William W. Johnstone (15 page)

Walt came to the corral and hung his arms over the railing. He lit his pipe and sighed. “There isn’t much else to clear. He’s my brother, boys. Our blood is the same. I had him in rifle sights once and couldn’t pull the trigger. I just couldn’t kill him. Even knowing what trash he is— what he had turned into. I just couldn’t do it. That’s why, until recently, at least, I was just letting him run all over me. Then I got mad. I sent out word that I was hiring gunfighters.” He laughed sourly. “But if I paid a hundred a month, Jud would pay two hundred. And so on. I had half a dozen. They left me and went to work for Jud. I hired some straight punchers. Jud and his men drove them off or killed them. I finally reached the point where I just didn’t know what to do. I was confused, alone with the wife and Doreen and Micky. Scared for them and for myself. I’m not a young man. There is more than twenty years’ difference between me and Jud Vale. His real name is Paul Burden. Then, Smoke, you showed up.”

For the first time since arriving at the Box T, Smoke believed the man. “Doreen is no kin to you? No blood kin?”

“No.”

“Walt, I’ve told Cheyenne that I don’t want to kill Jud.
He needs killing, I’ll be the first to admit that. He’s a vile, loathsome person, for a fact. But I don’t want to be the one to pull the trigger on him. And I won’t unless he pushes me to it or gets caught up in gunfire while attacking this ranch. The man is insane. He needs to be confined in an asylum. For the rest of his life."

Walt’s laugh was bitter. “You think I haven’t tried to do that. I personally called on the territorial governor and informed him of Jud—without telling him that Jud was my brother. He sent people in to talk with Jud. Jud charmed them. He has that ability. Just like his son, Clint. And just like Clint, he can go off the beam into a raging, killing darkness at the smallest slight or word. Smoke, I don’t know what else I can do. I have reached my wit’send in this matter.”

Smoke felt an intense sorrow for the man. A grandson that wasn’t his, and a blood brother who was a raging lunatic and invariably would have to be destroyed like a rabid dog was enough to fell all but the strongest of men.

“We’ll work it out, Walt,” Smoke assured him.

After Walt had returned to the house, Cheyenne asked, “Just how do you figure we’re gonna work it out, Smoke?”

“I don’t have any idea,” Smoke admitted.

Susie slept late, it being almost noon when she walked out into the front yard. When the weather was good, the boys took their meals at a long setup table in the yard. When the weather was bad, they had to take shifts eating in the house.

Susie was amazed at the youth of the hands, and equally amazed at the ages of the old men. No one asked her to lend a hand with the cleaning up, she just fell to it as one by one the boys finished their nooning and got up, going back to work.

“Rider comin’,” Cheyenne said, squinting his eyes.

“Who is it?” Rusty asked.

“Blackjack Morgan,” Smoke told them. “You never know about Blackjack. Or Jackson, for that matter. They operate under a strange code.”

Matthew had moved over from the table, to stand by the rose bushes planted in front of the house. The hammer thong was off his Peacemaker.

“You just steady down, boy,” Smoke said. “Blackjack’s not looking for trouble.”

Blackjack reined up at the hitchrail and waited for an invite to dismount.

“Coffee’s hot, Blackjack,” Smoke told him. “You’re welcome to a cup and something to eat if you’re hungry.”

Blackjack swung out of the saddle. “Neighborly of you, Smoke. Coffee sounds good.” His eyes widened and he smiled. “Is them bear sign I spy?”

“Yes. Help yourself, Mr... . ah, Blackjack,” Alice said.

“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He poured coffee and got a couple of doughnuts. He looked at Smoke. “But I got to say that this ain’t what you’d call a social visit. At least not right off, it ain’t.”

“I didn’t figure it was.” Smoke moved to the table and sat down.

Blackjack munched on a doughnut and sipped his coffee. “That editor feller is gone to Utah. Won’t be back for a month or more. And that youngster he hired to cover the news has recently got himself a bad case of jitters. Didn’t take much; just a little talkin’ to, is all. He won’t be comin’ around here no more.”

“We expected that.”

Blackjack’s eyes held a visible light of amusement as he looked around at the boys and the old men. “Damnedest outfit I ever did see. Pardon my language, ladies. These boys doin’ a man’s work. Drove that herd all the way to the railhead without a bobble. You boys is all right in my book. I brung a message from the Bar V,” he said abruptly.

Smoke took a bite from a doughnut and waited.

