Cemetery Jones 4 Read online

  He knew the words did not communicate all the meaning, but he felt suddenly happy. He grinned from ear to ear. She solemnly winked at him as her mother came bearing the food.

  Mrs. Jenkins went on as usual. “I see you two are talkin’ nice together. Too bad we don’t see more of each other. The winters and all. The roundups, the summers. Back home we had sleighs for winter. Jingle bells on the harness. Oh, it was pretty when the snow fell. Young folks made parties and all. This is fine country, but folks don’t see enough of each other, I do declare.”

  Tom ate, always conscious of Mary Jane’s eyes. When he had finished he was aware that he would like to linger. Duty wrenched him away. He could feel her eyes all the way to the telegraph office.

  Josh Denton said, “I was just comin’ after you.” He shook his head. “The damn Sixth is to hell and gone up near the Canadian border. They’re gettin’ a message to them, but you better tell your people to be ready in case.”

  “Damn cavalry, never around when you need ’em,” said Tom, echoing the cry of every rancher within reach of Indian assault. “Spread the news, Mr. Denton. I’m on my way.”

  He almost went back to the restaurant, forced himself to climb into the saddle and start for home. He felt as though he had grown into man’s stature in the last hour. It made him feel mighty fine.

  Nine

  They had come just after dawn to the NTN, all the clan of Silver Valley. They were a fine-looking, stalwart group, and Sam winced as he thought that some of them might not live to see sunset.

  There was Fred Forrest from Cross Bow with his sons, Jack and Junior. Daniel Apgar from New Jersey was accompanied by Obie and Cal, tall, rugged. There was Byron Nolte from Missouri and the dark offspring, Frank and Jesse. Tom Naughright was back with his dire news, standing next to brother Ned.

  And there was Linda Naughright, and all the young men threw glances at her now and then as she nestled close to her father.

  Forrest said, “We seen those Injun ponies runnin’ free in a pack, a couple saddled broncs with ’em. It was a good job you did, Jones.”

  Nolte said, “You might’ve sent them and the Sioux t’other way.”

  Jim Naughright said in his commanding voice, “Be grateful. He might not have gone out there alone at all, neighbor.”

  “Yeah, be grateful for small favors,” said Forrest. “He put ’em afoot. That’s good enough for me.”

  Judson spoke up, for once diffidently. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but there were several horses up at the Hole.”

  “How many?” demanded Nolte.

  “Er, I really did not count them.”

  “So they’ll have some mounted,” said Apgar. “We’ll put ’em afoot damn quick.”

  “If we see them first,” said Big Jim. “That’s got to be.”

  “Injuns don’t usually attack at night,” said Forrest. “I expect they’ll be along before too long.”

  “If they don’t get some sleep, they won’t be worth much,” Apgar said.

  “Walkin’ Bull’s no slouch,” said Big Jim. “He’s been there a few times before.”

  “We know they’re comin’,” said Nolte. “We got our horses and guns. All we can do is mow ’em down and hope for the best.”

  Big Jim asked, “Sam, what do you think?”

  Sam had been turning possible strategy over and over in his mind. He shook his head. “If they get out of the canyon and scatter, it’ll be all hell to pay. They outnumber us three or four to one. And there’s Lamont and his Gatling gun. What’ll he do? Which side will he take? If any, that is.”

  “That varmint,” said Nolte. “How soon can he get outa there?”

  “Remains to be seen,” said Sam.

  “That Gatling gun. That’d do it if we come at him,” said Big Jim. “It’s limited, though.”

  “I don’t want any of us to face it,” Forrest said. “I know what it can do.”

  There was a silence. The boys shuffled their feet.

  Sam said, “I reckon we don’t want ’em to come out and spread around and pick us off.”

  “Injuns don’t shoot that good,” said Nolte.

  “Good enough,” said Sam. “And they’re real good at circlin’ afoot and burnin’ grass to get at houses. How are you going to attack them and still defend your homes?”

  Linda piped up. “Us women all shoot. And we got men to stay by us like Hank and Willy.”

  “Bless them,” said Sam. “Howsomever, there’s too many damn Indians in that canyon.”

