Brotherhood of Evil (20 page)

Chapter 43

Before the dead gunmen had been loaded on their horses, Smoke had checked the bodies and appropriated the boots that had belonged to the one with the smallest feet. They were still a bit too big for Sally, but they fit much better than the ones she'd been wearing.

“It'll always make me feel a little queasy, knowing that I'm wearing a dead man's boots,” she said as they got ready to leave the line shack.

“Better that than tearing your feet up on rough ground,” Smoke told her.

“I suppose you're right about that.”

They took all the ammunition and several extra guns from the dead men. In a war like the one they might be facing, it was impossible to have too much firepower.

They searched saddlebags for supplies, but all they found were some jerky and pipe tobacco. Pearlie took the tobacco, although his pipe was back in the bunkhouse at Sugarloaf—if one of the varmints who had raided the ranch hadn't stolen it—and he strapped on a sheathed bowie knife one of the men had been wearing.

From the line shack, they took what was left of the supply cache. It would keep them going for a few days. Up in the high country, the men could always rig snares to catch small animals, so they wouldn't starve. And water was plentiful in the small creeks that flowed from springs higher up.

Smoke, Sally, Pearlie, and Cal mounted up and headed higher in the rugged northern reaches of the Sugarloaf. Smoke knew that eventually they would reach the end of his range, but boundaries didn't mean much to him at the moment.

Keeping Sally safe did.

“What are you planning to do, Smoke?” she asked as she rode alongside him. “I know you're not going to keep running and hiding out from those men.”

“I want to find someplace for you to stay where you won't be in danger.”

“Danger doesn't bother me. I've faced it plenty of times before, remember?”

“I remember,” Smoke said grimly. “I also remember seeing you lying there with an outlaw's bullet in you, looking like you were dead. I thought you were. I don't want you to ever go through something like that again.”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft. “And I love you for being so worried about me. But I also know the men at the ranch who were captured are in danger now, and so are the people in Big Rock. Those are your friends, Smoke. You have to do something about it. And you can't let your concern for me stop you.”

“I don't intend to. There's a cave almost as high up on this mountain as you can go. Nobody can get near it without being seen. One man can hold off an army from up there, as long as his ammunition holds out. We're going to spend the night there, then tomorrow you and Cal will stay there while Pearlie and I ride back down and deal with this.”

“Hey!” Cal objected. “You're gonna leave me behind? I don't like the sound of that.”

“I do,” Pearlie said. “I'm just itchin' to take the fight to those polecats, Smoke.”

“Your job is just as important, Cal,” Smoke told the youngster. “I'm counting on you to keep Sally safe.”

“Why not leave me up there alone, if you're bound and determined to keep me out of the fight?” Sally suggested. “You know I can handle a rifle, and if Cal goes with you and Pearlie, that's one more man on your side.”

Cal grinned with pride at being described as a man. He looked like he was fit to bust about it, in fact.

“I'll think about it,” Smoke said. “For right now, let's just keep climbing.”

They did so, going higher and higher up the mountainside as the sun began to sweep down toward the western horizon.

Finally, not long before dusk, they reached the base of a long, rocky slope mostly bare of vegetation. It led up to a towering cliff.

Smoke pointed. “The cave is at the bottom of that cliff. Nobody can get at it from above, and with this open ground below it, a man with a rifle can pick off anybody who tries to attack this way.”

“Is there any water up there?” Pearlie asked.

“No, but all our canteens are full. We'll leave them, and whoever stays will have enough to last for a few days if they're careful with it.”

Sally said, “That's one more reason to take Cal with you and leave me alone up here. One person can make the water and supplies last twice as long as two.”

“I suppose that's true,” Smoke admitted.

“Of course, I'd rather you just take me with you . . .”

“That's not going to happen.”

“That's what I figured,” she said. “But I still think you should take Cal with you. You can leave Dog here with me. Nobody's going to be able to sneak up on me with him around.”

“We'll talk about it in the morning,” Smoke said, but he already knew that Sally was right. With the odds facing him, he would need all the help he could get. In a scrap, Cal, despite his youth, was a seasoned fighter and a good man to have on his side.

