bellering.
One Eye’s horse fell against the slope and Smoke took aim and conked One Eye on the noggin with a fist-sized rock. One Eye slid off the saddle, out cold.
Smoke added more confusion to the riders on the narrow trail by jerking out his left-hand six gun and emptying it in the air. Then he threw back his head and howled like a wolf and screamed like a panther. The horses went crazy.
Smoke found some good-sized throwing rocks and started pelting those below him. One cracked von Hausen’s pith helmet and knocked the Baron slap out of the saddle. He landed belly-down on the edge of the trail and about fifteen seconds later, he joined Sandy in the creek, sitting in the cold water, addled goofy by the blow to his head.
Smoke had had his fun, but he wasn’t going to play games with skilled gunhandlers like John T. and those of the original bunch. He pulled his rifle to his shoulder and blew Tom Ritter out of the saddle. The outlaw was cooling meat when he hit the ground and went slowly tumbling down the slope to the creek.
“Damn you, Jensen!” John Flagg screamed, struggled to get his horse under control and finally managing to jerk his .45 out of leather.
Smoke shot him between the eyes.
John Flagg’s horse bolted and ran right over Maria, knocking the woman over the side of the slope. She rolled and tumbled down the bank and hit the creek just as von Hausen was getting to his feet. She hit him squarely across the knees and both of them went under, flailing and waving their arms and slipping and sliding on the slick rocks in the creek.
Smoke lit another stick of dynamite and dropped it to the trail below him. Then he cut out at a fast run through the timber.
The charge blew and knocked Utah Red off his horse. The hired gun went rolling down the slope and slammed into von Hausen and Maria just as they were crawling out of the creek. They returned to the creek.
Slick Finger Bob was tossed out of the saddle and landed on his belly on the trail. He had just enough wind left in him to roll frantically off the trail to avoid having his head smashed by the hooves of the panicked horses. He felt himself going over the edge and grabbed at an ankle. Marlene’s ankle. The two of them went over the side of the steep embankment and began the fast tumble down.
Von Hausen had just enough wind left him to crawl up the bank of the creek. He almost made it. Slick Finger Bob and Marlene banged into him and knocked him clear to the other side of the fast-rushing mountain stream. Von Hausen’s head hit a rock and he was out.
The mountain trail grew quiet. John T. peeped around a tree trunk and took in the sight before him. Two men were down and dead as a hammer. Tom Ritter lay on his belly and John Flagg was on his back, a hole right between his eyes. One Eye looked dead; then John T. saw his fingers began to twitch. A whole bunch of people appeared to be in the crick below, squallin’ and bellerin’ and cussin’ and hollerin’ for help. John T. couldn’t see Ed Clay nowheres. Dick Dorman had been tossed from his horse and landed on his bad ankle. He had passed out from the pain.
John T. motioned toward Cat Brown to take the south end of the trail while he climbed the bank on the north end. It only took a couple of minutes for them to see that Jensen was gone.
Marlene was crawled up the slope, her eyes wild with hate and fury, her mouth working overtime, spewing out every cuss word she knew in several languages. She was mud from head to boots.
John T. looked around and finally found his horse and tied a rope to the saddlehorn, dangling the other end down to the creek. “Tie it around his majesty’s shoulders,” John T. called. “We’ll pull him up.”
“What about me!” Maria shrieked.
“Drag your own ass up here,” John T. muttered, “We’ll git to you,” he hollered. “Just take it easy.”
Von Hausen was hauled up the slope. He lost his boots and his pants during the salvage effort.
Slick Finger Bob was crawling up the slope, pushing Maria ahead of him.
“Get your hands off my backside!” she screamed at him.
“Well, goddamnit, lady, what else am I gonna push against?”
“Don’t touch me!”
“All right,” Slick Finger said, and removed his hands and got out of the way.
Maria hollered all the way back down.
26
Smoke put the muzzle of a .44 against Ed Clay’s head. “I’ll give you a choice, partner,” Smoke told him. “Leave or die. What’s it going to be?”
“You give me a chance, Mister Jensen, and I’m gone. I won’t join up with the others. You don’t have to give me a horse, a gun, or nothin’. Just let me leave and you’ll never see me again.”
“Head straight east,” Smoke told him. “There’s a settlement on the Clear. If I see you in these mountains, I’ll kill you.”
“The only people that’s gonna see me from now on is my momma and daddy, back in Nebraska.”
“Get gone.”
Ed Clay got gone. Smoke doubted he’d return to Nebraska, but he also felt he’d never see the man again.
Smoke tossed Andrea into the saddle, tied her hands, and swung aboard his Appaloosa. He headed north, deeper into the Bighorns.
“Found Ed’s horse,” Henry Barton said. “But there ain’t a sign of Ed.”
