But it left the true hardcases, many of them on no one’s payroll. Like buzzards, they were waiting to see the outcome and perhaps pick up a few crumbs of the pie.
Johnny and his punk sidekick, Bret, were still in town, swaggering around, hanging on the fringes of the known gunslingers, talking rough and tough and lapping up the strong beer and rotgut and snake-head whiskey served at most of the newer saloons.
Crime had increased in Gibson, with foot-padders and petty thieves plying their trade on the unsuspecting men and women who had to venture out after dark. And the hardcases were getting surly and hard to handle, craving action.
There were several minor run-ins among the gunhawks, provoked by recklessness and restlessness and booze and the urge to kill and destroy. The leaders of the gangs had to step in and calm the situation, reminding the outlaws that their fight was not with each other, but with the Double Circle C.
“Then gawddammit!” Lodi snarled. “Let’s make war on them!”
The Hangout, jammed full of hired guns, shook with the roars of approval.
Dad Estes did his best to shout his boys down while Jason Bright and Cat Jennings and Lanny Ball tried to calm their people.
They were only half successful.
The leaders looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Dad jerked his head toward the boardwalk and the men stomped outside, to stand in the night.
“We got to use them or lose them,” Dad summed it up. “My boys ain’t gonna stand around here much longer twiddlin’ their thumbs.”
The others agreed with Dad.
“So you got some sort of a plan, Dad?”
“We hit them, tonight.”
“What does Dooley have to say about that?” Jason asked.
“I ain’t discussed it with him.”
The others smiled, Dad continuing, “Look here, we could turn this into a right nice town, and if we was all big land owners, why, we’d also own the sheriff and deputies and the like.”
“We got to kill Dooley and them first,” he was reminded by Cat Jennings.
Dad shifted his chewing tobacco to the other side of his mouth. He took out an ornate pocket watch and clicked it open. “Well, boys, I got some people doin’ that little thing in about an hour.”
Twenty-Five
Dooley came awake, keeping his eyes closed. The slight creaking of the hall door had brought him awake. He had drank himself to sleep, sitting in the big chair just inside the living room. The first time he’d ever done that. Now wide awake, he sat very still in the darkness and opened his eyes.
“I tole you to oil that door!” his oldest boy, Sonny, hissed the words.
“Shet your mouth,” Bud whispered. “The old fool was prob’ly so drunked up when he went to bed a shotgun blast wouldn’t wake him up.”
Conrad giggled. “A shotgun blast is what we’re goin’give him!”
Cold insane fury washed over the father as he froze still in his chair. If he’d had a gun in his hand, he’d have killed all three of them right this minute. But his gun belt was hanging on the peg in the hall.
Sonny shushed his brothers. “Stay here and keep watch, Conrad. Me and Bud will do the deed.”
“I don’t wanna keep no watch! I wanna see it when the buckshot hits him. And what the hell is I gonna be watchin’ for anyways? There ain’t nobody here but us. The others is all back in town.”
“Do what I tell you to do.”
Dooley carefully drew his feet up under the chair, hiding them from view should any of his traitorous offspring look into the living room. The sorry sons of bitches.
The dark humor and irony of that thought almost caused him to chuckle.
The stillness of the house was shattered by twin shotgun blasts.
Then he remembered he hadn’t made up his bed from the past night; the pillows and covers must have fooled the boys into thinking their dad was lying in bed.
Boots ran up the hall. “Got the old nut-brain!” Sonny shouted. “The ranch is ourn. Let’s go join the other boys and finish the deed.”
The front door slammed shut.
What deed? Dooley thought.
The thunder of hooves hammered past the house. Dooley moved to the window and watched his bastard sons gallop out of sight.
That damn Cord put them up to this! Dooley’s fevered brain quickly reached that conclusion. He jerked on his boots and ran into the hall, pausing to yank his gun belt from the peg and belt it around his waist. He ran to the kitchen and filled a gunnybag with cans of food, a side of bacon, some hardtack. He took a big canteen and filled that at the kitchen pump. Then he ran to the study and quickly opened his safe, stuffing a money belt full of cash money he’d just received from the army cattle buyer. He belted the money bag around his middle. In his bedroom, he rolled up some clothes in a blanket and slipped out the back of the house, stopping only once, to fill his pockets with .44 rounds and pick up a small coffeepot and skillet.
