William W. Johnstone (14 page)

With little else to do, Chuckie, Ed, Eli, Jimmy, Clark, and Buster busied themselves at the creek, picking up and carefully selecting rocks for the weapons they had been working on. The rocks they picked up were just the perfect size, round and smooth, flawless. They would fit well in the pockets of their slingshots. Maybe they couldn’t carry guns around, but they could sure use those slingshots with deadly accuracy.

And the youngsters had just as carefully picked out the spots from which they would launch their small war when Jud Vale’s men attacked the ranch. And it was there they stashed their carefully chosen hoard of rocks and spare slingshots, telling no one else about it.

But Cheyenne, wise and watchful old man that he was, had seen the boys scurrying about and became curious as to what they were up to. When he had satisfied his curiosity, he sat down and chuckled.

“Brave little lads,” he muttered. And he knew just how deadly a slingshot could be in the hands of a boy with a steady eye. They might not kill anybody with those propelled little rocks, but they could spook some horses and cause some fearful bumps and dents in the head and some painful bruises in the flesh of any attacker.

“I do believe it’s gonna get right interestin’ around here,” he quietly said to himself.

Matthew had been practicing daily with his Peacemaker. One hour a day, faithfully, every day, he practiced his draw. And with lots of ammo available, he could also practice his marksmanship.

The boy was a natural. Better than good, he was awesome in his ability with a short gun.

“I hate to see it,” Smoke said to Cheyenne, after watching Matt practice.

“He’d a done it with or without us, Smoke,” the old gunfighter said. “I allow as to how it was best that we was here to hep him along.”

“Maybe you’re right. But the West is slowly changing, Cheyenne. Perhaps not all for the better, but law and order is coming and fast guns will be a thing of the past before we know it.”

“I’ll never live to see it,” the old man said flatly. “And for all the lawyers and judges with their fancy words, and handsewn duds, it’s gonna be years afore all the West is tamed—maybe never. Matthew will be a growed-up man afore he’ll be able to hang up his guns. And who knows, Smoke? Maybe he’ll go on to become a fine lawman. There ain’t a bad bone in the lad.”

“I’m going to encourage him to do just that.”

“I already been doin’ that,” Cheyenne said. “He seems interested in it, for a fact.”

Smoke’s eyes came open out of sleep. Something, or somebody was in the barn. He looked out the open window without moving from his bunk. About three o’clock, he guessed.

He lay still, his right hand around the butt of a Colt. When the sound came again, Smoke eared back the hammer.

A soft chuckle came out of the darkness, just outside the open door to his room. "I didn’t think I’d be able to get this far without you hearing me," the voice spoke.

“Perkins?” Smoke returned the whisper.

“Oh, my, yes. I’ve come to lend whatever assistance I can to this little war.”

“I watched you the other day. From the ridges.”

“Careless on my part, not seeing you. You’re very, very good. As good as your reputation makes you out to be, I must admit.”

Smoke felt that Perkins was not alone. All his senses were working overtime. “The girl with you?” “Good guess,
compañero.
”

With that correct useage, Smoke knew the man had spent some time below the border. “Going to leave her here?”

“I really have no choice in the matter. She’ll be much safer with Walt and Alice.”

“Why do you hate them so? They seem like good people to me.”

“Oh, I don’t hate them. Not at all. I know they think that, but it isn’t true. There is a medical term for my mental condition, but I shan’t bore you with ten-dollar words when a single word can sum it all up rather well. I’m crazy.”

“You have good days and you have bad days.”

“Umm. Gunfighter you may be, but you are not overcome with ignorance. Yes. That is correct”

“Have you sought help?”

“Oh, my, yes. But unfortunately, the field of psychiatry is still in its infancy, and the methods they use are really quite primitive. And they don’t work,” he added the last with a note of bitterness.

“There ought to be some coffee left in the pot. Help yourself.”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline your kind offer. How is Micky?”

“He’s a fine boy.”

“Ah, good. Doreen thinks I deserted her out of pure callousness. That was not the case. When these twilight moods strike me, I can kill anybody who stands in my way, who speaks to me in a cross manner, or simply because of a wrong word. I would be sorry for it immediately afterward, but apologizing to a corpse is a rather futile gesture, don’t you agree, Mr. Jensen?”

“I would think so, yes.”

