Smoke waited on the boardwalk in front of Dr. Garrett’s office and small clinic. He turned as Sheriff Black quietly closed the door and stepped out.
“Doc says he’ll probably make it. But he’s busted up pretty good. I got his statement, for all the good it’ll do.” The Circle 45 hands will alibi for each other.” It was not put as a question.
“You know it. Raul is well-liked in town. He was polite and would do anything in the world for people. He came in with some sheepmen. My brother ran the sheep off, killed a lot of them, and probably had a hand in killing the sheepmen. Raul stayed around doing odd jobs. When the Duggan twins came in, he went to work for them…in direct defiance of Clint’s orders. I warned Raul to go armed. But he didn’t like guns. Goddamnit!” Harris summed up his feelings in one word.
Smoke said nothing.
Harris hitched at his gun belt. “I’m going out to my brother’s place. But don’t expect any arrests.”
“I know you’ll do all that you can, Harris. And I’m not being sarcastic. I mean that.”
The sheriff nodded his head and walked toward the stable. “Try to keep your guns in leather,” he said over his shoulder.
Smoke didn’t reply to that. He stood on the boardwalk until after the sheriff had ridden out, then crossed the street and took a chair in front of the hotel. He figured some of the Circle 45 rowdies would be riding into town shortly for a drink. He would be waiting.
It was not a long wait, and Smoke smiled when he saw the Wyoming man, Baylis, riding in with several of Clint’s men. One of the deputies, Benny, stood across the street, watching Smoke and the Circle 45 men. The rest of the deputies were out tracking the men who’d attacked Raul. The Circle 45 men went into the saloon. Smoke stood up and headed for the saloon.
As he passed by the deputy, he paused and said, “I just heard there was some trouble out at that farm about three miles west of here. Maybe you’d best go check on that.”
“Huh? I haven’t heard about any trouble.”
“I just told you.”
The deputy got the message and nodded his head. “That would be the Jeffersons’ place.”
“Probably.”
“It’ll take the rest of the afternoon for me to do that.”
“Pleasant ride, though. See you.”
“Ah…right, Mr. Jensen. See you.”
Smoke walked over to the saloon and pushed open the batwings. A dozen locals were sitting at tables. The Circle 45 hands were lined up at the bar, Baylis among them. Smoke stepped to one side, away from the batwings, and put his back to a wall.
“Any of you trash seen Fatso and Art Long today?” Smoke called.
Baylis froze in the lifting of his glass to his mouth. He cut his eyes to Smoke. “You callin’ me trash?”
“That’s right, Baylis. And worse. You’re the one who beat it up here from Wyoming to tell Clint about the herd. I can’t say that you were in on the night attack, but you’re just as guilty. You wanted to brace me back on the trail, Baylis. Still want to pull against me?”
Baylis lifted the shot glass and downed his drink. He thought for a moment, nodded his head, and turned, his hand by the butt of his gun. “Why not, Jensen? I think all that talk about you is bull anyway.” Then he grabbed for his Colt.
Smoke’s .44 roared and Baylis was leaning against the bar, his belly and chest leaking blood. The three Circle 45 hands jerked their guns and both of Smoke’s hands were filled with .44s as he went to one knee and began thumbing and firing in one long continuous roll of deadly thunder.
A round blew Smoke’s hat off his head and another slug came so close to his leg, he could feel the heat. But Clint Black was four hands short.
Baylis was sitting on the barroom floor, his hands by his side and his dead eyes staring at eternity. Two other Circle 45 riders were dead and the fourth was not long for this world. He had taken two .44 slugs in the chest. Smoke walked to him, reloading as he went, and kicked his gun away. The man stared up at him.
“You played hell, Jensen,” he gasped.
“I usually do, partner.”
“I guess I took a wrong turn in life and just never got back on the right road.”
“I reckon you did. But you can clean the slate some this day.”
“How’s that?”
“Did Clint Black order the attack on my herd?”