  “He’s right,” said Big Jim. “No way that we can be home and out there fightin’ at the same time.”

  “There’s got to be some way to stop ’em,” said Forrest. “We’re all willing to fight.”

  After a moment, Judson spoke again, “I will guess that Sam Jones has an idea. And I think I would like to go along with him this time.”

  “It’s not your style,” said Sam. “We just want to make it tough for them in there so we can meet ’em on better terms on the plain.”

  “I dunno,” said Nolte. “It’s stickin’ your neck in a rope.”

  “I agree with Sam,” said Big Jim. “I still say it ain’t his business, but I see what he means.”

  Sam said, “It’s got to be done. I’m goin’. I’ll need some help.”

  The rugged, tanned faces were still now. The older men knew the danger, knew the odds were against whoever volunteered. Judson again started to speak, bit his lip.

  Young Tom Naughright asked, “If Lamont and the Indians get out and we have to fort up—they’d go for the town, wouldn’t they?”

  “No telling what,” Sam said.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Tom.

  Each of the other youths stepped forward. They all were willing to make an attempt.

  Sam asked, “Any of you play in those woods when you were buttons?”

  The Nolte boys, Jesse and Frank, spoke up. “We did.” The elder, Frank, added. “We played Injuns in there with Tom here and Linda.”

  “That’ll do it,” said Sam. “You two and Tom. The rest of you can watch for Lamont—or whoever makes it out of there. Keep your distance if Lamont makes it; get him at long range.”

  Big Jim said, “Now wait a minute here. This is our fight. Why should you go in there, Sam? Our boys can handle it.”

  “Nothin’ against your boys. But I’m partly responsible for this—”

  Judson broke in. “No. I’m the one came looking for gold. I joined Harvey. Sam Jones came looking for me.”

  “What difference does it make?” said Sam. “We’ve got this situation. I know Indian ways. You all have families.”

  Byron Nolte protested, “What can you four do agin that bunch in there? You’re takin’ my family in there, all but my wife, Liz.”

  Frank Nolte said, “We want to go, Pa.”

  “We always do things together,” said his brother. “One goes, the other goes.”

  Sam said, “I don’t want to take anybody along. It’s just I have to keep my rear covered or I won’t do you all any good.”

  “They’ll be as safe with Sam as they would be here if this thing gets outa hand,” Big Jim said. “You think I want Tom in there?”

  “Time’s a-wasting,” Sam told them. “Sunlight won’t help us. Pray for a cloudy day.”

  The three boys started for their horses without more ado. Sam had already saddled Mandy. The horses of the others would stand better with her, well trained as she was, he thought.

  Linda piped up, “I know those woods. Wish I could go along. Would, too, if Pa’d let me.”

  “You get to the rifles,” Big Jim said. “Everybody else, we got to talk.”

  “Keep a watch,” Sam urged them. “A real careful watch. I got a notion.”

  He led the boys off at a canter before they could ask questions. The clouds were indeed heavy, he noted to his satisfaction. If they could get into the canyon as far as he would like, there was a chance, a mighty slim one, but one he thought might do the jo
b.

  Deke Harvey thrashed himself out of a whiskey-induced nap with the figures of his nightmare still dancing in his head. They were the men he had killed and the women he had wronged, and they were laughing at him. He was bound by invisible chains. They came nearer and nearer and were almost upon him when he came to his feet snarling.

  The others snored in their drunken slumber. Harvey staggered to the water, drank, found a bit of whiskey in the bottom of a bottle, swallowed it.

  Here he was at the impregnable Hole in the Hill, and the power had vanished. He could scarcely believe the way it had happened.

  The young Indians had been grinning, friendly. Their rifles had been steady, their intent unmistakable. When Kirby and the others left their mounts in the road and went up to turn loose their small cavayar, the braves had led the horses down to the road, mounted them, and away they went. Sore-footed from the long walk so that tears were in their eyes, Harvey and Kirby were faced with the long trek back to join the Sioux war party.

