Read Brotherhood of Evil Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone
Brotherhood of Evil (14 page)
Chapter 29
Harkness yelled, “Damn it, Dalby, don'tâ” but it was too late.
Dalby's gun was already in his fist.
Smoke and Matt were on the move instantly, as soon as Dalby reached for his gun. Smoke yanked his horse to the right while Matt went to the left. Spreading out in the face of danger was pure instinct for them.
Dalby's bullet whipped through the air between them as they separated. He didn't get a chance to fire again. His shot had barely sounded when two shots crashed from Matt's Colt. The bullets slammed into Dalby's chest and slapped him backwards, out of the saddle. His right foot hung in the stirrup as his horse bolted. The spooked horse dragged the dead man along the road as it galloped between Smoke and Matt.
On the other side of the wagon road, Smoke had palmed out both revolvers. The hardcase called Harkness may not have wanted a fight, but it had gone too far to stop and all the men knew it.
Harkness yanked his gun from its holster, but he didn't get a shot off. Smoke's right-hand Colt boomed. The bullet tore through Harkness's throat. As he bent backwards from the impact, blood fountained from the torn arteries in his neck.
The third outlaw screamed like a madman and kicked his horse into a run just as Preacher emerged from the trees behind him and fired both guns. The unexpected move threw off the old mountain man's aim and both slugs whistled through the air.
The hardcase thundered toward Smoke and Matt, spraying lead at them as fast as he could jerk the trigger. From the looks of it, he was trying to blast his way past them so he could flee.
The tactic might have worked if he hadn't been facing enemies as coolheaded under fire as Smoke and Matt Jensen.
As it was, they fired at the same time. Their bullets tore through the man at different angles and corkscrewed him out of the saddle. He thudded facedown to the ground.
Preacher hurried forward and exclaimed, “Dadgum it! I wanted to take one of them varmints alive.”
“No way for us to know that,” Matt said. “And once the shooting started, there wasn't time to do anything fancy.”
The horse dragging Dalby had vanished around the bend. Harkness was clearly dead with blood pooling darkly around his head where he lay after toppling off his mount.
Preacher hooked a boot toe under the shoulder of the third man and rolled him onto his back. His bloody chest still rose and fell, and they could hear his harsh breaths as he struggled to draw air into his lungs.
Smoke dismounted and joined Preacher at the wounded man's side.
Preacher hunkered on his heels. “Son, you ain't got far to go 'fore you cross the divide. How come you and those other fellas were waitin' out here for Smoke Jensen?”
Smoke frowned as he heard that question.
The dying man rasped, “You . . . you go to . . . hell . . . old man! . . . The major . . . he'll see to it . . . the doctor . . . the devil . . . Ahhh!”
The man's back arched and his boot heels drummed briefly on the hard-packed dirt. Then he slumped as his final gasp rattled in his throat.
Preacher stood and thumbed his hat back. “Well, if that don't beat all. What'd he mean by the devil? And who're the major and the doctor?”
“What did you overhear, Preacher?” Smoke asked. “Did they give you any hint as to what's going on here?”
“A hint's all they did give me,” Preacher replied. “From the sound of it, their bunch has taken over Big Rock.”
Matt said, “We got the same idea when they started talking about arresting us.”
Preacher let out a disgusted snort. “These varmints weren't real deputies. Monte Carson never would've pinned badges on owlhoot scum like them.”
“You're right about that,” Smoke agreed. A grim feeling began to grow inside him. “That means Monte must be their prisonerâor worse.”
“Yeah,” Preacher said with a nod. “It's you they was really after, Smoke. They were supposed to capture you, not kill you. They acted like they had somethin' they could hold over you, to make you do whatever they wanted.”
“Like hostages in town,” Matt suggested.
“Yep. That fella Dalby lost his head and went for his gun. That was all the spark it took.”
Smoke's heart slugged harder in his chest at the mention of hostages. His enemies had tried that before. “Did they mention anything about Sally or the ranch?”
Preacher shook his head. “Not a dang word. The same thing occurred to me, Smoke, but there ain't no reason to think Sally's in danger.”
“There's no reason to think she's not, either.”
Preacher just shrugged. He couldn't argue with Smoke's logic.
