Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter (17 page)

“I know, but it's true,” Jessica said. “The two of you have been so nice to me, I just couldn't keep the truth from you any longer. I feel terrible that I didn't tell you earlier. You've been in danger—again!—because of me.”

Langston shook his head. “It's not your fault, Miss Wheeler. You're a victim of this man's evil intentions.” He looked at Luke. “Did you and Mr. McCullough know about this, Mr. Jensen?”

“Miss Wheeler explained the whole thing to us this morning,” Luke admitted.

“Don't look at me,” Pierce put in. “This is the first I'm hearin' about it.” He paused, then asked, “How'd you know they was layin' for us back there at the way station, Luke?”

“The first clue was the sweat drying on some horses I saw in the corral at the station. There were four of them, and they looked like they'd been unsaddled and put in there pretty recently. I knew they couldn't be part of a stagecoach team, because this run is the only one going through right now. Then when you asked about the fella who runs the station—”

“Banty Sinclair.” Pierce's voice was grim with anger. “An old friend of mine. He got stuck with the nickname Banty because he's so small. Got two big strappin' sons who help him at the station, though.”

“When you mentioned them I knew something was wrong, and the most likely thing was that Dietrich's men had taken over the station and set up an ambush for us. I'm sorry. I think there's a good chance your friend and his sons are dead. Dietrich's gunmen may have shot them when they rode in.”

“Could be they're just tied up.”

“That's possible,” Luke said. “I can go back and check. It'll be dark soon, so if any of Dietrich's bunch is still there, they won't be able to see me coming. I think it's more likely they lit a shuck out of there, though, when they weren't able to grab Miss Wheeler.”

“I feel like those men's blood is on my hands,” Jessica murmured. Guilt wracked her voice.

Luke shook his head. “No. Mr. Langston is right. None of this is your fault. Lay the blame where it belongs.” Luke's voice grew harsh. “Right at the feet of Milton Dietrich.”

The question was what to do next.

They couldn't be sure Dietrich's surviving men had abandoned the way station. And there was the possibility that more hired hardcases had shown up following the shoot-out. It might not be safe for the coach to turn around and go back to the station.

But they didn't have the option of continuing on. The horses in the team were played out. It was Jim Pierce's opinion the animals couldn't make it the rest of the way to Moss City. “I reckon I could follow the trail in the dark if I had to, but them hosses would be dead before we got there, even takin' it slow and easy.”

“Do you know of any place not far from here where we could hole up for the night?” Luke asked. “Some place that can be defended?”

Pierce rubbed his bearded jaw and frowned in thought for a moment before answering. “Maybe. I seem to recollect a little box canyon not far from here. The mouth of it is narrow enough that a few men with rifles could hold it.”

“Can you find it in the dark?”

“I think so. But I got to warn you, like I said, it's a box canyon. We can keep those varmints from gettin' in, but if they want to, they can keep us from gettin' out.”

“If you have a better idea, I'm wide open to hearing it,” Luke said.

Pierce chuckled humorlessly. “That's just it, I don't.”

Luke turned to the three passengers. “What do you folks think? You've got a stake in this, too.”

“If Mr. Pierce thinks we can put up a fight in that canyon, then that's where we should go,” Langston answered without hesitation. “I may be a businessman now, but when I came to Arizona it was about as untamed a place as you've ever seen. I've smelled my share of powder smoke.”

“Stephen, you're a little old to be talking so fierce,” his wife remarked.

Langston snorted and shook his head. “I'm not
that
old,” he declared. “The only one I'm worried about is you, my dear. I wish I hadn't taken you with me on that business trip to Albuquerque.”

“I'll be fine,” she told him, but her voice held an undercurrent of nervousness.

Hobie turned to Jessica. “What about you, Miss Wheeler? What do you think we should do?”

“The smartest thing for all of you to do would be to leave me right here by the side of the road and drive on,” Jessica said bluntly. “Some of Dietrich's men are bound to come along and find me sooner or later. That way you'd all be safe, because they wouldn't have a reason to go after you anymore.”

“I wouldn't be so sure about that,” Luke said. “We've killed four of them and wounded several more. With men like that, it hurts their pride when somebody gets the better of them. Not only that, it hurts their reputation. If they don't settle the score with Hobie and me, they might not be as likely to get the job the next time somebody needs some gun work done.”