  He could not make it, he thought, massaging his feet. He kicked the others awake. Kirby moaned and clutched his ankles. Umberson wore walking boots; Silvera, Hagen, and Hemlock, moccasins.

  Harvey’s muddled mind began to clear. He said, “Judson’s duffel. Take a look.”

  Kirby dug into the bundle. He found a pair of soft walking shoes. Harvey grabbed them. They were too small.

  Kirby said, “The fool had more socks than he needed.”

  “Gimme.” Harvey began donning the socks. “Make moccasins of ’em,” he said.

  Kirby followed suit. Then he said, “Hey, he’s got a heap of paper, too.”

  “Make like soles,” said Harvey.

  Umberson growled, “Damn Injuns. Never should trust ’em for a minute.”

  Hemlock said quietly, “Nothin’ was said about horses.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “We made a deal. You did.” The half-breed was sitting on the big log, the rifle across his knees. He was not smiling. “They played square on what you said.”

  Harvey snarled, “Hey, you on their side?”

  “You heard me. Why is the Indian always wrong?”

  Harvey backed down. He had forgotten that Hagen was a squaw man and Hemlock his son. “Well, now, here we are afoot. Can’t blame a man for grouchin’.”

  Hagen said, “Deals. What about us?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  Hagen said, “The gold mine. We don’t know where it is. You never told us.”

  “You don’t trust me?” Harvey was hurt.

  “No more’n you trust the Indians.”

  “Walkin’ Bull made good. Nothin’ was said about horses,” repeated Hagen. “You can make a map of the mine.”

  Umberson said. “Come to think of it, that ain’t a bad notion, Deke. Maps for everybody. Then no matter what happens, we all know where it is.”

  “Hell, boys, that ain’t necessary ...” Then he saw purpose in the eyes of Hemlock, who had not gained his nickname without reason, saw the sudden suspicion in Umberson. “Okay. Okay.”

  He found a pencil in Judson’s possessions, and several sheets of fairly stiff paper. With everyone watching, he drew directions to the gold from the Hole in the Hill. He dared not falsify it lest one or more of the others should find him out later. He even made a conciliatory “That’s fair. Good idea” remark as he drew the path to gold on the sheets of Judson’s paper. In the back of his devious mind he was wondering if Silvera and the undependable Kirby would side with him in the pinch. He watched them as they stowed away the maps, fixing in his memory the whereabouts of each copy.

  Finally he said. “We better get goin’. One thing, Walkin’ Bull won’t expect us to lead ’em. We’re the damn rear guard.”

  “If we surprise them people and get Judson, that’ll be good enough,” said Kirby. His map was stored in his pants pocket, carelessly folded.

  They gathered their weapons and ammunition and started down the steep path to the canyon.

  The sun was hidden behind black clouds when Sam Jones led the three young men into the canyon. He drew them in close with a wave of his hand. The only sound was that of a bee lazily amusing itself among the wildflowers. Animals and birds, he knew, were hiding from people approaching on the narrow road.

  He said, “Boys, you all got your ropes. Since you played here, I reckon you can climb trees.”

  “You betcha,” Tom Naughright replied.

  “We’re going in just a bit. Lamont’s wagon, if it’s movin’, will have to pass under trees. You know the clearing where it’s best to leave the horses?”

  “We know.” They all nodded.

  “From there it’s afoot, and each picks his own tree. If there’s an outrider for the gunrunner’s wagon, pick him off. Don’t shoot him. Rope him.”

  “Around the neck?” Frank Nolte laughed. All the brothers were valiant, Sam could see.

  “Any old way. I want that wagon.”

  Jesse Nolte said, “Damn me, that’s a good notion.”

  “Try not to fire a shot. If you see Indians and they don’t see you, let ’em go through.”

  Tom said, “Go through? . . . Oh, I see. Our folks will be waitin’ for them.”

  “That’s it. Okay, boys?”

  “Okay!” They did not lack enthusiasm.

  The ride into the canyon was touchy. Sam went ahead, his rifle ready. If they were forced into fighting Indians, he wanted the youngsters to have the best chance of seeking cover to make their stand. He did not feel especially noble about it; this was the job of a leader. As it was, he was taking a chance, a big chance. He had every reason to believe that Lamont would be a formidable foe. The Gatling gun was the problem—and the prize.

