Bad Men Die Page 16

  “Maybe it does, but it’s the truth. Every word of it,” Luke insisted. “I plan to stop them.”

  “You said you were taking a prisoner to Cheyenne,” Kent said. “Are you a lawman?”

  Luke shook his head. “Not exactly.”

  “That’s what I thought. You’re a bounty hunter.” Kent’s voice was cool with dislike. “I suppose the railroad and those mine owners will post a reward for the men who stole that gold, too.”

  “More than likely,” Luke admitted.

  “I assume that’s your main interest in apprehending them.”

  “You’d be wrong about that.” Luke’s voice was pretty chilly, too. “I want the man I had in custody because I’ve got a personal grudge against him by this point. The others I want to stop because they’re a bunch of murdering owlhoots and somebody’s got to.”

  Harmon asked, “How much did you say that gold’s worth?”

  “A hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

  Harmon looked at Marshal Kent. “Well, Gid, as good citizens I’d say it’s our duty to give Jensen a hand with this bunch, wouldn’t you?”

  “They haven’t broken the law here in Pine City, Mr. Harmon,” Kent said stiffly. “I don’t have any jurisdiction to arrest them.”

  “Jurisdiction!” Harmon scoffed. “When I helped settle this country, nobody worried about anything like that. We just did what was right and took care of our own trouble.”

  Luke had known plenty of men with that attitude. It was common among the early settlers of a territory, especially the ones who had become successful, as Harmon apparently was. He had some sympathy with it, too. Sometimes laws had to be bent, if not broken, to accomplish justice.

  He could tell that Kent didn’t want to argue with the most important man in those parts.

  After a moment the marshal sighed and asked, “What did you have in mind, Jensen?”

  “I want to sink their boat,” Luke said.

  “How in blazes do you plan on doing that?” Harmon wanted to know.

  “I’ m going to be waiting on the bank where the river comes down out of the hills,” Luke explained. “From there I can toss dynamite down on the boat and blow holes in the deck. It’ll sink, and the outlaws will have to swim for shore. That’s where you come in, Marshal. You and a posse will be waiting to round them up as they come out of the river.”

  “What about the gold?” Kent asked.

  “Sinking the boat won’t hurt it. Once everything is over, somebody can swim down, attach chains to the strongboxes, and haul them out with a mule team.”

  A grin creased Harmon’s face. “That’s a mighty bold plan, Jensen.”

  “When you’re dealing with men like these, you can’t worry too much about being cautious,” Luke said. “Sometimes you just have to hit ’em hard and hope for the best.”

  Harmon threw back his head and laughed. “I like the idea,” he declared. “It’s a little crazy, but I’ve got a hunch it might work.”

  “When do you expect this riverboat full of outlaws to arrive?” Kent asked.

  “Any time now,” Luke answered.

  “Then there’s no time to waste. How am I supposed to get a posse together on such short notice?”

  Harmon shook his head. “Oh, hell, that’s not a problem, Gid. I’ve got half a dozen hands with me. We’ll be your posse.”

  Kent frowned and nodded slowly. “That does make me feel better about the prospects of this scheme working,” he admitted. “You say you need dynamite, Jensen?”

  “I was told there should be some at the general store.”

  “Damn right there is.” Harmon clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Come on. I’ll go over there with you. Cy Herndon, the fella who owns the place, won’t give you any trouble if I’m along.”

  Once the plan was put in motion, things went quickly. Luke was glad of that. The riverboat could come steaming out of the hills at any time, and if it arrived before they were ready, the chances of stopping McCluskey and the outlaws would go way down.

  Having Dave Harmon on his side really greased the wheels. As the cattle baron had predicted, the owner of the general store was more than willing to provide the half-dozen sticks of dynamite he had on hand.

  “Normally I’d have more than that,” Herndon told Luke. “I’ve got an order in for more, but it won’t be here for a while yet.”

  “This should be enough. If it’s not, we’ll have bigger problems.” Luke attached fuses and caps to the dynamite himself, then placed the sticks in a small wooden box.

