“Have you got any idea just where we might run to?” Pearlie asked. “We were running as hard as we could just to get here.”
“Maybe if we surrender,” the cowboy suggested.
“Surrender and do what? Get our carcasses spreadeagled with our guts cut out? You do remember what happened to Emilio, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” the cowboy responded grimly. “Yeah, you’re right. We ain’t got no choice but to fight.”
Pearlie was glad to see that the cowboy’s near panic had been replaced by a quiet determination.
“Damn right,” Pearlie said. “They may kill us, but we’re goin’ to kill one hell of a lot of them first.”
Pearlie pointed to the neck of the island, which faced the eastern bank of the creek, the direction from which they had just come.
“I think our best bet is to try and squirm down through the tall grass. We’ll take positions as near to the point as we can get, and do as much damage as we can when they start across the water.”
“What do you think, Pearlie? Do you think we can stop them?” Barrett asked.
We’ll know the answer to that in about two minutes, ” Pearlie said. “Now, hurry, get into position. And try and stay out of sight. I’m going to take this log. Barrett, you take that tree; Pedro, that stump; Julio, you and Billy go over there behind that rock.”
As the men hurried to take up their positions, Pearlie shouted more instructions. “Hold your fire until the last possible moment. Then make your shots count!”
“Pearlie, you didn’t say where you wanted me,” Cal said.
“I want you to go for help.”
“What?”
“You are the best rider here. I want you to get back to the ranch. Tell Smoke where we are. Tell him to get here as fast as he can. If he gets here soon enough, some of us may still be alive.”
“No, Pearlie, don’t make me do this!” Cal protested. “I don’t aim to show my tail while the rest of you are stayin’ here to face them.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Cal, do it!” Barrett said. “Do you think any of us would actually think you are running?”
“Don’t you understand, Cal? If you don’t go for help, none of us are going to get out of this alive!” Pearlie said. “You are our only chance.”
“All right,” Cal agreed. “I guess if you put it like that, I’ve got no choice.” He put his foot into the stirrup, then swung up into the saddle.
“Good luck!” Pearlie shouted, slapping Cal’s horse on the rump. The others shouted as well as Cal hit the water on the west side of the island, away from where the main body of their pursuers were. Pearlie watched Cal gallop north along the west bank of the creek until the horse crested an embankment. Then Pearlie turned back to await the rustlers.
“Here they come!” Barrett said. His announcement wasn’t necessary, however, for by then everyone could hear the drumming of the hoofbeats as well as the cries of the rustlers themselves, yipping and barking and screaming at the top of their lungs.
The rustlers crested the bluff just before the creek; then, without a pause, they rushed down the hill toward the water, their horses sounding like thunder.
“Remember, boys, hold your fire!” Pearlie shouted. “Hold your fire until I give you the word!”
The attackers rushed into the water, riding hard across the fifty-yard-wide shallows. Then three of them pulled ahead of the others, and when they were halfway across the water, Pearlie gave the order to fire. All three of the outlaws went down.
Although there were only five defenders on the island, their fire was so effective that the outlaws who remained swerved to the right and left, riding by, rather than over, the cowboys’ positions.
The outlaws regrouped on the west bank, then turned and rode back for a second charge. Again, the defenders’ fire was so effective that the outlaws separated as they approached the island, like a swiftly flowing river parting around a rock.
“Is anyone hit?” Pearlie called to the others.
All four answered in the negative. So far, no one had been scratched, though the same thing could not be said of their attackers, many of whom were now strewn in the water and on the ground before them.
“How are you doing on bullets?” Pearlie asked. “Do all of you have enough?”
“I’m running out of ammunition,” Barrett said.
Pearlie took off his belt and started pushing cartridges out of the little leather loops. “Let’s divide up what we have left,” he suggested.
“Looks like they’re about to come at us again,” Billy called out.
“All right, boys, get ready. They’re comin’ back,” Pearlie shouted.
Pearlie got down behind the fallen tree and rested the barrel of his rifle on the log. He thumbed back the hammer of his rifle, sighted down the long barrel, and waited.
The outlaws came again, their horses leaping over the bodies of their comrades and horses who had fallen before. One of the bandits was wearing a blue Army jacket with sergeant’s stripes on each sleeve. That was the one Pearlie selected as his target. He waited for a good shot.
When the shot he was looking for presented itself, Pearlie squeezed the trigger. His bullet hit the man just above the right ear, then exited through the top of his head. Pearlie saw brain tissue, blood, and bone detritus erupt from the top of the man’s head. The bandit dropped his pistol as he pitched back off his horse.
When they saw their leader go down, the others milled about for a moment, uncertain as to what they should do. One or two started forward, but it wasn’t a concerted charge and, like their leader, they were easily shot down.
By now, nearly a dozen outlaws lay dead on both banks of the creek, in the water, and on the sandy beaches of the island. So far, not one of Pearlie’s men had been lost, but they were running critically low on ammunition.
Across the water, Pearlie saw that another man was rallying the bandits. At first, Pearlie didn’t have a very good view of him. Then the man turned, and Pearlie recognized him.
