hired them anyway.
And then the gunfighter Barry Almond and his four brothers came riding up to the mansion. They were dressed in long dusters and were unshaven, with cruel eyes their hat brims could not conceal.
Jud sat on the porch staring at the men while Barry sat his saddle and met the man’s eyes.
“I’m Barry Almond,” the gun slick finally broke the silence.
“I know who you are.”
“That ten thousand dollars still on Smoke Jensen’s head?”
“It’s still there.”
“Me and my brothers come to claim it.” “I’ve heard that from fifty other men over the weeks,” Jud snorted.
“This is the first time you’ve heard it from me, though.”
Jud nodded his head in agreement with that. “All right, you’re all on the payroll.”
“I ain’t punchin’ no gawddamn cows,” Barry bluntly told him.
The rancher laughed, but the short bark was void of humor. “Nobody else is either,” Jud replied, the bitterness thick on his tongue. Ranch was going to hell in a bucket. “So what else is new?”
“We'll just drift around some.”
“You do that.” Jud poured another cup of coffee and watched the gunfighter brothers head for the long new bunkhouse which Jud had been forced to build because of the overflow of hired guns and because Jensen had destroyed one end of the other bunkhouse.
Jud silently cursed Smoke Jensen. It made him feel better. But not much.
On the day that Smoke accompanied the supply wagon to the trading post, Blackjack Morgan, Lassiter, and four bounty hunters headed for the post for a drink of whiskey. The men were in a bad mood and ready for a killing. Especially if it was Smoke Jensen or some of those snot-nosed brats on the Box T payroll. . . .
Clint Perkins lay on his ground sheet in his hidden camp and tried with all his might to fight the madness that once more began to slowly muddle his brain. He lost the battle. Clint stood up, pulled on his boots and buckled his gun belt around his waist. With a strange smile on his lips and an odd look in his eyes, he saddled up and went looking for trouble. . . .
Matthew and Cheyenne were moving some strays toward the huge box canyon that was the home for what was left of Walt’s herds. The old gunfighter and the young boy had become good friends in a short time. . ..
Doreen slipped out the back door of the ranch house to go walking toward a meadow about a mile back of the house. She had seen some lovely wildflowers there and felt that a bunch of them would look very nice on the kitchen table. She didn’t think Jud would be foolish enough to try anything in the daylight. . . .
Jud Vale and Jason and Jud’s bodyguards chose that time to make a daylight foray into Box T country. They were heavily armed and one of Jud’s men had a gunnysack filled with dynamite and caps and fuses. If they could get close enough to Walt’s place, they intended to return in kind what Smoke had given them. Twice. And if some of those snot-nosed nester brats got killed .. . ? Big deal. It would serve them right and send a message to the rest of the nesters in what Jud considered to be his territory. . . .
Don Draper and Davy Street and half a dozen other Bar V hired guns had left the bunkhouse to see if they could cause some trouble for the nester brats working the Box T herd. They headed straight for the area where Matthew and Cheyenne were working. . . .
Rusty was about a mile from the box canyon, working alone. . . .
It was ten o’clock in the morning when all the ingredients that were needed to bring to a full boil what would turn out to be the bloodiest range war in all of Idaho Territory’s history were dropped into the cauldron.
Smoke stepped down from the saddle in front of the trading post/barroom, and slipped the leather thongs from the hammers of his guns. Walt went into the store to give the shopkeeper his order for supplies.
Doreen sat amid a wild profusion of flowers and began carefully picking out the most lovely and putting them into her basket.
Susie stepped out of the ranch house at Alice’s request to go looking for Doreen. She waved Alan over and asked him if he’d seen her. The boy pointed to the meadow rising in wild and beautiful colors above the ranch, a good mile and a half away, he figured.
“She hadn’t oughta get that far from the ranch alone,” he added. “You want me to go fetch her, Miss Susie?”
“We’ll both go, Alan.” She looked at the gun belted around the boy’s waist. “You really know how to use that thing?”
“Yes, ma’am. I sure do.”
Susie hesitated for a moment. “Get a rifle, Alan. Just in case.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
Susie looked toward the meadow. She suddenly had a very bad feeling about this lovely day.
“Riders comin’,” Cheyenne said, twisting in the saddle.
Matt turned and spotted the riders. He slipped the leather from the hammer of his six gun.
The movement did not escape the eyes of Cheyenne. “You just stay out of this, boy.”
Rusty had seen Cheyenne and the boy working the strays. Then he saw a bunch of strays moving toward a coulee and went after them. Cheyenne and Matt were quickly lost from his sight as he followed the strays down into the deep coolness of the ravine.
