Massacre Canyon (23 page)

Mordecai's fist caught Smoke on the jaw and knocked him backwards, but just as the punch landed, Smoke's left hand shot out and grabbed the front of Mordecai's shirt. As Smoke fell he hauled Mordecai with him and gave the outlaw a heave that sent him rolling across the ground.

Smoke slapped his right hand against the dirt and shoved himself up. From the corner of his eye he saw two members of the Kroll gang start forward, obviously intending to intervene in the fight, but Rudolph stopped them with a curt gesture.

“Mordecai bit it off,” Rudolph said sharply. “Let's see if he can chew it.”

Smoke took that to mean the boss outlaw was going to let them fight. Right now that was all right with him. If he could bust Mordecai up enough to put him out of action for a few days, that was one less threat he'd have to worry about.

Mordecai caught himself after he'd rolled over a couple of times. He got his hands and knees under him and cursed bitterly as he pushed himself upright. Smoke could have stepped in and given him a vicious kick in the belly while he was getting up, but instead Smoke waited for Mordecai to reach his feet before boring in and throwing a left-right combination.

The jab followed by the cross both landed and made Mordecai stagger backwards. He didn't fall this time. He got his back foot braced and lunged forward as he swung a looping right at Smoke's head.

Smoke swayed to the side so that the punch missed by a bare inch. He hooked a left into Mordecai's belly. Mordecai doubled over, but he turned that to his advantage by driving the top of his head into Smoke's chest with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. Mordecai threw both arms around Smoke's waist and drove with his feet. The outlaw's lean body possessed a great deal of hard, wiry strength. Smoke's feet left the ground, and Mordecai dumped him on his back.

Smoke was already gasping for breath. The impact as he landed stunned him even more. So did the vicious kick that landed in his ribs on the left side an instant later. Luckily, Mordecai was still wearing the blunt-toed prison shoes instead of boots, or the damage might have been even worse.

As it was, Smoke grunted at the sharp stab of pain from a possibly cracked rib.

With a gleeful laugh, Mordecai lifted his foot again and swung it into position to stamp his heel down in Smoke's face. Smoke got his hands up barely in time to grab Mordecai's foot and stop the crushing blow from landing. He twisted as hard as he could. Mordecai let out a startled shout as he fell.

Smoke kept his grip on Mordecai's foot and continued twisting. Mordecai howled in pain as his right knee started to bend in ways it wasn't meant to. Smoke knew if he kept the pressure up for another few moments, he could cripple Mordecai.

Rudolph Kroll must have known that, too, because he snapped, “Galt, get him off of there!”

Smoke heard the boss outlaw's command over the roaring of blood in his ears. A second later, huge fingers clamped down on his shoulders from behind and lifted him. He tried to hang on to Mordecai's foot, but it was torn from his grasp. Smoke's surroundings whirled dizzily around him as Galt spun him through the air and let him go.

Again Smoke crashed to the ground. Getting flung around like a rag doll was starting to annoy him. He let that anger fuel him as he came up swinging.

He drove a right and then a left into Galt's face. The big man's head moved enough that his flat-crowned black hat fell off.

Other than that, however, it was like punching a block of granite, Smoke realized.

Galt grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, crushed him against the wall of slabbed muscles that was the big man's chest. Those tree-trunk arms closed in a bear hug. Smoke's ribs groaned under the pressure, and once again he felt pain shoot through him. Beyond a doubt, one of his ribs was cracked.

Like the dropping of a curtain, a red haze descended over his eyes. He was already starved for air, and now the situation was even worse. He knew he was going to pass out at any second, and if Galt continued squeezing, Smoke would never wake up. Galt would compress the life right out of him.

“That's enough,” Rudolph called. “Let him go.”

Smoke barely heard the command. That red haze was so thick it filled his entire head now, and it had started to turn black around the edges. That black tide continued as Galt released him and let him fall to the ground.

Smoke felt himself hit the dirt, but he didn't know anything after that.

 

 

The cell was cramped when only one prisoner was in it. With two people incarcerated here, there was barely room to breathe, let alone move around.

