“Oh.”
“If that is the case, Smoke,” Hunt said, “then you must run for your life.”
Smoke’s eyes turned icy. He looked at the lawyer. “I don’t run, Lawyer.”
“Then what are you going to do?” Haywood asked. “You’ve all three heard Billy’s statement. A newspaper man, a lawyer, a minister.” Smoke smiled with a grim wolf’s baring of his teeth. “Take Billy’s story down. I see a way to make Tilden Franklin eat crow on this matter and backpaddle.”
“What are you going to do, Smoke?” Preacher Morrow inquired.
“Fight,” Smoke said.
“But there’s
“I’ve faced tougher odds, Lawyer.” He looked at Billy. “Where is it going down, Billy?”
“They’re gonna brace you in the stable.”
Smoke nodded his head. “After these gentlemen take your story on paper, Billy, you get the horses out of there. I don’t want to see a good horse die on account of trash like Tilden’s men.”
“Yes, sir!”
Smoke looked at the three men. “I’ll be heading down that way in about an hour, boys. I would suggest you all hunt a hole.”
Sally looked toward the eastern slopes of the Sugarloaf. Pearlie was not in sight. Bob Colby was working inside the barn, cleaning it out. She called for him.
“Yes’um?” He stuck his head out of the loft.
“Bob, look and see if you can spot Pearlie. He should be over there.” She pointed.
Bob searched the eastern slopes of the Sugarloaf. “Nothing, ma’am,” he called. “I can’t spot him.”
“All right, Bob. Thanks. He’s behind a hill, I guess.” She put Pearlie out of her mind and thought about what to fix for dinner—supper, as they called it out here, although she had never gotten used to that.
“Now what, boys?” Pearlie asked the half-dozen Circle TF riders facing him.
“I guess you know what, Pearlie,” a puncher said. He shook out a loop in his rope.
“You boys is wrong,” Pearlie said. “A man’s gotta right to ride for the brand he chooses.”
“You a turncoat, Pearlie. You should have knowed that no one shows his ass-end to Mister Franklin.”
“He ain’t God, Lefty.”
“He is around here,” Lefty responded.
“Then let him bring you back to life,” Pearlie said. He jerked iron and blew Lefty out of the saddle, the slug taking the TF rider in the right shoulder, knocking him to the ground.
Pearlie spun his cutting horse and tried to make a run for it. He was just a tad slow. He felt the loop settle around him, and then another circled him and jerked him out of the saddle. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him.
Pearlie struggled to free himself of the stiff ropes, but he knew he was fighting a losing fight. He lifted his six- gun and thumbed the hammer back. He hated to do it, but he had to leave some proof of who had done this to him.
He shot a TF horse. The animal dropped almost immediately as the slug entered behind its left shoulder and shattered the heart. The rider cursed and jumped free, kicking the six-gun out of Pearlie’s hand.
“Drag the son of a bitch!” the horseless rider yelled.
Pearlie was jerked along the ground. Mercifully, his head struck a rock and he was dropped into the darkness of unconsciousness.
“Did you hear a shot?” Sally called.
“Yes’um!” Bob called back. “Probably Pearlie shootin’ a rattler, is all.”
“Maybe,” Sally muttered. She went back into the house and strapped on a pistol. She picked up a rifle and levered a round into the chamber of the Henry. Back outside, she called, “Bob! Are you armed?”
“Yes’um. Got a short gun on and my rifle is right down there.” He pointed.
“Get your rifle and stay in the loft. Keep a look-out for riders. I think we’re in for some trouble.”
“Yes’um!”
“While you’re getting your rifle, close and bar all the barn doors. I’ll bring Seven inside and put him in a stall.”
“Yes’um, Miss Sally.”
Sally hurriedly fixed containers of water and a basket of food for the boy. She put in several boxes of ammunition and carried it to him in the barn. “We might be in for a long day, Bob,” she told him. “And you might have to stay out here by yourself tonight.”
“I ain’t skirred, Miss Sally. I can knock the eye out of a squirrel at a hundred yards with a rifle. If anybody comes to fight, we’ll stand ’em off.”
“Good boy. I’ll be in the house. Let them come close, we’ll catch them in a crossfire.”
Bob grinned. “Yes,
It was as if some invisible messenger had passed the word. The town of Fontana grew quiet, then hushed almost entirely. Smoke walked across the street and stepped into the tent of Louis Longmont. Louis waved him to the bar.
“A pall has fallen over us, my young friend,” Louis said. “I’m sure it concerns you. Am I correct?”
