abusin’ women. He robbed a U.S. gold shipment, hundreds of thousands of dollars and him and his gang come out this aways. Jason’s been with him from the git-go, ’way Mr. Randolph told it. That gold was what set him up in the ranchin’ business.
“Walt went to see the rancher one day, and was shook right down to his boots when Jud Vale—that’s the name he took—started talkin’ about where he was from. Walt started writin’ letters to folks he figured was still alive back to home. He started puttin’ two and two together and soon realized that Jud Vale was his baby brother.
“But he never let on to Jud. Not until about ten years ago, I reckon, maybe more than that. Mr. Randolph never did say; or if he did, I forgot. ’Way Mr. Randolph told it, Jud went into a screaming rage for some reason, and told Wall he would destroy him and take all the gold that Walt had found. Walt tried to tell his brother that there wasn’t no more gold on the Box T, that the strike had been a fluke and had played out. But Jud wasn’t havin’ none of that.”
“I wonder why Editor Argood didn’t tell me all this?” Smoke questioned, his voice soft in the night.
“Well, he probably figured you knew already. Just like I done.”
“And now you know it all,” Walt’s voice came from behind them.
The trio turned around to face the rancher.
“I wish you had told me,” Smoke said.
“Shame. It was shame that prevented me from telling you.”
Smoke swore an ugly streak. “You’re lying, Walt. You’ve lied to me right from the start and I’m telling you now: clear the damned air and level with us!”
Walt came to the corral and hung his arms over the railing. He lit his pipe and sighed. “There isn’t much else to clear. He’s my brother, boys. Our blood is the same. I had him in rifle sights once and couldn’t pull the trigger. I just couldn’t kill him. Even knowing what trash he is— what he had turned into. I just couldn’t do it. That’s why, until recently, at least, I was just letting him run all over me. Then I got mad. I sent out word that I was hiring gunfighters.” He laughed sourly. “But if I paid a hundred a month, Jud would pay two hundred. And so on. I had half a dozen. They left me and went to work for Jud. I hired some straight punchers. Jud and his men drove them off or killed them. I finally reached the point where I just didn’t know what to do. I was confused, alone with the wife and Doreen and Micky. Scared for them and for myself. I’m not a young man. There is more than twenty years’ difference between me and Jud Vale. His real name is Paul Burden. Then, Smoke, you showed up.”
For the first time since arriving at the Box T, Smoke believed the man. “Doreen is no kin to you? No blood kin?”
“No.”
“Walt, I’ve told Cheyenne that I don’t want to kill Jud. He needs killing, I’ll be the first to admit that. He’s a vile, loathsome person, for a fact. But I don’t want to be the one to pull the trigger on him. And I won’t unless he pushes me to it or gets caught up in gunfire while attacking this ranch. The man is insane. He needs to be confined in an asylum. For the rest of his life.'
Walt’s laugh was bitter. “You think I haven’t tried to do that. I personally called on the territorial governor and informed him of Jud—without telling him that Jud was my brother. He sent people in to talk with Jud. Jud charmed them. He has that ability. Just like his son, Clint. And just like Clint, he can go off the beam into a raging, killing darkness at the smallest slight or word. Smoke, I don’t know what else I can do. I have reached my wit’send in this matter.”
Smoke felt an intense sorrow for the man. A grandson that wasn’t his, and a blood brother who was a raging lunatic and invariably would have to be destroyed like a rabid dog was enough to fell all but the strongest of men.
“We’ll work it out, Walt,” Smoke assured him.
After Walt had returned to the house, Cheyenne asked, “Just how do you figure we’re gonna work it out, Smoke?”
“I don’t have any idea,” Smoke admitted.
Susie slept late, it being almost noon when she walked out into the front yard. When the weather was good, the boys took their meals at a long setup table in the yard. When the weather was bad, they had to take shifts eating in the house.
Susie was amazed at the youth of the hands, and equally amazed at the ages of the old men. No one asked her to lend a hand with the cleaning up, she just fell to it as one by one the boys finished their nooning and got up, going back to work.
“Rider comin’,” Cheyenne said, squinting his eyes.
“Who is it?” Rusty asked.
“Blackjack Morgan,” Smoke told them. “You never know about Blackjack. Or Jackson, for that matter. They operate under a strange code.”
Matthew had moved over from the table, to stand by the rose bushes planted in front of the house. The hammer thong was off his Peacemaker.
“You just steady down, boy,” Smoke said. “Blackjack’s not looking for trouble.”
Blackjack reined up at the hitchrail and waited for an invite to dismount.
“Coffee’s hot, Blackjack,” Smoke told him. “You’re welcome to a cup and something to eat if you’re hungry.”
Blackjack swung out of the saddle. “Neighborly of you, Smoke. Coffee sounds good.” His eyes widened and he smiled. “Is them bear sign I spy?”
“Yes. Help yourself, Mr. . . . ah, Blackjack,” Alice said.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” He poured coffee and got a couple of doughnuts. He looked at Smoke. “But I got to say that this ain’t what you’d call a social visit. At least not right off, it ain’t.”
