Massacre Canyon (16 page)

Yuma Territorial Prison

 

Smoke had never liked wearing a necktie or anything else tight around his throat. Maybe that came from being unjustly outlawed at a fairly young age and having to live for a while with the possibility he might wind up with a hanging rope around his neck.

That made it doubly awkward wearing a priest's collar around his neck. The thing was uncomfortable and made him want to tug at it, and at the same time the idea seemed blasphemous to him. Even though he considered himself a good man, with all the blood on his hands he shouldn't be pretending to be a man of God, he thought as he trudged toward the front gate of Yuma Territorial Prison. This was a good way to go to hell.

Of course, since he was walking into Yuma, some would say that was exactly where he was going.

Not that the prison, which had been open for a few years, was any worse than many others. In fact, it was considerably better than some, as Superintendent Samuel Jesperson had explained to Smoke when they met to discuss the plan to break out Mordecai Kroll.

At the request of Governor Frémont, the prison superintendent—basically the same as a warden, just a different job title—had agreed to get together with Smoke, Matt, and Preacher at the hotel in the town of Yuma, not far from the prison. Jesperson had had a note of pride in his voice as he said, “The place isn't the hellhole it's made out to be. Why, what with it being up on a hill overlooking the Colorado River, there's often a cool breeze. And since the buildings where the prisoners are housed are all constructed of rock and adobe, it's really rather temperate as far as the climate is concerned.”

Smoke didn't really care about that; he didn't intend to be inside the prison long enough to care how hot it might get during the summer.

Preacher said, “I hear the place is full o' snakes and scorpions, though.”

Jesperson frowned. He was a tall, well-built man with wavy gray hair and a brush of a mustache. He said, “Well, we're located in desert terrain, and it's impossible to keep all the natural wildlife out, Mister . . . ?”

“Just Preacher,” the old mountain man said.

“It's true there are snakes and scorpions and other venomous creatures, but there are some amenities to help make up for that. For example, we have one of the best libraries of any prison in the world.”

“What about the guard tower?” Smoke asked in an attempt to steer this conversation back to where it was supposed to be.

“The main one is outside the prison itself, overlooking the sallyport . . . the front gate. There's another tower toward the back of the prison, on the wall next to the caliche hill,” Jesperson said. “Unfortunately the men posted in the guard towers are sharpshooters.”

“Can't you tell them what's going on and give them orders to miss?” Matt asked.

Smoke said, “Too big a chance Kroll would find out about it somehow.”

Jesperson said sharply, “The men who work for me are trustworthy.”

“I'm sure they are, but it's too big a chance to take. Besides, if they all were to miss, that might make Kroll suspicious, too.”

“So what are you going to do?” Matt asked. “If the guards shoot you, that might make it more believable, but it won't help rescue Luke.”

“We'll have to take our chances,” Smoke said. “I'm counting on Superintendent Jesperson here to do his part and make Kroll believe he's really being rescued.”

“Governor Frémont expressed his belief that this plan is worth trying,” Jesperson said. “I'm willing to run the risk and go along with what the governor wants.”

They spent more time going over the details of the plan. Then Jesperson had shaken hands with Smoke, Matt, and Preacher and headed back to the prison. Once the superintendent was gone, Matt had expressed another worry.

“Even if everything works out at the prison, you'll have to spend who knows how long traveling with Mordecai Kroll back to the gang's hideout,” he said. “From everything you told me about him, Smoke, he's lower than a snake. He's a cold-blooded killer. You won't be able to trust him for a second.”

“I don't intend to trust him,” Smoke replied with a grim smile. “He'll be my prisoner the whole way.”

“Yeah, but you'll stand a better chance of surviving if you don't have to go it alone,” Matt argued. “Why not just take me and Preacher with you? The three of us can handle Kroll better than just one man.”

Preacher said, “I'll tell you why we can't do it that way. 'Cause when we got to the hideout, wherever it is, then Kroll's brother and the rest o' them varmints'd have the drop on all of us. We're gonna have to have surprise on our side if we're gonna have any chance of roundin' up the whole bunch.”

“Besides,” Smoke said, “Rudolph Kroll's letter made it pretty plain that I'm supposed to bring his brother to him by myself. If he sees anybody else with Mordecai and me, he's liable to go ahead and kill Luke.”

“Assumin' that Luke is even still alive,” Preacher said.

Smoke's face was grim as he said, “He'd better be. If he's not, it'll be up to us to avenge him.” He paused, and then went on. “The letter from Rudolph Kroll didn't sound like he knows you two even exist, so he won't be expecting you.”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Matt said grudgingly. “But I don't have to like it.”

“No, you don't have to like it,” Smoke agreed. “All you have to do is make sure you don't lose our trail.”

“You got to get Kroll outta that prison first,” Preacher said.

“Yep, that's the first job.”