“Yeah. I won’t lie for him no more. He ordered us to hit your camp and kill everyone there. Told us to bring them good-looking twins back to him. He wanted to have some fun with the gals before he got rid of them.”
Dr. Garrett and Bigelow from the hotel had entered and were listening.
“Did you know about Raul being dragged and beaten today?”
“No. But Jud said Clint told him to have us start earnin’ the fightin’ wages we was gettin’. He put a bounty on your head, Jensen. Whichever one of us kills you gets five thousand dollars.”
“Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Gettin’ dark, Jensen. I think I’m goin’. Funny…but there ain’t no pain. Yeah. Clint’s done sent word all along the owlhoot trail for gunhands. I don’t know how many’s comin’ in, but they’ll be some, you can bet on that.”
“What’s your name?” Smoke asked, kneeling down beside the dying puncher turned gunslick.
“Doug. Doug Randel.”
“I’ll have that put on your marker.”
“’Preciate it. Maybe we’ll get to ride down a better trail someday. I’d like that.”
“Me, too, Doug.”
Doug smiled, coughed up blood, and died.
Smoke looked around for his hat. He found it, stuck his finger through the bullet hole and shook his head. “Hat’s not ten days old.” He put it on and settled it. He looked at Dr. Garrett, who was inspecting the downed men for signs of life. He didn’t find any and stood up with a sigh.
“A dead man’s confession might hold up in court,” the doctor said. “But I doubt it.”
“We’ll all testify that we heard it,” one of the local men said. “If that’ll help.”
“Here comes Lucas,” another local said, looking out the window. “Looks like his horse come up lame. Little Billy Thompson is tellin’ him about the shootin’, I reckon. Here he comes.”
The deputy walked in, looked at the bodies by the bar, and cussed for a few seconds.
“Jensen didn’t pull first,” a local said. “But he shore laid him out neat, didn’t he?”
“The sheriff ain’t gonna like this,” Lucas said. “All right, somebody tell me what happened.”
Clint’s joy at hearing about Raul was short-lived when one of his hands told him about the shooting in town. The hand took one look at Clint’s face and immediately found an urge to be somewhere else…quickly.
“I put one of theirs out of action and Jensen kills four of mine,” Clint muttered darkly. “I won’t have any hands left at this rate.”
His brother had been to see him and Clint told him he didn’t know anything about Raul. Fatso and the others were working the range clear on the other side of his place and he’d swear to that in a court of law. And to get the hell off his property and stay off.
Clint had slammed the front door in his brother’s face.
Furious, Harris Black wired a judge for advice. When the judge in the territorial capital of Helena ruled that the deathbed confession of Doug Randel could not be used in a court of law, the people in the sparsely populated area around Blackstown braced themselves for war.
It was not long in coming. Less than twenty-four hours after the attack on Raul and the shooting in the saloon, a group of Circle 45 riders—after getting juiced up on whiskey—decided to have some fun and hoo-rah a local farmer. They rode their horses through the family’s vegetable garden, shot the milk cows and the pigs, and trampled the chickens. The farmer grabbed a rifle and blew one rider out of the saddle. The Circle 45 riders shot him to bloody rags and as they were riding away, accidentally ran down one of the man’s ch
ildren, a six-year-old girl. She died in the back of the wagon long before the nearly hysterical mother could get her into town and to Doc Garrett’s office.
So angry he was nearly trembling with rage, Harris Black rode out to confront his brother.
“It was a damn accident,” Clint told him. “The punchers was just having some fun, that’s all. The nester opened fire on them. What the hell was they supposed to do?”
“Fun!” Harris yelled at him. “Fun? A man and a little girl are dead. All because you think you’re some sort of king around here and the law doesn’t apply to you. I want the men responsible for this and I by God want them now, Clint.”
“I paid them off and fired them.”
“You’re a damned liar, Clint.”
Clint sucker-punched his brother, knocking him off the porch. The two brothers fought for a moment before Jud and half a dozen other men could pull them apart.
