I'm Off to Montana for to Throw the Hoolihan (Code of the West) (21 page)

Tap pushed his hat back. “General Sheridan Savage?”

“No. My first name is General, the last is Sheridan. I didn’t like being called a savage, so I picked another name.”

Tap grinned. “You picked a good one. I figure we’ll ride up to Cedar Mesa and noon it there and then try to make it to the Po
thook-H before dark. We’ll scout things out and decide what to do.”

“We can make it to their lodges in six hours,” General Sher
idan reported.

“How are we going to do that? We can’t even get to Badger Ca
nyon in six hours without runnin’ the horses into the ground.”

“There are other trails. And there are only eleven men in camp. The twelfth one was killed in a knife fight two days ago. They c
overed him over with rocks.”

“How do you know that?” Tap asked.

“I have spent the last two days watching them.”

Tap whistled. “Well, partner, you lead the way. Maybe somewhere along the trail we’ll figure out how we’re going to capture this gang.”

“Alive,” Jesse Savage added. “We need to deliver them to the authorities alive. Anything less, and they will declare it an Indian massacre.”

General Sheridan set out first on the trail to Cedar Mesa, his co
nverted .50-caliber Sharps carbine single-shot across his lap. He seemed to be having a low-voiced, ongoing conversation with his horse the entire morning.

Savage followed him on the buckskin. He studied the ground for sign of game. Then came a dozing Lorenzo Odessa, followed by Tap with ’73 Winchester in hand and narrow brown eyes su
rveying the horizon.

The clouds were thick, gray, and drooping at treetop level. There was little or no wind, and the recent rain kept the dust off the trail. The temperature was coat-cool. Tap’s dee
rskin gauntlets kept his hands warm.

They built a noon fire next to a lightning-struck pine on Cedar Mesa and huddled around a coffeepot Jesse Savage had brought.

“Tap, you ever capture eleven men? Alive, that is?” Lorenzo asked.

“Don’t recall. How many was in that cattle rustler bunch last spring?”

“Don’t rightly remember, but we had more than four men after them, and we turned them all over to Tom Slaughter. Guess we can just hogtie ’em across their saddles like a pack string.”

“There is an easier way,” Jesse Savage suggested.

“Oh?” Tap swirled his coffee around the bottom of his blue tin cup.

“Get them to chase us out of the mountains and then ca
pture them. They will run down their horses in a dash of overconfidence and be easy targets.”

“I like the way this man thinks,” Odessa noted.

Tap gulped down his last swig of cold coffee and then fished the grounds out of his teeth with his tongue. “Yeah, but that bunches them up. We won’t take the whole gang alive if we face them all at once.”

“That is true," Sheridan's wide smile revealed a silver tooth. “Jesse’s plan works only if we aim to shoot them all.”

“You know, Tap, I’m kinda thinkin’ it’s a good thing these two are on our side.” Lorenzo tried to stretch out his sore left leg.

“Two will be easy to capture,” General Sheridan reported. “They have two guards in the trees at the creek where the trail narrows b
efore it reaches the broken barn. We can take those pronto.”

“They probably switch scouts at sundown. If we time it right, we can capture four of ’em before they know what’s goin’ on,” Tap su
ggested.

“I like the way this man thinks,” Sheridan mumbled.

Savage held the coffeepot out to the others and then poured out the remainder on the fire. “I’m glad he is on our side.”

A distant rumble caused all four men to look toward the northeast. Tap reached for his rifle.

“It’s a wagon,” observed Savage.

“Just one horse,” Odessa added.

“It’s Miller’s wagon.” Tap stood up and peered toward the far horizon. “It’s got to be. That’s the only one up here . . . I think. We better see what’s going on.”

“We will stay here and break camp,” Jesse Savage cou
nseled. “It is one thing to be at the ranch—another to be seen up in the mountains.”

Tap and Lorenzo mounted quickly and thundered across the mesa toward the careening farm wagon and the loping draft horse. As soon as the blond-haired boy driving the rig saw them approaching, he held up on the reins and jerked back on the hand brake.

Even before they arrived at the wagon, Peter Miller screamed, “Father’s in the back, and he’s hurt real bad.”

“What happened?”

“They shot him. They shot him just like you said they would,” Peter cried out.

Tap pulled his canteen off his saddle horn and jumped to the ground, handing his reins to Odessa. He climbed up into the back of the wagon and rolled back a heavy green ca
nvas tarp to reveal a badly bleeding Ezra Miller.

“How did it happen, Peter?”

“They took off after you last night, but at daybreak two of ’em rode right up onto our farm.”

Ezra Miller’s eyes were milky. Tap lifted the man’s head and tried to help him take a drink.

“That one they call Sugar rode right up and said he was tired of waitin’ for us to move and pulled his gun and shot Peaches in the head.”

“Your other drivin’ horse?”

“Yes, Father grabbed his whip and ran to chase Barley into the forest—this horse is named Barley—but the one with the sash shot Father in the chest. He claimed it was self-defense because Father was trying to beat him with the whip.”

Ezra Miller tugged at Tap’s red ba
ndanna. Tap leaned close to the bearded man’s mouth. “I should—I should—have listened to you, Andrews. We should have moved.”

Tap poured water on the man’s forehead. “Ezra, a man has to do what he can live with. Maybe you did do the right thing.”

“The bullet went clear through him,” Peter cried out.

“We’ve got to get you to a doc,” Tap insisted.

“Just—let me lay down and rest. I’m—I’m very tired.”

“You’ve got to let Peter try. If you don’t, it will haunt him the rest of his life. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?”

He assented with a brief nod.

“Peter, me and Lorenzo are goin’ after the men who shot your f
ather. Can you make it to the ranch from here with one horse pulling this wagon?”

