Wyoming Wildcats by Jon Sharpe

Author:Jon Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

8

Jessup was telling the truth. An awful lot of activity was taking place. Skye Fargo caught glimpses of Utes moving back and forth in the undergrowth along the Green River. For the warriors to show themselves, however briefly, was unusual enough. For them to do so repeatedly over the next several minutes was so out of character that Fargo began to suspect it was a ruse, that the Utes were doing it on purpose to attract attention. But why? The only reason he could think of was to draw all the soldiers to the north rim of the gully, maybe so an attack could be launched on the south side. But if that was their intent, they were in for a surprise. Lieutenant Jacobson had ordered the troopers on the south incline to stay where they were.

Then Fargo heard the faint drumming of hooves. Swiveling, he sought to pinpoint the direction. It came not from the north or south but from the east, from the narrow end of the gully where no troopers were posted. A concerted rush at that point would cost the Utes dearly, though, since the troopers could pick off anyone who tried to enter.

The hoofbeats drummed louder. Everyone else had heard them now, and turned. Fargo wondered if the Utes were going to ride right on down the slope. He brought up the Henry. The pounding was so loud, the Utes had to be close to the gully.

Then an extraordinary thing happened. Instead of a rider appearing, a large bundle of dry brush sailed up and over the gully wall. Flames and smoke spewed from it as it landed on the slope with a crackling thud, then rolled to the bottom. The next instant another bundle was thrown in, and another, both rolling further than the first one had. Smoke roiled along the bottom and up the two sides.

Fargo had to hand it to the Utes. Instead of trying to fight their way into the gully, they wanted to drive the soldiers out. Out into the open where the Utes could pick them off. “Throw dirt on those bundles!” he shouted. “Stamp out the flames!”

Jacobson mimicked the order. Half the men rushed to comply. Smoke had already filled about a third of the gully and was curling along its length in great gray coils, like a writhing nest of vaporous snakes.

Another bundle sailed into view. And another. The boys in blue were doing their utmost to snuff out the flames. One man tried to climb to the east rim to fire at the Utes, but the thick cloud drove him back, hacking and sputtering.

Suddenly Fargo heard new noises, a loud creaking and rattling, from the west. He investigated, sliding down to the bottom and hurrying to the gully mouth. Careful to keep his back to the incline and not to expose his whole body, he peeked out.

Four or five Utes had gripped the second wagon by the tongue and turned it so the rear end pointed at the gully.

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