Sam did, too. He said, “The Springfields. Juan Pablo’s going to get those army rifles tonight.”
Matt nodded.
“Yeah, that’s the way it sounded to me, too. We’ve got to get loose and find a way to stop him. He’s gonna get a lot of people killed for no good reason.”
As if to punctuate Matt’s statement, a swift rataplan of hoofbeats sounded in the night, fading as the riders moved away.
“That’s Juan Pablo and some of his men going to take delivery on those rifles,” Sam said.
“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “And they’ll bring ’em right back here so Juan Pablo can have his little firing squad in the morning.”
One of the men who had been brought in with Sam began to stir. He lifted his shaggy head and shook it. After a moment his bleary-eyed gaze landed on Sam.
“Thought you said these Navajo were friends of yours, Sam.”
“I said they didn’t kill us and they let Matt stay here to recover from those bullet holes. That’s a big difference from being our friends.”
“Yeah, I reckon.” The man looked at Matt with his deep-set eyes. “You’d be Matt Bodine?”
“That’s right,” Matt said. “Who are you?”
“A fella who wishes we’d gotten a mite more hospitable reception. Name’s Stovepipe Stewart.”
Sam said, “And this other fella is Wilbur Coleman.” Sam lowered his voice. “They’re range detectives, Matt. They’ve been helping me track down the men who bushwhacked us and figure out what it’s all about.”
“Stolen Springfield rifles, I’m bettin’,” Matt said.
“You’d win that bet,” said Stovepipe. “How’s Wilbur?”
“He’s breathing,” Sam said, “but he’s still out. I guess they dragged the two of you out of your saddles and walloped you with clubs, too.”
“Yeah. From the way my ol’ noggin feels, they got in some good licks, too.” Stovepipe rolled his shoulders to get some of the kinks out. “Well, you boys tell me what’s goin’ on, why don’t you?”
“Juan Pablo intends to murder us at dawn,” Matt said.
“By shooting us with those Springfields,” Sam added. “Which means he’s going to get them tonight.”
“Dang it. I guess the big boss in Flat Rock decided he didn’t need to wait no longer. Or maybe this here Juan Pablo fella sent word to him that he’s got all four of us hogtied, so he’s anxious to get rid of us while he’s got the chance.” Stovepipe sighed. “I wish we had ol’ John Henry and the boys from the Devil’s Pitchfork with us again right about now.”
“All right,” Matt said. “One of you is going to have to explain all that.”
For the next five minutes, both Sam and Stovepipe filled him in on everything that had happened since the blood brothers split up, along with explaining the theory they had worked out about some gang trying to start an Indian war so they could take over after the army forced the Navajo out of the Four Corners.
“That makes sense,” Matt said when they were finished. “Do you know who’s behind it?”
“No clue,” Stovepipe said.
Sam added, “We figure they’re operating out of the settlement, but we don’t even know that for sure.”
Wilbur groaned and started to come around. Stovepipe scooted over closer to him and said quietly, “Take it easy, pard. You’re all right. We’re sorta between a rock and a hard place at the moment, but we’ll get out of it.”
“Speakin’ of rocks, I feel like an avalanche landed on top of me,” Wilbur said. “And I’m tied up, blast it!”
“We all are,” Stovepipe told him dryly.
“Well, when we get loose, we’re gonna have a heap of score-settlin’ to do, that’s all I can say!”
“You’re right about that, pard—”
Stovepipe broke off with a sharp intake of breath as he glanced toward Matt.
A second later, Matt knew why the range detective had reacted that way. He heard the shuffle of soft footsteps behind him, and then he felt the touch of cold steel against his skin.
Chapter 33
Matt’s breath froze in his throat for a second as he felt the knife press against his wrist.
Then the blade moved, and the tug that came on one of the ropes binding him told him that the keen edge was sawing through it.
The rope parted and fell away. Whoever was wielding the knife moved on to one of the others and started cutting through it.
Matt’s hands had gone numb from being tied so tightly. As the blood began to rush back into his fingers, he felt like they were being stabbed with thousands of tiny pins.
Painful though it might be, it was a good feeling.
“I don’t know who’s back there,” he said in a half-whisper, “but I’m sure obliged to you for turning me loose.”
“I think it’s Juan Pablo’s wife,” Sam said. “I couldn’t see very well in the shadows, but it certainly looked like a woman.”
The last of the ropes came loose. After the ordeal of that long, blistering day he had gone through, he almost fell without their support.
He caught himself and half-turned, reaching out to grasp the stake to which he had been tied. Bracing himself with that grip, he looked into the stolid face of the Navajo woman who had fed him and tended to his wounds.
“Gracias,” he told her. Maybe she would understand his gratitude if he expressed it in Spanish. He waved his free hand toward the other prisoners. “Can you cut my friends loose, too?”
Before Juan Pablo’s wife could even take a step in their direction, Sam said, “Matt, somebody’s coming!”
Matt bit back a curse. He straightened and grabbed the knife away from the woman. She let him take it, willingly.
“Better get back in the hogan,” he said. “You don’t want them knowing you helped us, whoever it is.”
She might not have understood the words, but fear was universal. She turned and scurried into the earthen dwelling, the long skirt rustling around her legs as she moved.
Matt heard voices coming closer. There wasn’t time to cut Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur loose from their bonds before the men got there.
So, clutching the knife, Matt broke into a shambling run that carried him around the hogan and out of the circle of light cast by the fire.
He leaned against the hogan to catch his breath. Even that momentary burst of action had winded him.
As he stood there, he heard startled yells from the returning guards when they realized he was gone. The men shouted what sounded like questions at Sam and the other two prisoners, who didn’t respond.
At any moment now, they would come searching for him, Matt thought. He drew himself deeper into the shadows behind the hogan and waited.
The angry voices split up, which was a lucky break for Matt. As weak as he was, he couldn’t have fought two men at once. He knew he’d be doing good to deal with one of the guards.
His fingers tightened on the handle of the knife as one of the men came around the hogan toward him. They probably thought he had fled, abandoning the others, and wouldn’t expect to find him lurking so close by.
The man’s footsteps thudded on the ground. Matt saw him loom up out of the darkness.
He struck without warning as the guard stepped past him, bringing down the butt end of the knife’s handle against the back of the Navajo’s head. The blow drove the man to his knees. Matt kicked him in the back and sent him sprawling. His rifle clattered on the ground.
Matt sprang forward and grabbed the weapon. A shot might rouse others along the creek, so he used the stock to knock the guard out cold.
Panting from the exertion, Matt turned from the unconscious man just in time to see the other guard charging at him from the shadows.
He still had hold of the rifle, so he thrust it out in front of him like a spear. The second Navajo’s momentum carried him into the barrel, which dug deep into his belly and doubled him over. Matt stepped forward and brought his knee up, catching the man under the chin.
The guard went down, just as unconscious as his companion.