Brotherhood of Evil (12 page)

Chapter 25

Fleeing from the ranch with Pearlie and Cal, Sally found herself climbing higher and higher into the mountains. She rode double with Pearlie, perched behind him on the horse's back with her arms around his waist. Riding that way was a little easier on both of them.

“These aren't Sugarloaf horses, are they?” she asked. “Where did you get them?”

“We ran into a couple of those fellas and, uh, borrowed 'em,” Pearlie replied.

She figured the
borrowing
had involved some gunplay and didn't press him on the matter. When you were fighting for your life and the lives of your friends, you did whatever was necessary to survive.

“Where are we going?” She was very aware that she was unarmed and not exactly dressed for life as a fugitive.

“Headed for a line shack I know of, up in the high country,” Pearlie explained. “It's as far away from ranch headquarters as you can get and still be on Sugarloaf range. Seems like a good place to lay low for a spell.”

She was more than happy to trust him about that. Other than Smoke, he knew the ranch better than anyone else. If he said a line shack was up there, it would be up there.

They had ridden on for a few minutes, before she summoned up her courage and asked, “Were we . . . were we the only ones who got out?”

“As far as I could tell, we were,” Pearlie answered solemnly. “Of course, it was pretty doggone hectic. Might be some of the other fellas slipped away without me noticin'.”

“I didn't see anybody else get away, either,” Cal added in a glum voice.

Sally frowned. “So as far as we know, it's just the three of us. Three people against a small army.”

“You got any idea who those varmints are and why they attacked the Sugarloaf?” Pearlie asked.

“The man who captured me was called Major Pike. I don't think he was an actual major, though. Maybe once.” She paused. “He wasn't really in charge, though. He answers to a man named Jonas Trask. I was talking to him when you showed up to get me out of there, Pearlie. Trask calls himself a doctor.”

Pearlie glanced back over his shoulder. “You don't reckon he's a real doctor?”

“He may well be, for all I know, but if he is, he's like no doctor I've ever seen. He seems devoted to taking lives, rather than saving them.”

“A doctor of death,” Pearlie said with a grunt.

“Yes. That's a very good description of him.”

They rode on. The night grew colder. The first snows of the season wouldn't be blowing in for a good while yet, but at that elevation the nights were almost always chilly.

The terrain was more rugged, too. The horses had to labor up steep slopes. Sally wasn't sure she had ever been on that part of their range before. The Sugarloaf was vast, and while Smoke knew every foot of it, she didn't. “Do we graze cattle up this high?”

“Yes, ma'am, in the summer we do,” Pearlie replied. “Lately we've started movin' 'em back down to the winter range.” His voice hardened. “That job may not get done, with those no-good polecats takin' over the ranch.”

“They may have control of Sugarloaf right now,” Sally said, “but they won't keep it. We'll see to that.” It was a bold claim, but she intended to follow through on it. She had been born with a fighting spirit, and her time as Smoke Jensen's wife had only increased her natural resolve.

Of course, they were overwhelmingly outnumbered, she reminded herself, and had only a few guns between them. But they could worry about that later, once they had reached the line shack, started a fire, and warmed up a little.

She had to do something about clothes, too. She couldn't fight outlaws in a nightdress and robe. That just wouldn't be ladylike at all, she thought with a grim smile.

A short time later, the slope leveled out. A broad, grassy meadow stretched in front of them, visible in the light from the moon and stars. A rugged ridge lay on the other side of the meadow.

“Line shack's over at the foot of that ridge,” Pearlie explained as he and Cal reined in. “If you want to slide down, Miss Sally, I'll ride over there and check it out. Should be empty this time o' year, but I don't reckon we ought to ride up bold as brass without makin' sure of that.”

Sally let go of him and dropped off the horse to the ground. Cal dismounted, too, and stood beside her as Pearlie heeled his mount into motion again.

“Be careful,” Cal called after him.

“I intend to be,” Pearlie said over his shoulder. He rode with the reins in his left hand and the Winchester in the right.

Sally said worriedly, “Those men who attacked the ranch shouldn't know anything about this line shack, should they?”

“I sure wouldn't think so,” Cal replied. “Who knows how long they were sneaking around, though, before they made their move? I think those three fellas we ran off, the ones who killed Ben Hardy, must've been some of the same bunch.”

Sally nodded. “The same thing occurred to me.”

They fell into a tense silence as they watched Pearlie cross the meadow. The light was bright enough for them to follow his progress, but they couldn't make out any details.

Pearlie didn't get in any hurry. Sally expected at any moment to see the flash from a gun's muzzle or hear the crash of a shot.

Neither happened. He made it to the line shack without incident, dismounted, and moved toward the shack with the rifle held ready

Sally couldn't see him anymore. “Did he go inside?”

