“Us, you mean, don’t you?”
“You mean the boy?”
Smoke shook his head. “I mean Sally, Little Ben, me, and you.”
“No, Smoke,” Preacher said. “I’ll be leavin’ with my pards. They’s still some corners of this land that’s high and lonesome. No nesters with their gawddamned barbed wire and pigs and plows. Me and Tenneysee and Audie and Nighthawk and all the rest—wal, our time’s done past us, boy. Mayhaps you’ll see me agin—mayhaps not. But when my time is nigh, I’ll be headin’ back to that little valley where you hammered my name in that stone. There, I’ll jist lay me down and look at the elephant. I’ll warn you now, son. This will be the last ride for Deadlead and Matt. They done tole me that. They real sick. Got that disease that eats from the inside out.”
“Cancer?”
“That’d be it, I reckon. They gonna go out with the reins in they teeth and they fists full of smokin’ iron. They’ll know when it’s time. You a gunhand, boy; you understand why they want it thataway, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“All right. It’s all said then. When it’s time for me and the boys to leave, I don’t want no blubberin’, you understand?”
“Have you ever seen me blubber?”
“Damn close to it.”
“You tell lies, old man.”
Preacher’s eyes twinkled. “Mayhaps one or two, from time to time.”
“Here comes Dupre.”
“We gonna be runnin’ and ridin’ hard for the next two-three days, son. We’ll speak no more of this. When this is over, me and boys will just fade out. ’Member all I taught you, and you treat that there woman right. You hear?”
“I hear.”
“Let’s go bring this to an end, boy.”
21
“If you’re cowboys, turn those ponies’ noses west and ride out. If you’re gunhands, make your play,” Smoke said.
The three riders on the Crooked Snake range slowly turned their horses, being very careful to keep their hands away from sixguns. They sat and stared at the mountain men and at Smoke.
“We’re drawin’ thirty a month and found,” one said. “That ain’t exactly fightin’ pay.”
“You got anything back at the bunkhouse worth dyin’ over?”
“Not a thing.”
“You boys ride out. If you’ve a mind to, come back in three-four days. They’ll be a lot of cattle wandering around with no owners. You might want to start up some small spreads in this area.”
“You be the outlaw, Smoke Jensen?” a cowboy asked.
“I’m Jensen. But I’m no outlaw.”
“Mister, if you say you’re an African go-riller, you ain’t gonna git no argument from me,” another cowboy said.
“Fine. You boys head on toward the Salmon. Drift back in three-four days. We’ll be gone, and so will the ranches. The homesteaders will still be here, though. Unless you want to see me again, leave them be. Understand?”
“Mr. Jensen, I’ll even help ’em
Smoke smiled. “Take off.”
The punchers took off.
“Five, maybe six gunnies at the ranch,” Beartooth said, riding up.
Smoke looked at Powder Pete. “Got some dynamite with you?”
“You don’t have to say no more.” Powder Pete wheeled his mustang and took off for the ranch, Smoke and Sam and the mountain men hard after him.
“How do you boys want it?” Smoke called to the deserted-appearing ranch.
A rifle shot was the only reply.
“Hold your fire,” Smoke told his people. Raising his voice, he shouted, “Your boss payin’ you so much money you’d die for him?”
“Hell with you, Jensen!” the shout drifted to Smoke. “Come git us if you got the sand to do it.”
Smoke looked at Powder Pete. “Blow ’em out!”
The old mountain man grinned and slipped silently away. About five minutes later, the bunkhouse exploded, the roof blowing off. A dynamite charge blew the porch off the main house, collapsing one side of the house. Smoke and the mountain men poured a full minute of lead into the house.
