The Violent Land

by William W. Johnstone

  “Not really,” Dieter said.

  “But you saw what he can do when he’s pushed into it, like in that fight with those bushwhackers day before yesterday.”

  “Yes. Exactly. Then he looked like a figure from a dime novel, truly.”

  “That’s the way it is,” Matt said. “A man’s made up of many parts. A gunfighter doesn’t just swagger around all the time looking for folks to shoot. Sometimes he’s quiet, sometimes he’s scared, sometimes he’s lonely.”

  “What about you, Matt?” Dieter asked. “Are you a gunfighter?”

  “I’m a pretty fair hand with a Colt. Not as good as Smoke, but there are only a few men who are or ever will be. It’s like he was born to the gun.”

  “And those quiet, scared, lonely times ... you have known them?”

  Matt nodded and said, “More than I like to think about.”

  Dieter didn’t say anything else for a few minutes. Then he said, “I think you are a fine hombre, Matt. I wish we could be friends. Amigos.”

  “Why can’t we?”

  “You know the reason as well as I do,” Dieter said. “You must have seen the way Fraulein von Hoffman looks at you.”

  “And you want her to look at you that way.”

  “Yes,” Dieter said with a nod. “Even though it is hopeless, that is my wish.”

  “Nothing’s ever hopeless,” Matt told him. “But your job just got harder, because I don’t intend to back off and give you a clear trail.”

  “Nor would I expect you to,” Dieter said stiffly. “Fraulein von Hoffman is the most beautiful young woman in the world. A man would have to be a fool to refuse her interest. And you do not strike me as a fool, Matt Jensen.”

  “I don’t reckon you are, either. But right now, we’ve got a job to do, and that’s scouting trail for that wagon train. Are you willing to put everything else aside except that?”

  “Of course,” Dieter answered without hesitation. “But as you Americans say, this is not over, eh?”

  “That’s right,” Matt agreed. “It’s not over.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Snake Creek flowed fast, but it was shallow enough and the stream bed was firm enough that the wagons had no trouble fording it. Smoke had tied the pack horse onto the rear of the last wagon in line, and he spent the next hour riding back and forth across the creek, making sure that none of the vehicles ran into any trouble.

  He had told von Hoffman to wait until everybody was across before starting up again. Once all the wagons were north of the creek, Smoke rode along the column until he caught sight of the baron up ahead. He took off his hat and waved it over his head in a signal to von Hoffman, who called out commands to the drivers of the first few wagons in line and waved for them to start moving. Once again the big wheels began to turn.

  Smoke rode about a hundred yards out on the left flank of the wagon train. Preacher took up a similar position to the right. The baron was in the lead, riding directly in front of the first wagon. Matt and Dieter were out of sight, somewhere up ahead.

  As he rode, Smoke’s eyes were constantly on the move as well, searching the wooded hillsides and the broad, open pastures. He knew that gullies cut across some of those pastures, and they were deep enough that ambushers could hide in them. Also, there was plenty of cover on the slopes to conceal riflemen, but at least the hills were a little more scattered north of the creek. There weren’t any places quite as perfect for an ambush as the gap into which von Hoffman had led the wagons two days earlier.

  Smoke watched especially for sunlight glinting off of something. Even the most skilled bushwhacker sometimes allowed a stray sunbeam to bounce off his rifle barrel, or even a belt buckle or one of the silver conchos on a hat band. Anything that didn’t belong was cause for concern.

  He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but he kept looking. A man who grew complacent and let his guard down when he might be riding into trouble could wind up dead in a hurry. Smoke didn’t intend to let that happen to him, not with the beautiful wife and the ranch he had to come home to.

  He had taken on the responsibility of helping these pilgrims reach their destination safely, too, and he didn’t want to let them down.

