Brotherhood of Evil (30 page)

Chapter 63

Smoke's blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. He could tell that Trask meant that bizarre statement literally. “What in blazes are you talking about?”

“I need your brain, Mr. Jensen,” Trask said. “To study. To serve as the basis for a surgical procedure that will change the world.” He extended both index fingers and gestured with them as he went on in an eager voice, like a professor warming to his subject. “You see, you have a unique ability. You can draw and fire a gun with greater speed and accuracy than anyone else in the world. The secret to that ability lies in your brain. I'm convinced that the same secret can be found in the brains of a great many men. All I need is the key to unlock it. When I have that key, which I'll learn from studying you, I'll be able to perform delicate surgeries on the brains of other men and give them that same ability.”

Smoke's thoughts whirled crazily inside his head. He said slowly, “Hold on a minute. You're saying you want to see how my brain is built, so you can whittle on the brains of other men and make them the same as mine?”

A pleased grin spread across Trask's face. “Exactly! I'm so glad you're able to grasp my theory. I was afraid it might be beyond your capabilities.”

“Even if you were able to do that . . . what good does it do you?”

“Why, it should be obvious,” Trask replied with a little shake of his head. “Slowly but surely, I'll create an army of men who are as good with a gun as you are. Men who will have no thoughts of their own but will obey my every command.” He turned his head to look at the massive, stolid Dan. “I've mastered that part of the procedure already. It took a while, but Dan here is the culmination of that area of study. Now you'll provide what I need to complete the project.”

Smoke saw that Trask's men were glancing at each other nervously. He had a hunch they had never heard the scope of the doctor's mad scheme explained in such detail before. It appeared they didn't like what they were hearing.

“Just what is it you plan to do with that army of yours, Doctor?” Smoke asked.

“Why do I have to
do
anything with them, Mr. Jensen? Isn't it enough to create one of the greatest scientific and medical achievements of all time? Why, this process could unlock all sorts of capabilities in the human brain! It could transform the world!” Trask shrugged. “Of course, to properly fund such continuing research will require a great deal of money, so I was thinking perhaps I could take over an area here in the Southwest—Colorado, Utah, and New Mexico and Arizona Territories, say—and use their natural resources to further my work.”

“In other words, you'll have the biggest, deadliest outlaw gang of all time.”

Trask spread his hands. “If you want to put it in such crass terms . . .”

One of the gunmen said, “Hold on a minute, Doc. You're gonna do this brain stuff to us? Make us where we can't think no more, like Lonesome Dan?”

“Anyone who undergoes my procedure will be a volunteer and will have his family suitably compensated,” Trask replied curtly. “Unless, of course, there aren't enough volunteers. Then I'll take whatever steps are necessary.”

Smoke smiled grimly. “That means he's going to start carving on your brains, boys, whether you like it or not.”

“Nobody's cuttin' on my brain,” a second man said. He started backing toward the door.

Trask held up his hands and tried to sound mollifying. “Don't jump to conclusions. No one will die from my procedure. I give you my word about that. The only one who'll die is . . .” His head swung around so he could look at Smoke. “I'm afraid that in order to properly study your brain, Mr. Jensen, I'll have to remove it from your skull and perform an extensive dissection of it. There's no way for you to survive that. I'm sorry.”

“So am I,” Smoke said. “I'm sorry somebody as pure-dee loco as you ever got loose to cause so much trouble.”

Trask's face hardened. Clearly he didn't like being accused of being insane. He looked at the three outlaws. “Five hundred dollars to each of you if you'll take Mr. Jensen to the operating room.” To clarify, he added, “What used to be the dining room.”

The gunmen forgot their misgivings for the moment. The promise of five hundred dollars was enough to accomplish that. Instead of backing away, they moved toward Smoke.

Smoke glanced at the window. The curtains had enough of a gap between them for him to see that the sky outside had started to turn gray. It wouldn't be long until dawn. Pearlie and Cal ought to be back from Big Rock with Monte Carson and the other men, and Preacher and Matt ought to be leading the attack on the ranch any time.

If they didn't, Smoke was just going to have to outfight the outlaws, whether he was unarmed and outnumbered or not. There was no way he was going to let them put him on some operating table so Trask could take a scalpel and start cutting his head open....

Outside, the pre-dawn gloom suddenly erupted in gunfire.

The racket made the three outlaws whirl toward the window. Smoke reacted instantly, too, and dove at the gunmen. He crashed into the closest one and closed his right hand around the cylinder of the man's Colt. His left fist slammed against the outlaw's jaw. As the man sagged, Smoke wrenched the gun out of his grip.

The other two men were swinging around toward him again. Their guns came up.

Trask shrieked, “Don't shoot him in the head!”

Smoke flipped the gun up and caught the butt in midair. It roared and bucked against his palm as he triggered it. Flame gouted from the muzzle and almost touched the shirtfront of an outlaw as the slug punched into his chest. He toppled backward over a chair.

The third man got a shot off. Smoke felt the bullet pluck at his shirt as he fired again. His slug left a red-rimmed black hole in the center of the outlaw's forehead as it bored on into the man's brain. His knees folded up and dropped him to the floor.

The man whose gun Smoke had taken tried to struggle to his feet. A swipe of the Colt's barrel put him down, out cold, leaving Smoke alone with Trask and Dan.

Although the shots might bring other men on the run. From the sounds of the ruckus outside, the rest of Trask's hired killers had their hands full.

