All the steam seemed to leave the Bar V men at once. Those still mounted wheeled and raced from the fire-lit ranch. Those on foot ran away into the darkness.
“Cease firing!” Smoke yelled. “Hold your positions!”
The crackling flames from the bunkhouse became the only sounds in the bloody night.
“I’m gonna let it burn itself out!” Walt yelled from the house.
“You ail right, Jackson?” Smoke called.
“I’m okay. How about the boys down below?”
“We’re all right,” one called. “Chuckie got sick, is all.”
Smoke climbed down the ladder. He stopped as his eyes saw the pitchfork-impaled gun hand, the man’s hands still gripping the handle in death.
“I had to do it, Mr. Smoke,” Chuckie said. “I didn’t have no choice.”
“You did fine, Chuckie,” Smoke assured him. “You boys stay down behind those bales of hay.”
Smoke found a sack and then eased his way out of the barn. Staying close to whatever cover he could find, he began working his way to the storage shed. On the way, he passed men who were moaning and twisting in pain. He took their guns from them and dropped them into the sack. Rusty saw what he was doing and stepped out to begin calming and corralling the milling Bar V horses. Jackson stayed where he was, keeping a sharp eye out for any return raiders.
But Jud’s hired guns had apparently had enough for one night. No more hostile fire came.
Susie and Doreen rolled the dead man out of the living room and off the porch. A couple of the boys dragged the man out of the front yard.
“Rusty, at first light, I want you to ride for Montpelier and get that reporter and then find Sheriff Brady. Bring them both here. If Sheriff Brady won’t come, send a wire to the governor’s office and one to the Army up at Fort Hall. But I think Brady will come.”
“Right. What do we do with the bodies?”
“Lay them over by the side of the barn and cover them with whatever you can find. Use their own bedrolls and ground sheets if they were carrying any. We’ll put the wounded in the barn.”
Walt walked up. “I count twenty dead and twelve wounded. Some of them aini gonna make it.”
“I guess you better bring Doctor … what’s his name, Walt?”
“Evans. He’s a good man. He’ll come.” Walt looked up at the sky. “I hope they come quick. It’s gonna be a warm day and these bodies’ll start to bloat in a hurry. Flies will be awful.”
25
Sheriff Brady took one look at the lined-up bodies and paled under his tan. Doctor Evans and his assistant began working on the wounded.
“I’m filing charges against all these men,” Walt told the sheriff. “And I’m filing charges against Jud Vale. They worked for him, they acted under his orders.”
“Can you prove that in a court of law?” Brady challenged. “And I ain’t tryin’ to be a horse’s butt about it, Walt. Just askin’ what the judge will ask.”
“I understand. We can prove it if some of these men will talk.”
“Fat chance of that,” Brady said. “But we’ll give it a try. Wall, I’m going to call in the U.S. Marshals. It’ll take them about two days to get in here by train. I just don’t have the men to handle this by myself.”
“Then why not deputize all the farmers and such around here?” the rancher suggested. “Form a posse. We’ll go in and arrest Jud and his men.”
“First I got to find a judge to sign them papers authorizing such a move. I think it’s best if we let the marshals handle it. And I ain’t tryin’ to back out of my duty, neither.”
“I understand. All right, Sheriff. Well play it your way.”
Brady looked around him at the carnage, the burned-out bunkhouse. “This has got to end. I just ain’t gonna tolerate it no more. I’ll be back with the marshals, Walt. And that’s a promise.” He looked at the doctor. “You need some help with these wounded, Doc?”
“A few of them can sit a saddle. Walt’s lending us a wagon to transport the rest. Help me load them up and we’ll be on our way.”
The wounded bounty hunters and hired guns were loaded into a wagon, and not too gently either. With Sheriff Brady leading the way, the wagon rolled out, those sitting saddles doing so with their hands tied to the saddle horn. Smoke didn’t hold out much hope of any of the hired guns talking.
And as for the U.S. Marshals coming in … Smoke didn’t think they’d be coming in anytime soon, although he believed that Sheriff Brady would certainly try to get them in. The U.S. Marshals’ force was a small one, with a lot to do. They would probably look at the sheriff’s request as just another flare-up between ranchers over water or graze, and promptly forget it.
The reporter had indeed written his story about the kidnapping of Doreen and her rescue, but nothing had come of that report. This was still the raw West, with lawmen few and far between. Communities were still expected to handle their own problems without crying for outside help.
Smoke said as much to Walt and the others.
Jackson was the first to agree. “I’ve seen this happen time and again. In the end, it’s all gonna boil down to
