Gunsmoke and Gold

by William W. Johnstone

  “All right,” Carl said. “One thing’s for certain: Dale got away; bet on that. Pa back yonder proves that. Dale’s in town. So we gotta hit there.”

  “How about the bank?” the Texas gun-for-hire Del Monroe said, a grin on his ugly face.

  “Damn good idea,” Carl said. “Let’s ride.”

  “Yeah,” Reno said. “I want to get lead in that damned old Charlie Starr.”

  “l want Jack Linwood,” Del said. “I got a personal matter to settle with him.”

  “Louis Longmont’s in town,” Carl said. “We could seize him and hold him for ransom.”

  “All right!” Rusty stood up. “Let’s ride.” The men ran for their horses, dreams of big money in their eyes.

  “They’re pullin’ out!” Shorty called from the loft.

  “All of ’em.”

  “Stay here, Pete,” Matt said. “Just in case it’s a trick. But I got a hunch they’re heading for town. Come on, brother, let’s ride.”

  “You boys be careful,” Becky said. “And come back. Millie and I will start baking some doughnuts just as soon as we get this mess cleaned up.”

  Matt and Sam grinned. “Count on it!” they both said, then ran for the barn and their horses.

  “Here they come!” Jimmy yelled from the rooftop of the bank. “Holy cow!” he shouted. “We got two big gangs comin’. They’re gonna hit us from both ends of town.”

  “Let ’em come,” Jack shouted. “They’re after the bank.”

  “Matt and Sam comin’ hard after ’em!” Jimmy yelled, looking through binoculars.

  “Fire, boys!” Reed shouted, and he and his sons fired their long-barreled Springfields. Five saddles were emptied of Lightning riders.

  The Lightning crew immediately laid on their horses’ necks to offer less of a target and fanned out. Those men of the town who were stationed on the rooftops opened fire at the Raley gang and emptied several saddles.

  Then the gangs were in the streets of the town and it was swirling dust, the eye-sting of gunsmoke, the screaming of frightened and rearing horses, and the boom of weapons.

  Matt and Sam left their horses at the edge of the business district and hit the ground running, on opposite sides of the street, their hands filled with .44’s. Matt came face to face with a Lightning hand and let the hammers fall on both .44’s. The hand fell back under the impact of the hot lead and tried to lift his guns. Matt shot him again. The cowboy turned outlaw slumped to his knees on the boardwalk and toppled over.

  Sam shot one of Red’s men off his horse and ducked as a bullet lifted his hat off his head and sent it spinning into the street. Sam swore; he’d just bought that hat the past month. Sam stepped back into the mouth of an alley and began picking his targets, his guns roaring.

  Dixon was thrown from his horse and went scrambling behind the Cattle Club. He burst into Juan’s café, wild-eyed and both hands full of .45’s. The café was empty. Dixon shoved tables and chairs out of his way, walking toward the cantina. Anita stepped out of the gloom, a smile on her face.

  “What are you grinnin’ about, greaser?” Dixon snarled at the woman.

  “You are one of the men who violated my daughter.” She spoke liltingly-accented English.

  “Yeah? So what? Hey, you ain’t a bad-lookin’ old broad yourself. I think I’ll just have me a taste of you so’s I can compare.” He laughed.

  He stopped laughing when Anita lifted a sawed off double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun and blew his legs out from under him. His guns went flying across the room. Dixon lay on the floor and screamed at the pain of his mangled legs. One of them lay several feet from him.

  “I’ll come back after a while to see if you need anything else, señor,” Anita told him. She broke open the shotgun and shoved fresh loads into the chambers. She left Dixon screaming on the floor.

  Louis Longmont stood in the door of the sheriff’s office and emptied a saddle with each pull of the trigger; the famed adventurer was a dead shot with rifle or pistol. Louis stood calmly, with a tight smile on his lips.

  Red Raley and Carl both had the same thought at approximately the same time: attacking the town had been a lousy idea.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Carl yelled to his hands at the same time Red rallied his people.

  They left a lot of men littering the streets, some of them dead, some of them badly wounded. Those still alive were looking at very long prison terms.

  Dewey Vernon came riding in with some of his loyal crew.

