William W. Johnstone (23 page)

“Yowee!” Jud hollered, jumping to his feet. Holding his ermine robe waist high, he beat a hasty retreat up the bank and jumped over the crest.

“Let’s get gone from here!” Cisco Webster shouted, just as Walt put a slug into the man’s saddlehorn, tearing the horn from the saddle and knocking it spinning. Cisco’s horse panicked and went snorting and racing into the night. Unfortunately for Cisco, the horse stampeded the wrong way, taking him right across the creek. “Whoa, goddammit!” Cisco yelled.

Rusty reversed his Winchester and knocked Cisco slap out of the saddle, the butt of the rifle catching the man on the jaw. Cisco was unconscious before he hit the ground, landing amid what was left of his broken teeth.

The fight was gone from Jud and his men. Jud screamed in pain as he was lifted into a saddle. He was still yelling and cussing and waving his arms as what was left of his army rode back toward the mansion.

The night fell quiet, broken only by the moaning of the wounded.

“What do we do with them?” Alice asked, listening to the pleadings for help.

“Leave them!” Chester’s wife said, bitterness making her voice hard. “Would they help us if the situation was the other way around?”

Smoke booted his Winchester and swung into the
saddle. He turned his horse’s head toward the Box Tranch house and his back to the wounded bounty hunters.

That ended any further discussion as to the fate of those who chose to take fighting wages from Jud Vale.

Smoke stepped out of his room the next morning and stood in the pre-dawn quiet, drinking his first cup of coffee. He had an odd feeling, a premonition, that matters would be coming to a head very soon. Why that jumped into his mind, he didn’t know—only that he felt it to be true.

Jackson walked out of the bunkhouse, a mug of coffee in his hand. He joined Smoke on the bench by the side of the barn and built him a cigarette, passing the makings to Smoke.

“I got a funny feelin’,” Jackson said. “Come on me sudden-like; woke me up.”

“That Jud Vale is going to bring this war to a head real soon?”

“Huh? You been readin’ my mind. Yeah. Reckon why we both come up with that?”

“We’ve made a fool out of him too many times, Jackson. Last night was probably that much-talked about straw that broke the camel’s back. Now he knows that peole are laughing at him. With his ego, he won’t be able to tolerate that. He’ll have to do something to reinstill the fear that people once had for him.”

“By killing us.” Jackson’s words were offered in a flat tone.

“That’s it. Or part of it, at least.” “He ain’t gonna get it done.”

“I believe that. I just don’t want to see the women or the kids get hurt.”

They drank coffee and smoked their cigarettes in silence for a time. “What are you gonna do when this mess is
over?” Jackson asked.

“Head south. My wife and kids are down in Arizona. The youngest took a lung infection. Had to go there for health reasons. You?”

Jackson took a moment before replying. “Walt’s asked me to stay on. Says he’ll give me a working interest in the ranch if I do. And … well, me and Susie been eyeballin’ each other. I might do it. I backed into gunfightin’ like a lot of other men. Never set out to hunt me no reputation. It just come on me. One day I looked up—I’d been punchin’ cows for a man over in Nevada Territory—and these two men ’bout my age come into the saloon where I was havin’ a beer and braced me. Said they was gonna kill me. I asked them why? They said ’cause of who I was. Surprised the hell out of me that I was anyone special. They grabbed for iron and I was faster. The boss said he didn’t want no gun slicks on his payroll and paid me off the next day. I drifted. Hooked up with some men headin’ for Utah to draw fightin’ wages. I reckon the rest is history.”

Rusty had walked up, to stand quietly and listen. When Jackson fell silent, Rusty said, “You ought to stay, Jackson. Me and Doreen is gonna get hitched up soon as the trouble is over. The ranch is damn sure big enough for the both of us.”

“I been thinkin’ on it for sure.”

“Light’s on in the kitchen,” Smoke said. “Breakfast pretty soon.”

“Dolittle’s up. He’ll wake the boys,” Rusty told him. “What’s up for today?”

“Going over every inch of this ranch compound and making sure we can stand off a heavy attack. It’s got to come. Jackson, I want you to take some of the boys and start clearing off all the brush from the hills and ridges around this place. Make damn sure we can’t be burnt out. That’ll also cut down on the risk of any riflemen slipping in on us.”

“Good move,” Jackson agreed.

“I’m hungry,” Rusty said, one eye on the light coming from the kitchen window.

