“That’s mighty fine news,” Preacher said. “And here he comes, so you can tell him all about it.”
Von Hoffman was riding hurriedly toward them. Smoke lifted a hand in greeting and edged his horse ahead to meet the baron.
“That’s not all of it,” Matt said quietly to Preacher.
“Figured as much. What else happened up yonder in the hills?”
“Two of Kane’s men tried to kill us again. They’re both dead.”
Preacher’s snort made it clear he didn’t regard that as a surprise.
“And the blast totally changed the course of the creek that fed that underground stream,” Matt went on. “It’s not running under the Boxed JK anymore.”
“Which means that Kane’s waterholes are liable to dry up,” Preacher said.
“I think there’s a good chance of it,” Matt agreed.
“Which means he’s liable to be mad enough to forget about doin’ things legal-like and come after the baron and his folks with all guns blazin’.”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised,” Matt said.
Chapter Thirty-five
Smoke figured Baron Friedrich von Hoffman wasn’t the sort of hombre who let his mouth hang open in amazement ... but the baron came close to that when Smoke told him what had happened in the hills.
“Let me make sure I understand,” the baron said. “There will be water flowing across my land?”
“That’s right,” Smoke said. “You’ll probably have to dig a few ditches here and there to direct it, but the general way it’s flowing will bring it down here.”
“And take water away from Herr Kane?”
“Yep.”
Von Hoffman threw back his head and laughed.
“That’s incredible!” he said. “How in the world did you accomplish such a thing?”
“Luck and half a dozen sticks of dynamite,” Smoke said.
He explained what had happened up in the hills. While he was doing that, Erica, Dieter, and several more of the immigrants gathered around to listen. Some of them hurried off to tell their friends and families, and the word began to spread quickly around the ranch.
Dieter grinned, put his arm around Erica’s shoulders, and said, “This is the best durned news we had in a coon’s age, ja?”
Smoke returned the grin.
“I reckon so,” he said.
Von Hoffman didn’t look so happy about Dieter embracing his cousin, Smoke noticed, but the baron didn’t say anything about that. The news was too good to ruin it with recriminations.
But von Hoffman was smart enough to know that this development had other implications. He grew solemn and said, “We should double our guard.”
Smoke nodded and said, “That’s a good idea. Kane might have been willing to wait you out before. His real grudge was against Matt, Preacher, and me. That’s all changed now.”
“I will issue orders for the men to be armed at all times.”
That afternoon, Smoke and Matt took von Hoffman and some of the other men up into the hills to check on the progress of the water. The initial force from the pent-up pool being released was long gone, but the new creek still had a steady flow to it. The water followed the path of least resistance, as it was bound to do, so that meant it serpentined back and forth quite a bit, but its general direction of flow was still toward the ranch headquarters.
“Might have to build you a levee to keep the buildings from being flooded,” Matt said with a smile. “I’ll bet that wasn’t something you were worried about a day or two ago.”
“No,” von Hoffman admitted. “I never dreamed I would see that day. I cannot express my gratitude toward the both of you.”
“Save your thanks until things are settled with Kane,” Smoke suggested. “Klaus Berger is still out there somewhere, too.”
“I have not forgotten him,” the baron said grimly. “And I assure you, Herr Jensen ... he has not forgotten us.”
Jethro Kane was at the big desk in his office when Dick Yancy appeared in the open doorway and said, “We got a problem, boss.”
Kane glanced up from the ledger where he was entering figures and glared. He didn’t like being disturbed while he was working, and he sure didn’t like hearing the word “problem” from any of the men who rode for him.
“What is it?” he asked harshly.
“Walt and Lee followed those two Jensens up into the hills along the northern boundary of the Rafter Nine yesterday afternoon.”
“I know that,” Kane snapped. “Let me guess. They came back and said that the Jensens got away.”
Yancy shook his head.
“They didn’t come back at all, boss. We never saw hide nor hair of ’em since they rode out. So I sent Jim Hubbard and a couple of other men up there to look for them.”
Kane slapped the ledger closed, rested both meaty hands palms down on the desk, and pushed himself to his feet. Struggling to contain the angry impatience he felt, he barked, “Get on with it!”
“They found Lee. He was dead. Gutshot. Found both of their horses wanderin’ around. But no sign of Walt.”
Alarm shot through Kane.
“The Jensens may have taken him prisoner.”
“Could be,” Yancy agreed, “but that ain’t the worst of it.”
“Well, spit it out, for God’s sake!”
“Something happened to that creek. Instead of going underground where it formed that pool, it’s runnin’ down across the Rafter Nine now. The pool’s gone.”
Thunderstruck, Kane sagged back into his chair. What Yancy had just told him was impossible. The Boxed JK depended on the springs fed by that underground stream. Without them, the waterholes would dry up, and without the waterholes ...
Without the waterholes, he was ruined, Kane thought.
“How?” he managed to say. “How is that even possible?”
“Hubbard said it looked like they dynamited the place. Blew up the pool and set the water free to form an actual creek on the Rafter Nine.”
“No.” Kane shook his head. “No, it can’t be.”