“Yes. It’s mostly downhill.”

“When you get to the ranch, have Mr. Renten hook up that new black carriage and the fast horses and race your father into Billings, no matter what time of the night. Can you do it, son?”

“I think so.” Tears streamed down his face.

“Your father’s countin’ on you, Peter.”

“I can do it.”

“I know you can,” Tap assured him.

Ezra Miller grabbed Tap’s bandanna and again pulled him close. “Don’t kill him, Brother Andrews. Don’t kill the man who shot me.”

“We’ll try everything we can to bring him in alive. You have my word on that.”

Miller gasped for breath. “Tell him I forgive him.” 

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Please.”

“I’ll tell him . . . if I can.”

“Good. That is good.” His eyes closed, Miller tilted his head. “And tell Lucinda I have loved her pure and true.”

“You tell her in person, Brother Miller. Peter is goin’ to get you to the ranch.”

Tap jumped down from the wagon. “Take him to your Mama, son.”

“I will. I’ll get him there.” Peter slapped the reins against the big horse’s rump.

Tap mounted up and watched the wagon rumble across the mesa.

“We really goin’ to capture this Dayton character alive?” Lorenzo asked.

“Yep. I never lie to a dyin’ man.”

“You reckon he’ll live to see his wife?”

“He’ll make it. Love can keep a dead man alive for hours.”

General Sheridan led them across the mesa and to the base of a steep, treeless granite mountain. Cascading off the rock, more than a hundred feet above them, was a two-foot-wide waterfall.

“We ain’t goin’ to try to ride over that mountain, are we?” Lorenzo questioned.

“We will ride through the mountain,” Sheridan announced.

“We will ride up the Swift Death Canyon trail,” Jesse Sa
vage reported.

“I don’t see no canyon trail,” Odessa protested.

“Of course not. That’s what makes it so valuable. There are two sources to that creek,” General Sheridan explained. “One is that waterfall.”

“And the other?” Tap questioned.

“A small stream from the upper valleys has cut a trail right through the rock. It empties into the stream, and as long as the waterfall keeps flowing, it can’t be seen. It will cut two hours off the journey to the Yellow Sash Gang.”

“I figure I’ll regret this,” Lorenzo Odessa pressed, “but why is it called Swift Death Canyon?”

“Because it is just a narrow groove in the granite. If there is any rainfall at all in these mountains, the water becomes over twenty feet deep in a matter of seconds.”

Tap watched the clouds hovering above them. “It looks like rain to me.”

“You are right,” Jesse Savage agreed.

“Then we better take the long route,” Lorenzo declared.

“No. We will go up this canyon,” Savage announced.

Lorenzo pulled off his drooping felt hat and scratched his sandy-blond hair. “But you just said it was goin’ to rain.”

“No, I said it looked like it was going to rain,” Savage corrected. “It will not rain.”

“Lead the way." Tap purposely avoided looking Lorenzo in the eyes.

Lord, someday I’ll be chasin’ my last villain. I’m hopin’ it’s because there are no outlaws left to chase. All I want to do is settle down with my Pepper-girl in my ranch house and raise beef cattle and babies. This is my last ride after bushwhackers. We clear these out, and I’ll stay at home. No more ridin’ at firin’ guns. No more bustin’ into buildin’s with drunken gunmen tryin’ to kill me. And no more Swift Death Canyons.

A few drops of rain splashed off his face.

And no rain. Not for another half hour anyway. Please.

From time to time over the next four miles, it tried to rain. But they broke through the granite cliffs and entered the u
pper valley with the water no more than a foot deep. They emerged into what looked like a shallow lake, but General Sheridan turned them left and kept them hugging the granite slope until they reached dry land.

“That’s quite a shortcut,” Tap called out.

General Sheridan held his finger to his lips and then turned in the saddle to whisper, “The guards are just down that trail.”

“You mean this comes out right on top of them, and they don’t know about it?” Lorenzo asked.

“This bunch is fortunate to find their way home from the saloon on a Saturday night,” Jesse Savage scoffed.

The plan was simple.

Savage and Sheridan would sneak up on the guard on the east side of the trail. Tap and Lorenzo would take the one on the west side. They would coldcock, gag, and tie them, dragging them over toward the shallow lake. Then they would wait for the next shift and do the same. In the meantime, they would apprehend the two that had shot Ezra Miller as they returned to camp.

There were just two problems with the plan.

When they reached the trail, there were no guards posted.

And the moment Tap and Lorenzo rejoined Savage and Sheridan on the east side of the trail, fierce gunfire erupted, sending all four men diving into the rocks.

9

T
hey don’t know we’re here? Someone knows we’re here!” Lorenzo shouted. “So much for the element of surprise.”
Tap checked the lever on his rifle but stayed well hidden below the boulders. “Oh, I don’t know. I was surprised.”

Flat on his stomach, Lorenzo Odessa crawled over to Tap and Jesse Savage. “I take it, they know about the Swift Death Canyon trail now.”

General Sheridan scooted toward them, carrying the Sharps carbine across his shoulder. “It was probably my fault.”

“What do you mean?” Savage asked his brother.

“When I was here before, they chased me down the trail a ways, but I thought I lost them before I arrived at the little lake. Perhaps they saw me cut back into the rocks at the top of the canyon.”

“Perhaps? Looks like a sure thing to me,” Lorenzo d
eclared.

Scattered shots ricocheted off the granite, filling the air with rock chips and zinging lead.

“Well, General Sheridan, this is a mighty poor time for you to remember that.” Tap tried to peer east to check if the horses were still there.

“We goin’ to hold out ’til dark and sneak out?” Lorenzo su
ggested.

“Nope. I figure it’s time for a Crow deception.”