Matt was sitting quietly on a bench in front of the store, minding his own business and sipping a bottle of sarsaparilla. Leroy was still inside the store, picking out the supplies from the list Alice and Doreen had given him. Smoke wished that Matt had stayed inside the store. He reflected sourly that people in Hell wished for ice water, for all the good it did them.
“Jud Vale is good decent man,” the cattleman said. “He’s gonna bring changes to this area. Good changes. Progress and all that.”
Smoke smiled grimly. He wondered if these men really believed that or had Jud bought them off with more than just words?
“Yeah,” the other rancher said. “And if that little snip Doreen had any sense, she’d grab ahold of the offer Jud’s handed her. She could live like a queen in that big mansion of hisn.”
“She doesn’t love him.”
“Love!” the other said contemptuously. “Hell’s fire, man! What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Yeah,” his drinking buddy agreed. “Love ain’t got nothin’ to do with livin’ well. All a woman’s got to do is perform her wifely duties when the lantern is turned off and keep her mouth shut ’cept when she’s told to talk. And I’ll tell you something else, gunfighter: you best get shut of them snot-nosed squatters’ brats you hired to work on the Box T.”
His buddy gave him a dark look and the cattleman shut his mouth.
“Is that a threat or a warning?” Smoke asked.
“Tain’t no threat, gunfighter,” the man said, his mind quickly working through the murk the alcohol had caused, as he realized just who he was talking to. “Jist a fact, is all. Jist lak ’at four-eyed little turd rode in with you with a man’s iron strapped on. I’ve a good notion to go out there and take it away from him. But you’d stick up for him, wouldn’t you?”
“No,” Smoke surprised them both by stating. “Not as long as it stayed one on one. But I’d leave that boy alone if I was you.”
The cattleman muttered something that Smoke could not make out. His buddy said, “He ain’t gonna bother that boy, Jensen. That’s just whiskey talk.”
“Why did he say to get rid of the boys?”
“I don’t know,” the man said, then fell silent.
Smoke sipped his beer and ignored the drunk and near drunk cattlemen. He had thought all along that the age of the boys would make no difference to Jud Vale—when the man decided to make his move. In a way, he was glad the boys had taken to carrying guns.
He walked to the door that opened into the store, looking in. Leroy was still buying supplies. The boy caught his eye.
“It’s gonna be a few more minutes, Mr. Smoke. Miss Alice and Miss Doreen really gave me a long list.”
“Take your time, Leroy. I’ll have another beer.”
“Yes, sir.”
Smoke walked back to the bar and ordered a refill. “And pull it from a new barrel,” he told the barkeep. “That last one was flat.”
The barkeep grinned. “Cain’t blame a man for tryin’ to drain the barrel, now, can you?” He pulled a fresh brew. “This one’s on the house, Mr. Jensen.”
Smoke nodded his thanks and leaned against the plank. He had a bad feeling about this day. One he just could not shake. At the sounds of hard-ridden horses he knew his premonition was about to turn into reality.
Four Bar V riders came to a halt in an unnecessary cloud of dust, fogging everybody and everything in a brief dust storm. Smoke silently cursed as he recognized one of the riders as a man called Smith. Smith had a shallow- made reputation as a gunslinger; but Smoke knew there wasn’t much to the man. He was a bully who picked his fights, fists, and guns very carefully.
“Wal, lookie here!” Smith hollered, spotting Matt sitting on the bench, a disgusted look on his young face as he brushed the dust from his clothing. “Would you boys just take a look at that little piss-ant with the big iron strapped on!”
Smoke forced himself to stay put. He had warned Matt. Warned him several times. Smoke would not interfere unless the Bar V riders tried something in a bunch. As long as it was one on one, with both parties armed, it was an unwritten code that the fight was fair. It was not always a fair code, but that was the way it was.
Leroy heard the commotion and went out the back door to the wagon, getting his Winchester and jacking a round in the chamber of the carbine, easing down the hammer. He reentered the store and moved to the open doorway, staying concealed from the Bar V riders.
He had been getting something extra for Miss Alice. Some candles. She was going to surprise Matthew with a birthday cake. Tomorrow was his birthday. His fourteenth.
If he lives through this, Leroy added that to his thoughts.
Then his thoughts turned grim as he gripped the Winchester. Matthew would live through it. One way or the other. It was time for everybody in this section of the state to stand up to Mr. Jud Vale. And if it had to begin right here and now? ... Well, let it come.
The Winchester he carried was a hand-me-down from somebody. His dad never said where he’d got it. It was a .44-40 that some owner had sawed the barrel off to make into a saddle gun. It was several inches shorter than the short .44 carbine. It kicked something fierce, but when that bullet hit, it packed a wallop, especially at short range.
Leroy had never shot a man before—and didn’t especially want to now, but if his friend Matt got into it with that trash from the Bar V ... well, there was a first time for everything. He wished he could have had his first time with a girl before having to kill a man. But if wishes were horses then nobody would have to walk, would they? He inched closer to the door and settled down, waiting.
