Louis’ face was tight as he said, “If she’s lucky, that’s all they’ll do.”
They cleared the town and then rode hard for the town of Big Rock.
“Grim,” was Louis’s one-word reply to Smoke’s asking about Fontana.
“Can’t we ride for the Army?” Hunt asked.
“Nearest Army post is four days away,” Smoke explained. “And the next stage isn’t due for twenty-four hours. If then.” He looked at the old gunfighter called Buttermilk. “Think you boys could handle those gunhawks left at the TF ranch?”
Buttermilk smiled his reply.
“All right. Leave Dad Weaver and three others at the Sugarloaf. One in the barn with a rifle and lots of shells. Let me have Crooked John and Bull, and the rest of you take off to the TF. Pin ’em down and wear ’em down with rifle fire, then cut ’em down when they get enough and try to pull out.”
Buttermilk nodded and turned to his compadres. “Let’s ride, boys!”
Louis smiled. “Those old boys will lay up on the ridges around the TF spread and put so much lead in that house those gunhawks will be crying to get out.”
“Those old men will allow their adversaries to surrender, won’t they?” Hunt asked.
Louis cut his eyes to the lawyer. “You just have to be joking!”
Crooked John and Bull rode with Louis, Smoke, and Johnny North. Pearlie stayed behind with Luke and Charlie. The men rode slowly, sparing their horses, and making plans as they rode.
“I think we should let them get good and drunk,” Louis remarked. “A full twenty-five percent of them will be passed out by night. That will make our work easier.”
“Good idea,” Johnny said. “And we need to get Monte outta there. Come night, I’ll slip in from the blind side, through all them shacks that was left behind, and get to the Doc’s place. We can hitch up the horses, put some hay in the back to keep Monte comfortable, and point the pilgrims on the way to Big Rock.”
Smoke nodded his approval. “All right. While you’re doing that, I’ll ease in and see about Ed and his wife. Johnny, let’s make it a mite easier for us. Bull, you and Crooked John create a diversion on this end of town. At full dark. You can leave your horses in that dry run behind the stable. Louis, how about you?”
Louis smiled. “I’ll be doing some head-hunting on my own.”
What they were going to do firmly implanted in their minds, the men urged their horses into a trot and began putting the miles behind them.
It was full dark when they pulled up, the lights of Fontana below them. They could hear an occasional gunshot and a faint, drunken whoop.
“I wonder where Tilden is,” Smoke said expressing his thought aloud. “If I could get lead in him, this would be over.”
“Well protected, wherever he is,” Louis said. “But what puzzles me is this: why is he letting his men do this?”
“He’s gone over the edge,” Smoke said. “He’s a crazy man, drunk with power. He’s made no telling how many thousand of dollars on gold shares with the miners and doesn’t care how much of it he spends. And he hates me,” Smoke added.
None of the men needed to add that Tilden Franklin also wanted Sally Jensen.
“Let’s go, boys,” Smoke said. “And good luck.”
The men separated, Smoke turning his horse’s head toward the right, Johnny moving out to the left. Bull and Crooked John headed straight in toward the lights of Fontana, and Louis Longmont moved out alone into the night.
Each man stashed his horse in the safest place he could find and slipped into the town to perform his assigned job.
The diversion that Crooked John and Bull made was a simple one. They set several buildings blazing, lighting up one end of the town.
Smoke slipped to the rear of Jackson’s general store and eased up onto the loading dock. His spurs were left hanging on his saddle horn and he made no noise as he pushed open the back door and entered the storeroom area of the building. Listening, he could hear the faint sobbing of Peg Jackson and the drunken grunting of men.
He wondered what had happened to Ed.
Smoke heard the excited shouting out in the street and wondered what kind of diversion the gunslingers had set. He glanced behind him, out the open back door of the store, and saw the reflection of the dancing, leaping flames reddening the night sky.
Grinning, he slipped closer to the cracked-open door that would lead into the store. He peeked through the crack and silently cursed under his breath.
He could see Ed, trussed up like a hog, on the floor of the store. The man’s face appeared to be badly swollen. There was blood and puke on his shirt front.
Lifting his eyes, searching, he saw Peg. The woman had been badly used and appeared to be just conscious enough to sob. A TF gunhawk, his pants down around his boots, his back to Smoke, was having his way with the woman. Several TF riders were sprawled on the floor and on the counters. They seemed to be dead drunk and out of it.
Two TF gunslicks were leaning against a counter, drinking whiskey straight out of the bottle, an amused look on their faces as they watched the rape of Peg Jackson.
Those men seemed to be the only ones still conscious enough to give Smoke any cause for worry.
The sounds of gunfire came hard through the night air. It was followed by a choking scream. The two TF men looked at each other.
