Hard Ride to Hell (9780786031191) by William W. Johnstone Page A

men to come with him and Smoke. They started off on foot, moving quickly and blending into the shadows. The men who rode for Sugarloaf might not be professional fighters, but most of them were tough, experienced frontiersmen.
    Now that the hoofbeats weren’t drowning them out, the shots came loud and clear through the night. Smoke followed them, veering to the left so that he could approach under the cover of some trees. When he reached the edge of the pines, he stopped just behind one of the trunks and peered out across an open stretch of ground toward more trees at the base of Gunsight Ridge.
    It took only a moment for the setup to become clear in his mind. A single set of muzzle flashes from a clump of trees to the right marked Slewfoot’s location. Two riflemen, undoubtedly a pair of rustlers, were in the pines at the base of the ridge.
    Pearlie eased up beside Smoke and took in the situation just as quickly. Quietly, he said, “If all six of us open up on those trees by the ridge, we’ll skin those polecats quick as you please.”
    â€œYeah, but I wouldn’t mind taking at least one of them alive so we can ask him some questions,” Smoke said. He pointed. “If you and I were to work our way around that way and get behind them, then the rest could open up and come just close enough to stampede them right into our arms.”
    Pearlie’s teeth sparkled in the moonlight for a second like his namesake as a grin flashed across his rugged face.
    â€œI like that idea,” he said. “Ain’t no guarantee those jaspers will cooperate in bein’ took alive, though.”
    â€œAll we can do is try,” Smoke said.
    He gathered the other four men around him in the shadows and explained the plan to them. They grasped it without any trouble, and Smoke knew he could count on them to do their part.
    â€œWe’ll signal you with the hoot of an owl when we’re ready for you to open the ball,” he told them and received nods and murmurs of agreement. Satisfied that everyone understood, he said to Pearlie, “Let’s go.”
    They catfooted through the darkness, using the cover of the trees as much as they could. When the trees ran out, Smoke dropped to hands and knees and motioned for Pearlie to do likewise. Flattening onto his belly, Smoke began crawling toward the ridge.
    The grass was tall enough to conceal the two of them, and they moved slowly and carefully enough that the slight disturbance of the grass would be difficult to spot in the moonlight. Patience had never been Smoke’s strong suit, but he had learned stealth from Preacher and the old mountain man had been a good teacher. The best possible teacher, in fact, since in his younger days Preacher had been able to creep into an enemy camp, slit the throats of several men, and get back without anyone ever knowing he was there until the next morning.
    At last, Smoke and Pearlie reached the trees where the bushwhackers were hidden. When they were back safely in the shadows, they stood up. Smoke led the way to the very base of the ridge. They followed it toward the spot where the riflemen were holed up. The strip of trees was about twenty feet wide, so Smoke and Pearlie would have room to get behind the bushwhackers.
    When the shots were so loud they sounded like they were practically in the laps of the men from Sugarloaf, Smoke stopped again. He stiffened as his gaze turned toward the ridge. The rock face was dark, but he saw an even deeper patch of darkness that had a faintly ominous look to it, as if it were the gaping maw of some hungry, primordial creature.
    It looked for all the world like the mouth of a tunnel, but Smoke would have sworn there was no tunnel in Gunsight Ridge.
    They could investigate that later, he told himself. Right now they had to deal with the men who were trying to kill Slewfoot. He tapped Pearlie on the shoulder to let the foreman know they were ready.
    Then Smoke lifted his free