“I didn’t know what I was going to do until the last minute. But it will be interesting to see what Jud does next.”
“Interesting is one way of putt in’ it, for sure.”
27
“Jud’s sell in’ his herds,” the farmer said, dismounting in front of the ranch house. Walt led him to the porch and offered the man coffee, as Smoke and Jackson and Rusty joined them.
It was just past dawn and three days after Smoke and Clint had assaulted the mansion.
“He’s pulling out?” Walt asked, a hopeful note to the question.
“No,” Smoke said. “I’d say he’s gearing up for a long and expensive war. Putting his hands on as much hard cash as possible.” He glanced at the farmer. “When did you find out about this?”
“Late yesterday evenin’. My neighbor, Jim Morris, had been up to Montpelier. Stopped in for a drink and heard cattle buyers talkin’ about it. Them buyers done sent men in to move the cattle.”
“Knowing we wouldn’t harm any innocent party,” Smoke mused aloud. “Good move on Jud’s part. Then they’ve begun moving the cattle out?”
“Oh, yeah. Job’s might near half done, I reckon.” He cut his eyes to Smoke. “Them bounty hunters—Wills is one of them?”
Smoke nodded. “I know them.”
“I heard some talk, Mr. Jensen; heard it this morin’. Word is they’re pullin’ out on Jud’s orders. Goin’ down to Arizony, lookin’ for your wife and family.”
“It would be something Jud would do,” Walt said. “That would be one way to get you away from here.”
Smoke stepped from the porch, his face tight and his eyes hard. He walked to the bam and saddled Dagger. The road by the trading post would be the one they would be most likely to take. Smoke would be waiting for them. It was time to bring this boil to a head. Crazy or not, when Jud Vale started threatening Smoke’s wife and family, Jud Vale was a dead man.
Doreen had a poke of food waiting for him when he rode up to the ranch house. Smoke stowed it in his saddlebags. There was a gunnysack filled with dynamite tied onto the saddle horn. One side of his saddlebags was stuffed with ammunition and spare pistols. Smoke looked at Rusty and Jackson.
“Jud may be doing this trying to pull us all away from the Box T. Well, it isn’t going to work that way. You boys stay here. This is my show. I’ll be back.”
The farmer grabbed hold of the reins. “No, sir,” he said firmly. “That ain’t the way it is and it ain’t the way it’s gonna be. This is
“Riders comin’ for a fact,” Rusty said. “Horses and wagons. Looks like a regular parade.”
Smoke cut his eyes. It did look like a parade. He picked out Chester and his wife, and a dozen other farmers and family. He smiled as he saw Doc Evans’s buggy. Right behind it was the editor of the Montpelier paper, Mr. Argood. Coming up to intersect the line of horses and wagons and buggies, was Sheriff Brady and his men. Chester whoaed his team and stepped down, helping his wife to the ground.
The farmer had a gun belt around his waist and his wife carried a rifle. He walked to Smoke and looked up at him. “We ain’t no good as gunfighters, Mr. Smoke. But we can damn sure defend this ranch while you boys is gone.”
“I can’t interfere or condone this, Smoke,” Sheriff Brady said. “But I can stay right here and then son out the pieces when it’s over.”
“And I’ll be here to patch up the wounded,” Doc Evans told him.
“I’ll get my guns.” Walt turned toward the house. “Walt!” Alice said.
“Hush, woman,” the old rancher told her. “A man’s got to do what he’s got to do. You just keep the coffee hot. I’ll be back.”
Rusty and Jackson were walking toward the barn to saddle up.
Matt walked his horse toward Smoke. There was a grim look on Smoke’s face as he noticed the way the boy was wearing his guns. He carried his Peacemaker on his right side, and Cheyenne’s old Colt on his left side, butt- forward for a cross draw.
It was like looking into a minor that reflected years back. Like looking at himself as a boy.
“I’ll be comin’ with you,” Matt told him.
“I can’t stop you.”
“That is correct, sir,” Matt said politely.
They waited and watched for a few moments, as the farmers took up positions around the ranch and the women gathered on the porch. Rusty and Jackson rode up, leading Walt’s horse. The rancher stepped out of his house, kissed Alice on the cheek, and swung into the saddle, booting his Winchester. The four men and the boy headed out, Smoke in the lead.
It was to be the start of the bloodiest day in that part of Idaho Tenitory.
They reached the trading post, coming in from the back of the long building, dismounting and tying their horses in the rear of the store. Jackson had pointed out the bounty hunters’ horses in front of the saloon.
“Jackson and me will handle this,” Smoke said. “The rest of you stay here.”
