Brotherhood of Evil (25 page)

The major let out a scornful grunt. “That hardly seems possible.”

“Possible or not, I done it,” Preacher said. “Damn near got away with gettin' these boys outta here, too. Then you'da had a fight on your hands, believe you me.”

“Then it's lucky I noticed the smoke coming from here and decided to investigate,” the major said. “You were responsible for that, weren't you?”

Preacher just folded his arms over his chest, squinted one eye, and glared at the major.

The major holstered his gun and rubbed his chin “An old, old man who can still outthink and outfight men half his age . . . You're the one they call Preacher, aren't you? Smoke Jensen's friend?”

Preacher still didn't respond.

“It doesn't matter whether you deny it or not,” the major went on. “I know who you are now.” He laughed. “We've made quite a haul tonight without even meaning to. We have Jensen's brother and his mentor, as well as his wife and scores of his friends. He'll have no choice but to go along with the doctor's plans.”

“Mister, I don't know nothin' about no doctor,” Preacher said. “But I do know that when you went after Smoke Jensen, you done raised hell and shoved a chunk under the corner. It's sorta like layin' hands on a mountain lion . . . you might be able to, but then what're you gonna do with it?”

“Wait and see, old man. Just wait and see.” The major jerked his head toward the door. He and the shotgunners began to back away. Over his shoulder, he ordered, “One of you men get up on the roof and clear that stovepipe. Open some windows and get this smoke out of here.”

The cell block door slammed closed behind them, and the key turned in the lock with a sound of finality.

This is far from over
, Preacher thought as he turned to look at Matt and Monte Carson. He saw the same thing in their eyes that he was feeling.

For the moment, it was all up to Smoke.

B
OOK
T
HREE

Chapter 51

The night got cold in the cave high on the mountain, but Smoke and Sally were warm enough snuggled together in Smoke's bedroll. Pearlie and Cal had to make do with wrapping up in blankets and having Dog sleep between them.

The big cur was an excellent sentry. No one came close enough during the night to alert his senses.

In the morning Sally built a small, almost smokeless fire, boiled coffee, and fried some bacon. It was a meager breakfast but better than nothing. After they'd eaten, she and Smoke stood in the opening and looked out over the rugged, beautiful landscape. Smoke didn't see anything moving. The morning sunlight didn't reflect off any metal.

“What are you going to do, Smoke?” she asked quietly as she slipped her hand into his.

“Now that I know you're safe, Pearlie, Cal, and I will circle around and head for Big Rock. Once we meet up with Matt and Preacher, we'll figure out a way to turn Monte Carson and the other prisoners loose. I figure we need to deal with the men Trask left in town before taking on the ones at the ranch.”

“You'll be badly outnumbered wherever you go,” Sally cautioned him.

Smoke smiled. “Being outnumbered sort of seems to be a way of life.”

“Yes, I know, and you've never let it stop you from doing what you thought was right.”

“If a man only fought the easy fights, the ones he knew he could win, it wouldn't take much courage, would it?”

She leaned against him, rested her head on his arm. “You've never lacked for courage,” she said softly.

He put his arm around her and drew her closer. They stood like that for a few minutes, then Sally slipped out of his embrace and stepped back.

“I won't keep you from what you have to do. Go on and don't worry about me. Dog and I will be all right up here.” She paused. “Just don't forget to come back and get us when it's all over.”

Smoke grinned. “Not much chance of that.”

The men got their horses ready to ride.

Smoke dropped to one knee next to Dog and rested his hand on the back of the big cur's neck, ruffling the thick fur. “You're staying here with Sally. You protect her, understand?”

Dog whined a little, deep in his thick throat.

“I know. But Preacher will be with us when we come back to get you. You've got my word on that.”

Dog sat with his tongue lolling out. Smoke knew from the intelligence in the animal's eyes that Dog understood. The bond between Preacher and Dog was stronger, but Dog and Smoke got along well. Smoke knew Dog would follow his commands.

