Chapter 35
At midnight Festus and Burke took over guard duty and Matt motioned Newly to the supply wagon. "I'm going to need your help here." He said as he held a lantern to light the interior.
The wagon held only a minimum of the supplies Sinclair would usually carry up to Sharlow's hideout. Aside from beans and salt pork for the trail, Dillon had been insistent on the other items he wanted to make the trip. If the posse thought it odd, they had kept their thoughts to themselves. There was a barrel of black gunpowder, a crate of Gold Barrel whiskey bottles, a keg of nails, and a good quantity of manila jute rope.
The gunsmith looked over the goods and then up to Dillon's face, "Looks like we're going to be making some sort of grenades."
Dillon nodded and hung the lantern on a hook attached to a canvas brace. "Let's get started." He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the crate, popped the cork and emptied the contents on the ground as Newly pried off the lid from the barrel of gunpowder. They filled the bottles with nails and explosive and used the manila jute for fuse. While they worked Dillon told Newly of his plan.
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As he finished the last bottle and set it carefully back in the crate, Newly asked, "You ever use a grenade before?"
"Once. It was at Vicksburg … "
"How'd it work?"
He shook his head, "We lost a half dozen men when the grenades exploded in their hands."
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They were off and riding again at sunup. Even at that early time of day the temperatures were warm. The trail they made was cut by arroyos and dry creek beds, which carried the danger of flash floods. With the heavy air and menacing skies that threat grew. Moreover, if the rains did come, their makeshift grenades would be rendered impotent.
They traveled on an upward swing. The sun was at it's highest point in the sky when Sinclair pulled his horse to a stop, Dillon reined in and the posse gathered round. "Something wrong Sinclair?"
"You can see the peak of Sharlow's mountain from here." He pointed some miles in the distance to a far rocky range.
"Which way do we head?"
"You're bound and determined to go through with this Dillon?"
"I am."
Sinclair gave a disgusted grunt and then hacked a wad of chew. It just missed Hagen's boot. "If we follow this here creek bed round the base of the hillside, there's good cover, and we won't stir up no dust."
Matt nodded, "alright."
Sinclair asked the question then that everyone else was wondering about, "What's your plan Dillon?" All eyes turned to the lawman.
Matt pulled his canteen free and took a long drink, wiping his mouth dry on his sleeve. "We'll be splitting up tonight. Festus and I are going to ride along in the supply wagon, with Sinclair driving. Newly will take the rest of you men up the back side of the mountain. Hopefully we'll reach the hideout at the same time."
Sinclair's voice had a whiny quality, "Won't work, it's suicide to go up against Sharlow's guns."
"You hush up, no one asked your opinion." Festus hissed.
Dillon addressed the rest of the posse, "Alright men, if any of you haven't the stomach to go on, you're free to head back to Dodge. No one will think the less of you. Those of you who stay should know there's a chance you won't get out of this alive."
A clerk from the general store opted to head back to Dodge as well as Bert Walton a local farmer and Harvey Frank the town tinsmith. The rest of the posse held their ground and Sinclair had no choice in the matter.
Matt turned to young Willie Roniger, he was seventeen and eager to prove himself. "Maybe you'd better head back home son." he said, clapping a hand on the young man's shoulder.
The boy shook his head. "I'm a man Marshal, and I can do a man's jobs. Just you watch."
As a friend of the Roniger family, Matt had seen the boy grow up. He had held him in his arms as a newborn, watched him take his first steps, ride his first pony and shoot his first gun. He felt a strong pang of emotion at the threat of anything happening to him, and yet he also knew young men have a need to prove themselves. He took a breath, and said, "Alright."
They traveled the creek bed as Sinclair had suggested until early dusk. Coming to a cut in the ridge, and there they parted ways.
Newly and his men traveled by horseback through a maze of canyons and hidden ravines through a criss-cross of stone gullies. They left their horses behind when the terrain turned too rugged for the animals to navigate.
"Move slow, keep quiet and stay in the moon's shadows." Newly ordered.
They began the climb, single file, Newly leading the way, Nathan Burke and young Willie close behind. A barred owl noted their passing. In the distance a coyote howled, another answered and an echoing chorus followed. The nervous shake of a rattlesnake warned of danger, but still they pressed upward. They reached the summit sometime around midnight and worked their way down to an inner ridge and here they pressed ahead keeping in the dark blue moonlit shadows of thin juniper and sparse tamarack until finally they came to a stony ledge. They belly crawled to the rim. Below, campfire lights glowed and the valley reverberated with the sound of Sharlow's men loud and raucous after a day of some form of plunder. At a distance, but still visible in the full moonlight, against the rock walls of the canyon there was built a large cabin. Light glowed from the shoulder high portholes that served as windows. From this distance it looked like an impenetrable fortress. Newly glanced back to the dozen men under his command. They were each armed with a crude handmade grenade, which none of them were trained to use, a rifle, and some of them had six shooters. Not one of them other than Nathan Burke had ever been forced to kill a man. Newly was beginning to think Sinclair might be right in his assessment of Matt Dillon's plan.
Dillon, Hagen and Sinclair camped until two AM, they left their mounts and turned in the direction of Sinclair's hideout with Dillon and Hagen sitting in the back of the wagon. They had three shotguns, their colt revolvers and enough ammunition to hold their position until help came - as long as help didn't wait too long.
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They traveled across the rugged canyon floor, through narrows hardly wide enough for the wagon to fit through, before popping into a beautiful pristine valley at sunrise. The grass was lush and green nestled between the canyon walls. Cattle were grazing, sporting new brands and fattening up to be sold for a tidy profit.
