“Cattle thieves!” Falcon shouted. “Clay, Smoke, Falcon, turn out! Turn out!”
Duff shot back toward where he had seen the muzzle-flash, but had no specific target because he hadn’t actually seen anything but the muzzle-flash.
The gunfire startled Tom and Rebecca, and Tom sat up quickly to see what was going on.
By now, rapid fire was coming from the camp itself, as Smoke and the others rolled out of their makeshift bedrolls and into the snow, which was now at least three inches deep. Matt put his pistol away and raised his rifle. He aimed through the falling snow and toward the swirling melee of cattle, waiting for one of the robbers to present a target. A horse appeared, with a rider Matt didn’t recognize. The rider was shooting wildly.
Matt fired and the robber tumbled backward. His horse, with its saddle empty now, galloped away.
“Get ’em out of here! Stampede the cattle!” someone shouted.
It wasn’t until that moment that Smoke and the others realized how many rustlers there were. There were more rustlers than there were cowboys, and they were able to get the herd running.
“Get mounted!” Clay shouted. “We’re going after them!”
Once mounted, they started after the cattle, which now had a good half-mile lead. The cows were running as fast as they could run, which was about three-quarters of the speed of the horses. But what the cattle lacked in speed they made up for with momentum, and that momentum was continued by the shooting and shouting of the rustlers who, as part of their plan, needed the cattle to stampede.
With lowered heads, wild eyes, and flopping tongues, the cattle ran as if there was no tomorrow. More than a million pounds of muscle, bone, and hair, red eyes, running noses, and black hides spotted white with snow. Over twenty-five hundred animals welded together as one gigantic, raging beast. A cloud of white churned up by ten thousand hooves rose up from the herd and billowed high into the air, mixing with the snow that was falling, so thick that within moments it was impossible to see through the blizzard and the dark of the night.
Suddenly a rider appeared out of the swirl just in front of Tom. At first Tom thought it might be Matt, but he realized at once that it wasn’t anyone he knew. Then he saw that whoever it was was pointing a pistol at him.
Without thinking, Tom raised his pistol and fired, and he saw the rider reel in his saddle, then turn and try to ride away. He disappeared into the snow and the night, but a moment later, Tom saw him again, this time on the ground, being trampled by the stampeding cattle.
This was the first time he had ever shot anyone, and he felt neither a sense of remorse nor elation. He felt no emotional response at all, and he remembered something his father had told him about his experience in the war.
“I think it is something that God gives us at such terrible times,” his father had said. “It is a mechanism that shuts down all emotion such as fear, horror, anger, hate, and love. You can kill if you have to, you can watch your friends be killed, you can wade through a field of bodies and gore without going insane.”
Tom was totally disoriented now. He didn’t know where the wagon was, he didn’t know where the river was, he had no concept of north, south, east, or west. He knew only where the stampeding cattle were, and he rode alongside them, keeping them to his left.
He knew that if he kept close to the cattle he couldn’t get lost, because the others would be in contact with the cattle as well. And he had confidence that at least one among them, Clay, or Smoke, or Dusty, would be able to find their way back. At the moment he was unaware that Dusty was dead.
So far, Tom had seen only one other person since he had left the camp, and that was one of the rustlers. At least, Tom hoped he was one of the rustlers, because Tom had killed him.
The cattle thundered on, a huge, undulating black mass lumbering through snow growing deeper by the minute. Because of the heavy snowfall, the pace slowed more and more. The cattle stopped running, and continued forward in what could only be described as a laboring trot, then a walk, until finally the cattle stopped all together. By now the snow came up almost to Thunder’s belly, and the powerful animal was blowing streams of vapor into the air as he labored to keep going.
