The Family Jensen (19 page)

“I wound up staying in the village for a while,” Matt concluded his story. “I spent quite a bit of time in Buffalo Flat, too, and got to know some of the people there before I started feeling fiddle-footed again.”

Dusk had settled over the landscape outside the cabin. Inside, it was almost completely dark. Into that darkness, Smoke said, “Wait a minute. You said Lew Torrance helped you get Moon Fawn back from the men who’d kidnapped her?”

“That’s right,” Matt said. “Why? Do you know Torrance, Smoke?”

“Never met him, but I’ve seen him a couple of times.” Smoke paused meaningfully. “The last time was out there with those gunnies who are tryin’ to kill us.”

“So Torrance still works for Bannerman. Can’t say as I’m surprised.”

“Wait just a gol durned minute,” Preacher put in. “You never did found out how come those rannies grabbed the little girl?”

“No,” Matt replied. “I don’t know if they were working for themselves or for somebody else, either. I asked around, but I never discovered anything connecting them to Bannerman. And he seemed to back off after Moon Fawn was kidnapped. He quit trying to take over the Crow hunting grounds, and as far as I know, there was peace between him and Crazy Bear.”

Preacher grunted. “Until lately. That letter his boy writ for him said that Bannerman’s started pushin’ his stock across both creeks, and his punchers have been shootin’ at any Crows they see.”

“Yeah, if there was a truce, Bannerman’s decided to end it,” Smoke agreed. “From the way those varmints jumped us, they were just waiting for somebody to show up and try to give Crazy Bear a hand. They didn’t want us to get to the village.”

Matt peered out one of the loopholes. “The light’s just about gone. They’ll be coming after us again before long.”

“We’ll be ready for them,” Smoke said. “We just need for it to get a little darker. We’ll make our move before the moon rises.”

Preacher said, “Reckon you better tell us what this here plan o’ yours is, Smoke?”

Feeling a surge of affection for the old man who had been his friend for so long, Smoke grinned in the darkness and said, “Matt and I are gonna leave you down here as bait while the two of us slip out of the cabin.”

“Hmmph! Should’a knowed it,” Preacher said with a snort. “You youngsters always cut and run when the goin’ gets tough.”

Smoke didn’t take offense because he knew Preacher didn’t mean that. The old mountain man was just joshing them. Smoke went on, “We’re gonna get up on the roof and be ready when Bannerman’s men start throwing torches up there. We’ll catch the torches and throw them right back at the varmints. That’ll give us enough light to shoot by.”

“That could work,” Matt said. “It’ll be tricky catching those torches out of midair, though.”

“We’ll just have to be quick enough to do it.”

“How you gonna get out the door and climb on the roof without them bastards seein’ you?” Preacher asked. “It’s pretty dark out there, but they still are liable to notice if the door opens up.”

“That’s why we’re going up the chimney,” Smoke said.

Preacher didn’t respond for a moment, but then a hearty guffaw came from him. “Up the chimney, like some bass-ackwards Santy Claus! Lordy, if that ain’t a hoot!”

“It’s gonna be a close fit, Smoke,” Matt warned. “I’m not sure our shoulders will go through there.”

“We might lose a little hide,” Smoke said with a shrug, even though the other two couldn’t see the gesture. “But it’s our best chance of gettin’ out of here alive.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Matt said. “I’ve been thinking, and I sure haven’t come up with any better ideas.”

Smoke moved over to the fireplace and leaned his rifle against the wall beside it. “No point in putting it off. I think it’s dark enough outside now that they won’t notice us crawling out of the chimney.”

“Just don’t get stuck,” Matt said.

Smoke took his hat off and bent down to work his head and shoulders into the fireplace opening. Luckily, there hadn’t been a fire there for a while, so it was cold. He twisted, sat down on the hearth, and raised his arms to put them into the chimney first. He pulled in his shoulders, narrowing them as much as he could.

There were enough tiny gaps between the rocks that formed the chimney to give him fingerholds. He dug in his grip and pulled himself up until he was standing in the fireplace with most of his body in the chimney. His shoulders scraped against the walls. As Matt had warned, it was a very tight fit, but he was able to wedge himself through. If he could make it, he thought, Matt ought to be able to as well. Matt was an inch or so taller than Smoke, but his shoulders weren’t quite as broad.

“Gimme a stirrup,” he called down to Matt. “Preacher, keep an eye out for anything goin’ on outside.”

“Damn straight,” Preacher replied. Matt knelt in front of the fireplace, reached into the opening to lace his hands together, and formed a stirrup. Smoke put his foot in Matt’s hands. Matt grunted with the effort as he lifted. Smoke planted his other boot against the chimney wall and shoved, pushing himself higher.

He tipped his head back and looked up to see stars in the opening above him. He needed to climb another few feet before he could reach up and get a hand on the lip of the opening. Matt couldn’t help him anymore. He had to accomplish it through sheer strength, on his own.

