wide grin.
Joe nodded. “Yeah, it’s a shame the boss don’t share her around some.”
Smoke felt his mouth go dry and his heart hammer at the way the men were talking about Mary Carson. His hands clenched as his fury mounted. There would be no mercy shown this night for these bastards, he thought.
“Well, you boys keep your powder dry and try to keep your fingers from freezin’ off tonight,” Mike said as he and Curly started down the trail, their hands in their coat pockets as they leaned into the frigid wind blowing down the mountain slopes.
Knowing he dared not make a sound, Smoke pulled his Bowie knife from its scabbard on the back of his belt and stood up, moving slowly so his knees wouldn’t creak and give his position away.
He pulled his left-hand Colt and held it in one hand and the knife in the other. As the two men passed him, he stepped out and brought the Colt down hard on the back of Curly’s head. When he collapsed with a grunt and Mike turned around, his eyes wide, Smoke swung the knife in an upward motion, letting the point of the blade enter his chest just below the left rib cage, the blade continuing up to pierce Mike’s heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Smoke pulled both bodies off the trail and into the thick brush up the slope a ways. Working fast, he stripped Curly’s coat, hat, and shirt off and laid them on the ground. After a moment, Curly began to groan and move his arms and legs.
“Sorry about this, Curly,” Smoke said, “but you shouldn’t talk in such a manner about a lady like Mrs. Carson.”
In a quick movement, Smoke drew the knife across Curly’s throat and rolled him over, so the spurting blood wouldn’t get his clothes dirty.
As fast as he could, Smoke put on Curly’s shirt, coat, and hat, then bent and took a handful of dirt and smeared it on his cheeks and jaws, hoping in the darkness it would look like the man’s heavy whisker growth.
Satisfied the bodies couldn’t be seen from the trail, Smoke walked down the side of the mountain toward the canyon below, whistling a low tune through lips growing stiff with the cold.
When he reached the canyon floor, he stayed in shadows away from the campfire until most of the other bandits had finished their meal, grabbed their women, and retired to the other cabins or their sleeping bags. He eased up to the pot of meat and beans and piled some on a tin plate, poured himself a cup of coffee, and walked off to the side, as near to Slaughter’s cabin as he could get and still not arouse suspicion.
He sat on the ground with his back to a fir tree and ate and drank his coffee, trying to keep his muscles from stiffening up while he waited for his chance to make a move.
A drunken cowboy with one arm around a thickset woman, and a whiskey bottle in the other hand, walked by.
“Howdy, Curly,” the man mumbled, glancing at Smoke, who sat with his head lowered as if he were concentrating on his food.
“Ummm,” Smoke mumbled back as if his mouth were full of food.
“Cold enough for ya?” the man asked, squeezing his woman closer as he ambled by.
“Uh-huh,” Smoke answered without looking up, hoping the man was too drunk to notice it wasn’t Curly he was talking to.
After the pair passed, Smoke glanced up and saw the door to Slaughter’s cabin open. A tall woman walked out and, followed by a man, proceeded toward the outhouse behind the cabin.
Smoke set his plate and cup on the ground and got to his feet, making his way around behind the outhouse.
The man was leaning away from the wind, trying to light a cigarette, when Smoke approached him.
“Got a light?” Smoke asked, making his voice low and guttural.
“Shore, Curly,” the man answered, and held out the match.
When the light hit Smoke’s face, the man’s eyes widened. “Say, you ain’t Curly . . .”
Before he could sound an alarm, Smoke’s Bowie knife flashed, impaling the man’s chest on the twelve-inch blade.
Smoke threw his arms around him and held him up as he died, then eased the body to the ground and pulled it behind the outhouse where it wouldn’t easily be seen.
After a moment, the door opened and Mary stepped out, arranging her long dress.
Smoke stepped up to her. “Mary,” he whispered, “it’s Smoke.”
“Oh!” she said, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Come on, we’ve got to make tracks before they miss you,” he said, his voice harsh with urgency.
She nodded and followed him as he moved back into deep shadows near the wall of the canyon. He took her arm and walked as rapidly as he could toward a small footpath he’d seen near the outhouse. It wasn’t much more than a clear area running up the slope between fir and pine trees, and was so steep at times that he had to almost carry her up the wall.
They had made it almost a hundred yards up the canyon wall before the door to the cabin opened and a large, broad-shouldered man appeared. He had a cigar in his mouth and stood on the small porch of the cabin for a moment, looking back toward the outhouse.
He must have sensed something was wrong when he didn’t see the guard he’d sent with Mary, for he suddenly drew his pistol and ran toward the privy.
“Jack, where are you, Jack?” he hollered.
Smoke and Mary stopped and watched as he suddenly stiffened when he found Jack’s body crumpled on the dirt behind the small structure.
