men facin’ men with guns. That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it’s gonna be … for a while yet.”
“I’ll cling to a small hope that the marshals will come in,” Walt said.
“Cling to a gun with your other hand,” Smoke told him.
Chuckie and other smaller boys went down to the creek, looking (or more small stones for their slingshots. None of them had ever seen a U.S. Marshal and didn’t expect to see one anytime soon.
Jud Vale took his afternoon coffee on the front porch of his mansion. He was feeling much better—physically and mentally. But he had enough sense to know that his mind could flip him back into madness at any moment, without warning.
He sucked at his coffee cup, with some of the hot brew trickling out of his mouth and dribbling onto his shirt front. Jud didn’t pay it any attention. He hadn’t gone on the past night’s raid against his brother; Blackjack and Molino had assured him they could handle it. They handled it, all right. Came straggling back in with half their men either dead or wounded and captured, talking about kids with slingshots—
Jud shook his big head. Slingshots!
He mentally laid aside his burning hate for his brother and forced himself to think rationally.
A frontal attack, a mass attack of the Box T had failed for the second time, so Jud had to discard any further thoughts along that line. He knew that at one time, and not that long ago, a couple of weeks back, maybe a month, he’d had several plans in mind. Now he couldn’t think of a single one, and that scared him. Was he losing his marbles again?
He thought hard; sweat broke out on his forehead. Then it came to him. Burn the damn nesters out. Yeah, that had been one of them. There had been other plans, but the burning out of the nesters was the only one he could think of at the moment. Pretty good plan. Instead of striking at the head of the beast, the head being his brother and Smoke Jensen, start chopping away at the arms and legs.
He called for Jason and told him of the plan. Jason thought that it might work.
“No one will be expecting any trouble this soon after the raid on the ranch. Send some boys out this afternoon. Start with that damn interferin’ Chester and his old woman. He was one of them at the creek, wasn’t he?”
“Sure was.”
“Kill them and burn them out.”
“We won’t even have to send any of the top guns to do this,” Jason pointed out. “I’ll send them three punks that come in on the train with some of Perry’s bunch.”
“Sounds good. Do it.”
The six hired guns were in good spirits as they rode out of the Bar V range, heading for Chester’s farm. This was going to be good fun. And maybe the nester had a good-lookin’ daughter … that would be even more fun. They’d hogtie the farmer and his old woman and make them watch while they had their way with the girl.
The punk kid who called himself Tucson Bob vocalized his plan.
The outlaw known as Cline grinned, exposing a mouthful of rotted teeth. “I like that idea, Tucson. You all right.” Then he sobered. “But what if they ain’t no young girl?”
“Then we’ll hang the nester slow; make it last and watch him kick and choke.”
“I’d druther have me a young girl who don’t want to give it up, but the second idea is a right good one. How far did Jud say this pig farm was?”
“It’s just up ahead. Do we ride through the garden first and tear it up?”
“Might as well. They’ll get ’em so scared they won’t know what to do.”
The six hired guns hit the small farm at a gallop, whooping and hollering and firing into the house, riding right through the neat garden.
Chester’s wife stuck a shotgun out of a window and blew the would-be gunfighter called Randy out of the saddle just as Chester came out of the barn with a Winchester and emptied another saddle, ending the life and career of the outlaw called Fox. The farmer’s wife let loose with the other side of the double-barrel and the punk who should have stayed home and learned his father’s dairy business back in Wisconsin hit the ground, landing hard amid the green beans and cabbage, half of his left arm torn off from the buckshot.
Cline leveled his pistol at Chester just as the farmer pulled the trigger. Cline felt a hard blow to his chest and slipped from the saddle, his world dimming just as neighbors galloped up, all armed.
“Don’t shoot!” Tucson Bob yelled, his eyes wild with fear.
A neighbor knocked him out of the saddle with the butt of his shotgun just as a gun hand tried to jump the fence and get away.
A half-dozen guns barked and the outlaw hit the ground, right into the pigpen. The hogs moved toward him.
Chester walked up, his eyes hard and his face grim. He stood over the scared punk. “Somebody shoo them hogs away from the body ’fore they eat him. And then get a rope,” Chester added.
Tucson Bob started screaming.
“Where’d you hang him?” Walt asked.
Chester and a few of his neighbors had ridden over to the Box T with the news of the attack, after they had returned from the creek.
“Down at the line separating your range from Jud’s. Right at the crick so’s he can be found. We dumped all the bodies there, too.”