“Stay,” he repeated as he stood up. “Stay.”

Sally rested a hand on the big cur's head. “We'll be fine, Smoke.” She had a rifle in her other hand, and a revolver was tucked into the waistband of the trousers she was wearing.

He put a hand on her shoulder, bent down, and kissed her. The kiss wasn't a long one, but it packed plenty of meaning into those few seconds.

He turned and went to where Pearlie and Cal were waiting. The three men started down the slope, leading their mounts. When the ground leveled out enough for them to ride, they swung up into the saddles and headed for Big Rock.

They rode like men on the dodge, staying in cover as much as they could to avoid being skylined. At different times in their lives, Smoke and Pearlie actually had ridden the owlhoot trail, so they knew what it was like to be hunted. Cal followed their lead.

Several times during the morning, they had to lie low in thick stands of trees while groups of armed men rode past in the distance. No doubt those were some of Trask's men, out looking for Smoke.

Passing a trail leading to Sugarloaf headquarters, it was difficult for Smoke not to follow it and head home. He knew that it made more sense to go to Big Rock first, find Matt and Preacher, and do what they could to whittle down the odds against them before setting out for a showdown with Trask.

At one point, Pearlie asked, “Smoke, you got any idea why this doctor fella wants you so bad?”

“None at all,” Smoke replied honestly. “I never came across a doctor named Jonas Trask or anybody by that name in any other line of work, as far as I recall. Or a major named Pike, either. From what I've seen of the men working for them, they're the same sort of gun-wolves I've crossed trails with many times, but Trask and Pike have to be something different.”

Cal said, “Well, when you come right down to it, no matter what brought them here, they'll still get what's comin' to them.”

“You got that right, kid,” Pearlie agreed.

Smoke didn't say anything. He wanted to settle the score for all the evil Trask and Pike had done, true enough, but a part of him also wanted to know
why
they had raided Big Rock and Sugarloaf.

A little later Pearlie asked, “Did you decide on a meetin' place with Matt and Preacher when you fellas split up?”

“Knob Hill,” Smoke said. “I hope they've already found out what we need to know and will be there waiting for us.”

Pearlie nodded. The hill had steep, rocky sides and was choked with brush, although there was a path to the top if you knew where to look for it. And once up on the summit, the elevation commanded a good view of the surrounding countryside.

They had to hide from one more patrol before they came in sight of the hill. Closer to Big Rock than to the ranch, they were cautious as they approached. Still in a thick clump of trees about two hundred yards from Knob Hill, Smoke reined to a halt. Pearlie and Cal did likewise.

“You fellas stay here,” Smoke said. “I'll take a look around.”

“I thought we was in this together,” Pearlie protested.

Smoke smiled. “We are, but if I ride into trouble, I'll be counting on you two to gallop in and bail me out.”

“It's usually the other way around,” Pearlie said, “but I reckon that makes sense.”

He and Cal sat on their horses in the trees while Smoke rode toward the looming, beetle-browed hill. His eyes moved constantly as his gaze roved over the countryside around him. He didn't see any movement, but that didn't really mean anything. He put more trust in the hair on the back of his neck. It told him that no one was watching.

He reached the hill and left his horse in the trees that grew around its base. There was no sign of other mounts, which was a little worrisome. He had been halfway convinced that Matt and Preacher were waiting for him.

He found the narrow game trail that led to the top and started the arduous climb, being careful not to disturb the brush too much. If anybody saw the branches waving around, it would be a dead giveaway that somebody was up there.

Once he got past the rocks and the thickets, the top of the hill was actually rather idyllic—level, grassy, and dotted with trees. It didn't take long to have a good look around and confirm that Matt and Preacher weren't there.

Not a good sign, but it didn't necessarily mean anything bad had happened to them. After all, they hadn't set a time for meeting. It was entirely possible that they were still poking around Big Rock.