“I reckon he must have.” Cal's voice was edged with worry.

A few moments later, light flared on the other side of the meadow, but it wasn't a muzzle flash. After a second's glare, it settled down to a steady yellow glow.

“He must've lit a lamp or a candle,” Cal said. “That must mean everything's all right.”

A shadow crossed in front of the light, and then they heard the distant sound of hoofbeats. Pearlie was returning, moving at a brisk pace instead of his earlier deliberate approach.

He drew rein and reported, “The place is empty. I had a good look around. Nobody's been there for weeks. Found something that's gonna come in handy, too.”

“A Gatling gun?” Cal guessed.

“What? No. What in tarnation makes you think there's a Gatling gun in that line shack?”

“I didn't think there was,” Cal said with a shrug. “But you've got to admit, it would have come in handy.”

Pearlie muttered something under his breath that Sally couldn't make out, then said, “One of the fellas who was up here over the summer left a change o' clothes behind. It's just a pair o' pants and an old shirt and some socks, but that's better than nothin', I reckon.”

“It certainly is,” Sally said gratefully.

“I warn you, they'll be a mite big on you.”

“Don't worry. I'll make them work.”

Pearlie extended his hand and she grasped it. He helped her up behind him again, and the three of them started across the meadow toward the line shack.

“You know,” she said, “the Gatling gun would have been nice, too.”

Chapter 26

The day after taking over the town, Trask sent Pike into the church and the town hall to talk to the people of Big Rock and explain to them that they would be allowed to return to their homes and businesses, but only under certain conditions. Closely guarded and kept overnight as they'd been, he figured they'd stewed in their fear so they wouldn't get any ideas about resisting.

“We're gathering up all the guns and knives and anything else that can be used as a weapon,” Pike warned them. “Anybody who's caught with a weapon or anybody who tries to harm any of my men, with or without one, will be executed on the spot. No exceptions and no mercy.”

Some angry muttering came from the prisoners, but no one spoke up in objection to Pike's edicts.

“There will be a curfew,” he went on. “No one is to be on the streets except during daylight hours. If you're caught outside your house after dark, you'll be shot then and there. Try to leave town any time of the day or night, and you'll be shot. Other than that, you're free to go on about your business. We control all the ways in and out of Big Rock. We control the telegraph office. The railroad is blocked on both sides. For the time being, Big Rock is ours. Don't interfere with us, and you'll come out of this alive. Cause us any trouble, and you're dead. Man, woman, child, it doesn't matter. Disobey, and you're dead. Simple as that.”

A few of the townspeople still wore looks of defiance, but they didn't say anything. For the most part, the population of Big Rock was completely cowed.

Once they were released, they went back to their homes, their stores, their saloons, livery stables, and blacksmith shops, shuffling along under the watchful gazes of the leering, heavily armed killers. Nobody cared about business at the moment, but they needed something to do. They couldn't just sit around all day being terrified.

They had the nights for that.

Inside the jail, Monte Carson fumed. He had gotten over being knocked out, and as his headache eased and his strength returned, his anger grew. He had sworn to protect the town, but he hadn't been able to prevent its takeover by ruthless gunmen.

He stood at the cell door for long hours, his hands gripping the bars.

“You can't blame yourself, Sheriff,” Curley told him. “Hell, they way outnumbered us. We put up a fight, but we couldn't hope to win against those odds.”

“
You
put up a fight,” Carson said bitterly. “You even gunned one down. I didn't do a damn thing except get pistol-whipped by Trask.”

“I reckon anybody can get taken by surprise, Sheriff. Even Smoke Jensen.” Curley paused. “Speakin' of which . . . he was on his way back here, wasn't he?”

Carson nodded. He knew why his deputy asked that question. Curley thought that when Smoke showed up, he would put everything right. Folks had confidence in Smoke's near-mystical ability to overcome any odds and defeat any enemy. They had a right to feel that way, given his history.

At the same time, it was a little galling, Carson thought. He had once had a reputation of his own as a pretty tough hombre.

All he wanted was a chance to prove he still could be one.

 

 

While Major Pike was laying down the law in the settlement, Dr. Jonas Trask rode to Sugarloaf. He was a bit like an ancient Greek king, he thought, riding at the head of his army to claim the palace of a vanquished foe. Instead of spear-carrying centurions, he had hard-faced gunmen packing iron.

He was moving his headquarters from the hotel to the ranch, where he would remain until he had what he wanted. All his equipment was loaded on a large wagon with an enclosed bed. It had arrived late the previous day, along with the hardcases escorting it.

A large man rode on the wagon seat and handled the reins attached to the mule team pulling it. Powerful muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest bulged under the shirt he wore. His body seemed filled with strength and vitality.

