their guns with the bartender inside the saloon.
Monte Carson had made it clear, by posting notices around the town, that TF gunhawks had better not start any trouble in his town, or in any area of his jurisdiction. He’d had to get the judge to spell all the words.
The judge had done so, gleefully.
“Looks like Johnny North and the Sheriff done kissed and made up,” one cowboy remarked.
“That’s more trouble for Tilden,” another observed. There was just a small note of satisfaction in the statement.
Another TF puncher sat down on the lip of a watering trough. “It’s May, boys. Past time to move the herds up into the high country for the summer.”
“I been thinkin’ the same thing.”
“I think I’ll talk to Clint when we get back to the ranch. Kinda suggest, nice-like, that we get the herds ready to move. If he goes along with it, and I think he will, that’ll put us some thirty-five miles from the ranch, up in the high lonesome. Take a hell of a pistol to shoot thirty-five miles.”
“Yeah. That’d put us clean out of any war, just doin’ what we’re paid to do: look after cows.”
Another cowboy sat down on the steps. He looked at the puncher who had suggested the high country. “You know, Dan, sometimes you can show some signs of havin’ a little sense.”
“Thank you,” Dan said modestly. “For a fact, my momma didn’t raise no fool for a son.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah,” Dan said with a smile. “I had a sister.”
The aging gunfighters were having the time of their lives. They were doing what most loved to do: work cattle. Smoke’s bulls had been busy during the winter, and his herd had increased appreciably now that the calving was over. It was branding time, and the gunfighters were pitching in and working just as hard as Smoke or Pearlie. Some had gone to other small spreads in the area, helping out there, their appearance a welcome sight to the overworked and understaffed ranchers.
It appeared that the area was at peace. Smoke knew, from riding the high country, that Tilden Franklin’s punchers were busy moving the TF herds into the high pastures, and doing so, he suspected, for many reasons, not all of them associated with the welfare of the cattle. That was another sign that Tilden had not given up in his fight to rid the area of all who would not bend to his will. Those TF hands who were not gunslicks but cowboys were clearing out of the line of fire.
He said as much to Charlie Starr.
The gunhand agreed. “It ain’t even got started good yet, Smoke. I got word that Tilden is hirin’ all the guns he can, and they’re beginning to trickle in. It’s shapin’ up to be a bad one.”
“They any good?”
“Some of them are bad hombres. Some of them are just startin’ to build a rep. But they’re alive, so they must be fair hands with a gun.”
Smoke looked around him, at the vast, majestic panorama that nature had bestowed on this part of Colorado. “It’s all so foolish,” he said. “There is more than enough room for us all.”
“Not to a man like Tilden,” Luke Nations said, walking up, a tin cup of coffee in his hand. He was taking a break from the branding. “Tilden, least for as long as I’ve known of him, has always craved to be the bull of the woods. He’s crazy.”
All present certainly agreed with that.
“What’d Colby say or do when you give him that money we found in that holler tree?” Charlie asked Smoke.
“Sent it to Tilden by way of the Sheriff. Wrote him a note too. Told him where to put the money. Told him to put it there sideways.”
Charlie and Luke both grinned at that, Luke saying, “I sure would have liked to seen the look on Tilden’s face when he got that.”
“How’s his health?” Charlie asked.
“Coming along,” Smoke said with a grin. “Doc Colton goes out there several times a week. ’Bout the only thing wrong with Tilden now—other than the fact he’s crazy—is that he don’t have any front teeth and his ribs is still sore.”
“I figure we got two, maybe three more weeks before Tilden pulls all the stops out,” Luke said. “He’s not goin’ to do nothin’ until he’s able to sit a saddle and handle a short gun. Then look out.”
And they all agreed with that.
“I figure he’ll save us for last,” Smoke said. “I figure he’ll hit Peyton first. That’s the ranch closest to his range, and the furtherest from us. I’ve warned Peyton to be careful, but the man seemed to think it’s all over now.”
“Is he a fool?” Luke asked.
“No.” Smoke said softly. “Just a man who tries to see the best in all people. He thinks Tilden has ‘seen the light,’ to use Peyton’s own words.”
“He’s a fool then,” Charlie opined. “There isn’t one ounce of good in Tilden Franklin. That little trick with Velvet should have convinced Peyton.”
“Speakin’ of Velvet…” Luke let it trail off into silence.
“No change,” Smoke said. “She eats, and sits. She has not uttered a sound in weeks.”
“Her pa?”