“I’m about to ride up there and see for myself,” Yancy said. “Want me to have the boys saddle a horse for you so you can come along with me?”
Kane stood up again. He was still stunned by the news, but anger was beginning to replace some of the shock.
“Damned right I do,” he said. “I want to see this with my own eyes.”
“It’ll mean goin’ onto that foreigner’s range.”
“I don’t give a damn about that!” Kane bellowed. “Pick out a dozen men to ride with us! And tell them to be ready to fight!”
Jim Hubbard was one of the men who accompanied Kane and Yancy to the former location of the pool. He was the lean, dark-faced man with the occasional wracking cough of a consumptive. As he sat his saddle with the others, he pointed and said, “Right there is where the pool used to be, Mr. Kane. Reckon we should’ve put a guard on it to make sure nothing like this ever happened.”
Kane stared in horror and dismay at the creek flowing merrily through the huge, gaping hole in the rocks. He had seen the results of a dynamite blast before, back in his mining days, and he knew that’s what he was looking at now.
“It’s a little late to be considering that now, don’t you think, Hubbard?” he said.
“Sorry, boss,” Hubbard muttered. “You’re right. But when the Rafter Nine was abandoned, there wasn’t any need, and since those foreigners came in ... Well, I guess nobody even thought about it.”
Kane turned his head to glare at Yancy, Hubbard, and the other men. He wanted to roar curses at them, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He knew, as well, that the blame here actually lay with him. He should have ordered them to post guards around the spot where the creek went underground.
But like he had told Hubbard, it was too late now.
“Can we dam it, change its course somehow?” he asked.
Yancy shook his head.
“It misses Boxed JK range by three
or four hundred yards, boss. The whole thing is on Rafter Nine now. Unless you want to go all the way up to the headwaters and block it off there. But that’s on government land, and it’s against the law to go messin’ with a water supply there.”
Kane wanted to yank the derby off his head and slap Yancy across his big boulder of a jaw with it. Instead he said in a quiet but menacing voice, “Bushwhacking’s against the law, too, but that hasn’t stopped us in the past, has it?”
Yancy shrugged burly shoulders.
“If I have to, I’ll bring that engineer back in, and we’ll figure out a way to turn the water at its source,” Kane went on. “But before I go to that much trouble, I want to find out just how stubborn that damned German is.” He took a deep breath. “Make his life miserable, Dick. Make life a living hell for him and his people for a while, and then we’ll see whether or not he’ll sell out ... at my price.”
“And if he won’t?” Yancy asked.
“This is a hard land,” Kane said. “A violent land. And a man who just won’t adapt to it ... well, he won’t survive.”
The new creek missed the ranch headquarters, but not by much, maybe half a mile. A few days after the explosion, Smoke, Matt, and Preacher sat on their horses next to the stream and watched it flowing. Von Hoffman, Erica, and Dieter were with them. Erica and Dieter were practically inseparable these days.
“You’re gonna have to give it a name,” Preacher said. “You can’t just keep on callin’ it ‘the creek.’”
“I have the perfect name for it,” Erica said. “We will call it Jensen Creek.”
The baron said, “I was thinking it should be something to honor our German heritage.”
“But this stream would not exist if not for Smoke and Matt,” Erica argued.
With a shrug, von Hoffman gave in.
“Jensen Creek it is,” he declared. “But the town will still be called New Holtzberg.”
“Of course,” Erica said.
“Rider coming,” Matt announced.
They turned their horses, and Smoke, Matt, and Preacher moved their mounts so that they were between the others and the man riding toward them. Since it was just one horseman, Smoke didn’t think the man represented much of a threat, and that was confirmed a minute later when the rider came close enough for Smoke to recognize him.
“That’s Wynn Courtland,” he said.
The young cowboy who owned the Double Diamond came up to them and reined in to stare at the creek.
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “I heard about this, but I swore I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw it with my own eyes. How do you conjure up a creek out of thin air?”
“Easy as pie,” Matt said. “All you have to do is come within a whisker of getting yourself blown to smithereens by a bunch of dynamite.”
Wynn shook his head in amazement.
“Well, I’m glad to see it, however you managed it,” he said. “Does Kane know about this?”
“He’s bound to, by now,” Smoke said.
“We ain’t seen no signs of him or his gunnies, though,” Preacher added.
“You will,” Wynn predicted. “Kane’s not gonna let this stand.”
“We’ll be ready for him if he makes trouble,” von Hoffman declared. “Herr Kane may as well realize that we’re here to stay.”
“To do that, you’ll need cows,” Wynn pointed out. “There’s an auction down in Laramie in a couple of days. That’s another reason I rode over here, to let you know about that. You’ll need to start putting together a herd before it gets any later in the year.”
“An excellent idea,” von Hoffman said. “Will you be attending this auction, Herr Courtland?”
“Me? No, I’ve got all the stock I can handle on my little spread.”
“I’ll go with you, Baron,” Smoke said. “Matt and Preacher can stay here and keep an eye on things while we’re gone.”
“Dang it, I wouldn’t have minded a trip to town,” Matt complained.