The broad face under the brim of his hat, though, was utterly vacant. Eyes that should have been bright were dull and almost lifeless. His mouth hung open slightly as he swayed back and forth on the wagon seat. He was aware enough of his surroundings to keep the team moving, but that was all.

As they came in sight of the ranch house, Trask felt excitement quicken inside him. It would be the site of his greatest triumph, he thought. That was where his work would finally reach its culmination.

But he didn't need to get ahead of himself. He still needed to get his hands on the final piece needed to complete his grand design—Smoke Jensen.

Trask reined his horse to the side and fell back a little to ride next to the wagon. He pointed to the house and said to the driver, “That's where you're going to take the wagon. Do you understand, Dan?”

“Yes, Doctor,” the man said heavily. His voice was as dull as his eyes.

“Carry all the crates inside and put them in the dining room. That will be my surgery. And be careful with them. Some of the instruments are quite delicate.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Dan said again. His powerful muscles would make short work of toting the heavy crates.

Trask knew he could work all day and never seem to get tired.

A rider galloped out from the ranch headquarters to meet the newcomers. Trask recognized him as Eli Putnam, who he had left in charge the night before when he and Major Pike had returned to Big Rock.

Putnam lifted a hand in greeting. “Howdy, Doctor. We got everything moved around and ready for you in the house, the way you wanted it.”

“Very good,” Trask said briskly. “Have you found Mrs. Jensen?”

Putnam grimaced slightly. “No, sir, I'm afraid we haven't. Not yet. But several search parties are out lookin' for her and those fellas she rode off with, so it's only a matter of time until we locate 'em.”

“Time is one thing we don't have an abundance of,” Trask said as they moved to the side so the wagon and the other riders could go on past. His voice was sharp with irritation. “I've let it be known in Big Rock that Sally Jensen is my prisoner. It's vital to my plans that that claim be true by the time her husband shows up.”

“Yes, sir.” Putnam frowned. “But it seems to me that as long as Smoke Jensen
believes
that you're holding his wife prisoner, that's as good as actually havin' her, ain't it?”

“A bluff is only successful as long as you don't have to produce what the other man thinks you have. There may well come a time when Jensen will have to lay eyes on his wife in order to believe that her life is actually in danger.”

Putnam nodded. “Yeah, I reckon that makes sense.”

“Of course it does.” Trask's words were like a whiplash. “Do you think I'm stupid, Putnam?”

“Uh, no, sir!” the gunman responded hastily. His eyes had gone wide with fear. “No, sir, that's not what I think at all. Everybody knows you're the smartest fella around these parts or any other.”

“All right. Find Mrs. Jensen.”

“Yes, sir!”

Trask heeled his horse into motion and rode on to the ranch house. As soon as he dismounted, a man was there to take his horse and lead it toward the barn. He knew the mount would be well cared for. None of his men would dare do any less.

As he strode into the house, he pulled off the black gloves he wore for riding and dropped them on a small table in the parlor. He looked around. A sneer gradually appeared on his face.

The house was furnished in simple, comfortable style, although everything was of top quality. Smoke Jensen was rumored to be a rich man. Not only was his ranch quite successful, but there was also something in his past about a lost gold mine or some such thing. Trask hadn't investigated that matter thoroughly, since it wasn't important to his overall plans.

Jensen wasn't really special, though. He was just another frontier bumpkin. Except for one thing.

One secret that he possessed.

A secret that Jonas Trask intended to make his own.

All the furniture had been moved out of the dining room except the long table, over which pieces of canvas had been draped. While Trask looked around, Dan carried in the crates from the wagon and placed them along the wall. Trask would open them and remove all the equipment later. Some of it was so delicate he didn't trust anyone except himself to handle it.

After setting down one of the crates, Dan straightened and asked, “Who lives here, Doctor?”

The question took Trask by surprise. He swung around to look at his assistant. He wondered if Dan had begun to regain more of what he had lost. It had been a long time since the big man had asked a question or shown any real interest in his surroundings. For a while, he hadn't even been able to speak or take care of his personal needs. He had been little more than a giant infant.

Something had prompted Trask to keep him around, and he had seen Dan make slow progress until he was capable of being a servant. “I live here now, Dan. This house used to belong to a man named Smoke Jensen.”

Dan just grunted, turned away, and lumbered out to continue unloading the wagon. Trask watched him go and smiled. Whatever brief spark of intelligence had surfaced in the big man's brain, it had flickered out after only seconds.

But what was science, after all, but one long chain of such sparks, springing to life, burning brightly, then dying, until finally a flame of new knowledge was born?

Jonas Trask rubbed his hands together lightly. He couldn't wait to get started on the momentous events that would transpire.

All he needed was Smoke Jensen.