Smoke broke the news to a horrified audience.
Liz shook her head but shed no tears for her husband or sons. And neither did Rita.
“Killed their own father!” Cord was visibly shaken by the news. “Good God!”
Parnell was the first to put the upcoming horror into words. “Then we—all of us-have to die if their plans are to succeed.”
The women looked at each other. They knew that for them, it would not be a quick bullet. They would be used, and used badly, until the outlaws tired of them. Only then would death bring relief.
“Reno comin’ at a run,” Charlie said, looking out the window. “He’s been out eyeballin’ the situation close to home.”
The gunfighter was as soaked as Smoke had been. The women shooed him into a room and handed him towels and dry clothing. When he emerged, they had coffee waiting for him.
He took a gulp of the strong hot coffee. “They blocked off the road leading south and have men waiting in the passes. They have so many men it was no problem to seal us off. Any bust-out is gonna be difficult, if not downright impossible.”
“And walking out will be tough with the wounded,” Smoke added. “But if we stay here, they’ll eventually overrun us by their number. Or they’ll burn the buildings down around us. Beans is gonna have to be carried out of here. Pat and Corgill can walk out with him. I’m going to suggest that the women leave with them.” He looked at Parnell. “Parnell, you and Gage, Del and Bernie will spell each other with the litter. Me and Reno will make the litter right now. You people pack some food and blankets; make a light backpack and get ready to move out at dark. Let’s do it.
All knew that Smoke had casually but deliberately chosen the men to accompany the women. Then he irritated the hell out of Charlie Starr by suggesting that he accompany the foot party.
“I’ll be damned if I will!” the old gunfighter flared up. “Charlie ...,” Smoke put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They need you. They need your experience in guiding them and they need your gun.”
“Well ...” Charlie calmed down. “If you put it that way. All right. But I hate like hell to miss out on this here fight.”
“Damned ol’ rooster with a busted wing.” Hardrock told him. “You look after them folks, now, you hear me, you old coot?”
“I’ve told them to head for the old Fletcher gold mine in the Big Belt,” Cord said. “It’s been abandoned for years and we cache supplies there. From there, they can angle back East and make it into Gibson. But it’s gonna be a long hard haul for them all.”
“You just get me in a saddle!” Beans groused. “I ain’t never seen the day I couldn’t sit on a hurricane deck.”
“Oh, hush up!” Lujan told him. “Just lay back and enjoy the trip. Amigo, you injure that leg again, and you’ll be a cripple for the rest of your life. It’s better this way and you know it.”
Beans did some fancy cussing, but finally agreed to shut up about it and accept his fate.
Smoke pulled Cord to one side. “How do you feel about leaving your ranch to those jackals out there on the ridges?”
“I don’t like it. But I think it’s gonna happen. See if my plan agrees with yours: We give them walkin’ out a full twenty-four hours. Then we saddle up, put sacks on the horses’ hooves, and lead them out a’ways. Then we all hit one spot just as hard as we can.”
“That’s it. We’ll get the foot party moving just after dark and pray that this rain doesn’t let up. They’re going to be wet and cold and miserable, but I think they’ve got more of a chance out there than staying here.”
Cord nodded his big head. “I’ll pass the word to the hands. You sure you don’t want a diversion?”
“No. That would be a sure tipoff that we’re up to something. Anyway, I think they’ll hit us at full dark. That ’ll be enough.”
The afternoon wore on with only a few shots being exchanged from each side. Those in the house knew that the outlaws would be cold, soaking wet, miserable, and their patience would be growing thin with each sodden hour that passed.
And those in the ranch compound also knew, some more than others, that after finding the sack of bloody heads and several more of their kind shot to death, most of the outlaws would be wanting revenge in the worst sort of way, for they would know it had been Smoke stalking them silently on the ridges.
Smoke looked out onto the gray dripping afternoon. Twenty-four hours. They had to hold out for twenty-four hours.
Reno seemed to read his thoughts. “We’ll hold, Smoke. Some of them might breech the house, but it’ll be a death trap for them. One thing in our favor, they damn sure can’t burn the place down ... at least not this night.”
“From the outside,” Smoke stuck an amendment to that. “A couple of torches tossed inside, though ...”
Cord heard it. “I’ve got some lumber out in the shed. Rock, Troy, you boys fetch the lumber while we get some nails and hammers. We’ll board up windows we’re not shooting from. On both levels of the house.” He began ripping down curtains and drapes to lessen the fire hazard.
As the sounds of the muffled hammering began drifting to the outlaws on the ridges, the gunfire picked up, forcing the men to work more carefully, without exposing themselves. Those inside the house didn’t have to worry about breaking a window with all the hammering; all the windows were already shot out.
Those windows not being used as shooters’ positions boarded up, Smoke went to find Fae.
He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I’m headin’ back outside, Fae. I like to be outside when the action goes down.” He looked at the other women. “You ladies watch your step this night. We’ll see you all in a couple of days.”
He shook hands with the men who were leaving that night. “You boys enjoy your stroll. As soon as it gets full dark, take off. And good luck.”
He walked back into the living room, leaving Cord to say his goodbyes to wife and daughter.
“I’m going to pull Ring and Hardrock, Silver Jim, and Pistol in the house with you and Cord and the boys,” he told Reno. “The rest of us will be in the bunkhouse and the barn.” He looked outside. “Be dark shortly. I’m heading out yonder. The others will be showing up one at a time about five minutes apart. Good luck tonight. ”
“Luck to you, Smoke.”
There was nothing left to say. The two famed gunhandlers looked at each other, nodded their heads, and Smoke slipped out onto the stone and wood porch. He knew the chances of his being seen from several hundred yards away were practically nonexistent, but he stayed low from force of habit.
Smoke darted off the porch and to a tree in the yard, then over the fence and a foot race to the corral. Then, as he got set for the run to the bunkhouse, a cold voice spoke from behind him.
“I’ll be known as the man who kilt Smoke Jensen. Die, you meddlin’ bastard!”
Twenty-Seven
Smoke threw himself to one side just as the pistol roared. He could feel the heat of the bullet as it passed his arm. He twisted his body in the air and hit the muddy ground with a .44 in his hand, the muzzle spitting fire and smoke and lead.
Hartley took the first slug in his chest and Smoke fired again, the force of his landing lifting his gun hand, the second slug striking the gunhawk in the throat. Hartley, with a knot plainly visible on his rain-slicked head, the hair matted down, leaned up against a corral rail and lifted his six-gun, savage all the way to the grave.
A .44-.40 roared from the bunkhouse and Spring’s aim was true. Hartley’s head ballooned from the impact of the slug and he pitched forward, into a horse trough.
Riflemen from the ridges and the hills opened up, not really sure what they were shooting at, but filling the air with lead. Smoke lay where he was, as safe there as anywhere in the open expanse between house and bunkhouse. When the fire from the outlaws slacked up, Smoke scrambled to the bunkhouse and dove headfirst into the building, rolling to his feet.