Brotherhood of Evil (2 page)

Chapter 3

Luke, Smoke, Matt, and Preacher hadn't been getting in any hurry to get back to Sugarloaf, Smoke's sprawling ranch in Colorado. They had been taking it easy as they rode through Arizona and New Mexico.

Luke knew that deliberate pace was mostly because of him. The other three had pulled him out of a bad spot. He'd been held captive for a good while under harsh conditions in an outlaw stronghold,
¹
and as a result he wasn't in the best of shape. None of the others wanted to push him too hard.

He appreciated their concern, but at the same time it annoyed him a little. He didn't want anybody feeling sorry for him.

He had already given some thought to going his own way and letting his three companions head back to Sugarloaf without him. He was grateful for what they'd done—they had saved his life, no doubt about that—but he had spent many years as a loner and even though he had been reunited with his family, that wasn't going to change.

As he stood in the livery stable that was pleasantly warm and smelled of horseflesh, straw, and manure and saw the outlaw named Jack Shawcross reach for his gun, Luke knew that if he and the others survived the next few seconds, it would be time for them to split up.

But first there was some killing to do.

He had already opened his slicker for a couple reasons. Doing so let his damp clothes air out and start drying. More important, he was in the habit of making it easy to reach for his guns.

His hands flashed across his body to twin ivory-handled Remingtons riding butt forward in cross-draw holsters. The long-barreled revolvers came out smoothly and spouted fire from their muzzles as he brought them level.

Both slugs plowed into the chest of Jack Shawcross, who had cleared leather but hadn't had time to raise his gun. He jerked the trigger as his muscles spasmed under the shock of Luke's bullets, but the slug smacked into the ground at his feet.

To Luke's right, Smoke's .45s roared. His lead hammered two more outlaws off their feet.

To the left, Matt and Preacher were about to deal with the remaining three gunmen. Matt had his Colt out, and Preacher had drawn the pair of revolvers he wore, his movements amazingly swift and supple for a man his age.

At that instant, however, shots blasted behind them and Preacher's hat flew off his head, plucked from its perch by a bullet that narrowly missed his skull.

Some of the gang had slipped around the stable and come in the back, Luke realized. They were still outnumbered and were caught in a crossfire. “Spread out!” he shouted as he triggered his Remingtons again and saw another man stagger from the bullet that ripped across his side.

Luke and Smoke went to the right, Matt, Preacher, and the big cur called Dog to the left. Smoke pressed his back against one of the thick beams that supported the hayloft. He fired in opposite directions, front and back, at the same time.

Luke ducked behind a grain bin and grimaced as a flying slug struck the bin's lid and sent splinters spraying against his cheek. He fired both Remingtons again at the outlaws who had come in the front doors and were scattering under the onslaught of Jensen bullets.

Matt dived off his feet and rolled against the gate of a stall. As he came to a stop on his belly, he fired up at an angle at one of the outlaws who had snuck in through the stable's back door. The slug caught the man under the chin, ranged up through his brain, and flipped him off his feet. He was dead when he hit the ground.

Preacher drifted into an empty stall and fired over its side wall. A gunman in the rear of the stable flew backward as if he'd been punched by a giant fist. Both of Preacher's bullets had found their mark. The man hit the back wall, bounced off it, and reeled out through the open door. He collapsed in the rain, which made dark pink streaks run around him as it washed away the blood welling from his wounds.

At the same time, Dog leaped at one of the other men, who triggered a shot at the cur but hurried it and missed. He paid for that in a heartbeat as fangs tore into his neck and Dog's weight knocked him off his feet.

Matt gunned down another man with a well-placed shot, and another volley from Luke's Remingtons blew away a sizable chunk of an outlaw's head. The gun-thunder inside the stable had been deafeningly loud, but the echoes began to fade away as all the weapons fell silent.

All that was left were Dog's snarls as he finished mauling the man he had taken care of.

“Looks like they're all done for,” Luke said into the eerie hush that followed the violence.

“Any of you fellas hurt?” Smoke asked.

“I'm fine,” Matt said as he got to his feet and brushed straw and dirt off the front of his shirt.

“I ain't hurt,” Preacher said angrily, “but one o' them scoundrels put a hole in my hat!”

