William W. Johnstone (20 page)

The hired gun nodded his head vigorously.

“You wouldn’t want me to do that to you, would you?”

The man made strangling, choking noises behind the bandana.

“I didn’t think so.” Smoke reached out with the point of the blade and the man almost had heart failure. He breathed a little easier as Smoke cut the gag loose.

“You yell, and it will be the last sound you’ll ever make on this earth,” Smoke warned him.

The hired gun nodded.

“What’s your name?”

“Johns.”

“I want the locations of all the guards. Quickly.”

Johns told him. Quickly.

“What room is Doreen being held in?”

“Top floor. The room facin’ the crick back of the house. The winders is all nailed shut so’s she can’t get out.”

“Has any harm come to her?”

“No, sir. Jud hit her once, but that’s all. He ain’t messed with her in no way. He says he’s savin’ all that for when they get hitched up proper.”

“And when is that going to be?”

“Don’t know. And that’s the truth.”

“How many men does Jud have on his payroll?”

“I’d have to say close to a hundred now. He’s got a regular army. But a lot of them is trash. They ain’t gonna stand when it starts gettin’ hot. I’d say he’s got near ‘bouts seventy fighters. And hirin’ more.”

“Jud can’t afford to pay that many men.”

Johns sighed. “He can afford it. I’ll tell you all I know. Then if you’ll let me go, I’m gone to see the Pacific Ocean.”

“You level with me and you can ride.”

“Deal.”

Smoke cut his bonds and told him to put his pants back on. And to wash his long handles the first chance he got. Smoke built a cigarette and tossed Johns the makings. The man lit up and inhaled, then started to talk.

“The ranch is just a front for Jud’s other doings. He’s into all sorts of things. Got himself four or five gangs workin’ all over two or three states, robbin’ trains and stagecoaches and stealin’ gold and cattle and you name it. I don’t know all that he’s got goin’ for him, but I do know that he’s a rich man, and that he’s gone plumb crazy. A lot of his own men—not none of the ones that’s been with him for years—is beginning to talk about doin’ him in and takin’ over. I been thinkin’ about driftin’. So far I ain’t kilt nobody that wasn’t facin’ me with a gun, and I ain’t never stole much of nothin’ in my life. A beef ever’ now and then for something to eat, is all.”

“Is he going to call his gangs in to help in this range war?”

Johns snubbed out his cigarette. “Smoke, there ain’t no way of tellin’ what that man is gonna do. He might have done sent for them for all I know. I’m tellin’ you the man is crazy as a lizard.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

Johns thought for a moment. Then slowly shook his head. “I reckon not. Except for maybe to warn you to expect anything. Jud Vale has done turned crazy.”

After Johns had ridden away, Smoke said, “All right, Clint, you can come in now.”

A chuckle from the darkness. “You are very, very good, Mr. Smoke Jensen. But I fear I must decline your kind invitation. I am in one of my moods and there is no telling what I might do.”

“Jud has Doreen.”

“I know. But now is not the time to attempt to mount a rescue. We are too few and Jud has too many. We will have to devise some sort of diversion to pull as many men as possible away from the ranch, and then no more than two or three go in to get her.”

“Have you a plan?”

“Unfortunately, no. But I know Doreen very well. She is very, very bright. I am certain she has guessed that the key to her survival lies in her keeping a cool head about her. If Jud Vale wants her to be his queen, to parade about in fine gowns from Paris, France, that’s what she’ll do if that’s what it takes to stay alive.”

“Jud’s own men—some of them—are talking mutiny. That might turn out bad for Doreen.”

“Yes. I thought about that. I think we have a week or so before anything like that happens. Probably longer. It will take that long for Jud to pull in his various and far-flung gangs.”

“If that’s what he has in mind.”

“He does. I’ve been on these ridges since early afternoon. He’s sent riders out in all directions. I’m guessing that some of them are riding for the gangs.”

“Then we’d damn well better do something before the odds against us get ridiculous.”

“I’ll let you know when I have a plan.”

Smoke heard a whisper of cloth against brush, and knew that Clint Perkins was gone, slipping into the night.

Smoke sighed and shook his head. This had turned into one great big mess. The next time you think about a vacation. he thought sourly, try riding east instead of west.

Then he felt guilty for thinking that. His own children would be grown some day, and if they got into a jam that. was not of their own doing, he hoped someone would be around to help them.

