Smoke had spent the time in the hidden camp not only resting and treating his hands and the cuts on his face, but also capping and fusing the dynamite, tying them into three-stick bombs. Star was rested and restless and eager to hit the trail.
At dawn of the third day after the fight on the flats, Smoke swung into the saddle and pointed Star’s head toward Hell’s Creek. He had it in his mind to destroy that town and as many people in it as possible.
The startled gun hands who watched as Big Max’s horse walked slowly up the muddy and rutted main street of 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 we’ll 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.”
“We’ll 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.”
“Will do, Smoke,” the mayor said, and moved out to get ready.
“One group inside Marbly’s store. Toby, you and your people will defend the hotel. Benson’s group will take the livery. Ralph, you and your bunch will fight from the saloon. The rest of them know where to be and what to do. Let’s start getting ready.”
Sal looked at Smoke’s battered face and commented, “Need I have to ask who won the fight?”
“Big Max didn’t,” Smoke said, then walked toward the hotel for a hot bath, a change into fresh clothes, and to rest beside Sally.
“I’d give a pretty penny to have seen that scrap,” Sal said.
“Yeah,” Pete Akins agreed. “He must have hurt him bad for Max not to be leadin’ the raid come the morning.”
“How many men are we facing tomorrow?” the owner of the cafe asked.
“Nearabouts a hundred from Hell’s Creek,” Pete told him. “Maybe more than that. And all of Red Malone’s bunch. We’ll have them outnumbered, but bear this in mind: Them we’ll be facin’ is killers. Ninety-nine percent of the townspeople ain’t.” He looked hard at the cafe owner and at the other group leaders. “You pass the word, boys: Don’t give no mercy, ’cause you shore as hell ain’t gonna be gettin’ none from them that attack us.”
Smoke took a long hot soak in their private bath in the suite, then napped for an hour. He dressed and began cleaning his guns, loading rifle, shotgun, and pistols up full. He took his spare pistols out of wraps and cleaned and oiled them, loading them up. They were old Remington Frontier .44’s, and Smoke had had them for a long time. He liked the feel of them, and was comfortable and confident with them in his hands.
“Early in the morning,” Smoke told his wife, “you go get Victoria and Martha and the kids. Bring them back up to this suite. We’ll be up long before then—the cafe and hotel dining room is going to open about four o’clock to feed those that don’t eat at home—and we’ll rearrange the furniture in this suite to stop any bullet. I’ll have a boy start brin
ging up water to fight any fires that might start. Their plan is to destroy the town, so they’ll be throwing torches.”
Sally sat at the table with her husband, oiling and cleaning her own guns. “Vicky doesn’t know anything about pistols,” she said. “But Martha does. We’ll have rifles and shotguns ready. How about Robert, Smoke?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to kill him, honey. I can’t justify killing a crazy person unless there is just no other way out.”
“I’ve been reading that there is some new treatment for the mad. But insane asylums are just awful.”
“I know. I mean, I’ve heard they are. Chain them down like wild animals until they die.” He rose from the table and buckled his gunbelt around his lean waist, tying it down. “I’m going to roam the town.”
Everybody was pitching in to secure the town. The new bankers just arrived from the East were nervous about the upcoming fight but doing their share in carrying water, moving barricades in place, and anything else they were asked to do. And Smoke could also read excitement in their faces.
Sal caught up with him. “Where are you going to be come the mornin’, Smoke?”
“I’ll be lone-wolfing it, Sal. Moving around. Did you see to it that everybody had a red bandana?”
“Everybody that will be behind a friendly gun will have one tied around their right arm. They was a darn good idea of yours. That’s gonna help keep us from shootin’ our own people.”
“The dust and smoke are going to be bad when it starts. So I would suggest we water down the main street just before the bank opens. What do you think?”
“Another good idea. I’m gonna miss you and Sally when y’all pull out.”
“You’ll handle it, Sal. And, Sal? . . .”
The sheriff turned to face him.
“Martha and Vicky and the kids will be with Sally in our suite come the morning. So you won’t have to worry about Victoria.”
Sal blushed and headed across the street. Smoke smiled and continued his walking tour.
The saloon had been turned into a fort, as had the livery stable and barn. Marbly’s store was barricaded, and anything that might be broken had been taken from the shelves and stored in wooden boxes. Smoke nodded his approval and walked back to the hotel. The waiting was going to be hard.
“Way I see it,” John Steele said to Red Malone, “we just ain’t got much of a choice.”
“We have no choice,” the rancher said. “We both have warrants on us in other states. The town has to be destroyed, and everybody in it dead and buried in deep graves. We’ll toss the bodies into the fires and burn them before we bury them. The authorities, if any show up, won’t be able to prove a damn thing.”
“Some of our men rode out today, right after the rider from Hell’s Creek left. Said they wasn’t havin’ no part of killin’ women and kids.”
Red snorted his disgust. “We don’t need them. We’re better off without them.”
What neither of them knew was that the hands who had left in disgust over making war against women and kids were riding toward Barlow, to join the defenders of the little town.
“After Barlow is burned out,” Red said, “the outlaws will scatter to the wind. We’ll ride and burn down Hell’s Creek. We’ll blame everything on Max’s bunch. Hell, we can even say that we sided with the townspeople in trying to fight them outlaws off. We’ll take some of our own men dead, for sure. We can point their graves out to the invesigators as proof.”
“That still leaves Joe Walsh and his crew,” the foreman pointed out.
“We’ll deal with them. We’ve got them outnumbered three to one. Soon as Barlow is done and over, we’ll ride for the Circle W and clean out Walsh and his crew.”
John smiled a death’s-head grin. “Then we can wipe out all them damn hog-farmers and other nesters, and the valley will once again be ourn.”