  Jack stepped through the swirling dust. “Dewey. Leave your crew here in case they double back and you come with me. Let’s finish this today.”

  Seven men rode out of town on fresh horses—seven men with guns loaded up full and jaws set with determination. They rode to rid the land of human vermin, to make the West a safer place for all who wished to live on the land and become a part of a community, whatever their legal occupation, be it farmer, rancher, sheepmen, store clerk, or cowboy.

  “They’re splitting up!” Matt shouted, pointing at two plumes of dust just up ahead. “Carl’s taking his bunch back to Lightning. Me and Sam’ll follow them. Come on, Louis.”

  Jack, Charlie, Dewey, and Jimmy headed after Red Raley and his pack of hyenas.

  The Lightning bunch were riding very tired horses. The brothers and Louis were nipping at their heels when they rode into the Lightning ranch compound. Buster Phelps jumped off his horse with an oath and pointed a gun at Louis Longmont. Louis shot him down, rode his horse right over the screaming man, and kept on riding.

  Wes Fanin threw his guns down and threw his hands up into the air. “I yield!” he shouted.

  Carl Raner shot him in the back from the front porch of the house.

  Matt, Louis, and Sam jumped off their horses, rifles in hand, and fanned out across the yard, firing from the hip as they went. Bolinger took a .44 round in the guts and hit the ground, rolling and squalling.

  Sam made the bunkhouse, dropped his rifle, and filled his hands with thundering iron. A bullet clipped his left leg, another burned his shoulder, yet another sent splinters into the face. He was still standing when the firing ceased. Woody, Porter, Dean, and Reno of the Del Monroe gang were dead or dying. Sam punched out the empties and reloaded. He walked to the stove and touched the coffeepot. Still hot. He lifted the hinged lid and looked inside. The coffee was black as sin and thick as homemade soup. He poured a cup and drank it down.

  “Good,” he muttered, then walked to the door and peeped out, checking to see what other mischief he could get into.

  Don Edison was down on one knee, put there by two slugs from Louis Longmont’s guns. Walker was stretched out on the ground, lying facedown. Scarface Gant was leaning against a corral rail, the front of his shirt soaked with blood.

  Del Monroe was sitting on the ground, both hands empty and in the air.

  Tony, Clint, and Buck had surrendered. They stood sullen-faced, their hands in the air.

  Burl stood facing Louis Longmont. “Carl’s done run off and you’ll never catch him,” Burl said. “So this is ’tween you and me. Draw, you two-bit gambler,” Burl yelled.

  “My pleasure,” Louis said, and shot him before Burl could even grip the butts of his guns.

  Burl sat down heavily on the ground, both hands to his bloody chest, a very peculiar look on his face. “I . . . reckon we all make mistakes, don’t we?” he asked. Before anyone could reply, Burl toppled over, dead in the dirt.

  “Drop your guns, boys,” Matt told Tulsa, Rusty, and Jody. “And get ready for a good butt-kickin’.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jody sneered. “From the likes of you, that fancy-pants gambler, and that goddamn Injun?”

  “That is correct,” Louis said. He jacked back the hammer on his short gun. “Or you can die right now.”

  Three gunbelts hit the dirt. The other prisoners were hog-tied and tossed on the ground. Buck had come wandering around the side of the house, his hands in the air, hollering that he didn’t want no mor
e of this mess. He was tied up with the rest.

  Louis removed his coat and folded it neatly, laying it on top of his gunbelt. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing massive forearms. He slipped on a pair of thin riding gloves, as did Matt and Sam. With leather gloves, one can hit harder with less damage to the hands.

  “You boys like to molest women and kill innocent children,” Louis told the trio, stepping in close. “Let’s see what you can do with men.” Then he knocked the snot out of Tulsa, flattening the man.

  Sam punched Jody in the mouth, Matt wound up and busted Rusty on the jaw, and the fight was on.

  Twenty-six

  The horses of the Raley gang just gave up and quit running. Some of them stalled flat out and stopped, sending riders flying over their heads. Some of the Raley gang elected to make a very short fight of it. Jack, Charlie, Jimmy, and Dewey brought those back to town tied belly-down across their saddles. The others surrendered meekly.