“I’ve never seen you when you weren’t,” Smoke said with a smile. “When you and Doreen get married, you best plant a big garden.”

“You do know how to use a hoe, don’t you?” Jackson kidded him.

“I ’spect, the way you and Susie is calf-eyin’ each other, you’ll be hoein’ right along ’side me,” Rusty fired back.

Jackson laughed. “Yeah, if it all works out. Be a welcome relief from gunfightin’.”

“Don’t ever pack those guns too far out of sight, Jackson,” Smoke warned him. “It doesn’t work. I know. I changed my name and dried it for a lime. You’ll always have to keep a sharp eye on your backtrail.”

“I know,” Jackson’s words came after a sigh. “But I do wish that some of us could get that message through to young Matt.”

“Could anybody tell you anything when you were his age?”

Jackson smiled ruefully. “Nope. I heard all the words, but they never sunk in.”

“Matt will have to find his own way,” Smoke said, standing up from the bench. “Just like we did. But I think Old Cheyenne—in the time he had to spend with him— taught Matt a thing or two.”

“Walt is talkin’ about hirin’ the boy on as a full-time puncher,” Rusty said. “Matt says he’s through with schoolin’.”

“That’s a good idea. I imagine Matt will stay for a year or two. Then he’ll get ants in his pants and drift. All we can do is wish him well.”

Rusty looked toward the ranch house and the lighted kitchen window. “Damn, I’m hungry!”

Jud Vale lay on his belly in bed, while a doctor from Montpelier probed and dug and pulled out thorns, some of them more than three inches long. Jud hollered and squalled and carried on all through the procedure.

But the pain seemed to have done one thing: it had cleared Jud’s mind, at least for the moment. His ermine robe and crown had been tossed to the floor. He was still as nutty as a pecan pie but some lucidity had crept through the madness.

Through the open window of his bedroom, Jud could see men digging graves to bury the recent dead. He cursed Smoke Jensen, his brother, his bastard son, and everyone else he could think of.

Especially Doreen. He cussed Doreen for playing him for a fool until he was breathless. Long after the doctor had left, doing his best to hide a grin, Jud was still cussing.

Jason came to his room and waited until his boss and long-time partner in murder, rape, and robbery had calmed down some. “What do you want me to do with them royal duds and that bent crown?”

“Put them in the closet. I might decide to wear them again.”

“Jesus, I hope not!”

“I lost it for a while, didn’t I, Jas?”

“You were off your trolley for a fact. I thought I was going to have to shoot you there for a time. You was becomin’ unbearable.”

“Was I that bad?”

“You turned into a plumb idiot.”

“It’s so hazy. I don’t remember much of it.”

“Be thankful for that.” Jason pulled out a chair and sat down. “You think you’re all right now?”

“Yes. For a time. But I don’t know when I might go off again. Or for how long. It’s frightening, Jas. It really scares me.”

“You want me to bring one of them newfangled head doctors in to take a look at you? I could have it done on the sly.”

Jud thought about that. It was tempting. Finally he shook his head. “No. Let’s see if I can’t lick this thing on my own. Did Luddy and his boys come in?”

“Early this mornin’. Phil and Perry and Rim is on the way. Be about thirty more men.”

“How many did we lose last night?”

“Six dead. A dozen wounded. A couple of them ain’t gonna make it.” Jason was beginning to feel better; Jud was starting to talk like he had good sense.

“How many quit us?”

“That’s surprisin’. Nobody. Yet.”

“I figure it’s gonna be a week before I can sit a saddle. Then we’re going to wipe out the Box T. We’re going to kill everyone there, bury the bodies deep, and burn all the buildings. Scatter the ashes with rakes; carry off the stones. Level the well and fill it up with rocks, cover that with dirt. Plant some trees and bushes. Not a sign is to remain that anyone ever lived there. I am Walt’s only living relative. And I can prove that in a court of law. Everything will go to me. The land, cattle, money, and all that gold that’s over there.”

“Sounds good to me.” He grinned at Jud. “Good to have you back, Boss.”

“It’s good to be back, Jas.” He moved and grimaced, his southern exposure throbbing with pain. “Pass me that bottle of laudanum.”

The hills and ridges around the ranch complex of the Box T were cleared of brush for a half mile in any direction. In heavily timbered areas, the timber was thinned and cut up for firewood. Wagons were put into use to haul dirt from far out in Box T range, the dirt used to fill up any depressions in the earth for five hundred yards from the complex. It kept the boys busy and Smoke and the others close to the ranch.

