Matt and Preacher broke into a run toward the big building. As they came closer the reek of kerosene grew stronger, confirming Matt’s hunch.
Somebody was up to no good.
They pounded around the corner of the barn and saw several shadowy figures.
“Hold it!” Matt yelled as his Colt came out of its holster.
A match flared to life. Matt didn’t wait. He shot the man holding it.
The man flew backwards under the impact of Matt’s bullet. The match in his fingers went high in the air as he flung his arms up. Matt snapped a shot at the bit of flame as it arched above pools of kerosene spread over the ground at the back of the barn.
The match winked out as the slug from Matt’s gun destroyed the burning head.
It was the sort of shot that legends were made of, but there was no time right now to even think about things like that. There were three more skulkers behind the barn, and all of them yanked their guns out and opened fire on Matt and Preacher. Preacher proved he could curse in German by bellowing guttural obscenities as he crouched and returned the fire.
Matt knew there was no time to waste. He and Preacher had to keep those three men so busy they wouldn’t have time to strike any more matches. He couldn’t count on making another miraculous shot to keep the barn from going up in flames.
The gun in his hand still roared and bucked as he dove forward. One of the would-be arsonists staggered and would have fallen if another man hadn’t grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Let’s get out of here!” the third man yelled.
The first man Matt had shot wasn’t dead and didn’t even appear to be mortally wounded. He lurched to his feet and joined his companions in fleeing. They sprayed enough lead around that Matt was forced to keep his head down and Preacher had to duck back around the corner of the barn.
Then they were gone, their footsteps pounding on the ground as they ran off into the shadows.
Matt scrambled up and would have gone after him, but Preacher holstered one of his guns and grabbed the younger man’s arm.
“Hold on,” the old-timer said. “Let ’em go. We stopped ’em from burnin’ down the barn, and that’s the main thing.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Preacher,” Matt said. “Usually you’re breathing fire even more than Smoke and me.”
“We got that kerosene to deal with,” Preacher pointed out. “And listen.”
Matt heard rapid hoofbeats dwindling into the darkness.
“They already made it back to their horses,” Preacher went on. “It ain’t likely we could’a caught ’em.”
“No, I guess not,” Matt admitted.
The shots had drawn most of the men from the bunkhouse. They came on the run, carrying rifles and pistols and shotguns.
“Hold your fire!” Matt called, not wanting any of the greenhorns to get trigger-happy. “It’s me and Preacher. The varmints we were after have already gotten away.”
Dieter had come from the ranch house to join the other men. He stepped out in front of them and asked, “What happened, Matt?”
“Some hombres tried to burn down the barn, but Preacher and I stopped them,” Matt explained. He knew what a close call it had been. If the two of them had been inside the bunkhouse instead of sitting outside, he almost certainly would not have smelled the kerosene in time.
He went on, “Get some shovels. Once the kerosene has soaked into the ground, put more dirt on top of it. It won’t be a danger to anybody that way.”
Dieter took charge of that chore. While the men were tending to it, Preacher got a lantern from the barn and said, “We best take a look around, Matt. There were guards posted, and somethin’ could’ve happened to them.”
The same grim thought had already occurred to Matt. He and Preacher moved well away from the barn before he struck a match and lit the lantern. Then, with the lantern in one hand and his Colt in the other, he led the search for the guards.
A few minutes, he and Preacher found what Matt had hoped they wouldn’t. One of the guards, a young man named Rolf Heisse, lay dead on the ground with a stab wound in his back. From the looks of it, somebody had buried a Bowie knife in his heart.
“Blast it,” Matt said. “I was afraid they had killed at least one of the guards. They came through here to get to the barn.”
“Yeah. Kane’s men, you reckon?”
“I’d bet a hat on it.”
“Could have been Berger’s bunch,” Preacher speculated.
“We can’t rule it out,” Matt agreed, “but this doesn’t seem like something Berger would do. Anyway, he hasn’t made a move against the baron in several weeks.”