And it was the job in which he was engaged now, wearing the collar and cassock of a priest, along with a flat-brimmed black hat with a slightly rounded crown. He had donned a pair of rimless spectacles as well, although the lenses in them were clear glass. The long robe was baggy enough to partially conceal his broad shoulders and muscular arms, along with the gun he had tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

This masquerade made Smoke feel like a total idiot. He wasn't cut out to be an actor, that was for sure. But the ruse was the only thing he'd been able to come up with that Mordecai Kroll might believe.

Smoke had driven up from the settlement in a buggy and left it parked outside the wire fence that surrounded the front part of the prison compound. Inside the wire were the administrative buildings, the superintendent's quarters, the guard barracks, the kitchen, and several storehouses.

Beyond those buildings loomed the wall that enclosed the prison itself. Built of adobe and stone, it was a massive barrier some sixteen feet high, about eight feet thick at the base and five at the top. Even though it tapered like that, the slope was still too steep to be scaled.

The only way in or out of the prison was through the sallyport, an arched tunnel through the wall. A closely woven strap-iron gate barred the opening, which was heavily guarded inside and out by rifle-toting guards. In addition, as Jesperson had explained, the main guard tower rose just east of the sallyport and gave the sharpshooters posted there a commanding view of the prison's entrance.

The superintendent walked alongside Smoke as they advanced toward the sallyport. Quietly, he asked, “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Mr. Jensen? I can't guarantee your safety. I can't guarantee the safety of either of us, for that matter.”

“I know,” Smoke replied, “and I'm obliged to you for taking that chance, superintendent. If we come through this alive, I'll sure owe you a debt.”

“And I may well call it in to collect one of these days.” With a faint smile, Jesperson added, “If we come through this alive.”

The uniformed guards at the sallyport didn't actually snap to attention as the two men approached, but they did stand up straighter and look more alert. One of them nodded and said, “We didn't know you were visiting the men today, Mr. Jesperson.”

“A matter came up unexpectedly,” Jesperson replied. “Father Hannigan here has some family news for one of the prisoners.”

“Bad news, I hope,” one of the other guards muttered. He looked away when Jesperson glared at him.

The first guard called, “Superintendent comin' in!” through the gate as he unlocked it. The guards who worked inside didn't have a key to the massive lock, so they couldn't be forced to open it in the event of a prison uprising.

One of the guards gave Smoke a dubious look, as if he wondered whether they ought to search a priest before letting him in. Then Smoke could practically see the mental shrug the man gave. The superintendent was bringing in “Father Hannigan,” so that ought to be enough to vouch for the visitor.

Once they were inside and the gate was closed and locked behind them again, Jesperson told one of the inside guards, “The padre needs to speak to Mordecai Kroll.”

“He's in the dark cell, Mr. Jesperson,” the guard said. “He won't stop causin' trouble. I reckon he figures he don't have much to lose, since he's already been sentenced to hang and all.”

Jesperson nodded and said, “I know that. Bring him out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man hurried off toward the dark cell. Jesperson had told Smoke about that infamous hole tunneled into the side of the rocky hill. It was a terrible place, prone to being invaded by rattlesnakes, so any man locked into it had to worry whether he would go mad from darkness and isolation or die of snakebite first. Few prisoners actually did either of those things, but the possibility worried them, as it was supposed to.

Smoke watched as the guard went to a thick wooden door set into the wall and unlocked it. On the other side was a narrow tunnel that ran through the wall and into the caliche of the hillside. At the end of that tunnel the space widened out into a chamber big enough to contain a cage made of iron bars. The cage wasn't quite large enough for an average-sized man to either stand up straight or stretch out on the rock floor, so it was impossible to ever get comfortable in there.

The dark cell was used for punishing troublesome inmates, so they weren't supposed to be able to get comfortable. Smoke would have hated being locked up in there.

The guard lit a lantern hanging on a peg beside the door and took it with him as he entered the tunnel. A few minutes later, he reappeared, using the club he carried to prod a prisoner along in front of him. The man wore a baggy prison uniform with alternating black and yellow horizontal stripes on it. The trousers and shirt hung loosely on his bony frame. His head had been shaved when he entered the prison, the same as any other inmate, but his fair hair had started to grow back during the time he'd been locked up here.

That was Mordecai Kroll, Smoke thought.

Some men just looked evil.

Kroll was one of them.

He stumbled a little, probably because his eyes had to adjust to the light after being shut up in the dark cell. His muscles were probably stiff from the confinement, too. Those were good things. He would be less likely to cause trouble for Smoke if he wasn't in his best shape.

“Here he is, Mr. Jesperson,” the guard said as he brought Kroll across the yard to the two visitors.

Jesperson nodded and said, “Thank you, Simmons.” He turned to Smoke and went on in harsher tones, “You claimed to have a humanitarian message for this prisoner, Father Hannigan. Deliver it so we can shut him back up where he belongs.”