  They made it to the clearing where they could leave the horses. Sam did not remind them that the Indians might not stick to the road, in which case they would happily take charge of them. It was all part of the gamble. These young men were not stupid; they knew the risk they were taking.

  They found their tall, thickly leaved trees, Tom on Sam’s side of the road, Frank and Jesse on the other.

  “Not too high up,” Sam warned them. “And keep covered.”

  He found it difficult to climb to the heavy branch he had chosen, handicapped by the rifle on his shoulder. He made it, breathless, and listened. Everything depended at this time on events beyond his control.

  Growling, chattering, ominous, the sound of the Gatling gun burst on the silence of the canyon. Sam’s heart fell. This was not that which he had hoped for.

  Then came the shrill cries of Indians. He held his breath, perched on the limb, waiting, straining.

  The Indians came. They were retreating from the gunrunners; they wanted no part of the ugly rapid-fire machine gun.

  Sam was astonished at the Sioux horsemen. Then he grinned—of course they had taken the horses from Harvey and his bunch.

  The Indians afoot kept to the road, running behind the horsemen, heading for the plain. Sam shifted his position, stretching, holding the rifle ready. He could barely make out Tom Naughright as the youth coiled his reata.

  The rear wheel of the Conestoga creaked as Lamont and his men came slowly into view. The suspense increased as it slowed, stopped fifty yards before reaching the trees where Sam and the young men waited.

  The darkness, which had been in their favor, now was a disadvantage, but Sam could detect that there was an outrider on the side that he and young Naughright had covered. Meantime, there were voices and action, men climbing down from the wagon, someone saying, “Obliged for the ride.”

  A steel-cold voice from the wagon replied, “You’re a customer, Harvey.”

  Another voice said mockingly, “Took your hosses. You sell ’em guns, they rob you.”

  That accounted for the mounted Indians he had seen, as Sam had guessed. Harvey and his gang were afoot. It had to translate into an advantage.

  The voice now known to be Harvey replied, “I got my reasons for d
ealin’ with ’em. Good reasons.”

  “To hell with you,” came from the wagon. “Get out of my sight.”

  Harvey’s men were fully armed. For a moment it seemed that they might try to take over Lamont’s wagon. Then Harvey said, “If you knew ...” laughed harshly, and trudged from behind the Conestoga and onto the road.

  Sam recognized Rab Kirby and could identify the others from Judson’s description. They were a grubby bunch, two of them walking as if on eggs, Umberson lumbering along, the others pussyfooting toward the Silver Valley. It must be a temptation to the boys in the trees to open fire, Sam thought. They did not. The Harvey gang disappeared.

  Lamont’s hard voice said, “Get going.”

  The wagon wheel protested, but the wagon rolled and the moment came for action. The outrider had his rifle drawn against Harvey’s bunch. He rode under the tree occupied by Tom Naughright.

  The lariat sneaked down, seeming to hang in midair. Then it settled over the shoulders, slid down to encompass the body of the rider.

  The man yelled. The wagon faltered. Then stop.

  Sam called, “You’re covered, Lamont. Make a move and you’re dead as a doornail.”

  Tom Naughright swung the rope. Sam could see in the dim light that the captive was an Indian. A head poked from the Conestoga; a voice said, “What the hell?”

  “From the trees,” Sam told them. “Enough guns to down your horses and pick you off.”

  After a moment the cold voice asked, “What do you want, whoever you are?”

  “Not your money. Just you and your men step down where we can see you,” said Sam. “Real easy like, no guns.”

  “Who are you? People from the plains, I expect.”

  “You guess right. And Sam Jones.”

  There was another short silence. Then the cold voice said, “Cemetery Jones.” It was not a question, it was a statement. “We’re coming out.”

  Sam watched them. There was a trickle of light as the sun fought to be free of the dark clouds. They lined up, and the albino was tall among them, a leader on first view.

  Sam said, “Okay, boys.”

  The young men scrambled down while he covered the gunrunners. None of them made a move.