“Should our paths cross again, Mr. Jensen, and I have a rather obvious wild-eyed look about me, leave me alone. Depart the area immediately. It’s for your own good, I assure you.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Silence.

“Clint?”

But he was speaking to shadows. Clint Perkins had vanished as softly and silently as he had arrived. “Susie?”

“I’m right here, Mr. Jensen.”

Smoke rose from his bunk and dressed. Then he lit the lamp. Susie was perhaps eighteen—no more than that. A very pretty girl, she had a wide-eyed scared look on her pale face.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Susie,” Smoke told her. “Come on. Let’s go wake up the house and get you settled in.”

Over coffee and bear sign, the story Susie told was one of horror, clearly indicating that Jud Vale was as nutty as a tree full of squirrels. She told of beatings, of being forced into Jud’s bed—and into the bed of Jason when Jud was feeling magnanimous. And of being forced to do things, things about which no decent person should know. Walt looked sick and Alice and Doreen almost had an attack of the swooning vapors, both of them fanning themselves vigorously.

Cheyenne wore a very uncomfortable look on his leathery face. Rusty’s face was red as a beet. Smoke had heard the boys gather around the windows, outside the house, but said nothing about it. They were getting an earful, no doubt about that. Dolittle and Harrison had not been awakened.

“Have you seen Jud kill other ... slaves?” Smokeasked her.

“One. But half a dozen have just disappeared. I know where they’re buried, though.”

“Your parents?”

“Dead. I was on my way to California to stay with my uncle and aunt when outlaws robbed the train. They took me and sold me to Jud. If he finds out I’m here, he’ll attack this ranch.”

“He’s going to do that anyway, girl,” Walt told her. “Just relax. You’ll be safe here with us. When this is over, we’ll get you to California.”

“How did Clint find out you were at the Bar V?” Smoke asked.

“How does he find out anything?” she countered. “He’s like a ghost.” She looked at Doreen. “And no, there was never anything between us. He’s just been a good friend.”

The look Doreen gave her silently stated that she believed thai about as much as she believed elephants wore pink tights and danced the can-can.

Susie met Doreen’s eyes and accurately read the other woman’s expression. She shrugged indifferently.

“Micky can sleep in with his mother,” Alice said, stepping between the hot looks. “Susie, you take ihe boy’s bedroom until we can fix up the other bedroom. Go on, dear. Walt’s put fresh water in the basin and the towels are on the rack and the bedpan’s clean. You get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Good idea,” Walt said, knocking the ashes from the bowl of his pipe and standing up. His wife joined him and they left the kitchen, Doreen and Susie following.

Smoke, Cheyenne, and Rusty sat around the table for a few more minutes, with Rusty and Cheyenne eating up every doughnut they could find.

“Near four-thirty,” Smoke said, refilling his coffee cup. He was almost forced to break Rusty’s hand as he reached for the last bear sign. “No point in going back to bed.”

Rusty looked frantically around for another platter of doughnuts.

He found a fresh chocolate cake and his smile almost added new light to the room as he whacked off a hunk that would choke a bull.

“Growin’ boy still,” Cheyenne said with a grin. “Cut me a piece of that, too, Rusty.”

“Smoke?”

“I’ll pass, Rusty, thanks. I’m fixing to rustle me up some bacon and eggs before long.”

“Fix some for me, too,” the young puncher spoke
_i
around a mouthful of cake.

“Yeah. Me, too,” Cheyenne said.

Smoke grined and shook his head at the two characters. Then he sobered when he thought of what Jud Vale might do in retaliation. And another matter had been nagging at him off and on for a week or so.

“What you ruminatin’ about?” Cheyenne asked.

“Jud Vale, for one thing.”

“Just ride over and call him out and kill him. Me and Rusty and Walt will go with you.”

“The odd thing is, Cheyenne, I don’t want to kill him. He’s not right in the head, and therefore he isn’t responsible for what he’s doing. It might come to a killing, but I hope it isn’t me who has to do it.”

Cheyenne thought about that for a moment. “And the other thing?”

Smoke sighed and finished his coffee. He nodded his head toward the outside. Rusty cut the lamps low and followed them. They walked over to the corral and Smoke pulled out the makings and built himself a cigarette.

“Walt has confided in me that he is a wealthy man,” Smoke said. “Why doesn’t he hire guns and let them bang it out with Jud’s men?”

