Frank was uneasy about the arrangement, but he didn’t want to press the issue. He nodded and said, “All right. I’ll stand the first watch, Salty the middle one, and the two of you can finish out the night. That agreeable to everybody?”
The others all nodded.
“Better roll up in your blankets and get some sleep, then,” Frank went on. He reached for the coffeepot. “I’ll just finish off this Arbuckle’s.”
If it hadn’t been for the faint smell of wood smoke lingering in the air, Palmer might have missed the camp. He was alert for that very thing, though, and when he caught a whiff of the smoke, he followed it to a long, low ridge. Owen Lundy limped along behind him, grunting now and then from the pain in his wounded side.
It had been a long walk out of the mountains from the spot of the ambush. They’d had to hide once when a group of riders too large for them to attack had ridden past, heading west. A short time later, what could have been the same bunch rode past again, this time going east.
Damned mountains were turning out to be as busy as State Street back in Chicago, Palmer thought disgustedly.
Now, Palmer put a hand on Lundy’s arm to stop him and whispered, “I smell a campfire, or what’s left of one, anyway.”
His eyes searched the darkness along the base of the ridge for flames but didn’t see any. The fire must have burned down to embers. It might have gone out entirely by now, even with the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.
“If it’s the bunch that rode past us earlier, there are too many of ‘em,” Lundy said. His voice was drawn thin and tight with pain and weariness. “We can’t jump ‘em.”
“Maybe it’s Morgan and the old man.”
“The shape I’m in, the two of us ain’t any match for Frank Morgan.”
Palmer was afraid Lundy was right about that. Morgan was hell on wheels all by himself. Throw in the old-timer Stevens, the young woman, and the kid Palmer didn’t know, and those odds were just too blasted steep.
Unless they could split the group up somehow.
At least he and Lundy were well armed again. Palmer had scavenged weapons and ammunition from the members of Lundy’s gang who had been killed in the ambush. He had a rifle and two pistols, and so did Lundy. If it came to a fight, they wouldn’t be lacking for firepower.
Palmer hoped he could figure out some way to avoid most of the gunplay, however. The fewer shots they had to exchange with Frank Morgan, the better their chances were of surviving the night.
As a matter of fact, most of the night was already gone. It wouldn’t be long until morning. The two men had trudged along for hours in the darkness, guided only by light from the moon and stars. That was enough to keep them on the trail.
Palmer studied the situation for long minutes, then finally said, “I’m gonna get above them on that ridge. You’ll draw Morgan out, Owen.”
Palmer halfway expected Lundy to argue with him. Lundy was used to being in charge and might not like the idea of taking orders.
But he must have been too tired and hurt to care about such things now, because he said, “All right. How do I do that?”
“You see those dark shapes there at the base of the bluff? Those are their horses. I think their camp is there, too, just to the right.”
Lundy squinted into the shadows and finally said, “All right, I see ‘em.”
Palmer didn’t know whether Lundy really saw the camp or not. But that didn’t matter, as long as he aimed in the right direction. Palmer knew Morgan and the others were there. There weren’t enough horses for it to be the larger group camped here.
“You give me time to get up on the ridge above them,” Palmer said. “Then you open fire on the camp, but aim high. We don’t want to kill any of the horses. We may need them all.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Morgan will come out to see what’s going on. I’ll ambush him if I can, but if I can’t get a shot at him, I’ll slide down the ridge and grab the horses for us. They can’t come after us if they’re on foot.”
Slowly, Lundy nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like it’ll work.”
The pain really did have his mind muddled, Palmer thought. He saw several big holes in the plan, but Lundy didn’t seem suspicious.
Some part of Lundy’s mind must have worked again for a second. He said, “You’ll come back around and get me, right?”
“Sure. Then we’ll go after those sons of bitches who stole our gold.”
“Yeah,” Lundy muttered. “Yeah, those sons o’ bitches.”
He was swaying slightly on his feet. Palmer put the back of his hand against Lundy’s cheek. The outlaw was burning up with fever.
“What’re you doin?” Lundy said.
“Checking to see if you have a fever. You’re fine, Owen. Must not be any infection from that bullet hole.”
“Good. I always was a quick healer.”
Not this time, Palmer thought. Lundy was on his last legs. He might not make it even a few more hours until dawn. This was the best chance to get a little more use out of him and then leave him behind to his fate. Palmer knew that if he waited much longer, Lundy wasn’t going to be any good to him.
“All right, there are some rocks right over here. We’ll get you forted up in them.”
Palmer led Lundy over to the rocks. Lundy knelt and rested his rifle on the top of one of the granite slabs. Palmer fished his pocket watch out of his trousers and opened it, placing it face up on the rock in front of Lundy. There was enough light for him to be able to make out that there were ten minutes until four o’clock in the morning.
“Can you see the watch, Owen?”
“Yeah, I can see it.”
“Give me fifteen minutes to get in position. That’ll be five minutes after four o’clock. Can you remember that?”
“Sure. Five minutes after … four o’clock.”
“That’s when you start shooting at the bluff over there. Remember, aim high, but not too high, because I’m gonna be on top of it. And when you see me start shooting from up there, you hold your fire, because I’ll be coming down and you don’t want to hit me.”
“Sure,” Lundy said.
Palmer knew he was taking a chance. Lundy might pass out before the fifteen minutes went by. He might even die before then.
But there was nothing else Palmer could do. He couldn’t take on Frank Morgan and three other people alone.
Palmer squeezed Lundy’s shoulder. “I’m leaving now, Owen. Don’t forget, I’m counting on you. You start shooting, and I’ll get the horses.”
“Right …”
If Palmer had been a praying man, he would have sent a prayer heavenward as he stole away into the darkness. A prayer that Lundy would remain conscious and alert long enough to play out his final act in this drama.
But since the only god Joe Palmer really believed in was money in all its forms, he didn’t waste the time and effort.
He just hurried in a very roundabout path toward the ridge that ran behind the campsite.
He didn’t climb to its top until he was a good quarter of a mile away from the camp. The ridge was rugged enough that by the time he made it to the top, he was out of breath and his heart pounded heavily in his chest. The life he’d led hadn’t really prepared him for so much physical exertion. Mostly, the only exercise he got was with soiled doves.
But he was where he needed to be now. He started along the top of the ridge, heading back toward the spot where his quarry had made camp.
From up here, he could see the faintly glowing embers of the fire when he reached the right place. It was good to see proof with his own eyes that his hunch had been correct. Four people were down there, along with four saddle horses and a couple of pack animals. Palmer planned to grab all the horses he could and scatter the others.
Two of the people were asleep, rolled up in their blankets not far from the remains of the fire. The other two sat on a log. The blond hair shining in the moonlight told Palmer that one of them was the woman.