Mordecai Kroll blinked bleary, confused eyes as he peered at Smoke.

“I don't know this blackbird,” he croaked. His voice sounded rusty, unused.

“But I know your family, my son,” Smoke said. The words sounded ridiculously false in his ears, but the guard didn't seem to find them unusual at all. He supposed prisoners here got visits from various clergymen all the time.

“I don't have any family but my brother,” Mordecai snapped. “And he wouldn't have anything to do with the likes of you.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Smoke said. He slid a hand through an opening in the cassock, closed his fingers around the butt of the Colt, and pulled it out. His movements were unhurried, but they were so smooth the guard didn't even notice what he was doing at first.

Not until Smoke lifted the gun and put the muzzle against the side of Jesperson's head.

“It's your brother who sent me to get you out of there, Mordecai,” Smoke said.

Superintendent Jesperson reacted just the way he was supposed to, gasping in surprise, stiffening, starting to pull away. He was a better actor, thought Smoke. He closed his free hand on Jesperson's shoulder to hold him still. He put enough pressure in the grip to cause a genuine wince on the superintendent's part.

“Hold on there, Jesperson,” Smoke grated. “You're not going anywhere.”

The guard had finally realized what was going on. He ripped out a curse and stepped toward Smoke, lifting his club as he did so.

“Don't do it!” Smoke warned. “I'll put a bullet through your boss's skull.”

“If you do that, you'll be dead a second later,” Jesperson said in a shaky voice. “My sharpshooters are bound to have you in their sights right now.”

Smoke smiled faintly and said, “If their eyes are good enough for them to be sharpshooters, they can see that I've got the trigger tied back on this gun. My thumb on the hammer is all that's keeping it from splattering your brains all over this yard, mister. So you better tell them not to get itchy trigger fingers, because they can't kill me without killing you, too.”

That part was true, so Jesperson had to hope that his men were willing to follow his orders. Smoke wasn't going to come in here with an unloaded gun, not when he had to deal with an animal like Mordecai Kroll. He had confidence that as long as he was alive, the gun in his hand wouldn't go off unless he wanted it to.

“Hold your fire!” Jesperson shouted. His voice shook with anger and fear. They had passed the point of no return now, so this escape or rescue or whatever anybody wanted to call it was pretty much real.

Mordecai still looked confused, but he had perked up at the sight of Smoke's gun pressed to the superintendent's head.

“Go on and kill him!” he urged Smoke. “Blow the bastard's brains out!”

“If I do, there'll be so many bullets flying around before Jesperson even hits the ground that you and I both won't make it out of here alive, Kroll,” Smoke said. His voice was hard as flint. “And I need you alive, you damned fool.”

Mordecai's face twisted in anger, but he didn't take it out on Smoke. Instead, he whirled around, moving faster than a man who had just come out of the dark cell should have been able to manage, and grabbed the bludgeon from the startled guard. Before Smoke could say anything, Mordecai slapped it across the guard's head and drove the man to his knees. Blood welled from a gash the blow had opened up.

“Stop it!” Smoke said as Mordecai drew the club back to strike the guard again. The first blow hadn't done much real damage, but another one might prove fatal. “I swear, Kroll, you kill that man and I'll leave you in here.”

Mordecai sneered at Smoke.

“You can't do that,
padre
,” he said jeeringly. “You already told me you need me alive.”

“You can live with a bullet through the knee.”

Mordecai thought about it, Smoke could tell that, but then he tossed the club aside and said, “Ah, hell, it ain't worth it. You say Rudolph sent you to rescue me?”

“I'll tell you all about it later,” Smoke said curtly. “Get over here next to me and the superintendent.”

By now the prison was full of noise. A few prisoners had been in the yard when Smoke made his move, but the other guards had herded them back through metal gates into the alleys that ran among the stone cell blocks. That didn't stop them from yelling to other inmates that a prison break was going on. The shouts that went back and forth raised a real tumult.

So did the clanging of an alarm bell. The racket had to reach the nearby town. Smoke knew some of the local badge-toters might rush to the prison to help and he didn't need that added complication, but he would just have to deal with that if it happened.

Mordecai crowded up next to Smoke and Jesperson. Smoke could smell the man's stench. He said, “Stay close. We're going to walk out of here.”

“You'll never get away with it,” Jesperson blustered. “You won't make it out of the prison before someone shoots you both.”

“You'd better hope that's not true, mister,” Smoke told him coldly. “Come on.”

They started toward the sallyport at a shuffling walk. The guards on this side didn't have a key to the gate, so the outer guards could still call his bluff and there wasn't a blasted thing he could do about it. If that happened, the whole plan would collapse.

In that case, Smoke would have to try to persuade Mordecai Kroll to reveal where the gang's hideout was located. That was a real longshot. Smoke wouldn't have any leverage to force Mordecai to talk.