“That hat's been to hell and back,” Smoke said with a grin as he reloaded one of his Colts. “I don't reckon one more bullet hole is going to do that much more damage to it.”

Preacher just snorted disgustedly as he picked up the headgear in question and clapped it down over his thinning gray hair.

“Hold on a minute,” Matt said. “I count . . . nine of them. Six came in the front, and I would have sworn when they bushwhacked us from the back there were four more of them. That makes ten.”

Luke nodded grimly. “So one of them got away.”

“You want to take a look for him?” Smoke asked.

Luke thought about it for a second. It was doubtful the lone surviving gang member posed much of a threat to them, but he didn't like leaving loose ends. “Maybe we'd better. No telling if the hombre might go in for some back shooting.”

Smoke opened the tack room door and asked the old hostler, “Are you all right in there,
tio
?”

“
Sí, señor
,” the man replied.

“You know who those fellas were, don't you?”

The old man emerged tentatively and nodded. “Señor Shawcross and his men. They come here to Espantosa from time to time. They do as they please because everyone is too afraid to stand up to them.”

“Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore,” Smoke said. “Do they stable their horses here?”

“
Sí.
This is the only place in town for the
caballos
.”

Smoke nodded. “Preacher, you and Dog stay here in case the fella tries to double back and grab a mount.”

Preacher didn't argue with the decision. Even though he had mentored Smoke for many years and taught the younger man practically all he knew about surviving on the frontier, there was no denying that Smoke was a natural leader and usually knew the best thing to do.

“The rest of us will see if we can find him,” Smoke went on.

“Should be able to,” Matt said. “This settlement isn't much more than a wide spot in the trail. There aren't that many places he could have gone.”

The three of them holstered their guns, buttoned up their slickers, and slid Winchesters from saddle sheaths. They worked the levers on the repeaters, then stepped out into the rain, moving quickly so they wouldn't be silhouetted in the doorway for more than an instant.

Chapter 4

Since they were tracking just one man, they split up, Luke and Matt taking one side of the street, Smoke the other. They checked the alleys between the buildings, looked around parked wagons and behind rain barrels that were already overflowing, and poked into the alcoves of businesses that were already closed for the day. The proprietors figured they wouldn't have any customers in the bad weather.

As Smoke approached the entrance of a store that appeared to be closed permanently, judging by the empty, dust-filled window, a dark figure suddenly stepped out of the alcove and pointed a gun at him. The Winchester flashed to Smoke's shoulder, but he didn't fire. The same hair-trigger reflexes that had saved his life many times kept him from squeezing the trigger as he realized the man's gun was wobbling back and forth so violently he didn't stand much chance of hitting anything.

Still, a lucky shot could be just as deadly as a well-aimed one.

Smoke yelled, “Drop it! Now!”

The man whimpered. His hand opened and the gun thudded to the muddy ground at his feet. It would need a good cleaning before it could be used again. “Don't shoot me,” he pleaded. “Oh, Lord, don't kill me, Mr. Jensen.”

The man was short and so scrawny that the ragged old slicker flapped around him like the clothes on a scarecrow. Smoke recognized him as one of the outlaws who had come through the front doors of the stable with Jack Shawcross.

Luke and Matt heard Smoke's shouted warning and hurried across the street, moving as fast as they could in the thick mud. They held their rifles at a slant across their chests, ready to use the weapons instantly if need be.

“Looks like you got him, Smoke,” Luke called to his brother.

“Yeah. Question is, what are we going to do with him?”

“Please don't kill me!” the little outlaw wailed again.

“Settle down, mister,” Smoke snapped, keeping the man covered. Even an hombre who didn't appear to be a threat at all could have a trick or two up his sleeve. “What's your name?”

“P-Petey. Petey Tomlin.”

“I've heard of him,” Luke said with a scornful note in his voice. “Even seen a wanted poster on him. He's been riding with the Shawcross bunch for a while.”

Matt asked, “How much is he worth?”

“I believe the bounty was fifty dollars.”

“Fifty?” Matt chuckled. “Is that all?”

“He's not exactly Jesse James, are you, Petey?”

“N-No, sir. I ain't even close to bein' Jesse James.” Tomlin gulped. “Mostly I hold the horses.”

Smoke asked, “Did you ever kill anybody?”

