Any reasonable man would have called it quits and tried to make peace. But Clint Black was not a reasonable man.
He rose from his chair and looked out a bullet-shattered window. He could almost smell the odor of defeat. It was not a smell he liked.
“God, I hate you, Jensen,” Clint whispered. “I despise you.”
He walked slowly back to his chair and sat down heavily. He did not know what to do next. But he did know this: he was going to kill Smoke Jensen. He just didn’t know how he was going to accomplish that.
“I think you ladies are reasonably safe now,” Smoke told the twins. “Unless I completely missed the mark, I believe Clint has shifted his hatred to me. Sending those ten gunhands into town this morning tipped his hand.”
“Then you feel we could safely ride our own range, Smoke?” Toni asked.
“As long as you have a couple of hands with you. I know some of those old mountain men are watching your range. I’ve seen their smoke.”
“Their…smoke?” Jeanne said.
“Indian talk. They’re out there. And remember this: you’ve got twelve pretty salty ol’ boys on the payroll now, and that’s plenty for a spread this size. And they’re good men. Clint, on the other hand, has been losing men steadily. He can’t have more than twenty-five men on his payroll right now. And none of them can tell the difference between a steer and a buffalo. I know gunhands. When they start sensing defeat, they’ll pull out. And I’ll bet that right now, it’s pretty darn glum over on the Circle 45 spread.”
“What do you think Clint will do next?” Toni asked.
Smoke shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
Nelson, Clements, and Bankston (who was now free of the skunk odor) rode into town, their gunbelts hanging from the saddle horns. They stopped in front of the general store and were immediately met by a shotgun-toting deputy.
“Whoa!” Bankston said. “We don’t work for the Forty-five no more. These are our horses. Look at the brands. All we want to do is provision up, have a hot meal at the café, and we’re history, Deputy.”
“All right. Suits me, boys. I’ll pass the word to leave you be.”
“’Preciate it, Deputy,” Nelson said.
The word quickly spread up and down the street, and the former Circle 45 riders were shocked when the townspeople actually spoke to them and were friendly. They certainly were not used to that from the citizens of the newly named town of Canyon City.
And true to their word, they bought supplies, had a drink and a meal, and were gone within the hour. Harris Black lay in the bed at the doctor’s office and watched them leave.
“My brother’s little empire is falling apart,” he said to the doctor. “It couldn’t happen to a more deserving person. He fooled me for a long time, Doctor. He lied to me and I believed him. Then when I finally began to suspect him, I still believed him. I just couldn’t, no, wouldn’t believe that my own brother would lie to me. I was a fool.”
“What do you think Clint will do next?”
“I don’t know, Doc. But he’ll go out with a bang. You can bet on that.”
Clint had strapped on his guns and gathered his men on the grounds around the front porch. “From this day on, I’m paying triple wages for the men who stay with me to the end. And the five thousand dollar bounty still stands on Jensen’s head. If you’re going to leave me, do it now.”
The gunslicks looked at one another and shuffled their feet and whispered among themselves. One-eyed Shaw finally spoke. “I reckon we’ll stay, Boss. But we want a month’s wages in advance. You might get killed and then we’d be stuck.”
“That’s fine with me. Line up and draw your advances.”
As the men were being paid, Buckskin Deevers asked, “What’s the plan, boss?”
“I don’t have one,” Clint replied truthfully. “And I’m sure open to suggestions.”
Buckskin stepped to one side of the porch, allowing the other hired guns to be paid. When the last of them had drawn their pay and only Bronco remained, Buckskin said, “Whatever we do, we’ve got to leave the ranch on the quiet. Those old mountain men have ringed us.”
“I still think we could take those old farts out,” Bronco said.
Buckskin looked at him. “Ellis and Jones and Harden had that same idea. You seen them since they rode out?”
Bronco shook his head irritably. “Only their horses.”
“That’s right. Only their horses. Boss, I’m gonna say something that you ain’t gonna like. But here it is. Those old men out yonder in the hills don’t have no job of work they got to return to. They can stay here forever, and if Smoke wants them to, they will. Sooner or later, probably sooner, one of them will get a clean shot at you and it’ll be over.”
