Heart of the Mountain Man (12 page)

“All right, Smoke, I done my part, I got ya here. Now it's yore show from here on out,” Muskrat said.

Smoke nodded. “The first thing we have to do is find out which cabin Slaughter has Mary in.”

“Then what?” Louis asked as he knelt next to Smoke, cradling his Remington Rolling Block rifle in his arms.

“Then, we watch the sentries to find out what kind of schedule they're on. I'm going to need to intercept one after the sentries change, before he gets back to the camp, and take his place.”

“You mean you're going down there amongst them
bandidos?”
Cal asked, his eyes wide.

“I don't see any other way to get Mary to safety before we attack,” Smoke answered.

“Wait a minute, Smoke,” Monte interjected. “Mary is my responsibility, so it should be me takes the chance on goin' down there.”

Smoke shook his head. “You can't do it, Monte. Your wounds aren't healed enough to get the job done. I may have to carry Mary up part of the way on the steeper slopes. Your shoulder would never stand the strain.”

“What can we do to help?” Pearlie asked.

“Keep your eyes peeled on those cabins. Mary will probably be in the one that Slaughter goes in and out of. He'll want her close by him in case of trouble.”

In less than an hour, Louis saw two women make their way from the largest cabin toward the outhouse behind the building. One of the women was wide and short, the other tall and thin. They were accompanied by a cowboy, evidently along as a guard to make sure Mary didn't make a run for it.

Louis scrambled over to where Smoke was squatting, watching the sentries. “She's in the big cabin, Smoke, the one closest to the trail out of the canyon, on the north side.”

Smoke raised his head up over the bushes he was behind and fixed the location in his mind. He gave a low whistle and the others came to squat next to him.

“All right men, get to your positions. As soon as I'm out of there and Mary is out of the line of fire, I'll give you a signal. When you hear it, let loose with everything you have to cover us until we get up here.”

“What if they raise the alarm before your signal?” Monte asked.

Smoke smiled grimly. “Then don't wait. Pour as much lead and dynamite into the camp as fast as you can.”

“How are you going to get her out of that cabin?” Louis asked. “Slaughter probably has his best men in there with him.”

Smoke's teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he grinned. “Just keep a close eye on the cabin and you'll see,” he said. Then he was up in a crouch and moving fast down the trail toward the nearest group of sentries.

14

It was almost dusk as Smoke made his way down a footpath toward the sentries' post below. When he got close to the two men, he exited the trail and circled around until he was below the men, between their post and the camp in the canyon.

He stationed himself behind an outcropping of boulders and hunkered down to wait for the change of sentries, cupping his hands around his mouth and blowing on them, trying to keep them from stiffening up as the temperature dropped to near freezing.

He figured he wouldn't have long to wait. Most times sentries were changed about the time of the evening meal, so the men coming on duty could eat before taking up their post, and the men relieved of duty could have a hot meal waiting for them on their return.

Smoke climbed up on one of the boulders and peered over the cliff edge at the canyon below. He could see food being prepared at the large campfire in the center of the canyon. He was surprised at the number of women he saw working around the fire, but then realized these weren't the kind of men to deprive themselves of female company for any length of time. He supposed most of the women were prostitutes, as men like these weren't likely to be the marrying kind.

Before long his patience was rewarded with the sound of two men making their way up the trail toward the sentries on duty.

“Yo, Curly and Mike,” one of the newcomers yelled. “Don't go shootin' us. It's just Joe and Charley comin' to relieve you.”

“It's 'bout time,” the larger of the two sentries called back. “Mike and me are 'bout to freeze our balls off up here.”

The man who spoke, evidently named Curly, was just about Smoke's size. He was tall and broad through the shoulders, had a heavy whisker growth that made his jaws look blue in the fading light, and wore a bright red flannel shirt under a thick, black woolen coat and a dark hat pulled low over his forehead.

“He'll do,” Smoke thought as he watched the four men talk for a moment before changing places.

“What's fer supper tonight?” Curly asked, rubbing his hands together and hunching his shoulders against the cold.

“What do ya think?” Joe answered. “Elk meat and beans and tortillas.”

“Goddammit,” Curly growled. “Don't those whores know how to cook anythin' else?”

Joe laughed. “They wasn't brought up here 'cause of their skills with a skillet, Curly.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Leastways they know how to keep a body warm at night.”

