Too soon to die, p.31
Too Soon to Die, page 31
“Sorry,” Denny muttered. “I reckon he’s ready to go, just like I am.”
“Smoke said for us to wait until the shootin’ starts. That’ll give the guards at that cut time enough to pull back and help the rest of that bunch of no-good skunks. Besides, Louis ain’t here yet.”
“Sounds like that might be him coming, though,” Brice commented from where he sat his horse beside Denny’s.
Denny heard the rapid hoofbeats, too.
A moment later Louis came in sight, riding hard. He reined in and asked, “Nothing yet?”
“Nothing,” replied Denny. She saw something wild in her brother’s eyes, something she had never seen there before. It was a mixture of anger, fear, and excitement. Anger at the outlaws, certainly, fear for Brad’s life, the excitement of knowing that he would be going into battle very soon. It was all new to Louis, if not to Denny, and even though she had experienced such things before, she suspected the same look was in her eyes.
A sudden burst of gunfire from somewhere up above made all of them stiffen in their saddles.
“Let’s go,” Pearlie barked, and he put his horse into the steep trail that led up through the pines.
* * *
Smoke waved his men forward. Rifles held at the ready, they raced up the slope, darting from brush to rock and out into the open when they had to. As they neared the ridge crest, Smoke heard laughter and shouting and knew the outlaws were celebrating because they believed Louis had just left a fortune in ransom money down below for them.
It wouldn’t be long until they found out how wrong they were.
Smoke and the others were only a few yards away when a man suddenly appeared at the top of the slope. Smoke didn’t know what errand he was on, but the outlaw stopped short, gaped at them for a split second, and then opened his mouth to yell a warning as he clawed at his holstered gun.
Smoke fired from the hip. The rifle round bored into the outlaw’s chest and flung him backward. He never got to raise that shout of alarm, but the sharp crack of Smoke’s rifle was more than enough to alert the gang to the fact that something was wrong. Bad wrong.
Smoke bounded over the edge and saw the ridge spreading out in front of him. The gang’s horses were to his right, penned up in a makeshift rope corral. One man was over there with the animals, while all the others were ranged along the rimrock, about fifty yards from the top of the slope. They whirled around and opened fire.
Smoke’s force scattered, spreading out. They were at a disadvantage not only numerically but also because they didn’t know where Brad was and had to look for him before they squeezed their triggers. Smoke’s keen eyes searched among the kidnappers but didn’t see the boy. A bullet whipped past in front of his nose and he pivoted to the right to drill the man who had fired the shot, the outlaw who’d been watching the horses. The man flew back against the rope corral, and the nervous horses inside the enclosure surged against it and knocked him forward again. He fell limply to the ground.
From the corner of his eye, Smoke saw riders galloping in from the left, the end of the ridge where the trail—both trails—came out. Those would be the guards, he thought, and with all hell breaking loose, they had abandoned their posts just as he’d figured they would. He whirled in that direction and with a pair of swift shots blew two outlaws out of their saddles.
The others had barely gotten their guns into action when they were hit from behind, as the group led by Pearlie and Monte Carson boiled through the cut and started blasting them. Smoke’s breath caught in his throat as he spotted a familiar figure among the reinforcements, leaning forward in the saddle as the Colt Lightning in her hand cracked wickedly.
Denny had arrived home in time to get herself right in the thick of battle, and Smoke wasn’t a bit surprised by that.
“Smo-o-o-o-ke!”
The frightened cry made him spin again. He spotted a small, frantically struggling figure clasped in the arms of a huge owlhoot. With him were the shotgunner from a couple of days earlier and a tall, gaunt man with gray hair and a hawk-like face. The big man held Brad in front of him like a human shield as the trio advanced toward Smoke.
“Call them off!” the gray-haired outlaw yelled. “Call them off or the boy dies!”
That was exactly the situation Smoke hadn’t wanted. He’d hoped they could locate Brad and get him to safety as soon as possible after the shooting started. With the boy as a hostage, Smoke had no choice except to shout over the roar of guns, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
* * *
Louis heard that order and wanted to cry, “No!” He knew his father was right, though. Brad looked tiny and fragile, held up against that behemoth. If those massive arms squeezed, surely they would crush every bone in the youngster’s body.