Clint slowly nodded his head and looked up at the murderer. “Go on,” he said softly.
“We got twenty-three men able to sit a saddle and that includes you. We’re not going to win this war, so you might as well put that out of your mind.”
“I had already reached that conclusion,” Clint said. There was no anger in his voice, just resignation.
“So you want…?” He trailed that off, already knowing the answer.
“To kill my enemy.”
“Smoke Jensen.”
“Yes.”
“The twin sisters?”
“Once Smoke is dead, they can be dealt with.”
Buckskin suppressed a sigh. Clint just couldn’t get it through his head that if harm came to Smoke Jensen, those old mountain men would wait until Hell froze over to get a shot at him. Buckskin was a murderer, thief, rapist, and was thoroughly worthless, but he wasn’t stupid. Every fiber in his body told him to get clear of this fight. It was clearly over. There was no way that Clint could win, and to hang around was suicide. But Buckskin had taken the man’s money and would stay. And he knew that the others would do the same.
“Thank you, Buckskin,” Clint said, standing up. “I’ll come up with a plan.”
“Okay, Boss. Me and the boys will do whatever you say.” Back in the bunkhouse, he said, “He has no plan. If we had any sense, we’d give the money back, tie a white handkerchief to our rifles, and ride out of this damn country.”
A gunhand known only as Burt stood up and walked to the open doorway. “I want to see Smoke Jensen dead on the ground. That’s what I want to see.”
“I’m afraid Jensen will be walkin’ around long after someone buries you, Burt,” One-eyed Shaw said.
“Bull!” Burt said. He stepped outside, and a heavy rifle cracked from more than half a mile away. The big slug took the hired gun in the center of his chest and slammed him back against the outside wall. Burt slid down to the ground, dead on his butt.
After walking to the front door and seeing what had happened, Clint sat in his now heavily fortified study and cussed. All the windows had been boarded up and bookcases shoved against them. He was a prisoner in his own damn house. He cursed the old mountain men who had surrounded his home and he cursed Smoke Jensen. He cursed his brother and he cursed the Duggan twins. He cursed the citizens of Canyon City and when he couldn’t think of anyone else to curse, he just sat and cussed. He was still cussing when Tom Clark and George Miller tied white pieces of cloth to the barrel of their rifles and rode away.
Puma Buck and Lee Staples stopped by the Double D late that afternoon and swung down from their saddles. They declined an invitation to come inside the house. Neither of them much liked houses. They sat on the porch and accepted coffee and doughnuts.
“Clint Black lost three more men this day,” Lee said. “They buried one, and two rode out with white handkerchiefs tied to their rifles. We let them go.”
“It’s gettin’ plumb borin’ on them ridges,” Puma said. “The boys want to attack the house and get done with it, Smoke.”
“No,” Toni said. “As much as I hate Clint Black, I want all the men to just go away and leave us alone.”
“Let’s ride over there and try to make peace with the
man,” Jeanne suggested.
“Bad move, Missy,” Puma said. “No tellin’ what Clint might do. Situation like it is, he ain’t predictable no more. He just might shoot you both on sight. Me and the boys will stay just as long as it takes. We got no place to go and nothin’ to do when we get there. We’re living off Circle 45 beef. We rounded them up and moved them over into that valley where you-all was ambushed. He ain’t got nary a steer left. All he’s got is some mangy hired guns and a heart full of hate for Smoke. He can’t get no supplies. We got the road watched all the time.”
“I don’t think he can hold out too much longer,” Smoke said. “You boys keep up the sharpshooting, Puma. It’s taking a toll on those guns of his. He’s losing one or two every day. He’s got to crack soon and then it’ll be over.” He smiled. “And I think I’ll just heat up the fire a little bit.”
Sally looked over at him. “Every time you get that look in your eyes, I start to worrying.”
He reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. This isn’t gun-talk, honey.” He stood up. “Excuse me, folks. I have a letter to write.”
Everyone looked at Sally. She shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t ask me. I’m just his wife.”
