Smoke shook his head. “No. They started this. I’ll finish it.”
Smoke went to his supplies and packed a few items in a rucksack while breakfast was being cooked. He did not even look up when Robert called, “There they go.”
Smoke checked his high-top moccasins. The soles were getting thin, but they’d hold out for this run. He tucked his jeans inside the leggins and wound the rawhide tight around his ankles and calves. Then he went over and had breakfast.
“Now listen to me, people,” Smoke said, squatting down by the fire and fixing a biscuit and bacon sandwich. “You stay on the alert. Head’s up at all times. Just as soon as von Hausen makes the timber on those ridges, he’s going to send people back here, on foot, swinging wide through the timber to avoid being seen. They’ll be getting into position and they’ll have supplies to last a day or so, to wait you out. Stay behind these walls and don’t expose yourselves. Just as soon as those he sends back here hear the shooting, they’ll know it’s gone sour for them. I don’t know what they’ll do. But I’ll bet that von Hausen offered them big money to reject our proposal and to stick it out. Don’t leave this fort after the shooting stops. For any reason. Don’t leave the protection of these walls.”
Smoke walked to the ramparts and looked down at the seemingly deserted timber.
“They’re entering the meadow,” Gilbert said, holding binoculars to his eyes.
“Count them.”
“I count twenty-two.”
“That’s the whole bunch of them, then. OK, Gilbert. Keep the people behind these walls. I’m gone.”
“You be careful out there, boy,” Walt said.
“I’ll do that. Take care of them in here.”
“We’ll do that,” Angel said. “Vaya con dios, Smoke.”
Smoke slipped into his pack, picked up his rifle, and left the fort, jogging across the tiny meadow and coming up to where Thomas and Paula were standing guard. Charles Knudson had visited them before dawn, telling them what was planned, so they were expecting Smoke.
They greeted him, wished him luck and God speed, and Smoke slipped through, being careful not to disturb the natural look of the exit.
He set out on a distance-eating lope, staying in the timber whenever possible, keeping low and moving swiftly when he had to cross short expanses of open terrain, using every bush and shrub for cover.
He had steeled his mind for this mission. He had offered them all safe passage last evening. If they were planning an ambush—and he had no doubts in his mind about that—there would be no mercy shown them. None. For any of them. Including the women if they turned hostile, and he was sure they would do just that. This was the most savage, cold-blooded, ruthless bunch of people he had ever encountered. He did not pretend to comprehend what went on in their demented minds.
As he neared the far ridges, Smoke slowed his approach. He slipped from tree to tree, his carefully-placed feet making no noise when they touched the earth.
He stopped, still as a sturdy tree when he heard the first whisper of voices filtering through the lushness of untouched forest. He worked his way closer, moving only when someone was speaking. Von Hausen and party had stopped in a small clearing, well hidden from the eyes of those back at the fort.
Smoke counted those in the clearing. Six were missing. And he’d bet those six were the top guns in the bunch. So be it. He would deal with them later.
“How long you reckon it’ll take the boys to get into position back yonder?” The question, or at least a part of it, reached Smoke.
He worked a few yards closer.
“Give ’em a good two hours,” his question was answered.
“I don’t ’spect Jensen and them will stick their noses out of the fort for several hours,” another said. “Maybe longer than that.”
“This is wrong!” a very accented voice reached Smoke. The words were almost a shout. “The man gave his word and we gave ours. What we are doing now is despicable!”
“Oh, stop your whining, Hans,” a woman said. “I’m sick of it. We all are.”
“This is a good plan,” a man said. The words were just audible to Smoke.
So von Hausen and his immediate party were some distance away from the hired help. Figures, Smoke thought. Heaven forbid they should have to associate with the lower classes.
Smoke moved closer. He was very near the edge of the clearing now. He thumb-nailed a match into flames.
“Shut your goddamn mouth, Hans!” von Hausen said. “We’re all tired of your silly whimpering. Now sit down over there and be quiet. Give us all a break. Those people back at that fort have to die. All of them. That’s final, and it’s settled.”
Smoke stepped to the edge of the clearing, lit the fuse on a charge of dynamite and tossed it into the center of the men, sitting and squatting in a circle.
“Jesus H. Christ!” one bellowed.
“Run!” another squalled, and took off like his long handles was on fire and he was in them.
Smoke laughed, threw back his head, and howled like a great gray timber wolf.
“What in the hell is that?” Marlene screamed.
Three sticks of dynamite blew. One man had been nodding off and was slow to move. The blast and concussion lifted him off the ground and moved him about thirty feet, one of his legs bent in an impossible angle.