Two of Sharlow's men were minding the herd. They called out to Sinclair when they saw him approach. "Wondered if you were comin' Homer."
Sinclair was trembling in his boots, and Dillon had to prod him to answer.
"Knew you were getting low on supplies." He replied with a shaky voice.
His partner was riding along side the other rustler, "You totin' whiskey in there?"
Matt jabbed Sinclair's back again and whispered, "Stop the wagon and tell them to come on over and find out."
"Come on over and see for yourself." Homer offered, pulling back the reins and applying the break.
The two outlaws trotted to the wagon, slipped off their horses and pulled back the canvas to peer into the dark wagon, expecting to see the supplies but getting the cold barrel of a rifle in their faces instead. "Tie those ponies to this here rig." Festus ordered. "Then climb on in here." In no time at all the men were bound and gagged and forced to lie face down on the wagon floor.
"Alright Sinclair, drive on in."
They were still miles from the hideout, but had anyone been watching from lookout, they would suspect nothing more than the drover outlaws had opted for a wagon ride back to the hideout enjoying first crack at the whiskey inside.
They were a hundred yards from the compound, when they were approached again. "Sinclair, we've been waiting for you - expected you days ago. Take the wagon around to the shed, we'll help you unload."
News of the supply wagon's arrival caused more outlaws to appear from inside the cabin. From a slit he'd cut in the canvas, Matt counted four men at the stable door, two at the storage shed, and another three or four up by the cabin. He hoped Newly was nearby with the Dodge men because they were about to run out of time.
To Homer the odds didn't look good and he had no wish to be on the losing side. It was then that he panicked. Sinclair stood up, arms waving, "Matt Dillon's in the wagon and he's got a posse out there!", he shouted, jumping from the wagon and falling in an awkward heap, his leg crumpling at an unnatural angle. He howled and cried, "My leg - broke my leg. Somebody help me - help me."
Festus and Matt readied their firearms. Through the canvas tear, Dillon caught the glint of Newly's badge from a rocky ridge, fifty feet up. The posse was up there and Dillon breathed a quick sigh of relief. Then hell broke loose. Two grenades flew down from the hillside, They exploded sending shrapnel flying in every direction. One hit near the main door of the hideout, and the other in front of the stable. Two of Sharlow's men were down, several others were injured.
The outlaws grabbed their rifles running for cover and were met by a barrage of bullets from the Dodge men. The air was filled with gun smoke and the caustic odor bit at their nostrils and burned their eyes. Dillon and Hagen clambered from the wagon, firearms in hand. The back of the wagon provided some cover and both Matt and Festus were able to keep the outlaws busy allowing the Dodge men time to advance. "Cover me." Matt told Festus as he leapt into the open and zig-zagged a path in the direction of the rain barrel beside the cabin door, Hagen raised his rifle and peppered the area in front of the barn and shed. Two more grenades exploded and shrapnel flew around Dillon. From the ground at the front of the wagon, Sinclair pulled loose his revolver, and took aim with a clear shot at Dillon. His bullet burned through Matt's shoulder, and the lawman's rifle went flying. He faltered for a moment, spun to the ground and then rolled to safety behind the barrel. Festus stepped out from the wagon's cover and fired a deadly shot at Sinclair, it was a careless move that earned him a crease on his upper arm. Hagen considered it worth the risk.
In the distance the heavy skies rumbled with thunder and lightening flashes blinked across the far horizon. The rain would be upon them, soon. Under scant cover the Dodge men were working their way down the hillside. amid a shower of gunfire. One of their grenades had landed on the roof of the stable and it was on fire.
From behind the rain barrel, Dillon scanned the landscape around them, he noticed a cloud of dust as some of Sharlow's gunmen hightailed it out of the valley. He couldn't gage how many men were still in the cabin, but he figured four or five were in the shed judging from the hailstorm of lead coming from the building. The Dodge men were moving in despite the gunfire, and Matt suspected they would suffer some loses. He'd seen several fall, including young Willie Roniger.
Gunfire slowed from the cabin, Matt took it as a sign the outlaws were ready to give up, "Come out with your hands up, we've got you surrounded!" The request was met by another round of gunfire, shots ricocheted off the wagon, others ripped though the canvas killing one of the outlaws they had tied up in there. A mule was hit and dropped in his traces.
Newly and Jimmy Taylor, the blacksmith had worked their way to Hagen's side. They both had the whiskey bottle grenades stuck in their waistbands. "We got to get one of them to Matthew." Festus said.
"I know it." Newly replied, "Keep 'em busy for me."
"I'm getting good practice at it today." Festus answered.
Newly crept near the front of the wagon, and around the downed mule, and then headed for the rain barrel at a dead run. Fast shots rang out from both sides and another grenade exploded before Newly made it to Dillon's side. "You alright Marshal?" he questioned noting the growing circle of blood on the lawman's shoulder.
Matt grimaced and it could have been from pain or relief in seeing his deputy, "Bullet went right through, I'm fine. Mighty glad to see you and your little friend there. If I can kick the door open, you think you can toss the grenade in?"
O'Brien nodded.
Dillon grimaced again and said under his breath, "Hope it's one of those doors you can kick in."
There were two other Dodge men beside Festus and Jimmy now, keeping the outlaws busy. Newly produced a match from his pocket, struck it and applied it to the fuse. His eyes gave the signal, Dillon jumped up, ignoring the pain, he summoned every ounce of strength he had left and heaved a mighty kick at the center of the door. It splintered and gave way, and Newly threw the grenade inside.
From within the cabin, shots rang out in their direction, Matt pulled Newly out of the line of fire, pushing him to the ground, as the bomb exploded.