“I see nothing unusual about it,” von Hausen said stiffly. “Nothing unusual at all. I have always considered myself a law-abiding man.”
Walt blinked a couple of times at that. He stared at the man to see if von Hausen was having fun with him. The German’s face was serious. “Do tell?” he finally said. “Well, now, that’s plumb admirable of you. Yes, sir. Shore is.”
“Thank you,” von Hausen said. He wheeled about and marched away.
“Angel,” Walt said. “That feller can act as crazy as a damn lizard on a hot rock.”
“Si,” the Mexican said. “But really he is just as sane as you or I. He is a man who has always gotten his way, I think. And a man who has no regard for the lives of others ... those who work for him, and those who he hunts.”
Walt nodded his head. “Let’s get the beans to cookin’. I’ll make a good bait of biscuits, too. We’ll feed ’em right tonight. For some of them, this just might be the last supper they ever get.”
Von Hausen and his party rode all the next day. The only sign they saw of Smoke were the stone arrows he placed along the trail, so von Hausen would be sure to see them. The more miles they put behind them, the madder von Hausen got. Every time von Hausen saw another stone arrow it set him off into fits of cussing.
They stopped for the night at a spring near the base of a towering mountain. Pat Gilman brought von Hausen a note he’d found under a small rock near the spring. Then the gunfighter got out of the way.
THOUGHT YOU MIGHT CAMP HERE. WATER’S GOOD. HOW’S YOUR SUPPLIES HOLDING OUT, VON HAUSEN? It was signed S.J.
Von Hausen threw the note on the ground and jumped up and down on it, cussing and screaming like a mad-man. He stomped the note into muddy shreds.
Panting for breath, his chest heaving, von Hausen screamed, “Tomorrow, Jensen dies.” He pointed a finger at Utah. “You find him, Utah. When you do, report back to me immediately. We will launch a frontal assault.” He stomped off.
Briscoe said, “I ain’t real sure what that means,”
Walt cut his eyes to the gunfighter. “It means that some of you won’t be comin’ back, Briscoe.”
“Aw, shut up!” Briscoe told him. He looked at Angel. “What are you, now, the cook’s helper?”
“Si,” the Mexican said. “You have some objections to that?”
“Then I tell you now, your pay will be the same as the cook’s,” Gunter said.
“That is quite all right with me,” Angel replied. “I will sleep much better at night.” He took off his gunbelt and stowed it in his saddle bags.
Valdes walked over to his friend. “I cannot believe you are actually doing this, amigo. You are too good with a gun to make biscuits and stew.”
“What we are doing is wrong, Valdes. Smoke Jensen does not deserve to be hunted down like a rabid animal. I say to you in friendship, give up this madness.”
Valdes stared at him. “I never thought you would lose your nerve, Angel. You are a coward. You are no longer my friend. Go to hell!”
Valdes gave his friend an obscene gesture and walked away.
“Forget it,” Walt said. “He wasn’t never much of a friend to do something like that. Money’s cloudin’ his eyes. I tell you this for a fact, Angeclass="underline" you and me’ll ’bout be the only ones ridin’ out of this mess.”
Angel’s good humor surfaced with a small smile. “But we will have callouses on our hands from all the grave digging, no?”
Walt chuckled. “But less cookin’ and washin’ up dishes, right?”
The rough humor was infectious and soon both men were laughing as they set up the cook tent.
“Sounds like a gaggle of old women. I think they both done lost their brains,” Tom Ritter said, listening to the men crack jokes and laugh.
“Or found ’em,” Leo Grant said, trying to ease his shot-up left arm into a less painful position in the sling.
“Now just what the hell does that mean?” Gary asked, a sour expression on his unshaved face. “Are you turnin’ yellow on us, too?”
John T. stepped quickly between the two men, just as Leo was dropping his hand to the butt of his .45. “Stand easy, boys. Look at it this way: with Angel out of the picture, they’s that much more money to be spread around. Think about that ’fore you start pluggin’ each other.”
Gary looked at the mountains looming around him, then nodded his head and returned his gaze to John T. “What the hell is a frontal as-sault, John T.?”
“Somethin’ that we’re not gonna do,” the gunfighter told him. “Von Hausen will cool down by mornin’. He’s just mad right now, that’s all. You boys get you some coffee and settle down. We might just bring this hunt to a close by this time tomorrow.”
“And when we do, we’ll be pocket heavy with money, won’t we?” Leo stated with a grin.
“Damn right! And Jensen will be dead.”
11
Utah Red sensed more than heard movement behind him and to his right. He twisted in the saddle just as the rope settled around him and jerked him from his horse. Utah hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from him. He struggled to free himself of the loop and managed to slip loose and was reaching for his guns when a hard fist connected solidly against the side of his jaw. The blow knocked him sprawling. His guns fell from leather.
Cursing, Utah scrambled to his boots and swung a big fist at his attacker’s head. Smoke ducked the blow and planted a left, then a right in Utah’s gut. Gasping for breath, Utah stumbled away, trying to suck air back into his lungs. Smoke pressed him hard, with left’s and right’s that bloodied Utah’s mouth and smashed his nose flat.
Utah made a dive for his guns, sliding belly-down on the rocks and the dirt. Smoke gave him a foot in the face that slowed his slide and further bloodied his mouth.
Reaching down, Smoke jerked the man to his boots and walloped him on the side of his face with a big right fist. The clubbing blow knocked Utah to his knees. The last thing Utah remembered before he lost consciousness was his daddy’s warning that if the boy didn’t straighten up, he’d never amount to a thing.
Pride Andcrson and Lou Kennedy untied the ropes that held Utah belly-down across his saddle. They noticed that Utah’s guns were gone, short guns and rifle. When they laid him on the ground, on his back, both of them grimaced at the mess that was once Utah’s face.
“Jensen shore whupped the snot outta him,” Walt said, walking up with a pan of water and a cloth. “He’s out of it for a week, at least.”
The party had stopped for their nooning and Utah had decided to scout on ahead for signs of Jensen. He found much more than he bargained for.
“Teeth knocked out, nose busted, both eyes swelled shut,” Pride said. “I ain’t seen but a couple of men whupped this bad in all my life.”
Marlene stood away from the growing circle of men, a worried look on her face and in her eyes. Nothing was turning out the way they’d planned. This was supposed to had been a fun trip: hunt down and shoot a western gunslinger, celebrate with a bottle of champagne, and return to Europe to boast about it among their limited circle of friends.
But none of them had taken into consideration that the men of the American west—who had helped tame the country-didn’t like to be hunted down. None of them had planned on their quarry fighting back so savagely. Marlene didn’t think Smoke Jensen was really in the spirit of things; he certainly wasn’t playing fair.
“I can’t feel that he’s got any ribs busted,” Pride said, standing over the conscious and moaning Utah Red. “But he’s sure out of it. I guess Jensen took his guns.”