  As he and Harmon left the store, the rancher said, “I’ll head over to the saloon and get my boys together. We came into town to blow off a little steam, but this’ll be even better. We’ll meet Marshal Kent and get ready to corral those varmints from the boat. Better spread the word for folks to stay off the street, just in case there’s any gunplay.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if there is, so that’s a good idea,” Luke agreed.

  He stopped at the livery stable to get the Winchester from the horse he had ridden into town.

  Silas Grant gave him a worried frown. “What’s goin’ on, Mr. Jensen? The air’s sorta got a feel like there’s fixin’ to be a thunderstorm, but there ain’t a rain cloud in the sky.”

  “That’s perceptive of you, Silas. You’d do well to stay inside for a while. Either that, or go on up to the café and make sure that your wife and Mrs. Walton stay inside, too.”

  “Oh, shoot,” the liveryman breathed. “All hell’s about to bust loose, ain’t it?”

  Luke glanced down at the box of dynamite tucked under his arm. “If everything goes according to plan, that’s exactly what’s about to happen.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The street was already starting to clear as Luke stepped out of the livery barn. As people scurried inside, they cast frightened looks at the group of men who walked up the street toward the river. Harmon and Kent were in the lead, and behind them came half a dozen tough-looking cowboys, each man wearing a six-gun and carrying a rifle. The sight was enough to warn the townspeople that something was about to happen.

  Luke waved at Harmon and Kent and strode quickly to the river. About a hundred yards along the bank, he started up the pine-dotted slope at a fairly steep angle. The trees got thicker the higher he climbed on the hill.

  A few minutes later, he reached a good spot—thick with trees and brush—overlooking the river. He estimated it was forty feet below him. The outlaws on the riverboat wouldn’t spot him as they approached. He set the box of dynamite on the ground where it would be handy, then hunkered on his heels and leaned his back against a tree trunk.

  A couple cigars in his shirt pocket had come through all the commotion of the past few days unharmed. He took one of them out and clamped it between his teeth. From the little tin box he carried, he took a lucifer and snapped it to life with his thumbnail. Holding the flame to the cigar, he puffed until it was burning steadily.

  He was ready. All he had to do was wait.

  After worrying that he might not have time to get everything in place, the minutes seemed to drag as he smoked and watched the river. What if something had happened to the boat while it was still in the mountains, he wondered? Or maybe McCluskey had decided to change Burroughs’ plan. Luke wouldn’t put anything past him.

  He smoked the first cigar down and used the butt to light the second one, and still there was no sign of the riverboat. He was about to decide he might have to head upriver and start searching for it, when he heard a faint rumble in the distance that steadily grew louder until he could discern it plainly over the noise of the river.

  It was the boat’s engine, Luke thought. He puffed harder on the cigar until its tip glowed cherry red.

  The riverboat chugged into sight, coming around the shoulder of a hill. Spray flew up from the revolving paddlewheel. He drew back a little in the brush to make sure McCluskey and the others didn’t spot him.

  Luke saw a few men on deck, a coupl
e more in the pilothouse. He couldn’t make out who any of them were, nor did he spot Delia.

  He felt a few qualms about killing a woman, even one as vicious and bloodthirsty as Delia Bradley, but she was with the outlaws of her own free will. Whatever happened in the next few minutes would just happen, he thought, and the chips would land wherever they fell.

  He reached into the box and picked up one of the red-paper-wrapped, slightly greasy sticks of dynamite. He had cut the fuses pretty short. It wouldn’t take long for the dynamite to go off after the fuse was lit.

  The boat had almost reached his position. Luke held the fuse to the tip of the cigar. Sparks flew in the air as the fuse sputtered to life.

  He tossed the dynamite into the air above the river. It spun downward, landed on the deck at the bow, bounced once, and rolled to the edge of the deck. The little lip caught it and kept it from falling into the river.

  Yells of alarm came from a couple outlaws near where the dynamite landed. One man foolishly rushed toward the bow, evidently intending to grab the dynamite and fling it off the boat.