Well, brothers were supposed to be close, Luke thought wryly as he waited for Smoke to wake up.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since they had been brought through the house, down the narrow stone staircase, along the corridor, and into the cell. Galt had carried Smoke's unconscious form draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When they reached the cell he'd had Luke go in first, then unceremoniously dumped Smoke at his feet. Guards with rifles had been ready to step in the whole time if need be, although with Smoke out cold and Luke in the shape he was in, the likelihood of that was pretty small.

Then Galt had stepped back and swung the massive door closed with ease, causing gloom to close in around the prisoners.

By now night had fallen, Luke thought, or if it hadn't, it wouldn't be long now. He had no idea how long the Kroll brothers intended to keep them alive.

Although it was Rudolph alone who made the decision, he mused as he sat on his blanket with his knees drawn up to give Smoke as much room as possible. Mordecai had wanted to go ahead and kill both of them right away, but Rudolph had vetoed that idea.

“They'll die when I'm good and ready for them to die,” Rudolph had said, and the flat, menacing tone of his voice had made Mordecai stop arguing. They were brothers, but that didn't stop Mordecai from being a little afraid of his older sibling.

The thing of it was, Luke couldn't think of any reason for Rudolph to delay killing them unless it was a demonstration of his power. Mordecai had caused considerable trouble for his brother by sneaking away from the hideout on his own and getting himself caught. Keeping the prisoners alive reinforced the idea that Rudolph was the boss around here and served the extra purpose of annoying Mordecai.

Smoke stirred and groaned. He was starting to come around. Luke had known it was only a matter of time. His brother was plenty tough.

It didn't look like that was going to be enough to get them out of here, though. Luke's biggest regret right now was that Smoke had been drawn into this fiasco.

Smoke lifted his head, shook it, and grimaced. He was lying on his stomach. He tried to roll over, but the wall stopped him. Clearly surprised, he muttered, “Where . . . where are . . .”

“We're in a cell under the hacienda,” Luke said. “Sorry about the cramped quarters. The place appears to have been built for one occupant.”

“Luke . . . ?” Smoke turned his head and looked around in an attempt to penetrate the shadows.

“Yeah, I'm right here.”

“Matt . . . Preacher . . .”

Luke frowned in the darkness and said, “What?”

He knew who Matt and Preacher were, of course, but he didn't see how they were connected to this affair.

“They haven't been . . . caught?” Smoke asked.

“You brought them with you?”

Even though Luke was surprised, when he considered the situation and the people involved, this development made sense. Smoke was a strong believer in family. When he found out that Luke was in danger, he wouldn't have hesitated to recruit Matt and Preacher to help with the rescue effort.

“They're not . . . in here?”

Luke let out a grim chuckle and said, “If two more people were crammed in here, the place would burst at the seams. No, I haven't seen Matt and Preacher. I didn't know they were anywhere around here.”

Smoke heaved a sigh that sounded relieved and let himself relax a little, as much as he could on the stone floor.

“They've been trailing me and Mordecai Kroll,” he said. “I'm counting on them to help get us out of here now that I've found you.”

“So four men—two of them prisoners—are going to take on the whole Kroll gang and win?”

“That was the idea,” Smoke replied, and his voice held some grim humor as well.

“Pretty risky plan, wasn't it?”

“Not really.”

“How do you figure that?” Luke wanted to know.

Carefully, Smoke shifted around until he could draw his legs up and maneuver himself into a sitting position with his back against the wall alongside Luke. He grunted in obvious pain.

“Are you hurt bad?”

“I think Mordecai cracked a rib when he kicked me,” Smoke said. “And then Galt did even more damage with that bear hug. And I reckon I mean that literally . . . Galt's as big as a grizzly.”

“He's smarter than you'd give him credit for just by looking at him, too. In some ways, I'd say he may be the most dangerous one of the whole bunch.” Luke paused. “You still haven't told me why you thought coming to rescue me this way was a good idea.”

“It was the only way,” Smoke insisted. “I needed Mordecai's help to find the hideout, and I wasn't going to get it unless I fooled him into thinking that I was following Rudolph's instructions and working alone.”

“Then why didn't you just have the army follow you, or even a big posse of US marshals?”