“Yeah, but I'll bet that little lady the boss has in his cabin is a sight better at it than those whores,” Curly said, his teeth showing in a wide grin.

Joe nodded. “Yeah, it's a shame the boss don't share her around some.”

Smoke felt his mouth go dry and his heart hammer at the way the men were talking about Mary Carson. His hands clenched as his fury mounted. There would be no mercy shown this night for these bastards, he thought.

“Well, you boys keep your powder dry and try to keep your fingers from freezin' off tonight,” Mike said as he and Curly started down the trail, their hands in their coat pockets as they leaned into the frigid wind blowing down the mountain slopes.

Knowing he dared not make a sound, Smoke pulled his Bowie knife from its scabbard on the back of his belt and stood up, moving slowly so his knees wouldn't creak and give his position away.

He pulled his left-hand Colt and held it in one hand and the knife in the other. As the two men passed him, he stepped out and brought the Colt down hard on the back of Curly's head. When he collapsed with a grunt and Mike turned around, his eyes wide, Smoke swung the knife in an upward motion, letting the point of the blade enter his chest just below the left rib cage, the blade continuing up to pierce Mike's heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Smoke pulled both bodies off the trail and into the thick brush up the slope a ways. Working fast, he stripped Curly's coat, hat, and shirt off and laid them on the ground. After a moment, Curly began to groan and move his arms and legs.

“Sorry about this, Curly,” Smoke said, “but you shouldn't talk in such a manner about a lady like Mrs. Carson.”

In a quick movement, Smoke drew the knife across Curly's throat and rolled him over, so the spurting blood wouldn't get his clothes dirty.

As fast as he could, Smoke put on Curly's shirt, coat, and hat, then bent and took a handful of dirt and smeared it on his cheeks and jaws, hoping in the darkness it would look like the man's heavy whisker growth.

Satisfied the bodies couldn't be seen from the trail, Smoke walked down the side of the mountain toward the canyon below, whistling a low tune through lips growing stiff with the cold.

When he reached the canyon floor, he stayed in shadows away from the campfire until most of the other bandits had finished their meal, grabbed their women, and retired to the other cabins or their sleeping bags. He eased up to the pot of meat and beans and piled some on a tin plate, poured himself a cup of coffee, and walked off to the side, as near to Slaughter's cabin as he could get and still not arouse suspicion.

He sat on the ground with his back to a fir tree and ate and drank his coffee, trying to keep his muscles from stiffening up while he waited for his chance to make a move.

A drunken cowboy with one arm around a thickset woman, and a whiskey bottle in the other hand, walked by.

“Howdy, Curly,” the man mumbled, glancing at Smoke, who sat with his head lowered as if he were concentrating on his food.

“Ummm,” Smoke mumbled back as if his mouth were full of food.

“Cold enough for ya?” the man asked, squeezing his woman closer as he ambled by.

“Uh-huh,” Smoke answered without looking up, hoping the man was too drunk to notice it wasn't Curly he was talking to.

After the pair passed, Smoke glanced up and saw the door to Slaughter's cabin open. A tall woman walked out and, followed by a man, proceeded toward the outhouse behind the cabin.

Smoke set his plate and cup on the ground and got to his feet, making his way around behind the outhouse.

The man was leaning away from the wind, trying to light a cigarette, when Smoke approached him.

“Got a light?” Smoke asked, making his voice low and guttural.

“Shore, Curly,” the man answered, and held out the match.

When the light hit Smoke's face, the man's eyes widened. “Say, you ain't Curly . . .”

Before he could sound an alarm, Smoke's Bowie knife flashed, impaling the man's chest on the twelve-inch blade.

Smoke threw his arms around him and held him up as he died, then eased the body to the ground and pulled it behind the outhouse where it wouldn't easily be seen.

After a moment, the door opened and Mary stepped out, arranging her long dress.

Smoke stepped up to her. “Mary,” he whispered, “it's Smoke.”

“Oh!” she said, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Come on, we've got to make tracks before they miss you,” he said, his voice harsh with urgency.

She nodded and followed him as he moved back into deep shadows near the wall of the canyon. He took her arm and walked as rapidly as he could toward a small footpath he'd seen near the outhouse. It wasn't much more than a clear area running up the slope between fir and pine trees, and was so steep at times that he had to almost carry her up the wall.

