Free The Fire of Greed by Bill Yenne Page B

I sure wish somebody woulda cut a trail through this crap.”
    â€œIf there was a trail, somebody
else
would already have made off with Dearing’s gold by now,” Gardner reminded him.
    The four men, each driven toward the promise of wealth of fantastic proportions, urged their horses through increasingly difficult terrain where none of them would have gone otherwise. There was no question of picking up their pace. If anything, the pack mules were slowing their progress. The lead ropes on the mules, as well as on the spare saddle horse, which now carried their expedition supplies, were occasionally snagged or tangled in the brush or on the limbs of deadfall. This cost time and tried the patience of Muriday and Lynch.
    They had believed Gardner and Stanton when their new partners explained that the cargo on their mules was merely the possessions they were taking with them on their westward migration to California. Naturally, Gardner and Stanton had chosen not to tell them that the packs contained a pilfered payroll, or that their spare saddle horse had belonged to a previous partner who had died from a bullet in the back of his head. Had Muriday and Lynch known the latter, they would not have been so quick to invite Gardner and Stanton to join their expedition.
    â€œYou’ll find a better use for them damned mules when we get ourself up to Dearing’s,” Muriday laughed when Gardner and Stanton both had to dismount to extract a mule from an especially difficult entanglement with the brush.
    It was at that moment that shots rang out.
    Gardner felt the rush of air on his cheek as one round came within inches of hitting his head.
    He and Stanton, already dismounted, scrambled to take cover, while Muriday and Lynch quickly dropped off their horses to crawl behind a nearby log.
    More shots came, nicking the log and spattering fragments from the boulders above them.
    â€œBushwhackers!” Lynch shouted, stating the obvious.
    â€œApaches!” Stanton replied, advancing a theory with which no one took exception.
    â€œHow many?” Gardner asked.
    â€œAt least two,” Muriday guessed.
    â€œThe bastards got us ambushed in a real good spot,” Gardner observed.
    The attackers had no doubt been shadowing the large, noisy party of treasure hunters for some time, waiting for a favorable spot to spring their trap. They had been dealt an especially fortuitous hand when the pack mule became snarled in a place where the four men were hemmed in by a line of boulders.
    In such a place, those springing the ambush from high ground had the advantage, which was always magnified by the proclivity of the startled victim to make rash decisions. If the latter survived the initial moments when he was totally exposed to opposition fire, and got under relatively safe cover, he could gain back a measure of control. The ambusher still had the advantage if he had sufficient force to press the momentum of the initial attack, but he had to do so quickly to prevent a standoff from developing.
    Muriday aimed his Model 1860 Colt .44 and squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession.
    Gardner was about to admonish him for wasting ammunition, when he realized what the man was doing. His three shots elicited a fusillade of return fire, which resolved the question of how many attackers were in the high ground above them.
    â€œJust two of ’em means they’re just a couple of young bucks out to steal horses,” Gardner explained. “They were hoping to spook us and grab some stock. I’ve seen it before. Sometimes, they just break off and run if they don’t nail you right off.”
    â€œYou see ’em?” Stanton asked.
    â€œYeah, but just barely,” Gardner replied.
    â€œYou fellas cover Stanton while he grabs his rifle out of his scabbard,” Gardner ordered. “He was a sniper in the First Pennsylvania. He can hit anything.”
    As Muriday reloaded, Lynch crawled to a