Ambush of the Mountain Man (16 page)

Read Ambush of the Mountain Man Online

Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: Ambush of the Mountain Man
9.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
T
WENTY-FIVE
Smoke had a problem. The storm had stopped and the day was clearing off, clouds disappearing as fast as they'd appeared days before. He knew that with no storm to cover his tracks, the deep snow would lead the gang that had taken him prisoner right to him. Also, his dark clothes were going to stand out against the white snow like a road sign. He was going to have to be very careful moving around to make sure he stayed under cover.
The good news was that he was a good mile and a half up the lower slope of the mountain he'd been heading for. Now the gang was going to have to come after him in his territory, where he was right at home and where they were interlopers.
As he rode, he checked his weapons. He had two pistols, each with six cartridges, and a rather old and beaten-up Winchester that looked as if its owner hadn't cleaned it in years. He shook his head, knowing he wouldn't be able to trust it for accuracy at much over a hundred yards.
He leaned forward, took the canteen off the saddle horn, and pulled its cork, taking a sniff of the contents. He wrinkled his nose. The man he'd killed had had his canteen filled with whiskey instead of water or coffee. That's no good, he thought. His experience had taught him that men who drank whiskey when the weather was below freezing didn't last too long. Instead of warming a body up, as many flatlanders thought, whiskey actually lowered the body's resistance to freezing temperatures.
He guided the horse into the middle of a small copse of trees, so he'd be out of sight from the slopes below, and dismounted. He opened the saddlebags to see what else he'd inherited with the dead man's horse.
Good news at last. The man had a large chunk of bacon wrapped in waxed paper in a sack along with several biscuits and a couple of pieces of jerky. There was also a small can of Arbuckle's coffee, but no pot or skillet to use to cook either the bacon or the coffee in.
No matter, he thought. A good mountain man can always improvise.
In the other saddlebag was an old monocular scope, the kind you pulled out and looked through with one eye. It wasn't as good as a decent pair of binoculars, but it would do. Nestled in the bag was a box of .44 cartridges for the rifle and for the pistols as well. That was an additional fifty rounds he had to add to what was already in the weapons.
In addition to the shells, there was a folded-up yellow rain cape and a small woven blanket and a box of lucifers. Along with the waterproof ground blanket folded behind the saddle, he would at least have some protection against the cold when night fell.
He nodded, grinning. All in all, not too bad, he thought. He had managed to escape and to acquire not only transportation, but also weapons and food and some shelter against the elements. He was ready now to go to war.
He took the telescope and moved to the edge of the copse of trees. He panned the scope all around the downslope area that he could see. There was no sign of any pursuit just yet, which meant he probably had enough time to fix a fire and to eat and make some coffee.
He took the reins of the horse and led it around and through the trees until he found some boulders sitting so there was a small protected space out of the chilly wind on the mountainside.
Using his boot, he scraped the snow down to where the horse could forage enough grass to fill its belly. Unfortunately, the man hadn't carried any grain for his mount, but a few days on grass wouldn't hurt the horse.
He took the saddle and blanket off, and used the reins to fashion a makeshift hobble for the animal, since he didn't know if he could trust it to remain nearby if only ground-reined.
Once his horse was taken care of, he gathered up an armful of dead tree limbs and deadfall from around the boulders. He made a small pile between the boulders, with the smaller sticks on the bottom and the larger ones on top.
He opened the saddlebags and took out the woven blanket. Since the grass around was all covered with snow, it couldn't be used to start the fire. It was too wet. So, he unraveled an inch or so of the blanket, wadded up the yarn, and stuck it under the kindling. When he lit it with a lucifer, it was only moments before he had a small fire going.
He'd picked up only long-dead wood, so there was very little smoke, though there was enough to spot if the men below were looking, and he knew he'd have to make this nooning fast.
He took out the bacon, sliced it with the skinning knife he'd taken from the man's boot, and laid the strips out on a wide, flat rock. This he laid gently in the edge of the fire.
While the bacon was cooking, he poured the contents of the can of Arbuckle's coffee into the sack the bacon and jerky and biscuits had been in, and then he filled the empty can with snow. He placed it near the fire so the snow would melt.
As the bacon cooked and the water began to boil, Smoke dumped a handful of coffee grounds into the water in the can. Using the skinning knife, he cut one of the biscuits open, and then speared the bacon and put it between the halves of the biscuit and began to eat.
The biscuit was very hard, but it softened a bit as the grease from the bacon soaked into it, and soon he could chew it without worrying about breaking a tooth off.
When the coffee was boiling, he wrapped the blanket around his hands and pulled the can away from the fire. He set it down and waited for it to cool down enough so he could drink it.
“All the comforts of home,” he mumbled to himself, happy to be free at last.
Thirty minutes later, he kicked snow into the fire to put it out and got back in the saddle. He'd dumped the whiskey out of the canteen after taking a sip or two, and replaced it with hot coffee. He'd also saved some of the biscuit and bacon sandwiches for an evening meal, since he doubted he'd be able to make a fire after darkness came.
He spurred the horse into motion and as it walked up the slope, he glanced behind him. Sure enough, the pine tree limbs he'd tied to the horse's tail were dragging along, smoothing over the prints the horse was making in the snow. It wasn't perfect, and if the men chasing him had a good tracker along, they could still follow him. But to see and follow the tracks, the tracker would have to walk—they couldn't be seen from horseback. This would slow their chase considerably, and for every minute they delayed, the high winds of the High Lonesome were making his tracks that much harder to follow.
He moved farther and farther up the slope, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders as the temperature got colder and colder the higher he went. He glanced upward and smiled to see dense, dark clouds again forming around the distant peaks, whipped around and around by the high winds up on top of the mountain. He knew this meant more early winter storms were on the way, along with temperatures many degrees below zero.
“We'll see how those boys like mountain weather,” he said to the back of the horse's head as they slowly ascended toward the snow-covered peaks above them.
 
