To the Gates of Hell by David Nix

Author:David Nix
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2022-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

In the full light of day, the steep sides of the canyon were a minefield of ankle-snapping obstacles. In pitch-darkness, they became a death trap. Having left the horses at the rim with one of the buffalo soldiers, Jake had no alternative but to trust Beah Nooki’s memory of the treacherous descent above the outlaw stronghold. With three soldiers at his back, including an uncharacteristically quiet Corporal Jefferson, they moved downward in increments, every inch of ground hard won. Any heavy grunt, any kicked stone, any expulsion of breath could alert the sentry as they slipped down on the man. Beah Nooki reached him first and silenced him with a steady hand and a long knife.

As they neared the river, its flow began to occupy the background, muffling the sound of horses and snoring men below. The scudding and sporadic clouds veiling a half-moon revealed fleeting glimpses of the outlaw camp a hundred yards upriver of their position. The large tent puffing smoke from a stovepipe. A dozen smaller tents, no doubt housing two men apiece. A makeshift corral that pinned a herd of horses against a wall of rock mere feet from the river. The river itself, a chaotic tumble through most of the canyon, grew wider and shallower as it swept around the massive rock abutment that loomed over the camp. When Beah Nooki halted their progress, Jake turned to Jefferson.

“Find cover,” he whispered. “Settle in. Pass it along.”

Jake heeded his own advice and found a crease of rock where he could lie at an angle for cover or lean forward to fire into the camp. There, he waited. If all went according to plan, Gus’s unit should have moved down from the west rim to occupy ground opposite the camp above the river, maintaining a downward shooting angle. Meanwhile, Stubbs should have pushed his larger troop to within a half mile of the abutment to await the sound of first shots—the signal to rush the camp. Jake thought of Stacy and prayed that Stubbs would keep her from taking too many risks. However, Stacy tended to do as she pleased, so his prayer was likely moot.

Perhaps an hour passed before the star field above began to fade and the vanguard of dawn lessened the blackness. The sun rising behind them cast the camp into sharper relief, and outlaws began stirring from their tents to rekindle the central fire and relieve their whiskey-washed bladders. Within minutes, the western rim lit with gold fire as the sun’s rays caressed the pinkish rocks, and a line of gold began descending with a cascading massage of light. The moment of conflict had come. Jake lifted his eyes to the still-dark ground on the opposite side of the river and held his breath. Seconds later, his anticipation was answered. Muzzle flashes from Gus’s band sparked briefly and bullets pinged the rocks above the corral. The scatter of gunshots had two immediate effects, both according to plan. The horses stirred to life in the corral and began pushing at the log-fence barricade in unease bordering on panic.

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