They had made it almost a hundred yards up the canyon wall before the door to the cabin opened and a large, broad-shouldered man appeared. He had a cigar in his mouth and stood on the small porch of the cabin for a moment, looking back toward the outhouse.

He must have sensed something was wrong when he didn't see the guard he'd sent with Mary, for he suddenly drew his pistol and ran toward the privy.

“Jack, where are you, Jack?” he hollered.

Smoke and Mary stopped and watched as he suddenly stiffened when he found Jack's body crumpled on the dirt behind the small structure.

He jerked the outhouse door open, then turned around and held his pistol in the air.

Before he could fire, Smoke cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed like a mountain lion, a harsh and guttural sound that would make the hairs on the back of a man's neck stand up.

Suddenly the night lit up with explosions of gunfire from all sides of the canyon walls. The first to fall were the sentries guarding the mountain passes into and out of the canyon.

Without waiting to see what happened next, Smoke took Mary's arm and propelled her up the slope as fast as they could go.

Behind and below them, the outlaws' camp erupted in a nightmare of dynamite explosions, gunshots, and screams of men hit and dying.

Bandits rushed out of cabins and sleeping bags like ants from a disturbed mound. They ran into the center of the camp, pointed their pistols and rifles at the walls surrounding them, and fired blindly, shooting at the night as if they could somehow stop the death raining down on them.

A stick of dynamite landed square in the center of the main campfire, exploding and blowing burning logs and branches in all directions. Two of the smaller cabins caught fire, sending men and women screaming out into the darkness, their hair and clothes in flames.

Slaughter did his best to rally his men, shouting orders at them, trying to be heard over the explosions of gunfire and dynamite.

“Goddammit, get under cover,” he screamed, crouching and firing upward at the barrel-flashes above with his pistol.

Finally, evidently figuring his pistol hadn't the range to reach their attackers, he ducked back into his cabin and reappeared moments later with a rifle, accompanied by Whitey and Swede, who also had long guns in their arms.

Meanwhile, men outlined by the light of the burning cabins and other fires started by dynamite were being cut down where they stood. Bodies littered the canyon floor, screams of pain and fear echoed through the night, punctuated by the booming explosions of high-powered rifles from above.

Before long, the outlaws learned to stay hidden, crawling behind fir and pine trees on their bellies, crouching next to dead bodies, and some even made their way to the corral trying to hide among their mounts to escape the withering fire from above.

The shooting slowed as targets became scarce.

Smoke and Mary eventually made it to the cliff tops overlooking the valley below. She stepped up behind Monte, who was crouched behind a boulder pouring shot after shot into the men below.

“Monte,” she said quietly.

He dropped his rifle and rose to throw his arms around her, his eyes finding Smoke and glistening in gratitude.

“We don't have a lot of time for a reunion,” Smoke said, his voice urgent.

“We won't be able to keep them pinned down for long, so I want you and Mary to get on your horses and get the hell away from here,” he added. “Find Muskrat and have him lead you down the mountain the fastest way. Get to Jackson Hole and take the first train out of town.”

“What if it's not heading for Colorado?” Monte asked.

Smoke shook his head. “I don't care where it's going, just get her out of here.”

As he led Mary toward the horses, Monte said, “What about you and the others?”

“Slaughter doesn't know who attacked him and his gang,” Smoke said. “We'll give it another hour or two, then head back to Jackson Hole. We'll get back in the rooming house and act as if we don't know anything about the attack. After a few days, we'll make our way back to Big Rock.”

“What do you think Slaughter's gonna do?” Monte asked as he saddled one of the packhorses for Mary.

Smoke shrugged. “If he's smart, he'll cut his losses and figure this was a bad idea.”

“And if he's not?”

“Then he'll come looking for us at Big Rock, and we'll be ready for him.”

Monte helped Mary up into the saddle, then swung up on his mount.

Smoke pointed off to the left. “Muskrat's over there. Find him and get moving.”

Monte leaned down and stuck out his hand. As Smoke took it, he said, “Thanks, Smoke.”

Smoke glanced at Mary, whose eyes were moist with gratitude.

“Don't mention it, partner. Just get Mary back to Big Rock. My advice is to take her to Sugarloaf and tell Sally we'll be back in a week or two.”

Monte nodded and spurred his horse toward where Muskrat's big Sharps could be heard sending .50-caliber slugs toward the outlaws' camp.

Smoke picked up his Sharps, eared back the hammer, and leaned over a boulder, searching for someone to kill.