“Do you think there really is such a woman?” Andre asked.
“Why would he tell us there was, if it is not so?” Gaston asked.
“Maybe he didn’t tell us,” Pierre suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he wasn’t here.”
Back at the wagon Rebecca and Sally had to keep brushing snow away to keep the three of them from being covered. No longer was the trail made by the wagon, horses, and cattle visible. There were no footprints, no signs of encampment.
Suddenly Maria cried out in pain.
“Oh, Maria, no!” Sally said. “Not now!”
“I am sorry,” Maria said. She winced again in pain.
“How long have you been having these pains?” Sally asked.
“All day, but I didn’t say anything before. Now they are getting worse, and closer together.”
“What are we going to do, Sally?” Rebecca asked, her voice laced with fear and concern.
“Please, come with us,” a man’s voice said.
The unexpected voice startled the three women and Sally spun around, a pistol already in her hand.
Rebecca saw three tall thin men, all with beards and fur caps heavily dusted by the still-falling snow.
“Sally, no!” Rebecca said. “I know them!”
“You know them?”
“They are shepherds,” Rebecca said. “This one is Gaston.” Rebecca did not tell the others how she knew them, that these were the same shepherds that the Rocking H had come across during the summer drive up to Dodge City.
“The woman with child, she is about to give birth, yes?” Gaston asked.
“Yes,” Sally said.
“Gaston, do you know somewhere we can go to get her out of the cold and the snow?” Rebecca asked.
“Yes, I know a barn that is not far,” Gaston said.
“How far?”
“Not far. Maybe one mile.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said. “In this snow, there is no way Maria could walk a mile. I don’t know that she could even do it if there was no snow.”
“The mules,” Sally said. “We’ll put her on one of the mules.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “That is a good idea.”
Working quickly, they disconnected one of the two mules that, while out of harness, had been tied to the wagon. There was no saddle for it, but Gaston and one of the other shepherds lifted Maria and sat her on the mule so that both legs were on one side. Maria grabbed onto the mule’s mane with one hand, and held Rebecca’s hand with the other. Sally walked on the opposite side of the mule to help keep her on, and with two of the three shepherds walking in front to break a path through the snow, Gaston led the mule through the falling snow.
It took them at least forty-five minutes to reach the barn. There was so much snow piled up outside that it took another five minutes to get enough of the snow moved away to enable them to open the door. Inside, they found a stall with straw. Gaston built a fire on the floor of the barn, just outside the stall. There was a hole in the roof, and that plus the open door provided enough of a draft for the smoke to rise.
As Smoke, Matt, and Falcon continued their pursuit of the would-be cattle rustlers, the snowfall stopped, and the clouds rolled away. Oddly, within moments the sky was alive with sparkling stars. A moon that was nearly full, except for a tiny sliver along the left side, bounced its bright light off the new-fallen snow so that, in dramatic contrast to the total lack of visibility earlier, they could now see for great distances. Red and the five riders with him were now quite visible to Smoke, Matt, and Falcon.
“We ain’t goin’ to get away from ’em!” Red said. “We’re goin’ to have to fight ’em! Over there, up on them rocks!”
Snaking their rifles from their saddle-sheaths, the six outlaws rode over to the rocky hill that Red had pointed out; then, stepping from their saddles, started a laborious climb up the hill, slipping and sliding as they did so.
“Smoke!” Matt shouted, pointing.
“I see them,” Smoke said.
“Once they get into those rocks, they’re going to have cover,” Matt said.
“We’ll just have to shoot straighter,” Falcon quipped.
The three men dismounted, then, as the outlaws had done previously, they pulled their rifles from the saddle-sheaths and levered rounds into the chambers. Bending over at the waist, Smoke, Matt, and Falcon began moving toward the little rock-strewn hill.
“Shoot ’em, shoot ’em!” Red shouted, even as he pulled the trigger on his Henry, and a little flame of fire spit out from the muzzle.
The others with Red began shooting as well, but they had the same disadvantage most marksmen have when shooting up or down at a target. The bullet’s flight path depends on the horizontal range to the plane of the target, not the line of sight up or down a hill. In order to hit the target a shooter must aim lower than normal to achieve the desired point of impact.
Smoke knew this, because he had been taught by Preacher. Matt knew it, because he had been taught by Smoke. Falcon knew it, because he had been taught by his father, Jamie Ian MacCallister. But the outlaws did not know this, and though they had the security of the rocks as cover, they would have to raise up to present themselves any time they fired.
Rifles barked, flame-patterns flared, and the bullets fired by the outlaws whizzed by ineffectively, whereas every round fired by Smoke, Matt, and Falcon found its mark. In less than two minutes of fierce engagement, all of the outlaws had come tumbling down the hillside, dead or fatally wounded. Smoke and the others closed in on the fallen rustlers, finding them as black forms in the white snow. Five of them were spread out, lifeless on the ground, but one was still alive, and he was sitting up, holding his hands over a bleeding wound in his stomach.
“Which one of you is Smoke Jensen?” he asked, his voice strained with pain and weakened from loss of blood.
“I am Smoke Jensen.”
“I thought it was supposed to be third time is the charm. This is the third time I’ve gone up ag’in you, and you’ve won ever’ time.”
“I don’t know you,” Smoke said.
“The name is Red Coleman.”
“You are the one who tried to hold up the cattle train,” Smoke said.
“Yeah, and the train before that,” Red said. “Oh, my gut hurts.” Red looked down at himself, moved his hands away from the wound and saw the blood, there cupped, spill into the snow. I reckon I’m a goner, ain’t I?”
“I reckon so,” Smoke said. Smoke turned and walked back toward his horse.
“Wait a minute, you’re walkin’ away just like that? Where are you goin’?”
“To get my cows back,” Smoke said. He mounted his horse.
“You’re just goin’ to leave me out here to die?”
“Yeah, I am,” Smoke said. “He started out after the others, who had already gone in pursuit of the herd.”
“You can’t leave me here like this you son of a bitch! Come back here! Come back here, do you hear me? Bastard! Bas ...”
With the cows no longer moving, but standing merely as one black mass against the snow and with the snow fall stopped, Tom was no longer disoriented. He could see Duff, Clay, and Dalton on the opposite side of the herd from him.