Smoke returned in ten minutes with a sheet of paper. He handed it to Sally. “Sally, how long would it take you and Toni and Jeanne to write out about fifty or sixty copies of this?”
She read the short letter and started laughing. “Not long. Come on, girls. Let’s get busy.”
Cleon Marsh found the note tacked to the gate, read it, and for a moment was stunned. Then he rode back to the ranch and handed the note to Clint.
Clint’s face turned beet red when he read the letter. “It says here he’s posted this…thing all over the country. I’ll be the laughing stock of the territory! The son of a bitch!” He threw the paper to the ground.
Bronco picked it up, read it, and said, “You sure will be if you ignore this. Did you read down at the bottom?”
“No!” Clint shouted.
“If you don’t meet him, he’s going to mail this to every paper in the territory.”
Buckskin Deevers read the note. “He’s callin’ you out, Boss. You ain’t got no choice in the matter. If you don’t meet him and slug it out, you might as well ride on out of the country. You know as well as me how Western folks are.”
Clint knew. Only too well. He took the letter and reread it.
THIS IS AN OPEN CHALLENGE FROM SMOKE JENSEN TO THE MURDERING, RAPING, AM BUSHING, NIGHT-RIDING, YELLOWBELLIED CLINT BLACK. I SAY YOU ARE AFRAID TO MEET ME IN A STAND-UP FISTFIGHT. YOU HIDE BE HIND HIRED GUNS AND DO NOT HAVE THE COURAGE TO MEET ME AND FIGHT IT OUT MAN TO MAN. I WILL BE WAITING IN THE MAIN STREET OF CANYON CITY AT NOON ON SATURDAY. IF YOU FAIL TO SHOW, THEN EVERY ONE IN THE TERRITORY WILL KNOW EXACTLY WHAT KIND OF CRAVEN COWARD YOU REALLY ARE.
It was signed, “Smoke Jensen.”
Clint lifted his eyes. All his men had gathered around the front porch. And he knew then that if he didn’t meet Smoke Jensen, he would not have a hand left. They would ride out, showing their contempt for him. The rules were few in the West, but they were enforced rigidly. And if a man was called out by another man of approximately the same size and age, you went, or you got on your horse and rode out. No one in the rugged, wide-shouldered west would tolerate a coward.
Clint was between a rock and a hard place and he knew it. He slowly folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. “Well, boys, looks like we take a ride come this Saturday morning.”
27
Of course Clint had far darker plans than just the fight on his mind. But those were quickly dashed when One-eyed Shaw told him the mountain men had left the Circle 45 range and had taken up positions all around the Double D ranch and grounds. Clint’s plans of burning out the Duggan twins, while all the Double D hands were in town watching the fight, were tossed out the window with that news. Then he thought he might have a sniper shoot Jensen during the fight. But on this Saturday, all guns were to be banned in Canyon City. Every man would leave his guns at checkpoints at both ends of town. And Harris had ordered all able-bodied townsmen to be sworn in as special deputies and they would be heavily armed.
“Jensen don’t fight by no rules,” Bronco Ford told his boss. “He fights to win. And he’ll offer no mercy nor give no quarter.”
Clint nodded his head in agreement. Since he had made up his mind to fight, he had not taken a drink of anything stronger than coffee. He knew he was in excellent physical shape, for he had always been vain about that. He was strong as a bull and had knocked men unconscious with just one punch. But could he whip Smoke Jensen? He didn’t know. He would have to rely on good footwork and lots of bobbing and weaving and ducking and try to wear the man down.
But he had to win. He had to. Everything was at stake. If he lost, he would be a humiliated and broken man in the eyes of all the people. He could not allow that to happen. One way or the other, by hook or by crook, he had to win.
“He’s a bull of a man, Smoke,” Waymore told him. “Strong and can punch like no man I ever seen. He’ll gouge your eyes and use his boots on you if he gets the chance. I saw him cripple a man like that. He likes to hurt people, really likes it. He’s a cruel brute.”