Matt said, “It might be a good idea to hash this all out somewhere else. We're close enough to town that somebody could have heard those shots, and if these fellas' friends are running things in Big Rock now, they might send somebody to see what the commotion was all about.”
Smoke's face wore a bleak expression as he nodded. “You're right. Let's move higher in the hills where it'll be harder to find us.”
“What about these carcasses?” Preacher asked.
“Might as well leave them where they fell. I suppose we could hide them, but even if they vanish, their friends will still know that something happened out here.”
“That'll make 'em be on the lookout for trouble,” Preacher warned.
Smoke nodded. “Good. Because trouble's on the way.”
Chapter 30
Half an hour later, Preacher, Smoke, and Matt stopped in a clearing high enough that in the distance, they could see the steeple on the church in Big Rock, along with the roofs of a few buildings. They dismounted.
Smoke propped a foot on a fallen tree and peered intently at the distant settlement. “If the owlhoots are guarding the roads into town, they're liable to have patrols out, too, but it's not very likely any of them will come this high.”
Matt asked, “Who do you think they are, Smoke?”
“I don't have any idea.” Smoke shook his head. “I've got plenty of enemies, I suppose.”
Preacher grunted. “Not that many who are still alive and kickin'.”
Smoke smiled humorlessly. “I suppose that's true, but most of the men I've had to kill are bound to have friends and relatives.”
“What about the major and the doctor?” Matt asked. “Either of those ring any bells?”
Smoke shook his head again. “Not really. Those men we shot it out with weren't regular army, any more than they were deputies.”
“I'd say that's right,” Preacher agreed.
Smoke frowned in thought for a moment, then asked, “When you were eavesdropping on them, Preacher, did they happen to mention you or Matt?”
The mountain man pursed his lips as he considered the question. “Nope, I don't believe they did. I'm sure of it. They didn't.”
Smoke rubbed his chin. “Then maybe they don't know the two of you are with me. Maybe they think I was coming into Big Rock alone.”
“What difference does that make?” Matt asked, clearly puzzled.
“It means they won't be looking for the two of you.”
“They're grabbin' ever'body who tries to get into town,” Preacher pointed out.
“That's right. And they don't know who you are.” Smoke looked back and forth between his two companions. “With all three of those men dead, the others have no way of knowing that there's any connection between the two of you and me.”
Matt let out a low whistle. “So there's nothing stopping us from getting into town and finding out exactly what's going on.”
Smoke nodded. “That's the way it looks to me.”
Preacher said, “Problem with that idea is that we'd be prisoners. Wouldn't be able to do nothin' to help matters.”
“I might be able to slip in without them knowing I'm there,” Matt said.
“And I know dang well I could,” Preacher added.
Smoke agreed. “That's what I was thinking. The two of you find out exactly what sort of odds we're facing, and we can rendezvous later to figure out what to do about them.”
“Where should we meet?” Matt asked.
Smoke considered the question for a moment, then said, “How about Knob Hill? It's closer to Big Rock than Sugarloaf, but it's pretty handy to both of them.”
Matt and Preacher nodded. They knew where the rocky hill was located.
“Where'll you be in the meantime?” Preacher asked.
“I'm heading for Sugarloaf,” Smoke declared. “I'm not going to do anything else until I'm sure that Sally is all right.”
Chapter 31
Pearlie sat motionless in the sun with his back against a rock. He was at the top of the ridge above the line shack, having climbed there earlier to relieve Cal. For the past two days, one of them had been up there all the time during daylight hours, keeping an eye on the valley hundreds of feet below and the lower slopes that led up.
If any of Trask's men started poking around in the vicinity, the fugitives wanted as much warning as they could get.
Down below, a thin tendril of smoke curled from the shack's stone chimney. Sally kept the fire small, just enough to boil coffee, fry salt pork, and bake biscuits from the small cache of supplies left in the line shack. They were trying to make those provisions last as long as possible.
Pearlie was careful to keep his rifle and pistol where the sun couldn't hit them. A reflection of sunlight off metal from the ridge would be a dead giveaway that a man with a gun was up there. A pair of field glasses might have come in handy, but he wouldn't have risked using those, either. His eyesight was good, so he was willing to rely on it.