  Meanwhile, back at the Lightning spread . . .

  Tulsa got up off the ground cussing and stepped in to duke it out with Louis. But Louis was a skilled boxer. He hit Tulsa five savage blows, left, right, left, right, left, using the man’s head as a punching bag, and then gave Tulsa a tremendous blow to the belly and the foreman was stretched out cold on the ground, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

  Sam had backed Jody up against a tree and was giving him what-for. The man’s eyes were glassy and his mouth and nose bloody, both eyes swelling shut. Sam had taken some pretty good shots to the head, but they only served to make him mad and he was giving back ten for every one he’d received. Jody finally sank to his knees and fell over on his face.

  Matt had been deliberately and coldly punishing Rusty with short, vicious jabs to the man’s face, twisting his fists as he struck, the leather-covered fists tearing and ripping the flesh. Matt fought with the sight of dead and horror-filled children behind his eyes. He fought with a savagery he did not know he possessed.

  “He’s going to kill the man,” Louis remarked.

  “Yes,” Sam said. “I know. It will take both of us to stop him.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that,” the man replied. “I saw the results of one of the raids Rusty went on. He dragged a young farmer’s child to her death. He was positively identified.”

  “There is a coffeepot in the bunkhouse. I’ll make a fresh pot.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  The men buckled their gunbelts, slipped into their coats, and tied up Jody and Tulsa. They left Matt hammering at Rusty.

  “You’re gonna kill me!” Rusty gasped.

  “Right,” Matt said, and hit him a savage blow to the ribs.

  But in the end he couldn’t do it. He held Rusty off the ground, holding the man by what was left of his shirt. Matt’s big right fist was poised to smash the man’s face. Rusty’s face was ruined, his jaw broken, one ear hanging, his mouth and nose pulped. Matt knew he had broken some of his ribs. The man was unconscious.

  Matt dropped him to the earth. Rusty did not move.

  “Lot of hate in you, Bodine,” Clint said. “I doubt Rusty will ever recover from that beatin’. You ruined the man.”

  “I hope so,” Bodine said, after sticking his head and hands in a horse trough and sloshing them around. He ran fingers through his wet hair and found his hat. He buckled on his gunbelt and slipped into his short jacket.

  Sam and Louis walked up, Sam holding out a cup of coffee for his brother. “Did you make this?” Matt asked.

  “I certainly did!”

  “You better not drink any of it, Louis. The last time Sam made coffee the horses took one sniff and ran off. Took us all day to catch them.”

  “I need a doctor!” Don Edison groaned. “I’m hurt.”

  “Shut up,” Sam told him, “before I revert back to my Cheyenne heritage and stake you out over an anthill. I bet that would be painful!” he whispered to Bodine.

  “You mean you’ve never seen it done?” Bodine whispered.

  “Heavens. no. My father would never resort to such barbaric practices. You know that. You mooched off of us long enough.”

  “Mooched! Me, mooch? You couldn’t wait to come spend summers at the ranch. Everytime mother baked a pie for supper, you stole it and ate it.”

  “Me, steal?” Sam said. “Cheyennes would never stoop to stealing.”

  “Wagghh! The Cheyennes were the biggest bunch of damn horse thieves on the plains. I know—remember? I went with you to steal those ponies from the Crow.”

  Louis leaned up against a wagon and lit one of his thin, very expensive imported cigars.

  “And almost got us killed due to your clumsiness.”

  “Me? Clumsy? You’re the one who tripped over your own big feet.”

  “I’m sittin’ here on the damn ground bleedin’ to death and them two is arguin’ about stealin’ Crow ponies years ago,” Don Edison griped.

  Louis placed the muzzle of his pistol against the man’s head and jacked back the hammer. “How do you feel now?”

  “It’s a miracle, I reckon. I never felt better in all my life.”

  “That’s nice. We want you all better for the hangman.”

  * * *

  The district judge came over and held court. The courtroom was the Cattle Club. The judge handed out very long prison terms and the men were taken away in prison wagons; most would never live long enough to walk out of the shadows of those prison walls.