This wasn’t going the way Red Coleman had planned. He had thought that by striking in the middle of the night that they could stampede the cattle away from the drovers who would be asleep, and too confused to be able to react. But two of his men had already been killed, and that left him with only five plus himself. Also, he had not counted on the severity of the snowstorm. Even if he didn’t have the cowboys to deal with, he knew now that he would not be able to move the herd. The cattle had come to a complete stop. Clearly, he no longer had the odds strongly enough in his favor to pull this off.
He knew that Smoke Jensen was a deadly shot; he had not only heard of him, he had encountered him before. But it wasn’t just Smoke Jensen. There were at least three more with him who were every bit as good as he was. He had run into a hornet’s nest!
“Let’s get out of here!” he called to the others, then he broke away, moving as rapidly as he could at right angles to the herd. Because of the snow, they were moving only marginally faster than a man on foot would be able to move, had there been no snow. Red’s only hope now was that Jensen and the others would stay with the herd.
“What about the cattle?” one of the others shouted.
“To hell with the cattle!”
At that, all the remaining rustlers broke off to follow Red, leaving the motionless herd behind them.
“They’re leaving!” Matt shouted.
“Duff! Stay with Clay and the herd! We’re going after them!” Smoke shouted.
Smoke, Matt, and Falcon started toward the outlaws, but they could move no faster than the rustlers could. It made for a most unusual chase, the outlaws urging, unsuccessfully, their exhausted horses to open up more distance between them and those in pursuit of them, and the pursuers urging their horses, with no more success, to close the gap.
Back at the wagon, where the three women were huddled together, the snow was still falling silently and heavily from the night sky. Rebecca, Sally, and Maria had climbed up onto the seat of the chuck wagon so that they were out of the snow, though the snow itself was halfway up the wagon wheels. The three huddled together as best they could for warmth, pulling their heavy, wool-lined coats about them. They were holding a piece of canvas over them to provide them with some protection against the snow, frequently shaking it to keep it somewhat clear.
“I wonder where the men are,” Rebecca said.
“And how far did they have to go?” Sally asked.
“Do you think they will be back tonight?” Maria asked.
“I wish I could answer that,” Sally said.
In a field about a mile away, the three shepherds who had encountered the Rocking H outfit last summer were huddled around the fire they had managed to get started. The fire reflected from the snow, creating a golden circle around them. Beyond that golden circle, white on white, were the sheep, stilled by the night and the snow still tumbling down.
At first, there were the three of them, Gaston, Pierre, and Andre, trying to keep warm by the fire.
Then there was a fourth. A man whose face was as black as the night, but with skin that was shining in the reflected light of the fire. He was wearing a white buffalo robe, and he held his hands out toward the fire.
“What?” Pierre shouted in a frightened voice. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“My name is Balthazar. I’m sorry if I frightened you,” the man said.
“What are you doing out on a night like this?” Gaston asked.
“I am doing the same thing you are,” Balthazar said. “I am going about the business of my master.”
“The business of your master?” Andre said. “Are you a slave? I thought slavery ended twenty-five years ago.”
“I am a slave of no man,” Balthazar said.
“What are you doing here, Bal
thazar? Are you lost?” Gaston asked.
“Tonight, a child is to be born. The mother needs your help.”
“Our help? Do you mean to say there is a woman outside, in this blizzard?”
“Yes,” Balthazar said. He pointed. “Go for one mile in that direction. You will find her, and with her two more women. You must find shelter for them.”
“Where are we going to find shelter?” Pierre asked.
“You know a place,” Balthazar said.
“What place would that be?”
“The old barn,” Gaston suggested. “Do you remember? It is near here, by the seven trees that form the cross.”
“That barn is falling down. There is a hole in the roof,” Andre said.
“It is better than leaving the mother outside in this snowstorm,” Gaston said. “That is the best we can ...” he turned toward the fourth man, but Balthazar was gone.
“Where did he go?” Pierre asked, his voice registering his surprise.
“I don’t know,” Gaston said. “But we don’t have time to worry about that now. Come quickly. We must find the woman.”
“Do you think there really is such a woman?” Andre asked.