Trask appeared to be unarmed. He extended his hands toward Smoke “Why are you doing this? Don't you understand I'm offering you the chance to be part of something wonderful? You'll be more famous for helping me change the course of history, Mr. Jensen, than you ever will be as a gunman!”

“I don't want to be famous,” Smoke said. “I just want to be left alone to live my life. And if that means putting a crazy man where he belongs—”

“Don't call me crazy!” Trask screamed. “I'm not crazy! I'm the most brilliant medical mind that's ever lived!”

Smoke kept one eye on the door and the other on Trask. “Sorry, Doctor, it's over—”

“No, it's not!” Trask pointed at Smoke. “Kill him, Dan! But don't hurt his brain!”

Chapter 64

During the fight between Smoke and the outlaws, Lonesome Dan had stood motionless and expressionless, seemingly paying no attention to what was going on around him, but at Trask's command, he lurched into motion. With surprising speed, he launched himself at Smoke.

Smoke didn't want to shoot, but he had no choice. The Colt roared again. A slug ripped through the meaty part of Dan's right thigh. Smoke waited for the leg to go out from under Dan and spill him to the floor.

But other than a twitch of the leg, Dan didn't show any reaction. He didn't fall, and he didn't slow down. He kept barreling at Smoke like a runaway train.

It felt about like a runaway train when Dan crashed into him and drove him over backwards.

They landed on a divan, which toppled over from the impact. Dan's long, sausage-like fingers groped at Smoke's throat. Smoke twisted away from them. The collision had made him drop the gun, so he had to fight barehanded. He smashed a right and a left into the man's broad face.

Dan didn't seem to feel the punches any more than he had the bullet in his leg. Smoke tried to writhe away from him, but he was pinned against the wall. Dan's right hand closed around Smoke's throat.

The man's strength was incredible. Dan would crush his windpipe in a matter of seconds. Smoke's hand fell on the barrel of the fallen gun. He swept it up, smashed the butt across Dan's face. Bone shattered under the blow, but Dan didn't let go. Smoke hit him again and again, pounding until Dan's face barely resembled anything human.

Finally, the terrible punishment began to take a toll. Dan's grip loosened enough for Smoke to pull free. He lifted his leg, planted his boot against Dan's chest, and shoved hard, sending Dan flying through the air for a short distance before the big man crashed to the floor. Breathing hard, swallowing to work some of the soreness out of his neck, Smoke started to get to his feet.

In shock and disbelief, he saw that Dan was clambering up, as well. The man's broken, bloody face still showed no real emotion.

Smoke was so horrified he almost didn't notice Jonas Trask lunging at him.

Lamplight flashed on the scalpel he held as he slashed at Smoke's throat with the razor-sharp instrument. Smoke threw up the Colt in time to block the attack, but just barely. The scalpel glanced off the gun and raked a fiery line down Smoke's forearm.

Smoke ignored the pain and shot a left into Trask's jaw. The crazed doctor wasn't as big as Smoke, but he was fighting with the strength of madness. He shook off the punch and swiped at Smoke with the scalpel again. Smoke jerked back just as the blade swept in front of his face. Trask bored in on him, hacking wildly.

At the same time, Dan reached for Smoke again, still following the last order Trask had given him. The big man got in the way of one of the doctor's wild swings. The scalpel bit into his throat and ripped across it. Blood geysered from severed arteries. As Dan staggered, for the first time he showed a reaction to something. His eyes widened as if he realized something terrible had just happened. One hand went to the blood welling from his ruined throat, and he made a grotesque gurgling sound.

“No!” Trask yelled as he stepped back. “Dan, I didn't mean—”

Dan's tree trunk of an arm swept out with blinding speed and smashed into Trask's head. Smoke heard a sharp crack. Trask flew backwards, slammed into the parlor wall, and dropped in a crumpled heap.

Dan swayed back and forth for a second, then fell. The floor shook a little as he landed.

In the eerie silence that followed, a tiny whimpering sound caught Smoke's attention. He reversed the Colt so that he was holding it normally and turned toward Trask. The man lay motionless, but his eyes were open and he was conscious. His head was twisted at such a gruesome angle on his shoulders that Smoke didn't see how he was still alive.

He stared up at Smoke and whispered, “Jensen . . . Jensen, you have to . . . help me. . . . You have . . . deft hands.... You can . . . perform surgery. . . . I'll tell you what to do. . . .”

Smoke checked the gun's cylinder—two rounds left. The shooting had stopped outside. He swept the curtains back. The sun had started to peek over the horizon. In the wash of reddish-gold light, he saw Preacher, Matt, Pearlie, Cal, and Monte Carson walking toward the house. They had a few new bullet grazes, but Smoke could tell they were all right.

The battle for Sugarloaf was over.

“Jensen . . .” Trask rasped behind him. “You can . . . save me. . . .”

Smoke turned his head. “You want me to perform surgery?” He swung around. “I reckon I can do that. I can remove the thing that caused all the pain.”

The Colt roared once in the parlor.

Smoke walked out into the morning sun to meet his family and friends. They would have a lot of work to do, cleaning the place when he brought Sally home.

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Copyright © 2015 J. A. Johnstone

 

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PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone's outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone's superb storytelling.

 

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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3599-1

 

 

First electronic edition: October 2015

ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3600-4
ISBN-10: 0-7860-3600-1

Notes