“You’re a damned fool, Jensen,” the gray-haired outlaw went on. “Did you really think you could get away with double-crossing us?”
“Appears that we came pretty close to it,” Smoke replied coolly.
“Not close enough. Was that ransom money real, or was that a trick, too?”
Smoke squared his shoulders. “None of us are going to pay you for what you’ve done, mister. But turn the boy loose and throw down your guns, and you can come down off this ridge alive, anyway.”
The outlaw laughed. “Until they march us up the steps to the gallows, you mean. No, nobody’s surrendering here unless it’s you, Jensen. Let us ride out of here . . . with the boy . . . and then we’ll be in touch later and try this again. And you’d better pay us the next time.”
Brice leaned over in his saddle and whispered to Denny, but loudly enough for Louis to hear, too, “The way we’re bunched together, I reckon I can slip down off my horse without them noticing.”
“What good’s that going to do?” Denny whispered back.
“Looked like there were enough handholds just below that rimrock so I could work my way along it without any of that bunch seeing me. If I can get behind those three who’ve got Brad, I can take them by surprise.”
“And get him killed,” rasped Louis.
“No, not if I move fast enough. I’ll grab him away from that big galoot, get him out of the line of fire, and then the rest of you can take it from there.”
“It might work,” Denny said, “or you might fall to your death, too.”
“I’m willing to risk it.”
Louis wanted to say that he should be the one to go, to attempt the daring move, but he was practical enough to know that he couldn’t pull it off. Brice Rogers stood a chance, though. Despite his youth, he was an experienced lawman and had been in plenty of tight spots before. “All right. Thank you, Brice. Give me a minute to get their attention even more.”
He walked his horse forward, causing outlaw guns to swing toward him. More important, all eyes did, too, including those of Smoke, who frowned at him, clearly uncertain what Louis was trying to do.
He dismounted and walked along the ridge until he was standing next to Smoke. Facing the outlaws, Louis said, “I wanted to make a deal with you all along. It was my father here who wouldn’t agree and insisted that we try to trick you.” He put a sneer on his face. “The high and mighty Smoke Jensen, unable to ever admit that someone got the better of him.”
Pearlie gasped and exclaimed, “Boy, what the hell are you sayin’? You can’t talk about your pa like that!”
Smoke asked, “Is that really the way you feel, Louis?”
Turning his head just slightly, Louis drooped his right eyelid just enough that he hoped Smoke would notice it. He said coldly, “You’re damned right it is. Bradley is my stepson, and I won’t have you risking his life any longer.” He looked at the trio of outlaws right in front of them and went on. “Whatever arrangement you want to make, I’ll agree to it. You can ride out of here, all of you, and I’ll pay you whatever you want, as long as you don’t harm that boy.”
An ugly grin stretched across the gray-haired outlaw’s face. “Well, I’m glad to see that one of you Jensens has got some sense.”
“How do you want to handle this?” asked Louis. He didn’t know where Brice was, how close the lawman might be to making his move. He needed to keep the kidnappers talking a little longer, anyway.
Suddenly the man with the shotgun said, “I don’t trust the little pissant, Sam. He’s trying to run some sort of windy on us. I say we kill the kid and shoot our way out of here!”
“No!” Louis said. “No, don’t hurt him. I swear, I’m not trying to trick you.”
Smoke said, “I wash my hands of all this, Louis. You can’t make deals with animals like this.” His voice took on an even harsher note. “But I should have known you’d take the coward’s way out. You’ve always been like that, you sickly little pipsqueak!”
That was enough to tell Louis that Smoke had figured out exactly what was going on. He never would have said such a thing if he hadn’t been stalling for time just like Louis was. Smoke didn’t know what Brice Rogers was attempting to do, but he knew something was in the works.
“And you’ve always been ashamed of me because I wasn’t some notorious gunfighter like you,” Louis shot back at his father. “I’m surprised you didn’t just drown me like a kitten when I was born! You probably would have if you’d known how I was going to turn out.”