That was why it was so important that Mordecai believe what was happening now was real. As long as he thought the rescue was genuine and that Smoke had done it solely in an attempt to free Luke, Mordecai would be best served by cooperating. Once they got out of here—
if
they got out of here—everything Smoke told Mordecai would be the truth.

He just wouldn't tell the outlaw the
whole
truth, which included Matt and Preacher trailing them to the hideout.

As they drew closer to the sallyport, Smoke pressed harder against Jesperson's temple with the gun barrel.

“Order those boys outside the gate to unlock it,” he said.

“They . . . they won't do it,” Jesperson said. He was really scared now, Smoke could tell, scared that everything would go wrong and he'd wind up dead.

“You'd better hope they do.”

Jesperson swallowed hard and called, “Unlock the gate!”

One of the guards inside the gate said, “Mr. Jesperson, you know how we handle these things. We can't—”

“Unlock the damned gate! Can't you see this madman's going to kill me?”

The guard gave them a long, hard look, then turned his head and nodded to one of the men outside. Smoke heard the key scrape in the lock. It was a very welcome sound.

So was the squeal of hinges as the gate swung back.

Still moving at a shuffling walk, Smoke and his companions moved through the sallyport. Then they were in the outer yard. Smoke's gray eyes flicked toward the main tower. He saw the riflemen up there pointing their weapons at him and the other two men. But they held off on the triggers, and Smoke steered Jesperson and Mordecai Kroll toward the buggy that was waiting for them.

“You'll have to ride out with us, Jesperson,” he said. “Get that other gate open.”

Guards armed with rifles and pistols stood at a discreet distance, waiting to see what was going to happen. Jesperson told one of them, “Go open the outer gate, Cramer.”

“Sir, are you sure—” the guard began.

“Just do it!”

The guard nodded and trotted off to follow the order. After this, Jesperson would have some work to do to repair his reputation as a tough, hard-nosed prison official. But once he revealed that he had been acting under orders from the governor, that would go a long way toward clearing things up.

The outer gate was opened. Smoke said, “Kroll, you'll have to drive. You can handle a buggy team, can't you?”

“Just watch me!” Mordecai said.

“Jesperson, in the backseat with me. Come on, up you go.”

They all climbed into the vehicle. It wasn't easy for Smoke to keep the gun to Jesperson's head as they did so, but he managed. Once they were in the buggy, Mordecai grabbed the reins, yelled at the horses, and slashed the trailing ends of the lines across their rumps. The team took off fast enough to push Smoke and Jesperson back against the rear seat.

Mordecai wheeled the buggy around and sent the horses through the gate at a gallop. The buggy bounced and rocked behind them. Unable to see the passengers because of the black canvas cover over the seats, the guards couldn't risk shooting through it. There was too big a chance they would hit the superintendent.

With Mordecai continuing to whip the horses and yell at them, the buggy careened into the trail that ran north along the river into an area of largely arid wilderness broken by occasional small ranges of low mountains. The Gila River was up there, too, but there was a ferry across it and Smoke already had plans for that.

“Shoot that son of a bitch now that we're outta there!” Mordecai called over his shoulder.

“Just keep driving!” Smoke replied over the hoofbeats of the running team. “They'll be sending Apache trackers and a posse after us! We need to put some distance between us and them!”

Actually, they wouldn't be sending out a posse . . . or rather, they would, but it wouldn't get very far. Jesperson would see to that. As far as Mordecai Kroll was concerned, though, he and Smoke would give the slip to any pursuit.

When they had gone about a mile, Smoke whispered in Jesperson's ear, “Are you ready?”

The superintendent gave a small, nervous nod.

“Slow down!” Smoke shouted to Mordecai.

“What? Slow down? Are you loco?”

“Just for a minute. Do it, Kroll!”

Smoke still had the only gun, so Mordecai hauled back on the reins and slowed the team. Smoke lifted the Colt and struck with it, appearing to smash it down on the back of Jesperson's head.

In reality the blow just grazed Jesperson's upper back, but it would look real enough if Mordecai glanced back, which he did. Jesperson went limp, and Smoke shoved him out of the buggy. He crashed to the ground and rolled over a couple of times.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Mordecai yelped. “He was our hostage!”

“We don't need him anymore, and he'd just slow us down in the long run. Keep going! Whip up those horses again!”

Mordecai obeyed the command, although he still looked angry. He had a man with a gun at his back, though, so he had to do what Smoke said.

Jesperson would lie there as if unconscious until the buggy was out of sight, then get up, brush himself off, and wait for the posse to catch up. That was when he would reveal what was really going on and call off the pursuit.

Pretty soon, the only ones following Smoke and Mordecai Kroll would be Matt and Preacher.

And that was just the way Smoke wanted it.