It was Waco Jones, the same man who had challenged him at the dance back in Corpus Christi.
It was beginning to look as if Waco would get the bandits organized for another charge. If he did, that would be bad, because the defenders didn’t have enough ammunition to hold them off. That was when Pearlie got an idea.
“Hey!” Pearlie shouted. “Waco, let’s talk!”
Startled to hear himself called by his name, Waco turned toward the island.
“Talk about what? Who are you?”
“I’m the man you challenged to a gunfight back at the dance in Corpus Christi, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember,” Waco said. “There’s never been anyone I challenged who lived to tell the tale.”
“I didn’t have a gun then,” Pearlie called back. “So I wouldn’t fight you. But I’ve got one now.”
“Do you? Well, that’s good, because you’re going to need it,” Waco said.
“How ’bout you ’n me havin’ that gunfight now?” Pearlie suggested. Then, thinking about Sally and her insistence on proper grammar, he reworded his question. “How about you and I having that gunfight now?” he said.
“Hell, seems to me like we are havin’ us a gunfight,” Waco said.
“No, we’re having a battle,” Pearlie said. “You might get killed on your next charge, and I might not be the one who did it. I don’t like that idea. I want to know that I am the one who killed you.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“Let’s meet in the middle of the stream,” Pearlie suggested. “We’ll draw against each other, just the way you wanted.”
“Huh-uh,” Waco replied.
“What’s the matter, Waco? Are you afraid?” Pearlie laughed. “I figured as much. I’ve got a pretty good nose for who is real and who is bluster. And you, my friend, are all bluster. Or else, you are a coward. No wonder you challenged me when I didn’t have a gun. I hear you are some kind of a gunfighter. How many unarmed
men have you gunned down? You are a coward, Waco.”
“A coward, huh? All right, mister, if you want the others to watch you get shot down. Meet me in the middle of the stream.”
“Waco, no,” one of the other outlaws said. “Can’t you see he’s just baitin’ you?”
“Yeah?” Waco replied. “Well, you ever seen bait that didn’t get eaten? You just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“One thing, Waco,” Pearlie said.
“What’s that?”
“Tell the others that if I beat you, they are to let us ride out of here.”
“You heard ’im, boys,” Waco said. “If he kills me, let the others ride out.” He paused for a moment, then added with a chuckle, “After you kill him, that is.”
“Pearlie, no, that’s not good odds,” Barrett said. “You do it his way, you die, no matter what.”
Pearlie checked the loads in his cylinders. He had only two bullets left.
“But they might let you go,” Pearlie said.
“No,” Barrett said. “It isn’t worth it. Don’t do it.”
“I don’t have any choice,” Pearlie said as he stood up with his hands in the air. “All right, Waco,” he called. “I’m coming out now.”
Pearlie walked to the middle of the stream, then stopped. Waco walked toward him, stopping when he was about twenty yards away.
Pearlie thought of the two remaining bear claws he had in his saddlebag. He wished now that he had eaten them.
In the distance, he heard a crow call.
Downstream, a fish splashed in the water.
“Well, you just goin’ to stand there all day?” Waco asked.
“I’m waiting on you,” Pearlie replied.
“Huh-uh. It’s your move, cowboy,” Waco said, a mirthless smile on his face.
Pearlie started for his gun. He was fast, but Waco was faster, and even as Pearlie was squeezing the trigger of his own pistol, he saw the puff of smoke, and felt the heavy impact of the bullet as it punched into his chest. He felt the breath leave his body as he pitched backward. He could hear the echo of the two shots reverberating back from the trees and hills.
Then he heard, and felt, nothing.
Barrett and the others looked on in stunned silence as they watched Pearlie fall back into the water. A little puddle of red swirled around him as the water passed over the wound in his chest. Barrett looked at Waco, hoping to see that he too was grievously wounded, but saw only a red mark on his cheek where the bullet had come close enough to burn his skin, but not close enough to wound him.
Waco put the back of his hand to his cheek, then brought it down to examine the blood.
“Damn. The son of a bitch came a lot closer than I thought he would,” Waco said. Looking up, he saw Barrett staring in shock at Pearlie’s prostrate form.
“Pearlie?” Barrett called. He got no answer.
“You people on the island, is there anyone left who can talk for you?”
“What do you want?” Barrett asked.
“I want you to go back to the ranch. Tell Smoke Jensen what just happened here. Tell him if he wants to revenge his friend, I’ll be happy to give him the opportunity.”
“You’re . . . you’re going to let us go?” Barrett asked.
“Yeah,” Waco answered. “You just deliver the message like I said.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sally stood in their bedroom, illuminated only by the pool of silver moonlight that spilled in through the window. She wiped the tears from her eyes.
“He’s . . . he’s not going to make it, is he?” she asked.
Smoke was lying on the bed, his hands laced behind his head, staring up at the moon patterns projected on the ceiling.
“I don’t know,” Smoke answered. He sighed. “The doctor doesn’t give him much hope.”
“He hasn’t spoken a word since he was brought home,” Sally said. “Oh, Smoke, what if we . . . what if we lose him?”