  By midday, the wagons had covered several miles, and the trail was starting to curve back to the east, toward the plains. Smoke knew that was going to happen. Even though this wasn’t a main wagon trail, enough people came through here that two reasons had been discovered for the westerly bow, both of them having to do with Snake Creek. It was a good source of water, and it was much easier to ford where it ran through the foothills. Farther out on the prairie, the stream widened and became a series of muddy sandbars and stagnant pools and sinkholes. A wagon that tried to cross it out there was liable to bog down in a hurry. So it was faster and easier to detour through the foothills and the edge of Sugarloaf range. Smoke never minded, as long as people didn’t hang around and try to cause trouble.

  The baron called a halt to rest the oxen and the horses, and while the wagons were stopped, Matt and Dieter rode in.

  “Everything looks good ahead,” Matt reported. “The trail’s clear, and once the wagons are back out on the flats, they ought to be able to make pretty good time.”

  “Splendid,” von Hoffman said. “Do you agree, Schumann?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” Dieter responded. “Herr Jensen is correct.”

  The baron nodded.

  “Very well. We’ll rest here for an hour, then resume our journey.”

  People built several small cooking fires to prepare hot meals. Smoke, Matt, and Preacher were used to making do with jerky for a noon meal when they were on the trail, but these folks weren’t like that. Even in the middle of nowhere, they still liked their creature comforts, Smoke thought. But he supposed there was no point in living on jerky if you didn’t have to.

  Erica came over to where Smoke, Matt, and Preacher were rubbing down their horses and said, “Our cook will have dinner ready shortly. The three of you are welcome to join us, of course.”

  “You brought a dadgum cook along?” Preacher asked in amazement.

  “Certainly,” Erica said. “Who else would prepare our meals?”

  Preacher opened his mouth to say something else, but Smoke caught the old mountain man’s eye and shook his head. There was no point in it. Life on the frontier would teach these pampered aristocrats a few things. It was just a matter of time.

  “We’re much obliged to you, ma’am,” he said, “but we brought our own supplies.”

  “Nonsense,” Erica said. “I insist, and so does Friedrich.”

  Matt said, “We don’t want to hurt these folks’ feelings, Smoke.” He turned to Erica and went on with a grin, “We’d be honored to join you, fraulein.”

  She smiled back at him and offered him her arm.

  “Come with me, then,” she invited.

  Matt linked arms with her and the two of them walked toward the lead wagon. Smoke glanced around, wondering where Dieter was and if the young man had seen what just happened. A second later, he spotted Dieter on the far side of the wagons, watching with a frown on his face.

  Preacher saw the same thing. The old-timer said, “Sure as shootin’, there’s gonna be a blow-up ’tween them two ’fore we get to Wyomin’, Smoke.”

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” Smoke said.

  Matt’s prediction about their pace proved to be accurate. Once the wagons reached the plains, they were able to go somewhat faster, although the combination of plodding oxen and heavily loaded wagons was never going to make for much speed.

  The rest of the day passed peacefully, and the wagon train had covered as much ground as anyone could have hoped for, Smoke thought. He said as much to Baron von Hoffman that evening beside the large campfire in the center of the circle formed by the wagons.

  “Keep this up and you’ll reach the Medicine Bows in another week or ten days,” Smoke said.

  “And then our journey will be over,” the
baron said. Smoke heard the weariness in his voice. The travelers had come a long way, and every step of the journey, von Hoffman had carried the weight of their safety, as well as the knowledge that it was his actions that might have put them in danger.

  “Do you ever regret what you did, Baron? Back there in Germany, I mean. Getting on the wrong side of those men Klaus Berger works for?”

  Von Hoffman shook his head.

  “My efforts may have failed, but someone had to oppose them,” he said. “They would have led the country into war after war, bankrupting us and causing needless deaths. The long war against France has already drained my homeland. As a Prussian, I have been taught the art of war since I was only a child. It is what I was bred for. But there comes a time ...” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “To answer your question, Herr Jensen, no, I do not regret my actions. I regret only that they failed to accomplish their goal.”

