“You got a name, boy?” Dan Greentree asked, squatting down beside the young man.
“It…don’t matter.” He closed his eyes and died.
“Funny goddamn name,” Red Shingletown said.
“We’ll bury them in the morning,” Smoke said. “I’ll come back into town and bring the minister with me.”
“What’d y’all do with the dead TF gunnies?” Luke asked.
“Left ’em where they lay,” Red replied. “Let somebody else worry with them.”
“’Pache and Sutter both tole me they was a-goin’ out this run,” Luke Nations said. “’Pache had a bad ticker and Sutter was havin’ a hard time passin’ his water. It’s good they went out this way. I’m right happy for ’em.”
“You’re happy your friends died?” Hunt asked, his robe pulled tightly around him against the night chill.
“Shore. That’s the way they wanted it.”
The lawyer walked away, back to his cabin. He was thinking that he would never understand the Western way of doing things.
“Peg Jackson?” Louis asked.
“Physically, not hurt too badly,” Belle Colby said. “But like my Velvet, she’s not good in the head. She said they did terrible things to her.”
Belle walked back into the store where they had set up a hospital.
“Monte?” Bull asked.
“He’s in rough shape, but the Doc says he thinks he’s gonna pull through.”
“How about Ed?” somebody finally asked, although few if any among them really gave a damn how Ed was.
“He’s all right,” Haywood said, joining the group. “He’s bitching about losing his store. It’s just his way, gentlemen. And he’ll never change. He’s already talking of pulling out.”
“He don’t belong here,” Charlie Starr said, lighting a tightly rolled cigarette. “This country’s still got some rough and woolly years ahead of it. And it’s gonna take some tough-minded men and women to see it through.”
“What’s the plan, Smoke?” Louis asked. “I know you’ve got one. You’ve been thinking hard for about an hour now.”
“I’m gonna get a few hours sleep and then get the preacher. After the services, I’m riding into Fontana and get this matter settled, one way or the other. Anybody who wants to come along is welcome to ride.”
They left the graveyard at nine o’clock the next morning. They had said their goodbyes to The Apache Kid and Sutter Cordova, and then those that had family to worry about them said their goodbyes to womenfolk and kids and swung into the saddle.
They left behind them some heavily armed hands who worked for Beaconfield and Mike Garrett, but who were hands, not gunhands, and half a dozen teenagers who were excellent shots with a rifle. In addition, Hunt, Colton, and Haywood were armed with rifles and shotguns. All the Western women could shoot rifles and shotguns as well as, and sometimes better than, the men. Mike, the big bouncer, was there, as well as Wilbur Mason, Dad Weaver, and Billy. The general store had been turned into a fort in case of attack.
Twenty-eight men rode toward the town of Fontana. They had guns in leather, guns tucked behind gunbelts, guns stashed in their saddlebags, and rifles and shotguns in saddleboots.
Smoke had warned them all that even though the previous night’s raid into Fontana had taken some TF riders out, they were probably facing four- or five-to-one odds, and anyone who wanted out had damn well better speak up now.
His words had been met with a stony silence.
Smoke had nodded his head and pulled his hat brim down low, securing the chin strap, “Let’s ride.”
There had been no stopping Ralph Morrow. He had stuck out his chin, picked up his Henry rifle, and stuffed his pockets full of cartridges. “I’m going,” he had said. “And that’s final.”
The men trotted their horses for a time, and then walked them, alternating back and forth, eating up the miles.
Then they looked down on the town of Fontana…and stared at the long line of wagons that were pulling out.
Smoke looked at Silver Jim. “Find out about that, will you, Jim?”
Silver Jim rode down to the lead wagon, talked for a moment, then rode back to where Smoke sat his horse with the others.
“Big Mamma’s dead,” Silver Jim said. “She stormed into a saloon last night, after she learned that Tilden Franklin had raped and killed her…wife. Tilden ordered her hanged. They hung her slow. That feller I talked to said it took a long time for her to die. One of Big Mamma’s girls tried to run away last night. Tilden’s gunslicks caught her and…well, done some per-verted things to her, then they dragged her and set her on far. Tilden personal kilt Beeker at the store. Then his boys had they way with his wife. She set up such a squall, they shot her.”
“Dear Jesus Christ!” Ralph muttered.
“Them people down there,” Silver Jim said, pointing to the line of wagons, “is near-bouts all that’s left of any decent folks, and some of them would steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes. That’s how bad it’s got down in town.”
“So Tilden and his men are waiting for us?” Smoke asked.
“Dug in tight.”
“Proctor didn’t come back, did he?”
