Sam shrugged. “I can’t argue with that.”
“They’ll find a good spot with plenty of cover,” Matt went on, gesturing as he spoke, “and then try to gun down as many of the outriders as they can in the first volley. Then men on horseback will sweep in and finish off the others.”
“There’ll be a lot of lead flying around that way,” Sam said, playing devil’s advocate. “Shade might get hit by a stray bullet.”
Matt shook his head. “That wagon looked sturdy enough to stop some of the slugs anyway, and as soon as Shade hears guns goin’ off, he’ll hug the floor as tight as he can. Chances are he’d come through it without a scratch.”
All that sounded feasible to Sam. He said, “So what do we do to stop it?”
Matt grinned. “Bushwhack the bushwhackers?”
“I like the way you think…dirty and underhanded.”
“I’ll give any man an even break, includin’ outlaws, when it’s just him and me. But when they’re plannin’ on murderin’ innocent folks, they’ve stepped over a line. They don’t deserve any more consideration than a nest of rattlers.”
Sam chuckled. “I was just joshing you, Matt. I agree completely.”
“I guess we need to get in front of the wagon then.”
Sam urged his horse ahead at a faster pace. “That’s just what I was thinking.”
Only a few minutes had gone by before Matt called over the pounding hoofbeats, “Look yonder!” and pointed westward.
Sam saw the thin haze of dust in the air about a mile away and said, “Riders!”
“Quite a few of ’em, by the looks of it! That’s got to be Shade’s gang, tryin’ to cut off the wagon!”
“Marshal Thorpe’s bound to notice that dust.”
“Yeah, but he won’t know what’s causin’ it,” Matt said. “Could be some cowboys hazin’ a jag of cattle from one place to another. Thorpe’ll have to keep that wagon movin’, dust or no dust.”
Sam nodded grimly. The marshal had no choice but to keep going and hope to reach Pancake Flats before the outlaws closed in on him.
“So much for an ambush!” Sam said. “It’s a race now!”
“Yeah,” Matt agreed, “a race Thorpe can’t win in that wagon!”
Without saying anything, both of them veered to the west, angling toward the wagon now. It was likely the marshal was going to need their help before too much more time passed.
Just then Matt felt something whip through the air not far from his head, followed an instant later by the sharp crack of a rifle. He jerked his head around and saw a couple of riders pounding after him and Sam, maybe two hundred yards back.
“Damn!” Matt said. “We’ve got company!”
Sam looked around, too. “Shade’s men?”
“Bound to be. They must’ve spotted us and sent those hombres to keep us busy while they hit the wagon. The fat’s in the fire now, boy!”
So it was. Outlaws closing in from behind, more outlaws about to attack the wagon Matt and Sam had come along to protect…No one could have blamed the blood brothers for being discouraged.
But both of them wore reckless, fighting grins on their faces as they urged more speed from their mounts and galloped straight toward their favorite destination…
Trouble.
“Damn it!” Willard Garth grated as he heard shots begin to ring out in the distance. “There wasn’t supposed to be any gunplay until
“Too late now,” Gonzalez said. “Let’s go kill those gringo bastards and get the rev’rend out o’ there!”
Garth twisted in the saddle. “Jeffries! Take the woman and the kid and fall back! Keep ’em outta the fight!”
Jeffries looked like he wanted to argue, but then he shrugged and hauled his horse’s head to the side, peeling away from the rest of the gang. It was unlikely they would need the woman after the next few minutes, Garth thought, but being in command had taught him to hedge his bets.
As Jeffries fell back, Garth and the other outlaws kicked their horses into a run. In the lead, Garth veered his mount slightly to the east on a course that would intersect with that of the wagon.
He wanted to stop the vehicle and get Joshua Shade out of there as quickly as possible. The longer Shade was locked up, the more chance that something bad could happen to him, like being hit by one of the stray bullets that were about to start flying around.
Up ahead, the wagon careened past some boulders and a clump of scrubby mesquite. As the outlaws drew closer, Garth could see that stupid pilgrim Winslow slashing the reins at the mules, driving them on to greater speed.
That was just the opposite of what the bastard was supposed to be doing, Garth thought. By now he should have pulled his gun and plugged that damn marshal! Instead, it looked like he was trying to help Thorpe get away with his prisoner.
Winslow was going to be damned sorry about that, Garth vowed as he leaned forward in the saddle and
