Chapter Thirty-Four
Rudy and Jack sat on the wagon seat of one of the Studebakers as the splintered and misshapen stone spires that identified the Lookout Canyon entrance came into sight. From his aborted visit some years back, Jack recalled that the imposing rock formations that jutted from the earth like giant fangs were more than fifty feet high, one on each side of the opening to the canyon, which was sixty to seventy feet wide at the east end where they would enter. They had served as watchtowers for eons, Jack supposed, and ancients had carved steps and pathways to the summit where guards found outcroppings and stones that had been shaped into rugged crows’ nests by early occupants of the canyon.
Rudy handled the mule teams, and Jordy rode alongside the wagon astride a bay gelding, having been unwilling to risk his injured buckskin in the fracas that might follow. Thor snoozed behind the wagon seat.
Swede Larsen drove the second wagon, the one constructed with the false bottom and loaded with backup weapons. Abel Burke joined him on the wagon seat, and Tige rode ahead a short distance within yelling range of Jack in the front wagon.
As they neared the canyon, Jack could see the flash of light off metal from the stone watchtowers in the early morning sunglow that promised blistering heat for the afternoon. Morning had already left an early balminess behind, and he found himself swiping beads of sweat from his forehead. Or had the pre-battle calm of old forsaken him?
Several minutes later, he was not surprised to see two riders headed their way from the canyon opening. Throws Lance and his warriors must have made it to the canyon rim without being detected, or there would be more than a two-man greeting party. “Company coming,” Jack said to Rudy.
“Huh?”
“Riders. Do you see the riders?” he said, his voice just short of yelling.
“Hell, yes. You think I’m blind?”
“No, but you’re damned near deaf.”
“What?”
Jack said, “Pull up and wait.” He pantomimed yanking on the reins to supplement his words.
Tige and Jordy reined their mounts up beside him.
“I’d say we’re going to get inside,” Tige said.
“Yep, it appears so.”
As the riders neared, Jack recognized one of the men as Smack, the Comanchero scout they had released several nights earlier. His presence at least confirmed the man was who he claimed to be.
As they rode up to the wagon, keeping twelve to fifteen feet separation, Jack could make out Smack’s face now with the sunlight’s help. Clearly Anglo, the man might clean up well enough to suit a woman or two if he shaved a week’s growth of whiskers that were split by a white furrow the full length of the left cheek, a scar that was likely a reminder of a long ago too close encounter with a knife blade.
The other rider was a stocky, barrel-chested man with dark skin that could have just been sunbaked or caked with dirt. He had shoulder-length black hair with a full beard that was as tangled as the unruly mane. Jack thought the man might be beyond cleaning up. A single eagle feather protruded from the band of a derby hat. Perhaps, the hat and feather were significant. Jack did not care. He just knew that this was not a man he would want to get hold of Sierra. Not for the first time it struck him that they might have embarked on a foolhardy mission.
“Good morning, Smack,” Jack said.
“You’re missing some men and a woman,” Smack said.
“We came to trade. We don’t need the young lady or more men to do that. We left the men and woman with the chuckwagon and extra mules and horses some miles back. The extra men were for protection against Indians. We figure they wouldn’t be all that welcome here.”
Smack was silent and then looked at his partner. “Make sense to you, Smiley?”
Jack figured the man’s name must have been borne of sarcasm, for he had not seen a trace of cheer on his scowling face.
“Don’t see nobody about. Boys in the towers will see anybody coming this way. Let ‘em in. Their numbers ain’t a threat.”
Smack said, “This is how it works. You’re going to follow me in. Smiley’s going to bring up the rear to keep an eye on things. We will stop just inside the canyon, and you will meet more of the boys to help us check out your wagons to make sure you ain’t bringing trouble with you.”
Jack said, “We got nothing to hide. Everything in the wagons is for sale or trade.”
“Well, if it all checks out, we’ll go on to the village, and you folks can set up shop—after you give us your guns.”
“Stop right there,” Jack said. “That’s the same as telling us to walk into that place bare-assed naked. Not going to happen. We’ll just turn ourselves around and head for Fort Davis. The Army would buy some of what we’ve got. Trading post and tavern would take most of what we’ve got. We might have to settle for break even, but we wouldn’t be handing somebody our lives.”
Smack’s grungy companion spoke with a raspy voice. “Hell, Mister Shit for Brains, you ain’t got the numbers to be so damn cocky about where you stand. You ain’t gonna outrun nobody with them wagons, and we got us a army waitin’ in the canyon.”
Jack replied, “I won’t argue the point, Smiley. But we’ve got
