Over coffee, Harris said, “Talked to three gunnies last night. They stopped in town for a drink before riding on. Seems that some unknown rifleman’s been doing all sorts of mischief out at the Circle 45.” The sheriff had to smile. Then the smile changed to a chuckle. “Seems this feller burned down the back porch, tossed firecrackers into the bunkhouse, shot up some outhouses, and in general made life pretty mean for my brother and his hired guns. Is your husband around, Mrs. Jensen?”
“Why, no, Sheriff. He isn’t. He’s off on a business trip.”
“Looks like it’s a successful one,” Harris replied. “Ammunition factories are going to be operating around the clock if this keeps up.”
“Supply and demand, Sheriff,” Sally said with a smile. “That’s what keeps the economy strong.”
Just as she was saying that, a horrified Bankston, still tied to the tree, watched as a passing parade of skunks paused a few feet from him, turned their backs to him, and lifted their tails.
“Oh, no!” the hired gun said, just as the skunks fired.
20
“We found Bankston,” Jud told Clint. “We drew straws to see who’d cut him loose. Fatso lost.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jud explained.
“Where is he now?”
“Down at the crick, washing, for all the good it’ll do him. Them skunks scored direct hits, Clint. It was so bad Fatso got sick.”
Clint pointed his cigar at his foreman. “Let me tell you something, Jud. I don’t like jokes being played on me. Jensen thinks this is funny. But I’m not laughing. The man is not only making a fool out of me, but you and the men as well. You think about that and pass the word to the boys.”
Clint watched his foreman’s face and saw a scowl form amid the bruises from the rake handle. “I didn’t look at it like that, Clint. But you’re right. What do you want the boys to do?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know. I feel like I’m a prisoner on my own land. Damn Smoke Jensen!”
Stony handed Sally the note from the horse’s mane and she read it and smiled. “He’s fine. And having fun.”
“Fun?” the cowboy said. “Fun?”
“Yes. It’s only a few lines, but I sense that he doesn’t want to kill unless he’s forced into it. He’s trying to demoralize Clint’s hands.”
“I, ah, ain’t real sure what that means, Miss Sally.”
“He’s trying to get them to quit.”
“Oh. He ought to just plug everyone he sees. That’s the best way I know of to get them to quit.”
“It might come to that, Stony. But I hope not. There has been far too much bloodshed already.”
“Clint ain’t gonna quit, ma’am. I know the man. He’ll fight to the bitter end.”
“Then the man is a fool,” Sally said.
“Yes, ma’am,” the cowboy replied. “I reckon he is. But a dangerous fool. I hope your man ain’t takin’ him too lightly.”
“Oh, I assure you, Stony. My husband is taking Mr. Black very seriously.”
Smoke shifted his camp, moving much closer to the home of Clint. He lay on a ridge in heavy brush and watched the grounds through binoculars. Someone had rigged a tent about two hundred yards from the bunkhouse and Smoke couldn’t figure out what in the world it was for. Only one man was staying in the tent and Smoke recognized him as the man he’d tied up in the woods. Every time he tried to leave the tent area, the others would curse and wave and shout him back.
“Strange,” Smoke muttered. “Very odd behavior. Maybe the man has measles or something.”
Taking a longer look, Smoke could see that few hands had left the ranch grounds. They had rounded up their stampeded horses—most of them anyway—and the corral was full. Clint had called a halt to the search and was making plans. And he’d do it much more carefully than before. Smoke had stung the man and he’d be smarting from the sting. Smoke suddenly had a hunch that he had overstayed his welcome and it just might be time to get gone from Circle 45 range. The more he thought about it, the better that idea sounded to him. He gathered up his gear and headed back to friendlier territory.
He spent that night in a cold camp sleeping under the stars. He woke up just one time. But it was only a bear rooting and grunting around. Smoke stayed awake long enough to hear the bear’s sounds fade away, and then he went back to sleep.
He was back at the Double D at noon the next day. He’d have to make a new pair of moccasins, for the ones he had on were nearly worn out.
After a bath and a shave and a change into fresh clothing, he told the others what he’d done.
Everyone got a kick out of it, especially about the hand trapped in the outhouse and about Smoke blowing Clint’s hat off his head.
“But,” Smoke told the group, “while I did have some fun at Clint’s expense, he’s not going to let it rest. He’ll never forgive me for terrorizing his home and for making a fool of him. I don’t know what he’ll do next. But you can bet it won’t be anything nice.”
“We need to go into town for supplies,” Sally told him. “We’re running low on nearly everything.”
“Make a list, get the wagons ready, and we’ll go in tomorrow morning,” Smoke said. “We’ll take four men with us; the rest of you stay here and keep watch. We’re not prisoners on the spread. If Clint or his men are in town and want trouble, I’ll damn sure oblige them.”
They were, and he did.
The Circle 45 hands were in no mood for fun and games; they were still smarting over the antics of Smoke Jensen. Tucker and Longman could not pull boots on over their mangled and swollen feet. A half a dozen Circle 45 riders had just disappeared without a trace. Several others had ridden back to the bunkhouse, collected their gear, and left, a couple without even staying around to get their pay. A man couldn’t get within fifty feet of Bankston, he still smelled so bad. So it was a trouble-hunting bunch that waited in Blackstown that morning.
Sheriff Harris Black and all but one of his deputies had been called out of town to help to chase down two men who had robbed and murdered an elderly farmer and his wife the night before. It was a nervous deputy who watched the Double D people come in from one direction and the knot of Circle 45 hands ride in from the other. Lucas stepped back into the office and took a sawed-off from the rack, breaking it open and loading it up with buckshot—or what passed for buckshot in those days, usually nails and tacks and ball bearings and sometimes small rocks.
“Well now,” Tex Mason said. “Would you just look who’s ridin’ in.”
“I see them,” Weldon Ball said. He stood by his horse, looking over the saddle. “We play this right and we got Jensen cold.”
“Let’s let them get all spread out. Some of them boys will stay with the women, guardin’ them. John, you and Ballard go with Weldon. Art, you and Fatso stay with me. Austin, you take Cantrell and Miller. If we play this right, we can end it today and ride out with money in our pockets.”
“Yeah,” Austin said. “If we put Smoke Jensen down, we can name our price from here on out.”
“We’ll have a drink and let them get started doin’ their business,” Weldon said. “Then we’ll make our move. Stay loose and ready.”
“I think it’s gonna pop this day,” Stony said, swinging down from the saddle in front of Hanlon’s Emporium. They all, out of long habit, freed the hammers of their six-shooters. “That bunch of no-counts ain’t taken their eyes off us.”
“Check your guns,” Smoke ordered the men. Stony, Malvern, Waymore, and Eli checked their guns and loaded up the empty chamber. “See how they’re standing? There’ll be three groups of them. Watch yourselves. Sally, you and the twins get inside the store and take your time shopping. Stay clear of the windows.”