  The explosive went off just as he reached for it. The blast blew him apart and chewed a big chunk out of the deck.

  A second stick of dynamite was already spinning through the air toward the boat. The fuse was timed even better. It blew just as it struck the deck. The concussion picked up one of the suddenly panicked outlaws and flung him into the air. His arms and legs waved wildly for a second before he splashed into the river.

  The next stick of dynamite landed on top of the cabins and blew a hole in them. Men were rushing around on the deck, looking for the source of the devastation that rained down from the sky.

  Smoke began to boil up from the cabins. That blast had set the boat on fire.

  Frank McCluskey appeared on deck, shouting over the tumult and waving an arm at the bank. Luke knew the outlaw had figured out where the dynamite was coming from.

  A second later, shots began to ring out as the outlaws opened fire even though they couldn’t actually see Luke. Bullets whipped through the brush and trees around him, but none came close enough to make him stop what he was doing.

  He lit another fuse from the cigar and flung it at the paddlewheel. The dynamite arched down and exploded. The paddles lurched to a stop, bent and damaged by the blast. The riverboat’s momentum kept it moving forward, but it began to slow dramatically.

  It was tilting, too, as water gushed through the holes blown in the deck. Quickly, Luke lit the last two fuses and tossed those sticks of dynamite down onto the boat. Some of the outlaws screamed in terror as the deadly cylinders fell among them, but those cries were swallowed up by the unholy roar as the dynamite went off.

  Luke snatched up the Winchester and sprayed the pilothouse with lead as fast as he could work the rifle’s lever. The two men up there were firing at him, and they had the best angle. One of their shots clipped a branch not far from him.

  One man went over backward as Luke’s slugs ripped through him. He toppled through one of the big windows. The other man dived for cover.

  The riverboat was nose down in the water. The front half of the deck was awash. Luke knew the boilers might explode when the cold river water hit them, and from the looks of it, some of the outlaws realized that, too. They began leaping off the boat into the stream.

  With everything on the riverboat in a state of chaos, the members of Marshal Kent’s posse began appearing. They had taken cover so they would be out of sight as the boat approached, but there was no longer any need for that. Harmon’s ranch hands had split up between the two banks, and the cattle baron and Kent were on the bridge itself, holding rifles.

  The explosions seemed to have knocked all the fight out of most of the outlaws. They were pathetic, bedraggled figures as they crawled out of the river and were swarmed by Harmon’s gun-toting cowboys. A couple tried to claw out their guns and put up a fight, but shots hammered into them and knocked them back in the water, where they floated lifelessly.

  Luke knelt in the brush holding his Winchester and watched for McCluskey. He had lost track of the man during the confusion, and he still hadn’t seen Delia.

  A moment later, the outlaw emerged from one of the cabins dragging Delia by the hand. He had a revolver in his other hand, and he emptied it toward the bank where Luke was hiding.

  Luke drew a bead on the outlaw and could have drilled him then, but he still wanted to see McCluskey hang, so he held off on the rifle’s trigger.

  He could tell that Delia didn’t want to jump into the river. After emptying the revolver, McCluskey dragged her toward the deck’s edge. Frantically, she tried to pull away, but he held on tightly to her. Luke figured she couldn’t swim and was deathly afraid of the water.

  McCluskey leaped, taking Delia with him. They went under the water and popped back up again. Delia wrapped her arms around McCluskey’s neck and clung to him fiercely as he began kicking toward the shore.

  They had just reached it and clambered up onto the bank when the biggest explosion of all wracked the riverboat. It split in half as a giant gout of flame and steam erupted from its midsection. The boilers had exploded.

  The strongboxes, sturdy enough to withstand the blast, would go down with the boat and wind up on the bottom of the river, where they would be recovered later.

  A couple of Harmon’s men were waiting for McCluskey and Delia. They herded the two prisoners toward the spot where the posse had gathered the surviving members of the gang—eight of them, counting McCluskey and Delia.