“Why would he tell us there was, if it is not so?” Gaston asked.
“Maybe he didn’t tell us,” Pierre suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he wasn’t here.”
Back at the wagon Rebecca and Sally had to keep brushing snow away to keep the three of them from being covered. No longer was the trail made by the wagon, horses, and cattle visible. There were no footprints, no signs of encampment.
Suddenly Maria cried out in pain.
“Oh, Maria, no!” Sally said. “Not now!”
“I am sorry,” Maria said. She winced again in pain.
“How long have you been having these pains?” Sally asked.
“All day, but I didn’t say anything before. Now they are getting worse, and closer together.”
“What are we going to do, Sally?” Rebecca asked, her voice laced with fear and concern.
“Please, come with us,” a man’s voice said.
The unexpected voice startled the three women and Sally spun around, a pistol already in her hand.
Rebecca saw three tall thin men, all with beards and fur caps heavily dusted by the still-falling snow.
“Sally, no!” Rebecca said. “I know them!”
“You know them?”
“They are shepherds,” Rebecca said. “This one is Gaston.” Rebecca did not tell the others how she knew them, that these were the same shepherds that the Rocking H had come across during the summer drive up to Dodge City.
“The woman with child, she is about to give birth, yes?” Gaston asked.
“Yes,” Sally said.
“Gaston, do you know somewhere we can go to get her out of the cold and the snow?” Rebecca asked.
“Yes, I know a barn that is not far,” Gaston said.
“How far?”
“Not far. Maybe one mile.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said. “In this snow, there is no way Maria could walk a mile. I don’t know that she could even do it if there was no snow.”
“The mules,” Sally said. “We’ll put her on one of the mules.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “That is a good idea.”
Working quickly, they disconnected one of the two mules that, while out of harness, had been tied to the wagon. There was no saddle for it, but Gaston and one of the other shepherds lifted Maria and sat her on the mule so that both legs were on one side. Maria grabbed onto the mule’s mane with one hand, and held Rebecca’s hand with the other. Sally walked on the opposite side of the mule to help keep her on, and with two of the three shepherds walking in front to break a path through the snow, Gaston led the mule through the falling snow.
It took them at least forty-five minutes to reach the barn. There was so much snow piled up outside that it took another five minutes to get enough of the snow moved away to enable them to open the door. Inside, they found a stall with straw. Gaston built a fire on the floor of the barn, just outside the stall. There was a hole in the roof, and that plus the open door provided enough of a draft for the smoke to rise.
As Smoke, Matt, and Falcon continued their pursuit of the would-be cattle rustlers, the snowfall stopped, and the clouds rolled away. Oddly, within moments the sky was alive with sparkling stars. A moon that was nearly full, except for a tiny sliver along the left side, bounced its bright light off the new-fallen snow so that, in dramatic contrast to the total lack of visibility earlier, they could now see for great distances. Red and the five riders with him were now quite visible to Smoke, Matt, and Falcon.
“We ain’t goin’ to get away from ’em!” Red said. “We’re goin’ to have to fight ’em! Over there, up on them rocks!”
Snaking their rifles from their saddle-sheaths, the six outlaws rode over to the rocky hill that Red had pointed out; then, stepping from their saddles, started a laborious climb up the hill, slipping and sliding as they did so.
“Smoke!” Matt shouted, pointing.
“I see them,” Smoke said.
“Once they get into those rocks, they’re going to have cover,” Matt said.
“We’ll just have to shoot straighter,” Falcon quipped.
The three men dismounted, then, as the outlaws had done previously, they pulled their rifles from the saddle-sheaths and levered rounds into the chambers. Bending over at the waist, Smoke, Matt, and Falcon began moving toward the little rock-strewn hill.
“Shoot ’em, shoot ’em!” Red shouted, even as he pulled the trigger on his Henry, and a little flame of fire spit out from the muzzle.