“Too much of a chance Mordecai would spot a large group trailing us. I knew Preacher and Matt could do the job without Mordecai ever realizing they were behind us.”

“Maybe so, but now that you're here, there are only two of them to pull us out of this jackpot.”

“You've heard about the two of them,” Smoke said, “but you've never actually met Preacher and Matt. I'll take them over a posse or even the army. I'm sure they're out there right now, figuring out a way to give the Kroll brothers a mighty unpleasant surprise.”

Preacher was lost.

It had been many, many years since that thought had crossed the old mountain man's mind. There had been times when he didn't know exactly where he was, of course. That was inevitable when you made a habit of going new places, and the unquenchable desire to see what was over the next hill had always been a part of him. But he had known where he was going, and usually that was all that counted. It was just a matter of figuring out how to get there.

These Superstition Mountains were an unholy jumble, though. Riven by deep gullies, speared by rock pinnacles, bisected by looming cliffs.... A man could get lost in here mighty easy by daylight. Finding his way in darkness was damned near impossible.

If anybody could do it, though, Preacher was the man.

Or so he told himself.

“Dog, I'm glad some o' my old pards can't see me now,” he told the big cur as he stopped to rest. “I'd be plumb mortified.”

Dog whined quietly. He didn't like clambering around through these badlands in the dark any more than Preacher did.

They had left Horse back on the other side of the ridge where the notch was located. Even though it had taken hours for them to reach this spot, what with all the doubling back they had been forced to do, that probably wasn't more than a mile away as the crow flies.

Preacher and Dog had climbed to the notch, which was unguarded they discovered when they got there. The ascent had been a difficult one, if not quite bad enough to require a mountain goat as Matt had said. Preacher was a little surprised the gang didn't have a sentry posted up there anyway. He supposed Rudolph Kroll thought any group of men large enough to pose an actual threat to them wouldn't attempt such a climb.

One man could make it, though . . . and Preacher had.

One man and a dog, anyway.

The terrain on the north side of the notch was almost as rugged, and to make things more difficult, Preacher didn't really know what he was looking for. He knew he was east of the pass Smoke and Mordecai Kroll had used, so he worked his way in that direction. Then he had to backtrack, climb in and out of ravines, and circle around rock spires, until he wasn't even sure which way he was going anymore.

Fortunately, he had stars to steer by, and the brief moment of confusion soon passed. It was troubling, though. Preacher was as close to a man without fear as could ever be found, but there was one thing he was afraid of.

He was afraid of getting too old to go adventuring anymore.

He shoved that thought away and resumed his search. A three-quarter moon rose, and that helped. The silvery light that spilled over the landscape wasn't as bright as day, but Preacher found his way around easier with it.

Even so, the cliff almost fell out from under him with no warning.

He reached down and dug his fingers into the thick fur on the back of Dog's neck as he stopped on the brink of the sheer drop.

“Hold on there, old feller,” he said quietly. “Take a look at that.”

A canyon lay before him, a good-sized canyon surrounded on all sides by steep, unscalable cliffs. Preacher knew this had to be the Kroll gang's hideout. Lights burned here and there, including one large cluster of them that was probably the headquarters. Preacher could barely make out the lines of some sort of big house.

More than likely an old ranch house, he thought. The Krolls had moved in and taken it over, either finding it abandoned or killing whoever had lived here.

Smoke and Luke were down there somewhere. Finding the hideout made Preacher feel a little better.

The bad part was that he couldn't see any way of getting down there to help them.

But there had to be a back door, he told himself. As long as the Kroll brothers had been raising hell without the law catching up to them, it seemed unlikely Rudolph Kroll was dumb enough to establish his stronghold in a place where his enemies could close off one end and keep him trapped there until he starved to death.

Preacher's keen eyes searched the canyon below him for any clue where that back door might be. Then his gaze fell on a dark line that twisted toward the canyon's northern end. Those were trees, he realized, and they had to mark the course of a stream. The little creek had to come from somewhere.

Of course, the stream might come from a spring at the head of the canyon. But maybe it flowed in from outside. Preacher knew of only one way to find out. He began following the line of cliffs around the canyon.

