CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Yes, two of them,” Davis Salt said, lowering his field glasses.
“Do you think they see us?” Seth Koenig said.
“Damn right they do.” He put the binoculars to his eyes again. “Yup, there they go, hightailing it back to the ranch.”
Behind Salt, his twenty-five mounted gunmen had spread out in a ragged skirmish line, half expecting an order to charge after the fleeing Kerrigan riders. But none came.
Salt glanced at the sky and then said to Seth, “Maybe two hours of daylight left. The men are tired, and I don’t want to fight in the dark.”
“Then how do you want to play it?”
“We’ll camp here tonight and hit them at sunup.”
“Catch them napping, huh?”
“No chance of that. Those two will raise the alarm and they’ll be waiting for us.”
Seth glared at the older man. “Hell, if that’s the case I say we go now. We can kill them all by sundown, and I’ll sleep in Kate Kerrigan’s bed tonight.”
Salt shook his head. “A night battle is too risky. One time I recollect a feller telling me he tried to pull a train robbery in the dark. Turned out somebody had informed on him and there were eight Pinkertons hidden in the baggage car. He said people were running back and forth all over the damned place and he and his boys ended up shooting two of their own men, and not a penny of profit to show for it. No, we’ll wait until dawn. I want to see what the hell I’m shooting at.”
Seth Koenig was irritated. “Salt, I can tell you’re scared, so give me half of the men now and I’ll get the job done.”
Davis Salt turned his head slowly. “Koenig, I’m only going to say this once, so listen up—shut your damned trap and follow orders.”
Anger spiked in Seth’s belly. “Salt, you’re a big talker, but you’ve never had to deal with this . . .” His hand dropped to his gun. The move was meant to intimidate Salt, but it was a mistake. Behind Seth rifles rattled and he turned and saw a dozen Winchesters aimed at his head, some mighty unfriendly eyes looking through the sights.
“Koenig, get this into your thick skull,” Salt said, smiling. “You just ain’t popular around here.”
* * *
“Davis Salt is nobody’s fool. I don’t think he’ll attack us until tomorrow at sunup,” Frank Cobb said. “But we can’t take chances. We’ll stand to all night in the bunkhouse.”
“Does that include me and Mose and the maids?” Kate Kerrigan said.
Frank nodded. “Everybody, including Doña Maria Ana. Starting now. It’s going to be crowded in there, Kate, but there’s no other way.”
“Then let’s get started. Trace, help me get everyone into the bunkhouse.” She looked at Frank. “Salt and Koenig have around thirty men. That’s not so bad, is it?”
“It depends how good they are, Kate.”
“How good are they? You must have some idea.”
“My guess is they’ll be the best Salt could find and they’ll be a handful. Counting the Hellfire hands, I expected fifty, so the odds have been reduced some.”
“Unless there’s more of them on the way,” Trace Kerrigan said.
“That has occurred to me,” Frank said. “And it’s worrisome. Kate, I’m riding out to make sure Salt is staying put for the night. He’s a crafty one and he might be trying to fool us.”
“Frank, I’ll go with you,” Trace said.
“No. Best you stay here and make sure everyone gets into the bunkhouse. And have a couple hands help Tom Ogilvy bring plenty of grub and water. We may be in for a long siege.”
“Frank, he’s already done that,” Trace said.
“I know, but my guess is we’ll need twice that amount.”
* * *
Doña Maria Ana understood the gravity of the situation and arrived in the bunkhouse dressed for war in a riding skirt, shirt, and boots. She’d tied her hair back and carried a pile of petticoats and other garments. “For bandages,” she said, answering the question on Kate’s face.
“Let’s hope to God we don’t need them,” Kate said.
Rodolfo Aragon listened to that exchange in silence and then took station by a partly boarded window. The man looked calm and competent, and Kate was glad he was there.
The hands, intimidated by the presence of two beautiful women, one of them their boss, took up their places by the windows and stared out into the waning day. They were quiet, unusual for young punchers. When Kate looked at their faces one by one she saw tension but no fear, and she felt proud of them.
She saw no fear in Maria Ana’s face either.
“Kate, perhaps your beau, um . . . what’s his name?”
“Hiram Clay.” It occurred to Kate to say, “He’s not my beau,” but considering the danger they were facing, it seemed petty.
“Yes, dear Hiram,” Maria Ana said. “Perhaps at this very moment he’s charging across the prairie to our rescue.”
“Perhaps. It all depends on Nora Andrews.”
“Yes, a sulky girl, but I like her. I’m sure she made it to Hiram’s ranch without mishap.”
“Walking,” Kate said.
“Excusez-moi? I don’t understand.”
“Her horse came back, remember?
“Ah yes, she’s on foot. But those big-boned English girls love to walk, always striding up and down hills and the like in their sensible shoes. I’m sure she made it just fine.”
“I’m sure she did.” Kate said, more in hope than in certainty.
“Kate, I’ve never been shot at before,” Maria Ana said. “Have you?”
“Yes, several times.”
“I imagine it’s unpleasant.”
“It is. Very unpleasant.”
“I plan to be brave, Kate.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Suppose I’m not? Suppose I’m not brave?”
Kate smiled. “Maria Ana, don’t build houses on a bridge you haven’t crossed yet. Once the shooting starts you’ll find your courage.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do. You’ll be as brave as any of us, and perhaps braver.”
“Then, thank you. I feel much better now,” Maria Ana said. “Kate, sometimes just talking with you gives me courage.”
* * *
Davis Salt was staying put for the night. And it looked to Frank Cobb that Salt’s numbers had not been increased by late arrivals. Through his field glasses Frank saw smoke rise from cow-chip fires that would burn hot enough to boil coffee. A horse line was at the rear of the camp.
Frank nodded to himself, his smile grim. It seemed that hell was postponed until daybreak.