Someone like Smoke Jensen.

He rose to his moccasins and started back to his horse. This was one of the few times in his life that he felt helpless, and he had a hunch the feeling was going to get much worse until it bettered out.

If it ever did.

Matthew remained in bed, embarrassed by all the fuss being made over him, but enjoying it nonetheless. There were no signs of infection in his wound, and he seemed to be healing nicely and quickly.

Walt had ordered all the boys to stay close to the ranch. What cattle remained were bunched in the box canyon with plenty of graze and water and could take care of themselves for a time. The boys worked at turning the ranch compound into a fort.

Everybody knew that an attack, and it would be a big one, was inevitable. It was just a question of when.

Smoke and Rusty and Jackson went over everything they could think of.

“As far as weapons and ammo goes, we got enough to outfit a battalion of army,” Jackson pointed out. He grinned. “I recognize a whole lot of them rifles and pistols from the Bar V boys.”

“We’ve filled ever’ water barrel we could tote in,” Rusty said. “The house and barn and bunkhouse is fortified like none I ever seen. That was a good idea Jamie had about haulin’ up big rocks and stackin’ them window high around the house and bunkhouse. It’d take a lot of giant powder to do any damage.”

Jackson rolled a cigarette, licked, and lit up. He glanced at Smoke. “You in deep thought, Smoke.” He passed him the makings.

“Three reasonably young men— that’s us. Three old men. Two women. One little boy, and fifteen young boys. That’s all that’s standing between maybe hundred or more hired guns, bounty hunters, outlaws, and a crazy man who walks around his mansion in an ermine robe with a jeweled crown on his head proclaiming himself to be king. I’ve been in some strange situations in my time, but this one has got to take the cake.”

“How about ridin’ into town and sendin’ a wire to the governor?” Rusty suggested.

Smoke shook his head. “I discussed that with Walt. We both agreed we’d be wasting our time. The governor has made it clear that he doesn’t have the manpower to do us any good down here. Reading between the lines of that remark, I’d have to say that the governor is not going to get involved. Why, is anybody’s guess.”

Jackson was thoughtful for a moment. “I know maybe half a dozen men I could get to come in here. If I could find them, that is.”

“Yeah, that’s my problem, too,” Smoke said. “Louis Longmont would come in here in a flash, but I have no idea where to find him. For all I know, he might be in Europe. I have a hunch that all this is going to be over before any of us could locate and bringpeople in. Jud’s got the jump on us in that respect.”

“If we could just get Doreen free of that nuthouse of Jud’s, we could sit back here and wait Jud out,” Rusty reflected. “I think even if Jud sent all his men over here, we stand a pretty good chance of holding them off.”

“Attacking us here will come,” Smoke said. “I believe that. But only as a last resort. Jud’s got Doreen; that’s what he wanted most of all. His main concern now will be in keeping her.”

“The thing to do, the way I see it,” Jackson said, “is to try to think like Jud. But how in the blue blazes could anyone think like a crazy man?”

“You can’t,” Smoke nixed that. “I think his moods change, or could change, every day, maybe every hour. I believe he’s so far around the bend that he’s become totally unpredictable.”

Rusty glanced at him. “You’re sayin’ that even Jud don’t know what he’s gonna do next?”

“That’s right. And if you ever get a chance, look into the eyes of Clint Perkins. His and Jud’s eyes are identical. They’re both madmen.”

“Then it’s true that Jud is Clint’s father?” Jackson asked.

“Yes. And Clint can be just as whacky as Jud. No telling what he’ll do next. He doesn’t even know.”

“You think he still cares for Doreen?”

Smoke shrugged. “In a way, I suppose. But I think he’s driven more out of hate for Jud than concern for Doreen. And that could get Doreen in trouble if Clint tries something on his own.”

“How about contactin’ the Army and seein’ if they’ll do something?” Rusty grabbed at straws.

Smoke shook his head. “There again, we’d have to go through the governor to get them. And for some reason, the governor, or more likely, someone in his office, is blocking all requests for help.”

“Nearest Army unit is stationed up near that little ol’ town some folks have taken tocallin’ Pocatello,” Jackson said. “And there ain’t no more than a handful of soldier boys garrisoned there.”