More than an hour later he came to a ravine that slashed through the cliffs like a giant knife had carved it out of the stone. The gap was about twenty feet wide and at least a hundred feet deep, so there was no way to get across it. Preacher listened and heard the roar of fast-moving water coming from the bottom.

“This is where that creek comes into the canyon,” he told Dog. “Look at the way the ravine runs due north. We got to follow it and see if we can find a way down into it. Maybe we can float right into that dang outlaw hideout and get there in time to help Matt!”

 

 

A low, heartfelt curse whispered from Matt's lips as he glanced to the east and saw the glow in the sky. The moon was about to rise, charging into view in its constant chase after the sun. He had hoped to make it through the pass before that happened, during the dark gap between the fall of true night and the rising of the moon. His approach to the pass had taken too long, however. The trail had twisted back and forth too much as it made its way through the rugged landscape. Now he was liable to be caught out in the open as the silvery rays spilled over the pass.

He had come too far to turn back. All he could do was go ahead and hope for the best.

He had left his horse well behind him, knowing that he couldn't take the animal through the pass without the hoofbeats echoing and alerting the guards. His passage through the gap had to be almost soundless in order to be successful. It wouldn't take much of a noise to cause a racket.

In his jeans, dark blue shirt, and black hat, he figured he blended into the shadows fairly well for the time being. He had wrapped one of his blankets around the Winchester he carried so there wouldn't be any reflection off the barrel or the action. Also, if he happened to bump the rifle against a rock or anything like that, the blanket would help muffle the sound. His Colt was blued steel, not nickel-plated, and the grips were walnut. The revolver wasn't going to shine in the darkness, either.

Matt was in the pass now, moving slowly and carefully, setting each foot down gingerly until he was sure he wasn't stepping on a rock or about to do anything else that would make a noise. He eased forward, and as he did he heard the guards stationed in the rocks on the sides of the pass talking to each other as they tried to pass the long hours of their shifts.

He paused as he heard one of the outlaws say “Jensen.” The name was all Matt caught at first, but then the man continued. “From what I heard, he plans to kill 'em both at dawn.”

“He'll make everybody get up to watch, too, won't he?”

“You know how Rudolph is. Runs the gang almost like an army company.”

The second man laughed and said, “That's all right with me. I can take a few orders if it means bein' a rich man sooner or later. I was in the cavalry, you know.”

“Naw, I didn't know that,” the other man replied. “When'd you muster out?”

That brought another laugh.

“I never did! Just slipped away from a patrol one day and kept ridin'. That was five years ago and they ain't caught me yet.”

“As long as you're ridin' with the Kroll brothers, they probably won't. Say, when do you think we'll have the big divvy-up? I'm gettin' a mite tired of the way Rudolph just doles out a little dinero to us. He's got one hell of a lot of loot stashed by now. I want to get my hands on my fair share.”

“Why don't you go and suggest that to him?” the other man said. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind takin' your advice.”

The response was another suggestion, but a profane one. The second outlaw went on, “I may grouse a little, but there ain't no way I'm tellin' Rudolph Kroll how he ought to run the gang. I'm still too fond of livin'.”

“Yeah, me, too. Those two Jensens probably are, too, but they're just plumb out of luck, come mornin'.”

The other man changed the subject by saying, “Where do you reckon Rudolph has all that loot stashed, anyway?”

“I don't know. Up there in the big house somewhere, I suppose. I'll bet him and maybe Galt are the only ones who know for sure.”

The men paused in their conversation for a moment. Then one of them said, “You reckon Rudolph will do anything to Mordecai for causin' so much trouble in the first place?”

“Naw. Rudolph's mad, all right. I reckon he'd like to horsewhip the boy. But he won't. Mordecai always gets away with whatever he does, you know that.”

“Yeah. But one of these days bein' so reckless is liable to catch up to him.”

Matt hoped that day was today, or rather tonight, he thought as he resumed his stealthy trek through the pass. All the information he had picked up from the talkative sentries was interesting, but only one fact really mattered at the moment.

Smoke and Luke were scheduled to die at dawn.

So Matt had until then to make sure they didn't.