Inside the line shack, Sally poured herself another cup of coffee while Cal dozed in one of the bunks. The men took turns standing guard at night, as well as watching from the ridge during the day, so they grabbed what sleep they could, when they could.
The shack had only two bunks. Cal and Pearlie traded off in one of them and Sally had the other.
Some people would consider it scandalous that a married woman was sharing the crude cabin with two men, neither of whom was her husband, but she had long since stopped caring about narrow-minded folks and their hidebound notions of propriety. If somebody wasn't brave enough to say to her face what they thought, she didn't care about their opinions.
She sat down at the rough-hewn table. She wore the flannel shirt and denim trousers that one of the ranch hands had left behind, along with a pair of thick socks. The shirtsleeves and trouser legs were rolled up quite a bit, but the socks fit surprisingly well. The puncher who had left the clothes must have rather small feet, she had thought when she'd first pulled on the socks.
They were all right as long as she was at the line shack, but if she was going to be riding or moving around much, she needed a pair of boots. She didn't know where she would get them.
She wished she had her carbine, too. Cal's Winchester lay on the table and she could use it if she needed to, but a weapon with a shorter barrel was easier for her to handle. She was more accurate with a carbine, too.
She had just taken a sip of coffee when three thuds sounded in rapid succession on the shack's roof. Her head came up sharply.
That was the signal for trouble. Pearlie had pitched down three small rocks from the top of the ridge, one after the other, aiming them at the roof. They had agreed on that when the men first started standing watch, but it was the first time any of them had used the signal.
“Cal!” Sally said as she leaped to her feet. “Pearlie's spotted something.”
The cowboy came out of the blankets thrashing and sputtering, got his wits about him quickly, and snatched the Winchester from the table. “He gave the signal?”
“Three rocks landed on the roof, one right after the other,” Sally confirmed.
“Dang it! That means trouble, all right.” He hurried over to the door and eased it open a crack. The line shack didn't have any windows, although there were loopholes in all four walls where folks inside could fire rifles if they were forced to defend the place.
Cal put his eye to the narrow opening and peered out. After a moment he said, “I can't see anything. Maybe I better go out there and take a look around.” He drew his Colt from its holster and half-turned to extend it toward Sally. “Here, Miss Sally. You hang on to this, in case you need it.”
She took the gun from him. “Be careful, Cal.”
“I wish there was some way for Pearlie to let us know what he saw from up yonder. If we stay here for very long, we're gonna have to work on that.”
On that hopeful note, Cal slowly opened the door wider. In the wild country, movement was what attracted the eye, so he continued to take it slow and easy as he slid out of the line shack.
Sally didn't realize she was holding her breath. When she finally had to take a breath, it was shallow and quiet as if she worried that whoever was outside might hear it.
She jumped a little as a figure appeared in the door, but it was only Cal coming back. He said excitedly, “I saw a rider on the other side of the meadow coming this way.”
“Just one man?”
“Yeah.” Cal hurried to the fireplace. The fire had burned down to embers and was barely putting out any smoke. “Maybe he didn't see that, and the wind's from the wrong direction for him to smell the fire. Maybe he'll ride up without knowing that anybody's here, and we can get the drop on him.”
“You're sure it's one of Trask's men?”
“Who else would it be? As far as we know, they're running this whole part of the country now.”
He was right about that, Sally thought. Trask was bound to have searchers out looking for her, and the rider was probably one of them.
The horses they had ridden were in a shed at the back of the line shack. The stranger wouldn't be able to see them as he approached. Cal had pulled the door closed when he came in, so from outside the shack ought to look like it was deserted. The man would want to have a look inside it anyway, just to make sure his quarry wasn't hiding there.
“We need to grab him if we can,” Cal went on. “He'll have guns, ammunition, maybe a few supplies. And he's got a horse. We need a mount for you, Miss Sally.”
“And boots. Maybe I'd be able to wear his boots.”
“Yeah, we'll get you outfitted.” Cal hesitated. “If he's one of those gun-wolves who work for Trask, chances are he's not gonna give up without a fight.”
Sally's hand tightened on the revolver. “Then we'll just have to give him one.”
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