“He’s gone,” John T. announced, his voice reaching those sprawled on the ground, crouched behind trees, and hiding in the bushes. John T. stood up and walked over to Larry Kelly who lay on the ground, his legs drawn up and both hands holding onto his .44-.40 punctured belly.
“Help me!” the gun-for-hire said.
“You know there ain’t nothin’ nobody can do,” John T. told him. “We’ll build a fire and make you comfortable, Larry. That’s about it.”
Larry started weeping.
Even von Hausen was shaken by the suddenness and the viciousness of the attack. He sat on a rock and willed himself to be calm.
Gunter slipped and slid and stumbled down the bank toward Maria. Halfway there he lost his footing and rolled the rest of the way, landing on his ass in the cold waters of the creek.
Gunter said a few very vulgar words.
“Assemble,” von Hausen said. “Let’s see how much damage was done.”
“One dead, one dyin’, and two wounded,” John T. told him.
“I don’t wanna die!” Kelly screamed.
“You shoulda thought of that ’fore you signed on,” Utah told him. “That’s the problem with you young squirts. You don’t consider that a bullet might have your name on it.”
“Go to hell!” Kelly yelled at him.
“I’ll be right behind you, boy,” the older gun-for-hire told him.
The cook, Walt, was walking around gathering up what supplies he could find and muttering to himself. An old gunfighter who had given it up years back, Walt no longer carried a gun on him.
“What the hell are you mumbling about?” Hans asked the man.
“You told me this was a huntin’ trip,” Walt snapped at him. “You didn’t tell me ’til we was five hundred miles gone that it was a
“You find that repugnant?” von Hausen asked from his seat on the rock.
“I don’t know what that means,” Walt replied, a sack of flour in his hands. “But I think you’re all about half nuts—or better—chasin’ after Smoke Jensen. Ifn you’d asked me from the start I woulda told you Jensen is pure poison. You’d be better off stickin’ your arm in a sackful of rattlers.”
“Keep your opinions to yourself,” Gunter panted the words, as he shoved Maria over the top of the bank. “Just cook.”
“I’ll do that,” Walt said. He tossed the sack of flour to Gil Webb.
“What the hell do you want me to do with this?” Gil asked.
Walt suggested a couple of things.
Smoke left the trail and headed west, between Jenny Lake and Leigh Lake. Miles behind him, Larry Kelly and the man from Nevada were buried in shallow graves, the mounds covered with rocks to keep the scavengers from digging up and eating the bodies.
“Suggestions?” von Hausen said to John T.
“We ain’t got nothin’ to use as leverage to make him come to us,” John T. said. “If you wanna go on, all we can do is keep chasin’ him.”
“I shall press on to the last man,” von Hausen told him. “Will the men stay?”
“There ain’t nobody talkin’ about quittin’.”
“Mount the men.”
Marlene fell back to ride beside old Walt-when the trail permitted that. “Did you know this Preacher person who raised Smoke Jensen?”
“I knew of him.” The cook didn’t like the women any better than he liked Von Hausen, Gunter, or Hans. If anything, he liked them less. Women didn’t have no business out here in the wilderness, shootin’ and chasin’ a human bein’ like he was some kind of animal.
“What was he like—that you know of.”
How could I tell you somethin’ about him that I didn’t know, you ninny? Walt thought. “Tough as rawhide and wild as the wind. He taught Smoke well. Give this hunt up, missy. You’re headin’ for grief if you don’t. Smoke’s done showed you how he fights. And if you think he’ll spare you ’cause you’re a woman, you’re flat wrong. You start shootin’ at him, he’ll put lead in you just as fast as he would a man.”
“Frederick will never quit,” she said with a toss of her head. “This is the ultimate challenge for him, and for us.”
“Well, you couldn’t have picked a prettier place to be buried, Missy.”
“You can’t believe that Smoke Jensen is going to win this, do you? That is ludicrous!”
“I don’t know what that means, Missy. But I do know this: Smoke cut down your party some yesterday. Tomorrow or the next day he’ll whittle it down by two or three more, all the while leading us north, always north, higher and higher into the mountains. And I’ll bet you a dollar that when we get to the north of this lake, Jensen will have cut west.” He smiled.
“Why are you smiling and what significance does the direction have?”
“I’m smilin’ ’cause Jensen is smarter than you folks; only the whole lot of you don’t have enough sense to see it. You’re all a bunch of arrogant fools. The direction means that if we follow his trail, we’ll soon be out of food and the only tradin’ post open to us is on the east side of Jackson Lake. Jensen will be on the west side, headin’ straight