“Yeah.” Red rubbed the stubble of beard on his jowls. “And some of them nester girls ain’t that bad looking. We can have some fun with them.” He laughed. “Be just like old times.... Hey, John, remember them days?”
John Steele joined in the laughter. The men were in high spirits as they walked out of the house to sit on the porch.
“Just let me get Jensen in gunsights,” Red said. “All I need is one shot. Front or back, it don’t make no difference to me.”
The town of Barlow rolled up the boardwalks early that evening. Far earlier than usual. Everyone wanted to get a good night’s sleep before the storm struck the next morning.
Red’s Lightning hands who had rebelled against fighting women and kids had ridden in, holding up a white handkerchief—well, it was almost white—and Smoke, along with Judge Garrison and Mayor Johnson, met them in the street.
“We done quit Red,” the spokesman for the group said. “We ain’t havin’ no part in killin’ women and little kids. If you want our help, we’re here.”
“How do we know you weren’t sent in here by Red to start shooting us in the backs come the attack in the morning?” Tom asked.
“That’s a good question,” the hired gun said. “And I don’t know how to answer it.”
“I do,” Sal said, stepping off the boardwalk and into the street. “Howdy, Cobb.”
“Howdy, Sal. We all right proud of you, you bein’ elected sheriff and all. Me and Benny and Hale and Stacy here, we got to talkin’ about that this mornin’. After that no-good from Hell’s Crick come talkin’ to Red this mornin’ about killin’ the women and kids and burnin’ this town down. We couldn’t do that, Sal. You’ve ridden some trails with us; you know we’re not that kind of men. Oh, we’ve hired our guns out—just like you’ve done, for fightin’ wages. But there ain’t none of us ever made war agin’ nobody ’ceptin’ grown-up men. And we ain’t about to start now. Smoke, I guess that’s the only answer we can give you.”
Smoke smiled and nodded his head. “It sounds good to me, boys.”
“Me, too,” Judge Garrison said. He wore two guns belted around his expansive waist. Two old Remington .44’s—the Army model. Both guns looked to Smoke as if they’d seen some action. “There’ll be stars in your crown for this, boys.”
Stacy shifted in his saddle. “I don’t know about that, Judge. I just don’t want no more black marks agin’ me in the Judgment Book. The Good Lord knows I got aplenty of them already.”
“You boys stable your horses and meet me in the hotel dinin’ room,” Sal said. “Glad to have you with us.”
“Right will prevail, Smoke,” Judge Garrison proclaimed. “Sometimes it just takes an outsider to prod those oppressed into action.”
Smoke looked at the .44’s belted around the judge’s waist. “When is the last time you fired those, Judge?”
The judge smiled. “I came out of the War Between the States a colonel, Smoke. Of cavalry. I had my law degree when I enlisted. I fought through nearly every major campaign.” He smiled. “With Lee. I graduated VMI, sir.”
“Then I won’t worry about you, sir.”
“Coming from you, that is high praise. Tell me, since I haven’t had a chance to ask, how did you leave Max Huggins?”
“Unconscious and tied across his saddle.”
The judge walked away, shaking with laughter. His booming laughter could be heard up and down the main street of Barlow.
25
Smoke was up and dressed for war long before dawn. He wore his customary two pistols in leather, his two spares were tucked behind his gunbelt, and he carried an American Arms 12 gauge sawed-off shotgun, a bandoleer of shells slung across his chest, bandit-style.
He and Sally had breakfast before the sun was up, and then he walked Lisa and Victoria back to the hotel, Lisa carrying her puppy, Patches, in her arms. Pete escorted Martha Feckles and the boy to the suite, and the women made ready for war.
The men tied red bandanas around the upper part of their right arms. Since there were no females among the raiders who were riding to attack them, the women dressed in their customary
attire. More than a few of them, including Mrs. Marbly, Victoria, Sally, and Martha, wore men’s britches.
Sal’s eyes bugged out when he saw Victoria. “Lord have mercy!” he said. “What’s next?”
“The vote,” Smoke told him.
“You have to be kidding! Votin’ is men’s business. Women don’t know nothin’ about pickin’ politicians.”
“You’d be surprised,” Smoke said.
Smoke walked the town, inspecting each water barrel—and there were many. He checked to see if the buckets were ready in case of fire. They were. He checked each store that was to house fighters. They were ready and willing, even if many of them were scared. Mrs. Marbly, a very formidable-sized lady, had found herself a pair of men’s overalls, and when she bent over, she looked like the rear end of a stagecoach. But she handled the double-barreled shotgun like she knew what she was doing. Smoke concluded that he wouldn’t want to mess with her.
Pete was still in shock after seeing Mrs. Marbly in men’s overalls, bent over.
“Close your mouth, Pete,” Smoke told him. “Before you suck in a fly.”
Jim was stationed two miles out of town, on a ridge, a fast horse tied nearby. As soon as he spotted the dust of the raiders, he was to come hightailing it back into town and give the warning.
Smoke walked to the north end of the town and leaned up against a hitchrail. He rolled him a cigarette and lit up, waiting for the action to start.
He looked back up the wide street. It was void of any kind of life. The horses were stabled safely and the children’s pets were in the house, out of harm’s way.
Smoke watched as a water wagon rolled down the street, then back up, watering the wide street to keep down the dust. He clicked open his watch: eight-thirty. He walked on down the street, coming to a nearly collapsed old building; a relic of a business of some sort that had failed. This was the last building on either side of the street. Smoke stepped up on the porch and pushed open the door. Rusty hinges howled in protest. He stepped inside and looked in both rooms of the structure. He tried the back door, working it several times to make certain he could exit that way. There was not a windowpane intact in any frame, so he did not have to worry about being cut by flying glass. He sat down on the dusty floor and waited.
War of the Mountain Man Page 22
