Smoke stampeded the Bar V horses that night. He jerked down the corral bars and tossed a stick of dynamite outside the corral so no horses would be hurt—just scared half to death.
It was a move that no one expected. After the damage he had done all that day, all thought he would head back to the Box T.
Smoke put an end to those thoughts by emptying his six guns into the bunkhouse, then grabbing two more hung on the saddle horn and blasting away at the mansion, sending Jud Vale jumping out of bed, skinning his knee, banging his big toe on the chiffonier and ultimately falling down his own fancy curving stairs. In his long handles.
“You son of a bitch!” Jud hollered, holding his aching head where he’d banged it on his way down the stairs, head over butt. “I’ll get you, Jensen. I swear by my mother’s grave—I’ll kill you for this!”
But Smoke was smiling as he crossed over the series of ridges that would lead him out of Bar V range, leading a Bar V pack horse carrying clothes and guns.
“Don’t you look like the cat who licked the cream,” Cheyenne told him when Smoke rolled out of bed and walked outside to wash and shave.
When Smoke had finished telling him what he’d done, the old mountain man and gunfighter was cackling and slapping his knee.
“By God, I’ll just bet that was some sight to see! I’d have give a month’s wages to seen ’er.”
“Well, it was fun,” Smoke admitted with a smile. “Most of it. But there is no telling what Jud will do in retaliation.”
“And Clint Perkins come up and stole the girl away, huh?”
“Yes.” Walt and Rusty had walked up, to stand listening. “He’s a tough one. Don’t ever sell him short on courage. He’s got his share and more of that.”
Smoke had collected thirty pistols and fifteen rifles and more than five hundred rounds of .44 and .45 caliber ammunition. He distributed the weapons and ammo and gave Alice and Doreen the clothes to wash and alter for the boys. He had tossed the boots in a pile in the barn for the boys to prowl through.
“Argood has gone to Utah,” Walt told him. “Begone for a month or more.”
“Then Jud will throw everything he’s got at us,” Smoke said. “It’ll be open warfare from this point on.” He smiled. “And after what I did to the Bar V, I sure can’t blame them.”
With little else to do, Chuckie, Ed, Eli, Jimmy, Clark, and Buster busied themselves at the creek, picking up and carefully selecting rocks for the weapons they had been working on. The rocks they picked up were just the perfect size, round and smooth, flawless. They would fit well in the pockets of their slingshots. Maybe they couldn’t carry guns around, but they could sure use those slingshots with deadly accuracy.
And the youngsters had just as carefully picked out the spots from which they would launch their small war when Jud Vale’s men attacked the ranch. And it was there they stashed their carefully chosen hoard of rocks and spare slingshots, telling no one else about it.
But Cheyenne, wise and watchful old man that he was, had seen the boys scurrying about and became curious as to what they were up to. When he had satisfied his curiosity, he sat down and chuckled.
“Brave little lads,” he muttered. And he knew just how deadly a slingshot could be in the hands of a boy with a steady eye. They might not kill anybody with those propelled little rocks, but they could spook some horses and cause some fearful bumps and dents in the head and some painful bruises in the flesh of any attacker.
“I do believe it’s gonna get right interestin’ around here,” he quietly said to himself.
Matthew had been practicing daily with his Peacemaker. One hour a day, faithfully, every day, he practiced his draw. And with lots of ammo available, he could also practice his marksmanship.
The boy was a natural. Better than good, he was awesome in his ability with a short gun.
“I hate to see it,” Smoke said to Cheyenne, after watching Matt practice.
“He’d a done it with or without us, Smoke,” the old gunfighter said. “I allow as to how it was best that we was here to hep him along.”
“Maybe you’re right. But the West is slowly changing, Cheyenne. Perhaps not all for the better, but law and order is coming and fast guns will be a thing of the past before we know it.”
“I’ll never live to see it,” the old man said flatly. “And for all the lawyers and judges with their fancy words, and handsewn duds, it’s gonna be years afore all the West is tamed—maybe never. Matthew will be a growed-up man afore he’ll be able to hang up his guns. And who knows, Smoke? Maybe he’ll go on to become a fine lawman. There ain’t a bad bone in the lad.”
“I’m going to encourage him to do just that.”
“I already been doin’ that,” Cheyenne said. “He seems interested in it, for a fact.”
Smoke’s eyes came open out of sleep. Something, or somebody was in the barn. He looked out the open window without moving from his bunk. About three o’clock, he guessed.
He lay still, his right hand around the butt of a Colt. When the sound came again, Smoke eared back the hammer.
A soft chuckle came out of the darkness, just outside the open door to his room. 'I didn’t think I’d be able to get this far without you hearing me,' the voice spoke.
“Perkins?” Smoke returned the whisper.
“Oh, my, yes. I’ve come to lend whatever assistance I can to this little war.”
“I watched you the other day. From the ridges.”
“Careless on my part, not seeing you. You’re very, very good. As good as your reputation makes you out to be,