 
Several miles away, Cletus got to his feet as his men finished their noon meal. He moved over next to where the horses were tied and found Jason Biggs standing there, a pair of binoculars to his eyes.
“You see anything, Jason?” he asked as he began to build himself a cigarette.
“Couple'a elk an' a bear, but nothin' that looked like a rider on horseback.” He hesitated, and then he added, “I did see what looked like a thin plume of smoke, but with the winds up there it was hard to tell.”
Cletus put a match to his cigarette and nodded his head through the smoke. “Yeah, there's just too many trees up there. A hundred men could be ridin' around up there and if they was careful, we wouldn't see nothin' from down here in the flats.”
Biggs turned to him. “So, you ready to go upland an' get us a son of a bitch?” he asked, still angry over the death of his friend Charley Blake.
Cletus nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. I was kind'a hoping Mac would'a been back from talking to Angus, but we can't wait any longer if we want'a get up the side of that mountain 'fore dark.”
“Good, 'cause I'm itchin' to get that sumbitch in my sights.”
Cletus put his hand on Biggs's shoulder. “Jason, you know we're going up there to capture Jensen, not assassinate him, don't you?”
Biggs showed his teeth, but it was more a grimace than a real smile. “You do what you got to do, Clete, an' I'll do the same.”
Cletus decided to let it drop. He too was pretty pissed off about Blake, though he could understand why Jensen had done what he'd done. As he'd told Sarah, a man running for his life will do just about anything he has to in order to survive.
 