  With the stub of the second cigar still clenched between his teeth, Luke took the empty dynamite box and headed down the slope to join the others.

  Dave Harmon had a grin on his face as he greeted Luke. “That was quite a show!” the cattle baron exclaimed. “The most excitement we’ve had around here in a good long while.”

  Marshal Kent said, “It was more than enough excitement for me, that’s for sure. I suppose you want me to lock these men up in my jail, Jensen?”

  “I’d be obliged to you if you did,” Luke said with a nod. “Can you handle this many prisoners?”

  Kent shrugged. “They’ll be a little crowded, since I already have the two men in there who delivered the gang’s horses, but I doubt if you’re very concerned about their comfort.”

  “Not at all,” Luke said.

  “As for the lady, I can lock her in the back room so she won’t have to share the cell block with these men.”

  Luke figured that was sparing more thought for Delia’s sensibilities than was really necessary, but he didn’t argue. As long as they were all locked up securely, it was all that really mattered.

  Harmon looked at the shattered husk of the burning riverboat. “One of my men is a mighty good swimmer. I reckon as soon as that boat finishes sinkin’, he can go down and locate those strongboxes. I’ll get some chain from the store and a team of mules from Silas Grant’s stable, and we’ll get that gold up out of the river.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Luke said. “I appreciate all your help, Mr. Harmon.”

  “Oh, hell, that’s all right. We’ll be well paid for it, after all.”

  Luke nodded. “Yes, I figured we’d all share the rewards—”

  “Rewards, hell!” Harmon said. “That’s just chicken feed. I’m talkin’ about a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of gold!”

  Alarm bells went off in Luke’s brain as he realized he was being double-crossed. The faint scuff of boot leather on the ground behind him added to the warning. He tried to whirl around and bring up the Winchester.

  He was too late. Something crashed against his head, and as he fell, he caught a glimpse of Marshal Kent holding a rifle. He knew the lawman had just slammed the butt of that rifle into his head.

  That was the last thing Luke knew for a while. He didn’t even feel himself hit the ground.

  CHAPTER 28

  A familiar odor was the first thing Luke was aware of when he began to regain consciousness
. He smelled a distinctive blend of straw, manure, and horseflesh.

  He was inside a stable.

  The logical conclusion was that he was inside Silas Grant’s livery stable in Pine City. However, he couldn’t be sure of that. He wasn’t sure about much of anything except that he never should have trusted Marshal Gideon Kent or Dave Harmon.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t had any reason to think the two men were anything other than what they appeared to be—a small-town star-packer and an honest rancher. He still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened out there by the river, but his aching head confirmed the important thing.

  They had double-crossed him, knocked him out, and were after that gold for themselves.

  Luke opened his eyes and flinched at the brightness that struck painfully against them. It was actually pretty dim and shadowy inside the little room where he lay on a hard-packed dirt floor, but enough light came through cracks around the door to half blind him for a moment.

  When his eyes had adjusted, he looked around. He was in a small, windowless room, eight feet by eight feet square. A number of bridles, harnesses, and other pieces of tack hung from nails driven into the walls.

  He was convinced that he was in Silas’s stable. Biting back a groan in case a guard stood right outside the door, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself into a sitting position.

  The pounding inside his skull made him sick and dizzy for a moment. When that subsided, he lifted a hand to his head and gingerly explored his scalp, finding the tender lump behind his ear where he’d been hit. It was sticky with dried blood, and touching it sent fresh waves of pain through his brain.

  That died down to a dull ache. Ignoring it, Luke climbed carefully to his feet, bracing a hand against the rough planks of the wall.

  Another wave of nausea and vertigo hit him once he was upright, but that soon passed, too. When he felt steady on his feet, he moved over to the door and put an eye to one of the cracks.

  His field of view was pretty limited, of course, but he could see enough to confirm that he was in Silas Grant’s tack room. In fact, he could see Silas himself, forking some hay into a stall on the other side of the barn’s broad middle aisle.