“I want that thirty thousand!” a man yelled. Smoke recognized the man as Jerry, from back at the trading post.
“Hell with you!” Reese said. “I want that—” He turned at the sound of drumming hooves. “Jesus Christ!” he hollered, looking at the mean-eyed stallion bearing down on him.
The charging stallion struck one gunhand, knocking the man down, the man falling under Drifter’s steel-shod hooves. The gunnie screamed, the cry cut off as Drifter’s hooves pounded the man’s face into pulp.
Reese had jumped out of the way of the huge midnight black horse with the killer-cold yellowish eyes, losing his shotgun as he leaped. One of Drifter’s hooves struck the sheriff’s thigh, bringing a howl of pain and a hat-sized bruise on the man’s leg. Reese rolled on the ground, yelling in pain.
“You squatter-lovin’ son!” Jerry screamed at Smoke, bringing up a .45.
Smoke leveled his left-hand .44 and shot the man between the eyes.
As blood splattered, the foot-posse broke up, fear taking over. Men ran in all directions.
Smoke urged Drifter on, galloping up the alley and once more entering the main street. He looped the reins loosely around the saddlehorn and screamed like an angry cougar, the throaty scream, almost identical to a real cougar’s warcry, chilling the shopowners who were huddling behind closed doors. Stratton, Potter, and Richards had promised them a safe town and lots of easy money; they hadn’t said anything about a wild man riding a horse that looked like it came straight out of the pits of Hell.
Preacher sat straight up on his blankets. He slapped one knee and cackled as the gunshots drifted out of Bury. The shots were followed by the very faint sounds of a big mountain lion screaming.
“Hot damn, boys!” Preacher hollered. “Somebody finally grabbed holt of Smoke’s tail and gave ’er a jerk. Bet by Gawd they’ll wish they hadn’t a done it.”
“He a-havin’ all the fun!” Beartooth gummed the words.
“They’s plenty to go around,” Lobo growled. “When he needs us, he’ll holler.”
“Ummm,” said Nighthawk.
“How eloquently informative,” said Audie.
Leaning close to Drifter’s neck, presenting a low profile, Smoke charged up the main street. He was not going to shoot up the town, for he did not want to harm any woman or child. He had made up his mind that he was going to give the shopkeepers and the storeowners and their families a chance to pull out. But he was doing that for the sake of the kids only. To hell with the adults; man or woman, they knew who they worked for. One was as bad as the other.
Ten minutes later, Smoke had reined up and dismounted in the camp of the mountain men.
“Howdy, son!” Preacher said. “You been havin’ yourself a high old time down there, huh?”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Smoke said, putting one heavily muscled arm around the old man’s wang- leather-tough shoulders.
“You grinnin’ like a chicken-eatin’ dog, boy,” Preacher said. “What you got a-rattlin’ ’round in ’at head of yourn?”
Smoke looked at Powder Pete. “You got any dynamite with you?”
“Only time I been without any was when them durned Lakotas caught me up near the Canadian border and wanted to skin me. Since I was somewhat fond of my hide, I were naturally disinclined to part with it.”
Smoke laughed aloud, and the laughter felt good. He felt as though he was back home, which, in a sense, he was. “What happened?”
“The chief had a daughter nobody wanted to bed down with,” Powder Pete said, disgust in his voice. “Homeliest woman I ever seen. ’At squaw could cause a whirlwind to change directions. The chief agreed to let me live if’n I’d share Coyote Run’s blankets. How come she got that name was when she was born the chief had a pet coyote. Coyote took one look at her and run off. Never did come back. ’At’s homely, boy. I spent one winter with Coyote Run, up in the MacDonald Range, on the Flathead. Come spring, I told ’at chief he might as well git his skinnin’ knife out, ’cause I couldn’t stand no more of Coyote Run. Chief said he didn’t know how I’d stood it this long. Told me to take off. I been carryin’ dynamite ever since. Promised myself if’n I ever got in another bind lak ’at ’air, I’d blow myself up. Whut you got in mind, Smoke?”
“One road leading into and out of Bury.”
Powder Pete and the other mountain men grinned. They knew then what was rattlin’ around in Smoke’s head.
“If you men will, find the best spots to block the road to coach and carriage travel. Set your charges. I’m going to give those who want to leave twenty-four hours to do so. I want the kids out of that town. I’d prefer the women to leave as well, but from what I’ve been able to see and hear, most of the women are just as low-down as their men.”
“Simmons’s old woman is,” Dupre said. “I knowed her afore. Plumb trash.”
“I still want to give them a chance to leave,” Smoke said. “And I especially want Sally and the women in the Pink House out, along with MacGregor and Little Ben. The rest of the townspeople can go to hell.”
Deadlead and Greybull picked up their rifles. Deadlead said, “Us’n and Matt and Tenneysee will block the horse trails out of town. Rest of ya’ll git busy.”
“Preacher,” Powder Pete said, “you take the fur end of town. I’ll scout this end. I’ll hook up with you in a couple hours and plant the charges.”
“Done.” Preacher moved out.
“I shall make the announcement to the good citizens of Bury,” Audie said. “My articulation is superb and my voice carries quite well.”