“The three of you stay here,” Smoke went on. “I'll ride up and have a look at the place. I've never known any bears to den up in it for the winter, but you never can tell.”

“It's too early for that,” Pearlie said.

“Maybe. No point in taking a chance.”

That was exactly what Smoke was doing—not taking a chance with his wife's life. He would be out in the open as he climbed that slope. If anybody happened to be watching through field glasses and decided to try a long-distance rifle shot, it would be aimed at him, not Sally.

In the fading light, his stallion picked its sure-footed way upward toward the cliff. Nothing happened, and a few minutes later he reached the top. The cave was more of an overhang than an actual chamber carved into the rock, but it had a small ledge in front of it where boulders had lodged in the past after toppling from the cliff. Those boulders provided plenty of cover. The open area under the overhang was about thirty feet wide, twenty deep, and the roof curved down from a ten-foot-high opening at the front.

It was a nice, cozy hideout. In the light that remained in the sky, Smoke could see that it was empty. Some old bits of brush showed that animals had denned up there at some time, but none recently.

That brush would serve as fuel for a cooking fire during the day, but it would have to be a cold camp at night. That high up, once darkness closed down, a fire could be seen for a long way, like a beacon.

Smoke scanned the slopes of the surrounding mountains and hills as far as he could see. Nothing out of the ordinary was moving. He lifted his arm and waved for the others to come on up. He was confident that Sally would be safe there for a while.

The thought that he and his allies might fail in their campaign against Jonas Trask and his men never entered Smoke's mind. He didn't have an arrogant bone in his body, but he possessed a quiet confidence that he and his friends would do their best . . . and in the past, their best had always been more than good enough to emerge victorious against all sorts of odds.

Although he would feel a little better about the situation if he knew how Preacher and Matt were faring in their mission to Big Rock.

Chapter 44

After the encounter with Cully, Preacher drove the wagon on down the street. He glanced at Louis Longmont's saloon and thought about how nice it would be to go in there and cut the trail dust from his throat with a beer.

He couldn't risk that, though. Longmont was too canny and observant. If the gambler/gunman who was one of Smoke's oldest friends was anywhere around, he would see through Preacher's meager disguise in an instant.

Preacher didn't want to venture into any of the usual haunts he visited whenever he was in those parts. He kept an eye out for someplace he'd never been and found it in a hash house with a painted sign that read Loo's.

He hauled back on the reins, brought the wagon to a stop, and climbed down, tying the team to a hitch rail. The mules stood there, heads drooping in weariness after a long day of pulling the wagon. He'd need to take them to a livery stable later, so they could be cared for properly, but they could wait while he tried to find out more about what was going on in Big Rock.

Considering how few people were on the street, Preacher wasn't surprised when he went into the hash house and found that it didn't have any customers. The proprietor, a short, round-faced Chinese man, was the only person in sight. He stood behind the counter resting his elbows on it. His chin was propped in his hands. He showed a little interest when Preacher walked in but didn't straighten from his glum pose. “You want something?”

“Maybe a bowl o' chili and beans, if you got it,” Preacher said. “Or some hash an' eggs 'd be good, too.”

The little man perked up. He straightened and put his hands on the counter “You want to buy food? Really?”

“That's what this place is for, ain't it?”

“Yes, yes, of course, but no one comes in since those—” The man stopped short and frowned at Preacher. “Those men are friends of yours? The ones running the town now?”

“Nope. Never saw 'em before, and didn't know they was here until I drove in just now. Don't much like the looks of 'em, neither. I'm just a driftin' peddler and tinker, not an owlhoot like them.” Preacher didn't bother keeping the genuine dislike out of his voice. He figured the fella would be more likely to talk if he thought his visitor was a kindred spirit.

The man put a finger to his lips. “Be careful. You must not anger them. They are very cruel when they are angry.”

“Fine. How about that grub?”

“I have some stew I was heating for my own supper. I will be happy to share it with you. No charge. It will be good to have company. As I said, no one comes in anymore.”

“That's mighty kind of you. I'll be much obliged to you, Mister . . . ?”

“Loo. Loo Chung How.”

“They call me Art. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Loo.”

“Please, sit.” Loo gestured at the several empty stools in front of the counter. “I will get the stew.”

