23
Jim Slaughter rode at the head of a procession of thirty-four of the hardest men he could find. There wasn't one of them who wasn't wanted by the law in one place or another, most for murder, armed robbery, or rape.
He glanced at the man riding next to him. “Whitey, you got those men watching our back trail like I told you?”
“Yes, sir,” the albino answered, looking back over his shoulder. “I've got two groups of four men each. One group is about five miles back and the other is two miles back. That way, if the first group gets into trouble, the second group can ride up here and warn us.”
Slaughter nodded. “That's good. I don't know who the hell is bent on causin' me trouble up here, but whoever they are, they're sure persistent about it.”
Swede, riding on the other side of Slaughter, glanced at him. “Yeah, two attacks in a couple of weeks that cost us fifteen men dead and another six wounded so bad they cain't fight no more.”
“You don't think Monte Carson could have spent some of that fifty thousand to hire gunnies to come after us, do you?” Whitey asked.
Slaughter shook his head. “Naw, Monte's not that smart, an' besides, he knew if I suspected he had anything to do with this I'd've killed his wife pronto.”
Swede agreed. “He's right, Whitey. I asked all around an' nobody'd been approached for a job like that.”
“Maybe he hired them someplace else,” the albino continued, still not convinced. “Hell, maybe it was that Smoke Jensen everbody's jawin' about.”
Slaughter jerked his head toward Whitey. “You know, that's not too unlikely. Maybe Monte brought the old gunman up here with him an' a few of his friends. That might explain why nobody in Jackson knew anything about it.”
“But if Jensen was involved, why didn't he finish the job?” Whitey asked. “From what I hear about the old man, it ain't like him to leave a job half done.”
“What do you mean, half done?” Swede asked, leaning over in his saddle to glare at Whitey. “He got Monte's wife back and Monte an' the rest of whoever helped him out free an' clear. What more did he need to do?”
Whitey shook his head. “It still don't sound like Smoke Jensen to me. I think he would'a come into the hole-in-the-wall with his guns blazin' till he was sure Jim was dead.”
Slaughter shook his head. “No, I don't agree, Whitey. With odds of twenty to one, he'd have to be a fool to press his attack any more than he did.” Slaughter hesitated. “And from what I hear, Smoke Jensen ain't no fool, else he wouldn't have survived as long as he has. He got what he came for an' he left a winner, like Swede says.”
Whitey gritted his teeth until his jaw muscles bulged. “Well, he sure as hell ain't gonna stay no winner. When we git to Colorado, I'm gonna blow his damned head off.”
Slaughter smiled, shaking his head. “You think you're that good, Whitey?”
Whitey glared at him, his eyes narrowed. “Don't you?”
Slaughter shrugged. “Well, I know I'd hate to go up against you.” After a moment he added, “Course, if I did, I'd kill you, but that don't mean this old gunny Jensen can.”
“What'a you think, Swede?” Whitey asked, his tone indicating he was itching for a fight.
Swede laughed. “I don't know, Whitey. You and Big Jim are the fast draws around here. I know I could beat the bastard to death with my fists if it came to that, but I wouldn't want to go up against no quick-draw artist with a handgun.”
One of the men from the rear of the column came galloping up to them. “Hey, Boss, we been ridin' without stoppin' since dawn. You think we might stop fer a noonin' soon?”
Slaughter grinned. “Yeah, there's no big hurry. Let's stop and build a fire, cook some vittles, and rest our backsides. It's been a long time since I spent all day in a saddle and my bacon is achin'.”
* * *
From a ridge halfway up the slope of a nearby mountain, Smoke, Louis, and Muskrat Calhoon watched the procession as it stopped and men began to build a fire and cook their food.
Smoke glanced back over his shoulder. “I'm getting a mite worried, Louis. We've been tracking those bastards since ten o'clock this morning and we still haven't heard from Calor Pearlie.”
Louis's face showed his concern. “Me too, Smoke. Those boys would have been here by now if they were able to travel.”