 
Cletus got his men saddled up and headed toward the steep slopes of the mountain in the distance. Like Smoke, he too noticed the clouds whipping around the peaks, and knew they were going to be in for some rough weather before too long.
When the group came to the trail leading up into the forest on the side of the slope, Cletus stopped them across the stream from a rotting one-room log cabin that looked like it hadn't been used for years.
“Jimmy,” he said, pointing to Jimmy Corbett, “I want you to wait over there by that cabin for Mac Macklin to get here. He'll probably have some more men from Mr. MacDougal, an' I want you to bring ‘em on up after us when they get here.”
“Yes, sir,” Jimmy said, jerking his horse's head to the side and riding toward the shallow, ice-encrusted stream.
“And Jimmy . . . ”
“Yeah, Boss?” the boy said, looking back over his shoulder to see what Cletus wanted.
“You'd better fire a couple of shots when you get close to let us know it's you coming.” Cletus smiled. “I figure we got more'n a few itchy trigger fingers in this group, and you wouldn't want to sneak up on none of ‘em.”
Jimmy grinned and touched the brim of his hat as he rode into the stream and over toward the log cabin.
“We gonna sit here all day jawin' or we gonna go up there and git Jensen?” Jason Biggs called from the front of the group of men, where he sat impatiently in his saddle.
Cletus clenched his teeth and walked his horse over next to Biggs's without answering.
He leaned over to put his face close to Biggs's and said in a low voice, “You open your pie-hole like that at me one more time, Jason, an' we're gonna see who the best man with a gun is! You hear me boy?” he asked, his face red and his voice harsh. His flat, dangerous eyes let Biggs know he wasn't kidding in what he said.
“Uh, I didn't mean nothin' by what I said, Clete, you know that,” Biggs answered, his eyes looking down and not meeting Cletus's.
“Remember, Jason, one more time is all it's gonna take. I won't remind you again.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Cletus rode off, his back turned, Biggs let his hand fall to the butt of his pistol. No one could talk to him like that and get away with it.
Then he looked around at the men gathered nearby. He knew they'd blow him out of the saddle if he shot Cletus, so he relaxed and kicked his horse into following Cletus's. There'd be plenty of time later for Clete to have an accident.
T
WENTY-SIX
Sheriff Wally Tupper handed the dally rope he had attached to the two pack animals behind him to Jack Dogget, one of the men riding with Angus MacDougal.
“Here's your dynamite and gunpowder and extra shells, Angus,” he said, trying as hard as he could to keep his anger out of his voice.
Angus MacDougal tipped his head. “Come on with us, Wally,” he said, though this time it was more in the way of an offer instead of an order. “I promise you it's gonna be fun. After all, hunting a man is much more exciting than hunting elk or bear, and I'm offering a bonus of five hundred dollars to the man who catches that son of a bitch.”
Wally shook his head. “No, thanks, Angus. I think I'll stay here.”
Angus stared at him, his eyes narrowing. “I get the feeling you don't think much of what I'm doing, Wally. Am I right?”
Wally nodded. “Yep, you're right as rain, Angus. I told you, Jensen ain't done nothing wrong—leastways nothing against the law. Everybody there that day says he fired in self-defense—that Johnny prodded him and drew on him without any provocation.”
“Bullshit!” Angus screamed, making his horse stomp and crow hop a time or two. “He killed my boy, and he's going to pay for it!” Angus's face was beet red and his eyes were wide and full of madness. He looked like he was about to have a stroke.
Wally shook his head sadly. “Maybe he did kill him, Angus, but Johnny wasn't no boy. He was a growed man who shot his mouth off and got himself killed for drawing on the wrong man at the wrong time. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and if it hadn't have been Jensen, it would've been somebody else.”
“You saying my boy deserved to get killed, Wally?” Angus asked, his voice suddenly low and dangerous but the madness still in his eyes.
Wally sat up straighter in the saddle, tired of being a whipping boy for this crazy old man. “Yeah, I guess that's what I am saying, Angus, and it's long past time someone told you like it is.”
Angus smiled grimly. “This is a dangerous time to try and grow a backbone, Wally.”
“Maybe, Angus, but I'll tell you this straight. If you go up in those mountains and kill Jensen, that's your business ‘cause it's out of my jurisdiction. But if you bring him back here and do it, then I'll see that you hang for it.”
“Those are awfully big words, Sheriff,” Angus said, looking around at the twelve men sitting on their horses with him. “I hope you can back them up.”
Wally looked around at the men, his face paling just a bit. “These men all agreed to go out with you to catch a gunman, Angus. I don't think they agreed to kill an officer of the law.”
Angus snorted through his nose. “Well, we'll just have to see about that when I get back.”
Wally nodded. “Things are going to be different when you get back, Angus. That's what you'd better be thinking on while you're up in those mountains.”
Angus growled and spurred his horse right at Wally, waiting for him to jump out of the way. But Wally stood his ground, and it was Angus who had to pull his horse to the side and ride off toward the mountains in the distance.
Wally sat watching him as he rode off with his hired gunmen. He felt sorry for the old man, but his day was dead and gone, like his son. From now on, Wally intended to be a sheriff for all of the people of Pueblo, not just the MacDougals. And if they didn't like it, then they could just lump it.
 