“Nope, but that don’t mean he’s given up.”
“True. This just seems more like something Kane would do. I expected him to try something before now, since Smoke and I dried up his water. Hell, I halfway expected him to gather up an army of gunmen and attack the ranch right out in the open.”
“This might be the first move,” Preacher said. “And if it is, you can bet that hat o’ yours it won’t be the last.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
The German immigrants took to driving cattle sooner and better than Smoke thought they might. He had his hands full showing them what to do and making sure they did it correctly, but they were hard workers and managed to keep the cattle moving toward the Rafter 9. Even the baron pitched in and did his share, riding back and forth and eating dust like the rest of the men without complaining about it.
Von Hoffman had bought two hundred head of stock at the auction in Laramie. They weren’t prime animals, but they weren’t too bad. They ought to be good breeding stock, Smoke thought, and with time and hard work, they would form the core of a fine herd. As long as the weather cooperated with enough rain and no terribly harsh winters, in a few years the baron’s ranch could be one of the best in this part of the country.
As they approached the ranch headquarters, Smoke told von Hoffman, “We’ll let them graze in those pastures on the other side of the new creek. There’s enough grass there to support a small herd like this, and it ought to just get better now that there’s water.”
The baron nodded and said, “I agree.” He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun as he peered toward the ranch buildings in the distance. “I haven’t seen anyone moving around. I thought perhaps someone might come to greet us—”
The whine of a bullet over his head made him stop short and instinctively duck lower in the saddle.
Smoke yanked his Winchester from its sheath and twisted around to search for the source of the shot. More guns went off, and the cattle began to run. Through the clouds of dust kicked up by their hooves, Smoke caught a glimpse of several riders with bandannas masking their faces galloping toward the herd, whooping and firing six-guns.
Smoke knew there was a fairly deep gully a couple of hundred yards off to their right. He figured the masked men had been hiding there, waiting for the herd to come along so they could stampede it and ambush the drovers.
Kicking his horse into a run, Smoke headed for the front of the herd. He was going to try to turn it and stop the stampede before it reached the ranch headquarters. Even two hundred head of stock could do a considerable amount of damage if they were running unchecked.
One of the masked men charged at him. Smoke rammed his rifle back in the saddle boot and drew his Colt instead. As a bullet whipped past his ear, he fired and saw the masked man rock back in the saddle. The man was able to stay on his horse, but he was hunched over in pain as his mount flashed past Smoke’s.
More hoofbeats pounding close by made Smoke glance to his right. He saw von Hoffman riding there, grim-faced as he tried to help Smoke turn the herd.
As the two of them reached the leaders, they crowded their horses against the bolting steers. A misstep now by either of the horses would be fatal. If Smoke or the baron fell, the hooves of the herd would pound and chop them into something that didn’t even resemble a human being anymore.
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The leaders veered away from the riders. Smoke and von Hoffman kept prodding them to turn even more. Suddenly, the herd was milling instead of running. They had succeeded in blunting the stampede.
But that still left the men who had caused it. As the cattle began slowing to a stop, Smoke and von Hoffman galloped around the herd. Through the dust, Smoke caught a glimpse of the masked men fleeing now that their efforts had failed. He charged after them with his gun roaring in his hand. Von Hoffman was right behind him.
The men they were pursuing turned in their saddles and flung shots at them. Smoke leaned forward over the neck of his straining horse to make himself a smaller target. He holstered his gun as he saw that one of the masked men had fallen behind the others. He urged his mount on to greater speed and closed in on the straggler.
The man twisted in the saddle and fired a couple of frantic shots at Smoke. The bullets missed, and then Smoke was in reach of the gunman. He kicked his feet free of the stirrups and launched himself out of the saddle in a diving tackle that drove the masked man off his horse. Both of them crashed hard to the ground, but Smoke managed to land on top so the impact wasn’t quite so stunning.
