The Last Hard Men - Brian Garfield [60]
Hal nodded toward the box of powder. “That’s got something to do with it, of course?”
“Yes. You’ve got a watch, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. It’ll be dark in an hour or so. I want you to take this powder and ride around to the far side of the meadow, down at the bottom—directly opposite where we are now. Circle wide when you go, don’t take chances, and don’t hurry, there’s plenty of time. Tie your horse well back in the trees over there and come down to the edge of timber on foot. The wind will be behind you. You’ll get there about nine o’clock, my judgment. The moon won’t be up yet. Stay in the shadows under the front line of trees there, and spread a thin line of this gunpowder along the edge of the grass, as long as you can make it without gaps. It doesn’t need to be more than a quarter of an inch wide—just a thin ribbon of powder. Then gather up whatever dry kindling you can find and scatter it along there in the grass. The moon will come up, and we’ll need to have it high, so you’ll wait until half past midnight. Got it?”
“Twelve thirty. Yes, sir.”
“Take these matches,” Burgade said. He handed Hal the oilskin pouch. “At half past midnight, post yourself at the center of the line of gunpowder. Then wait for the wind. As soon as you’ve got a fair breeze blowing, touch a match to the powder.”
“In other words, set fire to the grass.”
“Yes. A grass fire will go like hell. It burns low to the ground and makes its own wind as it goes—whips along so fast it won’t even consume the leaves of trees it goes under. It’ll explode across that meadow.”
“I see. And drive Provo this way.”
“On foot. They won’t be able to handle those horses once they smell smoke.”
“Do you think Susan will—”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Burgade said. “I’ll get her away from them in the confusion if I possibly can.”
“And if you can’t?”
“If I can’t we’ll still be better off than we are now. They’ll be up here in the trees where we can get close to them.”
“Yes, sir,” Hal said. “And what then? The reason I’m asking—well, if anything—”
“I know. If anything happens to me you’ll want to know what to do next.”
“I meant no offense.”
“It’s no time for politeness,” Burgade muttered. “If we can’t get Susan away from them tonight, I can’t think of but one thing left to do, and it’s not a thing I expect you to approve.”
“Approve? To hell with that. I’m changing a lot of my notions.”
“Then pick them off one by one.”
“Tall order, sir.”
“Yes. It is.”
“Hal sucked air through his teeth.
Burgade said, “One more thing. Him.” He inclined his head toward George Weed. “When you go around to set the fire, take him with you.”
“What for?”
“We don’t want the rest of them tripping over him and turning him loose, do we. It’d only add another gun against us.”
Hal picked up the powder box and weighed it in his hand. His face was deeply trenched by exhaustion. Dark sweat-circles stained the armpits of his shirt. “I feel as if it’s all a puking rotten dream and I’m never going to wake up from it. We’re talking calmly about killing seven men.”
“My only regret,” Burgade breathed in answer, “is that I can only kill Zach Provo once.”
Burgade looked up. Oak branches were silhouetted against the sky, colorless and jagged like cracks in porcelain. His eyes felt sticky: he was taut as a watch spring, ready to snap. The picketed horses stirred. He heard the light thud of a hoof, the swish of a tail. “Time for you to go. Put Weed on my horse. I won’t have a use for a horse tonight.”
“Won’t you need one for Susan?”
“We’ll have a better chance on foot. Horse makes too much noise.” Burgade walked him over to the animals and helped him cinch them up. His weary muscles throbbed with pain; there was a steady, maddening tremor in his old hands. Even in the dim starlight he could see the ridged dark veins along the backs of his wrists. He said, “As soon as the fire’s burning, ride well around back. Don’t try to mix into whatever may be going on down here—you might shoot me, or get shot by me. Just go on up to that creek where we camped last