Smoke went back down the hill and rejoined Pearlie and Cal. They could see on his face what he'd found.

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Pearlie said. “If there's anybody who can take care of themselves, it's those two fellas.”

“Yeah,” Cal chimed in. “I'd hate to have to tangle with Matt and Preacher.”

Smoke knew they were right. “Let's split up so we can cover all the approaches to the hill. That way if either of them show up, we'll see them coming.”

They climbed the hill and divided the surrounding landscape into rough thirds and found good places to stay out of sight while they kept an eye on Knob Hill. The afternoon passed in tedious fashion. Once Smoke spotted some riders about half a mile away and knew they were probably Trask's men. The patrol passed by at an angle, however, and didn't come close to the hill.

When the sun began to lower toward the western horizon, Smoke knew Pearlie and Cal would be rejoining him soon. He had told them that if no one showed up by the end of the day, they should come back to where they had left him.

Sure enough, less than five minutes apart, they came into the rocks and trees where he was hidden. Their glum silence was all the testimony Smoke needed. They hadn't seen hide nor hair of Matt and Preacher, either.

Pearlie scratched his angular, beard-stubbled jaw. “I would've thought they'd be here by now.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Smoke said.

“What are we gonna do?” Cal asked.

Smoke suspected that they knew the answer to that question as well as he did. There was really only one thing they
could
do. “We're going to Big Rock.”

Chapter 52

The day had been one of the longest in Matt's memory. His head still ached from being knocked out the night before, but for the most part, he was able to ignore the dull throbbing.

It was harder to ignore the thought that he had failed and let Smoke down. Matt felt a lot of the same sort of admiration a younger brother felt for an older, even though they were adopted siblings and not blood relatives. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was disappoint Smoke.

Also, he was downright angry at the men who had raided the settlement and kidnapped Sally. They had a whole hell of a lot to answer for.

Preacher wasn't happy, either. He had lived wild and free his whole life, and being locked up behind bars didn't sit well with him. It put his nerves on edge. More than once during the day, he had muttered something about how being stuck in a cage gave him the fantods. He had those painful buckshot wounds to contend with, too. The little lead pellets should have been dug out already. The wounds were going to fester if they weren't tended to.

Monte Carson didn't have much sympathy for them. “We've been locked up in here for days. I've heard of men behind bars going crazy from it, and I'm starting to understand why.”

His deputy Curley said, “Aw, you ain't gonna go loco, boss. You're too level-headed for that.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that,” Carson growled. “I kind of understand why an animal caught in a trap will gnaw its own leg off, too.”

Matt had to occupy his mind with something, so he did it by trying to come up with some way for them to escape.

Short of finding a few spare sticks of dynamite in his hip pocket, he couldn't think of a thing.

 

 

Late that afternoon, the jail had an unexpected visitor. Loo Chung How, the proprietor of the little café where Preacher had eaten the day before, showed up carrying a cast-iron pot with wisps of steam rising through gaps around the lid. The three guards on duty abandoned the desultory game of poker for matchsticks they were playing, stood up quickly, and rested their hands on their guns.

“What the hell do you want, Chinaman?” one of the gunmen demanded.

Loo held up the pot as a big smile wreathed his face. “Bringee supper for prisoners.”

“They've been gettin' meals,” another guard said. “Mostly cornbread and beans, but they ain't been starvin'.”

“Special Chinese soup much better,” Loo insisted. “Major Pike, he say all right to give to prisoners.”

“You sure about that? If we go ask the major, he's gonna back up your story?” The outlaw leered. “'Cause if you're lyin' to us, chink, we'll peel that yellow hide offa you a strip at a time.”

“No lie,” Loo insisted. “Major Pike, he say. You go ask.”

“Ah, hell,” the third guard said. “What's the harm in a pot of soup?” He went over to Loo. “Maybe we might want some of it, too. What's in there? Lemme have a look.”

