“That hombre who just walked out the door,” Smoke said, “I believe means every word he said.
“Story goes that Charlie’s folks was kilt by Injuns when he was just a little boy. He was raised by the Cheyenne. If Charlie says he’s gonna kill Tilden Franklin slow, that is exactly what he means.”
For two days, Charlie prowled the Sugarloaf, getting his bearings and inspecting the cattle and horses that Smoke and Sally were raising.
“You want it known that you’re working for me?” Smoke asked him upon his return to the ranch house.
“Don’t make no difference to me, Smoke,” the gunfighter said. “My bein’ here ain’t gonna make Tilden backpaddle none. Man sets out to be king, only thing that’s gonna stop him is dyin’.”
Smoke nodded his agreement. “I’ll be gone for several days, Charlie. You and Pearlie stay close to the house, all right?”
“Will do.”
Smoke pulled out early the next morning, riding Drifter. It was not like Tilden to wait, once his intentions became known; Smoke wanted to find out what the kingpin had up his sleeve.
As he rode, the sounds of drilling and hammers against rocks and occasional blasting came to him. The miners were in full swing. And they were paying no attention to the No Trespassing signs the farmer-ranchers had posted around their property. Bad trouble was building; the smell of it was in the air.
Smoke figured he’d better check in with Lawyer Brook as soon as he hit town.
“Smoke,” the lawyer informed him, “there is nothing your friends can do, not legally.”
“But it’s their land!”
“But they don’t hold the mineral rights to it. The holder of those rights has given the miners permission to mine. The miners get fifty percent, the holder of the rights gets fifty percent.”
Smoke leaned back in his chair and built one of his rare cigarettes from the cloth pouch he carried in his vest pocket. He licked the tube and smoothed it, lighting and inhaling before speaking.
“Let me guess,” Smoke said. “Tilden Franklin bought all the mineral rights.”
“Well…if you don’t hear it from me, you’ll hear it from somebody else. Yes, that is correct.”
“It’s legal stealing, Hunt.”
“I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that,” the lawyer said stiffly.
“I just did,” Smoke told him. He walked out of the lawyer’s new offices.
The long building containing the offices of the lawyer, the doctor, and the newspaper had been put up in a hurry, but it was well built nonetheless. Across the street, the big store of Ed Jackson was in business and doing quite well, Smoke observed, eyeballing the many heavily loaded wagons lined up behind it, waiting to be unloaded. And, surprisingly enough, Ralph Morrow’s church was up—nearly completed. He walked across the small field to the church and located the minister.
“You do all this yourself, Ralph?” Smoke asked.
“Oh, no! Mister Franklin donated the money for the church and paid the workmen to build it. He’s really a very fine man, Smoke. I think you’re wrong about him.”
Slick, Smoke thought. Very slick on Tilden’s part. “Well, I’m happy about your church, Ralph. I wish you a great deal of success.”
“Thank you, Smoke.” The minister beamed.
Smoke rode to the stable and located Billy. “Take care of him, Billy. Lots of corn and rub him down.”
“Yes, sir!”
Smoke walked over to Louis’s place and stepped inside. The gambler was sitting at a table, having breakfast. He waved Smoke over.
“Saw you ride in just as I was getting up. Care for a late breakfast?”
“Sounds good.”
The gambler called for his cook and ordered breakfast for Smoke. Looking at Smoke, he asked, “Have you spoken to the minister yet?”
Smoke’s smile gave him his silent reply.
“Nice move on Franklin’s part, don’t you think?”
“Very Christian of the man.”
Louis enjoyed a laugh at the sarcasm in Smoke’s voice. “Slick on his part about the mineral rights.”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Lawyer Brook—it’s nothing but legal stealing.”
“Oh, I agree with you, Smoke. But it is legal. Were I you, I’d advise the others to walk lightly and don’t start any shooting.”
“It’s their land, Louis. They have a right to protect their herds.”
Louis chewed for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yes, they do,” he finally spoke. He took a sip of coffee out of one of the fanciest cups Smoke had ever seen. One thing about Louis Longmont. When he traveled, he went first class all the way, carrying a cook, a valet, and a huge bodyguard with him at all times. The bodyguard usually acted as bouncer in Louis’s place, and was rarely seen—except when there was trouble. And then he was seen by the troublemaker only very briefly…seconds before the troublemaker died in Mike’s bare hands. Providing Louis didn’t shoot the troublemaker outright.
Louis buttered a piece of toasted bread and then spread preserves on top of that. The preserves, Smoke was
