Pursuit Of The Mountain Man

17

Smoke raised his head and narrowed his eyes at the sound of the shots. “Close,” he muttered, setting down his coffee cup. “No more than a mile. Probably less than that. Sound doesn’t carry well in this kind of weather. Two shots.”

“Does that mean something to you?” Gilbert asked.

“Sounded like pistol shots. Pistol’s a poor choice of weapon to use in an ambush.” He shook his head and stood up. “I don’t know what it means.” He picked up his rifle and checked it. “I’m heading over there to check it out. You people stay put and keep your heads down. Arm yourselves and be ready to use those weapons. And cut that fire back to coals to keep the smoke down.” He was gone before any could say a word of protest.

Leo, Mack and Nat opened up on Walt and Angel, knowing that from their position, they weren’t going to hit a thing. The body of Lou Kennedy lay on the cold ground behind them.

Smoke slipped through the timber, silently working his way toward the firing.

Walt and Angel lay on their bellies at the forest’s edge, not returning the fire; from their angle they would have about as much success hitting anything as those below them.

“We have, I think,” Angel said, a twinkle in his eyes, “a Norte Americano stand-off, hey, Walt?”

Walt smiled at the play-off of the expression. “You called it, partner.”

Smoke slipped to within a few yards of the men. It was almost full dark now and he could not make out their features. He knelt down behind a tree and listened to them talk when the gunfire from below stopped.

“That loco German is going to kill everybody he thinks might know of his plan,” Angel said. “Right, Walt?”

“That’s right, partner,” Walt replied. “That’s the way I see it.”

“But Al Hayre surely is out of the park and talking. So what is von Hausen’s reasoning behind this madness?”

“He ain’t reasonin’, Angel. He’s crazy. And so’s them fools with him.”

“I wonder if Jensen has put all this together?” Angel spoke softly.

“I ’magine he has. I just hope he can get clear and get any visitors out of this park. We’ve seen smoke from campfires from time to time. If von Hausen and that trash with him finds any campers ...” He trailed that off.

“They will kill them.”

“Yep. They shore will. Craziest mess I ever got myself mixed up in.”

“Stand easy, boys,” Smoke called softly. “I mean you no harm.”

Walt grunted. Without turning his head, he said, “Jensen?”

“Yes.”

“You’re as good as the talk makes you out to be. Ain’t nobody ever snuck up on me ’fore now. They’s three pretty bad ol’ boys down yonder ...”

A burst of gunfire made him pause for a moment.

“Fools,” Walt said when the firing had stopped. “They can’t hit us from their position. Leo Grant, Mack Saxton, and Nat Reed. Lou Kennedy was with them. I dropped him. You got to get clear, Jensen. You got to warn any in this park to get the hell gone.”

“I know,” Smoke told him. “I’ve got a bunch of park-people about a half mile from here right now. Are you Walt Webster?”

“Alive and still kickin’.”

“Angel Cortez,” the Mexican gunfighter said.

“You’re the two who wore the white handkerchiefs on your arms.”

“That’s us.”

“Stay where you are. Don’t get out of position and don’t fire in the outlaws’ direction. You might hit me. I’m going down there.”

“Well, if anybody can Injun up on them, you’re the one to do it.” He twisted around. “I ...”

But he was talking to emptiness. Smoke was already gone, moving like a deadly ghost through the timber.

Angel had also turned around. He shook his head in the cold darkness. “That is a bad man, amigo. I thank God that I had enough sense to see through von Hausen’s crazy game.”

“You and me both, partner.”

“Walt!” Mack called from below them. “Give it up, Walt. Join us and live. Von Hausen will take you back. You and Angel think about it. If you get out and talk, you’re signin’ our death warrants. Come on, men, what’d you say?”

“Let’s keep them talking,” Angel suggested. “That’ll give away their positions to Smoke.”

“No deal, Mack,” Walt called. “You boys surrender to us and we’ll see that you get a fair trial. You have my word on it.”

“Surrender? Us?” Nat yelled. “You’re crazy!”

Nat had moved to his right. He was trying to work his way up the other side of the slope. The timber side. Toward Smoke.

“Angel,” Mack yelled. “Listen to me. You got good sense for a greaser ...”

“What a compliment,” Angel muttered.

“... You don’t wanna die no more than we do. Think about it and join us.”

Nat ran into a long bladed knife that drove up to the hilt in his belly. Smoke jerked the blade upward with one hand while his other hand was covering Nat’s mouth, to prevent any screaming. The blade tore into the gunslinger’s heart and Nat Reed would hire out his gun no more. Smoke silently lowered the body to the cold earth, wiped his blade clean on Nat’s jacket, and moved on toward the voices.

“We’re just gonna outwait you, boys,” Mack called. “We got food and blankets and coffee and time. You boys ain’t got nothin’. You can’t slip away. You got a lame horse. Think about it. Don’t be fools and die for Smoke Jensen. He ain’t never done a damn thing for either of you.”

