Hell’s Creek could not believe their eyes. They were further astonished—and some a little frightened—when they untied Max and lowered him to the ground.
To a man, none of them had ever seen a person beaten so badly as was Max.
Robert Turner snapped out of his befuddlement of the moment and slipped back into his role as doctor. He ordered Max carried to bed and ran for his bag. Robert had taken one look at his brother’s battered body and knew the big man was hurt—how seriously he would know only after a thorough examination.
“Not seriously,” he finally said with a sigh, leaning back in the chair by his brother’s bed. “No ribs are broken that I can detect, but his face will never be as it was. Smoke Jensen did this deliberately. This is the most callous act I have ever witnessed. Jensen deliberately set out to destroy my brother’s handsome looks.”
Robert looked around at the outlaws. “Well, my mind is made up. I have never believed in violence, but this”— he looked down at the sleeping Max, the sleep brought on by massive doses of laudanum—“has to be avenged.”
Val Singer seized the moment, guessing what this crazy galoot had in mind. “What do you plan to do about it, Robert?” he asked.
“Why ... I plan to step into my brother’s boots and lead the raid against Barlow, that’s what. What do you think about that, Mr. Singer?”
The outlaw leaders had to fight to hide their smiles. Of course, they’d let sonny-boy here lead the raid. Of course, they’d go along with it. For with Max out of the picture, they could ravage the town, rob the bank, and would not have to share a damn thing with Big Max Huggins. And before they left the country, they would kill Robert Turner.
So much for honor among thieves.
“That’s a damn good idea, Robert,” Dave Poe said. “I like it. I really do. When do you think we ought to hit the town?”
“Tomorrow morning, just as the bank opens.”
“I like it,” Alex Bell said.
Smoke had left his horse in timber on the edge of town, and he worked his way up a dry creek bed, coming out behind a privy. He ducked back down as two men walked to the outhouse, chatting as they walked.
“This time tomorrow, Larry,” ond of them said, “Barlow ain’t gonna be nothing but a memory, and well have had our fill of women and be a damn sight richer.”
“Yeah, and we won’t have to share none of it with Big Max. That’s what makes it so rich to me.”
Smoke listened, wondering what was going on. Tomorrow! They were going to hit the town tomorrow?
“Goofy Robert said he’d give Max enough laudanum to keep him out for a day and a half. He’d give it to him just before we pull out.”
“Who’s gonna kill that nut?”
“Hell, who cares? Sometime during the shootin’ one of us will plug him. I’ve got me an itch for some of them women in that town.”
“Me, too.”
The men stepped into the two-holer and closed the door. Smoke made his way back up the wash, swung into the saddle, and headed for Barlow.
He stopped at Brown’s house to rest his horse and to tell the farmer to warn the others about the raid the next day.
“You want us in town, Smoke?” Brown asked.
“No. I want you men to load up full and be prepared to defend yourselves in case they decide to attack you first, although I don’t think they will.”
“Well be ready.” He smiled, his eyes on Smoke’s bruised face. “Who won the fight?”
“Big Max is still unconscious,” Smoke told him with a grin.
“Glad to hear it.”
Smoke mounted up and headed for Barlow. He hit the town at a gallop and yelled for people to gather around him. “It’s tomorrow morning, people,” he shouted, so all could hear. “The men of Hell’s Creek are going to hit the town at nine o’clock, to coincide with the bank opening. Start gathering up guns and ammo, and make certain the pumper is checked out and the fire barrels are full.”
He swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to the boy that helped out at the livery. “Rub him down good and give him all the corn he wants, boy.” Smoke handed the boy a coin and Star was led off for a well- deserved rest.
Smoke stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the sheriffs office, while others gathered up the rest of the townspeople. Smoke stayed in hurried whispered conference with Sal, Judge Garrison, and Tom Johnson for a few minutes, until the whole town was assembled in the street.
Judge Garrison, Sal, and the mayor agreed with his suggestions, and Smoke turned, facing the crowd. “All right, folks,” he said, raising his voice so all could hear. “Here it is. There is a good chance that a rider was sent out to Red Malone’s spread before I slipped into Hell’s Creek and overheard the outlaws’ plans. Red will probably attack us from the south at the same time the raiders hit us from the north. We’ve got to be ready to hit them twice as hard as they hit us. Jim has already left to warn Joe Walsh and his people. I told Jim to tell Joe to stay put and guard his ranch. Red hates him as much as he hates us. So it’s going to be up to us to defend this town and everything you people have worked for. That’s all I have to say, except start getting ready for a war.”
The crowds broke up into small groups, each group leader, already appointed, waiting to see where they were supposed to be when the attack came.
“Tom,” Smoke said, “you and your group take the inside of the bank. Take lots of ammo and water.”