Smoke's hands unconsciously formed into fists at his side. “I just hope Slaughter and his men haven't managed to put lead into the boys,” he growled. “'Cause if they have . . .” He let the sentence hang in the air unfinished, but Louis shivered at the tone of his friend's voice.
God help them if they've killed Cal or Pearlie,
he thought,
because there's no telling what Smoke would do.
Louis had heard the story of Smoke scalping and skinning men who'd harmed his family in the past, and he knew Slaughter could expect nothing less if he'd hurt Cal or Pearlie.
Smoke turned to the mountain man. “Muskrat, will you backtrack for a few miles and see if you can find any trace of Calor Pearlie? I need to know they're safe before we start our attacks on Slaughter.”
Muskrat nodded. “Sure thang, Smoke. You an' Louis fix you somethin' to eat an' I'll head on back down the trail a piece an' see what's goin' on back there.”
Smoke and Louis stepped out of their saddles and pulled the horses back into the brush so there was no chance of them being seen if Slaughter posted lookouts.
“I guess we'll have to have a cold nooning,” Smoke said. “No way to build a fire with the outlaws so close.”
“That's true, but all is not lost,” Louis said with a grin. “I took the trouble to acquire some provisions before we left Jackson Hole for just such an eventuality.”
He pulled two cans of potted meat, a can of sliced peaches, and a can of sliced pears from his saddlebags. “We may have to eat it cold, but that doesn't mean it has to taste bad.”
“Louis,” Smoke said, licking his lips, “I always knew there was something about you I liked.”
* * *
Barely an hour had passed before Muskrat returned. He jumped out of the saddle and squatted next to Louis and Smoke, smiling as they handed him his share of the food. He didn't bother with knives or forks, just shoveled the food into his mouth with his fingers, hardly bothering to chew before he swallowed.
“What'd you find out?” Smoke asked.
The mountain man glanced up from his plate with a sly look on his face. “Slaughter ain't as dumb as I thought he was,” he began. “He's left two parties of men behind to guard his back trail. One is hunkered down four or five mile back, an' the other two mile back.”
Smoke thought about it for a moment, then looked over at Louis. “That means if Cal and Pearlie were delayed for some reason and try to catch up with us, they're liable to be ambushed by those bastards.”
Muskrat nodded, as did Louis.
“So, we've got to take out the rear guard first, before we do anything else,” Smoke finished.
“An' we got to do it quietlike, so's the others don't know nothin' 'bout it,” Muskrat added.
After Slaughter's main body of men finished lunch and packed up their gear and moved on, Smoke crossed to the other side of the trail, leaving Muskrat and Louis where they were. They set up an ambush not far from the edge of the road, and waited for the two groups of rear guards to come.
It took the first party of four men an hour and a half to appear. They were moving slowly down the trail, keeping their eyes to the rear.
As they came abreast of the ambush site, Smoke stood up, signaled to Muskrat and Louis, and broke from cover.
He had the tomahawk he always carried in his right hand and his Bowie knife in his left. As the first man turned and caught sight of Smoke, he let fly with the tomahawk. It turned over in the air three times and embedded itself in the cowboy's chest, knocking him backward off his horse with a harsh grunt.
The second man turned just in time to see Smoke fling himself through the air. Then the man was knocked off his horse. Seconds after they landed with Smoke on top, Smoke buried his knife to the hilt in the outlaw's abdomen and jerked upward as hard as he could, filleting the man like a fish where he lay.
Smoke rolled off the body in time to see Louis and Muskrat take out the other two. Louis with a long, wicked-looking stiletto, Muskrat by the simple expedient of swinging his long-barreled Sharp's Big Fifty like a baseball bat and caving in the side of his opponent's head, which made a sound like a pumpkin being dropped from a second-story window onto hardpan.
“Let's get these bodies out of sight and wait for the others,” Smoke said.
* * *
Cal and Pearlie were riding along, keeping their mounts at an easy, ground-eating lope.
“We gotta be careful, Pearlie,” Cal said. “We don't want'a ride up Slaughter's rear 'fore we see 'em.”
