Smoke watched as Carol broke open her double-barrel shotgun and checked the loads. She had a bandoleer of shotgun shells looped over one shoulder.
She was not a big woman, and had elected not to use buckshot. She was afraid the charge might knock her down. But she was using a heavy load of birdshot that would make life miserable for anyone who caught a load of it.
Smoke smiled, thinking if she caught someone in the butt with that birdshot, they’d be damned uncomfortable sitting a saddle for some time.
He peered out through one of the gunslits. Night was gently closing in around them. Nothing moved below. That he could see. But they would come this night. He was sure of that. He’d bet on it.
They all were, with their lives.
20
Smoke caught a glimpse of a shadow moving near the base of the hill. He stared; there it was again. “Here they come,” he whispered to Gilbert, manning a post a few yards away. “Pass the word.”
The alert was quickly and quietly passed up and down the line of defenders.
“I can’t see a thing,” Gilbert whispered.
“They’ve probably blackened their faces with mud,” Smoke returned the whisper. “For sure they’ve taken off their spurs and dressed in the darkest clothing they had with them. Those down there might be trash, but they’re professionals, too.”
“And desperate men,” Blanche added. She was posted only a few yards to Smoke’s left.
Smoke had not had to tell the women what would happen to them should the man-hunters breech the ramparts and get their hands on them. The women knew.
“I see something moving down there,” Blanche whispered hoarsely.
“Let them get closer,” Smoke said. “Make damn sure you’ve got a target. The closer they are, the better your chances of a good hit.”
A figure loomed close to the ramparts. Carol’s shotgun roared twice. An outlaw screamed over and over in pain. The birdshot had taken him on the shoulders, neck, and the lower part of his face. He dropped his rifle and put both hands to his birdshot-peppered cheeks and jaw. He screamed again, lost his footing on the slope, and went rolling elbows over butt down the hill.
“One down,” Carol muttered, and pulled out the smoking hulls, tossing them to the ground and reloading.
Smoke’s lips moved in a warrior’s smile. No doubts now as to how Carol would react.
“Good,” Gilbert said. “Very good shot, Carol.” He lifted his rifle and fired at a shadow. The bullet howled off a rock and the outlaw dropped belly-down on the ground.
Angel found a target and drilled a man-hunter in the leg, the force of the bullet knocking the man down and sending him rolling and squalling down the hill.
“Back!” John T. called. “Back down the hill.”
“Let them have it!” Smoke yelled, and the cool night air thundered with the sounds of rifle, pistol, and shotgun fire from the defenders on the hill.
Out of range, von Hausen stood tight-lipped, his face white with anger and his hands clenched into big fists, as John T. gave the orders to retreat. He watched impassively as Jerry Watkins came staggering in, the lower part of his face and his neck bleeding badly from the birdshot that had peppered him. The man was fortunate that the blast had not taken him a few inches higher and blinded him. Had that occurred, one of them would have had to shoot the man. Von Hausen was in no mood to waste any time with a blind person.
Tony Addison came hobbling in, his arm around the shoulders of Cat Brown. Tony’s leg was bleeding from a
.44 Winchester slug that had taken him in the thigh and his face was pale and tight against the pain.
John T. walked up. “No good, boss,” he told von Hausen. “It looks like it’s suicide day or night. They just flat stopped us cold. You can’t get no footin’ up that hill.”
Frederick stared at him, then nodded his head curtly and walked away.
Utah grumbled, “Why don’t he take his royal ass up that hill and try it one time?”
“ ’Cause that’s what he’s payin’ us big money to do,” John T. told him. “Or have you forgotten that?”
“Don’t crowd me too hard, John T.,” Utah warned the man.
The two skilled gunhandlers stood in the close darkness and stared at each other for a moment. A very tense moment since feelings were running high and the surging blood of each man was hot for killing.
“You boys cool down,” Montana said. “Just back off. This ain’t no time for us to start squabbling amongst ourselves.”
“Montana’s right,” Pat said. “That’s what them folks up on the hill want; for us to turn on each other. Now settle down. We got wounded to look after.”
Utah nodded his head. “Sorry, John T.”
“It’s OK, Utah,” John T. replied. “We’re all on a short string this evenin’. Come on. Let’s see about the boys and get us some coffee.”
The defenders on the hill were quietly jubilant.
