“Let’s keep them talking,” Angel suggested. “That’ll give away their positions to Smoke.”
“No deal, Mack,” Walt called. “You boys surrender to us and we’ll see that you get a fair trial. You have my word on it.”
“Surrender? Us?” Nat yelled. “You’re crazy!”
Nat had moved to his right. He was trying to work his way up the other side of the slope. The timber side. Toward Smoke.
“Angel,” Mack yelled. “Listen to me. You got good sense for a greaser ...”
“What a compliment,” Angel muttered.
“... You don’t wanna die no more than we do. Think about it and join us.”
Nat ran into a long bladed knife that drove up to the hilt in his belly. Smoke jerked the blade upward with one hand while his other hand was covering Nat’s mouth, to prevent any screaming. The blade tore into the gunslinger’s heart and Nat Reed would hire out his gun no more. Smoke silently lowered the body to the cold earth, wiped his blade clean on Nat’s jacket, and moved on toward the voices.
“We’re just gonna outwait you, boys,” Mack called. “We got food and blankets and coffee and time. You boys ain’t got nothin’. You can’t slip away. You got a lame horse. Think about it. Don’t be fools and die for Smoke Jensen. He ain’t never done a damn thing for either of you.”
“What has von Hausen done for us?” Angel yelled. “What the hell have any of you done for us?”
“They ain’t gonna give it up,” Leo said. “We’re gonna have to take ’em. Nat oughtta be in position about now. What’d you say, Mack?”
“He said he’d chunk a rock over this way when he got in place. I ain’t heard no rocks, have you?”
“Naw.”
“Will .44’s do?” Smoke asked from behind the men.
They spun around, lifting their rifles. Smoke’s twin .44’s belched flame in the darkness. Mack was thrown backward, the slug tearing into his heart. Leo took his high in the chest, left side, and managed to lift his rifle. Smoke fired again, the slug lifting Leo off his boots and turning him around in a strange dance. He toppled over.
“That’s it,” Smoke called. He collected the rifles and gunbelts of the men and joined Walt and Angel on the crest of the small hill.
“I’ll switch saddles and ride one of their horses,” Walt said. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through silver hair. “Mack had a decent streak in him at one time. I’ve knowed him for years. I don’t know when he turned vicious.”
“He can explain it to God,” Smoke said.
“The ones that are left, Senor Jensen,” Angel said. “They are vicious. All of them. Through and through. You heard us talking about von Hausen’s plans?”
“Yes. We’ll stop him. Bring the other horses along. We might need them. We’re camped just over that ridge. Come on. I’ll help you pack up.”
When they got back to the camp Smoke checked over the short guns and the rifles taken from the outlaws. They were well supplied with ammo and Smoke divided that up and passed it around, then assigned the guns. Now everyone was armed, and well armed, for the four men who lay unburied on the cold ground a half mile away had each carried two six-guns tied down and each one had a rifle.
“What do we do now?” Carol asked, looking around her at the dark timber.
“Have something to eat and get some rest,” Smoke said. “From here on in, it gets interesting.”
The next day was clear and warm, the temperature climbing into the sixties before mid-morning. Roy Drum pointed to the carrion birds circling just ahead and to the west of the trail they were on. Von Hausen sent a man to check it out. He was back quickly.
“You best see this,” he said, “all of you.” He did not add: except for the women. The outlaw was well aware of how vicious these so-called ladies were. Especially that damned cold-actin’ Marlene.
The flesh-eating birds had started their feasting and the men had to kick them away from the bodies. It was a gory sight.
“Took their guns and horses,” John T. said. “I don’t believe Walt and Angel done this.”
“Found where a whole bunch of people camped last night,” Cat Brown said, riding up. “And Smoke and Walt and Angel was among ’em.
“How many people?” Von Hausen asked.
“I’d say ’tween twelve and fifteen, countin’ Smoke and Walt and Angel.”
Gunter cussed and Hans looked worried. He wasn’t liking any of this. It had turned too bloody, too savage. They had lost sight of the spirit of the hunt. It was out of control. It never occurred to him that it was out of control the instant they chose Smoke Jensen as the man they were to hunt.
“They’re pilgrims,” Cat said. “And they got some women with ’em.
“Interesting,” von Hausen said.
“Frederick,” Hans said. “I think ...”
Von Hausen spat out rapid-fire German. Hans shut his mouth. Andrea came to him and took his arm. They walked away together.
“This has got to stop, Andrea,” Hans said, when they were out of earshot of von Hausen. “It’s gone much too far.”
