It was common knowledge that all things being equal, a man with a rifle had an advantage over someone armed with a pistol. Rifles shot a lot farther and were more accurate. To capitalize, Ubel led Oscar to the rear of the buildings, past their horses, and out onto the prairie. They stayed low, using weeds and grass to screen them, and went over a hundred yards, well beyond the effective range of a revolver, then looped to the north to come up on the Hoodoos from the rear. Only there was no sign of them.
“Where did they get to?” Oscar whispered.
From the vicinity of where Arne lay sheltered behind his horse came gunfire. There was the heavy boom of a rifle followed by the lighter crack of pistols. Rutger’s rifle entered the fray, and after a long flurry of shots, silence fell.
Oscar glanced expectantly at Ubel, who would just as soon circle around the settlement and pick the Hoodoos off from the safety of the plain. But Arne and Rutger might need their help.
“Keep down.” Ubel jogged toward the northern-most house, a small frame structure. He ran along the north side, under an open window, to a yard bordering the street. He saw Arne sprawled across the horse, as dead as his animal. He did not see Rutger at the corner of the general store. “This is not good.”
“What will we do?”
A ladder propped against the front of the store gave Ubel an inspiration. “We will climb onto a roof and slay these Hoodoos when they show themselves.” He turned, took two steps, and froze.
“Howdy.” Kid Falon was leaning out the window, a Colt in each hand. “I’m plumb pleased you’ve made this so easy.”
“Listen to me,” Ubel said. His rifle was pointed at the ground. So was Oscar’s. “This is senseless. Our fight isn’t with you. In fact, I will pay you to help us kill the people we are after.”
The Kid grinned. “I don’t work for chamber pots.”
The last sight Ubel Gunther saw were the twin muzzles of the Kid’s pearl-handled Colts spewing smoke and lead.
Charley Pickett was riding alongside Melissa Patterson, as he always did since that night they had declared their mutual love, and she was telling him about an eccentric aunt of hers who once owned over fifty cats, when Enos Howard, who was in the lead, reined up and raised an arm for them to do the same.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Charley asked.
“Shots,” the buffalo hunter said. “I thought I heard some a while ago and now I’m sure of it.”
“I heard them too,” Eli Brandenberg confirmed. Cradled in his left arm was a scattergun he never set down, even when he slept.
Tony Fabrizio was in charge of the pack animals, and as he came up, he asked, “Why have we stopped?”
“Could be trouble,” Enos said. From his saddlebags he slid his spyglass, and as he had done countless times, he searched the prairie beyond. “Nothin’ except some trees to the southeast. We’ll head for them. Everyone keep your eyes skinned and your hardware handy.”
Eli affectionately patted his scattergun. “Buckshot means buryin’, and I’ve got two barrels ready.”
“Be mighty careful where you point that cannon when you shoot,” Charley cautioned. When he was younger, he had used his pa’s shotgun on occasion, including the time he shot a raccoon that had been sneaking into the henhouse. The coon came bolting out a hole it had made in the fence, and he cut loose with 12-gauge buckshot. It blew the raccoon apart.
On they rode. Soon the trees were visible with the unaided eye. So were a cluster of buildings.
“That’s got to be Painted Rock,” Enos announced. “One of us should go on ahead to see if the Hoodoos are there.”
“No.” Charley vetoed the notion. “We stick together.” He would rather Melissa stayed out on the plain where she would be safe, but he knew better than to say anything. She would only refuse.
Enos was resorting to his spyglass again. “My eyes must be worse than I reckoned. I’d swear I see a bunch of folks tied to a cabin.” Slowing, he handed the telescope to Charley. “Have a look-see.”
The people were there, Charley confirmed, looking as miserable as could be. So were a lot of dead men and dead horses. And, strangely enough, a dead dog. When he mentioned the latter, Enos snorted.
“That would be Curly Means’s handiwork. Folks say he hates dogs as much as Southerners hate carpet baggers. And if he’s there, so are the rest of the Hoodoos.” Howard reined in. “It might be smart to sneak in on foot from here. Someone has to stay with the critters, though, so they don’t stray off on us.”
“That will be Melissa’s job,” Charley said, swinging down. As he had predicted, she didn’t like it.
“Why me? Why don’t we draw straws to see who stays?”
“Because I want you to.” Charley looked right at her when he said it, expecting her to object, but much to his surprise she gave in.
“If you think it’s for the best, I’ll do it. But if you run into trouble, give a yell, and I’ll come as quick as I can.”
Charley would do no such thing. He refused to place her life in more danger than he already had. But he smiled and nodded, then followed Enos, Eli, and Tony, who were hiking east instead of toward Painted Rock. “Why are we going this way?”
Enos pointed at a belt of cottonwoods bordering a creek. “We’ll come in from that direction so the trees hide us.”
They had to constantly remind Eli to keep low. A bundle of nervous excitement, he kept rising up onto the tips of his toes to scan the settlement and mutter, “Where are they? Where are they?”
The gentle gurgle of the creek was the only sound Charley heard until they had crossed it and crouched behind trees. Then he heard the soft sobbing of several women and the moans of a barrel-chested man who had been shot a couple of times either before or after he was tied to the cabin.
“I’ll be damned!” Enos whispered, his telescope trained on a pair of bodies at the side of the nearest house. He glanced at Tony. “It’s that fancy-pants from Denver, the one who has it in for you.”
“Ubel Gunther?” Tony took the telescope to see for himself. His bewilderment mirrored Charley’s. “Madrina di Dio. It is him. The other one is another of Radtke’s men. But what are they doing here?”
“Looking for us, I suspect,” was the best Charley could come up with.
“Who cares about them?” Eli Brandenberg was bobbing up and down to see over a patch of weeds. “I want to know where the Hoodoos are. Brock Alvord most of all.”
Enos reclaimed his telescope and after a minute swore lustily. “Looks like someone beat you to it, hoss. Alvord is one of those lyin’ in the street.”
“That can’t be.” Eli stood and stepped from hiding.
“Get down!” Charley whispered, but he was wasting his breath. Eli tramped toward the bodies, oblivious to all else. Charley started to go after him, but Tony grabbed his wrist.
“Would you make the same mistake he is?”
Gunshots shattered the deceptive quiet. They came from the saloon, or near it, and on their heels rose muffled shouts and the slam of a door.
“Some of fancy-pant’s boys must be alive and swappin’ lead with the Hoodoos,” Enos speculated. “It can work in our favor.” He beckoned them, then ran toward the frame house.
Charley preferred to hunker in the vegetation, but when Tony hurried after the buffalo hunter, he followed. Ubel Gunther and the other man had been shot through the head, their rifles left where they fell. Shoving the heavy Allen & Wheelock Army .44 into its holster, Charley snatched up Gunther’s rifle and tossed the other rifle to Tony.
“Here’s the plan, pups,” Enos said. “One of us stays and watches the street while the other two hunt for the Hoodoos.”