“I’ve pondered over that my very own self,” Cheyenne admitted. “I can’t come up with no firm answer.”

Rusty looked startled for a moment. Then he shook his head in disbelief. He threw down his own cigarette and stomped it out, his spurs jingling with the movement. “I can’t believe you two guys!” he finally blurted.

“What do you mean, you red-headed pup?” Cheyenne looked at him.

Rusty just laughed at him.

“I’ll bust you up side your punkin head,” Cheyenne told him, balling a hand into a fist and drawing it back.

“Whoa!” Rusty stepped back.

“You better explain yourself, Rusty. If you know something we need to know, spit it out.”

“I didn’t mean to laugh at neither of you. I just figured that you both knew.”

“Knew what, you knothead?” Cheyenne growled at him.

Rusty looked at Smoke. “Soon as you told me I was workin’ for the Box T, I figured the fire had done reached the grease. But it never dawned on me that Mr. Walt hadn’t leveled with you. Hell ...” He paused. “Well, maybe the old bunch has died out and the new bunch of folks in this area don’t know. Jud Vale is Walt’s kid brother!”

After recovering from his shock, Cheyenne said, “I been in and out of here for the last fifty years, Rusty. I ain’t never heard that story.”

“Rancher up in Montana told me some five or six years ago. Sorry, boys, I just figured you knew.”

“So Clint is really Walt’s nephew,” Smoke spoke the words softly. “I wonder what surprises Doreen has in store for us?”

Rusty blushed.

“Not those surprises,. Rusty! I wonder if she’s kin to Walt and Alice?”

“Beats me. I done told you all I know.”

“You shore this rancher wasn’t just pullin’ your leg?” Cheyenne questioned.

“I don’t think so. We was sittin’ around the fire one night during roundup, passin’ a bottle around. Lemmie see if I can remember all, or most, of what was said.” He rolled another cigarette, deep in thought while he was shaping and licking and lighting the tube. “Mr. Randolph—that was the rancher I was workin’ for at the time—he said that Walt come out to this part of Idaho ’way back. The first white man to settle in this part of the territory.”

“That much jibes with what Walt told me,” Smoke confirmed.

“Mr. Randolph said that Walt had left a baby brother behind. I believe he said Ill-o-noise or O-hi-o or some of them faraway places like that. Said that Walt never really knew the kid all that good. He was in diapers when Walt left. The kid started gettin’ into trouble right off the mark. Then as the kid got older, the trouble got worser. He’s supposed to have raped and kilt a woman when he was ’bout fourteen or fifteen and had to flee, two steps ahead of the law.”

“And Walt didn’t know what was going on back home?”

“No way he could have. A thousand miles away like he was. Sure wasn’t no letters bein’ posted to this part of the territory. Mr. Randolph said that the kid turned to a life of crime—bad stuff. Robbin’ and murderin’ folks and abusin’ women. He robbed a U.S. gold shipment, hundreds of thousands of dollars and him and his gang come out this aways. Jason’s been with him from the git-go, ’way Mr. Randolph told it. That gold was what set him up in the ranchin’ business.

“Walt went to see the rancher one day, and was shook right down to his boots when Jud Vale—that’s the name he took—started talkin’ about where he was from. Walt started writin’ letters to folks he figured was still alive back to home. He started puttin’ two and two together and soon realized that Jud Vale was his baby brother.

“But he never let on to Jud. Not until about ten years ago, I reckon, maybe more than that. Mr. Randolph never did say; or if he did, I forgot. ’Way Mr. Randolph told it, Jud went into a screaming rage for some reason, and told Wall he would destroy him and take all the gold that Walt had found. Walt tried to tell his brother that there wasn’t no more gold on the Box T, that the strike had been a fluke and had played out. But Jud wasn’t havin’ none of that.”

“I wonder why Editor Argood didn’t tell me all this?” Smoke questioned, his voice soft in the night.

“Well, he probably figured you knew already. Just like I done.”

“And now you know it all,” Walt’s voice came from behind them.

The trio turned around to face the rancher.

“I wish you had told me,” Smoke said.

“Shame. It was shame that prevented me from telling you.”

Smoke swore an ugly streak. “You’re lying, Walt. You’ve lied to me right from the start and I’m telling you now: clear the damned air and level with us!”