“I’m really quite good with the shotgun, Smoke Jensen,” she said. “If I can hit a bird on the wing, I can certainly hit a man. And believe me when I speak for all of us here, sir: there will be no shirking among us. If those murderers down there come up that ridge, we will not hesitate to shoot.”
There was a set to her chin and a determination in the woman’s voice that gave Smoke no reason to doubt her. These gentle people had been pushed to their limits. Now they were going to do some pushing of their own.
Smoke smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and walked on. He stopped at Charles Knudson’s position. Harold Bailey was a few yards from him, manning another post. The young surveyors smiled at him, Charles saying, “We’re ready, Smoke.”
“Good men,” Smoke told him. He walked the interior of the fort which formed a crude half circle, stopping to talk for a moment with everybody. Paula and Thomas had left to guard the rear exit of the valley, relieving Robert at the lonely post. Two were sent so one could sleep while the other stayed awake during the long night. It might get so busy that they could not be relieved for many hours. And Walt had wanted the shift changed while there was still light to see.
He found Angel cleaning his rifle. “Senor Smoke,” the Mexican gunfighter greeted him with a smile. “I think for some out there,” he pointed toward the edge of the ridge, “this is going to be a good night to die.”
“It might be a terrible thing to say, Angel; but I sure hope so.”
“Not so terrible a thing when bad men chase good people,” Angel said soberly.
“You do have a point, Angel.” Smoke returned to his bedroll, slipped into a jacket, for the late afternoon was turning very cool, and filled his jacket pocket with cartridges. He poured another cup of coffee and then took the plate of food that was handed to him. He ate with a good appetite and rinsed out his plate in a pan and returned to the ramparts.
Walt had done a really bang-up job in securing the interior of the fort. The tents were set well back, too far back for anyone to throw a torch into them. A stray bullet might ricochet and scream off the rock of the sheer face behind them and hit someone, but that would be a long shot. All things considered, their position was a secure one.
“I have always heard that this was the hardest part of a battle,” Gilbert said. “The waiting.”
“You heard right,” Smoke told him. “When the shootin’ starts, a man doesn’t have time to be scared. Scared- time is over. You don’t have time to think about anything except staying alive.”
“Would it make me sound callous if I said I believe I am actually looking forward to this fight?”
Smoke smiled. “No. It’s like you said: you folks are feeling a lot of anger and resentment toward that pack of hyenas down the ridge. With good reason. You want to strike back at them. That’s understandable. I do too, believe that.”
“Sometimes you speak like a very well-educated man, Mister Jensen.”
“I married a schoolteacher,” Smoke said with a smile. Gilbert chuckled as Smoke moved away, making yet another round inside the fort.
Roy Drum returned from his afternoon’s circling around the mountain. He poured a cup of coffee and shook his head. “There ain’t no other way in. If you want them folks, Baron, we got to go up that ridge and take ’em. And before you ask me if I’m shore about there bein’ no other way in, yeah, I’m shore.”
Von Hausen looked disdainfully at the man. “It isn’t just a matter of
“Yeah,” Roy said wearily. He sat down on the ground with a sigh. “I know that. But I ain’t makin’ no suicide charges up that ridge. And it would be suicide. I just ain’t gonna do that, for nobody.”
“If we done it durin’ the day,” John T. said,“ I’d agree with that. But they can’t see no better at night than we can. We can look at the damn ridge and see there ain’t no traps set for us. That’s as plain as the nose on your ugly face.”
“I’ll con-cede the trap part,” Roy said with a smile. “But they’s some ladies who think I’m right cute.”
“They must be blind,” Montana Jess said.
Von Hausen stood quietly, letting the men banter back and forth. This was not something he could just flatly order them to do.
“It might work to our advantage to let them stew for one night,” Gil Webb said.
John T. shook his head. “You’re forgettin’ about all them dead soldier boys back down the trail that probably was supposed to have reported back in a long time ago. Every hour we stall, means we’re that much closer to a hangman’s noose.”
“I’ll stick a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger ’fore I let myself be tooken in alive,” Utah Red said. “I don’t favor stretchin’ no rope.”
The men were unanimous in that.
“Well,” John T. said. “Let’s talk this thing out. We all know what we got to do, it’s just when that’s gotta be settled.”
“I’ll leave that up to you men,” von Hausen said. He returned to his tent and closed the flap against the chill of the approaching night.
“Damn big of him,” Cat Brown said.
Smoke had gone to where Angel had stacked his gear from the pack horse and dug out the sack of dynamite and caps and fuses. He prepared a dozen sticks and using thin strips of rawhide, tied them to nice-sized throwing lengths of branches he’d cut off. He gave three to Walt, three to Angel, and kept six for himself. He went to the pile of torches and passed them out.
“Put out the fire,” he ordered. “That will give us better night vision.”
“It’ll be cold,” Perry said.
“I’d rather be cold alive than cold dead,” Smoke put a stopper in that kind of talk quickly.
Gilbert grinned at him in the waning light. “Very aptly put, Smoke.”
