came onto the porch. “You ladies start cooking. The men are going to need food and lots of it. We might be pinned down here for days.”
Cord said, “I’ll have some boys gather up all the guns and ammo from the dead. Pass them around.” He stepped off the porch and trotted into the night.
“Larry!” Smoke called, and the hand turned. “Get the horses out of the corral and into the barn. Find as much scrap lumber as you can and fortify their stalls against stray lead.
The cowboy nodded and ran toward the corral, hollering for Dan to join him.
Smoke and Parnell carried the bodies of Holman and Willie away from the house, placing them under a tree; the shade would help as the sun came up. The men covered them with blankets and secured the edges with rocks.
Snipers from out in the darkness began sending random rounds into the house and the outbuildings, forcing everyone to seek shelter and stay low.
“This is going to be very unpleasant,” Parnell said, lying on the ground until the sniping let up and he could get back to the house.
“Wait until the sun comes up and the temperature starts rising,” Smoke told him. “Our only hope is that cloud buildup.” He looked upward. “If it starts raining, I plan on heading into the timber and doing some head-hunting. The rain will cover any sound.”
“Do you think prayer would help?” Parnell said, only half joking.
“It sure wouldn’t hurt.”
There were seven dead outlaws, and all knew at least that many more had been wounded; some of them were hard-hit and would not live.
But among their own, Corgill and Pat had been wounded. Their wounds were painful, but not serious. They could still use a gun, but with difficulty.
Smoke and Cord got together just after first light and talked it out, tallying it up. They were badly outnumbered, facing perhaps a hundred or more experienced gunhandlers, and the defenders’ position was not the best.
They had plenty of food and water and ammunition, but all knew if the outlaws decided to lie back and snipe, eventually the bullets would seek them out one by one. The house was the safest place, the lower floor being built mostly of stone. The bunkhouse was also built of stone. The wounded had been moved from the upstairs to the lower floor. Beans, with his leg in a cast, could cover one window. Charlie Starr, the old warhoss, had scoffed off his wound and dressed, his right arm in a sling, but with both guns strapped around his lean waist.
“I’ve hurt myself worser than this by fallin’ out of bed,” he groused.
Parnell had gathered up a half dozen shotguns and loaded them up full, placing them near his position. The women had loaded up rifles and belted pistols around their waists.
Silver Jim almost had an apoplectic seizure when he ran from the bunkhouse to the main house and put his eyes on the women, all of them dressed in men’s britches, stompin’ around in boots, six-guns strapped around their waists. He opened his mouth and closed it a half dozen times before he could manage to speak. Shielding his eyes from the sight of women all dressed up like men, with their charms all poked out ever’ whichaway, he turned his beet-red face to Cord and found his voice.
“Cain’t you do something about that! It’s plumb indecent!”
“I tried. My wife told me that if we had to make a run for it, it would be easier sittin’ a saddle dressed like this.”
“Astride!” Silver Jim was mortified.
“I reckon,” Cord said glumly.
“Lord have mercy! Things keep on goin’ like this, wimmin’ll be gettin’ the vote for it’s over.”
“Probably,” Parnell said, one good eye on Rita. There was something to be said about jeans, but he kept that thought to himself.
“Wimmin a-voting’?” Silver Jim breathed.
“Certainly. Why shouldn’t they? They’ve been voting down in Wyoming for years.”
The old gunfighter walked away, muttering. He met Charlie in the hall. “What’s the matter, that bed get too much for you?”
“’Bout to worry me to death. Layin’ in there under the covers with nothing on but a nightgown and wimmin comin’ and goin’ without no warning. More than a body can stand.”
“Where are you fixin on shootin’ from?”
“I best stay here with these folks. Come the night they’ll be creepin’ in on us.”
“Gonna rain in about an hour. My bones is talkin’ to me.” “Then Smoke is gonna be goin’ headhuntin”. Preacher taught him well. He’ll take out a bunch.”
“You reckon some of us ought to go with him?”
“Nope. You know Smoke, he likes to lone-wolf it.”
“He’s been diggin’ in his war bag and he’s all dressed up in buckskin, right down to his moccasins. He was sittin’ on a bunk, sharpenin’ his knife when I left.”
Charlie’s grin was hard. “Them gunhandlers is gonna pay in blood this afternoon. Bet on that, old hoss.”
“Who’s gonna pay in blood?” Cord asked, walking up to the men.
“Them mavericks out yonder. Smoke’s fixin’ to go lookin’ for scalps come the rain. ”
“Sounds dangerous to me,” the rancher shook his head.