“What has von Hausen done for us?” Angel yelled. “What the hell have any of you done for us?”

“They ain’t gonna give it up,” Leo said. “We’re gonna have to take ’em. Nat oughtta be in position about now. What’d you say, Mack?”

“He said he’d chunk a rock over this way when he got in place. I ain’t heard no rocks, have you?”

“Naw.”

“Will .44’s do?” Smoke asked from behind the men.

They spun around, lifting their rifles. Smoke’s twin .44’s belched flame in the darkness. Mack was thrown backward, the slug tearing into his heart. Leo took his high in the chest, left side, and managed to lift his rifle. Smoke fired again, the slug lifting Leo off his boots and turning him around in a strange dance. He toppled over.

“That’s it,” Smoke called. He collected the rifles and gunbelts of the men and joined Walt and Angel on the crest of the small hill.

“I’ll switch saddles and ride one of their horses,” Walt said. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through silver hair. “Mack had a decent streak in him at one time. I’ve knowed him for years. I don’t know when he turned vicious.”

“He can explain it to God,” Smoke said.

“The ones that are left, Senor Jensen,” Angel said. “They are vicious. All of them. Through and through. You heard us talking about von Hausen’s plans?”

“Yes. We’ll stop him. Bring the other horses along. We might need them. We’re camped just over that ridge. Come on. I’ll help you pack up.”

When they got back to the camp Smoke checked over the short guns and the rifles taken from the outlaws. They were well supplied with ammo and Smoke divided that up and passed it around, then assigned the guns. Now everyone was armed, and well armed, for the four men who lay unburied on the cold ground a half mile away had each carried two six-guns tied down and each one had a rifle.

“What do we do now?” Carol asked, looking around her at the dark timber.

“Have something to eat and get some rest,” Smoke said. “From here on in, it gets interesting.”

The next day was clear and warm, the temperature climbing into the sixties before mid-morning. Roy Drum pointed to the carrion birds circling just ahead and to the west of the trail they were on. Von Hausen sent a man to check it out. He was back quickly.

“You best see this,” he said, “all of you.” He did not add: except for the women. The outlaw was well aware of how vicious these so-called ladies were. Especially that damned cold-actin’ Marlene.

The flesh-eating birds had started their feasting and the men had to kick them away from the bodies. It was a gory sight.

“Took their guns and horses,” John T. said. “I don’t believe Walt and Angel done this.”

“Found where a whole bunch of people camped last night,” Cat Brown said, riding up. “And Smoke and Walt and Angel was among ’em.

“How many people?” Von Hausen asked.

“I’d say ’tween twelve and fifteen, countin’ Smoke and Walt and Angel.”

Gunter cussed and Hans looked worried. He wasn’t liking any of this. It had turned too bloody, too savage. They had lost sight of the spirit of the hunt. It was out of control. It never occurred to him that it was out of control the instant they chose Smoke Jensen as the man they were to hunt.

“They’re pilgrims,” Cat said. “And they got some women with ’em.

“Interesting,” von Hausen said.

“Frederick,” Hans said. “I think ...”

Von Hausen spat out rapid-fire German. Hans shut his mouth. Andrea came to him and took his arm. They walked away together.

“This has got to stop, Andrea,” Hans said, when they were out of earshot of von Hausen. “It’s gone much too far.”

“It can’t stop, Hans. We have no choice but to hunt those people down and be rid of them.”

“My God, Andrea! Listen to you. You sound like some bloodthirsty crazed person. How many deaths do you want? How much blood on our hands?”

“Have you lost your stomach for the hunt, Hans?” Her words were cold and borderline contemptuous.

“This isn’t a hunt. What this is... I don’t know what it is. But I do know that it is out of control.”

“Hans,” she said, touching his arm. “Listen to me. This is the American west. Not New York City. Despite our having diplomatic papers, do you think the western men out here—who tamed this country—would let us leave without punishment? Think about that. This is the wild west, Hans. And it’s still wild. Justice comes down very hard and fast out here. We wouldn’t get ten miles before some vigilante group would have us hanged. And they do hang women out here, Hans.”

Hans clenched his hands into fists. He took several deep breaths. “All right, Andrea. All right. You do make a presentable case. Let’s just get this over with and get out of this dreadful place.”

Hans went back to his horse and rode up to the trail to be alone. The sight of those disgusting birds tearing at dead human flesh was nauseating. He lifted his hands. They were trembling.

Von Hausen came to Andrea’s side.

“He’ll stay,” she told him. “But this better end quickly, Frederick.”

“He’s that close to breaking?”

“He’s very close, Frederick.”

“I know you two care deeply for each other, Andrea—since childhood—but I will not let one man put all of us in prison. Do you understand that?”