But when the week was drawing to near a close, Smoke was told by Walt they had to make another supply run to the post for food.

“Let’s do it,” Smoke told him. “We have time to do it now and get back before dark. I’ll tell Jackson to stay here at the ranch. Weil take Rusty. If we run into any of Jud’s men, they might try to prod Jackson into a fight for changing sides.”

“And you don’t think they’ll prod you, Smoke?”

“They’ll die if they do,” he replied simply.

“Any trouble?” Smoke asked Bendel.

The owner of the trading post shook his head. “I ain’t seen hide nor hair of any Bar V hand all week and I have been expectin’ them. I got the word that they was gonna come in and bust up my place.” He smiled. “But I understand King Jud Vale is havin’ to sleep on his stomach of late.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Seems like his horse throwed him and he landed
Doc Evans from over Montpelier way spread the tale, to use his words.”

Smoke and Rusty and Walt—the rancher was having a rare drink of whiskey while the shopkeeper filled the order—all had a good laugh, at Jud’s expense.

Walt wiped his eyes with a bandana and smiled. “I guess any feeling I might have been carrying around for Jud has finally left me. God might punish me for the way I feel, but I can’t feel anything except contempt for the man now.”

“He doesn’t deserve anything else, Mr. Burden,” Bendel told him. “He’s made life miserable for everyone around here for years.”

Rusty had taken his beer to the batwings. “Riders pullin’ up outside,” he announced. “’Bout a half dozen of them. I don’t know none of these old boys. Don’t look like I’d really care to get to know them all that good, neither. Damn, but they is
ugly!
”

Smoke walked to the batwings. “The Almond Brothers. Killers. Call themselves bounty hunters. Barry, that’s the oldest, he’s got a few brains. The rest of them are close to being morons.” Smoke finished his beer and set the mug on the plank. “I’m going outside. No point in having your place shot up.”

Rusty stepped back into the store, exited that way, and pulled a rifle from his saddle boot, jacking in a round. At the sound of the cartridge being shucked into the chamber, Barry Almond looked over the saddle at him.

“You huntin’ trouble, cowboy?” the bounty hunter asked.

“Naw,” Rusty told him. “I just seen me five big rats. I like to shoot rats.”

“Rats? Where’d you see five rats?”

“I’m lookin’ at one of them,” Rusty told him, just as Smoke pushed open the batwings and stepped out on the porch. Walt was right behind him, holding Bendel’s double-barreled express gun.

eyes did not leave Smoke. “I seen you work once, Jensen. You’re fast, all right. I’ll give you that much. So I reckon some of us, including me, will probably take some lead. But they’s five of us ag’in you, that ugly redhead, and one stove-up old man.”

“Ugly!” Rusty blurted. “Me! Why, you so ugly you ought to wear a sack over your head! And I ain’t real sure them brothers of yours is even human. I’ve seen bears that was better lookin’ than them.”

“I’ma-gonna kill that freckle-faced puncher, Barry,”an Almond brother said.

“You can sure have him, Race,” Barry said. “But Jensen is all mine.”

Smoke had stepped off the porch to stand in the street. He didn’t want Dagger to catch a bullet. And there was something else: the stallion was alert to trouble, and he had sensed the situation building. If Cal Almond, who was standing next to the big horse, put a hand on him, Dagger was going to kick him into the next county.

Cal shoved roughly at Dagger. “Git the haleoutta the way, horse!” he said, stepping around to Dagger’s rear.

Dagger let him have it. Both rear hooves lashed out, one steel-shod hoof catching the killer in the groin, the other in the belly. Cal went sailing out into the middle of the street, screaming in agony.

“One down,” Walt said.

Leo drew on the old man. But Leo never really knew the mettle of the men who came to the West when it was really raw. And he had failed to notice that Walt had earred back both hammers of the 12 gauge.

Walt shot the bounty hunter in the belly. Really, he shot him all over the place as rusty nails and ballbearings and other assorted bits of hand-loaded metal tore his body apart.

Rusty stepped out and leveled the Winchester just as Max turned, drawing. Max caught a slug in the belly that
trigger and shot himself in the knee. He tumbled to the street, screaming rage and hate and pain.

Smoke palmed both Colts and began putting lead into Barry and Race. The .44 slugs dotted the trail-dusty dusters, pocking them with blood as the slugs tore into flesh.