“We’ll go on,” Smoke said. “Come to bed and get some sleep. Maybe things will be better in the morning.”
“All right,” Sally agreed. “It doesn’t help him for me to stay up all night worrying about him.”
Not until Sally’s deep, measured breathing told Smoke that she was sound asleep did he get up. Then, walking quietly down the hall, he tapped lightly on the door to Cal’s room.
The door opened immediately.
“Any change?” Cal asked.
Smoke shook his head. “No,” he said.
“What is it? What’s up?”
“We have work to do,” Smoke replied.
Cal dressed quickly, then strapped on his gun and followed Smoke down the stairs, walking quietly so as not to awaken anyone else in the house.
“Where are we going?” Cal asked.
“Out there,” Smoke replied, pointing to the machine shed.
Even before they got there, Cal could see that there were nearly a dozen people gathered, working in the dim light of a few candles. King was there, as was Kleberg. So were Ramon, Barrett, and several others.
“What’s going on?” Cal asked. “Why is everyone here?”
“I asked them to get some things ready for me,” Smoke said.
It wasn’t until they went around the corner of the machine shed that Cal saw what was going on. He gasped at the sight before him.
There, in a military line, were two Gatling guns and two artillery pieces, caisson-mounted and hitched to teams. The artillery pieces had, in addition to the gun, the ammunition limber. King looked up with a broad, proud grin.
“I wondered if these things would ever be useful to me,” he said, pointing to the guns. “Now it looks as if that question is being answered.”
“They’re ready to go?” Smoke asked.
“Ready to go,” King replied.
Smoke walked over to one of the Napoleon 32-pounders, and ran his hand along the smooth lines of the tapered barrel. He turned back to the gathered men, all of whom were looking at him with eager and expectant expressions on their faces.
“Ramon, what about Concepcion?” Smoke asked.
“All of the villagers have moved out, Señor,” Ramon replied.
“You are sure that all the villagers have moved?”
“Sí. If any have stayed, then they are colaboradores, with the enemy.”
“You have no problems with what I have in mind?”
“No, Señor. For Emilio I do this. For Pearlie I do this. For all my friends who have been killed by these hombres mal-vados I do this.”
“All right, let’s saddle up and get mounted,” Smoke said. “If we ride hard we will get there by dawn.”
Brad Preston stepped out of the toilet, still buttoning his trousers. He had a headache from too much drinking the night before. He knew he shouldn’t drink so much, but there was little else to do now, since all the women had left. Even the whores had left Concepcion.
Preston had been having second thoughts about being here. Brandt had promised them all a lot of money, but so far, the only thing that happened was that several of the men who had agreed to ride with Brandt had been killed. Preston’s concern over the way things were going led him to have a conversation with Brandt. He tried to talk Brandt into moving things up by having one large raid against Richard King’s ranch.
“We could attack in the middle of the night, the way we did before. Only this time, we shouldn’t waste our time with the Mexican workers. This time we should go right for the big house itself,” Preston suggested.
“That would accomplish nothing,” Brandt replied. “Don’t lose sight of our mission. Our mission is to steal the herd. And the best time to steal the herd is when they start their drive. That’s where the money is.”
“Yeah,” Preston agreed after he thought about it for a few minutes. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Preston was recalling the conversation that had taken place last night in the Gato Rojo Saloon. He intended to pass it on, word for word, to the men in his comp
any. They too were beginning to get antsy with the long delay in the ultimate payoff.
As he was walking back toward the hotel, he heard a strange sound, rather like the sound a railcar makes when it is rolling, empty, down the track. Puzzled, he looked around to see what it might be.
Out of the corner of his eye, Preston saw something black plunge through the shake roof of the apothecary just across the street from the hotel where he was staying. About one second later, the building exploded in a burst of flame, smoke, and noise. He stood there, glued to his spot, watching, transfixed, as little pieces of the destroyed building came fluttering back down.
Within seconds after that blast, he heard, once more, the rushing noise he had heard earlier. This time the front of the general store went up.
“What in the hell?” Preston asked, running out into the street to see what was going on.
Now he heard the sound of distant thunder, followed, yet again, by the rushing sound. This time, he saw a ball smash into the very hotel where he had been staying. It exploded with a loud roar, followed by screams of pain from several of the men. A second ball, very close behind the first, slammed into the hotel as well. Nearly half the hotel came down and men, who but seconds before had been sleeping, yelled in terror as they spilled out of the collapsed building.
Brandt came running into the street then, strapping on his saber. He watched, in shock, as the hotel came crashing down, killing and wounding several of his men. That was followed almost immediately by another explosion, this one at the far end of the street, and though it wasn’t close enough to do him any harm, it did send shards of shrapnel whistling by.
“Artillery!” Brandt shouted. “Who the hell is shooting at us with artillery?”
Two more shells came screaming into the little village, and two more buildings went up. By now, nearly half a dozen of the buildings were burning.
Brandt ran back into the saloon where he had set up his own quarters, then, a moment later, reappeared carrying a telescope.
“Major, what is happening? What should we do?” Pettis asked.
“Get the men together and wait for my orders!” Brandt yelled back over his shoulder as he ran toward the church.
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