“Jud Vale has done declared war on anybody ridin’ for the Box T. Man, woman, or child. Thai don’t set too well for a few of us. Me and Jackson, most especially. I don’t believe in mistreatin’ women or hurtin’ no kid or dog. So, I ain’t a-gonna do it. Neither is Jackson.”

He finished his bear sign and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He drained his coffee cup and thanked Susie as she refilled it.

“But that’s just two out of about forty-five... with more comin’ in shortly. The odds is too high. Smoke. You can’t win this one.”

“These folks have no place else to go, Blackjack. So we have to win it.”

“Figured you’d say that. You bein’ who you is and all that.”

Blackjack sipped his coffee. “Now I ain’t got nothin’ personal ag’in you, Smoke. But that ten thousand dollars that Jud’s done hung on your scalp is jusi too good for me to walk away from. That money would get me a right nice spread down in Texas and I can hang these guns up.”

“You ain’t never gonna hang them guns up, Blackjack,” Cheyenne told him. “You been around too long. You’re one of the old breed. There’s always gonna be some punk kid who wants to make hisself a rep.”

“Not me, Cheyenne. I’m a-gonna change my name and bury myself down near the Barrillas. Me and Lassiter. We done talked it over. So me and Lassiter will be waitin’ for you over at Preston, Smoke. That’s the way it’s got to be, and you know it.”

Smoke nodded.

Blackjack cut his eyes to Matthew. “Git shut of that gun, boy. It ain’t nothing but grief. You already got the stamp on you, but it ain’t too late to shake it off. As young as you is, you kill another man, you’re gonna be marked.”

“I plan on becoming a lawman,” Matt told him.

“Huh! That’s even worse. Puttin’ up with drunks and whoors and tin-horns and gamblers. It ain’t no life.” He smiled sadly. “O’ course, my life ain’t been all that great, neither.” He stood up and smiled at the women. “Much obliged for the coffee and bear sign, ladies.” Turning, he looked at Smoke. “Lassiter’s just over the ridge. We’re headin’ for Preston. I ’spect we’ll see you there, Smoke.”

Blackjack Morgan walked to his horse and swung into the saddle. He rode off without looking back.

“Now that is interesting!” Walt said.

“Not really.” Smoke began rolling a cigarette. “They’re setting me up, that’s all.”

“You can bet on that!” Cheyenne agreed. “Blackjack and Lassiter will prob’ly have four or five men with them. Their plan is being the only ones standin’ after the battle.”

“That’s the way I read it at first. Now I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean, son?” Walt asked.

“Jud wants me away from the ranch, probably figuring I’ll take someone with me.”

“And he’ll hit the ranch when you’re gone,” Alice stated, a sick expression on her face.

“That’s the way I see it.”

“And if you don’t go into Preston, Blackjack and them others will spread the word that Smoke Jensen has turned yeller,” Cheyenne added that.

Smoke shrugged that off. “That kind of talk never bothered me, Cheyenne.”

“Son, you can’t face seven or eight men alone,” Walt told him.

Smoke smiled. “I faced eighteen alone one time. I did take some lead. But I put them all down. Don’t worry, Walt. I have no intention of riding into a setup. If I just stay put, that will probably make Blackjack and the others so mad they’ll do something rash.”

“Like what?” Rusty asked.

“Oh ...like moving their ambush a lot closer than Preston. Like over to the trading post.”

“And you’d ride over there to face them?” Susie asked. “One man against seven or eight gunslingers?”

“I’d give it some serious thought,” Smoke told her, pouring another cup of coffee.

“That man said that more gunfighters would becoming in shortly,” Doreen said.

“I’m fresh out of ideas, Doreen. What do you want me to do, girl?”

“You could put the ranch up for sale. Advertise it in the paper, in papers all over the state. That would draw a lot of attention to our situation and maybe make Jud Vale back off.”

“She’s got a point, Walt,” Smoke told him.

But the old rancher shook his head. “I been out here goin’ on fifty years. Me and Alice fought Indians and outlaws, blizzards and droughts. We come close to packin’ it in several times. This ain’t one of them times. If you all was to leave—and I wouldn’t blame you none if you was to pull out—I’m stayin’.”

His wife moved to his side.
“We’re
staying, Walt.”

He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

The younger of the boys looked at each other, all thinking they had best head back to the creek as quickly as possible and gather up some more stones for their slingshots.

Matthew hitched up his gun belt.

“This here is a right good job of work,” Dolittle said. “So me and Harrison is stayin’ put. If I’m gonna die, I’d druther it be with food in my belly and some coins to jingle in my jeans.”

