“I believe I can,” Sam said. “Matt was unconscious for a lot of that time, so he doesn’t know exactly where it is.”
“I trust you, though,” Matt said. “I—Whoa!”
He swayed suddenly in his saddle as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Wilbur was close enough to reach out and grab his arm in a steadying grip.
“You’re in no shape for this, Matt,” Sam said. “We need to find a place where we can leave you and Elizabeth before we go after Juan Pablo and the rifles.”
“Not hardly!” Matt shook his arm free from Wilbur’s hand. “I’m obliged for your help,” he told the redhead, “but I’m fine now. And I’m comin’ along to help you stop Juan Pablo, Sam. You can get any other ideas out of your head right now.”
“I see that being wounded hasn’t kept you from being as stubborn as ever.”
Elizabeth said, “Well, I’m stubborn, too, and you’re not leaving me behind, either. You can’t afford to take the time to find a safe place for Matt and me. The lives of too many innocent people are at stake.”
“The lady’s right about that,” Stovepipe drawled. “But if you can’t keep up, Matt, we may have to leave you behind.”
“I’ll keep up,” Matt promised grimly. “Come on. We’re burnin’ starlight.”
Stovepipe laughed.
“First time I’ve heard that one,” he admitted.
With Sam in the lead now, they pushed on, stopping occasionally to rest the horses when it became obvious that none of the Navajo from the canyon were pursuing them. Without Juan Pablo there to tell them what to do, uncertainty probably reigned.
The stars wheeled through the dark heavens overhead. Matt figured it was well after midnight by now. The rush of blood that had kept him going earlier was wearing off now, and weariness gripped him.
As Sam had said, though, he was too blasted stubborn to give up. His iron will kept him in the saddle.
Then, finally, Sam held up a hand to signal a halt. As the others gathered around him, he said quietly, “That bluff where Matt and I were bushwhacked the first time is maybe half a mile away. We’d better dismount and go the rest of the way on foot. Elizabeth, can you hold the horses?”
“Of course,” she said. “But what about Matt?”
He drew his Colt and replaced the shells he had fired earlier when they were escaping from the canyon.
“I’m going,” he said as he snapped the revolver’s cylinder closed. He looked at Sam. “And don’t try to stop me.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” his blood brother said. “Even with you in bad shape, there’s nobody I’d rather have siding my play than you, Matt.”
Stovepipe said, “All right, fellas, let’s go see if we can catch us some gun-runners.”
Chapter 35
Jardine hauled back on the lines and brought the wagon to a stop. Around him, his men reined in as well.
The dark, looming bulk of the bluff told Jardine that they were in the right place. He had been confident in his ability to find his way out here, even at night, but it was nice to know that he’d been right.
Now all they had to do was wait for Juan Pablo to show up.
The man was a damn fool, Jardine thought with a wry smile. Juan Pablo actually believed he could rouse the whole Navajo nation against the whites and lead his people to victory. He had no idea how doomed to failure they really were.
That failure would lead to Jardine’s success, though. Once the Navajo were cleaned out of the territory like the vermin they were, the way would be clear for a man with guts and brains to seize power ... a man like him, Jardine thought with a self-congratulatory smile as he took a cigar from his shirt pocket and clamped it between his teeth.
“How will we know when the Indians are here, boss?” Snyder asked from his horse as he brought the animal alongside the wagon.
“They should be here already,” Jardine said. He turned halfway around on the seat and reached behind him into the wagon bed. Finding the lantern that was sitting there, he lifted it and set it on the seat beside him.
Then he snapped a lucifer to life with his thumbnail, lit the lantern, and held the flame to the tip of the cigar, puffing until it was burning, too. He stood up, held the lantern out at the end of his arm, and swung it back and forth three times.
“That’s the signal, eh?” Snyder asked.
“Shut up and be ready for trouble,” Jardine said as he set the lantern on the wagon seat again. “There shouldn’t be any, but I don’t trust those damned redskins.”
Jardine left the lantern burning. He picked up his own rifle and sat with it across his lap. An air of tension gripped him, and he knew it extended to his men as well.
The Navajo weren’t paying anything for the rifles, although Juan Pablo had promised payment later on, once they had run out all the whites.
Jardine fully expected Juan Pablo to try to double-cross him on that angle, although Juan Pablo had no idea that Jardine didn’t really care.
But the Indians might try to get fancy and kill the men who had delivered the rifles to them. It was unlikely, but it could happen.
If it did, the Navajo would learn quickly that half a dozen tough men armed with Winchester repeaters were more than a match for a motley bunch of savages armed with bows, arrows, and a few ancient single-shot rifles.
If it became necessary, Jardine would wipe out Juan Pablo and the men he brought with him, then start over and arrange a deal with some other power-hungry redskin. The delay in his plans that would cause would be mighty annoying, but unavoidable.
Don’t borrow trouble, he told himself. Maybe everything would go off without a hitch tonight.
Jardine suddenly sat up straighter as he heard hoofbeats. Somebody was coming, and it had to be Juan Pablo. Who else would be out here in this isolated spot at such a wee hour of the morning?
Jardine heard a few muttered curses as his men gripped their rifles tighter and waited for the newcomers to arrive. As the hoofbeats thudded to a stop, Jardine stood up and lifted the lantern again so that its glow spread out on the arid, rocky landscape around the wagon.
He knew he was making a target out of himself, almost daring somebody to shoot at him, but at the moment he didn’t care. He felt invulnerable, as if no one would ever dare to challenge him.
Soon enough, that would be the truth.
The lantern light revealed the glaring, hawk-like face of Juan Pablo, who was accompanied by five other Navajo warriors. Juan Pablo edged his pony ahead of the others and demanded, “You have the rifles?”
“Would we be here if he didn’t?” Jardine shot back. He set the lantern on the wagon seat and waved his free hand toward the crates. “Here they are.”
“Open the boxes. I would look at them.”
Jardine smiled.
“You don’t trust me, amigo?”
“I would look at them,” Juan Pablo said again.
“All right, fine.” Jardine turned to Snyder and Hilliard. “Pry the lid off one of those crates.” He look at Juan Pablo again. “But only one. We’re not going to sit out here the rest of the night prying lids off and nailing them back on.”
Juan Pablo’s scowl didn’t lessen any, but he gave a curt nod of agreement.
When Snyder and Hilliard had one of the crates open, the Navajo moved his pony nearer the wagon and leaned over so he could look into the bed. The rifles were wrapped in oilcloth.
“Show me,” Juan Pablo snapped.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jardine muttered. “Dave, get one of the guns out.”
Snyder unwrapped one of the Springfields and used a rag to wipe the packing grease off it.
Juan Pablo held his hands out.
Snyder glanced at Jardine, who nodded. He handed the rifle to Juan Pablo, who snatched it and held it close to study it. The Navajo weighed the weapon in his hands, then opened the loading mechanism in the breech that gave the rifle its “Trapdoor” designation.
“Bullets?”