“How about coffee?” Preacher asked.

“Oh, yes. There is a pot on the stove.”

“Gettin' to be more and more of a pleasure meetin' you, Mr. Loo,” the old mountain man said with a grin.

A few minutes later, Loo put a big bowl of stew in front of Preacher. Hunks of roast beef floated in it, along with potatoes, carrots, and corn.

“No offense,” Preacher said, “but this looks more like an Irish stew than a Chinese one.”

“I cook what my customers like to eat, and I have grown accustomed to it myself.”

Loo set a cup of coffee next to the bowl. Preacher sampled it and found it just the way he liked it—black as sin and strong enough to get up and walk off on its own hind legs.

Loo fetched stew and coffee for himself, and for a few minutes the two men ate in relative silence. Preacher commented on how good the food was, and Loo thanked him.

Then Preacher said, “What in blazes is goin' on in this town, anyway? Seems like there's gun-hung hardcases ever'where. What happened to all the reg'lar folks?”

“They are hiding,” Loo said. “Well . . . staying in their homes, anyway. Only a few businesses are open, and not many customers visit them. I am here only because I live in the back. Where else would I go?”

“So they've got the whole town treed?”

Loo shrugged. “You could call it that.”

“Well, what about the law? Don't you have a sheriff in these parts?”

“Sheriff Carson was taken unawares and captured when those men first arrived,” Loo explained. “He is locked up in his own jail, along with his deputies and the mayor and the rest of Big Rock's leading citizens.”

A relief to hear that Monte Carson was still alive, Preacher thought, even though he and Smoke and Matt couldn't count on any help from the lawman as long as Carson was behind bars. “Well, what in blazes is it all about? Most of the time when an outlaw gang comes in and takes over a town, they loot the bank and the other businesses and then take off for the tall and uncut. How long's this been goin' on?”

“They have been here for several days now. As for what they want”—Loo sighed and shook his head—“I cannot tell you, Art. They have not shared their goals with us. But I can say”—he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level—“it has something to do with Smoke Jensen.”

Preacher arched his eyebrows. “The gunfighter?”

“Yes. He has a ranch near here. There is a rumor that the men responsible for this have captured Mrs. Jensen and are holding her prisoner.”

“Smoke Jensen's wife?”

Loo nodded solemnly. “That is what I have heard. They want Jensen to surrender to them, but why he is so important to them, I have no idea.”

Preacher couldn't help but look a little surprised, but he managed to keep his face from expressing the depth of shock he felt. He didn't like hearing that Sally was in the hands of the varmints. He had known her for so many years that she was like a daughter to him, just as Smoke was like a son. She was part of the family and always would be.

He took a sip of the strong coffee and brought his anger under control. He wanted to march up to one of those owlhoots, shove a gun barrel in the owlhoot's mouth, and start demanding answers. As satisfying as that might be, it wouldn't accomplish much in the long run.

Trying to sound casual about it, he asked, “They got Miz Jensen locked up somewheres here in town?”

Loo shook his head. “I have heard she is still out at the ranch her husband owns. The men have taken it over, as well. The doctor is out there.”

“Who's the doctor?”

“His name is Trask. That is all I know about him. He is in command at the ranch, while Major Pike is in charge here in town.” Loo frowned. “I beg your pardon, Art, but you ask a great many questions.”

“Yeah, well, I'm just sort of a nosy ol' cuss, I reckon,” Preacher said. “Like to know what I've got myself in the middle of. I ain't lookin' for trouble, though. I can promise you that.”

“You will not say anything to anyone about the things I have told you?” Loo was starting to look a mite worried. He didn't want it getting back to the outlaws that he had been flapping his jaws about them.

Preacher shook his head. “I don't plan on talkin' to those fellas. Don't have nothin' to say to them, and I'd just as soon steer clear of 'em.”

Loo relaxed. “That is wise. You would like more coffee?”

Preacher pushed his mostly empty cup across the counter and nodded. “Much obliged.” What he really wanted was to find Matt and share what he had learned, so the two of them could get out of there and find Smoke.

The sooner he knew that Sally had been captured, the better.

And the worse it would be for the men who had captured her, when they had to face the wrath of Smoke Jensen.