one pushes him.”
“And now we have Fontana.”
“For as long as it lasts, yes. The town will probably die out when the gold plays out. I hope it’s soon.”
“You’re holding just a little something back from me, Smoke.”
He hesitated. “Tilden Franklin wants you for his woman.”
“I’ve known that for a long time. Has he made his desires public?”
“Apparently so. From now on, you’re going to have to be very careful.”
She lay still for a moment, silent. “We could always leave, honey.”
He knew she did not wish to leave, but was only voicing their options. “I know. And we’d be running for the rest of our lives. Once you start, it’s hard to stop.”
In the corral, Seven nickered, the sound carrying to the house. Smoke was up and dressed in a moment, strapping on his guns and picking up a rifle. He and Sally could hear the sounds of hooves, coming hard.
“One horse,” Sally noted.
“Stay inside.”
Smoke stepped out the door, relaxing when he saw who it was. It was Colby’s oldest boy, and he was fogging up the trail, lathering his horse.
Bob slid his horse to stop amid the dust and leaped off. “Mister Smoke,” he panted. So the news had spread very fast as to Smoke’s real identity.
“Bob. What’s the problem?”
“Pa sent me. It’s started, Mister Smoke. Some of Tilden’s riders done burned out Wilbur Mason’s place, over on the western ridge. Burned him flat. There ain’t nothing left no where.”
“Anybody hurt over there?”
“No, sir. Not bad, leastways. Mister Wilbur got burned by a bullet, but it ain’t bad.”
“Where are they now?”
“Mister Matlock took the kids. Pa and Ma took in Mister Wilbur and his missus.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“Pa sent him off to warn the others.”
“Go on in the house. Sally will fix you something to eat. I’ll see to your horse.”
Smoke looked toward the faraway Circle TF spread. “All right, Franklin,” he muttered. “If that’s how you want it, get ready for it.”
7
Leaving Bob Colby with Sally, Smoke saddled Drifter, the midnight-black, wolf-eyed stallion. Sally fixed him a poke of food and he stashed that in the saddlebags. He stuffed extra cartridges into a pocket of his saddlebags, and made sure his belt loops were filled. He checked his Henry repeating rifle and returned it to the saddle boot.
He kissed Sally and swung up into the saddle, thinking that it had certainly been a short homecoming. He looked at Bob, standing tall and very young beside Sally.
“You stay with Sally, Bob. Don’t leave her. I’ll square that with your Pa.”
“Yes, sir, Mister Smoke,” the boy replied.
“Can you shoot a short gun, Bob?”
“Yes, sir. But I’m better with a rifle.”
“Sally will loan you a spare pistol. Wear it at all times.”
“Yes, sir. What are you gonna do, Mister Smoke?”
“Try to organize the small farmers and ranchers, Bob. If we don’t band together, none of us will have a chance of coming out of this alive.”
Smoke wheeled Drifter and rode into the timber without looking back.
He headed across the country, taking the shortest route to Colby’s spread. During his ride, Smoke spotted men staking out claims on land that had been filed on by small farmers and ranchers.
Finally he had enough of that and reined up. He stared hard at a group of men. “You have permission to dig on this land?”
“This is open land,” a man challenged him.
“Wrong, mister. You’re on Colby land. Filed on legally and worked. Don’t be here when I get back.”
But the miners and would-be miners were not going to be that easy to run off. “They told us in Fontana that this here land was open and ready for the takin’.”
“Who told you that?”
“The man at Beeker’s store. Some others at a saloon. They said all you folks up here were squattin’ illegal-like, that if we wanted to dig, we could; and that’s what we’re all aimin’ to do.”
So that was Tilden’s plan. Or at least part of it, Smoke thought. He could not fault the men seeking gold. They were greedy, but not land-greedy. Dig the gold, and get out. And if a miner, usually unarmed, was hurt, shot in any attempt to run them off, marshals would probably be called in.
