“Gone to Washington for a few weeks. My God!” Harold said, noticing the bloody bandana tied around Smoke’s leg. “You’ve hurt yourself.”
“They shot me. It’s all right. I dug the bullet out and cauterized the wound. I just keep the bandana on to hold the bandage in place.”
Paula stood up. “Please go over to the lean-to and sit down, Mister Jensen. Among other things, I am a trained nurse. Gilbert, get the first aid kit. And take off your pants, Mister Jensen.”
Smoke stopped at that. “I got some extra jeans, ma’am. I’ll just open the tear in this and let you ...”
“Take off your damn pants!” she yelled.
“Yes, ma’am,” Smoke said, and shucked out of his moccasins and jeans behind the blanket someone had rigged for privacy.
“I can see no sign of infection,” Carol said, after applying some sort of medicine on the healing wound and rebandaging it. “But that knife must have been awfully hot. There are burn scars all around the entry point.”
“Very hot, ma’am. But it still beat fillin’ it up with gunpowder and burning out the infection.”
She sighed. “I wish people would stop that practice. Gunpowder is not the most sanitary substance around.”
“But it works,” Smoke said.
Smoke gathered the group around him in the rapidly diminishing snowfall. It had dusted the land but would be gone shortly after sunup. “We’ve got problems, people. Big problems. Alone, I could shake those behind me and get out and tell the law about what happened to the Army patrol. But if I do that, you people will die. Von Hausen and his scummy bunch have to kill anybody that knows they were in the park. And that’s all of you...”
“But the superintendent knows,” Perry said.
“His word against twenty-five. Actually,” Smoke continued, “von Hausen is playing a fool’s game. I’m the only one who any defense lawyer would probably allow on the stand. You people have never seen him in here. But von Hausen and those with him are scared; they’re not thinking rationally. So that means you’re all in danger. Now I don’t know whether von Hausen is still coming at me through this snow, or not. I’d guess not. But they will be at first light. Bet on it. And they’re only about six or seven hours behind. We’ve got to come up with a plan for staying alive. And we don’t have much time to do it.”
“Run for it?” Charles suggested.
“We’re not fighters, Mister Jensen,” Gilbert said. “None of us here have ever fired a shot in anger at anything. None of us have combat experience. But if you say we stand and fight, we will.”
Smoke thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “No. You people have to get out. I’ve got to buy you some time to get clear and get to the army. Are there any troops still in the park?”
“About half a dozen up at White Mountain. They’re Army engineers. I don’t even know whether they have guns.”
“They’re armed,” Smoke said. “There are still hostiles in the area. I want you people up and ready to go at first light. Head for White Mountain. Connect with the Army, and get the hell gone for the nearest town that has wires. Get a telegram off to Washington and let them know what’s happened in here and what is happening.”
“Where will you make your stand?” Morris asked.
“Up the trail somewhere. I’ll know it when I see it.”
“More coffee, Mister Jensen?” Thomas asked.
“Only if I can make a fresh pot.”
“I’ll have tea,” Gilbert said quickly.
“Their horses is gettin’ tired,” Mack said, looking down at the tracks left by Walt and Angel. “And them tracks is fresh. We’re closin’ in, boys.”
“I want Ol’ Walt,” Lou said. “I want that old bastard lookin’ at me when I drop him.”
“This ain’t gonna be no stand up and draw thing, Lou,” Mack told him. “Our orders is to kill them both the best and quickest way we can.”
“Hell with orders. I want to see what kind of stuff that old coot has.”
“You do that,” Mack said, “and he just might be the one standin’ over you when it’s done.”
Lou sneered and cussed as he swung back into the saddle. “No way, Mack. No way. We got about an hour of daylight left. Let’s go.”
“Come up lame,” Walt said, stripping the saddle and bridle from his horse and patting it on the rump. “I felt it when he hurt hisself back yonder on them rocks. Built a fire, Angel, let’s have us some coffee and bacon. I ’spect them that’s doggin’ us will be along right shortly. I’ll have me another horse right after dark.”
Angel grinned and began gathering up firewood while Walt rigged a shelter-half for them in the timber. Walt had strapped on his guns and tied them down. He spun the cylinders, checking the loads.
Angel was thinking: I’d not want to mess with that old man. He knew Walt had given up gunfighting simply because he was tired of the killing, tired of the blood, tired of having to prove himself against every two-bit punk that came along. But he was still snake-quick and a dead shot. And now he was ready to go again. Walt Webster was a living legend. Not in Smoke’s class, but close. Real close.
The two men drank their coffee and ate the bacon, then moved back into the timber, after building the fire up. It could not be missed by anyone coming up in the fading light.
“Lou Kennedy was always bragging about how he could take you any day, Walt,” Angel said.
“He’s a loud-mouthed tinhorn,” the old gunfighter said. “All bluster and no brains.”
“What will you do if he calls you out?”
