“Yes, Bob?”
“Who is Charlie Starr?”
Smoke sopped up the last of his gravy with a thick hunk of bread and chewed for a moment. “He’s a gunfighter, Bob. He’s been a lot of things, but mostly he’s a good man. But a strange one. I met him while I was riding with an old Mountain Man called Preacher. Why do you ask?”
“I heard them Jones boys talkin’ last week. When we was all gathered over to the Matlocks’ for Sunday services. That feller who sometimes works for Mister Matlock said Charlie Starr’s been camped out around this country for a month or so.”
“I can’t believe Charlie is here to hire his gun out to Tilden. He never has hired his guns out against a little man. He’s done a lot of things, but he kinda backed into his rep as a gunslick. Maybe that fellow was mistaken?”
“Maybe, Mister Smoke.”
Charlie Starr shifted his blankets away from his fire and settled in for the night. He smiled in the darkness, the sounds of his horse cropping grass a somehow comforting sound in the night. Since that puncher had come up on him, he’d moved his location—out of, he thought, the TF range. High up in the mountains, where snow was still capping the crests, above some place called the Sugarloaf. Nice-sounding name, Charlie thought.
Louis Longmont sat at a table playing stud, winning, as usual. Winning even though his thoughts were not entirely on the game. He’d just that evening heard the rumors that Charlie Starr was in the area, and heard too that Tilden Franklin had sent a rider to Utah to get Luis Chamba, the Sonora gunslick. And he’d heard that Tilden was building up his own forces by half a hundred riders.
Louis pulled in his winnings and excused himself from the game. His mind wasn’t on it and he needed a breath of air. He walked outside, into the rambunctious, boom-town night air. The town was growing by hundreds each day. Most of the men were miners or would-be miners, but there was a lot of trash mixed in as well.
With this many people working the area, the town might last, Louis thought, six months—maybe less. There was a strong urge within the man to just fold his tent and pull out. Louis felt there would be a bloodbath before everything was said and done.
But Louis couldn’t do that. He’d given his word to Preacher he’d look in on Smoke from time to time. Not that Smoke needed any looking after, Louis thought with a grin. But a man’s word was his bond. So Louis would see it through. He tossed his cigar into the street and walked back into his gaming tent.
Tilden Franklin sat alone in his huge house, his thoughts as savage as much of the land that lay around him. His thoughts would have made a grizzly flinch. Tilden had never seen a woman that he desired more than Sally Jensen. Educated, aloof, beautiful. Tilden wondered how she’d look with her dress on the floor.
He shook that thought from him.
Then, with a faint smile curving his lips, he thought about the nester Colby. More specifically, Colby’s daughter. Velvet.
Tilden laughed. He thought he knew how to get rid of that nester, and let his boys have some fun in the process.
Yeah. He’d give it some extra thought in the morning. But it seemed like a pretty good idea.
Billy lay on the hay in the loft, in his longjohns, his new clothing carefully folded and stored on a little ledge. His thoughts were of Smoke. Billy wondered how it would be to have a pa like Smoke. Probably real nice. There was a streak of gentleness in the gunfighter that few adults could see. But a kid could see it right off. Smoke for a pa. Well, it was something to dream about. One thing for sure, nobody would mess with you, leastways.
Ed Jackson lay by his wife’s side and mentally counted all the money he was going to make. He’d hired some rough-looking men that day, promising them a grubstake if they’d build his store for him. They had accepted. Ed Jackson dreamed of great wealth. Ed Jackson dreamed of becoming a very important person. Maybe even someone like Tilden Franklin.
Now there was a
Paul Jackson lay in his blankets under a wagon. He was restless, sleep was elusive. He kept thinking about the way Bountiful had looked at him. Something was building between them, he just knew it. And Paul also knew that he wasn’t going to hang around here with his stupid, greedy brother any longer than necessary. If he could find gold, that would really make Bountiful sit up and take notice of him.
He grinned.
Or lay down and take notice of him.
Dana lay by her husband, listening to him breathe as he slept. She wondered if they’d made a mistake in coming out West. Haywood didn’t think so, but she’d wondered often about it, especially during the last few days. These men out here, they took violent death so…so calmly. It frightened her.
Colton closed up his tent and put his money, some of it in gold dust, into a lockbox and carefully stowed it away in the hidden compartment under the wagon. He was tired, but he’d made more money in just two days than most physicians back East made in a month—maybe two months. If this kept up, he’d have enough to travel on to California and set up a practice in real style. In a place that had some class, with a theater and opera and all the rest that civilized people craved. At this rate, he’d have far more than enough in a year’s time.
He washed his hands and made ready for bed.
Hunt was wide awake, his thoughts many and most of them confused. True, he’d been busy all day handling gold claims, but no one had come to him for any legal advice concerning the many fights and stabbings and occasional shootings that occurred within the town of Fontana. He simply could not understand that. Didn’t these people understand due process? All those fistfights and gunfights. It was positively barbaric. And so needless. All people had to do was come see him; then they could handle it in a proper court of law.
If, Hunt thought with a grimace, they could find the judge when he was sober.
15
Leaving Pearlie with Sally, Smoke escorted Bob back to his home. For the first time since arriving in the area, Smoke saw both Wilbur Mason and Colby armed with short guns and rifles. Dismounting, Smoke ground-reined Drifter and faced the farmer- ranchers.
“Seen any of the others?” Smoke asked.
“Nolan rode by yesterday evenin’,” Colby said. “He’s scared and admitted it.”
“Ray and Betty sent word that they’re with us all the way,” Mason said.
“How about Peyton?”
Both men shrugged.
