Walt shook his head in disgust.
“Now, I like that!” Tony Addison said. “Real legal-like. I wish somebody had brought some pitcher-takin’ machinery. I’d like to have me a pitcher of Smoke Jensen swingin’.”
Marlene smiled. “Oh, but we do have photographic equipment. The newest and very best. And it’s packed very carefully.”
The women had long miles back discarded their riding costumes and side-saddles. They were all dressed in riding breeches and rode astride, and all of them carried side-arms.
“Tie them up,” von Hausen said, pointing to Walt and Angel. “Leave them here and picket the horses. We’ll move out on foot as soon as this camp is secured. Take your spurs off and anything else that might make a noise.”
Walt and Angel were trussed up and dumped on the ground. Cat Brown stood over Walt and grinned at the old gunfighter. “I’m gonna personal kill you, Webster. I been tired of your mouth for weeks. I’m gonna gut-shoot you and listen to you squall.”
“That’s about your speed, punk,” Walt told him, defiance in his eyes.
Cat kicked the man in the belly and laughed at him.
“Move out,” von Hausen ordered. “When we reach the creek, I’ll go up to the bank alone and give the patrol a shout. When they stand up, open fire. Knock a leg out from under Jensen. We want him alive. Remember that.
The hunting party was just out of sight when Angel said. “I am blessed with teeth that are ver’ strong, Walt. If my brain was as strong as my teeth I would not be in this situation, I am thinking. Let me scoot around and I will go to work on your bonds.”
“I’m glad one of us still has his choppers,” Walt said. “I lost most of mine years back.”
Smoke had led his horses to new graze, about two hundred and fifty yards from the camp, he picketed them behind a huge tangle of brush and thorns; it wasn’t done deliberately, that was where the best graze was. He was walking back to the camp when he heard the shout. He recognized the voice and knew instantly that something was very wrong. Von Hausen wouldn’t just walk up to an Army camp knowing by now that the word had spread about what he was doing.
Smoke ran toward the camp to warn the men when the first volley of shots thundered in the mid-morning air. A stray bullet whanged off a rock and slammed into his leg, knocking him sprawling. He grabbed his leg at the wound to keep any blood from leaking to the ground and crawled into a thicket. Inside the tangle, he turned and with a leafy branch on the ground brushed out any sign of his entry and rearranged the brush at the opening. It might work, he thought. They would see his horses gone and just might assume that he’d never been in the camp, or had already departed.
If they didn’t search too diligently, if they were anxious to get gone after the killing ambush of Army troops, if his horses didn’t whinny and give away their position...
A lot of ifs.
“Finish him,” von Hausen said, pointing to the top soldier, who was gut shot and glaring at him through bright, pain-filled eyes.
Marlene coldly, and with a strange expression of excitement on her face, shot the sergeant major in the head.
“Help me,” a young soldier pleaded.
“Why, certainly,” von Hausen said. He lifted his pistol and shot him between the eyes.
“Damnit!” Roy Drum said. “Jensen’s gone. Both of his horses is gone. He must have pulled out just after we seen them this morning.”
“That’s right,” Montana Jess said. “Jensen’s hoss was saddled. I ’member now.”
“We’ll pick up his trail,” von Hausen said. “He can’t have gone far. It’s been no more than two hours. Scatter the supplies. The Army lives on hardtack. Leave it. I have no taste for that horrible ration.”
“What about the bodies?” John T. asked.
“Leave them where they lie. The bears will have them eaten by this time tomorrow.”
“Their horses?”
“Leave them. We don’t want to be seen riding a horse wearing an Army brand. Let’s get back to camp and get on Jensen’s trail. Quickly, men. Move!”
When the last man had splashed across the creek, Smoke rolled out of his hiding place and limped to the death camp. He quickly checked the bodies. They were all dead. Cussing under his breath, he tied a bandana around the wound on his leg and then grabbed as much of the scattered equipment as he dared take the time to do so. Then, gritting his teeth against the pain, he limped as quickly as he could to his horses. Ten minutes later he was in the saddle and gone, staying off the trail and weaving through the timber, heading for the high country. He would heat a knife point and dig the lead out later. Right now, he had to put some distance between himself and the death camp.
“Goddamnit!” von Hausen yelled, looking at the ropes on the ground. “They’ve escaped. I thought you said the men were tied securely?”
“They was!” John T. said. “I checked ’em personal. They was trussed up like pigs.”
“Angel Cortez has teeth like a beaver,” Valdes said. “He used to win bets in bars by bending coins between his teeth. But they cannot have gone far.”
“John T.,” von Hausen said. “Assign men to track down and kill Walt and Angel. Get in the saddle, men. We’ve got to get on Jensen’s trail.”
Marlene smiled. She had seen through von Hausen’s plan. The men could not back off now. They had to kill Jensen if it meant dying to the last person. They would all—to a man—hang if caught for the killing of the troops.