“I’m stayin’,” Cheyenne said.

“So are we!” the boys shouted as a unit.

Rusty shrugged his shoulders. “Count me in, too.”

“That’s settled,” Smoke said. “Let’s get back to work.”

The sheriff rode out to the ranch two days after Blackjack Morgan had tossed down the challenge. He had three tough-looking deputies with him.

He told Walt to get his crew together. His adult crew.

Only Smoke, Cheyenne, and the women were close to the house. They sat at the long table in the front yard and talked.

“Lines bein’ what they are,” the sheriff said, “I ain’t rightly sure this place is even in my jurisdiction. But I know damn well that Preston is. Excuse my language, ladies. And I ain’t a-gonna have no gunfights in my town.” He looked at Smoke. “I thank you for not ridin’ in.”

“I’m waiting for them to move it closer to the ranch.”

The sheriff nodded his head. He waved his hand at the three deputies. “This is it, folks. You’re lookin’ at the law enforcement in this county ... providing, that is, the Box T is even in my county. New lines was drawn up last year and it’s still all confused. But that ain’t the point. The point is that Jud Vale’s done hired himself about sixty men, all drawin’ fightin’ wages, and there ain’t a damn thing I can do about it. Oh, I could ride over to the Bar V and try to throw my badge around. But you all know how much good that would do. Jud’s a charmer. He’d just tell me he was gettin’ ready for roundup and hired all them men to punch cows."

He sighed. “Walt, there may still be warrants out on Jud back East. I know the story. And I’ve sent telegrams to them folks back yonder. The parents of the girl that Jud was supposed to have killed is dead. The lawmen who were in charge when it happened are gone. So that’s a dead end. No help there.”

“What you’re trying to say, Sheriff,” Smoke said, “is that we’re on our own here.”

“That’s blunt put, Jensen. But yeah, that’s just about it. You say that Jud attacked your ranch. Can you prove it in a court of law?”

“I doubt it,” Walt admitted.

“There still ain’t no laws about two growed-up men facin’ each other over gun barrels. There will be someday, but that time ain’t here yet. I talked to a man from the governor’s office. The governor ain’t got the manpower to step in and settle every dispute between ranchers. Territory is just too big. I’ve said what I come to say, Walt. I wanted to tell it to you face to face.”

“I appreciate that.”

“You’ve told us, Sheriff,” Smoke said. “Now let me tell you.”

The sheriff cut his eyes to the gunfighter.

“Just stay out of it,” Smoke said flatly. “I roughed up a few and killed one the last time out. The next time I go headhunting, I’m going to leave bodies all over the range.”

The sheriff flushed, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

“And that goes for me, too,” Cheyenne said. “In spades. I’m gettin’ tarred of all this dilly-dally in’ around. I’m an old man; I ain’t got many years left me. So it don’t make a damn to me if I check out now, just so long as I take a few, or a bunch, with me. And I plan on doing just that.”

The sheriff stood up and his deputies followed suit. “I wish you luck.” The lawmen walked to their horses and rode away.

“He’s a good man, the sheriff is,” Walt said. “I ain’t takin’ what he said near about as hard as you boys. Maybe I just understand the feelins around here better than you.”

Smoke stared at the man. “What do you mean, Walt?”

“I’ve tried to tell you time and again, boy: folks around here is scared of Jud Vale. He’s had them buffaloed for years, and it ain’t got much better—if any better—since you come along. Man told me last time we went to the post that most of the bettin’ money was with Jud and against you.”

“You should have told him he was a fool.”

“I did. Problem was, I don’t know how convincing I sounded.”

Walt and Alice, with Doreen and Susie right behind them, went back into the house. Smoke and Cheyenne walked to the corral and stood in silence for a few minutes.

“You changed your mind any ‘bout just ridin’ up to Jud and pluggin’ him?” Cheyenne asked.

“No.”

“Didn’t figure so. Still think that would be the smart thing to do.”

“You’re probably right, Cheyenne. But it just isn’t my style.”

“You want me to do it? He ain’t nothin’ but a rattlesnake.”

“No.” Smoke looked off into the distance. “But it worries me about him declaring war on the women and the boys.”

“It don’t surprise me none,” the old gunfighter said with a snort. “A rattlesnake don’t give a damn who he strikes. Sometimes they’ll just lay thereon the trail still as death and watch you go past without even a short rattle. Next time you come by, they’ll hit you. Jud Vale ain’t got no more sense than a rattler. And is just about as useless. Come to think of it, a rattler might be worth more. Least they kill rats and mice."