“We seem to be just goin’ around in circles,” Rusty said bitterly. “Gettin’ now heres in a hurry.”

Jackson allowed as to how that was the truth.

“Did you know that Matthew has Cheyenne’s old Colt?” Rusty asked Smoke.

“No, I didn’t. But it doesn’t surprise me. The boy loved that old man. And everytime I look into his eyes I see revenge.”

“I do know that feelin’,” Jackson said. “The boy’s a natural gun hand, Smoke. And there ain’t nothin’ none of us can do to slow him down. I knowed that the first time I seen him. I don’t have to tell you that it’s in the walk, the bearing, the eyes. He’s gonna be hell on wheels, you mark my words.”

Smoke slowly nodded his head. “I know. I saw it, too. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing myself years ago.”

“I do know that feelin’ myself,” Jackson said drily. “I sometimes wish my daddy had taken the gun away from me and beat me over the head with it when I was a young’un. But it wouldn’t have done no good. I had a fortune teller read my palm once. She told me I was a gunfighter. I was fourteen years old at the time. Remem-berin’ that still spooks me.” Jackson touched the butts of his guns. “I think, Smoke, that when it’s all said and done, we’re gonna have to go in and fetch Miss Doreen.”

“So do I, Jackson. But for now, all we can do is wait.”

Rusty looked toward the direction of Bar V range. “I sure miss that girl. I surely do. I reckon I been smitten, and she feels the same way.” He looked into the eyes of Smoke Jensen. “And I ain’t waitin’ very long.”

Jud pounded the end of his staff on the floor and bellowed at his “subjects,” as he had recently begun calling the assorted riffraff he had on his payroll.

“Bring the queen to my side!” he squalled.

Several of his bodyguards—he now had a dozen around him at all times—went upstairs to fetch the most unwilling Queen Doreen.

Jud had ordered all the furniture removed from one downstairs room in the mansion. All the furniture except for two huge padded chairs that were placed in the center of the room: his throne and Doreen’s slightly smaller throne. Jud’s “staff” was a thick piece of oak, about four feet long and weighing about twenty pounds, long enough and stout enough to fell a buffalo. Jud had read several books about how royalty dressed and behaved. Since he didn’t have a goblet from which to drink his wine—wine being something royalty drank—he had found a quart jar, so he used that in place of a jewel-encrusted goblet. It was kind of hard to hold, but it was either that or a bucket, and a bucket wasn’t very dignified. Jud had also stopped shaving and was growing a beard; that was something else that all male royalty of the time did. Or so he had read.

He had been informed that the sole survivor of the gunfight with Cheyenne, Matthew, and Rusty had died of his wounds. Jud waved that off with a mutter about serfs and the like. Since the gun slick who delivered the message had no idea what a serf was he couldn’t take umbrage. He did think his boss looked like a plumb idiot; but as long as the good money kept coming, the gun hand didn’t really care how Jud dressed. But he did figure that damn fur coat Jud wore was kind of hot for this time of the year.

Doreen was ushered in, all silks and satins and fancy shoes, with a jeweled crown on her head.

Jud pounded his staff on the floor and bellowed, “All rise for Queen Doreen!”

Since there weren’t any chairs in the room except for the two thrones, that was an unnecessary command, but Jud thought it sounded regal so he did it anyway.

Highpockets left the “Crown Room” and walked up to Gimpy Bonner on the front porch. “The son of a bitch is crazy, Gimp!”

“I allow as to how you’re right, Highpockets. But as long as the money keeps comin’, I don’t care if he walks around bare-butt nekkid and rides a camel.”

“Now that would be a sight to seel”

King Jud and Queen Doreen held court for a few minutes, but since there was nobody with any complaints for Jud to hear and rule on it got sort of boring after a few moments.

“Would you like to stroll about the estate, my queen?” Jud asked.

“But of course,” Doreen said with a smile. I might find a chance to cut and run away from you, you ninny! she was thinking behind her smile.

It was quite a sight to see. Jud in his cowboy boots and spurs, his six guns belted around his middle, wore a ankle-length ermine robe and toted his twenty-pound staff. Doreen had on a gown that would have been the envy
of the Queen of England. As they strolled around the “estate,” both were careful not to step in the many piles of horse droppings that littered the grounds.

“I wish you would do something about this … unpleasantness,” Doreen said, pointing to a fresh pile of road apples.