Grinning, Loo lifted the lid on the pot, letting more steam rise.

The guard leaned over it, then jerked back as his face contorted in a grimace. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “What the hell's in there? Smells worse 'n possum piss.”

Another said, “Knowin' these Chinamen the way I do, I'll bet there's some dogs missin' lately.”

“No dog,” Loo said with an emphatic shake of his head. “Only good things. Squid, octopus, bird's nest . . . good soup! Special Chinese dish!”

“You know, makin' those fellas eat this mess might be the best way of gettin' them to cooperate,” one of the outlaws mused. “Tell 'em that if they give us any trouble, we'll have the chink here boil 'em up another pot of it.”

“Put that lid back on there,” ordered the man who had smelled the pot's contents. “Come on.”

Two guards accompanied Loo into the cell block after they unlocked the door with the keys the major had given them. Both carried shotguns.

Matt, Preacher, Monte Carson, and Curley stood up from where they were sitting on the floor in a corner. They looked surprised at the sight of the visitor.

“Got a treat for you boys,” one of the outlaws jeered. “The Chinaman's brought you a special supper.”

“Very special,” Loo agreed. “Very good.”

“Set it down on the floor,” the gunman ordered. “Then come over here and get the key. You're gonna unlock the door and push the pot inside.” He gestured with the twin barrels of the Greener he held. “You inside, move back, way back. If any of you boys try anything funny, we'll not only kill you, we'll blow this little yellow man to pieces, too.”

“We won't try nothin',” Preacher promised.

“You ain't smelled that soup yet.” The gunman sneered.

Loo did as the guard told him, setting the pot on the stone floor, getting the key, and unlocking the door. All the while, he grinned and bobbed his head.

Preacher frowned slightly in thought.

“Toss that key ring back over here,” the guard ordered.

Loo did so.

“Don't open the door any wider than you have to, to push that pot inside.”

“No trouble, no trouble,” Loo said. “Just good soup.” As he bent to push the pot inside the cell, he glanced up, and caught Preacher's eye. “Very special soup, full of good things. Squid, octopus, and bird's nest. Reachee down to bottom of pot to find tastiest morsels.”

Curley rubbed his jaw and said dubiously, “I dunno about eatin' squid and octopus and bird's nests.”

“Very good, you see,” Loo assured him.

“All right,” one of the shotgunners snapped. “Now back off and slam that door, chink.”

Loo did as ordered.

“How are we supposed to eat soup with our hands?” Curley asked.

Preacher said, “We can pick up the pot and pass it around. Drink the soup and then eat them tasty morsels.”

“On bottom of pot,” Loo said.

“Yeah, we got that,” Preacher assured him.

Loo bowed, grinned, and backed away from the cell.

“All right, get the hell on outta here.” The guard who issued the order aimed a mock kick at Loo's backside as the little man scurried out of the cell block. He didn't slow down until he was out of the office.

Chuckling among themselves, the outlaws followed him. The door between office and cell block slammed shut.

Curley looked askance at the pot sitting on the floor just inside the door. “Are we really gonna eat that stuff?”

“Sure we are,” Preacher said, his voice loud enough to carry to the office just in case the guards were listening. “Let me at it. I et things a heap worse in my younger days, to keep from starvin'.” He went to the pot, hunkered beside it, lifted the lid, and plunged his hand into it despite the heat of the contents.

“Hey,” Curley objected with a frown. “I said I wasn't sure about eatin' the stuff, but that don't mean—”

Matt lifted a hand and motioned for the deputy to be quiet. A slow grin was starting to appear on his face as he realized what Preacher was up to.

The old mountain man drew his dripping hand out of the pot. He held something, but it wasn't a piece of squid, octopus, or bird's nest. The object was wrapped in oilcloth tied tightly in place with twine.

Every man in the cell could tell by the shape of the thing that it was a gun.