“Ten thousand rounds in those boxes,” Jardine explained, pointing to the smaller boxes that contained the ammunition.
Juan Pablo shook his head.
“Not enough to fight a long war.”
“But enough to get you started,” Jardine said. “There’s more ammunition in the settlements, and it’ll be yours for the taking.”
That was true, as far as it went. A lot of those rounds wouldn’t fit these Springfields, but that wasn’t his lookout, Jardine thought.
Anyway, all it would take was a couple of bloody raids and the army would be on its way from Fort Defiance to begin the forced removal—or extermination, if it came to that—of the Navajo.
Despite what Juan Pablo had just said, this wouldn’t be a long war at all.
“All right,” Juan Pablo finally said as he handed the rifle back to Snyder. “We will take the wagon, too.”
“Of course,” Jardine said. “That’s part of the deal.”
“When this is over, you and your men will be the only whites allowed on Navajo land.”
“As we agreed,” Jardine replied with a grave nod.
He stood up so that he could climb down from the wagon box again and turn the vehicle over to the Indians. His men had brought along an extra saddle horse for him to ride back to Flat Rock.
But before Jardine could get down, there was a huge crash that shook the wagon, and the impact flung him off and sent him tumbling to the ground.
Matt, Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur were all experienced at moving quietly through the shadows when they needed to, so they were able to approach the bluff without alerting any of the men gathered at the base of it.
Sam had spotted the lantern when it first flared to life. The light gave them something to steer by and confirmed their hope that the delivery of the rifles would take place here where it had been supposed to happen more than a week earlier.
They couldn’t climb to the top of the bluff using the trail Sam had found when he first explored this place with Juan Pablo, so instead the four men had circled around and found another place where the bluff was shallower and could be climbed.
Juan Pablo had known all along what had happened here, Sam thought as they made their way toward the rendezvous. Sam recalled how the Navajo had tried to persuade him not to investigate.
He was lucky Juan Pablo hadn’t just tried to kill him outright. He probably would have if he hadn’t known that he would have to return to the canyon and try to make Matt believe some lie about what had happened. At that point, Juan Pablo might have still been worried about crossing Caballo Rojo.
Now the renegade didn’t care anymore. He wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop him.
Or at least, that’s what he thought.
The four men slipped along the edge of the bluff until they were above the spot where the white men were delivering the rifles to the Navajo. The big, cruelly handsome man on the wagon box seemed to be the leader of the gang. He gave the orders as Juan Pablo demanded to take a look at the merchandise he was getting.
Stovepipe tapped Sam on the shoulder and put his mouth almost against Sam’s ear to whisper, “If we was to put our shoulders against the boulder there and roll it off, I reckon it’d fall right on top of that wagon.”
The range detective was pointing at a good-sized boulder that perched at the very edge of the bluff. Sam studied the angles and realized that Stovepipe was right.
The boulder wouldn’t be easy to budge, but if they could drop it on the wagon, it would probably bust the vehicle all the pieces, not to mention surprising the hell out of the gun-runners and the Navajo.
Sam nodded his agreement with the plan.
He motioned for Matt to stay back and let him, Stovepipe, and Wilbur shove the boulder off the bluff, but Matt shook his head and moved into position with them, planting his feet and resting his left shoulder against the rock.
They waited until the men below were talking again, then heaved against the boulder. The voices covered up any tiny scraping sounds the rock made as it shifted.
But it didn’t shift enough to overbalance. Again the four men paused until the boss on the wagon gave more orders. When he did, they put their shoulders and legs into the effort.
Stone grated against earth, and suddenly the boulder was moving. With their feet dug in, Sam and the others continued to shove. The boulder tipped over ...
And was gone, plummeting through the air to land with a huge, shattering crash in the back of the wagon below.
The abrupt lack of resistance made Sam, Matt, Stovepipe, and Wilbur sprawl at the edge of the bluff. Wilbur might have toppled over himself if Stovepipe’s hand hadn’t shot out to snag his collar and haul him back.
As they scrambled to their feet, Matt saw several of the white men recover quickly from their surprise and start to raise the rifles they held. Matt’s hands dipped to his own twin Colts.
Wounded though he might be, Matt Bodine’s draw was swift and a thing of beauty. The guns seemed to leap into his hands like magic. Less than a heartbeat later, Colt flame bloomed in the darkness as shots roared out from both revolvers.
A couple of the outlaws grunted and toppled out of their saddles as Matt’s slugs ripped into their bodies.
Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur had their guns out and blasting by now, too. Sam snapped a shot at the boss of the gang, who had been knocked clear of the wagon when the boulder came crashing down on it.
The man scrambled to the side and avoided Sam’s bullet. He had managed to hang on to his rifle. Working the lever with blinding speed, he sprayed lead toward the top of the bluff as he ran toward one of the suddenly riderless mounts.
That forced Matt, Sam, Stovepipe, and Wilbur to pull back and cease fire for a moment, and as they did, Juan Pablo kicked his horse forward and raced over to one of the shattered crates that had fallen out of the wagon. He reached into it and began pulling out rifles, which he tossed to his men as they followed him.
The men on the bluff continued to trade shots with the outlaws, and because they were occupied with that, they couldn’t stop the handful of Navajo from looting the broken crate. Matt saw Juan Pablo grab a box of ammunition and leap back onto his pony. Matt snapped a shot at the warrior, but the bullet whined past Juan Pablo’s head harmlessly.
“They’re gettin’ away with some of those rifles!” Matt called to Sam.
“I know!” his blood brother replied. “And the boss is getting away, too!”
Indeed, the leader of the gang had made it to one of the horses and swung up into the saddle. He kicked the animal into a run that carried him out of the circle of light cast by the lantern, which was still burning even though it had half-fallen against the rail at the side of the wagon seat.
With their boss deserting them, the rest of the gun smugglers lost their enthusiasm for the fight. Three of them were down. The others wheeled their horses and galloped off into the night, taking a different direction than the fleeing Navajo.
Matt lowered his guns and asked, “Now what do we do?”
The scream that cut through the night answered the question. The men’s heads jerked toward the sound.
That scream came from Elizabeth Fleming, and as the cry was abruptly silenced, Matt knew that Juan Pablo must have stumbled over her.
Chapter 36
“That’s Elizabeth!” Matt yelled. “Come on!”
Sam caught his arm. “She had our horses with her, and Juan Pablo’s probably scattered them by now.”
“But we’ve got to go after them!”
“There are a couple of horses down there,” Sam said, nodding toward the mounts whose riders had been shot off of them. “Stovepipe and I will take them. You and Wilbur stay here and guard those rifles.”
“Blast it, Sam—”
“The two of you are wounded,” Sam cut in. “Stovepipe and I aren’t. Anyway, somebody’s got to guard those rifles, otherwise Juan Pablo is liable to circle back around and try to grab some more of them. So he may come to you.”