  “Well, I reckon a man’s got to do what he thinks is right. That’s all the world can ask of us.”

  Von Hoffman smiled thinly.

  “No. Sometimes it asks more. Sometime the world demands ... everything.”

  Smoke wasn’t sure what the baron meant by that, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he went to look up Matt and find out how the day’s scouting had gone with Dieter.

  He found Preacher first and asked the old mountain man, “Have you seen Matt?”

  Preacher jerked a thumb toward one of the wagons.

  “He was headed over yonder to talk to that girl, I reckon.”

  Smoke grunted. Matt was going to pursue his attraction to Erica von Hoffman, regardless of what Dieter thought. Smoke couldn’t blame him for that or tell him that he shouldn’t, but still, the situation held the potential for trouble.

  Maybe more than the potential, he thought as he approached the baron’s wagon and saw Matt and Erica sitting side by side on the wagon tongue. They were pretty close to each other, and they had their heads together talking quietly.

  Dieter was walking toward them from the other direction. He was closer, too, and would get there before Smoke would.

  Maybe it was better this way, Smoke told himself. Get things out in the open right away so it wouldn’t be looming over the wagon train all the way to Wyoming.

  “You must be getting bored, listening to me talk about myself this way,” Matt said.

  Erica shook her head and said, “No, no, it is fascinating, Herr Jensen. I mean, Matt.” He had told her to use his first name, and she seemed to be getting used to it. “You have had so many colorful adventures.”

  “Not nearly as many as Smoke and Preacher. Why, Preacher’s been out here on the frontier more than sixty years. When he went west, there weren’t more than a few dozen white men who had ever laid eyes on the Rocky Mountains. He’s the one who’s really got some stories. It was pretty wild when Smoke came out here, too, right after the war. You wouldn’t believe it to look at him now, but there was a time when Smoke was an outlaw—”

  Erica stopped him by resting a hand on his arm.

  “It is your stories I am interested in, Matt.” She lowered her voice a little. “It is you I am interested in.”

  Some of the flickering firelight reached there, enough to paint Erica’s face with a rosy glow that made her even prettier, although before he had seen it with his own eyes Matt wouldn’t have thought that was possible. She was only a few inches from him, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to lean even closer and press his lips to hers....

  “Good evening, Fraulein von Hoffman.”

  Erica jumped slightly as the man’s voice addressed her. She pulled back from Matt and looked up.

  “Oh. Dieter, you startled me.”

  Dieter had taken his high-crowned hat off. He held it in front of him with one hand. He said, “My apologies, fraulein. I did not mean any harm.”

  “No, no, of course not. You are a perfectly harmless young man.”

  Dieter’s mouth tightened. He looked like he didn’t appreciate being called harmless, Matt thought, although it was likely he would take it, coming from Erica as it did.

  And it wasn’t strictly true that Dieter was harmless, Matt reminded himself. According to Smoke, Dieter had killed at least one of those bushwhackers during the battle a couple of days earlier.

  “What can I do for you, Dieter?” Erica went on.

  “I need to speak to Herr Jensen. About our scouting plans for tomorrow.”

  “I figure we’ll ride out ahead of the wagon train and see what’s there,” Matt drawled. “Are those good enough plans for you, Dieter?”

  Dieter took a deep breath.

  “I would still like to speak with you, Matt.”

  “In a little while, when I’m done talking to Fraulein von Hoffman.”

  “No,” Dieter insisted. “Now.”

  Irritation welled up inside Matt. He knew good and well Dieter just wanted to get him away from Erica, so that he couldn’t sit here talking with her ... or whatever else he might do with her.

  At first, seeing that Erica was taken with him, Matt had thought that if he played up to her a little, the competition might bring Dieter out of his self-imposed shell.

  The more time he spent with the lovely young blonde, though, the more Matt realized that he was genuinely attracted to her. He liked talking to her, and he was sure he would enjoy kissing her, as well. So maybe it was time for him to stop worrying about Dieter, he had decided, and let the young German deal with his own problems.

