“You look tired. There is fresh coffee in the pot. Walt made it,” he added.
“But ...”
“And there is food being prepared now.”
“But ... what about ...”
“They might dig us outta here, Smoke,” Walt said, strolling up on his bow-legs, “but they’ll have one hell of a battle on their hands doin’ it.” He waved to Charles Knudson. “Take his horse, will you, son? Thanks.”
“Damnit!” Smoke yelled. “Von Hausen couldn’t be more than two or three hours behind me. What the hell are you people doing? I thought ...”
“The hosses couldn’t go no more and neither could ’bout half the people,” Walt said. “Gilbert knowed of this place, so here we are. Come on. I think you’ll like what you see.”
He did.
Montana got his hat blowed off when he rounded the bend in the trail. He left the saddle hollering for the others to lie back and get down.
From his position in the timber, Montana stared up in amazement at the sight on the ridge. It was a fort. A gawddamned fort in the middle of the wilderness. And they had ’em a regular United States flag just a-flappin’ in the breeze, all stuck up on a tall pole.
Von Hausen crept up to Montana’s side and looked. And looked. Then he started cussing in several languages. He finally wound down and waved for John T. to join them.
John T. looked and shook his head and sighed mightily. “This ain’t worth a damn, boss. This just ain’t no good at all. I betcha there ain’t but one way up there and we’re lookin’ at it. It’d be suicide.”
“Yes,” von Hausen agreed. “I’m afraid you’re right. But there is one point in our favor. They can’t get out.”
“True. But how long will it be ’fore the Army sends in troops lookin’ for them soldier boys we killed?”
“Not long,” von Hausen reluctantly said.
“Where’d you get the flag?” Smoke asked, belly down behind the ramparts on the ridge.
“We always carry a flag with us,” Gilbert told him. “Anytime we’re doing expeditionary work in the wilderness, whether it be in Africa or in the territories.”
Smoke had agreed that the fort was solid and very nearly impregnable. While the men were busy fortifying the site, the women had busied themselves gathering up firewood, and not just for use as cooking. Both Walt and Jensen knew how to make smoke ‘talk.’ If they could hold out for a couple of days, the Army would, very probably, be sending patrols in to find out why the initial patrol had not returned and they would, hopefully, see the talking smoke.
Smoke had inspected the hidden opening at the rear of the falls. Nature had done her work very well. The entrance/exit had to be pointed out to him. Still, Smoke had insisted upon posting a guard near the entrance. If any of von Hausen’s people found their way into the valley, those inside the natural fort would be in real trouble.
“Standoff,” Smoke said to Gilbert. “At least for as long as there’s light. They’ll try to rush us as soon as it’s dark.” He thought for a moment. “Gather up any clothing you don’t need and tear it into rags. We’ll make torches. When they rush us, we’ll light them and throw them over the side.”
The stone ramparts were high and any openings between the huge rocks had been plugged with timber and dirt, gun slits added. Smoke walked the line of defenders, making certain all had plenty of ammo.
“Don’t fire at shadows,” he told each one. “We’ve plenty of ammunition, but not so much that we can afford to waste it. If you’re not sure of a target, don’t fire. We can wait them out. Tonight is going to be our biggest test of nerve. I want every other person to nap for a couple of hours. Then stand guard and let the others rest. Do that until dark.”
Smoke walked to his blankets and laid down, a saddle for a pillow. He called, “If anything important happens, wake me up.”
“There does not appear to be a nerve in his body,” Blanche remarked.
Smoke awakened several times during the afternoon, when one of von Hausen’s men would throw a shot at the fort on the ridge, the bullet thudding into wood or dirt or howling off a boulder. He would close his eyes and go back to sleep. As the shadows began to lengthen, Smoke rolled from his blankets, put on his hat, buckled his guns around his lean hips, and walked to the fire, pouring a cup of coffee.
“It’s quiet,” Angel told him. “But I think when the darkness comes so will they.”
Smoke sipped his coffee. Hot and black and strong. “Yes. Von Hausen is fighting out of pure desperation now. But if we can beat back the first wave—and I see no reason why that can’t be done—those gunslingers down yonder will have second thoughts about doing it again. Did you get some rest?”
“I napped off and on. I feel fine. I made sure the others got some sleep.”
“Good. There damn sure won’t be much sleeping come the night. Was the guard changed behind us?”
“Every two hours, to relieve the boredom.”
Smoke drank his coffee and ate a biscuit. He checked his .44-.40. He shoved in a couple of rounds, then checked his .44’s. He walked to the stone and timber walls. “How are you doing?” he asked Gilbert.
“Fine. Wonderful, in fact. The excitement is building among us, almost to a fever pitch. All of us here have gotten over our fright, for the most part. Now a sense of deep anger and resentment toward those below us has taken its place. Our rights have been violated and we are all prepared to use force to get them returned.”
Walt grinned. “In other words, y’all are ready to kick some butt.”
“That sums it up rather well,” Carol said.
Smoke looked at the woman anthropologist. He still wasn’t all that sure what it was, exactly, that she did. And he was afraid to ask. He thought it had something to do with old bones. Carol wore a pistol in a military-style holster and held a long-barreled shotgun.
