“Jensen,” John T. said. “He’s found us.”
The howling stopped for a few minutes. Everyone in the camp had armed themselves and taken cover where they could find it.
The howling came again. This time it was coming from a different direction. The men and women in the camp looked at each other nervously.
“He’s playin’ games,” Cat Brown said. “The dirty son is playin’ games with us.”
“Then he’s a damn fool,” Dick Dorman said. “One man against all of us. Who the hell does he think he is?”
A .44-.40 slug from Smoke’s rifle screamed off a rock about two inches from Dick’s head. Rock fragments bloodied Dick’s face and sent the outlaw hugging the ground. A second slug tore into his exposed boot and shattered his ankle. Dick screamed in pain and doubled up, both hands to his bullet-broken ankle.
Another slug punched a hole in the coffee pot and coffee spewed out into the fire. Another round from the .44- .40 whined wickedly off the big cook pot and started it rocking.
Paul Melham jumped up and jerked his rifle to his shoulder. That move got him a slug right between the eyes that blew out the back of his head. He fell backward without a sound.
“Damnit!” von Hausen yelled from his position behind a tree. “Rush him. Drive him back. If you don’t he’ll pick us off one at a time. It’s our only chance. Come on, let’s go!” von Hausen leaped from his position and zig-zagged a few yards forward.
The hired guns could not hang back while the man who was paying them risked his life. They charged, running and ducking and twisting.
Smoke faded back and slipped away into the waning light of early evening.
Roy Drum found his tracks. Cautiously, the men followed the tracker. “He’s runnin’ hard,” Drum pointed out. “See how his moccasins is diggin’ in? He’s way ahead of us.”
The men pressed on, cautious, but eager for the kill.
Smoke jumped into the saddle and headed straight back for the camp while the main body of men were a good three quarters of a mile away and getting further. Smoke hit the camp screaming like a wild man.
Marlene shrieked and grabbed for a rifle just as the shoulder of Smoke’s horse hit her and knocked her sprawling. She fell hard to the ground, knocking the wind from her.
Smoke rode right over a big tent, the Appaloosa’s hooves shredding the canvas and destroying equipment.
Andrea ran screaming from the onslaught. Smoke leaned over in the saddle, grabbed her by the belt and lifted her off the ground. She was wailing in fright. He dumped her unceremoniously on her butt into the river and left her splashing and sputtering and screaming. He turned and headed back for the camp. Maria was lifting a rifle to her shoulder when Smoke started putting rounds from his six-gun into the ground around her feet. She shrieked and made a run for it. She didn’t get far.
With the reins in his teeth, Smoke grabbed her by the seat of her pants and turned her flipping and rolling, her aristocratic posterior catching up with her boots. She landed on her belly and went sliding in the dirt.
He stampeded the horses, sending them racing in all directions, then made a final pass through the camp, tearing down the second big tent and dragging it into the fire. The barons and princes and princesses would have to sleep under the stars from now on.
Marlene was just getting to her feet, screaming her rage and calling Smoke some really terrible names, when Smoke turned and raced toward her. She reversed herself and took off. He grabbed her by the shirt collar and dragged her toward the river just as Andrea was reaching shore. He tossed Marlene into Andrea and the two women got dunked.
Smoke headed out, driving the frightened horses ahead of him and screaming like a Comanche.
When the men got back into camp-or what was left of it-they were out of breath from running. Von Hausen jerked his pith helmet off his head and threw it on the ground. “He’s taken the women!” he shouted.
“He’s damn welcome to ’em,” John T. muttered.
“There’s two of ’em,” Utah Red yelled, pointing to the river.
Marlene and Andrea were climbing out of the river, slopping and sloshing to the bank.
“I’ll kill him slow!” Marlene screamed. “I swear it’ll take him days to die.”
Maria groaned and got to her feet. Her face was skinned from her abrupt hard slide on the ground. Gunter ran to her side. She shoved him aside and screamed, “He put his goddamned hands on me!” she squalled. “Treated me like dirt! Me!” She whirled at the men. “Five thousand dollars for the man who kills Smoke Jensen.”
“I’ll add five thousand more!” screamed Marlene.
“And I’ll add five thousand to that!” shrieked Andrea.
“I’d fight a grizzly bear and make love to an Eskimo woman for that,” Slick Finger Bob said. “Or vicey-versey,” he added.
“Now, ladies,” von Hausen tried to calm them. “Our mission is to get to Dodge City. We simply can’t ...
“You go right straight to hell!” Marlene screamed. “I want Smoke Jensen’s ...”
She named a couple of things she wanted cut from Smoke.
“Whoa!” Montana Jess whispered. “That there’s a real mad woman.”
Smoke rounded up as many horses as he could and cut the cinch straps off the saddles. Then he slapped them on the rump and sent them running off, free and happy. He emptied out the men’s saddlebags and took what food they had and threw the rest of the contents in the river. Then he swung back into the saddle, recrossed the Powder and found him a good campsite, high up on a mesa and tucked behind some huge boulders.
His supper that night was sandwiches of biscuits and salt meat he’d taken from someone’s saddlebags. He went to sleep smiling at how furious he’d made those fancy women.
There was no placating the women, so von Hausen soon gave up trying. They had been manhandled and humiliated by Jensen, and none of them were forgiving creatures. But, von Hausen thought, sitting and drinking coffee that night, perhaps they were right. The women maintained that they would never reach Dodge City; that Smoke Jensen would track them down and kill them all. That it was just a matter of time.
John Flagg recollected that Smoke had traveled clear across country to New Hampshire one time to settle a score, so why not just deal with him now?
Von Hausen had started to argue that surely Jensen would not come to Europe to settle a score. But he’d shut his mouth before the words could form. Jensen probably would do that.
And von Hausen was going to do something else. He’d set up a code word with the lawyer in Dodge City; a code word that would release the money to the men. A little item he had kept from everyone. As soon as they got to a town with a telegraph office, he’d free up the money and take his party into Canada. They would travel east and sail out of a port there... even though he would have to be friendly with those damnable French for a time. He felt better now that that was settled in his mind.
Now all they had to deal with was Smoke Jensen, von Hausen thought ruefully. And for the first time on this long hunt, he admitted-to himself-that he had made a mistake in chasing Smoke Jensen.
Frank Clover felt his guts churn and sweat pop out on his face when the cold voice spoke from behind him.
“Get off your damn horse.”
Frank froze in the saddle. He didn’t want it in the back. He’d shot men in the back, but he didn’t want to go out that way. “I’m gettin’ off. Jensen?”
“Yeah. Turn your horse so I can see your moves.”
“Whatever you say, Jensen. Slow and easy. You gonna give me a chance?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Frank dismounted and turned to face Jensen. Lord, lord, but the man was dangerous looking.
“Slap your horse on the rump,” Smoke told him. “Get him out of the way.”
Frank slapped his horse and the animal moved off a few yards. He grinned at Smoke. “I don’t want to hit him too hard. I’m gonna need him to ride out of here.”