“Don't you worry none, pup,” Pearlie said, using the same term for Cal that Muskrat had, knowing it irritated his young friend. “I got my eyes an' ears open. We'll see them 'fore they see us, I guarantee it.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when four men stepped from the bushes next to the trail.
“Hands up, gents,” the lead man called, a shotgun cradled in his arms, its barrel pointed at Cal's chest.
“Shit, Pearlie,” Cal mumbled under his breath, “I thought you was watchin'.”
“I was watchin' the trail, Cal, not the bushes alongside it,” Pearlie answered, his face flaming red at being caught with his pants down.
As they raised their hands and climbed down from their horses, the head man pointed his shotgun at Pearlie. “What the hell are you two galoots doin' followin' us?” he asked.
Pearlie raised his eyebrows in puzzlement. “Followin' you? We weren't followin' nobody.”
“Oh, yeah?” the man asked, his suspicion evident. “Then what were you doin' on this trail today?”
Pearlie decided to take a chance. “They tole us in Jackson Hole Big Jim Slaughter an' his men were headed out this way.”
“So you two decided to ride up behind us an' bushwhack us, huh?”
Pearlie shook his head. “No, you got it all wrong, pardner. Mr. Slaughter asked us to join his gang last week an' we decided to take him up on his offer.”
“Why'd you change yore minds?”
Cal grinned. “That blizzard changed our minds, that's what. We 'bout near froze our butts off up in the mountains lookin' fer gold.”
Pearlie nodded. “Yeah, an' diggin' in that frozen ground in the winter's like tryin' to dig granite.” He gave an elaborate shrug. “So, we decided to take a job with Mr. Slaughter until next spring when the weather's a bit more to our likin'.”
The man didn't look convinced. “Still sounds suspicious to me,” he said. “I'll tell you what. You hand down those pistols an' we'll take you on up to see Big Jim.” He nodded. “We'll let the boss decide what to do with you.”
Cal and Pearlie handed the man their pistols and the four men followed them down the trail.
After a couple of miles, Cal noticed a series of dark stains ahead of them in the dirt of the road. He nudged Pearlie with his arm and inclined his head toward the bloodstains.
Pearlie grinned and gave his head a slight nod. When they pulled abreast of the stains, Pearlie and Cal reined in their horses, jerking their heads around toward the men behind them.
The leader raised his shotgun. “Hey, what the hell's the matter with you two?” he yelled.
“We got to pee,” Pearlie said, making sure all the men's eyes were on him and Cal.
Seconds later, Louis, Muskrat, and Smoke stepped from the bushes. “Drop your guns or we'll kill you where you sit,” Smoke called in a loud voice.
The four men raised their hands, eyes wide at the sight of men stepping from the bushes to capture them.
After Cal and Pearlie retrieved their pistols, they made the men get down off their horses. “Now,” Smoke asked, “how can we make sure these men don't join up with Slaughter later?”
Muskrat grinned and drew his finger across his throat, his tongue sticking out. “I say kill 'em an' scalp 'em as a warnin' to that bastard Slaughter.”
One of the outlaws gave a nervous laugh, until he looked into Muskrat's eyes and knew he was seconds away from death. The laughter died in his throat.
Smoke nodded, his face serious. “That's one way. Any other suggestions?”
Louis walked over to the men and held out his hands. “Give me your boots,” he said.
“Are you crazy?” the leader of the bandits asked. “Our feet'll freeze out here. We'll lose all our toes.”
Louis shrugged. “I'll give each of you a couple of shirts from your saddlebags to wrap around your feet. That should protect your toes long enough to get back to Jackson.”
The man looked at his partners and shook his head. “No way, mister.”
Louis shrugged and pulled out his Arkansas Toothpick. “All right, it's your choice. I guess I'm going to have to cut your Achilles tendons,” he said, motioning to the back of his ankles with the knife, “and let you crawl all the way back to Jackson.”
“Hold on, stranger,” the man said, hurriedly pulling off his boots and handing them to Louis, as did his companions.
Cal and Pearlie rounded up the men's horses and the group rode away, while the outlaws began the long walk back toward Jackson Hole.
“Why didn't ya let me scalp 'em?” Muskrat asked Louis.