lever and one of the pads. Yonder’s the saloon. I’ll give a hoot and a holler when I’m ready to go.”
The team was led away, team and coach heading for the barn.
Henri and Paul headed for the saloon. One of the Circle W hands, Wesson, had agreed to his part in the action. He walked toward the men and slammed a shoulder into the big German.
“Watch were you’re goin’, stupid!” Wesson said.
“Get out of my way, you ignorant lout!” the German replied.
“What the hell did you call me?” the hand faced him.
“Back off, Paul,” Henri said softly.
“What’s the matter?” Wesson said with a sneer. “Your buddy have to do your fightin’ for you?”
Paul drew back a fist and Wesson popped him on the nose. Henri gave Wesson a blow to the jaw just as the saloon cleared, all of Joe’s hands pouring out. The Circle W crew then proceeded to kick the snot out of the pair of assassins, leaving them unconscious on the street.
“Clear out,” Smoke told them. “I’ll see you all come Saturday night. Thanks, boys.”
“Our pleasure, Smoke,” Curly grinned around the words. He looked down at the unconscious and badly battered men. “Them ol’ boys won’t be doin’ much of anything for a week or two. Maybe longer.”
The Circle We crew rode out of town.
“Now what?” Jim asked.
Smoke grinned and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a bottle of opium-based elixir. “I bought a full case of this from a drummer last week. By the time these two wake up, they’re going to be on a train, heading back east. Come on, help me drag them off the street.”
They dragged the unconscious men into an alley and stripped them of their duded-up clothes, dressing them in filthy, ragged shirts and jeans. Henri moaned and tried to sit up. Smoke popped him on the noggin with a cosh he’d taken to carrying and the Frenchman laid back down.
With the two men now dressed like bums, Smoke poured a half bottle of knock-out medicine down each of their throats and placed then in the back of a freight wagon.
“Keep them unconscious,” Smoke told the grinning freighters who had been more than willing to participate in the game. Anything to get rid of Max Huggins and his gang of outlaws. “When you get down to Helena, pour a bottle of the elixer down them and toss them in an empty eastbound railcar. They’ll be somewhere in Nebraska when they wake up.”
“Will do, Smoke,” the freighter told him. “Don’t worry about a thing. Man, this is more fun than I thought it’d be. We was lookin’ forward to seeing a shoot-out; but, hell, this is better.” Laughing, the freighters pulled out, joining other empty freight wagons on the pull back south.
“Now what do you have in the back of that devious mind of yourn?” Sal asked, unable to wipe the grin off his face.
“Let’s go inspect their luggage. I want to see these fancy guns that were going to be used to kill me.”
Sal whistled when Smoke opened the gun cases. Both men had seen rifles of this type before, but neither had seen one so duded-up. They were Winchester high-wall, falling block rifles. Single shot.
Smoke hefted one. The rifle had been reworked and the balance was perfect. The telescope was about two feet long, and the shells looked like either the German or the Frenchman or both had carefully and painstakingly loaded their own.
“That bullet would travel about three miles before it knocked you down,” Sal said, inspecting one cartridge.
“You know,” Smoke said, “most guns are tools. A man uses one snake-killing, or varmint-killing, or to protect himself or his loved ones. I’ve driven tacks and nails in horseshoes with the butt of my pistols. But these rifles are meant for only one thing.”
“Yeah,” Sal agreed, closing the lid to the gun case. “Man-killin’.”
13
The people started coming into town for the dance and box supper during the middle of the day on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.
Most would spend the night camped under their wagons, or in the wagon bed under canvas if it was raining. A few took rooms at the Grand Hotel.
Just before dusk, Smoke had taken his bath and dressed in a black suit, white shirt with string tie, and slipped into his just-polished boots. He strapped on his guns and looked in on Sally. She had dressed in a simple gingham outfit; but with Sally, she could make a flour sack look good.
She gave her hair a final pat and turned to Smoke. “Are you expecting trouble tonight, honey?”
“Yes, I am. When Joe Walsh’s crew meet up with Red Malone’s Lightning crew, anything is apt to happen.”
“All the crews coming in?”
“As far as I know. Joe really stripped his herds this spring, keeping mostly young stuff. So night-herding is not that essential.”
“Shooting trouble?”
“No. We’ve taken care of that. All guns will be checked upon entering the dance area. If any object to that, they can carry their butts back home. If any trouble starts, it will be fists.”
“But you and Sal and Jim will be armed?”
Smoke smiled. “Oh, yes, honey.”
