“That’s right,” Thorpe said with a nod. “And it sort of worked out that way. We’re still here, and Shade’s still our prisoner. And we did considerable damage to the gang.”
“But not so much that they’ll give up,” Sam predicted.
Thorpe sighed. “No, I figure they’ll be back. It wouldn’t surprise me if they hit us again before we reach Pancake Flats.”
The sun was lowering in the western sky now. In another hour, it would be dark. If everything went according to plan, the wagon would reach the settlement—and the railroad—about then.
Which meant that if the outlaws wanted to stop them before that happened, another attack would come within the next hour, Sam thought.
“Why do it this way to start with?” he asked, not knowing if Thorpe would answer him or not. “I can understand why the government wants Shade to be hanged at Yuma. They can make a bigger show out of it that way.”
“You sound like you know how things like that work.”
“My father was Cheyenne,” Sam said. “His people have had to deal with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. I do indeed know how petty, hidebound bureaucracies work, Marshal. I don’t expect that the Justice Department is any different.”
Thorpe grunted again, but Sam didn’t think it was a laugh this time.
After a moment, Sam went on. “Why didn’t you bring a troop of cavalry with you to escort the prisoner to Yuma? That wouldn’t be so unusual, would it?”
“No, I suppose not,” Thorpe admitted. “In fact, I thought about that, and wired the chief marshal’s office about it. I was told that no soldiers were available at the moment and that the situation with Shade was too pressing to wait until they were.” He paused. “I was also ordered to keep the involvement of local law enforcement and civilians to a minimum.”
A frown creased Sam’s forehead as he thought about what Thorpe had just said. That explained why the marshal had recruited only a minimal amount of volunteers. He was just following orders.
But why in the hell had the chief marshal given him those orders in the first place? Thorpe’s superior had to have known that trying to take Shade across Arizona Territory, with only a small group of deputies to guard him, was bound to attract rescue attempts by the crazed outlaw’s gang.
Before Sam could ponder that puzzling question any more, Matt turned his horse and rode back to the wagon. He fell in alongside the seat.
“I don’t like the looks of the country up ahead,” Matt said. “There are a couple of bluffs flankin’ the trail. Be a good spot for an ambush.”
“Can we go around them?” Thorpe asked.
Matt shrugged. “Maybe. The terrain looks pretty rugged on both sides of the trail, though. Lots of arroyos and ridges. None of ’em are too deep or too high, but they’d still be hard to get that wagon through ’em.” He thought it over and then suggested, “Better slow down and let me scout that cut between the bluffs before you go through there.”
“That sounds like a good way to get yourself shot if there
Matt grinned. “Won’t be the first time I’ve waltzed into a place where I might get myself shot, now will it?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Matt lifted his reins. “I’ll be back—” he began.
But before he could finish making that promise, shots blasted out from somewhere behind the wagon, and rifles crashed closer as the remaining outriders began to return the fire.
Chapter 25
Matt twisted in the saddle, looked back to the north for a second, and then said, “They’re comin’ after us again! Whip that team up, Sam!”
“It’s probably a trap,” Sam warned.
Matt’s grin flashed again. “Hell, I know that. But they’re not givin’ us much choice, are they?” He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. “Follow me!”
The horse lunged toward the cut between the two bluffs. Matt drew his Winchester from the saddle sheath as he leaned forward in the saddle.
Behind him, Sam slashed the long reins across the rumps of the mules and shouted at them. The balky animals hesitated, as mules were bound to do most of the time, but then they broke into a run and the wagon lurched forward.
Sam glanced back and saw that the outriders were putting up a good running fight against what appeared to be half a dozen or so of the outlaws. That small number confirmed the thought that had flashed through his head as soon as the shooting started behind the wagon.
With nowhere else to go, they were being driven straight toward that cut where the rest of the gang lurked, ready to ambush them. Sam had no doubt of that.
But there was nothing they could do except try to fight their way out of the trap.
Up ahead, Matt saw the wink of muzzle flashes from the slopes on both sides of the trail as he galloped toward them. The bushwhackers were hidden up there behind rocks and brush and any other cover they could find.
Dirt and gravel spurted into the air around the racing horse as bullets plowed into the ground. Matt was moving