With hands holding both men, Clint yelled, “Get off my land, Harris. Get off and stay off. If you ever call me a liar again, I’ll kill you!”
“I’ll see you hang, Clint,” Harris told him. “You’re my brother, but you’re no good. You’re trash. You better toe the line from now on, Clint. Fire these no-count gunhands and walk light.”
“Get him on his horse and out of my sight!” Clint screamed. “Right now.”
In the saddle, Harris Black looked down at his younger brother. “You don’t even realize what you’ve done, Clint. You’re filled with such hate, you don’t know that I could arrest you for attacking me.”
“You want to try it now?” Clint challenged, as more of his hands gathered around.
“I’m not a fool, brother. I might get lead in you and a couple of your men before I was shot out of the saddle, but it’s just not worth it. You’re not worth it.”
“Get out while you still can, Harris,” Clint warned him. “Before your big flappin’ mouth gets you in trouble. And there isn’t a damn thing you can do to me; I run this country. Not you. Don’t get in my way, you might get hurt.”
Harris lifted the reins. “Mother would want you buried proper, Clint. I’ll see to that.” Then he added, “You poor damn pitiful fool.” He turned his horse and headed back to town.
14
Almost everyone who lived in the vicinity turned out for the funeral of the farmer and his daughter. Feelings were running very high and there was some talk of a hanging. Harris knew it was just talk and let it ride. But he knew that if more of this continued, the talk just might change to action. Just about an hour after the funeral, he watched it do just that.
An even dozen of Circle 45 riders came galloping into town, raising a cloud of dust and scattering people. A little dog was caught in the thundering hooves and was trampled. A small boy ran out and picked up the lifeless body of the pup.
“You dirty scum!” he screamed at the Circle 45 men. “Murderers. All of you. Patches didn’t do none of you no harm. Why’d you run him down, you…crap?”
One of the rowdies walked to the boy and slapped him down into the dirt. The blow brought blood to the boy’s lips. He lay in the dirt, sobbing, his arms wrapped around his dead pet.
“I’ll kick your guts out, you little turd,” the Circle 45 hand said menacingly.
The boy’s father ran out of his store, a shotgun in his hands. He was just lifting the weapon to his shoulder when six-guns roared. The father fell back into the store, dead.
Suddenly, the street was filled with armed men and women. The Circle 45 riders looked into the muzzles of six-guns, rifles, and shotguns.
Harris walked through the crowd of armed and angry citizens. “Put those pistols back in leather and get off those horses,” he told the bunch. “If you want to stay alive.”
The riders slowly complied.
“Doc,” Harris called. “How many bullet holes in Mr. Wisdom?”
“Eight,” the doctor called.
Harris pointed to the man who’d slapped the boy. “You’re under arrest for assault and battery against a child.” He turned and smiled at the 45 hands. “The rest of you are under arrest for murder.”
“He was fixin’ to kill Ned!” a hand yelled.
“After Ned threatened to do more harm to his son,” Harris reminded the tough. “Not a court in the land would have convicted him. But they’ll damn sure convict you boys.”
The deputies had collected the guns from the Circle 45 riders.
“You boys know the way to the jail,” Harris told them. “Now, move!”
Harris knelt down by the boy, who was still somewhat addled by the brutal blow from the tough. He helped the boy to his feet and handed the trampled little dog to a man standing near. “We’ll see that your puppy gets a proper burial, lad. Now you go on over to your ma. She needs you right now.”
Harris walked over to the tough who’d slapped the man and flattened him with one hard fist to the mouth. The Circle 45 hand lay in the dirt and kept his mouth shut. He could see cold, killing fury in the sheriff’s eyes.
“Goddamn filth!” Harris’s words were spoken low and hard. “If I wasn’t wearin’ this badge I’d kick your face clear off your brainless head and let the hogs eat it.”
The tough lay still in the dirt, blood leaking from his mouth. He knew that he’d get no more than a few days in jail and a fine for slapping the boy. He had not fired at the boy’s father, and he could not be charged with murder. When he got out of jail, then he’d settle with Sheriff Harris Black.