“Perfectly. And I feel the same way about it.”

“Good. We are of like mind.”

Mountains loomed in front of them, miles away through rugged terrain. Smoke halted the parade north at a spring. While the surveyors and scientists were watering their horses and taking this time to rest from the saddle, Smoke waved Walt and Angel to him.

“We’re not going to make it like this, boys. These folks are just not able to push it any harder. Von Hausen’s party has got to be slowed up some. Walt, you and Angel stay with these folks ...”

Walt opened his mouth to protest and Smoke waved him silent. “If von Hausen caught up with them, they wouldn’t stand a chance. None of them have ever been in a gunfight. Probably a full third of them couldn’t take a human life. That’s not a short-coming on their part; they just weren’t raised out here and really don’t understand the pickle they’re in or the men they’re up against. With you two along, they stand a chance.”

“And you, Smoke?” Angel asked.

“I’m going to buy you people some time.”

“Where?” Walt asked.

“West of here at the creek. Walt, get these people out of this country and over to the trail. It’ll take you a few hours, but you’ll more than make up for it once there.”

The old gunfighter nodded his agreement. “Yeah, I been thinkin’ on that myself.”

“Rest them up and get gone. When you get to the headquarters, get with that small garrison of troops left and either make a stand or get the hell out of the park. That’s up to you folks. But get word out.”

The men shook hands. “Luck to you, boy,” Walt told Smoke. “You damn shore got a passel of bad ’uns comin’ up quick.”

“Vaya con dios,” Angel said, then walked to his horse.

Smoke stood as the men and women saddled up. Gilbert looked down at Smoke, standing in dirty, blood-splattered clothing, unshaven and in need of a hair cut. He was an awesome-looking figure of a man. “You are a very brave man, Smoke Jensen, and I speak for this entire group.”

“Yes,” Blanche said. “I know the President personally, Smoke. I shall see that you get a medal for this.”

“That’s good,” Smoke told her. “But for now, just get any civilians out of this park. If you don’t, there’s going to be a blood-bath. I’m only buying you people a few hours; so don’t waste any of it. Get out of here.”

Charles Knudson saluted him and lifted the reins. The others did the same. Two minutes later, Smoke was alone. That was the way he liked it. Alone with and a part of the high lonesome.

He knew he didn’t stand a prayer of stopping the whole group. Close as he could figure it, there was still about twenty or so coming up hard behind him. Maybe none of those he’d sent on before him would make it. But he had to try.

“Von Hausen,” he muttered to the gentle breeze blowing over the land. “I’ve hated mighty few things in my life. But I definitely hate you.”

He looked at the sky. Clear and blue and cloudless. High above him, an eagle soared on the winds, gliding gracefully toward the north. He remembered years back, after his first wife, Nicole, and their baby son had been murdered. He’d started to Idaho, to avenge them, and he’d seen an eagle, seeming to guide him. He smiled. Eagles lived a long time; might be the same one. He liked to think so.

He gathered up his reins, then paused, wondering what month it was. Summer, for sure, and Smoke was almighty weary of this hunt. With a sigh, he swung into the saddle and made his way after those who’d gone ahead of him, mixing his tracks in with theirs. Once, resting in the saddle on the crest of a hill, he could make out mounted figures, far below and behind him. They were closing in fast.

He knew he would never make the creek. Von Hausen and group were too close. He pushed on, his eyes constantly searching for a good ambush spot. He finally said to hell with it and swung down in a copse of trees on a rise that faced a meadow. The back of the hill touched a flat that offered him an escape route. He couldn’t stay here any length of time, for he couldn’t watch three sides for very long. But he might be able to empty a saddle or two and buy Walt and his bunch an hour or so.

He had handed the lead rope of his pack horse to Angel, so Smoke was traveling light. He picketed his horse and patted him on the rump.

“Stand easy, old boy. Relax. I’ll be back soon. Right now, I got some work to do.”

He got into position and checked his rifle. Full up. He levered a round into the .44-.40 just as the point man for von Hausen’s group entered the broad meadow, all bursting with new life under the warm sun.

Smoke had every intention of leaving some old life on the meadow. Forever.

The point man stopped and Smoke sighted him in through long lenses. He was still a good mile off. The scout raised his arm, and turned his head to another rider, his finger pointed toward the hill and the timber. Von Hausen rode up and joined the two outriders. He uncased his binoculars.

Smoke lowered his field glasses and hunkered down. “Come on, you crazy son of a bitch,” Smoke muttered. “Be a big brave man and ride up with your scouts. If I can knock you out of the saddle, I’ll have half the battle won.”

When Smoke again lifted his binoculars, von Hausen’s group was swinging down from their saddles to take a rest and to water their horses at the narrow little creek.

“Good enough,” he said. “Take them north, Walt. Get them clear.” Smoke took a sip of water from his canteen and chewed on a biscuit. He waited.