“You're saying they're going to have a grudge against you no matter what?”

“That's right.”

“Well, then, I suppose we should find a place where we can fight if we have to,” Jessica said.

“I feel the same way,” Hobie added. “If you can get us to that canyon, Mr. Pierce, we'll spend the night there.”

The jehu nodded. “We're all agreed, then. Climb back in, folks, and we'll get goin'.”

A minute later, with Hobie on the seat beside him and the passengers back inside the coach, Pierce started the team moving. They traveled at a slow pace. The horses were so tired, night had fallen, and it was more difficult to see where they were going.

Luke rode alongside the coach. There was no point in him scouting ahead, since he didn't know how to find the canyon Pierce had mentioned.

Half an hour later, the jehu brought the team to a halt and pointed to a cliff visible in the moonlight, about a quarter mile away. A black slash in the upthrust rock face marked the location of the canyon.

“Place ain't got a name, far as I know,” he said. “It runs back up into that cliff for about half a mile.”

“It looks a bit ominous,” Luke said. “I'd better reconnoiter first.”

“I'll come with you,” Hobie volunteered.

Luke shook his head. “No, you stay here with the coach, just in case there's any trouble while I'm gone. I shouldn't be long.”

“Please be careful, Mr. Jensen,” Jessica said from the coach window.

“The chances of any of Dietrich's men being in there is pretty small,” Luke said. “I'm more worried about a cougar or some wild animal like that.”

Hobie said, “If you run into trouble, fire three shots into the air. I'll be ready to jump on my horse and come a-runnin'.”

Luke didn't say anything, but thought if he ran into any really bad trouble, he might not have time to waste firing shots in the air.

He trotted his horse toward the canyon mouth. As he neared it, he pulled the Winchester from its sheath and laid it across the saddle in front of him. Dressed all in black like he was, he would blend into the darkness, making him harder to hit if anybody tried to take a shot at him. It was one reason he had always chosen such somber garb.

Luke always paid attention to his mount's reactions, especially in unknown situations. If the horse had caught the scent of a big cat, a bear, or anything like that, he would have been spooked. He would have reacted to other horses in the canyon, too. But it didn't appear there was any danger. His horse walked into the canyon without hesitation.

Luke rode slowly. The canyon floor was rocky in places and sandy in others. The thudding hoofbeats echoed back from the sheer walls on both sides. Anyone who had a problem with small, enclosed spaces wouldn't like this, Luke mused. The canyon was only about fifty yards wide, and its walls rose at least two hundred feet.

Those walls came together and closed off the far end of the canyon after about half a mile, as Jim Pierce had said. The cliff they formed loomed ahead of Luke, black as sin in the faint light that filtered into the canyon. As far as he had been able to tell, the place was completely deserted except for maybe a few lizards and rats.

He turned his horse and rode back out. When he emerged from the canyon he found the five people with the stagecoach waiting anxiously for him.

“Everything looks all right,” he reported. “Take the coach on in, Jim.”

Pierce heaved a sigh of relief and picked up the reins. He flapped them against the backs of the team and got the horses moving.

“Hobie, there are some piles of rocks in there,” Luke said to the young man as he rode beside the vehicle. “I think you can build a fire among one of them so that it can't be seen from outside the canyon. That's important. We don't want to announce where we are.”

“That makes sense,” Hobie said. “But why can't you build the fire, Luke?”

“Because as I said earlier, I'm going back to that way station. I want to check on the man who was supposed to be running it and his sons.”

Pierce said, “I planned on borrowin' a horse and doin' that myself.”

“I think it would be best if you stayed here,” Luke said. “If you have to make a run for it, you handle that team better than any of the rest of us could.”

“Banty and his boys could be hurt and needin' help.”

“I know. That's why I'm going. I should be back before morning.” Luke added dryly, “I'll sing out before I come in. Don't shoot me.”

“I won't get trigger-happy,” Hobie promised. He didn't offer to go along, and Luke knew why. Hobie wanted to stay there so he could protect Jessica.

That seemed like a good idea to Luke, too. He turned his horse and said over his shoulder, “I'll be back.” Then he rode out of the canyon and headed toward the way station.

 

 

Luke had kept a close eye on their route while Pierce led them to the canyon, so he would be able to backtrack and find the way station. He steered by the stars, stopping fairly often to listen for the sound of hoofbeats floating on the night air. Any group of riders likely represented trouble for him and his companions, so he wanted to steer clear of them.