Harris jerked the tough to his boots and threw him toward the jail. When he was slow getting to his feet, he felt the sheriff’s big boot impact against his butt. He hollered and went sprawling face first into the dust. He crawled to his hands and knees and then came up cussing. He took a swing at Harris. Bad mistake.
Harris hit him five times. Blows so fast they seemed to come out of nowhere. The rowdy was slammed back against a hitchrail and Harris plowed in. Since the man’s face was already ruined, Harris concentrated his big hard fists against the man’s belly and sides. Ribs popped and the Circle 45 hand screamed in pain as the blows kept coming. When Harris was through, the rowdy fell to the dirt, his jaw broken, his nose flattened, his lips pulped and half a dozen ribs broken.
“Why?” he managed to gasp through his pain, looking up at the still enraged Harris Black.
“I like kids and dogs,” Harris told him.
Clint Black and his hands rode into town the next morning. He had sense enough to come in unarmed. He left his horse at the livery and he and half a dozen of his men walked to the sheriff’s office. They walked in a sweat, all of them knowing at least fifty or more guns were trained on them from doorways and windows all along the main street.
At the sheriff’s office, they were met with sawed-off-shotgun-carrying deputies. More sweat.
“Keep your gunslicks out on the boardwalk,” Harris told his brother. “And you don’t sit down. You’re not going to be here that long. State your business and then get the hell gone.”
“Bail for my hands,” Clint said.
“No bail for murderers.” He held up a telegram. “Judge’s orders. That all you got to say?”
“You won’t get a conviction from the people around here,” Clint boasted. “And you know it. I’ll hire the best lawyer in the state and beat it.”
“Trial is not going to be here,” Harris told him. “It’ll be held in Helena. Hire your lawyer and go to hell with him. Anything else?”
“You want a war, Harris?”
“Is that a threat? You want to join your no-count hands behind bars for threatening a peace officer?”
Smoke sat on a bench outside the jail. He smiled at the Circle 45 riders.
They did not see any humor in their situation.
“You mind if me and my boys have a drink in town?” Clint asked.
“Don’t cause any trouble. The townspeople will shoot you to ribbons. They’ve had it with you, Clint. They won’t stand for any more crap from you or your hired guns. You can tr
y to buy a drink. But I doubt if the barkeep will serve you.”
“Can I see my men?”
“After I search you.”
That infuriated the rancher. He drew back from the desk and straightened up, his face flushed with rage. “You tin-star piece of crap. Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“A thug,” Harris replied. “One that needs to be back there behind bars. And I’m going to put you there, Clint. Believe that.”
Clint balled his hands into big fists. He struggled to keep control. He took several deep breaths and calmed himself. “Are my men being fed?”
“You know they are. Three meals a day. Now if there is nothing else, I’m busy with paperwork.”
“You’re…dismissing me?”
“That’s right, Clint. Good choice of words. I am indeed dismissing you. Oh, it might be a nice gesture on your part to go see the widow Wisdom. Since it was your men who killed her husband.”
“Go to hell!” Clint spun around and stalked out of the office. He pulled up short at the sight of Smoke, sitting on a bench smiling at him. “You!”
“Just me,” Smoke said. “You were expecting maybe the President of the United States? I mean, with you being such an important person and all, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
Clint stared at Smoke for a moment. He knew he’d been insulted and cut down, but he couldn’t think of a proper response.
Smoke lifted a big hand and waggled his fingers at the rancher. “Run along, now, Clint. Bye-bye.”
“Run along? I don’t take orders from you, you sorry…” He started cussing Smoke, screaming the obscenities. Several women across the street covered their ears and ran into the nearest store.
Harris jerked open the door and stepped out. “Shut up, Clint! I said shut up!” he hollered.
Wild-eyed with fury, Clint turned on his brother, his fists balled.
Absaroka Ambush (first Mt Man)/Courage Of The Mt Man Page 37
