“Somehow I doubt it. I really do.”
“The saloons are runnin’ out of whiskey,” Max was informed. “And the boys is gettin’ right testy.”
Max took a long pull on his stogie. “Yeah, and I had me five boxes of cigars on that shipment Jensen seized, too. So what else is new? I can’t find any freight haulers to handle our orders. The only option we have is some outfit out of Canada, and by the time all the red tape is over with, it’ll be six months before we get any supplies.”
Alex Bell shifted in the chair. “Max, the boys ain’t gonna stand still for this very much longer. They all got cash money to spend and nothin’ to buy. The women is raisin’ holy hell ’cause the boys is unhappy. Somethin’ has got to pop, and damn soon.”
Max Huggins’s little empire was crumbling at the edges and he didn’t know what to do about it. For the umpteenth time since Jensen entered the picture, the thought that he should pull out entered his brain. And for the same number of times, the thought galled him; but with each revival of the thought, the intensity of the sourness was somewhat lessened as common sense fought to prevail.
“I’ll talk to the boys,” he finally said to Alex. “Damnit!” he cursed, pounding a fist on the desk and scattering papers. “He’s just one man. Just one man! He’s not a god, not invincible. There has to be a way.”
“There is,” Alex said. “Me and Val and the others been talkin’.”
Max waited, staring hard at the outlaw gang leader.
“Wipe the town out. Kill every man, woman, and child. It can be done, and you know it.”
“Damnit, Alex,” Max said, struggling to maintain his patience with the gang leader. “This is 1883, man. The country is connected by telegraph wires and railroads. Ten years ago, I would have said yes to your proposal. But not now. I think the press would pick it up, and the public would be up in arms and all over us. We’d have federal marshals and troops in here before you could blink.”
“Fires happen all the time, Max,” Alex pointed out. “We pick a night with a good strong wind and that town would go up like a tinderbox. You think about that.”
“The people would still remain, Alex.”
“Maybe not. Maybe not enough of them to do any good. Lots of folks die in town fires. And charred skin don’t show no bullet holes. By the time the newspapers got ’hold of it, them folks would be rottin’ in the ground and nobody could do nothin’ about it.”
Max jabbed out his cigar in an ashtray. With a slow expelling of breath, he said, “We may have to do that, Alex. It’s a good plan, I’m thinking, but very risky.” He stared hard at the outlaw. “Have you ever killed a child, Alex?”
“Yeah. I gut-shot a kid durin’a bank stickup; sqalled like a hog at butcherin’ time. I shot him in the head to shut him up. I shot half a dozen or more ridin’ with Bloody Bill Anderson. All the boys has. It ain’t no big deal.”
Max nodded his head in agreement. He had killed several children—accidentally and deliberately—during his bloody life. And as Alex had stated: It was no big deal. He had no nightmares about it. They got in the way, they were disposed of. It was all a matter of one’s personal survival.
The plan that Alex was proposing would have to be very carefully worked out. There could be no room for error or miscalculation. And the men involved would have to be chosen carefully, for if word ever leaked out, nationwide condemnation would be certain to follow—quickly. It was a good plan, but very chancy. Very chancy.
“What do you think, Max?”
“It would take a lot of planning, Alex. And the men would have to be chosen carefully. The ones who don’t ride on the raid must never know what took place. Now, then, is that possible?”
The outlaw and murderer thought about that. Slowly, he shook his head affirmatively. “Yeah. Forty men could pull it off. Any more than that would be too many. Most of the men here would keep their mouths shut about it. Out of whole bunch, maybe ten might blab later on.”
“Dispose of them now, Alex,” Max gave the killing orders. “Once that is done, we start planning on destroying the town.”
Alex rose with a grin on his face. “My pleasure, boss.”
11
Something nagged at Smoke as he walked through the town. He walked up and down the streets, on the boardwalks wherever they were, on the dusty paths where they had not yet been built.
Something was wrong, and Smoke could not pull it out of his brain. Then it came to him. The town lacked adequate water barrels for bucket brigades in case of fire.
Swiftly, he walked back to his office and sent Jim out to round up Tom Johnson, Judge Garrison, and several others in the town.
“What’s the drill in case of fire?” he asked bluntly, as was his way.
“Why ...” Tom looked puzzled. “There isn’t any.”
“There will be by dark. Judge, alert the people. I want water barrels by every store and every house; buckets placed nearby. And I want those barrels to stay full at all times. We have an old pumper down at the livery stable. See that it’s checked out and the hoses inspected for leaks. Benson,” he looked at the blacksmith, “you’re in charge of the fire brigade.”
The blacksmith nodded his head. “You’re thinkin’ Max might try burning us out?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. I’ll start rounding up volunteers to clear out the brush and other cover that surrounds the town. I’ll ride out to Joe’s place and see if he’ll lend us some hands to help. Check out and destroy any place where sharpshooters could hide and pick us off. Get on it now, Sal.”
The man quietly left the room.
“Max would do it, too,” Judge Garrison said. “He told me when he first confronted me that if I didn’t do exactly as he said, he’d pick out a child and kill her in front of me. I didn’t like what I was doing, but I figured it was the only way to save some children’s lives.”
