“How’re we gonna know who to stop, Bob?” Billy asked. “How’re we gonna be able to tell if they’re trackin’ Jensen or not, especially in this storm? Hell, I can’t see shit through all this snow.”
“Don’t much matter, Billy,” Bob answered. “For the next twelve hours or so, till it gets full on dark, we’re gonna stop anybody an’ everbody who tries to come up that there trail. That way we can be sure nobody can catch up to us ‘fore we get to the ranch in Pueblo.”
“But I don’t hanker on killin’ no innocent people, Bob,” Billy said, his forehead creased in a frown. “I know Jensen deserves what he’s gonna get, but shooting down some regular men who just happen to be in a posse just don’t seem right to me,” he complained.
“I didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout killin’ nobody, Billy,” Bob said. He looked around at the spot they had chosen to defend the trail. “From up here, we can keep anybody from passin’ without having to kill ‘em. We just shoot a couple of hosses out from under the riders, hit some rocks close by ‘em, an’ I have a feelin’ they gonna be hightailin’ it back to Big Rock.” He paused and added, “An’ the way this snow is fallin’, they’ll play hell getting a clear shot back at us.”
Billy nodded, relieved. He glanced across the trail to where Juan Gomez was sitting looking over a large rock. “You think Gomez got that message too?” he asked. “Ol’ Juan likes to use his gun a little too much for my taste.”
Bob followed his glance. “He’d better of gotten the message, since I told him flat out if he killed anybody Angus would have his scalp. The old man don’t want this to turn into a range war. He just wants his revenge on the man that killed his son.”
Suddenly, from across the trail came a low whistle. When they looked, they saw Juan pointing down at the trail as it rose to meet them.
A couple of hundred yards away, five riders could barely be seen riding at speed up the road into the teeth of the storm. Bob held up his hand to keep Juan from firing too soon, and he and Billy lay down across the top of the rock they were behind and took careful aim with their Winchesters.
Once the riders got in range, Bob gently squeezed the trigger on his long gun.
Down below, the rider in the lead was thrown head over heels as his horse swallowed its head and collapsed underneath him.
As the other riders jerked their mounts to a halt, both Billy and Juan fired at the same time. Billy missed, but the horse Juan was aiming at screamed and crow-hopped for a few seconds before it too fell to the ground.
Louis struggled to get his leg out from under his big Morgan. When the horse fell, it trapped Louis’s leg underneath it.
Sally jumped off the big Palouse she was riding and ran to Monte’s side. She gently rolled him over and found he was conscious, but barely. The unexpected fall had clearly stunned him badly.
She looked around quickly. There was no good cover nearby. They’d have to retreat at least a hundred yards back up the trail to find someplace to hide.
Pearlie jumped down off his horse and ran to help her, while Cal did the same with Louis. In minutes, supporting him between them, Sally and Pearlie were moving Monte back up the trail and away from the ambushers.
Louis, once Cal had helped him get up, took a moment to put a bullet into the head of his wounded horse so he wouldn’t suffer. One look at Monte’s mount told him the gelding was already dead, so Louis swung up into the saddle behind Cal and they galloped back up the trail heading for cover.
When they came abreast of Sally and Pearlie, who were still struggling with a dazed and incoherent Monte, Louis swung out of the saddle and took Sally’s place helping Pearlie, while Sally rushed to get control of hers and Pearlie’s horses and keep them with them.
As they hustled Monte up the trail, Louis looked back over his shoulder toward the place where the shots had come from. The snow was blowing so hard he could barely see the spot, and he was surprised there hadn’t been any more gunplay. He knew the men hiding up there could have killed them had they so desired, even with the reduced visibility of the snowstorm. Why they hadn’t was a mystery he didn’t have time to puzzle out now. He had to get Monte under cover and then determine if he needed immediate medical help.
Up on the ridge, Bob nodded in satisfaction. They’d done a good job stopping those pilgrims from getting up the trail. He had no idea who they were, whether they were a posse after Jensen or not, but it didn’t make any difference. No one was going to pass their way on this day, no matter who they were.
“You see that, Bob?” Billy asked.
“What?”
“I think one of those people was a woman,” he answered. “I could see her long, black hair hanging out from under her hat when she ran to that man that was on the ground.”
“So?” Bob asked.
“I just can’t believe if’n that was a posse that they’d let a woman ride along. Leastways, I ain’t never seen no woman on a posse before.”
“Like I said before,” Bob said, “it don’t matter none who’s down there. The fact is, it’s our job to keep everybody from passing.”
He looked back over his shoulder. “Now, I’ll keep an eye on those galoots down there, an’ you can get back there an’ stir up that fire. I’m thinkin’ some hot coffee’d sure go down good right now to take the chill out of my bones.”
Down below, Sally had laid Monte down on his back and was sponging his forehead with cool water from her canteen. As snowflakes began to accumulate on his shirt, she had Pearlie cover him with a blanket.
“How are you feeling, Monte?” she asked when he began to shiver.
“I . . . I don’t rightly know, Sally,” he said with a confused look in his eyes. “Where are we and what happened to me?” he asked with a groan.
“We’re on the trail after Smoke’s kidnappers, Monte, and someone shot your horse out from under you, causing you to take a bad fall.”
