Owen.”
Joseph looked around and saw a man riding up the valley toward them. When the man reached the camp, he reined in and swung down from his horse. He wore an excited look on his face.
“What is it?” Lundy asked.
“We’ve got some spies up the valley a ways, holed up in a little box canyon,” the man reported. “They’ve pulled some brush up in front of the canyon mouth to hide it, and I might not have even seen it if I hadn’t spotted some old pelican wanderin’ around. I watched him go back through the brush and slipped up to take a closer look. I think there’s several people in there.”
Lundy frowned at Joseph. “Is that some of your bunch? You got the gold stashed in that canyon?”
“I don’t know anything about this,” Joseph answered honestly. He looked at the scout. “You say this was an old man?”
“Yeah, with a white beard and an old hat with the front pushed up.”
Joseph shook his head. “These people are not part of our group.”
Palmer spoke up, saying to the scout, “An old man with a white beard?”
“That’s right. He had on a cowhide vest, too, if that means anything to you.”
“Stevens!” Palmer said under his breath, adding a muttered curse.
“You know these folks, Joe?” Lundy asked sharply. “I was willing to let you throw in with us, but if you’re trying to pull some sort of double cross, you’ll be damned sorry you did.”
Palmer shook his head. “No double cross, Owen, I swear. But that old man’s an enemy of mine. He tried to kill me a while back, and I guess he’s followed up here into the mountains, the son of a bitch.”
Lundy rasped fingertips over his beard-stubbled jaw as he thought. “Then I reckon you don’t really care what happens to this fella, do you?”
“Not hardly. In fact, if you were to get rid of him, I’d consider it a mighty big favor.”
Lundy nodded as he reached a decision. “Come on, then. Grab hold of that gun, boys.” He gave Joseph a savage grin. “You’re about to get a real demonstration of what a Gatling can do, Marat.”
Chapter 17
Frank’s instincts, honed to a razor’s edge by decades of the dangerous life he had led, were the only thing that saved him. Nerves and muscles galvanized into action and sent him diving backward.
The horse reared up, screaming in agony as slugs pounded into its body. The animal shielded Frank as he rolled across the ground into the brush.
Then one of the bullets struck the horse in the head, ending its pain and sending it toppling over backward. Frank had to scramble to keep the horse from falling on him.
The Gatling gun still hammered out its lethal rhythm. Slugs tore through the brush.
“Get down!” Frank yelled to Salty and Meg as he broke free of the brushy barrier into the canyon.
He saw that they had already dived behind the log barricade. He joined them, vaulting over the logs and landing hard on the ground behind them. The jolt went all the way through him as his hat went flying.
A stream of profanity from Salty’s lips threatened to turn the air blue around them. He got the torrent under control and asked over the racket of the Gatling gun, “What in blazes is goin’ on? Did we wander into the middle of a dadblamed war?”
“It sure sounds like it,” Frank said.
Slugs thudded into the log barricade and whipped through the air over their heads. The one thing they had on their side was that the brush across the canyon mouth concealed their position from the attackers. Whoever was using the Gatling gun was sweeping the fire back and forth across the canyon mouth, rather than concentrating his shots on the barricade.
That was good, because at the rate those bullets were coming, after a while they might begin to penetrate the barricade if they were all aimed straight at it.
“Blast it, this is all my fault!” Salty said bitterly. “Somebody must’a spotted me when I was out scoutin’ around earlier.”
Frank had already figured out the same thing, although he hadn’t seen any point in bringing it up.
“Shoot, we wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t wanted to come after that varmint Palmer,” Salty went on.
“Nobody forced us to come with you,” Meg said. “We’re here because we wanted to be.” She flinched and ducked as more slugs slammed into the logs. “Well, maybe we don’t want to be in this exact spot….”
Frank risked a look around the end of the barricade. The dead horse lay about thirty feet away. The animal had fallen so that the side of the saddle where the rifle sheath was strapped was turned up. Frank could see the Winchester’s stock protruding from the sheath.
“I need to get my rifle,” he said.
“Have you gone loco?” Salty demanded. “These logs are the only things keepin’ us from gettin’ shot to pieces!”
“They won’t last forever,” Frank pointed out. “We need to be able to put up a fight, otherwise whoever is out there can take their time about killing us.”
“Let me go get the rifle,” Meg suggested. “I’m thinner than you, Frank. I can stay closer to the ground.”
