Smoke chuckled. “I’m counting on it, Jim. I am really counting on it.”
“He did what?” Big Max roared, jumping up from his chair and pounding a fist on his desk.
The outlaw Val Singer repeated what he had heard.
“That’s why the damn supplies didn’t arrive yesterday,” Max said, sitting down and doing his best to calm himself. “Jensen ... that low-life, no-good, lousy ...” He spent the next few moments calling Smoke every filthy name he could think of. And he thought of a lot of them.
Big Max shook himself like a bear with fleas and took several deep breaths. What to do? was the next thought that sprang into his angry mind.
Thing about it was, he didn’t know.
“Burn the damn town down,” Val suggested.
“They’d rebuild it,” Max said glumly.
“Grab some of their kids, then.”
“I have been giving that some thought, for a fact. But we’d have to be very careful doing it, Val. Very subtle.”
Val smiled, a nasty glint in his eyes. “That daughter of Martha Feckles is prime. She could pleasure a lot of us.”
Big Max had thought of Aggie a time or two. For a fact. Something ugly and archaic reared up within him when he thought of Aggie.
He could envision all sorts of perversions, all with Aggie in the lead role ... with him.
“I’ll think about it,” Max said, his voice husky.
Days passed and there was no retaliation from either Big Max or Red Malone. And that worried Smoke. To his mind, it meant that Max and Red were planning something very ugly and very sneaky. He warned everybody in town to keep a careful eye on their kids, to know where they were at all times. He warned the women to never walk alone, to plan shopping trips in groups. He visited everyone who lived just outside of town and warned them to be very, very careful.
He rode out into the county, visiting the small ranchers and farmers, repeating his message of caution at every stop.
“What do you think they’re gonna do, Mr. Jensen?” Brown asked. Smoke had stopped in for coffee.
“I don’t know, Brown. I wish I did so I could head it off. Whatever Max does, and probably Red Malone, too, is going to be dirty. Bet on that.”
“Would the army come in if we was to ask them?”
“No. This is a civilian matter. I can’t tell you who told me this, but I was told that the government is going to turn its back and let us handle it the way we see fit.”
“That seems odd. I mean, why would they?”
“I’ve worn a U.S. Marshal’s badge a time or two, Brown.”
Smoke had worn a marshal’s badge before, but that didn’t mean the government owed him any favors. He hoped Brown wouldn’t push the matter, and the farmer didn’t.
“If we got to go clean out that bunch at Hell’s Creek, or if we got to ride agin’ Malone and his bunch of trash, you can count me and all my neighbors in, Smoke.”
Smoke smiled. “The word I got is that you farmers won’t fight. That you’re scared.”
“You believe that?”
“Not for one second, Brown. I got a hunch you’re all Civil War veterans.”
“We are. Gatewood and Cooter fought on the side of the South, rest of us wore blue. But that’s behind us now. We seldom ever talk about it no more. And when we do, it ain’t with no rancor. Funny thing is, we never knowed each other during the war. We just met up on the trail and become friends. But don’t never think we won’t fight, Smoke. Some hoodlums along the trail thought that. We buried them.”
They chatted for a while longer and then Smoke pulled out, heading back to Barlow. He had him a hunch that Max Huggins had already sounded out Brown and Cooter and the other farmers in that area. Max was no fool, far from it, and he had guessed—and guessed accurately—that tackling that bunch would be foolhardy. Like most men of his ilk, Max preferred the easy way over the hard.
He pulled up in front of his office and swung down, curious about the horses tied to the hitchrail. He did not recognize the brand.
He looped the reins around the rail and stepped up on the boardwalk. The door to his office opened and several men filed out, one of them wearing the badge of sheriff of the county.
“You Jensen?” the man asked, a hard edge to his voice.
“That’s right.”
The man held out his hand. “I’ll take your badge, Jensen. I name my deputies.”
“This badge is legal, partner. Judge Garrison swore me in and he has the power to do it. So that means that you can go right straight to hell.”
The sheriff shook a finger in Smoke’s face. “Now let me tell you something....”
Smoke slapped the finger away and his hand returned a lot harder. He backhanded the crooked sheriff a blow that jarred the man and stepped him to one side.
“Don’t you ever stick your finger in my face again,” Smoke warned him. “The next time you do it, I’ll break it off