 
As they rode up the mountain slope past the log cabin at its base, Cletus followed the tracks of a lone horse in the knee-deep snow.
“Spread out, men,” he hollered. “Ride in pairs, but keep within sight of the pairs on either side of you and keep your hands on your guns. If Jensen fires on us, everyone take off after him.”
As his men spread out, Sarah stayed next to Cletus, riding as his partner. He rode slowly, flicking his eyes from the tracks in the snow in front of him to the mountainside up ahead of him, trying to see if there was any movement up there where a man might be lying in wait.
He felt the sweat start to ooze out of his pores and freeze on his forehead, and the hand that was holding his pistol developed a slight tremor. Damn, he'd never been afraid of a man before, and he'd gone up against some of the meanest men in the West in his day. Maybe he was just getting old—too old to go traipsing through the woods after a man who'd saved Sarah's life only a couple of days before.
Sarah saw the sweat glistening on Cletus's face, and felt ashamed of the situation she'd put him in by bringing Jensen up here and then setting him loose. Cletus had been like a father to her for more years than she cared to remember. In fact, he'd been more of a father to her than her real dad. Angus had always had eyes only for Johnny, and he'd made it clear that he was going to leave the ranch to him, not her.
Sarah tried to think of some way to get them all out of this mess, get the men to give up and go on home. But for the life of her she couldn't think of anything to say that would make them give up the hunt. They were all too afraid of Angus MacDougal. They knew if they returned to the ranch without Jensen, Angus would make their lives miserable, or he'd kill them. The old man wouldn't like his orders being disobeyed, especially when they concerned the man who'd killed his favorite child.
She could only hope that Jensen would keep right on riding and they'd never find him. If he stayed and fought and more men were killed, more men like Charlie Blake who were friends of hers, she didn't know if she could live with herself for what she'd done.
As they rode, she offered a silent prayer that Jensen would never be seen or heard from again.
 
 
Up ahead, Smoke had used his time to good advantage. He'd explored the area of the mountainside, and now he knew his way around as well as if he'd lived there for years. As he rode around exploring and learning the various trails, he spent his time preparing traps and deadfalls to bedevil his enemies.
Sharpened stakes were set in shallow holes along the trail, and then snow was thrown over them to hide them. Heavy branches were pulled back and tied to rope along the ground so they'd release and knock men off their horses when they were on narrow trails next to cliffs and ledges. He'd found and remembered where there were large boulders that could be pushed down the mountain to start landslides in case the men following him got too close.
He was ready for war. He wondered if the men riding up the hill after him knew what they were getting into. He doubted they did, or they would've turned tail and ridden away as fast as they could.
 
 
Cletus slowed and held up his hand when he saw a man's footprints next to the horse's in the snow. Evidently Jensen had dismounted here for some reason.
Signaling the men on either side of him to circle around in front, he got off his horse and walked it slowly along toward a thick copse of trees up ahead, his pistol out and the hammer cocked.
When he entered the grove of trees, he found the boulders and the remains of Jensen's campfire. He knelt and felt the coals. They were still warm, but not hot. Jensen had been gone from this place a while now.
Cletus holstered his gun, but signaled Sarah to keep hers out. He walked around the camp and searched the ground on all sides of the copse of trees. That was strange, he thought. There were tracks coming into the grove of trees, but none leaving it.
He stood there, looking around, scratching his head. Damn! The man couldn't just fly out of here without leaving any traces, could he?
He glanced up at the sky as the sun suddenly darkened. Heavy, black clouds were whirling around the sky, and the temperature was dropping while the chilly north wind was picking up. A storm, and a big one from the feel of it, was definitely coming soon.
He stood there thinking. Jensen only had two ways to go. He could go up, or he could've circled around and be heading back down the mountain on their flanks.
For his money, he felt Jensen would go higher. Jensen was an old mountain man, this was his playground, and he wasn't about to give up his advantage by heading for the flatlands. No, Cletus knew Jensen was up above them somewhere, and he was probably looking down at them at this very moment.
Well, the hell with him, Cletus thought, getting angry. Sarah had given the man a chance to get away clean. If he chose to stay and fight, then Cletus planned to give him a fight he wouldn't soon forget. And he surely didn't intend for any more friends of his to get killed in the doing of it.
He swung back up into his saddle and waved his men forward and upward.

Other books

I Could Love You by William Nicholson
The Hogarth Conspiracy by Alex Connor
A Pig of Cold Poison by Pat McIntosh
Race For Love by Nana Malone
My Name's Not Friday by Jon Walter
The Seduction Of Claudia by Chauvet, Antoinette
The Silver Ghost by Charlotte MacLeod
I Married A Dead Man by Cornell Woolrich