The others with Red began shooting as well, but they had the same disadvantage most marksmen have when shooting up or down at a target. The bullet’s flight path depends on the horizontal range to the plane of the target, not the line of sight up or down a hill. In order to hit the target a shooter must aim lower than normal to achieve the desired point of impact.
Smoke knew this, because he had been taught by Preacher. Matt knew it, because he had been taught by Smoke. Falcon knew it, because he had been taught by his father, Jamie Ian MacCallister. But the outlaws did not know this, and though they had the security of the rocks as cover, they would have to raise up to present themselves any time they fired.
Rifles barked, flame-patterns flared, and the bullets fired by the outlaws whizzed by ineffectively, whereas every round fired by Smoke, Matt, and Falcon found its mark. In less than two minutes of fierce engagement, all of the outlaws had come tumbling down the hillside, dead or fatally wounded. Smoke and the others closed in on the fallen rustlers, finding them as black forms in the white snow. Five of them were spread out, lifeless on the ground, but one was still alive, and he was sitting up, holding his hands over a bleeding wound in his stomach.
“Which one of you is Smoke Jensen?” he asked, his voice strained with pain and weakened from loss of blood.
“I am Smoke Jensen.”
“I thought it was supposed to be third time is the charm. This is the third time I’ve gone up ag’in you, and you’ve won ever’ time.”
“I don’t know you,” Smoke said.
“The name is Red Coleman.”
“You are the one who tried to hold up the cattle train,” Smoke said.
“Yeah, and the train before that,” Red said. “Oh, my gut hurts.” Red looked down at himself, moved his hands away from the wound and saw the blood, there cupped, spill into the snow. I reckon I’m a goner, ain’t I?”
“I reckon so,” Smoke said. Smoke turned and walked back toward his horse.
“Wait a minute, you’re walkin’ away just like that? Where are you goin’?”
“To get my cows back,” Smoke said. He mounted his horse.
“You’re just goin’ to leave me out here to die?”
“Yeah, I am,” Smoke said. “He started out after the others, who had already gone in p
ursuit of the herd.”
“You can’t leave me here like this you son of a bitch! Come back here! Come back here, do you hear me? Bastard! Bas ...”
With the cows no longer moving, but standing merely as one black mass against the snow and with the snow fall stopped, Tom was no longer disoriented. He could see Duff, Clay, and Dalton on the opposite side of the herd from him.
“Where are the others?” Tom asked when he rode up to them.
“Smoke, Matt, and Falcon went after the outlaws,” Clay said. “Dusty is dead.”
“Dusty is dead? Oh,” Tom said. “Oh, I hate that.”
When Smoke, Matt, and Falcon returned, they found the cattle standing in place. Clay, Duff, Dalton, and Tom were all together.
“The outlaws?” Clay asked.
“We won’t be having any more trouble with them,” Falcon said. “Good to see you, Tom, I was afraid we might have lost you as well as Duff.”
“I was on the other side of the herd,” Tom said.
“The cattle aren’t going anywhere,” Clay said, “at least, not for the rest of the night. But some of us need to get back to the camp. I don’t feel good about leaving the women there alone.”
“How far do you think we’ve come?” Dalton asked.
“Four, maybe five miles,” Clay answered.
“Clay, why don’t you, Smoke, and maybe Tom, go back to check on the women?” Falcon suggested. “Like you said, these cows aren’t going to go anywhere tonight. Duff, Dalton, and I can bring them back in tomorrow morning.”
“Good idea,” Clay said. “Smoke, Tom, let’s go back. That is, if we can find our way back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At first, they couldn’t even see the wagon when they approached what had been the camp. Then Smoke pointed to a hillock of snow to which a mule was attached. As they drew closer they saw that it was, indeed, a wagon, though the snow completely covered the wheels and the wagon seat. Only the arched canvas protruded from the snow, but the canvas was white so that upon first sight, even it appeared to be snow.
A Lone Star Christmas Page 30