“No, sir! Leastways I don't see how I could have. The times when we swapped lead with posses, I always tried to shoot high, so I wouldn't hurt nobody.”

“But you were ready to help Shawcross gun us down just now,” Luke said harshly.

“What else could I do? If I'd told Jack I didn't want to come along, he would've been liable to shoot me himself. There was no tellin' when he'd fly off the handle and do somethin' like that.”

Smoke glanced over at Luke. “What do you think?”

Luke shrugged. “For what it's worth, he's probably telling the truth. If there was a marshal and a jail here, I'd lock him up and put in for the reward anyway. Fifty dollars is fifty dollars.” He paused. “But there's no law, at least not that I know of—”

“There ain't,” Tomlin interrupted eagerly. “The county sheriff don't even send a deputy around here.”

“So we'd probably have to take him all the way to Taos to turn him in,” Luke continued. “I'm not sure it's worth it.”

“What about the others?” Matt asked.

“Oh, them I'll load on their horses and take with me,” Luke said. “They won't give any trouble, the shape they're in now, and the price on their heads will add up to a tidy sum. By all rights, I should split it with you fellas and Preacher.”

“Forget it,” Smoke said. “We don't need the money, do we, Matt?”

Matt shrugged. “I reckon not.”

Luke's jaw tightened. Even though he knew Smoke didn't mean to sound judgmental, Luke took it that way. What Smoke meant was that they didn't need blood money, he thought.

That was one more reason for him to go his own way. His brother had been a notorious gunfighter and wanted by the law for a while himself. Now he was a fine, upstanding citizen, and rich from that ranch, to boot. Hell, Smoke Jensen could probably get himself elected governor of Colorado if he wanted to, thought Luke.

Teaming up with his brothers now and then was all right, he supposed, but for the most part they all had their own trails to ride.

“So what do we do with Petey?” Smoke asked. “Let him go?”

“If you do, I'll never trouble you again, Mr. Jensen,” the little outlaw said. “Not any of you. I swear it.”

Luke nodded as he came to a decision. “Yeah, let him go. Petey, you're coming back to the stable with us. You'll get your horse, ride out of Espantosa, and never come back here again. You understand?”

Tomlin's head bobbed up and down on his neck so hard it looked like it was about to fall off. “You betcha, Mr. Jensen. That's just what I'll do. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

“Shut up before I get tired of listening to your jabber,” Luke said. “Now move.”

Tomlin practically ran up the street to the livery stable with Luke, Smoke, and Matt trailing along behind him.

“Hope Preacher doesn't shoot him when he comes busting in,” Matt said. “That cantankerous old-timer can be pretty quick on the trigger.”

“Maybe I'd better catch up to him and make sure that doesn't happen,” Smoke said. “Hey, Petey, slow down and wait up a minute.”

A short time later, Smoke, Luke, Matt, Preacher, and Dog stood in the livery barn's open doorway, watching as Petey Tomlin rode away in the rain. They had dragged aside the bodies that were blocking the entrance.

The old hostler joined them and sighed.

Matt looked over at him and frowned. “What's the matter, old-timer? Seems to me you'd be glad to get rid of these outlaws.”

Ramon nodded. “
Sí
,
señor
, they were very bad men.
Mucho malo.
They caused fights, they were rude to the women of the town, and sometimes they did not bother to pay for the things they took. But when they wanted to, they could be generous. There is not much business in Espantosa.”

“And they provided a sizable chunk of it, didn't they?” Smoke said.

“
Sí
. They stabled their horses here, they drank at the saloon, they slept in rooms at the hotel, they got their supplies at the store. No longer.”

Luke rasped a thumbnail along his jawline as he frowned in thought. After a moment he said, “Tell you what . . . I need their horses to carry their sorry carcasses to Taos, but when we get there I'll sell the horses and send the money back here to you. You can split it with the other merchants if you want. That's up to you. I'm afraid that's all we can do for you, though.”

“It is most generous of you, señor
.
We will be very grateful.”

“Maybe with the gang gone, more good people will come here and do business,” Smoke suggested.

“It is something devoutly to be wished, señor.”

“In the meantime, I guess we need to rent another stall from you for the night.”

“Another stall?” Matt asked.

“Got to pile those bodies somewhere,” Luke said.