The fall knocked the breath out of the masked man, but desperation made him fight even though he was gasping for air. He writhed in Smoke’s grasp and drove an elbow against Smoke’s chest. That gave him enough room to throw a punch that grazed Smoke’s ear.
Smoke responded with a hard left that he hooked into the man’s stomach. He followed that with a right to the jaw. That was enough to take all the fight out of the man. He sagged limply on the ground.
Von Hoffman had brought his horse to a stop. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and fired several rounds after the fleeing gunmen as they disappeared over the top of a hill.
The baron lowered his Winchester and started to go after them, but Smoke called, “Wait a minute! If you go charging over that hill alone, they’re liable to double back and ambush you. Let them go.”
“Let them go?” von Hoffman repeated angrily. “They attacked me and my men!”
“I know that, but we’ve got this one.” Smoke was on his feet now with his gun out again, covering the man he had battered into semi-consciousness. “Not only that, but we need to get back and see if any of your other men are hurt.”
Von Hoffman caught his breath.
“You’re right,” he said as he turned his horse. “Can you handle this man?”
“Go ahead,” Smoke told him. “I’ll be along with the prisoner.”
Von Hoffman galloped toward the still-milling herd. Smoke reached down with his free hand, grabbed the man’s shirt collar, and hauled the groggy bushwhacker to his feet.
“Don’t try anything else, mister,” Smoke warned the prisoner. “I’ll blow one of your knees apart if I have to. You won’t ever walk right again, let alone ride a horse.”
The man just glared at him. His bandanna mask had slipped down, revealing the dark, narrow face of one of the hired guns who had been with Kane that first day at Hawk Creek Station.
“Go to hell,” the man spat.
“You’ll be there before me,” Smoke promised. “Get on your horse.”
He kept the man covered while they mounted up and started back toward the herd. As they approached, Smoke’s mouth tightened into a grim line when he saw a couple of huddled shapes lying motionless on the ground. Von Hoffman had dismounted and was standing near them.
The baron looked up at Smoke and said, “These men were shot!”
Smoke recognized them as two of the men he and the baron had taken along to drive the cattle back from Laramie.
“That makes it murder,” Smoke said in a flat, hard voice as he pointed his gun at the man he had captured. “And this hombre’s going to tell the law who was responsible for it.”
“You can go to—” the man started to say.
“Shut up,” Smoke said. “I’m in no mood to hear it, mister. Your testimony is going to put Jethro Kane behind bars, but all you have to be able to do is talk.”
The prisoner seemed to understand the implication of Smoke’s statement. He shut up.
Smoke glanced toward the ranch headquarters and saw a couple of men on horseback riding toward them. A moment later he recognized Matt and Preacher.
“It’s sure good to see you, Smoke,” Matt said as he and the old mountain man reined in. “When we heard the shooting we figured Kane’s men might have jumped the herd.”
“They did,” Smoke said. “Where’s everybody else? I didn’t see anybody moving around the ranch.”
“That’s because everybody’s lyin’ low,” Preacher said. “Anybody who sticks his head out is liable to get it shot off.”
“What in blazes are you talking about?”
“It’s true, Smoke,” Matt said. “We’ve been under siege for several days now. It started with Kane’s men trying to burn down the barn. We managed to stop them from doing that, but ever since then they’ve been up in the hills taking potshots at us, keeping us pinned down in the main house and the bunkhouse. They’ve busted out all the windows and put bullet holes in most of the walls.”
Anger boiled up inside Smoke.
“We’d better get these cattle across the creek and into that pasture while the varmints aren’t shooting at us,” he said. “Baron, you take the prisoner back to the house and make sure he’s locked up tight. The smokehouse would be a good place to hold him. And you, mister, you better keep your head down. Kane’s already had one man killed so he couldn’t testify against him. He won’t mind doing the same to you.”
Calling orders to the drovers, Smoke got the cattle moving again. Matt and Preacher helped, and it didn’t take long to push the small herd across the creek into the pasture.
