“Colby has turned real quiet-like,” Smoke told the men. “Never speaks of her. But I don’t like the look in his eyes. Belle told me he takes his pistol out every day and practices drawing and firing.”
“He any good?”
“No,” Smoke said flatly. “He just doesn’t have the eye and hand coordination needed to be any good. He’s slow as molasses and can’t hit jack-crap with a short gun.”
“Then he’s headin’ for trouble,” Luke said. “You want I should go talk to him?”
“Can if you want. But it won’t do any good. I tried talking to him. He just turned his back and walked away.”
Charlie spat on the ground. “The fool is diggin’ his own grave, Smoke.”
“Yeah. I know it. But he’s all tore up with grief. I’m thinkin’ he’s gonna brace the Harris Brothers if he ever gets the chance.”
“They’ll kill him,” Luke said. “Them boys is real good.”
Smoke nodded his head. He summed up his feelings by saying, “I think Colby wants to die.”
4
Paul Jackson walked into his brother’s office at the general store and told Ed he was quitting.
Ed looked at his brother as if he was looking at a fool. “To do what?”
“I staked me out a claim. Looks promisin’ too. You’re makin’ all the money here. Hell with you!”
“Fine. But remember this: you’ll not get a penny’s worth of credit from me.”
“I got money of my own.” He walked out of the office.
“You’re a fool!” Ed shouted after his brother.
His brother turned around and made a very obscene gesture. It was intended for Ed, but Ed’s wife caught it as well.
Peg stamped her foot.
Paul laughed and walked on out, feeling as though he had just had a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He swung into the saddle and trotted out, toward the high lonesome, where he had staked his claim.
Paul would show them all. He’d come back a rich man and take Bountiful from that namby-pamby preacher and then, just like in one of them dime novels, the both of them would ride off into the sunset, to be forever together.
Or something like that.
“What side of this fracus is Utah Slim on?” Johnny North asked Monte over coffee one bright early summer morning.
“I can’t figure it, myself. He don’t appear to be on neither side. And he ain’t hurtin’ for money. He’s always got a wad of greenbacks.”
“Gamble?”
Monte shook his head. “No. I ain’t never seen nor heard of him gamblin’.”
“He’s on somebody’s payroll,” the gunslinger opined. “You can bet on that. Utah don’t do nothin’ for nothin’. He’s here for a reason.”
“You find out, you let me know?”
“Why not? I sure ain’t got no axes to grind in this here fight.”
“Tilden’s hirin’ you know.”
“Screw Tilden Franklin. I got me a little claim staked out and got guys workin’ it for shares. ’Bout five years back, I started puttin’ back a little bit of money ever’ time I had some to spare. Got it in a bank up in Boulder. With the gold I get out of this claim, I aim to start me a little ranch; maybe do a little farmin’ too. Hang up my guns.”
Monte started grinning.
“What are you grinnin’ about, you ape?” Johnny asked.
“Gonna do a little bit of ranchin’ and a little bit of farmin’, hey?”
“Yeah! What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all. But what happens if you run into some big rancher like Tilden when you decide to settle down?”
“Well…I reckon I’ll fight.”
Monte suddenly felt better. He started chuckling. “Oh, yeah, Johnny, you got an axe to grind in this war—you just ain’t realized it yet.”
Johnny thought about that, then he too started chuckling. “By God, Monte, you right. I think I’ll go see if that feller Colby needs a hand. Might do me some good to do some hard work for a change.”
“He can’t pay you nothin’.”
“I ain’t askin’ for nothin’.”
Boot heels drummed on the boardwalk and someone was hollering for the sheriff.
Monte jumped up and headed for the door, Johnny right behind him. A wild-eyed miner almost collided with them both.
“Come quick, Sheriff! That nester Colby is about to draw down on a TF gunnie named Donnie. Hurry, Sheriff,