He didn't hear anything except the occasional call of a night bird. There was a good reason outlaws had come to be known as owlhoots. They rode dark, isolated trails where the only sound was likely to be the lonely hooting of an owl. Saying that a man rode the hoot owl trail was the same as branding him as being on the wrong side of the law. Over time, that had gotten switched around so that such men sometimes were called owlhoots.

Luke had tracked down more than his share of them. He would have been willing to bet that some of the men working for Dietrich had bounties posted on their heads. For once, though, he wasn't interested in those rewards. At the moment, sheer survival was more important.

That and getting Jessica Wheeler safely to where she was going.

Eventually the way station came in sight. Luke saw it as a deeper patch of darkness in the night. No lights were burning anywhere around it. As he rode up, he didn't see any bodies lying in front of the building. Dietrich's gunnies must have pulled out and taken the two dead men with them.

Either that, or they were holed up inside the station, waiting to bushwhack anybody who showed up. Luke dismounted and took his rifle with him as he cautiously circled the station. It continued to look deserted. After a while, he approached the open door at an angle.

Pausing just outside the door, he held the rifle ready and sniffed the air. He smelled a faint tang of gun smoke coming from inside the station, left over from the earlier ambush.

He lowered the rifle, leaned it against the wall, and drew both Remingtons, instead. With the revolvers in his hands, he went through the door fast, crouching low as he entered the building. He was ready to return the fire if any muzzle flames spurted at him from the darkness.

The room remained silent. Slowly, he straightened and took another deep breath. A mixture of smells filled the air—the gun smoke he had noticed a moment earlier, human sweat, horses, and something even more ominous. Luke recognized the coppery scent of blood.

He holstered his left-hand gun and reached into his shirt pocket for a match. He fished one out and snapped it to life with his thumbnail. His eyes narrowed against the glare as the match flared up.

The light revealed exactly what he had been afraid he would see. Three bodies were piled against the far wall of the station's main room. They lay limp and unmoving. Luke had seen enough dead men to know what he was looking at.

To be sure, he moved closer and worked the toe of his boot under the shoulder of the nearest man, who lay facedown. Luke rolled him onto his back.

Wide, sightless eyes that didn't flinch from the match's glare stared up at him. They were in the weathered face of a balding, middle-aged man whose cheeks were covered with silvery beard stubble. He had been of fairly small stature in life. Luke knew he was looking at the body of Banty Sinclair.

The other two men were just as dead. They were young, in their twenties, and despite their much greater size bore a distinct family resemblance to Sinclair. Luke would have guessed that they were the man's sons even if Pierce hadn't mentioned that fact.

All three had been shot numerous times at close range.

Luke had a pretty good idea what had happened. Dietrich's men had ridden up, Sinclair and his sons had gone out to see what they wanted, and the killers had opened fire with no warning. It had been an act of wanton, cold-blooded murder.

Of course, any man who would sign on to kidnap a young woman and force her to marry a ruthless man more than twice her age wouldn't be the sort to think twice about murder.

Luke went outside to look around. Half a dozen horses were still in the corral. In the normal course of events, they would have been hitched to the stagecoach when it stopped there, and the worn-out team would be allowed to rest until the next stagecoach came along. The four saddle mounts he had seen earlier were gone.

Luke didn't like leaving the bodies unattended, but it would take him all night to dig three graves and he wanted to get back to the canyon where he had left Hobie, Jessica, and the others. He would tell the stationmaster at Moss City what had happened and he could send someone out to tend to the horses and bring back the bodies of Banty Sinclair and his sons.

Luke went back into the station, hunted up some blankets, and used them to wrap the bodies. When he left, he made sure the door and the shutters were closed to keep scavengers out. For now, that was all he could do for the dead men.

He rode away, wishing that when he and Hobie had first encountered Dietrich's men attacking the stagecoach, they had taken advantage of the opportunity to kill a few. At the time, though, they hadn't known what was going on.

Luke certainly wouldn't hesitate to send more of them to hell in the future. They had it coming.

The moon was just about to set by the time he neared the canyon again. He could see the black slash in the cliff face that marked its location. In another minute or two he would be close enough to call out to Hobie.

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire ripped out, muzzle flame blooming in the darkness of the canyon's mouth.