  Dewey Vernon married Maggie and settled in at his ranch. Charlie Starr gave up deputy sheriffing and went to work for Pete Harris. Jack Linwood became engaged to the schoolteacher, Mary, and they planned on getting married in a couple of months. A special election was held in the county and Jack was elected sheriff.

  Robert Harris, Denise Raner, Carl Raner, and Hubby dropped out of sight. Red Raley and some of the others involved in the conspiracy confessed and named Robert and Denise as the ringleaders. Warrants were issued for them and sent out over a three-state area. Martha Vernon never returned from the East, choosing instead to remain, as she put it, “In a more civilized part of the country.”

  Pete and Becky formally adopted the two kids they’d taken in to raise, and Millie was making eyes at Doc Lemmon, who planned to build a bigger office in the just-renamed town of Pleasant Valley, Colorado. Lemmon was all goo-goo-eyed.

  Louis Longmont saw his sheep safely in pasture and pulled out. He had just bought more land in someplace called Australia. He was anxious to board ship and see his new ranch.

  “It’s near the bottom of the world,” he told Matt and Sam.

  “Don’t fall off,” Matt told him.

  Sam gave his brother a disgusted look.

  “So Dale originally had the plan, and Chrisman got wind of it and the two of them started plotting against the ranchers,” Matt began summing it up.

  “Then Denise and Robert wormed their way into it and Carl Raner found out about it and he became a player,” Sam added.

  “Red Raley and his bunch were cleaning up,” Jack said. “Taking money from all sides.”

  “But only Dale and Chrisman knew where the veins of gold and silver were located,” Matt said. “And they took the secret with them to their graves.”

  “Suits me fine,” Jack said. “I don’t want the hassle of this place becomin’ a boomtown for a couple of years. The damn gold and silver can stay in the ground.”

  The mother lodes have never been found to this day.

  “Robert and Denise killed those two travelers and planted them in their bed,” Sam said. “They were going to burn down the hotel, but Chrisman beat them to it. But why were they going to burn it down?”

  The families of the man and woman who were mistaken for Robert Harris and Denise Raner decided to let the bodies remain buried in Colorado.

  “I guess to get back at Dale,” Jack said. He tossed a telegram on the table. “From the U. S. Marshal Service. Dale’s real name was Hector Brandon. He was wanted back East for murder. That Pinker
ton man got suspicious of him and did some checking. Guess it don’t make no difference now, does it?”

  Matt and Sam were packed up and ready to hit the trail. They were going to swing around and say good-bye to Dewey and Pete and Charlie on their way out.

  They shook hands with Jack Linwood. “You boys ride easy,” Jack told them. “Robert and Denise and Hubby and Carl are still in these parts, I’m bettin’. And they got a powerful grudge to settle up with the both of you.”

  Matt and Sam swung into the saddle and headed out of town, waving at the citizens as they rode toward the crossroads.

  “Wonder what’s going to happen to the Lightning Arrow spread?” Matt mused aloud.

  “All that’ll be tied up in courts of law for years,” Sam opined. “The survivors of the homesteaders and sheepmen that Hugo had a hand in killing will sue. But lawyers will get most of the money, I’ll bet.”

  Just for the heck of it, the blood brothers turned at the crossroads and rode over to the Lightning Arrow range. They rode up to the ranchhouse and sat their saddles for a moment, looking at the huge, deserted house.

  Hugo Raner’s grave was lonely, a mound of earth on a hill, shaded by a single tree.

  “I guess when it comes down to it,” Matt said softly, “that’s what we all get, isn’t it?”

  They rode out of the yard, heading for the Box H. Miles south of them, brother faced brother.

  “It’s over, Hubby,” Dewey told the man. They stood in the yard in front of the Circle V ranchhouse. Maggie stood on the porch, twisting her apron, her eyes filled with fear for her man.

  “I was always better than you with a gun,” Hubby told his brother. “Now I’m gonna kill you and then have my way with your wife.”

  “Don’t make me pull on you, Hubby,” Dewey told him. “Give yourself up.”

  “You go to hell!”

  “Where’s Robert and Denise and Carl?”

  “That’s for me to know.”

  “If you touch the butt of that gun, Hubby, you won’t know it for long.”

  “Big words. I’m gonna have this ranch and your nester wife, Dewey.”