He jerked the outhouse door open, then turned around and held his pistol in the air.
Before he could fire, Smoke cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed like a mountain lion, a harsh and guttural sound that would make the hairs on the back of a man’s neck stand up.
Suddenly the night lit up with explosions of gunfire from all sides of the canyon walls. The first to fall were the sentries guarding the mountain passes into and out of the canyon.
Without waiting to see what happened next, Smo
ke took Mary’s arm and propelled her up the slope as fast as they could go.
Behind and below them, the outlaws’ camp erupted in a nightmare of dynamite explosions, gunshots, and screams of men hit and dying.
Bandits rushed out of cabins and sleeping bags like ants from a disturbed mound. They ran into the center of the camp, pointed their pistols and rifles at the walls surrounding them, and fired blindly, shooting at the night as if they could somehow stop the death raining down on them.
A stick of dynamite landed square in the center of the main campfire, exploding and blowing burning logs and branches in all directions. Two of the smaller cabins caught fire, sending men and women screaming out into the darkness, their hair and clothes in flames.
Slaughter did his best to rally his men, shouting orders at them, trying to be heard over the explosions of gunfire and dynamite.
“Goddammit, get under cover,” he screamed, crouching and firing upward at the barrel-flashes above with his pistol.
Finally, evidently figuring his pistol hadn’t the range to reach their attackers, he ducked back into his cabin and reappeared moments later with a rifle, accompanied by Whitey and Swede, who also had long guns in their arms.
Meanwhile, men outlined by the light of the burning cabins and other fires started by dynamite were being cut down where they stood. Bodies littered the canyon floor, screams of pain and fear echoed through the night, punctuated by the booming explosions of high-powered rifles from above.
Before long, the outlaws learned to stay hidden, crawling behind fir and pine trees on their bellies, crouching next to dead bodies, and some even made their way to the corral trying to hide among their mounts to escape the withering fire from above.
The shooting slowed as targets became scarce.
Smoke and Mary eventually made it to the cliff tops overlooking the valley below. She stepped up behind Monte, who was crouched behind a boulder pouring shot after shot into the men below.
“Monte,” she said quietly.
He dropped his rifle and rose to throw his arms around her, his eyes finding Smoke and glistening in gratitude.
“We don’t have a lot of time for a reunion,” Smoke said, his voice urgent.
“We won’t be able to keep them pinned down for long, so I want you and Mary to get on your horses and get the hell away from here,” he added. “Find Muskrat and have him lead you down the mountain the fastest way. Get to Jackson Hole and take the first train out of town.”
“What if it’s not heading for Colorado?” Monte asked.
Smoke shook his head. “I don’t care where it’s going, just get her out of here.”
As he led Mary toward the horses, Monte said, “What about you and the others?”
“Slaughter doesn’t know who attacked him and his gang,” Smoke said. “We’ll give it another hour or two, then head back to Jackson Hole. We’ll get back in the rooming house and act as if we don’t know anything about the attack. After a few days, we’ll make our way back to Big Rock.”
“What do you think Slaughter’s gonna do?” Monte asked as he saddled one of the packhorses for Mary.
Smoke shrugged. “If he’s smart, he’ll cut his losses and figure this was a bad idea.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then he’ll come looking for us at Big Rock, and we’ll be ready for him.”
Monte helped Mary up into the saddle, then swung up on his mount.
Smoke pointed off to the left. “Muskrat’s over there. Find him and get moving.”
Monte leaned down and stuck out his hand. As Smoke took it, he said, “Thanks, Smoke.”
Smoke glanced at Mary, whose eyes were moist with gratitude.
“Don’t mention it, partner. Just get Mary back to Big Rock. My advice is to take her to Sugarloaf and tell Sally we’ll be back in a week or two.”
Monte nodded and spurred his horse toward where Muskrat’s big Sharps could be heard sending .50-caliber slugs toward the outlaws’ camp.
Smoke picked up his Sharps, eared back the hammer, and leaned over a boulder, searching for someone to kill.
15
Close to midnight, Smoke and his friends fired their final shots at the outlaw camp and jumped on their horses to ride back to Jackson Hole. They left behind them a camp in ruins, with most of the cabins destroyed or severely damaged, the corral torn asunder and the horses scattered and running wild. At least ten men lay dead and many more were wounded.
As they rode back down the mountain, Smoke watching carefully for the landmarks Muskrat had pointed out to him, Louis pulled his bronc up next to Joker.
“You think there’s any chance we killed Slaughter and put an end to this entire sorry episode?”
Smoke shook his head. “In all my years out here, Louis, I’ve trailed lots of men and had some on my trail, and I’ve never had a problem solved that easily. I think we’d better figure on Slaughter surviving our assault.”
