old mountain men and be done with it once and for all.”
Stratton and the others visibly relaxed. Sure, they thought. That was a damn good plan. Some of them began to laugh at how easy it would be. Soon all those gathered in the street were laughing and slapping one another on the back. The women were cackling and the men hoo-hawing.
“Sounds lak they havin’ a celebration down thar,” Lobo said. “Wush they’d let us in on it.”
“They’re thinking about the stage,” Smoke said. “If they could turn it around with a message, they could get the Army in here and chase us all the way to Canada.”
“Les’ we had someone down thar to meet it with a story,” Phew said.
Smoke smiled at that. “That’s what we’ll do, then.”
“Now what?” Dupre said.
“We give them twenty-four hours, just like I promised.”
“I can’t help but feel sorry for the kids,” Smoke said.
“There isn’t a child down there under ten or eleven years of age,” Audie observed, watching through binoculars. “They are past their formative years; or very close to it. They are just smaller versions of their parents.”
The sun had been up for an hour and the women and children of Bury were moving out. On foot. Had Smoke and the mountain men been able to hear the comments of the men, it would have left no doubt in any of their minds.
“I shore am glad to see that bitchin’ woman clear out,” Hallen said. “Hope I never see her again.”
Morgan watched his wife—common law, since each of them was still married, to someone else—and her brats walk out of town. “I hope they’re attacked by Indians,” was his comment.
Simmons watched his wife trudge up the road. “Old lard-butted thing,” he said, under his breath. “God, I hope I never see her again.”
Like comments were being shared by all the men as they watched the women and kids move out.
Linda Potter and Lucille Stratton had elected to remain with their men. True to the end. Or ’til the money ran out—whichever came first.
Hunts-Long and his Flatheads were waiting by the creek. They had orders from Preacher to escort the women to the flats and keep them there until the matter was settled in Bury—one way or the other.
“You can’t know that for certain,” Smoke said, looking at Audie, who had lowered his binoculars from the stream of humanity.
“With very little exception, my young friend. It doesn’t hold true always, but water will seek its own level.”
“We’re gonna have to keep a sharp lookout for Richards’s men, boy,” Preacher said. “Them fifteen-eighteen riders he’s got is all gunhands. Now you listen to me, boy,” Preacher spun Smoke around to face him. “Them gold and silver mines that belong to them Big Three assayed out high. One mine, they got the gold assayed out at more than one hundred thousand dollars a ton. You know anything about gold, boy?”
Smoke shook his head.
“Two hundred dollars a ton is a workable mine, Smoke. So them boys ain’t gonna just sit back and let you and us’ns destroy a fortune for ’em. We gonna have to be ready for nearabouts anything.”
“I done warned them far’ners at the mines to stand clear of Bury,” Matt said. “They took it to heart.”
“How about the other miners?”
“Some of the miners here now was at the mining camp on the Uncompahgre,” Preacher said. “The bettin’ is high and fast.”
“Who is the favorite?”
“Hell, boy,” Preacher grinned. “Us’ns!”
17
According to the calendar, it was still the middle of spring in the mining country of East- Central Idaho. Someone should have told Mr. Summer that. By noon of the day of the pull-out, the temperature had soared and the sun was blisteringly hot. Bury, located in a valley, lay sullen and breezeless, the pocket in which it lay blocking the winds.
And the tempers of those trapped in the town were beginning to rival the thermometer.
One of Richards’s men had discovered the blocked road and had hightailed back to the PSR ranch, informing Josh. Janey had just informed him as to Buck’s real name. Josh Richards stood in the lushly appointed drawing room of the mansion and stared out at all the PSR holdings. Slowly, very slowly, a smile began playing at the corners of his mouth.
“What do you find so amusing, Josh?” Janey asked, watching the man.
“I will soon be the richest man in all of Idaho Territory,” Josh replied. He carefully lit a cigar and inhaled slowly.
“I don’t follow you.”
“Think about it, Janey. We—you and I—are in the best possible position. Your brother is going to take some losses at Bury. He might even get himself killed. We can hope for that, at least.” She shrugged. Whatever happened to Kirby didn’t concern her at all. “All we have to do is pull the PSR men off the range, leaving only a skeleton crew with the herds, and station them around the house in armed circles. Let Smoke and his mountain men kill off as many as they can in Bury. For sure, Smoke will kill Stratton and Potter—that’s what he came here to do. By the time the siege is over at Bury, Smoke’s little army will be shot up and weakened; no way they could successfully attack
