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Authors: William W. Johnstone

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BOOK: Destiny Of The Mountain Man
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“You people on the island, is there anyone left who can talk for you?”
“What do you want?” Barrett asked.
“I want you to go back to the ranch. Tell Smoke Jensen what just happened here. Tell him if he wants to revenge his friend, I'll be happy to give him the opportunity.”
“You're . . . you're going to let us go?” Barrett asked.
“Yeah,” Waco answered. “You just deliver the message like I said.”
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE
Sally stood in their bedroom, illuminated only by the pool of silver moonlight that spilled in through the window. She wiped the tears from her eyes.
“He's . . . he's not going to make it, is he?” she asked.
Smoke was lying on the bed, his hands laced behind his head, staring up at the moon patterns projected on the ceiling.
“I don't know,” Smoke answered. He sighed. “The doctor doesn't give him much hope.”
“He hasn't spoken a word since he was brought home,” Sally said. “Oh, Smoke, what if we . . . what if we lose him?”
“We'll go on,” Smoke said. “Come to bed and get some sleep. Maybe things will be better in the morning.”
“All right,” Sally agreed. “It doesn't help him for me to stay up all night worrying about him.”
 
 
Not until Sally's deep, measured breathing told Smoke that she was sound asleep did he get up. Then, walking quietly down the hall, he tapped lightly on the door to Cal's room.
The door opened immediately.
“Any change?” Cal asked.
Smoke shook his head. “No,” he said.
“What is it? What's up?”
“We have work to do,” Smoke replied.
 
 
Cal dressed quickly, then strapped on his gun and followed Smoke down the stairs, walking quietly so as not to awaken anyone else in the house.
“Where are we going?” Cal asked.
“Out there,” Smoke replied, pointing to the machine shed.
Even before they got there, Cal could see that there were nearly a dozen people gathered, working in the dim light of a few candles. King was there, as was Kleberg. So were Ramon, Barrett, and several others.
“What's going on?” Cal asked. “Why is everyone here?”
“I asked them to get some things ready for me,” Smoke said.
It wasn't until they went around the corner of the machine shed that Cal saw what was going on. He gasped at the sight before him.
There, in a military line, were two Gatling guns and two artillery pieces, caisson-mounted and hitched to teams. The artillery pieces had, in addition to the gun, the ammunition limber. King looked up with a broad, proud grin.
“I wondered if these things would ever be useful to me,” he said, pointing to the guns. “Now it looks as if that question is being answered.”
“They're ready to go?” Smoke asked.
“Ready to go,” King replied.
Smoke walked over to one of the Napoleon 32-pounders, and ran his hand along the smooth lines of the tapered barrel. He turned back to the gathered men, all of whom were looking at him with eager and expectant expressions on their faces.
“Ramon, what about Concepcion?” Smoke asked.
“All of the villagers have moved out, Señor,” Ramon replied.
“You are sure that all the villagers have moved?”
“
Sí.
If any have stayed, then they are
colaboradores
, with the enemy.”
“You have no problems with what I have in mind?”
“No, Señor. For Emilio I do this. For Pearlie I do this. For all my friends who have been killed by these
hombres mal-vados
I do this.”
“All right, let's saddle up and get mounted,” Smoke said. “If we ride hard we will get there by dawn.”
 
 
Brad Preston stepped out of the toilet, still buttoning his trousers. He had a headache from too much drinking the night before. He knew he shouldn't drink so much, but there was little else to do now, since all the women had left. Even the whores had left Concepcion.
Preston had been having second thoughts about being here. Brandt had promised them all a lot of money, but so far, the only thing that happened was that several of the men who had agreed to ride with Brandt had been killed. Preston's concern over the way things were going led him to have a conversation with Brandt. He tried to talk Brandt into moving things up by having one large raid against Richard King's ranch.
“We could attack in the middle of the night, the way we did before. Only this time, we shouldn't waste our time with the Mexican workers. This time we should go right for the big house itself,” Preston suggested.
“That would accomplish nothing,” Brandt replied. “Don't lose sight of our mission. Our mission is to steal the herd. And the best time to steal the herd is when they start their drive. That's where the money is.”
“Yeah,” Preston agreed after he thought about it for a few minutes. “Yeah, you're right.”
Preston was recalling the conversation that had taken place last night in the Gato Rojo Saloon. He intended to pass it on, word for word, to the men in his company. They too were beginning to get antsy with the long delay in the ultimate payoff.
As he was walking back toward the hotel, he heard a strange sound, rather like the sound a railcar makes when it is rolling, empty, down the track. Puzzled, he looked around to see what it might be.
Out of the corner of his eye, Preston saw something black plunge through the shake roof of the apothecary just across the street from the hotel where he was staying. About one second later, the building exploded in a burst of flame, smoke, and noise. He stood there, glued to his spot, watching, transfixed, as little pieces of the destroyed building came fluttering back down.
Within seconds after that blast, he heard, once more, the rushing noise he had heard earlier. This time the front of the general store went up.
“What in the hell?” Preston asked, running out into the street to see what was going on.
Now he heard the sound of distant thunder, followed, yet again, by the rushing sound. This time, he saw a ball smash into the very hotel where he had been staying. It exploded with a loud roar, followed by screams of pain from several of the men. A second ball, very close behind the first, slammed into the hotel as well. Nearly half the hotel came down and men, who but seconds before had been sleeping, yelled in terror as they spilled out of the collapsed building.
Brandt came running into the street then, strapping on his saber. He watched, in shock, as the hotel came crashing down, killing and wounding several of his men. That was followed almost immediately by another explosion, this one at the far end of the street, and though it wasn't close enough to do him any harm, it did send shards of shrapnel whistling by.
“Artillery!” Brandt shouted. “Who the hell is shooting at us with artillery?”
Two more shells came screaming into the little village, and two more buildings went up. By now, nearly half a dozen of the buildings were burning.
Brandt ran back into the saloon where he had set up his own quarters, then, a moment later, reappeared carrying a telescope.
“Major, what is happening? What should we do?” Pettis asked.
“Get the men together and wait for my orders!” Brandt yelled back over his shoulder as he ran toward the church.
Brandt climbed the ladder into the bell tower, then, from that elevated position, looked to the north of town in the direction from which the shelling was coming.
“Two guns,” he said aloud as he saw the two artillery pieces. “I thought so.”
The pattern of the shelling, the way two rounds would come in . . . a pause . . . then two more rounds, had made him think that there were only two guns involved. Now he verified that by actual observation.
As he looked at the guns he saw too that there were very few people involved. Each gun had a crew of three men, and there was one man who seemed to be in charge.
“Seven men?” he said. “That fool dares to attack me with only seven men?”
Quickly, Brandt climbed back down, then ran out into the street.
“Corporal Jones!” he called to Waco.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get the men saddled.”
“We ain't runnin', are we, Major?” Pettis asked.
“Hell, no, we aren't running,” Brandt replied. “We're going to attack.”
“Attack? Attack cannons?” Preston asked.
“Yes,” Brandt said. “There are only seven men out there. The fools don't realize it, but they have just delivered two guns to us.”
 