“Next time,” Smoke told him with a smile. “Kane’s bound to try something soon, and like the baron says, we need to be ready when he does.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Greta Schiller paced back and forth in the room she had managed to convince the baron to give her on the second floor of the ranch house. She wanted to stay close to him, and since she had no real skills or any place in the community of immigrants, she hoped to persuade him that they should marry. A baron needed a baroness, after all.
If it came to that. He was surrounded by enemies now, after all. That man Kane wanted him dead, Greta suspected. And Klaus Berger was still out there somewhere. At least she hoped he was. Berger would not want to disappoint their shared masters back in Germany. If he never showed up, that had to mean he had been wounded in one of the attacks on the wagon train and might even be dead now.
Greta had been close to von Hoffman often enough that she could have assassinated him several times already, if she had chosen to do so. But she would have to risk her own freedom, indeed, her very life, if she killed him, and she was only going to do that as a last resort. It was better that Klaus Berger or Jethro Kane or someone else killed the baron. That way Greta’s hands would be clean, and the baron’s enemies in Germany wouldn’t care who killed him, only that he was dead.
When Greta came downstairs one evening, she found Erica sitting in the parlor with young Dieter Schumann. The simpering little fool was in love with the boy, Greta thought. Anyone could see that. Erica had enjoyed a mild flirtation with Matt Jensen, but in the end she had chosen the man who was more familiar to her, the man with whom she had more in common, which didn’t surprise Greta. Erica had no adventurous streak. She wasn’t willing to risk anything to gain a reward.
Erica and Dieter were sitting close together on a large, overstuffed divan. They moved apart as Greta entered the room. They probably wouldn’t have been so intimate if Erica’s cousin had been around.
“Where’s Friedrich?” Greta asked.
“You didn’t hear?” Erica asked, seeming genuinely puzzled.
“Hear what? I’ve been resting in my room.”
Greta didn’t bother trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. There was nothing to do in this godforsaken wilderness, so she wound up sleeping more than she ever had in her life.
“Friedrich has gone to Laramie with Smoke Jensen,” Erica explained. “They’re going to buy cattle for the ranch.”
Greta’s perfectly plucked eyebrows arched.
“Really?” she said. She was a little surprised and angered that he hadn’t said good-bye to her before he left.
Erica nodded and went on, “That’s right. They took several of the men with them to drive the cattle back here.” She smiled. “Smoke says that he’ll make cowboys out of them.”
“I wanted to go along,” Dieter put in, “but Smoke didn’t think I had recovered quite enough from my injuries yet. I think I’ll make a good cowpoke soon, though.”
Smoke, Smoke, Smoke, Greta thought bitterly. Von Hoffman would be dead by now and the wagon train destroyed if not for that meddling American, Smoke Jensen, and his two friends or whatever they were to him. Berger would have wiped them all out, and she would have been free to return to a new life in Germany, a life of luxury and power. She had her sights set on the circle of men who wanted the baron dead, and she was sure it wouldn’t take long for her to achieve her goal of becoming the mistress to one of them.
“How long will he be gone?”
“Several days,” Erica said. “Friedrich wasn’t sure, and neither was Smoke.”
Greta nodded. Her hands were tied as long as the baron wasn’t here. She might as well go back up to her room, she thought, and get some more rest whether she needed it or not. She turned toward the stairs, which were made out of logs split in half, then sanded and polished, but she hadn’t yet started up them when a commotion of some sort erupted outside. Men shouted in the darkness....
And then guns began to blaze.
Matt and Preacher had been staying in the bunkhouse with a number of the single men from the wagon train. Some of those men had gone with Smoke and the baron to Laramie, so there were empty bunks tonight. The men who remained were playing cards and talking in German, a lingo that the two Americans hadn’t managed to pick up to any great extent, although Preacher claimed he was getting to where he could cuss pretty good in it. So they were sitting out on the steps instead, talking quietly while Preacher smoked a pipe.
“You know, it’s a funny thing,” the old mountain man said, “but I don’t feel a whole lot older than I did when I first come out here.”
“How’s that possible?” Matt asked. “You’re as old as the hills.”
“And you ain’t the least bit respectful of your elders, not to mention your betters,” Preacher groused. “I got all the aches and pains you’d think I would, but I’m talkin’ about inside. Inside I reckon I’m as young as I ever was. Hell, sometimes I think I’m gettin’ younger! I can’t stop thinkin’ about goin’ places I never been and seein’ things I never seen before.”
“I didn’t know there was any place you hadn’t been.”
“Bound to be some. And by Godfrey, I’m gonna find ’em all before I’m done.”
Matt smiled and said, “You know what, Preacher? I believe you will. I sure do believe—”
He stopped short and lifted his head.
“You smell something?”
“If you’re gonna gripe about this pipe tobacco o’ mine—”
“No, that’s not it,” Matt said. “I’ve smelled this before, and not that awful long ago. That night on the prairie south of here. That’s kerosene, Preacher!”
Both men came quickly to their feet. It wasn’t unusual to smell kerosene around a ranch, of course. All the lamps and lanterns used it as fuel.
But to smell it this strongly meant that quite a bit was being splashed around, and that was never good. There wasn’t much breeze tonight, but what there was came from the direction of the barn.
The Violent Land Page 22