“What do you think he’s going to do?”
“Well, first off it’s going to take him a while to sort out the mess we left back there, at least a day or so. Then, he’s going to get to thinking that the only place an attack like that could have come from would be Jackson Hole. I think he’s going to come to town loaded for bear, looking for anyone who’s new to town or doesn’t fit in. He’ll want revenge, and I don’t think he’ll be particularly selective on who he takes his anger out on.”
“Perhaps we should pack our gear and get on the trail toward home before he comes looking.”
“We can’t. We’ve got to stay here long enough to give Monte and Mary time to get away clean. If we can stall him for a few days, there won’t be any way he can catch up to them before they manage to get back to Big Rock.”
“And if he and his gang comes to Big Rock looking to get even?”
“I’m going to send Sally a wire tomorrow morning. Monte and Mary have lots of friends back home. I’ll tell her to organize the town and to be ready. We may be in for a monumental fight once he rebuilds his gang.”
“Do you really think he’ll go to all that trouble for a mere fifty thousand dollars?”
Smoke shook his head. “It’s gone way beyond the money now, Louis. Slaughter’s been dealt a severe defeat, and in his own backyard. It’s his reputation he’s going to be concerned with now. If word gets around that some country sheriff took Big Jim Slaughter on and kicked his ass, Slaughter won’t be able to move without looking back over his shoulder all the time to see if someone else thinks they can do the same thing.”
Just as they came down off the mountain slope and pulled onto the main trail headed toward Jackson Hole, a light snowfall began. Smoke and the others pulled their coats tight around them, settled hats low to keep the snow out of their eyes, and spurred their mounts toward town.
* * *
For the next two days, Smoke and Louis and Cal and Pearlie were careful to take their meals apart and not to be seen talking to each other. Louis continued to frequent the gaming halls, giving expensive lessons to the cowboys about the dangers of playing poker with an expert. Smoke spent most of his time in various saloons, hanging around and listening to idle talk. Cal and Pearlie made it a point to let everyone think they were miners, working a claim in the nearby mountains, so if Mr. Schultz told anyone they’d bought some dynamite and gunpowder, there wouldn’t be any suspicions raised.
Sheriff Walter Pike walked up and stood next to Smoke at the Cattleman’s Saloon bar. “Howdy, Mr. West.”
Smoke took a drink of his beer before replying. “Hello, Sheriff Pike.”
“Well, I’ve gone through all of my circulars and can’t seem to find any recent paper on you, Johnny.”
Smoke shrugged, as if it were no concern to him. “I told you, Sheriff. I’m just a law-abiding citizen hanging around until I can find some work.”
Pike nodded, his experienced eyes taking in the way Smoke moved and handled himself. “Uh-huh, sure you are.”
“What’s that sup
posed to mean, Sheriff?”
“I’ve seen a lot of men come through here, West, and I’ve gotten to be a pretty good judge of character. You don’t fit in with the rest of the pond scum in this town.”
Smoke raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“No. Oh, I can see you’re handy with a gun, that’s evident. But you don’t go around trying to impress everyone with how mean and tough you are, even though it’s plain you could take just about anyone else in town with those six-killers on your hips.”
“Sheriff, I make my living with these pistols. I’m not one to use them unless there’s a profit in it for me. That’s all.”
Pike smiled. “I’m not so sure that’s all, Johnny. You don’t fit in, so I’m gonna be watchin’ you to see just what your game is. All right?”
Smoke shrugged. “Sure, Sheriff. It’s your town, you can do anything you want.”
Pike tipped his hat. “See you around, Johnny.”
“Be seeing you, Sheriff.”
* * *
The next day, Smoke was having lunch in Aunt Bea’s dining room when he glanced out of the window and saw a group of four men talking to Sheriff Pike on the boardwalk in front of the Cattleman’s Saloon. After a moment of conversation, the sheriff inclined his head toward Aunt Bea’s Boardinghouse and said a few words. The four men looked over, nodded, and began to cross the street toward Bea’s place.
Smoke took a deep breath. Unless he missed his guess, it was starting. Across the room Louis was at a table by himself, and Cal and Pearlie were sharing another table. Smoke caught their eyes and nodded slightly, cutting his eyes toward the dining room door. His friends nodded back, and he could see each of them reach down and take the hammer-thongs off their pistols. Louis leaned back and straightened his right leg, allowing him easy access to his pistol.
Smoke pushed his plate away, built himself a cigarette, and concentrated on his coffee cup when the four men entered the room.
A large, broad-shouldered man was the leader, and behind him was a tall, heavyset blond man, a thin, wiry albino, and a young kid in his teens wearing a black vest and twin pearl-handled Colts on his hips.
Heart of the Mountain Man Page 11