Smoke nodded his understanding. “Thank you, Waymore.” He wasn’t particularly worried about Clint Black. He’d fought bigger and better men than Clint…and stomped them into the ground. During the time between the challenge and now, Smoke had cut out tanned leather and made himself a pair of gloves. They were almost double the thickness of ordinary gloves, and would enable him to hit harder and also protect his hands.
“Lots of bets on this fight, boss,” Conny said, after returning from Canyon City. “Folks comin’ in from seventy miles away to see it. The papers in Helena have sent reporters in. They wanted an interview with you. I told them I didn’t have no authority to speak for you.”
“The fight will be an interview that will speak for itself.”
“You get a good night’s sleep, boss. Tomorrow is a big day.”
“I assure you, Conny, I will sleep like a baby.”
“Don’t nothin’ bother you, boss?” Conny asked.
Smoke smiled at him. “No point in worrying about things a man can’t change, Conny.”
“I reckon not. Good night, boss.”
Smoke ate only a light breakfast the morning of the fight. Sally and Toni and Jeanne had prepared baskets of lunches they would eat after the fight. Baked beans and huge sandwiches and fried chicken and jam and jellies.
“Aren’t you worried?” Toni asked Sally. “I would be positively beside myself with dread.”
“No. I’ve seen Smoke fight before. Oh, he’ll have a busted lip and a black eye and some bruised ribs and various other abrasions and contusions, but he’ll win and he’ll be alive. Smoke fights coldly, you see. Never loses control. It will be very brutal, ladies. I doubt that you have ever witnessed anything like it before.”
Although neither of the twins would admit it, they both were looking forward to the fight.
Canyon City had swelled to ten times its normal population, with people coming in from as far away as a hundred miles. Entire families had shown up, bringing picnic lunches and planning to make a day of it. Enterprising store owners along Main Street had rented out roof space for spectators. Bleachers had been hastily knocked together and Main Street was blocked off. Street vendors were peddling everything from beer to banners.
Boos and catcalls went up as Clint Black and his men rode into town and checked their guns under the watchful eyes of regular deputies and newly appointed special deputies. A special elevated bed frame had been built in the show window of the general store so Harris Black could look over the heads of spectators and watch the fight in comfort. The sheriff kept his pistols handy, for he suspected the fistfight would only be part of this day’s events. His brother did not enjoy losing at anything.
Wild cheering erupted when Smoke and his party rode in. T
hey stabled their horses and checked their guns.
“Keep the Double D people on one side of the roped-off area and the Circle 45 rowdies on the other side,” Lucas told his men.
The arena was a simple one. Ropes had been stretched from one side of the street to the other, so the men could have plenty of room to maneuver.
Smoke took off his spurs, handed them to Denver, and pulled on his leather gloves. He walked to his side of the ropes. There were no rules to this fight. It was kick, gouge, and stomp until one of the men was down and could not continue.
Smoke slipped between the pulled-tight ropes and walked to the center of the “ring.”
“Come on, Clint,” Lucas said, waving at the rancher. “Let’s get this going.” He stepped back and leaned against a hitchrail as Clint walked into the ring and up to Smoke Jensen.
“This one is for the boys you killed in that valley,” Smoke told the rancher. “You child-killin’ son of a bitch.” Then he hit Clint in the mouth with a powerful and totally unexpected hard right fist that bloodied the man’s lips and knocked Clint Black smack on his butt in the dirt.
The crowd roared and the fight was on.
Clint scrambled to his boots, his face dark with anger and his eyes blazing with wild hatred. He hadn’t been knocked down since he was a boy. But he maintained a tight control on himself as he lifted his fists.
Clint jabbed and Smoke flicked the blow away from his face and drove a left straight in. The leather-covered fist impacted against Clint’s mouth, and the blow snapped the big man’s head back. Clint cursed and swung; his fist caught Smoke on the shoulder. Smoke ducked, weaved, and hammered at Clint’s kidneys, forcing the man to give ground.
Smoke followed him, relentless in his pursuit. Smoke took a blow to the jaw that rattled his teeth. Clint could punch like a mule’s kick, Smoke would give him that.
Absaroka Ambush (first Mt Man)/Courage Of The Mt Man Page 47