“Maybe I should have,” Smoke returned through clenched teeth.
The gray-haired outlaw called Sam made a slashing motion with his hand. “Damn it, there’s no time for this! All of you drop your guns and back off right now, or I’ll tell my friend here to crush that kid like a bug!”
“If we drop our guns, you’ll just kill us all,” Smoke protested.
“Well . . . I reckon you’re just gonna have to take that chance . . .”
Brice Rogers came over the rimrock, scrambling and moving fast, and lunged forward to slam the gun in his hand into the back of the big man’s head. It wasn’t enough to budge the massive outlaw, but it made his grip on Brad slip for just a second.
Brad squirmed loose and dropped to the ground. Brice reached around the big man, avoiding the sweeping backhand the outlaw swung at him, and grabbed Brad’s arm. Hauling Brad with him, Brice rolled toward the edge of the ridge.
“Now!” Smoke shouted.
Louis’s hand dived toward the Thunderer on his hip. He was no fast gun, never would be, but as gun-thunder welled up and seemed to fill the entire world, he drew with all the speed he could muster and lifted the gun. He saw flame spurt from the muzzle of the gray-haired outlaw’s revolver and felt something whip past his ear. Louis had heard enough to know that this man was the architect of the plan that had put his son in such danger, and he felt a fierce satisfaction as he aimed the Thunderer and pulled the trigger.
The gun bucked against his palm and he saw the outlaw reel back a step. The man’s gun blasted again. The bullet kicked up dirt and rocks at Louis’s feet, but Louis didn’t budge. He squeezed the trigger again and blood flew from the outlaw’s side. He stumbled back, tried to catch himself, and screamed terribly as he failed and went over the edge of the cliff.
Smoke slammed a couple of slugs into the shotgunner’s midsection. The man doubled over and jerked both triggers, but the twin loads of buckshot didn’t do anything except tear up the ground right in front of him. He collapsed on top of the scattergun as he dropped it. Fred Judson’s death was avenged.
That left the huge man who’d had hold of Brad. He didn’t reach for his gun but charged forward with his arms outstretched, bellowing like a bull. Smoke and Louis fired at the same time, followed an instant later by Denny, Pearlie, and Monte Carson. All five slugs pounded into the man’s chest and slowed him but didn’t stop him. He managed to take several more steps before death caught up with his nerves and muscles. He sagged slowly toward the ground, going down like a slow-motion avalanche until he was finally sprawled on his face, unmoving.
Louis looked wildly for Brad and Brice Rogers. He didn’t see them anywhere and remembered that Brice had been rolling toward the brink with Brad. Had they gone over accidentally . . . ?
No! There they were, rising from behind a rock at the very edge of the ridge. Brad broke loose and dashed toward Louis, practically leaping into the arms Louis stretched out to him. Louis held the boy tightly against his chest as Brad sobbed in relief and reaction to all the terror he had gone through.
The emotions going through Louis shook him so much that it was several moments before he realized all the shooting had died away. He blinked through some tears of his own as he glanced around and saw that the combined forces of the Sugarloaf had wiped out the rest of the outlaws.
A few feet away, Denny had dismounted and threw her arms around Brice. “I . . . I was scared you’d fall off and break your neck!”
He grinned. “I’ve always been good at climbing rocks. It didn’t amount to much . . . as long as I didn’t look down.”
Smoke pouched the still-smoking iron he held and put one hand on his son’s shoulder, the other on his daughter’s. “Let’s go home.”
Turn the page for an exciting preview!
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
and J. A. JOHNSTONE
DARK IS THE NIGHT
A DEATH & TEXAS WESTERN
YOU ARE NOW ENTERING TEXAS.
SAY YOUR PRAYERS.
Bestselling authors William and J. A. Johnstone bring the “wild” back to the Wild Wild West with their boldest hero yet. Meet Cullen McCabe, a Lone Star sheriff who has nothing to lose—and time to kill . . .