  Which was exactly what Dieter was trying to do, Matt supposed. But that didn’t mean he had to cooperate.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said.

  “I must insist,” Dieter said.

  Erica asked, “Dieter, what’s gotten into you? You seem angry.”

  “Insist all you want to,” Matt said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I think you are,” Dieter said to Matt, ignoring Erica’s question.

  Even though he was well aware of how childish it sounded, Matt said, “And who’s going to make me?”

  Dieter drew in another deep breath.

  “I am, you no-good ranny!” he cried, and as the words left his mouth he dropped his hat and stepped forward, swinging a punch at Matt’s head.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Smoke grimaced and started moving faster as he saw the unmistakable signs of confrontation between Matt and Dieter. Both young men were holding themselves stiffly, and Smoke could almost see the anger building around them.

  He didn’t get there in time. Dieter threw his punch at Matt first.

  Unfortunately for Dieter, Matt was an experienced brawler and had no trouble pulling his head back so that Dieter’s looping blow passed harmlessly in front of his face. Instinct brought Matt to his feet and sent his left fist crashing into Dieter’s midsection. The force of the blow made Dieter double over and put him in perfect position for the right fist that Matt brought around to catch him on the jaw with stunning force. Erica cried out in alarm as the punch landed.

  The impact sent Dieter reeling backwards. He probably would have fallen if Smoke hadn’t been there to catch him. Smoke grabbed Dieter under the arms and held him up.

  Matt stalked toward them with his fists still doubled.

  “Back off, Matt!” Smoke snapped.

  “He threw the first punch!”

  “I know he did, but I also know he’s not any match for you.”

  That was probably the wrong thing to say, Smoke realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Dieter let out a desperate sob and tore loose from Smoke’s grip. Normally he wouldn’t have been able to break Smoke’s hold on him, but Smoke wasn’t expecting the young man to have any fight left in him.

  Obviously he had underestimated Dieter. With a bellowing roar of anger, Dieter threw himself forward and tackled Matt around the waist.

  Matt was slightly taller and heavier, but Dieter came at
him like a runaway freight train. The collision as Dieter buried his shoulder in Matt’s belly lifted Matt off his feet and drove him backwards. He came crashing down on his back with Dieter on top of him.

  Smoke could tell the hard landing knocked the breath out of Matt’s lungs. Dieter took advantage of the opportunity to start flailing wild punches at Matt’s head. At the same time, he dug a knee into Matt’s stomach.

  Erica was on her feet now, too. She danced around the two men, crying, “Dieter, no! Stop! Stop this!”

  Some of the other immigrants ran toward the source of the commotion. They shouted to each other, and Smoke figured it was the German equivalent of a bunch of onlookers yelling, “Fight! Fight!”

  Dieter’s luck wasn’t going to last long. Matt would recover in a matter of seconds, and when he did, he might be mad enough to really hurt the youngster. So Smoke moved closer to the struggling figures, waited a few seconds for an opening, and then reached down to wrap his arms around Dieter’s torso and haul the young man off of Matt.

  Dieter yelled something in his native tongue, too. Smoke growled in his ear, “Settle down, boy. If you’re trying to get yourself killed, why don’t you wait for another attack by the baron’s enemies?”

  “Let me go!” Dieter shouted.

  Matt had climbed to his feet. He stood there in the firelight with his chest heaving as he caught his breath. When he could speak again, he said, “Yeah, let him go, Smoke, if he’s bound and determined to have it out!”

  Preacher had arrived on the scene of the fracas, too. He moved in front of Matt and rested a hand on the young man’s chest.

  “Hold your horses,” the old mountain man said. “You know Dieter ain’t no match for you, Matt.”

  “He’s the one who started it,” Matt said hotly. “He’s brave enough to take a swing at me, but he’s too much of a coward to say what’s really on his mind!”