“Those are awfully big words, Sheriff,” Angus said, looking around at the twelve men sitting on their horses with him. “I hope you can back them up.”
Wally looked around at the men, his face paling just a bit. “These men all agreed to go out with you to catch a gunman, Angus. I don’t think they agreed to kill an officer of the law.”
Angus snorted through his nose. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that when I get back.”
Wally nodded. “Things are going to be different when you get back, Angus. That’s what you’d better be thinking on while you’re up in those mountains.”
Angus growled and spurred his horse right at Wally, waiting for him to jump out of the way. But Wally stood his ground, and it was Angus who had to pull his horse to the side and ride off toward the mountains in the distance.
Wally sat watching him as he rode off with his hired gunmen. He felt sorry for the old man, but his day was dead and gone, like his son. From now on, Wally intended to be a sheriff for all of the people of Pueblo, not just the MacDougals. And if they didn’t like it, then they could just lump it.
As they rode up the mountain slope past the log cabin at its base, Cletus followed the tracks of a lone horse in the knee-deep snow.
“Spread out, men,” he hollered. “Ride in pairs, but keep within sight of the pairs on either side of you and keep your hands on your guns. If Jensen fires on us, everyone take off after him.”
As his men spread out, Sarah stayed next to Cletus, riding as his partner. He rode slowly, flicking his eyes from the tracks in the snow in front of him to the mountainside up ahead of him, trying to see if there was any movement up there where a man might be lying in wait.
He felt the sweat start to ooze out of his pores and freeze on his forehead, and the hand that was holding his pistol developed a slight tremor. Damn, he’d never been afraid of a man before, and he’d gone up against some of the meanest men in the West in his day. Maybe he was just getting old—too old to go traipsing through the woods after a man who’d saved Sarah’s life only a couple of days before.
Sarah saw the sweat glistening on Cletus’s face, and felt ashamed of the situation she’d put him in by bringing Jensen up here and then setting him loose. Cletus had been like a father to her for more years than she cared to remember. In fact, he’d been more of a father to her than her real dad. Angus had always had eyes only for Johnny, and he’d made it clear that he was going to leave the ranch to him, not her.
Sarah tried to think of some way to get them all out of this mess, get the men to give up and go on home. But for the life of her she couldn’t think of anything to say that would make them give up the hunt. They were all too afraid of Angus MacDougal. They knew if they returned to the ranch without Jensen, Angus would make their lives miserable, or he’d kill them. The old man wouldn’t like his orders being disobeyed, especially when they concerned the man who’d killed his favorite child.
She could only hope that Jensen would keep right on riding and they’d never find him. If he stayed and fought and more men were killed, more men like Charlie Blake who were friends of hers, she didn’t know if she could live with herself for what she’d done.
As they rode, she offered a silent prayer that Jensen would never be seen or heard from again.
Up ahead, Smoke had used his time to good advantage. He’d explored the area of the mountainside, and now he knew his way around as well as if he’d lived there for years. As he rode around exploring and learning the various trails, he spent his time preparing traps and deadfalls to bedevil his enemies.
Sharpened stakes were set in shallow holes along the trail, and then snow was thrown over them to hide them. Heavy branches were pulled back and tied to rope along the ground so they’d release and knock men off their horses when they were on narrow trails next to cliffs and ledges. He’d found and remembered where there were large boulders that could be pushed down the mountain to start landslides in case the men following him got too close.
He was ready for war. He wondered if the men riding up the hill after him knew what they were getting into. He doubted they did, or they would’ve turned tail and ridden away as fast as they could.
Cletus slowed and held up his hand when he saw a man’s footprints next to the horse’s in the snow. Evidently Jensen had dismounted here for some reason.
Signaling the men on either side of him to circle around in front, he got off his horse and walked it slowly along toward a thick copse of trees up ahead, his pistol out and the hammer cocked.
When he entered the grove of trees, he found the boulders and the remains of Jensen’s campfire. He knelt and felt the coals. They were still warm, but not hot. Jensen had been gone from this place a while now.
Cletus holstered his gun, but signaled Sarah to keep hers out. He walked around the camp and searched the ground on all sides of the copse of trees. That was strange, he thought. There were tracks coming into the grove of trees, but none leaving it.
He stood there, looking around, scratching his head. Damn! The man couldn’t just fly out of here without leaving any traces, could he?
He glanced up at the sky as the sun suddenly darkened. Heavy, black clouds were whirling around the sky, and the temperature was dropping while the chilly north wind was picking up. A storm, and a big one from the feel of it, was definitely coming soon.
He stood there thinking. Jensen only had two ways to go. He could go up, or he could’ve circled around and be heading back down the mountain on their flanks.
For his money, he felt Jensen would go higher. Jensen was an old mountain man, this was his playground, and he wasn’t about to give up his advantage by heading for the flatlands. No, Cletus knew Jensen was up above them somewhere, and he was probably looking down at them at this very moment.
Well, the hell with him, Cletus thought, getting angry. Sarah had given the man a chance to get away clean. If he chose to stay and fight, then Cletus planned to give him a fight he wouldn’t soon forget. And he surely didn’t intend for any more friends of his to get killed in the doing of it.
He swung back up into his saddle and waved his men forward and upward.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Smoke was indeed watching the group as Cletus’s men weaved in and out of the forest on their way higher up onto the mountainside.
“Time to sow a little hate and dissent,” he mumbled to himself as he took the telescope from his eye and picked up the old Winchester he’d stolen.
Instinctively he aimed a little lower than it looked like he should, since he was shooting downhill. He was a good three hundred yards up the hill and was well hidden, lying on his stomach behind a ponderosa pine that’d been felled by lightning. He’d stacked snow on the brim of his hat so the only thing visible from below would be his dark eyes. Not much of a risk since his targets were so far away.
He put the bead on the end of the rifle barrel about three inches above the head of one of the men far off to the right, and slowly squeezed the trigger. He didn’t expect to hit the man, but he hoped the rifle was accurate enough to at least come close enough to scare the man.
The rifle exploded and kicked back against his shoulder. Smoke immediately pulled the gun back to him and lowered his head a couple of inches. He knew it’d take the sound of the gunshot a second or two to reach the men below, after the bullet had already landed.
The man Smoke had aimed at screamed at the top of his lungs and pitched sideways off his horse. Suddenly, most of the men below were firing their pistols and rifles in all directions as the sound of Smoke’s gunshot echoed and re-echoed around the mountainside, distorting the direction from which it had actually come.