The rough walls dragged painfully on his shoulders as he pulled with his fingers and shoved with his toes, and slowly worked his way higher. The good thing about it being such a tight fit was he wasn’t likely to slip and fall. His back was pressed against one side of the chimney, his hands and feet against the other. He grunted and shoved, and his head rose another few inches. A couple more feet would do it, he told himself.

He climbed some more, then stretched his right arm above his head, reaching as high as he possibly could. His fingertips touched the lip of the opening at the top of the chimney. Another shove with his toes, and he was able to get a good grip on it.

From there it was easier, and once he got both hands on the edge, he pulled himself up and out of the chimney. His shoulders smarted where his shirt had been worn to tatters and the flesh was scraped raw, but that was nothing to worry about. He put his head back down the opening and called softly to Matt, “Come on. You can make it.”

Matt made the climb even quicker, helped by Smoke, who reached down and grasped Matt’s upraised hand to lift him. Within minutes, both men were on the cabin roof, sitting with their backs against the chimney. Their clothes, hands, and faces were smeared with soot, which served as camouflage and made them a lot harder to see against the roof.

“You reckon we got out…without them seeing us?” Matt asked, a little breathless from the climb.

“I reckon. They’re not shootin’ at us.”

“Now we wait for them to make their move?”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Less than five minutes later, Preacher called up the chimney, “I see somebody stirrin’ around out yonder. You boys be ready.”

Smoke crouched against the stone chimney at the end of the cabin. “We’re ready, Preacher,” he told the old mountain man.

Light suddenly flared, both in front of the cabin and behind it. Men had scratched matches into life and held the flames to kerosene-soaked rags wrapped around broken tree limbs. As the torches blazed, the men rose behind the tree stumps they were using for cover and threw the flaming brands high into the air above the cabin.

Preacher’s rifle roared inside the cabin as he took several swift shots at the gunmen. Smoke and Matt didn’t have time to see if any of Preacher’s shots found their targets. “You take the back, I’ll take the front,” Smoke snapped. They leaped to their feet, being careful on the sloping roof, and watched the torches wheeling through the air toward the cabin. They had to judge it perfectly.

Smoke’s right hand shot out. His fingers closed around the end of the torch that wasn’t burning and snatched it out of the air just before it hit the roof. Instantly, he whipped it back toward the gunmen who ringed the cabin. As it whirled through the air, he palmed out both .44s and opened fire.

Behind him, Matt’s Colt began to blast as well, so he figured Matt had been successful at grabbing a torch and throwing it back. Inside the cabin, Preacher’s rifle continued to crack. As Smoke’s revolvers roared, he saw several of the gunmen fall.

The move had taken Bannerman’s men by surprise, but they were professional fighting men and adapted quickly. They began firing at the roof, and as slugs whistled around his head, Smoke crouched and used the chimney for cover as much as he could. He slammed out several more shots. One man on the ground doubled over, and another fell backward to land with his arms and legs splayed out.

Whooping like a crazy man, Preacher burst out of the cabin. He had left the rifle inside and filled his hands with a pair of revolvers. He took the fight to the gunmen, charging forward as the guns in his hands gouted flame.

“Let’s get off of here!” Smoke told Matt. He slid down the roof and dropped to the ground, landing with superb athletic grace. No sooner had his boots hit the ground than he was firing again, picking his targets. More shots blasted behind the cabin from Matt.

The torch lying on the ground in front of the cabin still burned, revealing the bodies that littered the ground between the cabin and the trees. Smoke and Preacher had laid waste to Bannerman’s gun-wolves. Smoke didn’t see any more of the hired killers still on their feet, so he holstered his left-hand gun and began reloading his right-hand Colt as he ran around the cabin to see how Matt was doing.

Matt crouched behind one of the stumps on that side, returning the fire of two men who had him flanked. Smoke took out one of them just as Matt downed the other. Another man loomed up, firing a Winchester. Matt’s .44 was empty, so with eye-blurring speed he drew his Bowie knife and sent it speeding toward the man. The killer dropped his rifle and staggered back as the knife thumped into his chest, the cold steel of the blade burying itself deeply. He fell to the side, dying.

Hoofbeats filled the air as the thunderous echoes began to fade. Preacher came around the cabin to join Smoke and Matt. He was reloading as he said, “A couple of ’em lit a shuck. I reckon they was the only ones left.”

Smoke and Matt joined the old-timer in thumbing fresh cartridges into their guns. Smoke said, “We’d better check the bodies and make sure none of them are still alive.”

Preacher holstered his guns and drew his knife. “I can do that,” he volunteered.

Smoke started to say something, then stopped and shrugged. If Preacher cut a few throats, it wasn’t going to be any great loss to the world. Bannerman’s men were all hired killers.

“We’d better find our horses and head for Crazy Bear’s village,” Matt suggested. “If Bannerman’s got an army of gunmen patrolling the valley, there’s no telling what might happen.”

“His army ain’t as big as it was before he jumped us,” Preacher said.

“No,” Smoke agreed, “but I’m betting the odds against us are still high enough that we’ve got some whittlin’ ahead of us.”