 
Three thousand yards north of town, Smoke watched the two gun crews as they loaded and fired their guns. They worked with the well-oiled efficiency of men who had been drilled in the operation of the pieces, and indeed they had been. In the town Smoke could see smoke coming from nearly a dozen buildings now. He didn't know how many of the outlaws, if any, he had killed with the artillery bombardment, but he intended to keep up the firing as long as his ammunition held out.
Then, as he was watching, he saw what he had hoped to see. Brandt was coming out of the city with all his men.
“Well, Major Brandt, you . . . military genius . . . you. You have made your first big mistake, and I have you,” Smoke said with a satisfied smile.
Smoke watched as Brandt paused just outside the city to form his men into a parade-front formation. He was going to launch a cavalry charge against the two guns.
“Smoke?” Barrett said.
“Yes, I see them,” Smoke said. “Load the guns with canister.”
This time the rounds that were put down the barrel of the two guns were cylindrical, rather than ball-shaped. The cylinders, Smoke knew, were like two giant shotgun shells. They were filled, not with small shot, but with scores of bullet-sized projectiles.
Suddenly, from the other side of the open field, he heard the faint call of “Charge!”
Brandt's entire army came galloping across the field in parade-front formation. The horses' hooves made a thunder across the field, and Smoke watched as the riders, small in the distance, began growing larger and larger as they approached. By now they were close enough that Smoke could see the individual faces of the riders.
“Cal! Ramon!” Smoke shouted.
“Here, Smoke!” Cal answered from a clump of trees to his right.
“Ready, Señor Jensen!” Ramon called from a cluster of bushes to his left.
“Run your guns out and be ready to fire at my command,” Smoke ordered.
From his left and his right, the two Gatling guns, which had been concealed by low-lying mesquite trees, were run out, then at the approaching army.
Smoke waited until they had closed to within less than one hundred yards.
“Now! Fire!” he shouted, shooting his own pistol, even as he gave the command. He saw Brandt suddenly get a shocked expression on his face as he realized he had been hit, and hit mortally.
Even as the two cannons roared, and the Gatling guns opened up, Brandt was tumbling from his saddle.
The effect of the four guns on the attacking army was devastating. Nearly one dozen men tumbled from their saddles at the opening volley.
The cannons had to reload, but the Gatling guns continued to rattle away at what was left of Brandt's men. Some of Brandt's men attempted to return fire; others attempted to evacuate the field, but were shot down trying to do so. Smoke was sure that he saw at least three make it back into town and relative safety.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Smoke shouted, holding his hands out toward the two Gatling guns, which, by now, were the only two weapons that were still firing.
The guns stopped firing then, and an eerie silence fell across the field. With his gun in his hand, Smoke began walking through the dead, looking down at the bodies. Some of the bodies were so badly mutilated—having been hit several times by the heavy shot—that even if Smoke had known them, he wouldn't have recognized them.
A few were groaning, including the one who was wearing an Army officer's uniform.
“You would be Brandt?” Smoke asked, staring down at him.
“I am,” Brandt said. He was holding his hands over his stomach, and as he pulled them away, the palms of his hands formed cups of blood that spilled down the front of his jacket. “My jacket,” he grunted.
“Yeah, it is sort of messed up, isn't it?” Smoke said.
“Please, clean it, before you bury me in it.”
Smoke snorted a mirthless laugh. “You want me to dishonor the United States Army by burying you in uniform? Not a chance. You'll be lucky if you get buried at all.”
If Brandt heard Smoke's comment, he gave no indication of it. He couldn't give an indication of anything, because he was dead.
BOOK: Destiny Of The Mountain Man
4.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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