“How many casualties so far?” Smoke asked while they were working.
“Three men killed, including a guard the night they tried to burn down the barn,” Matt replied. “Five more wounded. All those pilgrims are mighty scared, Smoke, and I don’t blame them. They’ve been under fire before, but they’ve never been through a siege like this.”
“We’re going to put a stop to it,” Smoke declared.
“How do you figure on doin’ that?” Preacher asked.
“The same way we always do,” Smoke said. “Once it gets too dark for bushwhacking, the three of us are going to take a ride over to the Boxed JK and raise some hell of our own!”
Chapter Thirty-eight
No one shot at Smoke, Matt, and Preacher as they returned to the ranch house. Smoke thought that maybe starting the stampede had been the culmination of Kane’s plan, and when that hadn’t worked, the hired guns had pulled back to regroup and come up with some other scheme.
Smoke didn’t intend to give them very long to think about it.
First, though, he wanted to check on the situation at the ranch. As Matt had said, three men had been killed and several wounded. Everyone else, men, women, and children alike, were crowded into the ranch house and the bunkhouse, both of which were sturdy enough to stop most of the bullets fired at them. Shutters had been closed over the broken windows that were equipped with them, and boards were nailed up over the windows that didn’t have shutters. That was better than nothing.
Late that afternoon, there was a council of war in the parlor of the main house. Smoke, Matt, and Preacher were there, along with von Hoffman, Dieter, Rudolph Wolff, and several of the other men.
“The three of us are going to hit Kane’s ranch tonight,” Smoke explained. “We probably can’t do enough damage to stop him, but that should keep him distracted for a little while. That’ll give you time to send a couple of men to Cheyenne, Baron.”
“Why should I do that?” von Hoffman asked. “Don’t we need every gun we have?”
“There’s a U.S. Marshal in Cheyenne,” Smoke said. “The law’s on your side, especially now that you’ve got a prisoner who can testify as to what Kane’s been doing in these parts.”
Preacher let o
ut a disgusted snort and said, “Never thought I’d hear you sayin’ we got to depend on the law, Smoke. You must’a been around that dang Monte Carson too much. What we oughta do is go over there and clean out that mess o’ hydrophobia skunks!”
“That’s exactly what I’d do if we had Louis Longmont, Johnny North, Silver Jim, and some of those other old-timers with us, Preacher,” Smoke said. “But Kane’s got a small army of hired guns, and we’ve got ...”
“Go ahead and say it,” von Hoffman said as Smoke’s voice trailed off. “You have a bunch of immigrants who don’t know what they’re doing.”
“I don’t mean any offense, Baron, and I’m not doubting the heart and spirit of you and your men. When it comes to defending the ranch, I’m sure you’ll all fight like blazes. But you wouldn’t be any match for Kane’s men in a straight-up gunfight.”
Von Hoffman sighed and nodded.
“What you say is true,” he admitted.
“Yeah,” Preacher grumbled, “I reckon it is. But I still don’t like havin’ to depend on the law.”
“We’ll work with what we’ve got,” Matt said.
“And it might be over by the time those men get back from Cheyenne with the marshal and a posse of deputies,” Smoke pointed out. “When we hit Kane, it’s liable to be like poking a bear. He might just saddle up and come storming over here with every man he’s got. In that case—”
“We will be ready for them,” the baron said as he clenched one hand into a fist.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” Smoke said with a smile and a nod.
Jethro Kane seethed inside as he listened to his foreman explain what had happened. After a couple of minutes, Kane stopped Dick Yancy with a curt gesture and said, “So what you’re telling me is that you failed again.”
“We’ve kept those foreigners pinned down for days now, boss,” Yancy protested. “Stampeding that herd when Jensen and the baron got back from Laramie was a good idea, but it just didn’t pan out. Jensen’s too damned fast, and I don’t just mean on the draw. I’ve never seen anybody who can figure out how to meet every threat as quick as he does.”
The Violent Land Page 23