DEATH ISN’T PRETTY
There are a million ways to die in the great state of Texas. And on the lawless streets of New Hope, the odds are even worse. Once the home of Comanche, the region has been up for grabs since the Red River War drove off the natives. Now it’s a magnet for settlers looking for cheap land, merchants looking to exploit its resources—and outlaws looking for a place to hide in between robbing and killing. With shoot-outs and showdowns nightly occurrences, it’s one of the deadliest places on earth. And the governor ain’t happy about it. He wants to clean up the town. He wants to wipe away the scum. And he knows just the man to do it . . .
Enter Cullen McCabe. A small-town sheriff turned special agent, McCabe doesn’t care what he has to do—or who he has to kill—to rid this hellhole of every rustler, robber, and ruthless cuss in sight. Especially the notorious Viper Gang . . .
Look for Dark Is the Night, on sale now.
CHAPTER 1
Leon Armstrong turned when he heard the door open to discover the now-familiar image of Cullen McCabe in the doorway. Armstrong hurried to the telegraph window to fetch a telegram from the drawer. “Mornin’, Mr. McCabe,” he greeted him.
“Mornin’,” Cullen returned. “Mr. Thornton, over at the store, said you have a telegram for me.”
“That’s right, I do,” Armstrong said. “It came in day before yesterday. I told Ronald to let you know if you came into the store, in case I didn’t see you.” He handed an envelope to Cullen and stood waiting, hoping Cullen might comment on the message. When he failed to do so, Armstrong commented, “We like to deliver telegrams as soon as we can, but with you not living in town, nothing we can do but hold it till we see you.”
“No problem,” Cullen said as he folded the telegram and stuck it in his pocket.
Armstrong was itching inside with curiosity about the quiet man whom no one in the little town of Two Forks knew anything about, except him. And the only thing he knew was that, from time to time, Cullen McCabe received a wire asking him to report to Michael O’Brien in Austin. The telegrams never said what the meetings were about, and the reason Armstrong was so curious was the fact that O’Brien was the governor’s aide. Of course, Ronald Thornton had dealings with McCabe, but according to Thornton, they always consisted of a minimum of words to place an order for supplies. The only noticeable difference in the size of his orders was whenever they came after he had received one of these telegrams from the governor’s office. And as Thornton had predicted, when Cullen returned to his store, after picking up his telegram, he placed a larger order for supplies than he normally did. Being the speculator that Thornton was, he guessed that the quiet man of few words had gotten another notice to travel.
When Cullen had completed his order, Thornton thanked him for the business, then commented, “From the size of that order, I’d figure you were fixin’ to take a little trip.”
“Is that so?” Cullen replied, and gathered up his purchases without further comment.
“I can give you a hand with those,” Thornton offered.
“Thanks just the same,” McCabe said, “but it’s no bother. I’ll just make a couple of trips. That way, you won’t have to stand out there holdin’ ’em while I pack ’em in the sacks on my packhorse.” As he said, he left half of the supplies on the counter while he rearranged his packs, then returned to get the rest as Clara Thornton came into the store. “Ma’am,” he said politely as he passed her on his way out.
When McCabe was out the door and in no danger of hearing him, Thornton greeted his wife. “He’s on the road again,” he said.
“Did he tell you that?” Clara asked, every bit as curious about the man as was her husband.
“He didn’t have to,” Thornton insisted. “I could tell by the order he placed. I knew when Leon said he had another one of those telegrams from the governor that McCabe would be gettin’ ready to travel.”
“Huh,” Clara snorted. “Maybe he just ain’t plannin’ to come into town for a while,” she offered sarcastically. “I declare, you and Leon Armstrong will have everybody in town thinkin’ Cullen McCabe is some kinda mystery man, just because he doesn’t talk much.”
“Is that so?” Thornton replied, standing at the front window now. “Then how come he’s headin’ straight to the blacksmith?”
“Maybe he needs something from Graham Price,” Clara suggested, again sarcastically. “Why does anybody go to the blacksmith?” She walked back to the front window to stand beside her husband to watch Cullen approach Graham Price’s forge. “You and Leon oughta take a lesson from him, so you wouldn’t gossip so much.”
